#so its clearly not a problem of privacy or anything..

[felgueirosa]

i want to go on a month long research trip to asturias (and northern león!) where i can go to all the different archive offices (provincial, municipal, etc) and also maybe go to a few brañas and while i'm there commission a custom traxe vaqueira, particularly a dengue and saya

when i lived in spain i went up to asturias every weekend for my research paper (which got canned bc of covid) and went to some brañas but completely missed out on the archives bc it was the weekends and they were closed and sometimes it takes them a day to go in the deeper archive reserves to get a docuement you want which i didnt really have since i was there for a few days at a time

i would love to hit up some brañas that are really important for my current paper, though i couldnt do a ton, my body can't take the hiking as much anymore :(

but the archives were such an unexplored trove of knowledge about vaqueiros. there are completely unique documents with so much information in local archives. if you walk in theyll let you look at pretty much anything, but the online search sucks so bad its pretty much not functional. ive tried to email different archives so many times and they give me such shitty responses.

i realized last night i honestly dont have a ton of things stopping me from just going to asturias for a month. i live with my parents, i dont have to pay for housing or food, so ive saved all my money for years. ive worked my shit job for so long. its the only thing stopping me. but we have no paid time off and they need me so badly that i could just leave for a month since i pretty much have unlimited unpaid vacation and then come back and they wouldnt fire me and if they did i wouldnt give a shit. explaining to my parents would be harder, i rarely talk to them about the research and vaqueiro stuff i do and never talk to my dad about it. they wouldnt understand it at all. but also i'm a fucking adult and i can do what i want. so i can just go to asturias for a month.

i want information so i can understand my people. there is such a wealth of information on vaqueiros in those archives that no one has really looked at or seen the value of and its just sitting there. and i want to continue working on my undergrad thesis to make it something publishable and something with brand new research instead of reinterpretations of news articles, books, and other peoples research

[biolumien]

to call home.

pt 4 to the samurai!hoshina fic. pt 3 is here.

notes: i will attempt to tie this up with a neat bow in pt 5... i forgot how frenetic multichapter fics can be... i much prefer the single stuff...!

samurai!soshiro hoshina x fem!reader definite descriptions of gore and blood word count: 1426

“for the last time, hoshina, i do not want to hear about your current wife problems,” gen narumi grumbles. “i cannot begin to tell you how fucking little i care.” he crosses his arms. “you’re here every single fucking day. i told you that we signed off on the alliance papers, right? it’s all in order? your wife’s the one that’s supposed to be going through those. she should be seeing right through your bullshit. i’m not your fucking friend.” 

“please,” hoshina says. “it’s not like i have anyone else to talk to about this.”

“talk to the the old man,” gen deadpans. “what was his name… hibino? the blacksmith?” 

“he’s madly in love with ashiro and is of little help to me,” hoshina replies flatly. 

“ugh.” gen rolls his eyes, leaning forward. the front of his kimono slips a bit, revealing more of his chest as he leans against the table. “so what the hell’s the issue now?” 

hoshina sighs. 

“we sparred the other day. she seemed upset,” hoshina says. “i just wish she’d tell me what she was actually thinking instead of just… staring at me like that.” that look that you give him, where it seems like you want to rip out his stomach and devour it whole. that look that you give him, where you so clearly just—want him dead, more than anything. 

“did you do something to piss her off?” gen asks. 

“no. i just…” hoshina worries his lip. “we haven’t even really done anything.”

“not even sleep together?”

“no, that we did. because we had to,” hoshina says. 

“ugh. of course you can make even the act of sleeping with someone sound dastardly unsexy and so fucking boring,” gen yawns. “what’s the problem, anyhow? we don’t marry for love. it’s duty. i thought you knew better than to believe in childish notions about true love.”

“i believe in true love as much as the next person,” hoshina says, “which is to say that i don’t. not in this life. not in the next.”

gen rolls his eyes. 

“why don’t you just talk to her?” gen asks, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. hoshina supposes that it is, but something about gen saying it to him filled him with some kind of petty rage.

“i’m glad that you seem to think it’s so simple,” hoshina states flatly. “given that you don’t have a wife yet–”

“just can’t keep your mouth shut, huh?” gen’s glare was unimpressed, his hand lowering to the wakizashi at his side. “get out of here before i stab you.”

“ouch, so prickly,” hoshina sneers, but gets up anyway. 

gen stares up at hoshina, yawning inelegantly. 

“i think instead of pussyfooting around this whole thing with your wife you ought to talk to her, quite frankly speaking, about the kind of relationship you want with her. that’s my advice.” 

“hm. that might sound good coming out of anyone else’s mouth but yours,” hoshina says with a leering smile, but the longer he thinks about it, the more gen seems to be right. he’d never truly tried to get to know you, right? nights spent in his own quarters were usually quiet—because he’d always attempted to respect your privacy to the best of his ability. 

you’d wanted nothing to do with him, after all—you barely even mentioned the night you spent together. was he really so clear and obvious in the ways he tried desperately to avoid conflict?

…

probably, now that he thought about it. 

as he settles down for the night, though, something doesn’t feel quite right. he chalks it up to simpler paranoias at first—general anxieties and unrest, the way you’d stared at him during dinner, with a stare so vicious it could kill on its own—up until he hears a bloodcurdling scream.

he bolts out of bed immediately, snatching up his wakizashi and katana, storming towards the source of the noise before he hears the clashing of blades—or a singular crack of one. 

hoshina watches as you cleave an assassin by the neck with a sweep of your naginata, blood splattering across your kimono as you heave out a low breath. as he approaches, you raise your naginata in sudden alarm before lowering your blade. 

“shinobi,” you say, sharply exhaling.

“so it appears,” hoshina says, drawing his katana, stepping behind you with his sword raised in a ready stance. “are you hurt?”

“clearly not,” you say, voice cold even now. “they breached the maids’ quarters. seems like they thought i’d have switched rooms or something out of paranoia.” you level your naginata, adjusting the sleeve of your kimono as you slam the blade into the wall, with an accompanying thud from another assassin.

“a bad actor, you’re saying?” hoshina’s eyes glance across the darkened hallway, his ears straining for any possible sound. he thinks he hears the thudding of footsteps somewhere close, and he raises his sword defensively. “from within the house?” 

“i don’t know,” you respond. “this could just be your family’s enemies. representatives from the narumi clan?” 

“doubtful,” hoshina says. gen wouldn’t be that stupid. “my talks have been going well.”

“well clearly, someone’s fucked up somewhere,” you shout back at him. he wonders why you look beautiful in this moment, blood staining your white kimono and across your face—and then your eyes widen in panic, your lips parting to let out a shout. “soshiro, behind!” 

he whirls around, his blade sinking into the chest of a faceless attacker—he feels the sinking of his blade into the flesh, and he grits his teeth. 

“you saved my life,” hoshina says, not turning to face you. 

“you’re welcome, jackass,” you respond. “keep your eyes and ears open. i’ll fucking kill them all.” 

hoshina laughs. the venom in your voice, usually targeted at him, now freely dished out to your aggressors was a terrifying sound and sight. he thanked the gods at least that he wasn’t your enemy—at least for the moment. 

the house was in disarray—screaming punctuated with the sound of blades, and the darkness made it hard to tell what was really going on, shadows mixed with dark shapes creating an inky blur of sound and physical sensation—but he could carve a path of bodies through it, coat the ground with enough viscera that there would be less sounds of clashing blades. 

as his blade finds the neck of another assassin, hoshina exhales. 

is it over? hoshina wonders. he strains his hearing for the moment, hearing no more footsteps. and yet the air is abuzz with energy–and something doesn’t feel right.

though, he amended, it hadn’t felt right since he’d gotten ready to go to bed. there was terrible unrest. something in the air.

“it’s over, i think,” hoshina says warily, still keeping his sword drawn.

“maybe,” you say, your voice terse.

hoshina leans down, examining one of the bodies, trying to look for an insignia, anything–but the assassins knew better. they bore no symbols of other houses, their weapons nondescript.

and then he hears you shout, and he turns to see you gritting your teeth as you swing your naginata at the same time as the final assassin’s blade connected with your side, having been knocked slightly askew–

you’d saved him.

hoshina moves on instinct as you collapse to the ground, gasping in uneasy pain, trying to hold your side, pulling away to find your hand and sleeve coated with blood. his sword finding the assassin’s stomach–it wasn’t an elegant cut by any means, and he grimaced at the sound of ripping flesh, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care as he rushed to your side, just trying to take in the sight of your blood spilling against the floor.

you cough.

“soshiro,” you whisper, looking up at him. “am i going to die?”

“no,” hoshina says, but the truth is he’s really not sure. he checks your wound–it’s deep, but if a doctor could stem the bleeding, there’d be a chance you might live. “that was stupid of you, you know. you didn’t have to do that.”

you cough, laughing weakly as you press your hand against your side. he pulls you up, holding your head in his arm.

“it’s my duty as your wife,” you say.

“you don’t have to do it if you don’t love me,” hoshina replies softly. your eyes flick to his face, narrow a little before you look away.

“it’s a shame that i think i do,” you say, and there’s not even a shred of resentment in your voice.  

[malevessel]

Can you make a story about Spiderman being possessed?

Nick Fury had failed completely, and because of him, New York had lost one of its greatest heroes, but that its a long story.....

He liked the kid. At first he was suspicious when he found out about his age and family problems, but he quickly gained confidence. He really was a hero. But as well as his good qualities, Peter Parker managed to get on the nerves of the SHIELD director. His jokes and pranks, as well as his verbosity, drove the agent crazy.

Fury had seen the wall-crawler's serious side on occasion, when he really needed to be serious. In his eyes, he was perfect: fast, focused, relentless. And he could be deadly, if it weren't for the fact that his friend and neighborhood Spider-Man didn't like to kill. Fury respected that.

But for this particular mission, Nick Fury didn't need a funny, bouncy hero. He needed someone who was focused, and ready to follow his orders.

There were only four people available. Stark was simply uncontrollable, and his favorite pair of assassins were lacking in capabilities. He had never underestimated the capabilities of the Widow or Hawkeye. But this target was a powerful "enhanced" one, which had already claimed the lives of several agents. In addition, they were all too well-known in the media, and Peter had not yet gained so much fame.

He was perfect. Strong, agile, smart... But Fury knew that wasn't enough, and that Peter couldn't make it. That's why he assigned Agent Rock to this "project." He was one of SHIELD's instructors. He was known for being ruthless and very strict. He was the same age as Fury, but had been paralyzed when a grenade blew him up.

Agent Rock clearly agreed when Fury asked him to do the mission, armed with Peter Parker's body. Nick thought it was a great idea, and a powerful combination. Peter Parker's body, with a very experienced Shield agent at the wheel.

Fury and Rock talked for hours about the plan, and about the possession procedure. It was actually very simple. Thanks to Shield's research into magic, they had discovered an artifact that allowed its bearer to possess a person's body uninterruptedly. After that, he scheduled a meeting between Agent Rock and Peter Parker. Fury wanted Rock to meet the Kid before starting...

A few days passed while everything calmed down a bit, and the day before the mission began arrived.

Kidnapping Parker was easy. The young man did not expect that when he opened his bedside drawer he would be shot with a cloud of sleeping gas. Not even his powers helped him to resist, and he fell asleep when SHIELD agents entered to kidnap him from his room and took him to the SHIELD base. Fury was in charge of justifying his absence to his aunt and his friends, as well as to the school.

They took him to a room and laid him on a bed as Fury and Rock entered the room. Rock was nervous, which was understandable. Although the mission probably didn't cause him any concern, the fact of being able to walk again, especially in a young body, and with those powers, must have caused the agent an unparalleled excitement.

Rock was carrying a military briefcase in his wheelchair, which Fury recognized from the Shield equipment unit. Days ago, Rock had requested new equipment, according to Peter Parker's measurements, and his own tastes. It was understandable, because the strict Agent Rock did not like the colors of the spider suit at all. No, Agent Rock liked something more tactical. And he also liked to use weapons, something that Peter hated.

Fury gave Rock the magical artifact when they entered the room, a small black sphere with gold engravings, about the size of a marble, maybe a little bigger. He told his agent to swallow it, which he did. The sphere would remain in Rock's body until he wanted it to. Fury then gave his friend privacy.

