#all teen mothers are VALID

[narutomaki]

get me OUT OF HERE

#this is about fucking. shipping. fucking orochimaru. get out of this polycule all of you shoo!!! go!!!! #STOP HAVING BABIES AND BEING HAPPY AND GOOEY!!!! STOP!!!!!! YOURE RUINING ME!!!!!!!!! #the fucked up little version of Obito ive made tho and his fucked up little niche of functionally immortal reincarnated body sharing #its like ive made him cat nip for Orochimaru. i was JOKING INITIALLY RIGHT??? I WAS LIKE #HAHA OROBITO HAHA HA HA HAAA FUCKING HELP MR #IM IJ HERE NOW LIKE OH YEAH AND GENE SPLICING IS SOMETHING OROCHIMARU HAS EXPERIENCE IN #AND GIVING HIM THIS AS A HEALYHY OUYLET AND MAKING HIM A MOTHER IN ONE FELL SWOOP #Obito has like 15 kids by the time Miho is created so shes not going yo be his heir (his heirs mother was an Uzumaki he hit it off with and #asked to have a kid with young (17) so shes 14 by the time the main series begins) #any way. Kakuzu being like ok you can have a chold under this roof but i will not be responsible in any way for it #and then holding Miho exactly once and going like 'oh i get why mothers die for their babies now' #Kisame takes the longest to warm up to her which surprises him bcus he gets along well with the rest of Obitos children #(Obito is like well. fuck you guys. Uchiha clan in Ame time and offers people contracts like in situations of fertility he adopts the mother #and father into his clan and turkey basters it (okay no he does send them to the hospitla but) and otherwise offers #a home a name etc for agreeing to join as either a civilian clan member or to have a child of his and some of the #second parents are like oh fuck yeah i want a kid but not a relationship/my husband is infertile/whatever and raise the child #as their own with very lityle input from Obito but some Obito has raised / was raising essentially on his own (such as his heir whos mother #didnt want to be in a relationship with Obito but wanted to test out motherhood and found she Could Not Do It and is now #more of an estranged aunt figure but 14 y/o doesnt have much bad blood about it bcus she has The Scariest Step Dad squad and #is 1000% creepy teen girl coded and it gets validated in sooo many capacities. cant do unethical experiments on mice when one of your step #fathers can bring you into the lab and teach you how to actually do the work and deal with an ethics commity that yes we have to #otherwise your father gives us the neutral but disappointed face) #ANY WAY #CAN YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN ?? LET ME THE FUCK OUT!!! LET ME OUY LET ME OUT HELP SOMEONES FFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUC

[sy-on-boy]

Real talk: the fact that Anya expects to read Demetrius’ mind but sees nothing is kind of sad because Demetrius saw his 6yo brother approach and congratulate him, and had zero thoughts in his brain. But that doesn’t mean Demetrius doesn’t care about him. When Damian stutters, Demetrius initiates conversation by talking about Damian’s grades, showing that he indeed pays attention.

Demetrius seems almost resentful by Damian’s insistence to impress Donovan, giving out a snarky, passive aggressive, teen appropriate response: “How would I know? It’s not as if I’m in regular contact with him.” This is like the passive aggressive version of whatever is going on with Melinda. Damian is a relatively innocent 6yo kid seeking his father’s approval, but both his mother and his brother appear to be seriously affected (in a bad way) by Donovan, and they avoid talking about Donovan even as Damian repeatedly mentions him. Demetrius doesn’t understand Damian’s desire for their father’s approval. He also doesn’t understand his father, hinting at some sort of disconnect between them.

What also saddens me a bit is how Demetrius barely acknowledged Damian’s friends talking to him. Like, they’re six year old kids trying to make a good impression. Still, Demetrius didn’t completely ignore them, just gave a meaningless “oh” and decided to stop thinking about people. It’s very much giving “stressed (and depressed) to the point of apathy”. When facing the innocence (ignorance?) and optimism of 6yo kids, Demetrius doesn’t understand. (And maybe he doesn’t understand friendship, which is what Damian has?)

I mentioned before that characters Anya met are probably “good” characters on the side of Forgers or at least are sympathetic to readers. Because if Anya met a “bad” character and read their mind, she would be too OP and the plot could be quickly solved. It’s like how we all thought Melinda was suspicious when she met Yor, but then Anya met Melinda and read her mind to reveal that she cares about Damian (even if it’s in a twisted way). Demetrius is interesting because he subverts what I said above by thinking very little, so Anya cannot really read him. But so far, I think his portrayal is that of a typical middle schooler with middle school angst, and he cares about Damian even if he has zero thoughts on his brain (and doesn’t like the way Damian craves fatherly approval). He is still a child and presumably a victim of his father’s parenting.

The framing is also interesting. Damian telling his friends to go on without him while he waits for Demetrius. The panel of Demetrius towering over a stuttering Damian. Demetrius going away, showing a panel of him as a small figure in an otherwise blank background. That panel when Anya thinks Damian’s relatives are weird has her looking at Damian while he’s some distance away from her (and the rest of his friends). The brothers feel disconnected. Damian is both eager and nervous to talk to Demetrius. Demetrius is nonchalant and apathetic, but not impolite or outwardly wholly dismissive.

Given Damian’s wacky family situation, I’m glad he has friends at Eden. Ewen and Emile of course are steadfast and loyal companions, always eager to back up their beloved boss man. Anya can read his mind and she knows about his insecurities (and also his weird family).

Becky is also good as a friend because she doesn’t care about sucking up to Damian, she often calls him out, but she also supports Damian when he deserves it. A sweet scene here is Damian saying he’s a Desmond so he’s expected to get a star, and Becky adding “it’s still a great achievement. Congrats!”. Becky is validating his success and telling Damian it’s okay to be proud and happy for himself. Even though she’s usually judgemental towards Damian, she’s still kind to him because that’s who she is as a character.

In the end, Damian still wants his father’s attention. He had no idea Demetrius wasn’t that close to their father… I would assume Demetrius spent most of his time at Eden and this is Damian’s first year at Eden, so he actually gets to interact with his brother instead of hearing things about him?

So far, Demetrius seems like a very jaded character in contrast to Damian who feels like a beam of sunshine now. He’s the heir so he’s got more troubles. But it’s nice that he’s finally debuted and no longer in mystery. Can’t wait to see what Endo has in store for him :)

#spy x family #this got so long?? #damian desmond #demetrius desmond #becky blackbell #yeah im tagging them #uh #spy x family spoilers #long post #meta #sxf analysis

[prettyforwoso]

Help Us Understand.

Barca x teen reader

Alexia x teen reader

Lionesses x teen reader

word count: 3500

Summary: y/n, a talented 16-year-old footballer, nicknamed "la princesa," battles the harsh realities of adolescence. Burdened by self-harm scars and body image insecurities, she attempts to hide her struggles from the team. The team uncovers her deepening eating disorder, prompting a collective effort to guide her through recovery.

tw: mention of eating disorders and self harm

Being a teenager in this world is hard. Not only are you working with shitty hormones and breakouts on your face, you also have to put up with the nightmare of other teenagers. Most of them are fine, in fact, what seems to be the worst of it, are the people who are no longer teenagers, and think that’s a valid reason to attack those who are younger and more vulnerable than them. Like you.

You are a lioness, 16, debuting at 15, now playing for Barcelona, a along side your England teammates, Lucy and Keira. You are known as “la princesa.” The nickname came around after your first game for Barca, in which, you scored a Hatrick and pulled a neat assist. the fans linking your talent to Alexia, saying how much you play like her. Quick, rough, strong. You have always been that way.

This nickname sparked a close connection between you and Alexia. She took you under her wing the second you got off the plane in Barcelona. She didn’t like the idea of you living alone in a new country, despite your ability to speak perfect Spanish. So, you lived with her “only for the first few weeks” which has turned into months. Alexia acts like she is trying to help you find an apartment, but isn’t, like secretly loves having you around, seeing so much of her younger self in you. She fusses over you, cares for you, feeds you, scolds you, drives you to school, gets emails from your school. She has stepped into your life and has supported you in every way a mother would.

You have a bad history with self-harm. It was Leah Williamson who noticed it first, well maybe just the first person to speak to you about it, but you don’t know that. You were rooming with her for your first England camp. Nervous about the girls seeing your scars, you were always wearing a long sleeve under your training kit, which at times got hard as it was summer.

A few girls would joke to you, “how are you not boiling?” was the consistent one that just made you want to rip the skin off whoever said it. It was some of the older girls who brought it up with each other at a post-match dinner that you managed to get out of. It was Lucy, Leah, Mary, Beth and Lotte who exchanged their concern, how they never seen your arms, how you were always somehow too busy for ice baths, how you shivered when someone would grab your wrists. They all kept a close eye on you, but decided not to come to any conclusions, as in reality, you were known to be the sunshine and smiles of the squad.

But you weren’t, and deep down, they knew that too.

It all came crashing down one afternoon, when Leah found a bloody rag in the bathroom bin, she investigated further and found your blades in the back of your phone case that you had left on your bed.

She called Beth to your room, who then called lucy, they gathered together in your room, talking about the next steps. The three of them sat in an almost silence, saddened by the conformed truth. They made their plan, not wanting to waste any time.

They found you in the games room, laughing with Ella as you and a group of girls played table tennis.

“y/n, sorry I just need to grab you real quick” Leah said, breaking her observant silence. You were pulled into a room, it all happened so fast. Lucy placing you on her lap, wrapping her arms around you and Beth pulling your phone out of her back pocket. Leah speaking, you didn’t hear any of it, your focus being on Beths hands, taking off your phone case and picking up the tiny metal blades. You just cried and cried as they talked to you, you didn’t say a word, not denying anything. You cried into lucy’s arms as they tried to understand you and your reasoning being the scars. It took some gentle tugging and tears of resistance for your top to be pulled over your head, leaving you in just your bra and pants in Lucys lap as Leah ran a gentle finger across the healed and fresh marks along your arms. Beth moved closer to you, taking your face in her hands, clearly holding back tears of her own.

No one was supposed to know. But when they did, it killed you.

The bad thing about talent is the expectation of performance, and when you underperform, you would be attacked online. The hatred and negativity really got you, and ruined a lot of your confidence and the girls knew that. They knew the comments you would get, about your play, your personality, your body.

The comments about your body were some of the worst, and they didn’t get better when you started at Barca, in fact, they got worse. It was almost like it was all you saw. You would make a post about a game and hardly anyone would speak about how well you played or how many goals you scored. All you would see was the comments about how your body has changed, how you look in the kit, your legs, hips, arms, boobs. It got so bad that you stopped posting all together and turned off all your comments. Soon however, they comments came to the Barcelona Instagram page, and the pages of your teammates. You worked harder that ever. Working out was no longer about training your body to perform and be strong, it became about looking different and making changes to your body physically.

You were running lengths each morning and evening as well as staying back at training. You weren’t fat, or thin, nothing abnormal for a teenager with a changing body. You had bigger boobs than you did 3 months ago, wider hips, thicker thighs, yknow, everything normal, but the fans didn’t think so, and that’s what got the best of you.

Alexia noticed your increase in running and working out but at first brushed it off as you wanting to prove yourself to a new team. But it soon became hard to ignore when you were finding excuses to not eat, the snacks she would buy you because she knew you loved them, sat in the kitchen untouched. She tried to pretend she couldn’t hear you coughing up each meal in the bathroom, more for her own comfort.

It became too much to ignore when others noticed.

“Why are you running so much little one?” Mapi asked you, completely innocently after training one day in the change room.  At first you pretended not to hear, until you realised the whole team was awaiting an answer.

“Do you think I’m just naturally the fastest on the team?” you joke back, getting a laugh from her and a few others. Alexia remains stone face, looking as though she could see right through you.

A few of the girls watched you through squinted eyes as you pull your bag over your shoulder, noticing your spine that wasn’t visible last week. They exchange looks amongst themselves as you and Alexia walk towards her car.

“I got a call from your school yesterday” Alexia says, hiding behind her sunglasses as she pulls out of the car park.

“Why” you ask dry as you pull your phone out of your hoodie pocket. Alexias’s silence was inevitable. You turn your head towards her, awaiting a response. She keeps her eyes on the road, rolling her tongue along her top teeth, looking out at the cars ahead in deep thought.

“Why are you hiding from me bebita?” she breaks her silence, with an almost whisper.

“What are you talking about” you snap back in her direction

“You tell me Pequeña, Why do you think your school called, Se honesta conmigo” her eyes didn’t leave the road.

“No sé” you reply, swallowing the truth that lingers on the tip of your tongue, threatening to reveal itself.

“What is going on with you” Sabes que no deberías actuar de esta manera.” She takes a breath, remaining hidden being her bold sunglasses, refusing to look you in the eye, scared of becoming too vulnerable.

The silence was deafening. Pulling up in the driveway, you reach for the car door, your attempt at defusing the situation quickly rejected as Alexia locks the doors, trapping you in a conversation. You refuse to turn from the window, Alexia now being the one begging for eye contact.

“Bebita, look at me” she whispers. Her failed attempt of a resolution resulting in her hand reaching for your long curls, gently moving your head around to see your face. Her breath hitches as she looks at the tears swelling in your eyes, immediately bringing her thumb to wipe them off your soft skin.

“I hate when you yell at me” you begin, chocking on almost every syllable. “Estoy tratando de ser valiente”

“oh cariño ven” she says desperately as she pulls you effortlessly over the centre console and into her lap, wrapping her arms around you. Your tears just get heavier, as you hide your face into her neck, the idea of getting out of the car, now long forgotten.

“Bebita, your school is worried, you are the top student, why are you not doing work? Hay algo que te distraiga? She gently nudges you in her arms as she askes. “I am worried for you, talk to me”.

You just couldn’t bring yourself too. The truth is, you were too distracted for school, for homework, for study. There was so much on your mind right now. The last thing you were worried about was classes that you already knew all the content for. You were hungry, not eating at all, desperate for control over your changing body.

The next dreaded team bonding night came all too soon. Your tried to convince Alexia you were too busy with school but she wasn’t having a bar of it, almost having to drag you out the door and into the car. Nothing you wanted to do more in that moment than curl up in bed with a teddy and your warm blanket Alexia got you for my room in her house. But it was unavoidable. Alexia was correct in the way of you having to be at the dinner, in her perspective it was to show up and be social, for you personally it was about proving the concerned rumours between the girls that you weren’t eating wrong. However, that didn’t exactly go to plan.

Alexia parks in the driveway of Mapi and Ingrid’s home and you follow her inside. You greet all your teammates, receiving a kiss on the cheek and head pat from most of them and they smile down at you.

Since the conversation in Alexia’s car a few weeks ago, she hasn’t let you out of her sight, you didn’t even get into the not eating stuff, but still has watched your every mouthful over the past few weeks. You still had your tricks, not eating when she wasn’t around, running now three times a day on top of training, and all else. You were deteriorating. Dark bags under your eyes and hallowed cheeks.

“Y/n come get some pizza before you sit” Frido pulls you to the kitchen away from the crowd that was the typical team bonding, this felt like a test.

“Oh no, its okay” you scan your surroundings before following up your statement. “Alexia fed me before we came” you smile, attempting to be casual.

“oh, that’s weird, we always have dinner at team bonding” she raised an eyebrow, questioning what felt like your whole existence. She grabs a slice for herself and tries to offer you some anyways, failing as you kindly decline, insisting you will have some later.

People were scattered everywhere around the home, some sitting around the table playing card games, others vacating outside with a drink. You scan the house looking for place to escape to. All you wanted was to leave the overstimulation that was this monthly event.

You head towards the empty bathroom, the room you spend probably the most time in at other people’s houses. You begin to almost run towards it as you hear your name being called. It was too late; Lucy was stood outside yelling your name through the door of the garden.

“Y/n, come talk to us we miss you” she giggles as she enters the room to get you. You begin the walk of shame towards her. Overthinking what is coming next. Stepping out the door onto the porch your gently grabbed by the back of the neck and brought to a group of women standing around. Their faces light up as they see you. The group consists of Mapi, Lucy, Alexia Frido, Jenni and Ona, all sharing a bottle of wine.

“Y/n, you want a drink?” Ona asks, you aren’t sure if she’s joking or not.

“No Ona, she is a child” Jenni interferes and takes the drink Ona is pouring, handing it to Lucy, who puts it down with ease. You crack a smile at the interaction. They think you are so innocent…

“You’re not old enough for a drink yet Bebita, especially on an empty stomach” Alexia jokes with a smile.

“empty stomach?” Frido butts in, tilting her head in confusion at the contradicting information.

fuck.

You let out a load cough to clear your voice before quickly excusing yourself from the conversation. “I need to pee” you announce before hurrying inside, finding Ingrid at the table, playing cards with a few others.

The group, now abandoned by you stand in a deafening silence.

“She’s not eating is she?” Frido breaks, looking at Alexia with wide eyes.

“Shes not doing good, no” Their captain reply’s looking down at the glass in her hand.

“So we were right” Mapi says through squinted eyes as she tightened her grip on the stem of her wine glass.

Most of the team has been talking for a few weeks now. Lucy briefly filled them in about your history with Self harm and how you were managing it now. But the not showing up to meal times and doing overtime in the gym was something she couldn’t explain. However, they soon linked it to the bullying from people online about your body. It became to much for them all when Alexia broke down in front of them, claiming her worry for you. It was clear there was a bigger picture to what you were letting them see, seeing as their usually stone faced, strong captain had tears in her eyes over you.

Your rapid weight loss didn’t go unnoticed, even coaching staff beginning to threaten benching you if you didn’t gain some weight, claiming you were too weak to continue at full trainings and games. You always just told them you were sick, claiming it as an excuse for the weight loss and loss of appetite.

At first, everyone, including team members believed you, until they noticed you weren’t getting better, like you would if you were really sick with a catchable illness.

“So what are we going to do? because we cant loose her, shes our best” Lucy asks, getting more frantic as the sentence rolls out her mouth.

“I’ve tried talking to her, she just lies, tells me shes fine, ella me ignorará” Alexia says, finally looking up from her half full glass, meeting the eyes of her teammates.

“I know she needs me, but she won’t talk to me, she is sneaking into my bed each night for comfort, I wrap my arms around her when she falls alseep, ella tiene miedo de estar sola, shes been clinging to us, as if she is desprate for help, but doesn’t know how to ask. She won’t leave my side, unless there is food involved. luego ella desaparece” Alexia blurted out, speaking slow and clear, explaining herself.

“Maybe if we all try” Ona breaks her personal silence, earning a raised brow from a few listeners, the nodding heads soon followed.

“Bebita, can I come in” You hear Alexias voice beam through the small gap in the doorframe.

“A few of us are here too see you” you tilt your head in confusion at her followup statement, why are people here to see you, so late in the evening. You thought everyone would have returned home after team bonding, as did you and Alexia, why was there people outside your bedroom door?

You sit up in your bed, still tucked under the covers in your hoodie (that may of may not be Alexias) and shorts, clinging to your Stitch teddy. You close your laptop playing your movie and move it down the bed, finally giving Alexia a response.

“ehh, yeah come in” you say, unsure on what you are agreeing too.

You remain put under the safety of your covers, as if they would protect you from danger as the group of women enter your once personal space, finding refusge in spots around your room, most of them making themselves at home on your bed, espechailly Alexia, who comes up close to you and wraps and arm around your shoulders. Lucy, Ingrid, Mapi, Frido and Ona looked at you, as if they were waiting for you to break the artifical silence.

“Querida estamos aquí para hablar contigo” Ingrid is the first to speak up, beofre Mapi adds to her girlfrinds statement.

“I think you know what about” she fidgests with her rings. “we are just trying to understand”

“so help us do that, please sweetheart” Frido interupts.

You shake your head and close your eyes, as if you could open them and it would all go away. “I don’t know what your talking about”

“I have lectured you enough about your lying bebita” Alexia says in a stern voice.

The silence isn’t going away. You were in full control of it, and you knew that. You knew that they were waiting for you to talk, no one was going to make it easy for you.

”Desearía poder hacer que todo desaparezca” you shut your eyes once again as the tears start to spill out the creases. “I just want to be able to control what is changing”

The girls don’t speak, they are waiting for more, and they won’t break untill they are statified.

“I don’t know how to ask for help, or how to be okay” The tears get heavier as you push out the words, Alexia runs her free hand along your face, nudging you to keep going. You put in your best efforts to regain your breathing as your lip quivers in Alexia’s hand. Still no one was talking.

“I never meant for it to get this bad, I just wanted to get some control, I feel like there is so much online about me, rumors, hate, negitivity, all things I cant just reach out and get my hands on, to be able to toy with it and mold it to the way I want it. There is so little I can control, but my body, I can. No queria llegar tan lejos. Im so scared of losing myself, I want to hold onto the me that I am forever but I know I can’t, but I wanted to try, and that is why I yearn for whatever control I can get. So many ideas are put into my head about what my body should look like, how tall I should be, how much I should weigh, how tan I should be, how I should hold myself. I realised I am so calm and content when I play football, and that is because I am perfect at it, no one finds flaws in the way I play, but I second I step off the pitch I loose that warm feeling, because I have flaws again. When football is out of the picture, I am covered in them. I just wanted living to feel the same as playing, perfect and flawless.

The amont of tears in the room should safe a deadly drought.

“nuestra niña hermosa, estamos aquí” Ingrid climbs onto the bed coming closer to you, followed by the remaining womens in the room, all finding a spot, as close to you as they could get. So many arms are wrapped around you, so many hands holding your face, wiping your cold tears away.

“Let us help you darling” Lucy and Ona say in an unmost unison.

You slowly allow yourself to nod.

The following weeks were slow and painful, but what isn’t in recovery? The girls put it upon themselves to keep you in check, taking turns taking you out on small adventures, like going for walks or getting icecream to get you out of the house as you were ruled out of training and playing for a few weeks by your phycologist, that Alexia and Lucy insisted that you saw, they drove you to each appointment and picked you up, no questions asked. Meal time in the house became a big thing, Alexia discarding the idea of sitting around the table and eating, instead opting for sitting wherever, weather that was outside, or in, watching a movie, or just chatting. This change of environment around meals made eating less of a chore, as you got better, teammates would come over for dinner and it became more a social event, a more relaxing endeavor. You slowly made your way back to training as you got your fitness back, earning pats on the back from your team who you had made, very proud.

#wsl #woso #lucy bronze #ona batlle #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #lucy bronze x reader #barca femeni #barca #barcelona femeni #barcelona x reader #lucybronze #lionesses #teen reader #eating disoder trigger warning #mental health #fluff #fanfic

[thesunfyre4446]

Catelyn raised five children & they ALL turned out to be good people. She was an infinitely better parent than Alicent ever was, there’s just no comparison.

Meanwhile, Alicent gave her sons every possible social and political advantage growing up, but never bothered to discipline them in any way or teach them how to lead effectively, with the result that Aegon II and Aemond grew into, respectively, a lazy, incompetent, unlikable, and gluttonous sex pest and a psychotically violent and bloodthirsty mass murderer who murdered his nephew the first chance he got, destroying any chance of a peace treaty between the two warring factions and leading the Blacks to (rightfully) retaliate in similar fashion. Aemond slaughtered the entirety of House Strong (including the children) under the mere suspicion of one of them being a traitor, nearly strangled a squire who brought him news that displeased him, and used Vhagar to reduce the Riverlands to smoking piles of ash. Her father, brothers, daughter, two other sons, and grandsons were all killed, but Aegon II survived, fed Rhaenyra to his dragon, and claimed the Iron Throne... and he proceeded to accomplish absolutely nothing and would rule for less than a year before he was fatally poisoned by his own supporters (after he decided to go along with HER suggestion to mutilate the young Aegon III, rather than stand down in the face of an enemy army he had no hope of defeating), making the death of every single Hightower for naught. In the end, Alicent did everything in her power to make her son a king, but it meant nothing because she didn’t raise him to be a man worthy of a crown.

gurl. GURL

alicent is only similar to cate because they're both highborn women fighting for the rights of their children relying mostly on their wits. you've just sent the same long detailed ask about how much you hate alicent. we get it, you hate alicent, aegon and aemond. do you need me to validate your feelings? what is this ask even for?

and how can you compare alicent to cate? cate had a loving and supporting husband, who respected her and loved the children they had together. alicent was married off to a sick middle aged king when she was 14, and was forced to have his children without anyone to support & guide her. viserys was a horrible father, and had a major role in making aegon and aemond turn out as they did. he ignored them, neglected them, he forced unwanted s*x on their mother. ned loved his children, respected his wife, his family was everything to him. his children idolized him. the stark kids grew up with parents that loved and respected each other, the targtowers grew up with a stressed out teen mom and a neglectful father that had no love or respect for his wife.

i hate it when people fail to acknowledge viserys's neglect of his sons and how it affected them and blame everything on alicent - who was a child herself when she gave birth to them.

#house of the dragon #hotd #pro alicent hightower #alicent hightower #alicent my love #asoaif #team green #pro team green #anti viserys targaryen #aegon ii #aemond targaryen

[kakiastro]

Chiron: Past/Early life wounds that need Healing

Hey y’all! Today I’m going to discuss how you can start your healing journey by doing shadow work with your Chiron placement and house.

Shadow work is just a new age term meaning working on healing your traumas and starting your inner growth journey. We’ll always have shadow work because we’re constantly growing and changing into hopefully the best versions of ourselves.

Chiron can be a really great way to start this journey. Why? Chiron in astrology represents the wounded healer. Which means this is the area that we were hurt the most in past lives and in this lifetime during our early stages (childhood, early teen) years. Chiron is our greatest lesson. And through our healing journey, we can help others on there’s too.