A long 30 minutes passed without anything happening, as Fury waited outside, hoping that all would be well, and assuming that the strict ageist Rock was just 'testing out' the younger body. The door suddenly swung open, revealing Agent Rock, equipped with a black suit, armored in some parts and with plenty of military equipment. Guns, knives and ammo. Peter Parker's voice greeted the Shield director, a little distorted by the mask.

"Agent Rock, reporting for duty!!"

Fury smiled......Actually, I think we would do well to say..... "Spider Soldier, reporting for duty"

..........................

Well, originally this was just going to be a short story, but I really liked the topic, and I'm going to make several more parts.

As I said, I'm going to continue writing and slowly continuing everything I started. I hope you have patience, and that those of you who have asked me for stories don't worry, I will publish them little by little.

[djpepitaqueenforpresident]

𐦍༘⋆ Mnemonics - B.Barnes

‘The air could not be filled with Winters vocals, but his ears worked better than fine, and instead of hearing someone he could not remember the name of beg in his skull, he listened to you.’

Summary: In which Bucky walks the path of regaining his memories, and he has to figure out wether you are real or just an apparition of hope his own mind conjured up to help him push through the hard ways of Winter.

Warnings: Ptsd, blood, violence, guns, swearing, murder, sad Bucky

A/N: English is not my first language!:)

This’ll be a short fic because I honestly started this without even really thinking every thing through. I only really wrote it for real to satisfy my own melancholia. As its stated in the summary, this story mainly revolves around the time Bucky was still the Winter Soldier and how he found a sliver of peace inside your presence.

Teehee

S

“Drink,” you all but ordered softly, holding out the glass of water directly in front of him.

He took it slowly, daring to make eye contact once his rough fingers grazed yours. Just for a second.

The newspapers taped to the windows were getting lose and letting a vague halo of moonlight through. The grey tape was way past its expiration date, but you hadn’t gotten out to buy a new one, yet.

It had bothered him all day.

But, he hadn’t said anything. He wasn’t quite sure how to adres the issue.

Besides, the room you two were residing in was on the third floor, with an abandoned factory as the only view. No one was able to invade your privacy.

He took a careful sip of his drink.

He wasn’t particularly thirsty, but he didn’t want to make you sad again.

Sad you wasn’t a view that brought him joy.

You plopped down next to him, the furniture dipping with your added weight.

Getting comfortable never seemed a problem for you, not even with him. It made him hesitant, an unexplainable feeling expanding in his chest with every brush of skin you so carelessly performed.

Maggots and flies and insects eating his sickened heart further.

With your back sinking into the armrest, you placed your legs straight out on his exposed lap. Like you did every evening.

The material of the two seater couch rubbed him in the wrong way. Too pliable. It made his body sink down lower than he wanted, making his own legs stand in a 75 degree angle.

Calves on top of his thighs, ankles crossed and a thick book in your lap, his protectee seemed content.

The blue, hardcover spine cracked when you opened it, the cat atop the tree branch staring at him from his peripheral vision, clearly without a sane mind.

It was a new one.

He had already forgotten what the other book was about.

“Already read it,” you started, fingers playing with the edges. Playing with his presence. “Seen the movies, too. Multiple of them.”

His hands were in neat fists by his side, his gaze ahead. Your feet laid pressing down with all their focus directly on one spot of his thigh muscle, a little uncomfortable, but he didn’t move.

The Winter Soldier was made for discomfort.

“You know the story?”

Silence.

“I hope you don’t, or else I’ll just be reciting.”

Your eyes had this way of looking at him.

A lamb nurturing its wolf.

“The first one is better, in my opinion,” she shrugged. “More raw, more real. For how far talking animals and giant flowers go, anyway.”

He knew what you were saying. Understood it even, he thinks. The words were clear sentences and spun their way into his brain without much difficulty.

Was he supposed to respond?

“Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: one or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, “and what is the use of a book,” thought Alice, “without pictures or conversations?””

You started reading aloud, voice that of the perfect melody, dancing through the clouds in his brain like the soft rays of sunshine on a fresh morning.

Winter’s voice was a long forgotten ballad, only heard in the depths of his own - was it his own? - mind. The man he was before blended it with a soft, dulling plea from time to time, but other than that, it was silent. Always silent.

The air could not be filled with Winters vocals, but his ears worked better than fine, and instead of hearing someone he could not remember the name of beg in his skull, he listened to you.

Because maybe, in between his horrors and blood, through the cracks of his knuckles, he could fill a little space in his hollow vessel with the remnants of you. Ones you left particularly behind for him to pick up.

Winter was no one. Winter was his work, a gift to mankind.

Maybe this was mankind’s gift to him.

[captain-mj]

Just SoapGhost being healthy and shit. Ghost is open about his problems with intimacy and touch and they work through it.

Ghost sat across from Soap, watching him silently. He was beautiful. Kind. Fierce. Everything he looked for in a partner. 

Their date had been perfect. Soap picked a restaurant He thought they’d both like and he’d been a stupid fucking gentleman, even going so far as to request a secluded booth for privacy. 

Ghost tapped his fingers against the table, feeling very nervous. This was a first date. He didn’t have to bring this up. But if he waited, it would hurt more for both of them. Especially if Soap couldn’t handle it. 

“Johnny.”

Soap paused his chatter to look at him. “Simon. Don’t use your serious voice right now. I got other plans after this! You can’t end the date so soon!”

Ghost smiled at him softly. “No. I don’t want the date to end.” He sat back. “Its something else. I just… don’t want to lead you on.”

Soap frowned. “What do you mean?”

Ghost tapped his fingers for another second, surprisingly having to gain the courage to say this. “If we never had sex, do you think you could handle it?” He refused to look at Soap. 

“I… I don't know. I guess I hadn't thought about it. Is it the mask thing? We can find work arounds. I'm okay with whatever makes you comfortable.” Soap reached over and grabbed Ghost’s hand. “Whatever boundaries You need.” It was so sweet. It made it harder for Ghost to push but he knew it wasn’t fair to let Soap have some… misconception. 

“Its not the mask. Johnny, I’d take the mask off for you right now if we were alone. I have… issues. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

“Don’t tell me you can’t get it up. I’m just fine topping.” Soap joked, clearly trying to lighten the mood but also make it clear that wouldn’t bother him. 

Ghost took Soap’s hand and kissed it softly. “Intimacy. Its the touch. I wish it was that easy. I could pop a fucking pill and ignore it. The mask is part of it, but Johnny, a lot of… horrible things happened to me. And some of them.” Ghost cut himself off at the horrified expression on Soap’s face

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. Trust me I don’t believe you’ll try it or anything. I know you’re not an idiot. But… touch is hard for me. You’re an exception. Usually. But what happens when its more than just your hands? When there’s no clothes between us? No buffers. I’d love to believe I’m fine. That it’ll be easy. But it won’t. I’ll have to initiate things. Put up boundaries.”

Soap was quiet, clearly mulling over his words. “Do you not want to try at all?” It was light. Purposely devoid of tone so Ghost couldn’t detect anything. He hated that Soap could pull that off. For a man so open, it was an unexpected talent. 

“I want to try. Just… if i never get there, i don’t want you to have wasted your time.”

Soap softened. “No time with you is wasted.” 

Ghost sighed. “You’re so sweet. It’s complicated. I just didn’t want you to go into this thinking it would be easy.”

“Never easy with us, Lt. But I’ll get it figured out.” Soap smiled at him. 

~~~

The very first time they properly touched each other was Ghost initiated, just as they talked about. His hand went to Soap’s back as he was talking to someone. They were just getting a bit close and he decided he needed to do something about it. 

The moment he was touching Soap’s, the man basically purred and the unwanted pest trying to catch Soap’s attention quickly got the message. Ghost rubbed his thumb in circles as Soap melted into him. When the man left, Ghost gently pulled his hand away, not missing that Soap tried to follow. 

~~~

Their first kiss was messy. It was mid mission. And it occurred to Ghost that their situation had suddenly gotten so much dire than expected. 

The hood he was wearing, along with the blades, made him look scarier than he was. But not to Soap. Never to Johnny, who kept smiling at him even when everyone else seemed to panic. 

Ghost knew he needed to do this. An epiphany of sorts. 

“Everyone stare at the damn wall.” He barked and people scrambled. Soap went to as well but he stopped him. Ghost gently turned him towards him and, with as little thinking as he could manage, worried he’d talk himself out of it, he kissed him through the mask. It wasn’t the best. If he could, he would’ve taken it off, but they didn’t have time. 

Soap froze in his arms before eagerly pressing back as much as he could. His arms went up to his biceps and he squeezed tight. “What was that for?”

“Just… in case.”

Soap nodded solemnly before grinning wildly. “Let’s go get him.”

That night, when they were done with the mission, Ghost took his mask off and gave Soap a proper kiss. It got no farther, they just kept kissing, hands barely touching each other. Soap’s kept hovering right over Ghost’s shoulders, holding just a hint of apprehension. 

Ghost didn’t reassure him. 

~~~

Holding hands came after. For some reason. Somehow it was easier for Ghost to kiss rather than touch hands. 

Soap’s hand wormed over to him, sitting between them now. His hand just barely brushed against Ghost’s thigh and he jumped so hard he almost rattled the table. Soap went to pull away but Ghost caught him by his wrist, gently tugging him closer until he sat his hand in his lap. Carefully, with the same care taken for defusing a bomb, Ghost tangled their fingers together. Even through his gloves, he could feel his warmth. 

It felt uncomfortable. He didn’t want to be touching right now. But like usual, Soap was… better than anyone else. And he could put up for it if it meant Johnny kept smiling like that.

~~~

Sex. 

Fuck. 

Ghost had… agreed to try. Soap had simply asked him what their plans for the night were when he informed him of this. He had blushed bright red and just nodded. 

Ghost was regretting all of this when he actually stood in his own bedroom. 

Soap smiled at him reassuringly. “What do you want to keep on? Let’s start there.”

“Everything.”

“Okay. You can just undo your pants for now. And what would you like me to take off?”

Ghost swallowed and thought about it for a minute. “All of it. Take off everything.”

Soap’s breath caught and he slowly started to strip down, maintaining eye contact the entire time. He was gorgeous. Nice, tight body. Broad shoulders and so much tanned skin. 

Ghost took a deep breath and slowly let it all out. It was just Johnny. Just him. 

“What do you want from me, Si?” Johnny asked softly, his body already happily reacting. Despite what Ghost was seeing as the most awkward encounter of his life, Soap was achingly hard. “I’d do anything for ya. You know that.” 

Ghost reached for him, gloves abandoned at the very least. Soap’s body was… very responsive. He jerked and his breathing would catch and just a small brush against his chest had Soap’s nipples hard. His thumb rubbed against one and Soap tried to press into him. 

Ghost pushed him on to the bed and gently used his hands to stroke him. He could tell Soap was a little disappointed it was just his hands but he just needed a minute to psych himself up for more. Soap moaned softly as he kept stroking him. 

“Feels good, sir. Feels so good.”

Ghost’s head started to swim. He was hard. He could tell physically he was enjoying but mentally, he felt miles away. 

There was blood. Had to be. He was bleeding and hurt and someone else was gonna hu-

Soap grabbed his hoodie and pulled him closer. “I love you, Simon.” 

Ghost was taken back by that but he pulled up his mask and kissed him. They settled into a rhythm as Ghost continued to stroke him. He grabbed one of Soap’s hands and pulled it under his shirt so Soap could feel his abs. Soap cursed and squeezed him.  

“I love you so much. I love you. So much.” Soap promised as he kissed his lips and down his chin. “You’re beautiful.”

Ghost wanted to sob for some reason. But god did he love Soap. He pulled his mask completely off and started to kiss down his chest. Soap’s hands tangled in his hair instead, gently tugging. 

Ghost pulled away, feeling his cock strain against his pants. He pinned him down and stroked him faster, finding himself rutting against Soap’s thigh. So good… Fuck so good.

They kissed and tangled themself together further. Soap’s hand found it’s way to his belt he undid it and slipped it off. He reached into Ghost’s pants and as soon as he touched him, all thoughts flew out the window. It was just them. 

Ghost didn’t last very long. He was a bit embarrassed so he just focused on Soap. Tentatively, he licked a stripe up Soap’s cock and his lover followed immediately, coming all over his chest. His face was flushed and he bit his lip to keep any sounds in. Ghost could feel how tense he was beneath him as he finished. 

“I love you, Johnny.”

He got a short affirmative in response. 

[002yb]

Jason living happilly with Dick, thinking everybody knows they are dating: :)))

Every single member of batfam, thinking they were just good friends until Dick kissed Jason goodbye before going out for a misssion: >>:○

Even before he's pulled away from Jason, Dick is smiling.  For as old as he is, Dick thinks kissing Jason might always make him feel giddy.  Young.  He's helpless to the stutter skip of his heart, the overwhelming affection as Jason chases after him for another kiss.  Dick laughs against the soft press of their lips because he might feel invincible like this - giving Jason more, anything, everything.

'Not going to want to go if you keep this up,' Dick teases between kisses.  He leans back only to press forward again, a peck to Jason's lips once, twice before Jason's beckons for more - his hand warm along the back of Dick's neck as he brings Dick back to him.

Dick accommodates although he really should be going.  He braces his weight on either arm of the chair Jason sits in, stooping over again so that Dick can crowd Jason’s space the way he likes; so that he can kiss Jason right.

‘Yeah, yeah.  Get outta here.’ Jason tells him, breathless between kisses.  Boneless - hand slipping away from Dick’s neck until Dick reaches up to hold it steady.  Turning away just enough to press a kiss to the heel of Jason’s palm.  He marvels the flush that warms Jason’s cheeks, the way his lips are swollen and kiss bruised.  

Handsome, Dick can’t help but think to himself.  So damn gorgeous.

‘Stop looking at me like that.’ Jason scoffs, turning his head away in embarrassment.

Dick snickers, tickled by Jason’s bashfulness. ‘Not looking at you any way but normal.’

Long suffering as Jason’s expression is, there’s a familiar affection beneath it that makes Dick’s lips quirk at their corners into a smile that’s boyish and smitten.  He presses one last kiss into the white of Jason’s hair before resting their foreheads together.

‘Yeah, I’m going.’ Dick tells him, a direct contradiction to how he stays.

And Jason smiles, crooked and biting, devastating and wonderful.  His nose scrunches, a blush dusting soft across its bridge and along Jason’s cheeks; his freckles and scars.  It’s charming the way it warms him, how he glows from such small affections.

His gaze softens.  It’s a wonder how he’s ever been able to refrain from public displays like this, though maybe it isn’t.  While it was Jason’s preference first, over time Dick thinks it might have become more his than anything.  Because while Jason likes his privacy, Dick likes keeping Jason to himself.  Selfishly, shamelessly.

Even with having turned Jason’s chair to face away from everyone before Dick kissed him though, the display might have been too much.  Dick can’t even admire how breathtaking or sweet Jason is because everyone in the cave is staring at them.  Which isn’t a problem, per se, but their wide eyes and slack jaws speak of scandal and misunderstanding and Dick gathers quickly they didn’t know.

It’s not like Jason and he have been subtle with their relationship even with the general lack of pda, so what the hell is with the genuine dumbfoundment?

Dick feels just as dumbfounded.  Jason and he have been called out for bantering on the comms countless times.  They’ve been caught sneaking off together more than once before and during patrols.  They go home together every night.  To their apartment!

Private, not subtle.

‘What’s wrong?’ Jason asks when Dick stays hovering over him, keeping Jason caged on his chair.  With a cheeky smirk, Jason taunts him with a sweetly drawled challenge, an invitation, ‘Decide you need backup after all, Nightwing?’

With how Bruce is looking at him (flummoxed as he is, he’s clearly, actively plotting Dick’s demise), Dick can’t help but weakly laugh, ‘Something like that.’

Jason turns his head to look behind him, attention catching on their flabbergasted family.  In response to their attention Jason seems to bristle.  He clicks his tongue and scowls, ‘What?’  You got something to say?  Say it.’  And because Jason is Jason, he zeroes in on Bruce - still unfortunately glaring at Dick, and sneers, ‘Stop looking at him like that.  What’s your deal?  He’s my boyfriend -’ Dick sighs, both resigned and pleased as Jason stands up for them, for him. ‘ - he can kiss me if he damn well pleases and - ‘

It’s only because Bruce’s eyes widen further that Jason stops talking, mouth snapping shut with an audible click as he comes to the same conclusion as Dick.  His attention shoots back to Dick and Dick smiles at him – reassuring and sheepish and every bit as lost as Jason feels.

It’s so dumb.  A family of detectives, ‘the world’s greatest,’ and a relationship like theirs slips them by?  It’s something to laugh about later after Dick has talked Bruce down.  The man looks ready to have an aneurysm knowing that months ago when Dick asked if it was okay for Jason to move in with him, it was decidedly not as a roommate - not as a means of keeping an eye on Jason, but rather a more efficient way to keep Dick’s hands on him.

[nakylvr]

Okay but not to be rude or turn it into like a thing but when it comes to the kats dating or personal lives in general can we just like not bring up rumors of like “they might be dating such and such” or “might be this sexual orientation” and stuff? (Not directed at you Jay) because what I’m noticing is it becomes our whole personality as a fanbase to then just bring it up and it clearly makes them uncomfortable but rather than taking the hint we don’t stop. And rather than giving them some respectable privacy we bring it up and turn it into this whole thing and it gets blown out of proportion and I’m not directing this to anyone on here but I also don’t have X or Twitter but then I’m sure fans go out of their way to harass the people they’re dating and that’s a problem and not cool. And it’s not everyone but it’s always the few who ruin it for all of us. So even if we find out like unless they put it out there themselves let’s not say anything. And I’m really not trying to be a killjoy but it kills the vibe of the lives and the comments when some people start up the rumor train and start digging into their personal lives like that. And this is not directed at the anon or at Jay this is just in general of what I’ve been seeing over the past couple of lives from the past to now and the comments and stuff and the mood shift from the Kats.

its getting to a definite point where the girls are gonna stop communicating with eyekons in general, which is valid especially on tiktok and some twitter posts ive seen. i do think we need to back up a little bit, and remember again that these girls are not our friends. they have their own lives and we should respect that! and also stop with the comments on lives ohmygod i turn them off every time cause i cant stand it

[softpine]

brandi ik this sounds crazy but its abt dan and phil and ur the only person i could ask abt this but have they ever like explicitly said they were together? im like firmly on they are besties until they out their mouths say they are together or anything. and ppl are like "oh they live together and are gay" but i'd live w my bff we are gay too ?? i feel like a larry if i start speculating. i watch them but im not in tge fandom so im not well versed in phan lore SORRY IF THIS IS CRAZYDHDISISJSJ

this is your phan correspondent clocking in 🫡

i love answering this question because NO ONE is doing it like dan and phil 😌 there are people who think they never dated, who think they're exes, who think they're married, who think they're queer platonic partners, who think they're monogamous, who think they're polyamorous, who think they're something in between, and the best part is that dan and phil will probably never give us an outright answer because they loooove a bit of mystery.. it's like a game to them. it's all the will-they-won't-they fun of being queerbaited except they're actually queer. it's great

but they AT LEAST dated in 2009 because in dan's coming out video he says this about phil:

so one has to believe:

A) they dated for a few months 15 years ago and then broke up, but proceeded to: move in together (and have continued to live together ever since, despite moving to multiple places where they'd have every opportunity to live alone), merge their careers together in such a way that they become nearly inseparable, share friends and family as their own (phil's niece calls dan uncle dan...), travel the world together, share a bed for months on their tour bus (not speculation, they confirmed that one recently), designed and built a house for themselves which they share a mortgage on, have never dated anyone else since 2009, and to me this is the most compelling one, they've supported each other through numerous medical emergencies and chronic health problems. and that they did all of that as EXES....

or

B) they've been together for 15 years

i won't tell you what to believe (and i think the exes theory is beyond hilarious so i'll never be mad about it) but one option is objectively more likely than the other lmao

at the end of the day, i think "more than just romantic" is still the best way to describe their relationship. they're best friends in every sense of the word, and their friendship clearly takes precedence for them in everything they do. they really found their person and they make me believe in love every day and it's GROSS it's disgusting i hate it 😐

i didn't bring up anything related to a certain video posted on a certain holiday but i'm sure you've already heard of it if you're even mildly engaged with dan and phil stuff. i hate to include it as "proof" because it was actually just a traumatic outing and invasion of their privacy, and even without it, we have enough of their own words (words that were actually meant for us to hear) to draw our own conclusions! just thought i'd give that disclaimer

[cacoetheswriting]

celebrity skin. (part five)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 4.6k summary: a party from hell.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: suggestive & mature themes, adult language, use of pet names, mentions of recreational alcohol & drug consumption, emotional hurt / no comfort in this chapter (sorry, she's a little angsty), blackmail, family drama, mentions of minor character death — if i missed anything, pls let me know!

& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.

celebrity skin. masterlist

The venue is filled wall to wall with people, half of whom you have not met before this night. They’re swaying to the loud music, talking over one another, and indulging in various colourful drinks from the open bar.

Sitting on a sofa in the corner of the large space, you’re watching the night unfold in front of your eyes. There’s a drink in your hand, a cranberry vodka, however, you haven’t touched it yet. Instead, the ice has long melted, causing lone droplets of water to drip down your arm.

A harsh scent of alcohol fills the air. It gets stronger every time a party attendee sits next to you, congratulating you on an incredible single with the band they never thought you’d ever play with. You go with the flow, the politeness you’ve been taught from a young age showing its wings, and thank each person that engages with you for coming tonight.

They ask how this all came about, you on a song with Corroded Coffin. A collaboration for the ages. 

You answer honestly, to the best of your knowledge. “The powers that be organised everything”, and the person you’re speaking with laughs at your answer. Then they ask about a topic much hotter than the new record — your relationship with Eddie Munson.

The second the curly-haired rockstar is mentioned, a smile breaches your lips.

“That’s between me and him, for now.”

Which doesn’t stop anyone from trying to invade your privacy further. Wondering, out loud and with no shame, if what they’re reading in the tabloids is true. Is it just for show, or is it real? And then it goes one of two ways:

“Hope I’m invited to the wedding. It’s shaping up to be quite the party.”

“At least you’ll make a lot of money from this arrangement.”

Not one person wishes you well. Not one person says they’re happy for you, or for the Corroded Coffin frontman. It obviously makes you wonder why because you look happy… right? Why is your relationship such a big deal if you’re clearly happy? 

Don’t you look happy?

But then, in between those conversations, your gaze finds Eddie with ease. His own brown eyes land on you every single time, without fail, as if there was some sort of magnetic pull between the two of you. He smiles wide, shooting you a casual wink from wherever he’s standing at the time.

And so, you force the treacherous thoughts deep, deep down. Squish them until they’re miniscule and a problem for later — which in retrospect, not a good idea — ‘cause right this moment in time, you’re definitely happy.

Eddie makes you happy.

You’re also just glad to see the rockstar is having fun, considering how reluctant he was to leave the comfort of his own home. He’s mingling and laughing. A pep in his step as he orders another drink. After all, parties are his element.

“God, my poor fucking feet hurt so much,” Holly sighs, dropping down next to you with an elegant bounce. “I honestly don’t know how you can perform in heels for multiple nights in a row when I can’t even make it through a couple of measly hours.”

You laugh. “No pain, no gain.”

“Okay, Magic Johnson.” Holly snorts while playfully rolling her eyes.

“Actually, I’d prefer to be Patrick Ewing,” you correct her, it’s a tease with a slight dramatic flare, “‘Cause who am I if not a New York Knicks fan.”

The giggle that escapes your friend is infectious. In between the lighthearted chuckles, she does her best not to spill the fruity drink in her hand, pressing the glass to her lips and taking a sip. She relaxes into the sofa, legs now extended outwards, a hazard to anyone walking by.

“Speaking of New York, when are you taking the rockstar to meet your parents?” Holly probes, brow raised.

“Oh god,” you dramatise in response, “That’s like a super serious thing, no? I don’t think we’re there yet.”