To understand your Chiron; look at the description for your sign + house + degree sign. Break it down and start your healing journey.

Example: Chiron Taurus 9h 7°(libra degree)

Aries/1h

- in past lives, who you are as a person might’ve gotten wounded, demonized or shut down. This gives me wounded warrior energy. You’re a fighter and you may have lost some battles. In this life, people still put you down. You may have been seen as “too much.” To start this healing journey, ask yourself “who am I really?” Make sure this is who you are and not what you been told what to be.

Taurus/2h

-in past lives, your self worth, morals and values were wounded someway. You may have had money issues. In this life, this may have continued. Also people might of been mean to about your looks, may have issue with money and spending or you hoard money because you’re afraid you won’t make enough. Taurus rules the throat so you’re probably self conscious about your voice. To start healing this wound, tell yourself “ I am worthy and abundant.” Release this fear that you’re not worthy of owning nice things. You’re beautiful, and enough. Start listening to upbeat music to make you feel good about yourself.

Gemini/ 3h

-past lives, people didn’t listen to what you had to say. They didn’t understand where you were coming from so they told you to stop talking. This caused a deep wound. In this life, you might’ve been the child “talk too much.” Thus you were told to be quiet. You may struggle with collecting and speaking your thoughts due to the fear of being judged. To start your healing journey, start journaling. Write down your thoughts and feelings. start sharing your opinions, even if it’s small like discussing your favorite show.

Cancer/4h

-this is known as the mother wound. You may have been one of your ancestors in your past lives. You may have been hurt emotionally, they were never validated. You may never had that safe home space. In this life, you are the generational breaker in your family. How you feel is important but no one (especially family)ever made you feel safe. To your healing journey is really a special because your healing your bloodline. Finding or creating family/home that you can call your own. You have to get use to being the black sheep of your family. They don’t understand because they are carrying that trauma for several generations and here you are breaking that trauma. It’s like letting a toddler sit in front of the tv all day. When you shut it off to encourage playing outside, the toddler throws a hissy fit but you know it’s beneficial for them in the long run.

Leo/5h

-you were a star that shined bright but others didn’t like that and diminished your light from the world. The way you expressed your creative self was shunned. This can indicate having problems with children, maybe you didn’t like being around them or couldn’t have any of your own. In this life, you may have struggled as a child. Other kids didn’t get you. You struggled being openly creative. You may struggle with having the light on you. Well I’m here to tell you that the world needs your creative spirit. The way you express yourself help heal others. Start accepting compliments gracefully without acting weird about it. Surround yourself around children. they will bring out that fun inner child and you’ll learn to have fun.

Virgo/6h

-you’re re a healer and your healing abilities have been looked down upon. This is also a mental wound. You may have judged and may have had people be really critical of you. In this life, you may have developed perfectionist tendencies. You may work work and experience horrible burnout. You may have problems with co-workers. To start this journey, I just want to say that you don’t need to overextend your body to prove yourself. You’re perfect and the way you heal others is beautiful to see.

Libra/7h

-people have abused your kindness for weakness. You may have been the type who didn’t confront people who were in power and tried to keep the peace. You may have had problems with marriage partners or business associates. In this life, you may have developed people pleasing tendencies, scared to get into new relationships due to past life situations. To help you understand how to heal this, I need you all to realize that it’s okay to disagree with people outwardly. You guys are so scared of confrontation that you don’t tell ppl how you really feeling and this is causing inner resentment. You may also with some Co-dependency tendencies that you need to work through.

Scorpio/8h

TW: SA

-people have betrayed your trust in past lives. You may have suffered from sexual abuse, or your sexuality was demonized by society. You may have been involved with the occult and punished for it. In this life, you may suffer from intimacy from people especially lovers. You may have a hard time really trusting people and opening up. I think this is one of the most painful Chiron placements because Scorpio is that deep inner wound. To start this healing journey, you need to understand that the world is not out to get you. You guys block so many of your blessings due to the fear of being hurt and betrayed. Be cautious of people but don’t push them out. Work on your intimacy, let your partner hold you hand and kiss you in public without feeling bad about it

Sagittarius/9h

-your ideals were not supported by people your past lives. You may have had problems with religious people. You may have had a different philosophy from others. In this life, I’ve seen it manifest in 2 major ways. You push your ideologies on people and not listen to theirs due to past lives of being rejected or you don’t share them at all. You may have a fear of traveling abroad because change scares you. If you want to start combating this then embrace all the changes. Share you ideologies and philosophies but please listen to others because it will expand your worldview on life. Embrace new cultures and let them inspire you.

Capricorn/10h

-just like how cancer is the mother wound, Capricorn is the father wound. You may have been an ancestor on your father side in a past life. You may have struggled in your career. You may have had bosses who were severely unkind to you. This could have damaged your public image. In this life, you may have problems with authority or you don’t like working for people. There’s a father wound that you need to heal. You are the generational trauma breaker for your father side. you may have abandonment issues. Standing up for yourself against your bosses will help with the start of your healing journey. Start being okay with realizing that not everyone is meant to be in your life long term. It has nothing to do with you either.

Aquarius/11h

-y’all were some rebels in your past lives. You were the ones who went against the norms of society. This caused you to be shunned by society and alone. This caused a deep wound because you wanted that community feeling. In this life, this has caused you to be severely antisocial. You may have been seen as the weirdo growing up and shunned. Here’s the the thing, you are a weirdo but you need to embrace this about yourself. The day you wake up and realize that life too short to care what “society thinks of you” is when you will start to really heal. Dye your hair different colors, buy that stuff animal, do that silly dance in the rain. In the words of Beyoncé “UNIQUE!” You’re and alien superstar

Pisces /12h

-this one’s tricky, your spirituality were demonized. You may have been sent to the psych ward in past lives. You have gifts that were not acknowledged or praised. This caused a deep rift between you and the divine. In this life, you may struggle spiritually on where to go. You may have used unhealthy substances to help you cope. You guys are really the biggest healers because you are connected to the divine. One of the best ways for you all to heal is listening to frequency music, go out in nature. Boundaries are a big one for you guys. Don’t let people gas light you, your intuition is never wrong. Meditate and remember who you are.

Thank you for reading

#astrology community #astrology #knowledge #love astrology #advanced astrology #chiron #astro observations

[readychilledwine]

Wingspans and Whiskey

💙 Happy @azrielappreciationweek 💙

Day one prompt - The Family You Make

Summary - Azriel may have been late for bonding night with Rhysand and Cassian, but he has a very valid reason for it.

Warnings - mentions of alcohol use, batboys gossiping, and wingspans 😉

A/n - This drabble is based on a headcannon I have that Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel are busy body gossips. I don't know why, but nothing can stop me from thinking the three of them would hide in Rhysand's mother's cabin whispering about the other Illyrian Males, females, and the latest camp gossips.

Rhys and Cassian looked out the hallway and walk out patio one more time before sitting on the couch in Rhysand's cigar room with sad sighs.

Azriel never missed their weekly Whiskey meetings. It was a tradition the 3 of them had held since they were old enough to understand what alcohol was and sneak it away from unsuspecting Illyrians as teens. Even when Rhysand was gone, Azriel and Cassian still gathered in that room that faintly smelled of aged liquors, pipe tobacco, cigars, and mirthroot. 

It had become sacred to them, and even more so now that they were all mated, living in their own houses, and time together had become less and less as faelings became involved. 

"Rhys!" They both perked up, hearing him bound down the stairs before predictably leaping the last 4 steps. "Cass!"  Azriel was so excited for the gossip he was bringing that he accidentally ran past the intended room. He skidded to a halt before walking backward and peeked into the room with a shit eating grin. 

Cassian's own smile grew, his arms going up in celebration as Azriel tried, and failed, to calmly enter the room and shut the door behind him. 

Rhys was instantly perked up, pouring Azriel a glass of whiskey. "What gossip do you bring us this week, brother?"

Azriel took the glass, smiling so hard that his dimples began to show. "I was spying on Gwyn-"

"Of course you were," his brothers said at the same time, causing him to pause before blushing. 

"Fuck off. Anyways. I overheard her, Nesta, and Feyre talking in the library," he held up a piece of paper. "They measured our wingspans while we slept one night."

Cassian and Rhysand's faces dropped. They looked at each other before instantly reaching to grab the paper Azriel was holding. Cassian managed to grab it, his face falling further as he read it before handing it to Rhys. 

The High Lord shrugged. "My mate glows after I fuck her. I don't need the largest wingspan."

Cassian glared at Azriel. "Asshole. How do we know these aren't fake?"

"It's literally your mate's handwriting! Then Gwyn's. Then Feyre's!" Azriel stared at Cassian like he had grown to heads. "Nesta was also quite annoyed by the results."

"Because they're false."

Rhys looked at Cassian with an exasperated sigh, "Are you serious? Azriel has the largest wings, Cass. We've known this for years." 

Cassia glared towards the High Lord, then Azriel. "I want a remeasure.."

"I'm not doing this with you tonight," Azriel finally sat, "Let me tell you about the latest Autumn Court gossip."

#acotar #azriel acotar #azriel #azrielappreciationweek #azriel shadowsinger #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar #feysand #cassian acotar #nessian #gwynriel

[dyemelikeasunset]

I can't sleep so I'm venting. for the most part i love my d&m readers, but oml sometimes i get qpoc blues so bad 😭😭

It's just liiiike. ppl either don't talk about Mor or completely misinterpret her personality. Like I can always tell if my readers are black or not because nonblack readers no NOT see Mor's significance, or just miss the mark when they talk about her, or they misread her personality. Like I don't understand what's so hard to understand about a cute and thoughtful artist??

AND LIKE LMAO Dom's sexuality gets brought up all the time but no one talks about Mor being a lesbian and how rare that is to find in media 😭 white lesbians are always talking about "we need more open lesbians in media!! ppl shouldn't be afraid to use the word lesbian!! blah blah" and i'm like "here you go!!" and no one claps at all lmao. Like I get it, i know why it happens, i understand racial microaggressions, i know how fandom spaces treat Black women, I UNDERSTAND BUT I CAN STILL BE UPSET. I have the right to be upset about it!!! 💀💀 And I know fem lesbians get ignored all the time, invalidated all the time, but it just sucks to see it happen to my character. I just feel like her being lesbian doesn't clock a lot of people, and I get asked to do more thirst trap art of Mor and I do want to but i'm also trying to be careful about like. Idk reducing a dark skinned fem lesbian to being validated only thru being sexy? LMAO.... Mor should be able to be attractive and lovable without tons and tons of thirst trap art (and it's not like I don't do it at all!! I'm not trying to be overprotective or deny her sexiness but I guess it's considered not enough?? give me a break)

And mannnn I was so mad actually that several comments voiced thoughts that essentially said Mor didn't "help" or "take care" of Dom enough, and that when Dom was finally opening up to her it was "Morgan finally doing something" LIKE HELLO??? HELLO??? It's DOM'S flaw that she can't open up? And Morgan does a lot??? I know immature ppl do not appreciate more soft and domestic/feminine forms of care bc they're used to taking their mothers for granted lmao but wooow I was taken aback. First of all, like, I try to show that Mor is the main cook, works just as much as Dom (let's go double income household), is always checking in on Dom's comfort as she navigates being queer, and is overall a very considerate girlfriend. AND SECOND OF ALL LMAO like even if she didn't do all that she doesn't need to have relationship currency to have a doting girlfriend, like the fucking trope of black women needing to suffer for love is so terrible I'VE HAD ENOUGH AND i"M NOT EVEN BLACK. Like there is NOTHING WRONG with their typical dynamic and I'm sick of people acting like there is. SOMEONE SAID DOM WAS LIKE A COMFORT PILLOW W NO AGENCY AND i"M LIKE WTFDYM???? She has TONS of agency and her sense of agency says she wants to LOVE AND DOTE ON HER PARTNER LIKE LMAO. WHAT?? Why is that hard to understand??? Is it because I made one (1) joke bout Mor being a pillow princess and the anti-princess squad are grinding their teeth in the bushes seething over it? Ppl are so twisted sometimes oh my goddddd. Like as an ace who was very confused navigating the lesbian dating scene as a teen and young adult I WISH i had met a pillow princess. Sometimes ppl don't realize that stone dynamics are very safe for aces!! Dom literally says she prefers it!! It's not Mor being selfish like lord please GOD ALLAH I'M TIRED I'M SO TIRED

and like on the topic of Domi overall she is more "popular" but sometimes I feel like people don't even really take the time to appreciate the significance about her either. She's not just a funny thirst trap 😭 and I feel like ppl dont acknowledge that she's asian half the time. I have so many white aces who only zone in on that aspect of her and it's like YEAH I GET IT, I'm ace and we don't have a lot of nuanced rep but she's also got more layers than that too. Tons of people related to her in the chapters where she talks about her childhood abuse yet very few people really, like, talked about the type of generational trauma that is very deeply embedded in her different cultures, no one saw that and oooof idk idk it felt inivisible. It's sometimes harder to talk about the racist microaggressions that Domi experiences thru my readers bc ppl will argue "well most webtoon leads are asian" but not many of them are asian in a way that like. talk about it. I'm born in the US so my experiences with being othered as an asian is just gonna be different and it's gonna affect my art and writing but it feels so unappreciated. I've had some queer asians relate to her but i can count them on my hand 💀 (I actually think it's two LMAO i"M SO SAD)

And going back to Dom and the comfort pillow w no agency comment lmao. This is another thing that rubs me the wrong way is once again, people are ignorant to the ways asians get pigeon-holed to media roles that have us being depicted as incapable. Maybe I want Dom to be more of a protector archetype bc I'm tired of meek Asian women in media? 🤔 Maybe I want Dom to be a prince-like character because asians get emasculated a lot?? 🤔🤔 Maybe I want Domi to maintain her prince persona instead of being "'physically' androgynous/masculine but really soft and girly on the inside uwuwu please treat me like a 'real' girl" because even in east asian media we won't allow women to exhibit strength and dependability??? 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔 Like why is a tough girl empowering but once we have a gentle and doting personality in a romance it's considered cliche and the flaw of her partner for being "too weak." MAYBE THEIR PRINCE/PRINCESS DYNAMIC COMPLIMENT EACH OTHER??? HAVE YOU CONSIDERED? I WROTE THEM THAT WAY FOR A REASON??

Good lord this turned into an essay but I have so many things on my mind always

if you read this all. Thanks. I mainly needed to scream into a towel and put this down somewhere bc I complain about these issues to my discord and they understand/validate me all the time, but I wanna give them a break 😭 I also lowkey wanna document my various feelings as I work through Dom & Mor so I can remember and also grow from it

#text heavy / #long post / #i am full of gratitude but also anger

[captain-hen]

one thing i've always thought—and i'm glad the show finally addressed it—is that eddie's tendency to put shannon up on a pedestal, especially after her death, isn't really beneficial for chris, and i think this episode showed us a little of that. because it was all well and good when chris was still really young and grieving his mother; but now he's a pre-teen and he's getting into relationships and he knows more about the world and he's obviously gonna look back at what happened and feel conflicted about the way shannon left—resentful, even. and there's no way he'd feel comfortable expressing those very valid feelings if he thought eddie wouldn't be happy with him for doing so. idk. i think it's important for chris to acknowledge that his mother messed up and was fallible, and to feel anger over it; rather than just trying looking back on everything through rose-colored lens, because anything aside from the nuanced truth just does a disservice to chris, eddie and shannon.

#neethu watches 911 #911 spoilers

[jacarandaaaas]

mirabels birthday so here’s some headcanons !!!🦋💘

- she zones out a LOT! whatever she’s working on/ thinking about takes priority in her mind so she accidentally gets so invested she could forget someone’s talking to her! (this doesn’t help in school)

- She’s a try hard on everything! probably stems from her giftless status but she gets frustrated if she can’t be up to standards! she ends up exhausting herself or burning out because she overworks herself!

- social butterfly! she’s a people person and loves talking to both the adults and the kids! she loves validation from the adults and being a role model to the kids!

- never stops talking😭 mirabels a professional yapper🙏 DONT ever ask her to explain what she’s working on because she will not shut up ever!!!

- carries around a sketchbook with her and goes to different parts of the encanto for inspiration! she might just doodle a motif or theme but it’s always something! she uses it later in her projects

- stealing @spooky-spextre-arts hc here but I love this one sm!! after Antonio’s plushie he tells the other kids and she makes a load of plushies for everyone!!

- she painted the mural in family madrigal! I think alma is aware mirabels artsy and would have asked her to do it! since it’s special commission that’s why the husbands are absent! mirabel was just so excited to be asked! Also it fits her art style

- she makes clothes! She designs them AND makes them!!

- she has friends! she’s incredibly social and I refuse to believe there’s only 2 teens in the encanto

- she likes cooking with julieta! even if she’s not the best at it she just appreciates the time with her mother!

- she helps Luisa discover her own style! since Luisa’s outfit is for work mirabel makes her other outfits to wear on her days off

- when she gets a crush she’s super annoying about it! Love language is acts of service!

- makes fun of camilo for being cringe (she is also cringe)

- Antonio is her fave cousin (this ones basically canon)

- a home bird!! she can’t ever picture herself leaving the encanto and this causes some friction between her and isa because isa does leave at some point!

- vents to casita about anything and everything (they are best friends)

- still struggles with opening up to people post movie. she’s not user to all the attention on her and gets overwhelmed often (she would never admit it)

- hates her birthdays (this one’s sad ik) but not only is it the anniversary of her ceremony but the day bruno left and in her mind the beginning of the cracks! she’s getting better but it’s still hard! (Her family spoil her for this exact reason)

- when she’s not playing music in the town she often plays with Felix and Dolores!

#encanto #encanto disney #disneys encanto #mirabel madrigal #mirabel encanto #disney’s encanto #encanto headcanons #encanto hcs #mirabel headcanons #mirabel birthday #I probably have more but I’m blanking #happy bday mirabel #my encanto headcanons

[hretoprvdthepltnx]

would you please write an ineffable husbands fic where they cook together (at Azeriphale's request of course)? It can regard or disregard season 2. Just please make it fluffy and cute

3 O'clock Breakfast

Ineffable Husbands x daughter-son!reader

Summary: Y/n stayed up late to finish the novel they were reading, and it ended sadder than they expected. Seeking out comfort in their Mother-Father, Aziraphale - a fellow book enthusiast, they didn't except him to insist upon a family Smile, Love breakfast at 3am. Their other parent isn't entirely pleased.

Content: hurt/comfort, reader is written as a teenager (can be older or younger but a teen nonetheless), tears over fiction are valid tears, Aziraphale is a sweetheart, Crowley is sour about having to get out of bed, the reader is Crowley and Aziraphale's biological child - don't ask me how that works, just sweet things with an ethereal family,

Rating: 14+ || 1.5k+ words

Their eyes burned with exhaustion and the salt of tears. Five minutes ago, they could barely stay awake - but it was only a couple more pages and they couldn't stop there, not with what was happening in the story. Now the book sat, upside down and offending, on the nightstand by their bed. The tears wouldn't stop, it was a numb sort of cry. They should have seen this coming. Everything was leading up to it they had just hoped...but no. They wanted their parents - someone they could rant to who would share in their grieving. They wanted Aziraphale. He was the one who recommended the stupid book to begin with. But they weren't mad, not really, just grieving and tired.

Sliding out of bed, they made the trek from their room to their parents' down the hall. They paused at the door to wipe their eyes and clear their airway with a sniffle, then gently pushed it open. "Are you guys awake?" They asked, feeling fresh tears block up in their throat at being so close to their parents. Why did it have to work that way? One second you think you've got yourself under control and then your parent speaks or shows up and suddenly you're crying again. The bedside lamp switched on and Aziraphale sat up, Crowley grumbling unintelligibly and rubbing at his slitted yellow eyes. "Darling? Is everything alright?"

They made their way to his side of the bed and Aziraphale opened his arms to welcome them into his freely offered comfort. Their tears were now back in full, and they wrapped themself around the softness of their Mother-Father with the need to be held. Crowley sat up and exchanged a look with his husband. "Love, are you alright?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep. "I-I fin-finished it." They sobbed into the collar of Aziraphale's shirt, and he made a sound of understanding, nodding. "The novel I lent you? Did you enjoy it? I do believe the ending was quite sad, I was rather dewy eyed over it as well."

"Wait, all this is about a book?" Aziraphale shot Crowley a look of warning. "I do believe it is. A rather emotional story, wasn't it love?" Their child mumbled something in to Aziraphale's shirt that might have been 'yes' or perhaps 'fuck you'. Crowley couldn't believe he'd been pulled out of what might have been a dream, or perhaps a memory, either way it involved Freddie Mercury, just for this. Why would anyone ever want to read if this was the result? "Do you want to sleep with us tonight, darling?" Crowley asked, flopping back down with his head on his pillow. He looked at the clock, the red lettering projected an offensive 3:07AM.

Y/n sat up and wiped their eyes, then laid their head back down on Aziraphale's shoulder, looking out. He rubbed their back soothingly, always so empathetic. "I don't think I can sleep right now." Aziraphale hummed, an upturned chipper to roll the sound from his throat. "Well," he said, a breathless excitement and loving smile that cast one identically on to the tear puffed face of his child. His little world right there, teary eyed and oh-so lovable, in his warm and inviting lap. "Why don't we go downstairs, and I make us a pot of tea? Perhaps some breakfast?" Crowley groaned and threw his arms up over his face in exhausted exasperation - both husband and his child ignored him. "Can we make pancakes? With toppings?"

Aziraphale smiled. "Why, of course! Anything you'd like! And we can all make it together!" Crowley sat up, glaring. "Woah, hold on. All of us? I never said anything about breakfast, I don't even like breakfast." Aziraphale guided y/n to stand up and then he followed suit, standing at the base of his side of the bed and glaring back at his husband while their child waited in the doorway, amused. "Well, Crowley, not everything is about you. Our child wants pancakes, now get up and come help us make them." Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a long look, each silently daring the other to act against them. Finally, Aziraphale grabbed the bottom of the duvet and yanked it off the bed, sending pillows and sheets flying to the floor. Crowley yelled out in protest; y/n stood laughing in the doorway. He glared at them; they glared back playfully.

Aziraphale wacked Crowley gently on the foot. "Up." He demanded with an accusatory pointing of fingers. Crowley groaned in the most dramatic fashion and threw his legs over the side of the bed to stand up, cursing Aziraphale under his breath all the while. His husband and child didn't wait for him as they headed down the stairs to the kitchen. "So, what will it be? Chai? Chamomile? Earl Grey?" Y/n took a seat at the bar while Aziraphale hunted for the kettle. "Which ones do we still have?"

"Umm, let's see," Aziraphale set the kettle down on stove and searched the pantry for tea bags. "I can only find Chamomile. Will that be alright, my love? Would you prefer I made us some hot cocoa?" He waved the box of chocolate powder in the air, and y/n found themself fantasizing about tiny marshmallows. "Let's do hot cocoa." Aziraphale beamed and practically skipped his way back to the kettle. "I was hoping you'd pick that one." It was then that Crowley decided to make an appearance, now fully dressed. "Dad," they said, and he stopped in the middle of the walkway, looking at them with a raised brow. "We are planning to go to bed after this, you do know that, right?"

Crowley walked over to his kid, swaying in the way that Aziraphale and y/n often teased him for, and placed a kiss to the top of their head. "You might be, but I'm not." They looked at him with furrowed brows and confusion so obvious he could practically hear their question in his head. It was like looking into a mirror sometimes, looking at his kid - only they were every bit the angel their Mother-Father was. It was a shame, a damn shame. "Awe, it's too late for that now, sugar. I'm already awake." The clinking of mugs brought their attention back to Aziraphale, and Crowley took the seat next to y/n. "Ah, here we are!" the angel announced, setting two steaming mugs down in front of his little family. Y/n beamed at the little marshmallows sloshing against the walls of the cup, yellow eyes gleaming with delight.

Aziraphale retrieved his mug and lifted it for a toast, Crowley and y/n followed suit. "To the fascination that is human literature." Y/n echoed his toast and Crowley mumbled something about ridiculousness, they all took a sip of their cocoa, hissing as it burnt each of their tongues. "Perhaps we should have waited." Aziraphale commented, making a face at y/n who laughed and agreed. "Perhaps we should have all stayed in bed while we still had the chance."

"Yes, maybe we should have left you there," y/n teased, exchanging slitted glares with their parent. "But then you would have missed the pancakes." Crowley leaned back in his seat and rolled his eyes. "I don't even like pancakes." Aziraphale had started grabbing ingredients out of the pantry, y/n and Crowley got up to help. "How could you possibly know that? You've never even tried them." While Crowley grumbled pointless excuses, Aziraphale handed him the flour and the salt. Y/n grabbed the wet ingredients from the fridge. "Yes, yes, you don't care for human food," Aziraphale waved him off, setting an armful of ingredients on to the cabinet and nearly knocking over his hot cocoa. As soon as his arms were free, he picked up the mug and took a sip, y/n following suit. "However, these pancakes are special pancakes."

"Oh, really?" Aziraphale hummed, exchanging glances with his kid. He sent them a playful wink. "Yes, very special. Because we'll be making them as a family, Crowley. Isn't that nice?" The expectant look on his child's and husband's faces were one in the same. Crowley hated the way he never stood a chance against them. "Ugh, fine," He fought back a smile at the hugs that engulfed him immediately after he caved. "But only if the two of you will stop pestering me." Y/n and Aziraphale exchanged a grin and a nod, "Deal." they said in unison. Crowley leaned against the counter as y/n got out mixing bowls and Aziraphale began measuring ingredients, and he sipped his cocoa. It's going to be a long night, he thought and then, despite himself, he smiled. If this is what love does to a demon, it was pathetic. Yet he couldn't help but to allow it to warm him from the inside out. He was going soft.