But Holly doesn’t give up as easily, seeing right through the front you didn’t even realise you were putting up. As your best friend, she knows you better than anyone. That includes moments like these, when you’re minimising feelings out of fear.

“Babe, be for real. He has already met your grandma and she’s arguably a lot more important than your parents.” Holly states, taking another quick sip of her cocktail. “No offence to Alicia and Brad, but we all know your family is ruled by the little lady who already hates your boyfriend.”

You sigh. She’s obviously right.

“So, what’s the real reason you don’t wanna take him home?”

Glancing over at Eddie, who’s lost in conversation with the producers of your record, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, wondering what to say to her. “Because I’m scared it’s all moving too fast,” would be an appropriate answer to the question, but then again that’s not entirely true.

Holly nudges your arm and you turn your attention back to her immediately.

“I’ve just been really happy in our little bubble these last few months and I’m afraid if we venture further out into the real world, we’ll lose that feeling.”

Raw, honest. It’s a scary thing to say, but Holly doesn’t judge. She never does. Instead, her arm makes way around your shoulders and she squeezes you lightly when your head rests against her skin.

“With the way the two of you look at one another, I bet my sanity that you’ll be together for a very long time.”

And you hope she’s right.

Eddie walks up to where you’re sitting shortly after, politely asking your friend if he could steal a moment alone with you. Holly of course agrees, saying something about finding Jeff ‘cause he looks mighty fine tonight and she’s a little buzzed, “If you know, you know.”. You watch with a smile as she disappears between the dancing bodies while Eddie sits in the now empty spot, casually placing a hand on your thigh.

“Having fun?”

“I am,” you answer and lean in closer to place a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Even more now.”

He smirks at you. “I’m glad, baby.”

“Seems you are too.”

“I am.” Eddie nods, free hand now holding your jaw, as he leans in to capture your lips with his own.

The kiss is short and sweet, but like everything you and the rockstar do, it attracts attention from pretty much everyone in the room. A click of the camera, a flash of light. But neither of you care. Looking instead into each other’s eyes once you pull apart, as if you’re the only people at this party. 

Even though putting a label on things wasn’t entirely necessary, it definitely cemented whatever feelings are floating within your core. And Eddie feels the same way. He actually feels a lot more than he’s willing to admit out loud. Partially because he’s always battled commitment issues, mainly because he’s really afraid of losing you. 

Again.

-

Eddie Munson loved a good party.

This wasn’t always the case, since during his teenage years he was often excluded from every single guest list. Then he started dealing. Suddenly, the metalhead was a hot ticket, and even though people still didn’t care for his company, they liked the stuff he brought. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the attention — as fake as it may have been.

Once Corroded Coffin made it big, and Eddie realised that people actually wanted to party with him for who he was, and not the drugs he had access too, (although, for some, it was a little bit of both), the rockstar decided he was going to throw the best damn parties Hollywood has ever seen.

It quickly became second nature. Make money, then spend it just as fast so other people can have a good time.

When the drinking, and other activities, got a little out of control, the guys tried to talk some sense into their friend with a little tough love: “Dude, those people don’t give a fuck about you! They only wanna hang out with you, ‘cause you’re rich.”. But Eddie was too far gone and he didn’t care to stop. His house was full of people every single weekend, most of whom he knew, and for the first time in his miserable life, the rockstar felt like the most important person on the goddamn planet. There was no way he was letting go of that feeling.

Then August ‘92 happened.

The evening started off as nothing special. Just another pool party to combat the unbearable Los Angeles heat. It was a common occurrence during the summer months, so Eddie didn’t think that night was going to be any different.

Surrounded by a group of girls that undoubtedly only want to get in his pants, he’s laughing at the unfunny jokes and taking advantage of the fact that he doesn’t need to refill his own drinks, the “groupies”, as Marianne calls them, gladly do it for him. 

They’re brushing up against him and flirting with no shame while batting their lashes. Eddie usually eats this shit up. Matter of fact, he should be loving every second of it right now, but his focus has long shifted elsewhere, the girls a mere distraction from the actual object of his attention and desire.

From the corner of his eye, he’s watching you.

Jesus Christ. Eddie can’t believe you came. He can’t believe you’re actually here, at his house, seemingly enjoying yourself. And to say you looked fucking hot would be the understatement of a century. Splayed out on one of the lounge chairs, hiding from the sun, you’re wearing a white cotton blouse and skimpy denim shorts, and Eddie aches for his current conversation to be over so he can go and officially introduce himself to you — like he should have at the Grammys.

“Eds, do you want another drink?”

He barely registers the question, even with the girl who has her hand on his bare bicep, rubbing up and down rather seductively. Instead, the rockstar notices how you stand up and look around the party once, before walking in the direction of his big house. So Eddie thinks that now’s his chance, perhaps the only one he’d get, and following a quick internal monologue to pep himself up, he leaves the group of ladies disappointed, following you inside.

That was almost the last party Eddie threw.

You flipped this switch inside of him, one the rockstar didn’t even know existed. After that night, he no longer wanted attention from just anyone. Taking centre stage in his mind — and heart — was America’s favourite sweetheart. Even when he royally fucked things up, he only thought about you.

Though for a number of lonesome weeks, he wasn’t sure you were thinking about him since his actions proved nothing more than borderline douchey. So Eddie fell back into self-destructive behaviour just as fast as he scrambled out of it. The parties got louder, he became more obnoxious.

September 1992. Saturday Night Live.

That will be a night his band, his management, his friends, and even his fans, will never let Eddie forget. Unfortunately, for all the wrong reasons.

The drinks pre-show were free and Eddie had a mountain of feelings he desperately needed to get over, along with memories he wanted to bury deep, until they were nothing but specs of dust, flashes that didn’t resemble anything — especially not you.

He did his best not to slur his words during the live performance, and for the most part, he succeeded. Although that didn’t really matter since anyone in the rockstar's vicinity could clearly tell he was intoxicated. Eddie, leaning half his weight on the microphone, round sunglasses covering his bloodshot eyes, should have never been allowed to set foot on the stage that night.

Let alone twice.

Under the dim stage light, as they hoped to conclude their last song without a major incident, Eddie’s band mates were exchanging worried glances. The Corroded Coffin frontman had a couple more drinks in between sets and was barely able to follow along with the music.

Thankfully, behind the scenes, Marianne convinced production to shift the cameras away from unravelling Eddie, even switched off his microphone, and the only people left witness to his drunken mess were the folks present physically.

Eddie on the other hand couldn’t have cared less about how he was behaving since the alcohol didn’t numb him like he hoped, instead the thought of you being somewhere in the same city, overpowered his senses. Would it be crazy to hope you were watching? Would it be crazy to think that despite how rudely he treated you, you’d still show up like you both talked about?

Would it be crazy to try and find you? Search New York, high and low, in hopes that someone knows someone, who knows someone else, that knows where you live?

Instead, against his better judgement and everyone else’s rather aggressive protests, Eddie goes to the after party planned in his name.

Unsurprisingly, you didn’t come.

His black out was imminent.

The damages done to the restaurant came to just under five thousand dollars. The stress from keeping it out of the press robbed his team about two years of their life, so Marianne says.

And that was the last party Eddie threw. 

Considering how out of control things had gotten, how out of control he had become at some point during the night while thinking about you with every drink that burned down his throat, it could’ve been a lot worse.

Eddie still only thinks about you. Difference being, now, almost a year later, you are attending a party together, and the alcohol no longer tastes like regret.

When he looks at you, like he is right now, under the fluorescent club lights, his heart increases tenfold. He wants to kiss every inch of your face, hold you close because that’s where you belong. 

Things simply got better because he owned up to his mistakes and learned to open himself up to love, as scary as that feeling is sometimes. He’s not second guessing your intentions, because that would be cruel. He just loses himself in his doubts sometimes, since in the past, no pretty girl has given him the time of day without wanting something in return.

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” Eddie whispers against your lips, thumb gently grazing along your cheekbone. He proceeds to tell you how you make life a little more normal, and he’s grateful for it, despite always wanting fame. You tell him how attention is nothing if it doesn’t come from the right person, and he agrees, brown locks bouncing as he nods his head. Then he kisses you again.

And this kiss is arguably a lot more urgent than the last. Eddie is hovering over you entirely. One hand remains holding onto your face, while the other is on your waist, pushing you deeper into the sofa.

You can hear another click of a camera in the distance and despite your better judgement, that voice in the back of your mind, closely reminiscent of your Nana’s, telling you to push your boyfriend away, you slide your hands up his back and cling closer to him.

An inch of regret courses through your veins the following morning when you receive a call from your quite displeased team, “what the hell were you thinking?!”. You deflect. Unwilling for anyone to burst through the happy bubble you’ve found yourself in, you blame them for poor organisation and security ‘cause who even allows cameras to be brought into a private Hollywood event.

That regret is unfortunately also accompanied by a killer hangover and very little memory of what else has happened the night prior.

The empty spot in bed, usually home to a set of wild brown locks, should have been a warning sign ‘cause Eddie never woke up before you, especially after a party. You find him in the kitchen, at the spot where the two of you first met. His head is in his hands and you’re instantly feeling worried.

The happy bubble threatening to burst.

“Hey,” you croak, hoping to get his attention, “are you okay?”

Eddie’s as still as a statue. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence, or your question, and the worry in the pit of your stomach increases tenfold. So you approach him, movements slow due to the banging headache as well as the apprehension given your boyfriend's current position. Only when your hand hesitantly reaches his back, rubbing once downward while you position yourself next to him, Eddie lifts his head and tilts it to the side, finally meeting your eyes.

“Had a good night?” Eddie asks, shifting his stance so that your hand falls down to your side. This should have been a second warning; him trying to avoid physical contact.

“Y-yeah,” you force a smile, thinking that it’s needed, “You?”

“Not really,” he answers a little too quickly.

His brown eyes scan yours, for what exactly, you’re a little too hungover to realise. But the longer he stares at you, the worse you begin to feel. A certain dread spreads through your insides, causing your stomach to drop. What’s happening right now? Actually, what happened in the late hours of last night that’s causing this sudden rift between you and the rockstar.

“What’s going on, Eddie?”

The tone of your voice is so quiet, you’re unsure he’s even heard you. But then a sigh escapes his lips. He briefly glances towards the back door, out towards the pool, before settling his gaze back on your frame.

“I think we made a mistake,” he says a little too bluntly. “I-I don’t think we should have labelled this so soon, and ehm… This is nothing on you, sweetheart. I’m just not the relationship type.”

Dumbfounded, is a little too plain to explain the feeling that you’re experiencing at this very moment. Betrayed would be a better word, but that would mean Eddie is after saying those things. That he’s really after shattering your entire world in the space of a few mere seconds. Betrayed would mean your gut instinct, the one you have ignored ever since you’ve met the Corroded Coffin frontman, was always correct: he was no good.

Used, is how you begin to feel as Eddie continues to list reasons for why he can’t actually be your boyfriend and how you’re better off simply being friends with benefits, or whatever it is the two of you had been over the last few months. Used fuels the anger inside of you because, to you, deceit is worse than cheating. And he seems so nonchalant about it, which only adds to the fire.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Eddie stops mid another lame excuse and for the first time this morning, he reaches for your hands, fingers gently grazing against your skin, which only adds to the pain you’re beginning to endure. 

“Sweetheart…”

“No, no.”

You retreat, unwilling to let the rockstar hold you since he’s after breaking your heart like it was worth nothing — Jesus H. Christ, this is some sick and twisted deja vu.

Instead, you cross your arms across your chest like a shield while taking a step away from the man you realised now you definitely loved, yet one that clearly didn’t love you.

“I-I guess I’m just confused as to what’s changed since last night—”

“I’m not the relationship type,” Eddie cuts in, repeating what he’s already said, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything towards you. I like you, sweetheart. A lot.”

“Eddie, come on,” you scoff, tears threatening to breach through the confines of their home, “Do you realise how ridiculous you sound right now? If you feel something towards me, I-I don’t get how being called my boyfriend and being exclusive with me is the worst thing on the planet.”

When he doesn’t immediately reply, you continue.

“Unless that’s it. You don’t want to be exclusive because the thought of keeping your dick in your pants when I’m not around is too difficult, or having other people throw themselves at you and not immediately act on it is something Eddie Munson simply cannot do.”