"Hey, dad?" y/n asked, looking up at him bashfully. "I can't reach the mixer." Crowley sighed, putting emphasis in to an exasperation he didn't feel, and set down his mug. "I got it." Aziraphale looked up from his carton of eggs and smiled at the pair, his little family. Crowley pretended not to notice, and he purposefully ignored the smiles his loved ones sent each other - not so sneakily - behind his back. It would be a long night, indeed, having to keep up pretending he wasn't enjoying it. He wasn't, not really. Well...perhaps just a little.

|| masterlist ||

story by hretoprvdthepltnx©

Ineffable Husbands/Good Omens copyrighted by Neil Gaiman©

#ineffable husbands #platonic fanfiction #ineffable husbands x reader #ineffable husbands x gn!reader #ineffable husbands x child reader #ineffable dads #ineffable idiots #ineffable husbands x reader platonic #ineffable husbands x their kid #good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens x reader #aroace fanfiction #aromantic #asexual #platonic good omens #renew good omens

[mioyeo]

Watch your back: Chapter 8

Once you don’t value what you have someone else learns how to take care of what used to be yours

Synopsis : 8 men supposed to give her all the love they promised end up leaving her behind without a valid reason

Pairing : girlfriend Reader x PolyAteez !

Warning : this chapter contains mentions of, arguing with Rin , missing deceased parent , lots of crying , confessions ( at the end ) , miscarriage , uncontrolled drinking of alcohol, Hongjoong being a big liar , Y/n looking a mess , jumping off a cliff etc Please reminding me if I forgot something

Tag list : @legbouk , @scarfac3 , @m4rsluv , @hcyaa , @jackinmyarea, @layzfeelit, @loverlele , @mulletjoonsupremacy , @veneziamadness , @belle643 , @gugggu6gvai , @atinytinaa , @voidcupidz , @atinyreads , @baguette-atiny , @parkthothwa8 , @hwadump , @owjohny , @miaatiny , @honeyymon

Word count: 2,2k

Y/n was currently at a Donation center where she'd be donating all the clothes she once had bought for her now lost child to the first time mommy's

It was nerve wrecking for her to see all the Young mothers and their babies while she wouldn't be able to hold hers anymore

" It's alright , you're doing the right thing "

The elder woman smiled rubbing her back encouraging her to deliver the box to the other ladies that where checking out the clothes conditions

" It's just that I felt overwhelmed kinda "

She smiled softly and finally got the courage to hand over her box and leave after saying goodbye

As the girl walked along side the road , tears suddenly fell from her eyes automatically making the ones passing her pity and ask themselves why she was crying on such a beautiful bright sunny day

They wouldn't understand if she tried to explain how hard it was to let go of the things she bought while being exited

Not the typical excitement because she was gonna be a mommy

But the excitement because she'd have someone to love dearly and nurse them until they left her to love someone else just like they where loved by her

Y/n wiped her tears chuckling at the thought that she probably looked insane crying and laughing at the same time

" Y/n ! i haven't seen you in a while my dear "

The market lady She frequently visited for her amazing fried chicken shouted waving her over as she smiled

" Oh my , I'm so sorry I haven't passed by lately I've been going through some thing's but I'm getting better now "

She smiled hugging the lady that immediately kissed jher cheek and stuffed her mouth with some chicken making her smile

" I've missed you too Mrs.Kim "

She chewed on the food before waving and left after they had a small talk

Going up the stairs she put in the code and walked inside her home taking off the shoes

" Where were you ? "

Hongjoong asked as he was sitting on the couch with San that didn't even look at her

“ I went to Donate the clothes I had bought for little Sanie to first time mommy's that couldn't afford to buy clothes or other stuff for their newborns "

She smiled softly and sat down beside him

" I'm proud of you for letting go "

Hongjoong said smiling sympathetically

"I had to do it sooner because I didn't want to create an unhealthy attachment with the things so I donated them "

She laid her head on his shoulder as he kissed her forehead

" Where are the others anyway? "

" They left to do groceries and Jongho went to get his teeth checked  with Mingi "

She grimaced just thinking about the pain

" Also we are having dinner with our parents to finally introduce Rin to them "

Y/n looked up at him with brows furrowed

" So get dressed up because Yeosang's Mom insists for you to come since she hasn't seen you in a long while "

The teen couldn't help but smile

" But don't overdress so that you don't steal Rin's spotlight tonight , it wouldn't be fair if the eyes were only on you tonight "

Hongjoong stood up and left towards his studio leaving both San and Y/n with an awkward silence

Not being able to handle sitting there she stood up and went to her room and look for an outfit

————

" Hwa ! do I look pretty ? "

Rin twirled as she came down showing off her dark blue dress with a cut on the back

" It's pretty "

He didn't even really look at her since he was on his phone texting his dad

" You didn't even look at me baby "

She pouted and grabbed him by his suit

" Where's Mingi ? "

" He's with Y/n helping her zip up her dress "

Wooyoung said as he sat on the couch fixing his hair

" I don't just think that they're simply fixing her dress it's been more than ten minutes "

Just as Yunho spoke both of them walked down the hall

" No need to rush , her other dress wouldn't zip up so she changed into this "

Mingi who was practically matching her in his black suit said as he held her by the waist and guided her towards the door as everyone got out

" You sure it was just a change of clothes? "

Hongjoong eyed him annoyed since he saw some her lip gloss on his lips shimmering

"Don't you see his lips? They've been making out while we waited she's trying to ruin my night with your parents "

The younger scoffed making Y/n look at her unbothered

" You're not that special for me to steal whatever night you think you own "

" Y/n enough "

" You're just Jealous  that they care more about me than they care about you "

Rin turned around her seat and glared at Y/n

" Oh please, these eight men were mine first , I have already claimed every single one of them and the little attention you're getting doesn't face me at all it's the bare minimum  compared to what they give me "

" Please if they oh so loved you why would they get a second girlfriend then ? "

She chuckled cocking her brows looking at the now burgundy haired Y/n who laughed

" My love I don't know what to tell you other than it's none of my concern "

" Girls enough this is supposed to be a happy night for all of us "

Seonghwa sighed as he glared through the front mirror

" a happy night for me ? What will I gain from this Park ? seeing you guys enjoy showing her off while I just sit there and smile pretty like daddy's girl ? Is that what you want me to be doing all night long ?  "

" Calm down you're killing the mood and we haven't even started yet "

Jongho squeezed her thighs glaring at her so she could stop

" I don't know about you guys but I'm just here because Yeosang's mom wants to see me "

Y/n sighed making Yeosang look at her funny

" When has my mom said that ? "

" I was told that your mom wanted to see me since we haven't met in a while "

" If she had said that I would've known but that's not the case , I don't know who told you that but don't lie on my moms name "

He looked at her kinda irritated

After Yeosang's words hit her she looked outside biting her lips to calm down

" You could've stayed at home I don't even know why you're here "

Jongho mumbled but forgot he was a bit loud

" Alright just get out and stop talking we're here and behave "

Everyone pilled out the car leaving Y/n sitting there as she continued to bite her inner lips with closed eyes

"When you get over your tantrum lock the car "

Seonghwa threw the car keys onto her lap and left going inside the restaurant

Tears of anger suddenly left her eyes as she bawled her fists and screamed loudly

Why would Hongjoong lie to her ?

What was the point of him telling her that Yeosang's mom wanted her to come when she clearly never said that  ?

The only things that angered her was that he made her look like a fool in front of everyone else but was glad that it didn't actually happen in front of Yeosang's family and everyone else's parents, because if that did happen she would die from embarrassed right there

The girl wiped her tears and sat there for another twenty minutes debating on if she wanted to go or not

On the end she decided to get off the car and walk in after fixing her make up

" Wait , miss do you have any reservations? "

" Yes I'm actually here to meet up with the family of my boyfriend's "

" Name please ?"

" Y/n , you'll find me under my boyfriend's name Choi Jongho or Jeong Yunho  "

The guard checked the list while looking up at he kinda suspicious

" These names are indeed on the list but im sorry I can't seem to find you on here "

He cleared his throat and waved for guards to come over

" No but , there must be a mistake can you please look again? "

" I'm not blind and neither do I have the time to handle  this madness I don't get payed enough for this crap "

He scoffed and signaled for them to wait as Y/n looked at him in disbelief

" I don't get enough love to be here either , you know what ? give The guy named Park Seonghwa his car keys and tell him that im off the map for tonight "

She threw the keys on the table and left

" Thank you this is just what I needed "

The girl groaned as the heavy rain started pouring on her making the dress stick to her body

She couldn't understand what their problem against her was

All she ever did was love them with all she had

But apparently that was all just a waste of her time

Y/n started to doubt that all the I love you's where real

Or anything that included them loving her

She felt limp and cold as the rain kept pouring down on her

Nothing hurt more than being lied to and made a fool of

Turning around the corner she walked into a a small store all messed up, her once beautiful makeup was ruined and so was her hair making the cashier look at her surprised

Y/n looked around and ended up at the liquor section sighing as she grabbed a big bottle off Vodka even though she hesitated for a good minute

Starring at the bottle she finally went to the cashier to pay

" Is everything ok miss ? "

The young girl who registered the things looked at her once again tilting her head

" Not really but that's how life is "

" Can I see your ID please "

She showed  her ID and payed for the stuff

" I don't know what you're going through but please cheer up everything is going to get better it will take time so please don't worry "

" Sweetheart, don't you ever enter a poly relationship it will slowly destroy you "

She grinned and left after making the young cashier confused

Wandering the streets of Seoul , Y/n didn't really know were she was going but one thing she knew was that she was going to keep walking until she couldn't anymore

Opening the strawberry flavored alcoholic drink she chugged on it carelessly as if it was juice even thought it was burning her throat

" What did I do wrong Mom ? "

She cried out as she sat down on a bench looking up at the sky

" Can't I just be with you again? "

Tears streamed down as she felt herself getting drunk because of the amount of alcohol she already consumed

" I wish I never left you , I wish I had spend more time with you on those sleepless nights "

Looking onto the water that glistened because of the moonlight made her feel like being hugged my someone but yet so empty at the same time

The Han river looked so pretty on night time which did comfort her for a little

" What did I do wrong ? Am I not pretty enough ? Am I getting fat ? "

She pulled out her phone and opened the camera seeing her face

A complete disaster  , Make up all smeared ,  her hair a mess , lips all smudged

It all make her bawl out more tears as she told herself how pathetic she looked and eventually stood up and laughed at her own misery

Walking up to the railing she stared down onto the cold looking water

A huge feeling of comfort but at the same time the loneliness always seemed to come back

Y/n climbed up the railing and sat on it taking a deep breath shaking

She wanted to give up , every single memory came flashing through her mind

Maybe the only way out for her was to leave completely

" Hey …. ,  I know you were probably mad at me earlier and I'm sorry , I just wanted to wish you all the best with Rin treat her better than you've ever treated me and give her lots of love , I've always wanted to be loved but it didn't seem like I could really get that from you guys lately and it's ok because I did get my fair share of happy moments these past four to five years , I myself admit that I am indeed a pathetic little baby like Yunho said that cries over everything and  I wish I could help it but just seeing how you love someone else more just hurts me , I felt so bad that night you guys had Rin move in with us I cried so hard for the first time while looking in the mirror , I just felt left out by you guys , I thought I've always held a special place in that house but it seems like I'm not the spark you need to function anymore , I didn't mean to talk for three minutes but I just wanted to give my last goodbyes before I leave, Thank you for the beautiful experience of being loved "

She pressed send and waited for the two check marks to appear  taking a deep breath

And finally jumped

#ateez #ateez angst #ateez atiny #ateez fluff #ateez hongjoong #ateez imagines #ateez jongho #ateez mingi #ateez san #ateez seonghwa #ateez yeosang #ateez wooyoung #ateez yunho #wooyoung angst #mingi angst #hongjoong angst #seonghwa angst #san angst #yunho angst #jongho angst #yeosang angst #angst

[one-of-tankhuns-neurons]

HOW IS THE SHOW WITH MOST PORN WITH PLOT POTENTIAL ONE OF THE BEST SHOWS EVER??

Dude Deep Night has always been a journey about family, acceptance and love. Love towards others, live towards yourself, but THIS EPISODE.. it was just so beautiful. I think it might be a 10/10 seriously...

Just look

See how far Khemtid has come as a character and as a person.. he went from being selfish and angry and jealous to crying our of EMPATHY for his boyfriends pain.

To crying because he's worked to hard to get the club his mom loves so much back on track. This man cries because he's now feeling feelings in a much healthier way.