“That’s not it,” the rockstar interjects.

“Then fucking enlighten me, Eddie, because you’re making no fucking sense right now!”

Again, he doesn’t say anything. And it’s precisely because he’s not showing any willingness to be honest with you right this moment, after endless prior conversations about how that’s the one thing he will always be, you decide for your own sanity that this isn’t a relationship you can fight for.

“Fuck you, Eddie.”

Three words you’ve spoken to him before, only this time they hold a lot more weight. This time, they signal an end to something that was only after getting a proper beginning. The end of America’s favourite popstar and the Corroded Coffin frontman — a headline that broke on Page Six the very next morning.

Eddie watches you leave. Frozen in his spot as you rush back to the bedroom the two of you have shared the last few months. And his heart aches because unbeknown to you, this is not what he wanted to happen.

Unbeknown to you, this is not how he actually feels. He doesn’t want to end things with you so soon after they’ve begun. He wants you. He wants to be your boyfriend, if not more.

He just can’t.

Last night’s party was the main catalyst behind the rockstar’s actions this morning. The attendance of a certain someone that wasn’t actually invited was a shock to Eddie’s drunken system, and the reason behind why he simply can’t tell you anything, especially the truth.

(Not right now anyway.)

-

Chrissy Cunningham.

The preppy blonde was the only person Eddie loved before meeting you. 

Despite not ever being anything more than friends, at least on a physical level, for the longest time, Chrissy was Eddie’s only supporter. The only person to show him kindness and shower him with care he undoubtedly deserved.

Chrissy encouraged Eddie to follow his dreams, pursue a career in music, because out of everyone in Hawkins, she truly believed in his talent.

Then she died.

Suddenly, Eddie was not only left with a hole in his heart, but he also found himself at the centre of a murder investigation. Despite being declared innocent, her death nothing but a freak accident, the scars on the rockstar’s body remind him of the events of March ‘86 to this very day.

He told you a little about what happened, just failed to mention Chrissy. Not for any particular reason, he just doesn’t talk about her as a rule — unwilling to reopen the wounds he so desperately tried to heal over the years.

And because he doesn’t talk about Chrissy, or mention her name and what she meant to him, Eddie never expected her to be brought up.

Especially not a Hollywood party of all places.

Eddie first spotted your grandmother mid-performance of the band’s single with you. She approached him shortly after, when you excused yourself to take some shots with Holly, leaving the frontman alone.

“Even I cannot deny that it’s a good song,” she states simply, as Eddie eyes her suspiciously.

“With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t think you were on the guest list.”

She scoffs. “Just like my lovely granddaughter, I can get myself on every single list I want, and even though I don’t necessarily want to be here, I do have something to tell you.”

Eddie cocks a brow, “Oh yeah?”

“Hawkins is a lovely little town,” she says, not missing a beat. “It’s quaint. Reminds me of a place I spent hiding my pregnancy all those moons ago, but that’s a story for another time. Or not. Depends how well you listen to me right now.”

“What do you want?”

“Does my granddaughter know about Chrissy Cunningham?”

Eddie’s face falls the second Chrissy’s name escapes your grandmothers painted lips, though he doesn’t get a chance to actually reply to the question, because she’s quick to continue with her agenda.

“I suppose not. Your uncle Wayne was really quite open to tell me about her though, about what she meant to you.”

She pauses, tilting her head to one side.

“I am sorry for your loss, Edward.”

Another brief pause.

“Yet I can’t help the curiosity, why didn’t you tell my baby about this girl if she supposedly played such a big part in you pursuing your dreams?”

“Don’t do this—”

“Do what, Edward? I’m just trying to learn more about the boy my naive granddaughter is willing to risk her entire career for. Again, your uncle Wayne was very helpful in this department, considering you practically shunned me from the dinner I organised for this exact reason.”

“Listen—”

“No,” your grandmother interrupts, “We both know you’re not good enough for my sweet angel and this entire Chrissy situation you are trying really hard to hide from everyone, only proves my point,” she snaps and Eddie’s feeling grateful that the place is a little too crowded and a little too noisy for anyone to hear what’s happening at this very moment.

“Edward, if you have nothing to hide, if you’re really innocent and played no part in the poor girl's death, why can’t the world know? Feel free to answer me, I’m just trying to get some insight into who my granddaughter has chosen to date.”

Eddie swallows his breath, unsure of what to say because it’s these types of conversations he’s been trying to avoid by not bringing up Chrissy.

Ever.

He didn’t do anything to the girl he loved. He is one hundred percent innocent, and the courts proved his side of the story. Yet, he’s been ridiculed and questioned left, right, and centre.

Only Max and Wayne know that the final reason as to why he’s decided to leave Hawkins behind for good, was to get away from the rumours and the people that didn’t believe him. And as he rushed to chase his dreams, he swore he’d never bring this up. Swore to never mention Chrissy’s name to anyone, or the fact that she’s been the inspiration behind numerous Corroded Coffin singles.

In a way, it was freeing. In Los Angeles, Chrissy Cunnigham was nothing but a figment of Eddie’s imagination.

Until this very moment.

“I didn’t kill her.”

“I know,” your Nana states, “But it wouldn’t take a lot to make people in Hollywood believe that you did and then your image is ruined, your career starts to decline, and the only other person that’s affected besides you and your bandmates, is the person you claim to feel something for. My granddaughter.”

Eddie’s heart sinks. He glances behind your grandmother’s shoulder to where you’re standing at the bar with Holly, laughing at something your friend has said seconds prior.

He’s happy with you. He’s happy to be known as your boyfriend.

And it’s because of that happiness, he knows he cannot ruin your life by involving you in something that happened before he was even famous.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” the rockstar mumbles in a defeated tone.

“She’s going to hurt either way,” your grandmother says, “But if you end things with her on your own, I promise to keep Chrissy’s name out of the press, so you’re only breaking my granddaughter's heart and not simultaneously ending her career.”

The metalhead hangs his head low, closing his eyes momentarily to try and gather his tipsy thoughts. His lack of rebuttal is enough for your grandmother to claim her victory. She places a hand on the rockstar’s shoulder and squeezes once, faking remorse.

“And Eddie,” she continues, “I wouldn’t tell her about this conversation, and I also wouldn’t be so brave to tell her about Chrissy yourself, because with a snap of my finger, the whole world will know. Then you gotta ask yourself, what’s more important? Your happiness, her happiness, or the careers you both worked extremely hard for.”

She lets her hand fall and walks out of the party with her head held high. Unseen by you and unnoticed by everyone else here, almost like a ghost. Like the conversion never happened. 

But the ache in Eddie’s chest is proof enough. He knows what occurred, just like he knows what he unfortunately needs to do — which is break your fucking heart.

thank you for reading! really appreciate the endless & continuous support!

celebrity skin. masterlist

& tagging some cool ppl that expressed interest: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @papillonoirsworld , @vol2eddie , @astheni-a , @bebe07011

[dropsofmoonlightzine]

Happy Holidays everyone!

We hope you are doing well! First, thank you so much for your continued support of the Drops of Moonlight Zine Charity Project. Although the project has gone on for much longer than planned due to multiple hiccups that we have faced, we are still committed to have the physical and digital bundles distributed to those who have pre-ordered them. Once the hiccups listed below are resolved, we will be reaching out to those (contributors and supporters) who pre-ordered a bundle to collect shipping and handling, and ship everything out! With that, included below is a summary list of previous updates re: the current Murphy's Law poo that is holding the project up:

We're still missing 2/5th of the shipment of the printed volume. Production had been in delay because of the paper crisis and they arrived in increments slowly batch by batch. We bought from a small family-run vendor and they glue the covers by hand. We've been getting them in smaller batches, and two batches have yet to arrive. They don't ever update us re:status, but they have been consistent.

Our sticker order was lost in the mail. We're fighting with FedEx on whose fault this is. We have had to pay double customs to have it re-enter its country of origin and make the trip again, which is ongoing, and are trying to get reimbursed by FedEx, which is a lengthy process.

The coloring books arrived late and with faulty covers, and after much discussion with the company, it appears that the fault was entirely our own. One of our mods is paying for 400 new covers out of their own pocket and will fix them by hand.

Our local washi vendor pulled out and went bankrupt and radio silent. This was a huge problem both for budget and for getting a new one. We have one finally lined up, production has begun.

Booth has refunded part of our orders because it took too long, meaning our funds have further shrunk. We're in talks with Booth to save the rest. It's in Japanese so only one mod could handle it, and this is not the easiest.

The domain for our website was paid for two years and that was the time and funding allotted in the budget. These two years are up. We didn't notice that for the longest while, and then when we did, things like Booth happened, and we decided against renewing the domain so late in the game. We plan to ship the orders with Shopify and the portion of Booth orders that have not yet been refunded.

A few mods we won't name are on extended hiatus for critical life events that we won't call out for privacy, and because this project has gone on for much longer than anyone on the team has anticipated or consented to/planned for. This means the rest of the work is falling on fewer shoulders. Tasks and responsibilities have subsequently changed amongst the mod team since 2020; for instance, we don't have a mod in charge of communications right now and haven't had one in a while, which you do clearly notice.

We make all decisions together as a team, which makes us democratic and also slow. We react to things only together but it means we wait out mod meetings across four time zones for nodding off on all decisions.

Everything else is ready, layouted, translated, linked to, hosted online, printed, lined up, and arrived. Once everything else lines up/arrives, we will be reaching out to those who pre-ordered a physical bundle to collect shipping and handling, and then ship them out.

We realize that the timing of everything has not been ideal. We did not realize we bit off more than we could chew when we took this project on… and none of us Mods plan to take on anything like this ever again as all of us are doing this on our own time. We thank you for your continued support and wish you all a safe holiday season!

Love,

The Drops of Moonlight Zine Mod Team

Happy Holidays!

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愛をこめて、

月の雫ZINE　主催チーム

[dearweirdme]

Hi! So one thing about me being a taekooker that makes me feel guilty is that I tend to take things Tae/JK say with a grain of salt sometimes. Since I believe they are a couple, there's sometimes things they say that don't always add up. I tend to chalk it up to their media training and trying to preserve privacy. Even if that mean they have to lie/fib a little.

It gets a little convoluted at times because one one hand, I have to trust them to a certain degree in order to even believe they are together. But at the same time, if they are together, they probably will have to sometimes lie to the fans or in content in order to hide their relationship. So therefore it's hard to know when something is the truth or not.

Reminds me of the ITS talk. I know a lot of the misunderstanding was due to misleading subtitles and weird editing by the company. But JK also said that they were kind of distant in the interview. Which I don't know is actually true. Another example:

https://youtu.be/yvMIj3yBQY4?feature=shared

JK is asked where Taehyung is, and of course, he can't just tell the complete truth. I mean, if they are dating, he probably knew generally speaking where Tae was. But he ends up saying, "Probably somewhere. I don't always stay in touch with the members."

And as someone who believes that Tae and Jungkook were dating at the time and still together, clearly I don't believe he means that he doesn't keep in touch with Tae. I suppose you could say it was being vague or generalizing "the members" in order to still have the statement be somewhat truthful, but still a bit misleading.

Idk I think I sometimes wonder if I'm just being the classic "toxic" shipper by viewing things through a taekooker narrative.

Not that the members can't lie and haven't lied. But I feel bad that I assume he's lying just because I think he and Tae are together. Also, I'm in no way saying that taekook or other members are "liars" or pathological liars or something. I just think they probably say things that aren't true sometimes, just like most humans do. I think we all do that to a small degree.

Does that make sense? Sorry, I just think about this sometimes.

Hi anon!

I think there can be several things that make us doubt what we see. The notion of fanservice is tough on some. What is real and what is exaggerated/scripted/fake? We also like to keep a certain skepticism I think (lmao while thinking about that former anon now) so at times we try to hold back our Tkk-ing just to not be delusional.. and I think that can feel kinda complicated as well. And the closeting also probably comes with them having to probably lie at times.

I think them lying to protect their privacy and safety is alright. I think it's probablly something they don't enjoy and they aren't actually hurting us by doing it. I mean, they're not doing it to gain anything. They are trying to keep safe.

Personally, I never have too much problems with this. I think many things can be explained by us admitting we just don't know most of their lives. Jk saying he doesn't know where Tae is during his live to me read as him being kinda petty because Tae wasn't there yet. I'm convinced he was expecting him and whatever reason he had by saying he doesn't keep track of members are his own. It's truly an insignificant moment for me, only made big because of fandom chatter (and Jkkrs using it as a tkk debunk).

The ITS Talk to me is the most elaborate situation I feel is actually set up and planned to manipulate fandom. In general I wouldn't say they lie a lot at all, but rather.. we just don't understand their lives fully. Another issue perhaps is.. that we tend to expect certain behavior from a couple.. when all couples are different.. and especcially a closeted couple will not behave in what some would deem 'normal' couple behavior. I know when I had a partner I wasn't always up to date with his whole whereabouts (but we split so I'm not sure if this is a good example 😂). So if Jk actually didn't know where Tae was at that point.. that still wouldn't make a difference to me.

I will always mostly base my thoughts on their relationship on how they interact when they together. Ofcourse if anything super clear would ever happen to debunk their relationship I would change my thoughts.. but I haven't seen anything that would make me doubt yet.

[enbysiriusblack]

I’d never argue for a second that the Snily friendship was a healthy one, because it obviously wasn’t, but I’m not buying the argument that Snape’s disdain for muggles caused Lily and Petunia’s fallout (understandable disdain at the point of meeting, given his father - and I really don’t like the insinuation that an abused child is consciously racist, children that age are not sociopolitically aware and base everything on their own personal experiences and/or parental views they’ve been taught or overheard. At that age, the belief that magic makes him special is nothing but a manifestation of the hope that the magical world will be an escape from a violent home life, not evidence of being a creep. At 16, it’s obviously much more conscious and therefore problematic).

Snape is nobody to Petunia, and doesn’t have to be anybody to Lily. Lily didn’t have to make or remain friends with him if she preferred to prioritise her sister’s feelings - it was her choice to retain that relationship for 6 years. Lily is equally responsible for invading Petunia’s privacy - Snape does not get in Petunia’s room without Lily’s permission, and nosiness is a trait Harry inherits from both mother and aunt. Lily retains the information she learns until she can weaponise it - she’s upset Petunia is mad at her, but never actually apologises for the invasion of privacy. And Petunia displays the first signs of jealousy before Snape even enters the picture, and Lily’s reaction to Petunia displaying that jealousy on the train platform is to be spiteful. The girls might blame Snape for everything because it’s easier than examining themselves, but 10 year old Snape does not have the emotional power or relevance to either of them to fracture a strong relationship if it had been a priority of either sister to mend it. They had agency. Lily is still magic even if she’d never met Snape, and Petunia would still want to be and never could be, and the personalities that make them react the way they do to that information and to each other would remain as they are in canon.

JKR personally wrote Petunia’s biography on Pottermore and Snape doesn’t even get a mention. And I think that’s consistent with what it is in the books. The fallout is pinned entirely on their parents favouring Lily, Petunia tiring of being overshadowed, and the sisters refusing to understand each other. He’s just not important enough to them to cause anything.

i never said he caused their fallout, i said he played a role in it. i said they already had that inital fallout over lily having magic and petunia not, but i do think severus very clearly made it worse (lily tries to include petunia in her magic whilst severus very clearly doesn't want her intruding & makes a branch fall on her. then when petunia writes to dumbledore, severus opens the letter and reads it and tells lily, and petunia feels very embarassed by this and its why she calls lily a freak before she leaves), lily being a witch was the catalyst of the fallout, severus was merely another aspect that pushed even more distance and resentment between them.

um. personally i think being an abused child causes his blood supremacy which is very much there. kids can be racist. they likely won't understand why they think that or the problems of it but they can be racist. severus is abused by a muggle. & he loves his mum who is a witch. so as a kid it is very much an unconscious bias that he has towards wizards BCS he was abused. just bcs you're unconsciously racist, doesn't make you not racist.

lily is a muggleborn with a power she doesn't understand in the slightest. severus, to her, knows everything, understands everything, can teach her things. ofc she's gonna stick with him over her sister's feelings. (and she very clearly tries to stick by BOTH of them. she doesn't ditch petunia for severus, she tries to learn about magic with severus and also whilst playing with petunia. its severus and petunia that refuse this).

lily's involvement with the letter is prompted by severus tho.. its him that sees petunia getting the letter in the first place, and he clearly convinced lily that they should read it. also i never said lily wasn't nosy??? never even said her and petunia have a good relationship prior to severus?? bcs they don't. i know that. i never stated differently.

again. never stated he fractured it. i said he played a role in it & i said he was a factor in it. that is it. and he was like?? yes ofc they'd still have a bad relationship without him there, i never said they wouldn't. just bcs something is a factor, doesn't mean that without it the thing wouldn't exist. if you're baking a cake and don't add the sugar? still a cake. just different.

um. lily does NOT purposefully weaponise the letter???? tf. she is pissed her sister in being v v mean to her. she didn't purposely hold it in until that moment, she clearly wasn't going to mention it at all until petunia went off on her & fucking ofc she's gonna throw something back. they're siblings. its what you do.

"jkr personally wrote petunia's biography on pottermore and snape doesn't even get a mention" ok??? so your point?? are you just trying to discredit my beloved snetunia ship or

um. again. there can be many factors to a situation. my reading of prince's tale was just showing how snape is one (of many yes! all the things you mentioned are also factors to it! well done!)

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

I wouldn’t mind hearing your thoughts on the reality tv fic research you’re doing, if you had any thoughts or observations you wanted to share, be they fic-related or otherwise 🌹

So the reality TV fic is really the first chapter/prologue of a longer fic that covers Jamie's reintegration into the team and developing friendship with Sam in the first half of season 2, while also having some complicated feelings about Amsterdam and his time on Lust Conquers All as Sam and Jan rope him into their effort to get the player auction during at the charity gala changed to something less terrible. While I don't necessarily think Jamie's experience on LCA was itself traumatic, the structure of reality dating shows might poke at some sore spots in a way he might not consciously register, same as the auction did in season 1. 

Unhinged ramble on reality TV dating and how it might affect Jamie under the read more:

(My research was mainly focused on Love Island UK, the real-world equivalent of LCA; however, some of the rules, filming practices, ect. are based on industry norms that I don't know for 100% certain apply to this show) 

There are some aspects of the reality TV experience that Jamie would likely be better equipped to handle than most contestants — while the producers do go out and scout people and I gather that some (or possibly most) of them are social media "micro-influencers," one of the main things they tend to struggle with is not only the sudden rise to fame and the volume of criticism that comes with it, but the fact that it's very temporary fame and they have to reintegrate into regular life and a regular job afterwards. Jamie struggles with depression after leaving LCA, but he clearly didn't put the same stock in it as a career move as most contestants do — his depression is tied to his football career (or rather, his temporary lack thereof) and his dad; LCA was primarily a way to get away from James rather than something he was invested in for its own merits or that he likely expected to have much of an impact on his life in the long term.

He also has an advantage when it comes to contract negotiations. Reality TV contracts are extremely extensive and typically involve the contestants waiving the right to sue in the event of... basically any kind of harm (emotional/psychological distress, injury, illness, death, ect), as well as their right to privacy — many shows specify that they have hidden cameras and microphones throughout the entire house, including areas like bedrooms and even bathrooms, and that they can use, edit, ect. anything they record however they want, including frankenbiting, ie cutting together snippets of audio to form sentences that the contestants never actually said — and their contact with the outside world, as contestants aren't allowed to keep their phones or go on social media. They also often tie the contestants to the production company for several months afterwards, which may involve doing public appearances or even restricting activities related to the show (this is less relevant for something like LCA, but American Idol season 2 contracts didn't let contestants sing anywhere outside the show, even at like. private gatherings with friends and family).

I imagine Jamie's contract would include a lot of these same rules, but unlike most contestants, he has an agent (even if we know the agent kind of sucks) who may have gotten him better terms. That being said, based on the way his agent talks about him going on LCA in 2x02, there is a distinct possibility that he signed on as an impulse decision and actually didn't have anyone look over the contract, so really whether or not he had an advantage here depends on how pre-meditated his decision was at the time. Another area where he has an advantage is purely demographic: he's a white man, and reality dating shows have a massive problem with racism and sexism that affects casting, how the contestants are framed once they're on the show, and even voting behaviour. 

Prospective cast members undergo a very thorough vetting process that involves a background check, medical exam, psychological evaluation, and interviews with basically everyone they've ever talked to, it seems like. How effective the psych eval is in rooting out people who are likely to be negatively affected by the show is debatable — I read an interview with a former contestant on the Bachelor who said she suspects she was chosen because she was emotionally fragile after a recent breakup with her fiancé — and they seem to be more geared towards keeping people off the show who are likely to be physically violent with the other contestants. Jamie fits the profile of someone who might be chosen pretty well, actually: he's combative and has a big enough personality to be involved in drama, but he doesn't actually start physical fights. 

Once contestants arrive, their belongings are searched for any contraband alcohol or drugs, as well as clothes with logos from non-sponsor brands. Shows generally don't allow them to keep their phones or other electronics — Love Island contestants have cellphones that they sometimes use to take pictures and where they instructions via text, but these don't appear to be their own personal phones. (Sometimes contestants appear to be posting on social media during the season, but it's actually someone else running their account.) They're also not allowed to leave the villa except on scheduled dates (some shows do allow the contestants out, but they have to ask permission first). This is... kind of creepy, honestly, but I suspect that with James being on Jamie's case the way he was after he came back to Manchester, the lack of contact with the outside world may have been part of what appealed to him.

Life in the villa is very regimented: two producers live there with them and the contestants are told when to eat and when to sleep. This is another area that Jamie might cope with better than the average contestant, since he'd be used to working with nutritionists and generally having many more aspects of his life than the general person planned out, and the dietary restrictions are likely less strict. While conversations aren't scripted, contestants are often told to go to a specific location and to have a conversation with a specific person about a specific topic, which produces the slightly odd effect that, especially in the first couple of episodes, they spent all their time analyzing their relationships/prospective relationships with people they just met and barely know. I suspect this might be part of why it's hard to build sustainable romantic relationships in this environment — obviously communicating about what everyone wants in a relationship is good, but it doesn't allow for the regular conversations that make up most of the process of getting to know and like another person.

Which brings us to: kayfabe. Kayfabe is a wrestling term which refers to the implicit agreement between wrestlers and their fans to act as though the staged performances are authentic. Part of what I suspected tripped Jamie up during his stint on LCA and got him kicked off is that he's... not great at this part. He'd probably have some form of PR training and he has experience doing brand deals, but ultimately footballers don't have to pretend they're doing anything other than trying to win. Reality dating contestants can't say that they're there to build their brand or win the cash prize; the only motivation they can publicly acknowledge (not contractually, just in terms of coming off well to the audience) is finding love, and I suspect that Jamie was maybe a bit more obvious than he should have been about the fact that he approached it as a competition more than as an opportunity to find a relationship, which I don't think he was actually interested in at that point (or at any point, for the aro Jamie truthers among us).

There's also a bit of a tension between the producers' putative goal of capturing authentic reactions and creating certain storylines. The result is that they try to elicit certain reactions during the talking head interviews without stating outright what they want the contestant to say, and I suspect Jamie and the producers would find each other frustrating to deal with given his blunt approach to social interaction and difficulty with subtext and other forms of indirect communication. Similarly, interactions between the contestants — particularly the contestants of opposite genders — are governed by a set of extremely heteronormative social norms in which the contestants reaffirm their relationships through by, for instance, acting jealous or worried when their current partner is talking to another person as a sign that they're serious about the relationship. In addition to just generally not being a sexist dick even in his prick era, he is, again, just not that great with subtext. Ultimately, I think Jamie attracts the public's ire because he's too obvious about the fact that he's approaching LCA as a game to be won — while viewers are generally aware that reality TV is constructed, the contestants acknowledging that damages their popularity.