And the throuple??? Not a kink thing??? But actual poly??? They're introducing this topic so carefully, it's developed so naturally... The looks, the enemies to helping each other, to these looks.. to feeling he's part of it as well and being concerned about it. He's part of their dynamic but they don't know how to put that into something real. Fuck when I tell you I felt so sad in these moments, because all three of them hurt.

Also... Talking about age???? And how you're still allowed to love like a teen???? And that's valid???? The phrase she says cut me deep broool

"In all of that, there's no me"

Freya will have to learn to accept herself, because love is a vulnerable thing and she's supposed to be strong and a mother and a boss and a leader.. but what about the one she leans on when she's tired???

And the way Khemtid just kNOWS

We're also getting the quiet love, the hand holding, the hair brushing, the every day love. We have been losing that, and I'm so glad they're showing it.

He'll do ANYTHING for Wela.

FUCK THERES SO MUCH I ALSO WANT TO TALK ABOUT

The way it's directed is masterful at creating tension and excitement and confusion and the rush of adrenaline when you like someone but you're too damn scared...

The third couple... "If you don't tell me, I won't know"

It's slow

It's good

I feel in love just watching it

I feel sad

I feel joy

I feel..

I feel.

This is what shows are supposed to be.

#fuck i love them #thai bl #deep night the series #its so good trust me #bl neoclassicism #please please please don't end #khem x wela #boys love

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for having two birthday parties because of disagreements between friend groups?

i (late teens, genderqueer) am the host of an OSDD system (varying ages from 16-45, mostly some flavor of male/nonbinary). we (as in the body- the only headmates we have who actually match the body's age have long since gone dormant) are turning 16 soon, and i figured it'd be pretty fun for us to throw a sweet 16, since we haven't really had a birthday party since we were around 10 or 11. the issue therein- i and a headmate we'll call J (early 20s, genderfluid) are planning the party, and we've decided we want to go out and do something big for it, but one of our best friends who we want to invite because we hardly see them in person is physically disabled and wouldn't be able to do that. also, by virtue of being multiple people, we're friends with a lot of people that kind of hate each other, for understandable if immature reasons. on J's suggestion, i brought this up to our mother, who had the idea to just hold two parties- one for friend group A, who are more willing to go out and do things and who have stricter parents who probably would feel more comfortable with the party being in a public place, and a later second party for friend group B, which would be held at our house (so less physical activity) because friend group B includes our disabled friend, and friend group B's parents are for the most part more lenient. J brought this up to another headmate, who we'll call R (22, male) and he was immediately furious. he called it an "egregious display of wealth we don't actually have" and "also kind of a dick move to prioritize one group over the other" (which we weren't doing at all), and is generally trying to make J and i feel like assholes for even considering the idea. in his eyes, our other friends should "suck it up and get used to being around people they don't like" and we shouldn't even be having a party in the first place because we "can't afford it" (we can absolutely afford it). he is making some valid points but he's also making some really terrible ones, but overall it's kind of making me think i should reconsider the two parties thing, even though J and our mother still want us to go through with it. aita?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[wonderbutch]

Cassie Sandsmark’s Relationship With Femininity

ok so i want to dive more into cassie sandsmarks character and her relationships.

throughout her comic appearances, gender, femininity, sexuality and lack thereof is very prominent in cassie sandsmarks character. Its shown as soon as she appears. shes 14, short haired and wears baggy clothes and overall gives off the stereotypical tomboy vibe which continues on and off throughout her young justice appearances, but she also battles deeply with what she really wants.

she also clearly shows multiple times that she wants, or thinks she wants boys, specifically superboy (kon-el) to like her, going as far as to join young justice to see him (although i have more thoughts on this which ill get to later)

she also shows jealousy towards cissie because of kons attention to her.

HOWEVER i have reason to believe that this is born of compulsive heterosexuality and a misguided attempt at displaying her need for attention and validation (often from guys because, again, comphet).

for example, here it mentions that cassie cant stop thinking about cissie “doing something romantic” with superboy.

which, i may be reaching here, but if she was truly romantically interested in kon, wouldn’t she mention him first rather than cissie? also, she mentions shes not thrilled that boys are looking at her, even though she thought thats what she used to want.

later on she becomes best friends with cissie, almost instantly after seeing her stick up for others, going as far as to literally fall asleep holding her hand. you cant tell me thats not at least a little gay.

as shown before multiple times, cassie strives for companionship and attention, its not a bad thing, in fact it further shows that cassie is kindhearted and loves those around her deeply, even if they don’t necessarily feel the same or treat her well (for example, the boys are constantly underestimating her in the early issues, especially kon who goes as far to be outwardly shocked when she takes a risk and turns out to be right)

(this isnt hate against kon, theyre all learning and figuring stuff out)

but after cissie leaves the team, which cassie doesn’t take very well, her “attraction” to kon seems to fade away, she also seems to be slightly more aware of the fact that kon doesn’t exactly take her completely seriously.

after young justice: sins of youth, cassie sheds the wig and the shorts and swaps to jeans and a leather jacket which is more “masculine”. she also refers to her old outfit, which could be seen as symbolic of her comphet, as her “what was i thinking phase”

despite seeming more sure of herself, shes still battling with who she is and how she wants to be, she gets angrier and moodier, which is touched on in issue 22

she doesn’t know what she wants, and it scares her. shes 14-15 and a superhero and people have expectations for her, she has expectations for herself too, which she often projects onto other people (which ill mention later when i get to her in teen titans) shes only sure of a few things: she wants to be a hero, she wants her best friend back, she wants to be taken seriously. between those three things though? she has no idea.

around her, everything is breaking down. cissie is struggling with her mother and cassie (for the most part) had a healthy upbringing and doesn’t know how to relate and help cissie with that. despite this, she still has unrealistic expectations of cissie. she doesn’t understand why she doesn’t want to be a hero because cassie has always wanted that, and wants cissie to want that too.

so, we get to issue 35 where everything comes to a head with cissie.

she refuses to listen to cissie even though time and time again shes told. after cissie proves a point, cassie finally starts to understand (although she still pushes it a few times in the next issue)

and then after going through a war and having tim and bart leave, and tim come back, and suddenly shes running for leader and confesses to “kon” that she loved him, or thought she loved him, and then she is leader and shes handling a full on invasion of zandia.

so needless to say, cassie doesn’t really have time to think about herself and her identity. at this point her hair has grown significantly, and she’s no longer acting entirely like herself.

so this all happens, greta betrays everyone (deserved) and then suddenly shes human and then donna dies which cassie takes very hard.

a pattern ive noticed is that the more disconnected from herself that she gets, and the more angrier, she changes her appearance to be more feminine, like she’s in denial or at least trying to hide behind femininity so she doesn’t have to admit her own emotions to herself.

as she starts a somewhat vague relationship with conner, she never really refers to him as her boyfriend, often using the word friend instead, despite conner referring to her as his girlfriend.

she also starts to project this idea of femininity and repression, specifically onto raven. when raven expresses considerable discomfort at wearing a dress, cassie counters this with a “you said you wanted to expand your wardrobe”, like she wants raven to be what she’s trying to be. feminine, happy and without fault.

later, she mentions her previous appearance, ambitions, and seems to have a sense of hatred for her previous self, despite in all accounts she was quite happy and open during that period in her life.

to me, cassie’s femininity is a way to hide her true self. its the way she can feel better and not as confused, and try to be someone shes not by just denying the way she really feels.

in conclusion cassie is a butch lesbian thank u for reading this makes absolutely no sense but idc bc the cassie brainrot is real and has taken hold

#cassie sandsmark #character analysis #does this make sense #wonder girl #dc comics #lesbian cassie sandsmark #queer cassie sandsmark #young justice 1998 #young justice #teen titans #teen titans 2003 #teen titans v3 #quinn shut the fuck up challenge #cissiecassie

[cherienymphe]

HI, I found out that I'm pregnant this morning, me and the father have a long distance relationship but we essentially have only been together for 6 months. we saw each other over the summer,but we're doing the long distance thing again now.

I told him, and he went into full panic mode, saying he's not ready to be a father and saying that he shouldn't have done anything that night. It really started stressing me out, so I told him that and he said OK, I should get some rest.

I know you're not a therapist but I really don't want my family to know about his reaction, because even though I'm 23y/o they still treat me like I'm a child. My mother knows and she is waiting to hear back from me how he reacted, but im honestly scared and a little ashamed to tell her.

I don't know what to do, can anyone give me some advice?

You may not like my advice...but um...you need to get rid of that baby

It's ultimately your choice, but I'm telling you what I would do and what I think you should do. I'm about to get real honest and heavy, but if you have this baby, you need to accept the very high possibility that you will be a single mother. If that's something you can be okay with, then by all means. If not... He's made his feelings on the matter clear, and yes, I think it's valid for him to be a little freaked out but the way he handled it and what he said is not it.

Does he just assume you are ready to be a parent? Any mature man would know that you must be more worried than him considering you're the one that's carrying the child and will have to actually give birth to it. He can just walk away while you seemingly can't. You told him you're pregnant, and all he thought about was himself. Not to mention he expressed regret for making the baby. He flat out said he wished he hadn't slept with you.

At the risk of sounding like some evangelical christian in the backwoods of Kentucky, pregnancy is just one of those risks you take when you have sex. It is what it is. No birth control is 100% effective and I feel like when you have sex, you subconsciously accept that could happen while also subconsciously accepting what you'll do about it should it occur. His shock is giving 16 year old boy instead of grown man. Y'all had sex. Sometimes that happens with sex. I don't really see why the surprise that it happened to you guys and instead of discussing this like mature adults, he had a full blown freak out like he's going to be a teen dad or something.

Obviously you know him better than I do, but from where I'm standing, it doesn't seem like he's cut out for the job. Idk he just doesn't seem like a man I'd procreate with. Y'all only been dating for 6 months so I definitely think it's reasonable to terminate the pregnancy and cut him loose. Or simply cut him loose if you're okay with being a single mom. Either way he gotta go

#asks

[indouloureux]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 (part two)

summary: she sought for validation; he sought for acceptance. two juveniles who believed they’d spend the rest of their lives playing red guitars and borrowed claviers, (along with the trepidation of isolation), meet in one boring afternoon, and find themselves reveling in caterwaul voices, laying in a field of colossal grass, and writing lyrics with botched ballpens and crumpled papers.

— or: two people bond over emotional trauma, and fall in love through great manifestos

warnings: 1hr reading time, slow burn, friends to lovers, slight teenage angst, jealousy, tooth-rotting fluff, eddie being a sap, weird manifestos, reader being adopted, eddie and reader both having a self discovery whilst falling in love, fem!reader (she/her pronouns), me not knowing how to write both piano and guitar playing properly, deep words (sorry guys open google), lengthy, idiots in love, a love story about two sad teens going through a phase (jk) eddie has a bit of a corruption thing (not kink) bc he introduces reader into new things lol!

explicit warnings (for part two): virgin!reader, virgin!eddie; piv, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, overstimulation, first time, soft, vanilla porn, mentions of blood, handjob, cum eating, biting, marking, missionary, maybe soft!dom eddie bc he watched porn a lot and thinks he "knows his way", sweet but short aftercare

a/n: this is a story of fiction. i do not know the locations in both indiana and illinois. this is written in the way i prefer it to be to fit its story telling, and i am well aware of the things i write in here, and how i write this story. based on the song '1979' by the smashing pumpkins. hope you all enjoy part two!

PART ONE; SERIES MASTERLIST

That we don't even care

To shake these zipper blues

And we don't know

Just where our bones will rest

When you were young, you remember sneaking out of your room from the orphanage to sneak into the living room and watch the television with a low volume, loud enough for you to hear so as to not disturb the Nuns asleep in their rooms.

You thought falling in love was exchanged between lingering stares, a ring of hope and yearning in their eyes; sharing gospels about yourselves that you’d never tell anyone else, compliments coming from Freudian slips. The ‘will they, won’t they,’ the supportive friends. And months, maybe years, of mutual pinings until they end up confessing beneath the rain in the middle of the road as if there’d been no cars passing by. Yelling through the thunderous storm their words of utter devotion and kiss like their lives depended on it.

For years, before you’d been adopted, you watched the same scenario of love stories on a small screen for hours until your eyes ran dry. Boy and girl meet, one fell first and the other fell harder, an almost confession, an almost kiss, a secret that could ruin their relationship and it almost did, a confession spat in a dangerous situation right before everything went to shit, and then they lived happily ever after. 

The same one every movie.

But they never really expressed how falling in love truly felt. They just showed it. 

Your mother, adoptive mother, had once said that you’d feel this electricity inside you. That sparks fly when you see their smile, or just see them in general. That you’ll feel a thousand butterflies consume you until you feel like you’re floating in the clouds with their hand in yours as you fly into eternity together. 

That everything else falls apart and it’s just the two of you. Heartbeats heard in your ears as you get lost in this abyss of abiding love. Or a spotlight would compel you to look at him like a sacred artifact in a museum. That you’ll find yourself wanting to be closer to them no matter how dangerous it has been—like moth to a flame.