And now onto the potentially triggering stuff. First up: the alcohol. Most reality dating shows involve a lot of drinking, although instances of light drinking (eg sipping on champaign, drinking beer on dates) are generally more common than heavy drinking like taking shots or the contestants being shown to be very drunk, though it does happen. Some shows have an open bar, while others control the consumption of alcohol more closely and only give the contestants one bottle at a time. Contestants on Love Island are often shown drinking (usually champaign, or at least something in champaign flutes) from what appears to be an open bar, but I'm not sure which approach they actually use. I've seen some former contestants (on The Bachelor, not Love Island) attribute the frequency with which everyone drinks to the fact that they don't really have anything to do besides interact with the other contestants, get involved in drama, and drink — they don't have personal electronics, obviously, but they also aren't allowed to bring books or other forms of entertainment. Jamie does drink in canon and he goes out clubbing with his teammates, but the consistency with which everyone is drinking and the potential pressure to drink more himself as a result might make it feel a bit more fraught, particularly if part of the reason he doesn't remember losing his virginity in Amsterdam is because James forced him to drink.

Second: consent in reality dating shows is... weird. Once they sign the contract and enter the villa, the contestants pushed — though not technically legally required — to engage in various forms of intimacy which in any other situation would be considered pretty clear violations of their consent. Couples are formed unilaterally: in the season of Love Island that I watched (season 8), the initial couples were chosen by the voting public, and couples are re-formed in ceremonies in which, for instance, a newly arrived man choses between the two single women and the one who isn't chosen is sent home (or vice versa). In essence, only one member of the couple (or neither, in the case of public voting) actually has a say in whether they want to be with the other person. These couples then sleep in the same bed (in a room they share with all the other contestants), and the challenges similarly often involve one contestant choosing another to kiss, offer a lap dance, demonstrate their favourite sexual position, or perform other forms of intimacy (these examples are all from the first challenge of the first episode of season 8). In essence, while the contestants could technically refuse, they probably also wouldn't be on the show for long, and the whole thing is very much built on the presumption of consent to these more "mild" forms of intimacy. 

Other Things: 

Part way through, the men are sent to a different villa where they meet a new set of women, while the women stay at the original villa and meet a new set of men. I imagine the Jamie cheating on Amy with Denise in a hot tub incident probably occurred during something like this. 

For some reason the announcer always calls them "boys" and "girls." He does it for both genders so at least it's not sexist, but I still don't like it. 

If you want to read more about consent in reality TV dating, I found this chapter very interesting: Sreyashi Mukherjee and Dacia Pajé, "'You Can't Force Someone to Want You': Investigating Consent, Tokenism, and Play in Reality Dating Shows," in The Forgotten Victims of Sexual Violence in Film, Television and New Media: Turning to the Margins, ed. Stephanie Patrick and Mythili Rajiva (Palgrave Macmillan) [tried to attach the pdf but I got it through institutional access from my university and it won't let me 😞)

[marilynthornhilllover]

it’s so weird to share so much info about your gf, nobody asked lol also saying you’re willing to answer our questions like you are a celebrity couple 😂🤣

Oh I’m sorry! I didn’t know simply making a post about my gf hobbies, interests and appearances was sooooo much info! Listen to me because trust me I’ve got time on my hands, there are a shit ton of things that you don’t know about my gf and you will never know because guess what, I chose I keep it that way, I’ve seen the limits creeps go to find out a whole lot of personal information about people with just little info that was posted online so FORGIVE ME for posting SOOOO much info, bitch all I probably said was some shit about her eye color and her liking chocolate tea that’s to show you that I hardly remember what I posted because it wasn’t relevant!

And speaking of that post only got like what? 9 likes!!? So apparently you are a sadistic jealous fuck of a person to care so much about what I post about MY GIRLEND, NOT YOURS. And she doesn’t mind, I could tell you so much stuff about her but I chose not too, AGAIN because it’s my privacy and what I choose to do with that is my fucking business.

I am sick of you boring fucks who have nothing better to do and apparently have nothing good going on in your life so you choose to haunt and taunt the innocent and happy people on this app behind an anonymous button as if that can save you, go and get a life, and that statement where I said,” willing to answer questions” I OBVIOUSLY WASNT REFERING TO YOU BITCH, because who the fuck would tell you anything, I was referring to my lovely mutals. And “ nobody asked” CLEARY YOU WANNA FUCKING KNOWWW, you desperate piece of shit.

“Like a celebrity couple”, oh for the sake of god, we wouldn’t wanna be a celebrity couple anyways because NEWS FLASH THEY DONT FUCKING LAST. Look I’ve got things to do, real life money making, going out to parties, enjoy life things, other than this app and world that you’re clearly apart of, and honey you only exist when I’m bored so do not! Come to my page and talk shit because I am not a stupid fucking clown who’s gonna be all baby about it I WILL fucking answer you back and clock your shit if I have to. Fucking son of bitch go find something better to do with your life.

AND FUCK ALL OF YOU WHO SECRETLY HAVE A PROBLEM WITH ME BEING HAPPY AND SHARING STUFF ON MY OWN FUCKING PAGE. ITS DISGUSTING……. If you don’t like someone or something they post…… there’s an unfollow button and there’s a report button for a FUCKING reason, DO NOT TAKE TO MY ASK BOX TO SPEAK YOUR UNASKED IRRELEVANT COMMENTS!!!!!

Gosh! I try to be nice on this app but some of you really fucking push me, I was in a good mood, coming on here to finish editing a fic, saw a new ask thinking it’s a request and was so excited to read it and man oh man did my smile drop, I had to breath! Because if this app had voice post I WOULD HAVE REALLY POPPED OFF. Typing ain’t enough you need to hear my vocal expressions!!

I’m really sick and tired because it’s fucking sick and twisted, when people talk shit about me talking writing breaks and about my fics I can surely let it slide but about my girlfriend! Oh you’ve hit a nerve! And guess what I’ll continue to share and post stuff since you clearly wanna know! And since it’s clearly MY ACCOUNT??!?. Have a good day…….

[thoughtfulangeltidalwave]

You and Me (Part 5)

Dean stood at the end of the Mile, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he watched Y/N sitting quietly in her cell. Her sister’s visit had clearly left a mark on her—there was something lighter in her posture, though her face still carried that haunted look he couldn’t shake. It wasn’t easy to survive on the Mile, not with the weight of death hanging over you like a storm cloud, but she was holding on.  

He saw her reach for the folded sundress Sophie had brought. She handled it gently, like it was made of glass, smoothing out the fabric with trembling hands. For a moment, she just stared at it, her lips moving as if she were saying something to herself.  

Dean felt an ache in his chest watching her. That dress wasn’t just a piece of clothing—it was hope. A reminder of a life that didn’t revolve around cold steel bars and the oppressive march of time.  

She hesitated before stepping toward the bars, clutching the dress to her chest. Dean tensed as he saw her lips part, her voice barely audible. “Could I have a moment? To... change?”  

Percy’s laughter rang out before Dean could respond. The little weasel was standing a few cells down, leaning lazily against the wall. “Privacy? Here? You think this is a five-star hotel or somethin’?”  

Dean’s jaw tightened, and he stepped forward. “Knock it off, Percy,” he said, his voice low but firm.  

Percy grinned, his eyes gleaming with malice. “Why? She’s just gonna die in that dress anyway. What’s the point?”  

Dean’s temper flared. “The point is, she’s still a human being. You don’t have to act like a damn animal every chance you get.”  

Percy straightened, puffing out his chest like a rooster. “I’m just followin’ the rules, Stanton. You got a problem with that?”  

Dean stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Percy could hear. “I got a problem with you makin’ this job harder than it already is. Let her have her dignity, or I’ll make sure Paul knows exactly how you’ve been runnin’ your mouth. You want him breathin’ down your neck?”  

Percy glared at him but didn’t say anything. After a long, tense moment, he threw up his hands. “Fine. Whatever. Let the princess have her little moment.” 

Dean turned back to Y/N and walked to her cell taking the keys to the cell with him. He slide the door open with a clang and ushered for Y/N to follow him. Being out of her cell was always a relief, the air just felt fresher out of it. Both Brutus and Harry were sitting at the front desk, hats of looking more relaxed and less rigid that she’d ever seen them.

Dean motioned to the door of the small washroom, used by the guards on the mile. “Here, you’ll have all the privacy you need,” said Dean as he opened the door. “Take your time. We’ll give you some space.” He motioned to Brutus, who was watching the exchange with a look of quiet approval.

---

Y/N closed the door behind her and clutched the dress to her chest, her heart pounding. Percy’s words still echoed in her ears, sharp and cruel, but Dean’s intervention had silenced them, at least for the moment.

She unfolded the dress, her fingers trembling as she traced the soft fabric. It felt like a piece of another world, one she barely remembered. Sophie had always loved floral prints. This dress—with its white fabric and delicate blue flowers—reminded her of the summers they used to spend together, laughing under the Louisiana sun.  

Slipping out of the drab prison uniform, she pulled the dress over her head, the fabric cool against her skin. It fit perfectly, hugging her body in a way that felt both comforting and foreign. She ran her hands down the skirt, smoothing it out, and for the first time in a while, she felt... herself.  

Her eyes filled with tears as she caught her reflection in the small, cracked mirror above the sink. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her, but for a fleeting moment, she wasn’t the broken person locked away for crimes she didn’t commit. She was Y/N—the woman her children had loved, the woman who still had a right to exist.  

---

Dean heard the soft rustle of fabric and a faint sniffle from the washroom. He exchanged a glance with Brutus, who gave him a small nod before turning to patrol the other end of the Mile while Harry still sat at the desk shuffling through his paperwork.

When Y/N finally stepped out, Dean couldn’t help but stop and stare. The dress transformed her—it wasn’t just the way it fit or how the color brightened her face. It was the way she stood, a quiet dignity replacing the usual slump of her shoulders.  

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.  

Dean nodded, his throat tight. “You look nice,” he said, his tone gentle but sincere.  

Y/N’s lips curved into the faintest smile, and for the first time since she arrived, he saw a spark of life in her eyes. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.  

---

Dean sat in the break room, nursing a cup of coffee as Paul walked in. “You all right?” Paul asked, taking a seat across from him.  

Dean shrugged. “Just thinkin’.”  

Paul gave him a knowing look. “About her?”  

Dean hesitated, then nodded. “She’s got more fight in her than I thought. And I can’t help but wonder... what if we’re wrong about her? What if she really didn’t do it?”  

Paul sighed, leaning back in his chair. “We’re just here to do our jobs, Dean. You start askin’ too many questions, and you’ll lose sight of what you’re supposed to be doin’.”  

Dean didn’t respond, his mind still on Y/N—on the way she looked in that dress, on the way her voice had trembled when she said thank you.  

He couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t like the others. And no matter how much he tried to remind himself of his duty, he couldn’t help but want to protect her.  

[frozenjokes]

Signing Back In, Apparently - 16

Prev/Next

“Do you think Mumbo is okay?” Grian wrung his hands as he broke the silence, unable to keep the peace any longer. He hadn’t been too worried when Mumbo had left, not really. Mumbo-related anxiety spikes were a normal occurrence lately, but there was something about the look on his face from this morning that was really setting Grian off.

Impulse looked up from where he sat, eyes hazy as if he had been woken from a nap. Even still, Impulse was expressive as he thought through Grian’s question, despite the fact this wasn’t the first time Grian had asked it this week. It helped, knowing Impulse took the time to consider him. “You mean, like, in general? Well, no. He and Pearl have been on edge all week, I’m just hoping they can realize how much better it feels to spend time away.”

“Well, I meant a little more today. Like, right now. I don’t know, something was up this morning. I thought maybe when he left he was just taking a second to relax or..” Grian trailed off, fidgeting with his hands. “He’s not back yet.”

“How long has it been?”

“Maybe an hour? I’m not totally sure.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s too unusual. Maybe when he gets back we can check in, or you can talk to him alone if you think that’s better.” Impulse yawned, getting to his feet. Grian felt Impulse’s gaze over him, the other ghost straightening as his focus tightened, “Is Pearl around, or is she still gone as well? She was also looking troubled before she left. Do you think this is different than usual? I’ll be honest, I was a little out of it there,” Impulse gestured sheepishly to the place on the sand he had been sitting, watching the shore. The beach had been the finish line for their flight race earlier today, and it was out of the way of Scar’s usual routine, so they had settled down to relax after. Well, after Mumbo left that is. Impulse’s brow furrowed, clearly struggling to remember. “Maybe we all need to check in.”

Grian bit his lip, beginning to pace. “I don’t know. Honestly, I kind of want to look for him, well-“ he stuttered slightly, embarrassed, “-them, but I don’t want to overstep. Would that be a breach of privacy, do you think?”

Impulse suppressed a small smile, passing Grian a teasing look, “If you just stop by and ask how Mumbo’s doing, I don’t think there is anything wrong with that. The problem is finding him, but I can help you look. We can look for both of them.”

An alarmed yell cut through the air, followed by a deep crash that shook the earth. It sounded almost like an explosion, like the impact of cannon fire. Instincts Grian had thought long gone flared back to life, heightening his senses as he looked for the area of impact, as well as the cause. He found both to the southern tip of the island, terrifyingly close. From the debris of a now crumbling building rose a large silhouette, the clearing dust framing a massive bug-like monster. Its face was round and flat, with massive black eyes and soft looking antennae extending from its forehead. Its head was framed by an ethereal mane, from below six- maybe eight legs extended, not all of which looked like they should belong to the same being. Besides its barbed forearms, it looked a lot like a moth, almost friendly in nature. That is, until a second head hinged open from between the mane with earth shaking roar. The monster flared two sets of wings that surely couldn’t belong to the same type of bug, raising its jagged forearms to the sky.

“Impulse- Impulse! Look!” Grian screeched, only to see Impulse facing the wrong direction with his hands over his ears. With great ferocity, Grian turned him around, pointing vigorously.

“We- where did that come from?!” Impulse patted blindly at Grian as if to ask him to let go, but Grian was having trouble following that commnd as realization started to dawn. The edges of its form were unstable and bright and its color was chalkier, more opaque even, but it was the same as his own.

“Impulse! It’s- it’s a ghost . It’s- that’s-“ Grian gasped, not stopping to consider any more before shooting away, directly toward Mumbo. It had to be.

“A ghost? Ghosts can’t- Grian!” Grian was vaguely aware of Impulse behind him, but his focus was solely on the form ahead. Was Mumbo conscious? Would he recognize him? Grian remembered through spikes of fear lashing out before Pearl had grabbed him, but even in her arms, the world had been so fuzzy, so terrifying. Grian heard Impulse yelling behind him and someone else (a Kestrel, maybe?) screaming, but he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t let this get any worse.

“Mumbo? Is- is this you?” Grian yelled, following the creature in its path. It climbed the rubble, revealing a long body that split and conjoined again as it moved, bright sparks flying through the cracks. Grian called again as he reached its more accessible face. Its eyes were huge and dark, almost kind. Almost sad. This was him, it had to be. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, yearning with every ounce of his being that Mumbo might hear him, “We’re going to get you out of this. We’re going to help you. You don’t have to be afraid.” Grian only realized he was too close when the second face reared up, jaw hanging open to reveal in vicious detail its multiple rows of jagged teeth. Decidedly, much less friendly. Grian barely dove out of the way in time before it snapped forward, only seeing its raised forearm out of the corner of his eye before it started to bore down.

Grian gasped as Impulse barreled into him, the mantis-like leg crashing down like a hammer in a near miss. It slammed into the pavement below, sending cracks splitting through the sidewalk.

Impulse held tight as Grian struggled, “Get it together! This is too dangerous, we have to get away from here and regroup.”

“We have to help him, Impulse!” Grian wailed, clawing at Impulse’s arms with hands that had no real form. He spotted Sausage as he writhed in Impulse’s grip, yelling orders to Kyle and Martyn. “He’s going to get hurt! Impulse, they’re going to hurt him!”

“Grian, I’m going to take us away. We’re going to figure this out, okay? We’ll find Mumbo and Pearl, and figure it out.”

It took Grian seconds too long to figure out what he meant. “You’re not going to- no- Impulse! Let me go! Let-“ But it was too late. The world went white, and they were suddenly somewhere new, somewhere way too far away. It was a restaurant; he and Impulse had appeared on the table, and Scar was sitting directly in front of them. Grian found himself still fighting as Impulse’s grip loosened, his rage producing an animal-like screech as he swiveled around, tackling the other ghost off the table.

“ What have you done? ” Grian’s arms shook, fastened to Impulse’s shirt as they rolled to the ground, “We just abandoned him!”

“Get a hold of yourself! You aren’t doing any good acting like this!” Impulse shoved him away, an anger Grian rarely ever saw coloring his face, “You don’t know that’s Mumbo! You did not look like that- we don’t even know if we’re dealing with the same thing. Sure, you didn’t look like yourself, but you still looked at least humanoid. That thing is the size of a house, and maybe you know better, but it seemed a lot less afraid and a lot more angry to me. I need you to take a few deep breaths before doing anything stupid, okay?”

Grian opened his mouth to protest, but both of them stopped dead when Scar began to speak, “Something must be in the air today, every one of these ghosts are so edgy! In my fantasy where Pearl actually told them to come around for their appreciation message, they just stood there nicely, they did not roll around on our table full of food hissing and spitting like cats. Honestly, I find it rude.” Scar didn’t even look at them, talking like they weren’t there.

“Uh huh,” Grian noticed Cleo for the first time, sitting across from Scar in the small booth and looking amused.

Impulse was up before Grian, leaning over the table, “You talked to Pearl? Where is she? Did you say everyone?”

Scar fixed him with a blank stare, an eyebrow ever so slightly raised above the other. Apparently unbothered, he returned to his rambling. “I mean, seriously, it’s hard to keep your appetite when you’ve got ghosts stomping all over your food,” he said, continuing to eat regardless, “No class, they have no class. Although, in hindsight, given that it was kind of hilarious to watch, I’ll grant them my forgiveness. After all, they almost made it a whole week without bothering me! I’m proud, Cleo, I am.”

“So gracious of you, Scar,” Cleo rolled her eyes with a smile, tone flat. Impulse frowned, hopping back on the table and sitting in the middle to obstruct Scar’s view. Scar didn’t move as Cleo continued, “So, you’re coming back to The Haunted Island with me tomorrow, right?”

“Where is Pearl? And Mumbo, for that matter. Did you talk to both of them?” Impulse leaned forward, trying to disrupt his focus.

“What did you do?” Grian joined in, aggressively pushing into Scar’s booth. He lost his balance, falling through Scar, but at the slight tense of Scar’s shoulders, continued phasing through him on purpose. Impulse put his hands through Scar’s face. Scar just closed his eyes, continuing as if they weren’t there.

“I am not , no. I’m not that crazy, I know what’s going to happen to me. You only want me there to distract Cub anyway, you threw me to the wolves last time! Yeah, I don’t need anyone ripping out my nails or my teeth, no thank you. ”

“Aw, but he said he’d give you new ones!”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

Grian huffed, crossing his arms with a pointed glare in Impulse’s direction, “This is pointless. He basically confirmed he talked to Mumbo and Pearl, and Pearl might be out there alone trying to help without us!” Every moment they spent here was wasted on Scar. Even if given the choice, Scar would only go out of his way to hinder them.

Impulse balled his fists, clearly wanting to argue, but struggling with the words, “I just.. It feels like something bigger is going on. If we had just a little more insight-”

“Whoa,” Cleo’s voice cut through, eyes wide, “You’re bleeding, Scar. Oh shit, you’re kinda- that’s a lot!” Cleo stood up, but Scar only looked confused. Grian blinked rapidly as he saw bright blood begin to stain Scar’s shirt, quickly darkening the light fabric.

“I.. What the hell?” Scar’s brow furrowed, stumbling to his feet as he lifted his shirt, presumably trying not to get blood on the seat. There were two holes in his side, almost like shallow stab wounds, and both were leaking blood. A third appeared out of nowhere, and this time, Scar seemed to feel it, yelping in pain and surprise. “Wh- what’s happening to me? Did- is this you?” Scar turned his frightened gaze to Impulse and Grian. They exchanged looks, Impulse looking just as baffled as Grian felt.

Before either of them could answer, Scott barreled into the restaurant, face pale, “Cleo? Scar? Oh, thank fuck, do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you? Scar, why don’t you ever tell anyone where you’re going! They- the Kestrels- need you!” Scott startled, focusing on Scar for the first time, “Shit, are you okay?”

“I don’t know!” Scar was visibly losing his composure now, crying out as something cut across his legs. A deep horror fell over Grian as he remembered the pain that exploded through his own head as he screamed, as he hurt Scar while trying to escape him. The stabbing through his ears, his eyes, his nose- the blindness, the fear. His tinnitus, a condition a ghost shouldn’t be able to have. He found himself frozen. Stuck. But time didn’t stop around him.

“ What did you do?” Cleo hissed, running forward with concern Scar definitely didn’t deserve. She pressed napkins from the table against his side while Scar, as he always did, made helping infinitely more difficult by squirming.

“Well- I didn’t- okay- I didn’t mean to do anything, in fact, I would argue it wasn’t even my fault really, and I don’t want to be a snitch-” Scar’s eye flicked to Impulse and Grian, a look that was enough to bring Grian back to life. He lunged forward, Scar stumbling back to get away, continuing to backpedal at Cleo’s behest.

“What did you do!” Grian shrieked, his own form rippling. He felt Impulse’s hands on his own, squeezing tight with urgency. Grian didn’t hear his whispered words. He didn’t want to be calm.

Even though Scar couldn’t hear, he got the message loud and clear, “Mumbo asked why,” Scar gritted his teeth in an exaggerated gesture, clearly not wanting to elaborate in front of the other pirates. He didn’t need to. “I’m not going to give any details, but let’s just say he forced my hand, right?” Scar held up one of his arms, his wrist and hand wrapped in a tight bandage. “I told him. He didn’t take it well. Surprise, surprise. But Pearl had it handled! She- well I didn’t stick around, obviously."

“Hey, I don’t mean to interrupt whatever ghost shenanigans are happening, but there’s a literal monster laying waste to the Kestrel Island, and it’s making its way to the main isle, so I’m going to need you , Scar, to go and help fight it, or at the very least, if it’s your doing, deal with it. ”

Scar looked momentarily like a trapped animal as he looked between Grian and Scott, but after a moment of flustered stuttering, he seemed to remember Grian didn’t have much power here and walked directly through him to get away. “Okay, okay, I’m going, but I’d like everyone here to know this was not completely my fault this time. I didn’t provoke him at all! I think. Well, maybe I could have been a bit gentler. No, no, I was gentle. It was like, tender. You wouldn’t understand. Wait, did you say he was laying waste to the island, seriously? He can like, touch stuff?”

“I- yes, Scar, it’s an emergency, so-”

“You’re not exaggerating, are you? Seriously, Mumbo’s tall, but he’s a total sap, surely he hasn’t done that much damage.”

“ It’s leveling buildings, Scar!”

Scar stared blankly, only reacting when another phantom injury appeared, this time near his chest. Mumbo. They were hurting Mumbo. Shocked out of his own anger he began to pull away, stumbling when Impulse didn’t release his hand.

“ Impulse ,” Grian had no more anger left to give, only desperation. Fear. “Please. Please let me go. They’re hurting him, Impulse.”

“Grian, you’re not going to be any help if you work yourself up into the same state. I need you to listen to me for a second. I need you to calm down.” Impulse squeezed his hand. Grian thought he might scream, or cry, or maybe both.

“We don’t have time. Don’t you see? Whatever they’re doing to Mumbo, it’s reflecting on Scar.”

“What? Did- did that happen to you? Are you sure?”

“ Yes. And the damage is permanent, at least whatever happened to my ears- I don’t know! It’s something about the connection; it gets so strong, you even share pain? Who cares how it works! Impulse, if they can hurt Mumbo, they might be able to kill him.”

Impulse stared, taking a painfully long time to let that information sink in. Grian didn’t resist, willing him to understand. Willing him to let go and help. Impulse’s brow furrowed and he spoke slowly, “Scar’s cuts- even the holes- they aren’t serious. Clearly, Mumbo must be doing pretty well for himself, even against possible gunshots. I don’t think it’s him we should be worried about if this connection goes both ways.” Impulse’s voice lifted as he finished, eyes widening. If Grian had a beating heart, it would have stopped in his chest.

“Scar.”