Eleven year old you had stared at her with a look that told her you understood. And you did. Kind of. A young mind like yours couldn’t fully understand that feeling. 

So you waited.

Up until Eddie Munson came to your life.

Eddie Munson, who’s been hiding something from you the past couple of weeks.

Every time you were together, whether it had been for school purposes, songwriting, or just for the hell of it, he’d be stuck in this small mental corner with his front facing you, the back of his notebook keeping a somewhat barrier to hide whatever he was doing. And whenever you asked, he’d stop writing, tap your nose with the tip of his pen, and say

“A satanic ritual.”

Then he’d go back into writing. 

Your curiosity would sometimes almost get the best of you; debating if you should take a quick peek when Eddie leaves the notebook with you (closed) and excuses himself to the bathroom. But it was an invasion of privacy. 

And he’s doing it right now.

Walking through the somewhat crowded hallway, you’ve got a hand clutching the sleeve of his unbuttoned black plaid shirt, just right on his elbow as he writes while walking. Just like you’d been all those months ago.

His tongue darts out, his feet stumbling across his own, muttering short apologies to the people he accidentally bumps too. But he lets you guide him through your small tugs. 

“Christ, Eddie!” you push him away when one of the students comes running in with their projects, almost smacking him against the locker. “Put that down!”

Eddie laughs a bit before he finally snaps it shut, shoving his pen in his pocket. You drop your hand from his elbow. “Sorry, Mands.”

“You’re gonna trip,” you avoid the judgemental stares. Of gossiping kids speaking behind locker doors; you focus on Eddie. “And honestly, if you did, I’ll just make fun of you and pretend you don’t exist.”

“You wound me, pretty girl,” he slaps his hand to his heart, a sardonic pout coming with. But the pout is gone sooner when he realizes what he’d just said, and he clears his throat. “You gonna sit with us at lunch, or you’re still sticking with Wheeler and her friend?”

“They’re revising for the school paper,” you fiddle with the clasp of your bag. “So, uh, maybe I can sit with you if that’s alright?”

“It’s more than alright,” he smiles. Eddie’s palm slams on the cafeteria doors and pushes it open, letting you in first before he follows, letting the door swing until it hinders and settles closed. He scratches his jaw, looking up at the ceiling. “But, uh, you gotta sit beside me. Or else you’ll be stuck between a sticky mess of Sour Patch Kids and, well, kids.”

You walk between the chairs from his table and the one beside him. Eddie takes an empty chair beside Dustin, dragging it beside him at the head of the table and pulls it out for you to sit on. You smile at him, sitting down.

“Oh, hey, (y/n),” Dustin smiles, braces a different color this week that leaves you endeared. “Hey, Eddie.”

Mike chews on his pudding pie. The same brand as Nancy’s, and he’s got a confused frown on his face that’s almost mistaken as repulsion had you not known him. “What are you doing here?”

“Eddie has stained my reputation. I’m a pariah now.”

“Hey,” Eddie laughs, pulling his ball pen out of his pocket. “I could embarrass you right now,”

“I’m always embarrassed. For you, at least,” you jest. 

Gareth opens his small lunchbox, his name written on the side in capital letters. “You ready for tonight?” he asks Eddie.

You whip your head back at the boy beside you, sleeves rolled above his elbows, which reminds you of the one he posited just on your arm. If people didn’t look at you for walking around unabashed beside Eddie Munson, they were looking at the tattoo on your arm. It had caught Principal Higgins’ attention, and you saw him visibly parley to himself if he should punish you for it. 

But then his eyes flitted to Eddie and he sighed, sauntering back to his office with a shake of his head and muttering something about blemishing the temple of God with your tattoos. 

“Been practicing our asses off for the past few weeks. ‘Course I’m fucking ready,” Eddie scoffs. Then he lifts his head off the notebook and looks at you. “You’re coming, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you smile softly. 

He returns the same smile with the same fondness, his eyes twinkling in appreciation. The hand on his lap comes up to twirl his pinky around yours, dimples deepening in glee. You feel your heart pound at the small touch; see how everything behind him blurs. And you flutter your lashes. 

Dustin clears his throat that breaks your eye contact. Eddie shoots him an almost murderous glare, unhooking his finger from yours. 

-

The Hideout was dark. With stone walls and chipped wooden tables. The bartender looked like he was nearing his fifties, but looked approachable and kind when he’d greeted you with a rag in his hand as he wiped the glasses when you stepped inside. The lights were dim but bright above the small stage with band equipment—where you saw Gareth’s Corroded Coffin drums. 

Eddie had been over exaggerating when he said he had a crowd of five drunks. But they’re not exactly many either. There were people scattered around, preoccupied in conversations you don’t, and couldn’t be bothered to know. 

You nervously tug on your dress. A deep shade of red that’s almost black to match him. You walk between tables and old men, sitting on the table second to the front, giving you a clear view of the stage.

Earlier, you’d told Eddie you’d meet him there before he dropped you off at your home despite his protests. He told you to wear something pretty—simple, but pretty. Something that’s you, in his words.

Waiting patiently, you hear the soft clinkings of glass against bottles of alcohol at the bar, the quite boastful laughter of the men in the corner. Your knee bounces, hands clasped in front of you as you trace the rigid strikes of Corroded Coffin’s band poster, and startle yourself when a looming presence hovers over you, casting a shadow over the light.

You yelp, looking up to see a man. His hair gray as his hairline recedes, exposing his forehead. He had a nose that looked a bit like Eddie’s, and his blue eyes shimmer in curiosity as they settle on you; his stare is anything but creepy.

“Are you…Mandy?” he says gruffly, a lilt of uncertainty in his voice, and he sounds as nervous as you are.

“No. I’m (y/n)...” you furrow your eyebrows. “Oh, shit. Are you Eddie’s uncle?”

His hands rub the back panel of his hat, nodding. “Yes ma’am. Wayne Munson. D’you mind if I sit?”

“Not at all,” you gesture to the chair beside you. Wayne pulls the chair out, moves it a bit more to the side to give you an appropriate distance so he wouldn’t make you feel uncomfortable, and he sits down with a grunt. “S-sorry for cursing. I’m Eddie’s friend—”

He says your name. “I know. He can’t stop talking about you,” he chuckles lightly. “I finally get to meet the girl that makes my nephew wake up before his alarm clock.”

“That’s me,” you twiddle your thumbs. “Um, Eddie told me you worked at night.”

Wayne understands what you mean, placing his cap on his lap and rubbing his hand on his knee. “I do. But it’s a holiday and I couldn’t pass on the opportunity to see him play.” he scratches his silver beard. “Do you drink? I could order us some.”

“I’m eighteen, Mr. Munson” you tell him. “I can’t drink yet.”

“Coke it is,” he hollers for a waiter, a man a bit younger than the bartender. He orders a pale ale and two cans of coke before he takes out his pack of cigarettes when the waiter leaves. You notice how he’s got a small lighter wedged to the side of his cigarettes like Eddie’s, and you wonder if he’d caught it from his uncle. “You smoke?”

You look around cautiously when he sticks one in his mouth. “Will they let me?”

“You ain’t gonna go to jail for it,” his eyebrows raise. “I’m not pressuring you, kid. I’m just offering,”

Finally, in an impassive shrug, you take one and you place it in your mouth. When Wayne lights up his own, he offers you his lighter. “Thank you, Mr. Munson,”

You sit in silence for a short beat, the smoke of your cigars mixing in the weak waft of the ac. He wasn’t as menacing as you expected, and you didn’t know why you expected it in the first place. Based on Eddie’s stories, Wayne had never questioned his love for his fantasy game, or complained about his love for metal. He’d been the first person to accept Eddie for who he is, the only family in his life that stayed and cared. 

“You know, I-uh-I’d like to thank you,” he turns to you. “You never judged my nephew for who he was. You made him happier and, hell, I haven’t seen him this happy in years. He’s always hogging up the phone talking and laughing with you. I’m not there for him as much as I used to; and I’m glad you gave him back his smile,”

Flushing, you look away and hide your parlously proud smile behind the borrowed cigarette, stained by your fuliginous lipstick. “Nothing to thank me for, Mr. Munson. Glad I could make him happy.”

“Ah, please,” he waves his hand, cigarette in the air. “Call me Wayne. Makes me feel old.” then he waves around his face. “I know my- hair says otherwise. But I’m still in my forties.”

“Copy that,” you take a quick hit. “Wayne.”

Wayne nods his head in acknowledgement, a guttural grunt leaving him. “My nephew hasn’t been this happy in a while. Eddie tends to… hide his emotions. Likes to distract himself with that god-deafening music and his fantasy game. And since you came to his life,” his arm lifts, as if to give your shoulder a pat before he clenches it to a fist and puts it back on his lap.

You chuckle. “You can pat me, Mr. Muns- Wayne.”

“You sure?”

“It’s just a shoulder pat, sir,”

Balky, his hand comes up to clap at your shoulder, shaking it lightly. You smile, placing the cigarette back in your lips and sucking until you couldn’t breathe, and let it all out.

“You helped him… (y/n),” he swallows. “And I thank you for that.”

When your drinks come, footsteps advance the stage. First came Gareth who settled behind the drums, who saw you immediately and gave you an ebullient wave, then Jeff and the other guy who’s name you’ve (sadly) forgotten.

Then Eddie came just when you opened your can. The fizzle of soda coalesce with his eager footsteps. Your hand stops around the ring, eyes trailing up to Eddie’s face.

You try to bite back a gasp.

There’s dark eyeliner beneath his eyes that names him hellaciously unique; the liquid kohl renders his eyes wider—his umber eyes darker, almost voluminously black, although fulgurated with the dim lights and his buzzing excitement. His vogue is eccentric, almost a masquerade that fools, had you not known him. But it’s so him, and at the same time, it isn’t.

But Eddie looks unashamed and proud of his look of ripped sleeves and borrowed eyeliner, his hair asininely wild, curlier like he’d gotten himself a perm. He’s wearing black jeans with more tears, his Dio vest that accentuates his lanky arms, the pudge of his stomach seen through his shirt but he wears it proudly; happy trail peeking underneath when he lifts his hand to pull on the mic.

He taps on the silver mesh head of the mic. Eddie clears his throat. “Uh, hello?”

You see everyone turn their heads, unamused, but forcing themselves to acknowledge his presence. Eddie smiles nervously, before his eyes settle on you and Wayne. 

“Good evening gentlemen and lady,” he winks at you. “Uh, yeah, thanks for being here tonight. It means so much to the owner who’s been working his ass off so, give him a round of— ah, screw it no one’s listening,” Eddie tuts with a ridiculous smile, eyes meeting yours in a short apology. He’s not upset, but he finds it amusing. “This first song is, um, Breaking the Law by Judas Priest. Hope you guys enjoy it and if it gets too loud, I suggest you cover your ears.”

He picks up his red Warlock NJ guitar (Sweetheart, he names her) resting on the amplifier beside Gareth’s guitar, slinging it around himself before he pulls on the vermillion pick on his neck. Eddie settles himself up front, lips hovering over the mic. Then he looks back at Gareth, who throws one of the dumstricks into the air but fails to catch it and falls to the ground with an awkward cattle. 

Beside you, Wayne smiles at the inconvenience, but doesn’t elicit a laugh out of him. Gareth shoots the both of you a penitent smile, picking up the stick. He taps it together three times to signal preparation, before you’re startled with his sudden slam on the snare.

You’ve never really seen Eddie play the electric guitar. Well, you have. You’ve just unfortunately forgotten the first time you actually did. And you wonder if thirteen year old Eddie was just as great as twenty year old him, playing the guitar with such precision; he was, indeed, a virtuoso with guitars—electric or not. 

The sight holds you ransom. Eddie, with his hair unruly, an unforgiving proud smile on his face when he darts his tongue out to glide his dexterous fingers across the bronze strings of Sweetheart, his voice a caterwaul as he recites the almost innocuous lyrics. 

“Feel as though nobody cares if I live or die.”

But his eyes were passionate—not of the barely there crowd, but it was obvious he loves what he’s doing. Especially now that you’re here, witnessing this for the first time with his beloved uncle. In that small stage, it stymies all judgment of conservative people, and he lets himself relish in the freedom of doing what he desires. 

A gloss of pursuit sybaritism coats his eyes; with a white ring of sheer wanton hedonism just above his dark irises. The rest of the boys mimic the same passion, arms kinetic at their own playing, noses scrunched in glee. 

Eddie doesn’t look like an angel tonight. When the lights shine horns on top of his head—the cardinal hue of serpentine antlers usurps the halo over his head. He’s devilishly handsome, wickedly catching your eye through the palls of branded cigarettes that spread across the room. 

Beside you, Wayne claps and whistles, showing his everloving support. Eddie smiles brightly, leaning back when he does a riff you’re certain you’ll struggle studying it. When the song ends, scattered claps gift him. Few, but loud to show their support. 

He’s sweaty all of a sudden, and he runs his hand through his dampened hair, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Thanks. Thank you- hey, man, you owe me a beer,” he points at the guy sitting in the corner, who raises his bottle and tips his hat. You don’t know him. “This next song is dedicated to this lovely lady up front,”

You feel eyes on you. Suddenly, you want to sink into your chair just to avoid the unwanted eyes, and you tell yourself to forgive Eddie for making you off-guard. But the strangers give you either confused eyes, or looks that say they could care less.  But Wayne claps, which makes you hide your flustered smile behind the coca-cola can that you drink from.

“It’s Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic by The Police. I know it’s unusual for us to play something that’s not metal, but I practiced this song just for her. A…token of gratitude. And also for my uncle,” he adjusts his mic. “Um. Hope you guys enjoy,” 

You appreciate the fact that he’d practiced a song from one of your favorite bands just for you, despite it being out of his taste. You clap, a silly smile on your face that hurts your cheeks.

He strums, benign in all his dexterity, and shoots you a cheeky wink. You playfully grimace at his action, and you fail to miss the laugh Wayne lets out at the wordless banter. 

You gently sway to the indie music, see the way his rings glide across his nylon strings, how the bones of his fingers move through his skin when he plucks, mouth pressing up to the mic to sing clemently. You copy his nods, your own fingers tapping on the tin of your can.

The only thing the song lacked was the piano; you, basically. Eddie started playing with his eyes on you, and suddenly you remember being eight years old in the dark living room of the orphanage you stayed in. Except you hadn’t been the one watching — this time, you’re in the screen of that small box, finally feeling what it’s like to stare at someone so completely enamored with everything they did. With everything Eddie did. 

Because everything slows and everything else blurs, a flame igniting across every vein that brings you into a lovelorn haze. You hear your heart beat with the precious song Eddie has dedicated to you right in your ear, and you feel like floating off the chair. The halo comes back to slot itself between his horns, luring you in like a moth to a flame; like a venerated, fallen angel that has you plunging your hand through the clouds and taking his, flying you to his safe haven. 

“I resolved to call her up, a thousand times a day. And ask her if she'll marry me, some old-fashioned way,”

His once caterwaul cry of a voice shifts into a soft, canorous sway from baritone to tenor. Eddie smiles at you, a look in his eyes you can’t fathom but makes your heart burst, blood dripping down your chest but you don’t care. 

For four minutes and twenty seconds, your eyes never leave Eddie. And neither does he, like he knows he won’t so much as place the wrong finger on the wrong string or fuck up his plucking. Everything’s a scene on a cheesy romcom, a feeling told through a lovesick song, a story told through a galore of rhyming words in a poem. 

“Every little thing she does is magic; everything she do just turns me on. Even though my life before was tragic. Now I know my love for her goes on,”

In your mind, you push yourself off the table, chair falling to the ground, coke spilling onto the wooden top, walking yourself up to him and tackle him in a kiss; one of his arms would be around your waist and the other holding the mic stand tightly, your hands cupping his delicate face and mold your lips with his like some puzzle piece waiting to be connected. 

That the spotlight settles on the both of you, and you’ll fly up to the skies to spend the rest of your lives loving each other in eternity like everyone else did. 

But you stay on your seat with a fluttering heart and an agape mouth. You don’t realize Gareth has sped up his drums for the denouement of the song, and Eddie leaves on last hard strum before the small crowd claps for him, seemingly happy to finally watch someone play a song they knew. 

Eddie bows, an abashed smile for gratitude. “T-thank you, everyone—”

“Holy shit. They’re actually clapping for us—”

“Shut up, Jeff,”

-

“Thanks for coming, uncle Wayne,”

Their hug is tight with claps on the back and prolonged grunts. Wayne breaks away, hands on his nephew’s shoulder, a proud smile on his face. 

“No problem,” he nods at him. “Needed a break from work, anyway,”

You stand behind Eddie, fingers joint in front of you. Wayne gives you a kind smile that you return, one that makes Eddie turn to his shoulder to look at you, and you can see the roseate glow that dusts his cheeks. He bats you his eyelashes, eyeliner slightly smudged, before he turns back to his uncle.

“I like this whole… makeup thing,” he points at his eyes.

“Thanks,”

He leans in to whisper something in Eddie’s ear that you can hear, hushed words that are suspicious when Wayne looks at you again and when Eddie laughs nervously and lightly pushes at his uncle’s shoulder with a small whine of uncle Wayne, shut up! 

“Nice meeting you, Mandy,” Wayne tips his hat to you. “Drive safe, kids. I’ll see you tomorrow, Eds.” he pats his shoulder, shaking it lightly before he walks away.

Eddie walks you to his van, a hand on the back of your waist with his notebook clutched to his side. It’s quiet, with your shoes crunching with the gravel ground; he opens the door for you, right before he moves to his side. You watch in the side mirror as Wayne gets in his own car and pulls out of the driveway. 

Eddie throws his black notebook in the back, key twisting to start the car, and Broken Wings by Mr. Mister plays. It startles you, whipping your head at him.

“Where exactly are you taking me, Munson?” you narrow your eyes in feigned suspicion. He chuckles, buckling in his seat belt. “Well, that’s a first.”

“We’re leaving Hawkins. I can’t go to jail,” 

“Oh?” you raise a brow. Eddie laughs, humming along to the song which peaks your interest but you’re more curious about something else when he pulls out the driveway. “So where is it?”

He gives you a quick glance, the corner of his lip twitching up. “Illinois,” 

Your smile falls a bit, shifting into something confused when you squirm in your seat and rest your hands on your lap. “Oh,” you purse your lips. “What’s up in Illinois?”

“A surprise,” Eddie chuckles. “I’m not kidnapping you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Noooo ritualistic sacrifice.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” you toy with your fingers, scratching gently at your tattoo. “You do know that when we get there, it’ll be one in the morning,”

He slows the van for a moment, driving with one hand as he reaches blindly behind him. Finally, he pulls out a pillow. It looks new, smells fresh, even, like laundry detergent. Eddie places it on your lap. “Figured. Take a nap, then,” 

You don’t. You hug the pillow to your chest, but you rest your head on it after you say a small thanks. Eddie adjusts the volume of the radio, redirecting the acs and when you give him a silent thanks with an abashed smile, he takes this as an opportunity to talk again.

“I’m really glad you came, by the way,” he smiles. “I mean, I know you said you’d come a while ago. And I’m really happy that you came even though our gig kept on being canceled for months.”

“I made a promise,” you lightly slur. “Your uncle’s really nice, by the way. He showed me this picture of you in his wallet when you were a baby. All ass and naked-”

“Shit, really?”

“No. I’m kidding.”

He tsks. “Would have been a nice, PG way to show you my ass but hey, it’s good to know my uncle doesn’t go around showing my butt.”

You laugh, unabashed. “I think I’d prefer grown up ass than baby ass, Eddie,”

Is this… flirting?

Flirting that’s not PG-13? Although, when has flirting been family friendly?

Why is he flirting with you?

Eddie’s smile dwindles. “You also look nice,” then he stammers. “I mean, more than nice. You look good- great- pretty- b-beautiful.” he sighs, the embarrassed pink tinge on his cheeks hidden by the darkness of his van. “You look… beauteous”

A rush of heat convulsing from your head to your toes that makes you squirm on your seat and toy with the ends of your red dress. “Beauteous, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Big word,”

“You know me,” he makes a psh sound, tapping his fingertips on the leather of his steering wheel. “I like it when they’re big…words,”

You turn your head to him. “Are you alright?”

Eddie’s fidgeting on his seat, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed, feeling like he’s been berated for something so small. “Yeah! Why wouldn’t I be? I’m- sorry for, uh, the whole ass thing.”

“It’s just ass, Eddie,” you laugh.

“Yeah, but it’s my ass,” he motions to himself. “Isn’t it weird that I’m talking about my ass as a baby to you- you know what?” Eddie suddenly stops the van, right in the middle of the road, where it was just the two of you in his van in the asphalt ground. 

You gawp. “What are you doing?”

He unbuckles his seatbelt, leaning forward to shrug his vest off, leaving him in the extra shirt he brought along after his show—The Van Halen shirt he opted to shoplift one time, but you’d stopped him by buying it which he thanked you with an ice cream. And coincidentally, Runnin’ With the Devil starts playing.

Eddie places his vest on top of you, the entire shoulder length covering your chest; it’s as if he wants to keep you warm. You pout, hugging the pillow with one arm and the other tugging the vest around your right arm.

“Take a nap,” he pats your knee gingerly, giving you a small smile. “We’re gonna have a long night, sweetheart— god fucking damnit,”

You blush at his moniker but laugh at his rabelaisian accident. He sings beneath his breath, gives your bare knee a rub with his thumb before he starts driving again, forgetting to put his seatbelt back on.

-

“Oh my god, you are so gonna sacrifice me to the Devil,”

“Only bad girls get punished, (y/n)— I’m just gonna shut up now,”

When Eddie said he’d be taking you to Illinois for a surprise, you don’t expect to be brought to some abandoned home in a place you’re an alien to. Upon you stood a house which hangs on rusted nails and broken cement walls. It seemed to be a small historic mansion, built in a hamlet a couple minutes from the suburbs. 

You feel like you’re one of the protagonists who idiotically explore a home they shouldn’t be exploring in some horror movie. That behind the bushes hid a man with a burnt face and knives for fingers. The trees rustle, crickets chirp and the wings of birds flap into the night sky. There’s a dog that barks from a distance, cars that speed across the asphalt road to their destination, and Eddie’s labored breathing as he stares at you for any signs of fear or hesitance. 

You should be afraid — it’s one in the morning, and Eddie’s brought you to a place that’s hours away from your home. Are you afraid of him? Never.

But are you afraid of ghosts…?

“Is this safe?” you look around, surrounded by low hills and trees from afar that hide the city and the suburb. “Are we gonna get arrested?”

“We’re safe,” his eyebrows raise a little. “No ghosts, I promise. Although I can’t guarantee you there won't be any bugs and weird creepy crawlies in there, but I’ll protect you from them,” Eddie jokes.

You laugh, looking at the broken windows, the shape making it seem like someone had thrown a rock inside. There’s a small graffiti beside the door. Mellon Collie & Infinite Sadness, motherfucker!

“Mands, come on,” Eddie offers his hand, a glint of hope that bejewels his dark eyes. He’s gotten rid of his eyeliner already (sadly), but he looks just as handsome. Shyly, you place your hand on top of his. 

His palm is rough; the same goes for his fingertips. But they’re warm and gentle and so welcoming. It’s like your hands are made to hold his, with the way they connect like some padlock. Eddie holds your hand the same way you hold his heart: of reverential attentiveness and utter devotion.  

Eddie beams, bearing a smile that reaches his eyes. He tugs you close to him, pocketing his keys. “I got you, ‘kay?”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Copy that, rockstar,”

He blushes.

Slowly, Eddie pushes the door open. An eerie creak emits from the decrepit door, loud that you worry it would be heard from the houses a couple minutes away. He visibly winces at the sound, your hand tightening around his when he tiptoes his way in.

“Fuck, I forgot the door did that,”

You look at him. “You forgot?”

“Well, how’d you think I knew about this place?” he smirks at you. “Gotta impress you, sweetheart. You, as an avid lover of pianos and Billy Joel, need to take you somewhere you’ll love,”

In all honesty, you appreciate the effort. And the thought of Eddie wanting—needing to impress you, makes your heart perform an elegant summersault. “Well, that’s nice of you. I can learn how to love some dingy home.”

Eddie laughs.

There’s a spiral staircase that leads up to the second floor, its balusters broken in half, the risers in the middle having foot-sized holes, the handrails covered in green veins. There’s an arched entrance beside the foyer, leading to a living room with couches covered in a thin white sheet, with a coffee table fallen sideways and a couple of smashed plates on the ground. There’s a window beside the fireplace, too, although what only remains to be the frame itself.

The carpeted floor is covered in mold, and you wonder what its design might have been before it had turned into this disgusting, brown color. 

“Don’t worry, there’s a room in here that doesn’t look this… mlegh,” he frowns deeply, wiping his hand on his thigh. “God, that was gross. This way, m’lady,”

He leads you through the spacey hallway, passing by ripped picture frames, a kitchen full of smashed plates and open cabinets filled with moldy and spoiled food; bedrooms with blankets covered in dust and démodé clothes inside unhinged wardrobes. Each item and corner harbor cobwebs from lingering spiders, and you almost ran into one if it weren’t for Eddie warning you to be careful.

Finally, your feet meet the marbled floor of a new room; moldy carpets gone, the darkness gone as this room is lit with the moonlight that sparks through the broken window. But there’s a clean blanket in the middle of the room, a picnic basket and a pack of beer—both fresh and clean.

You look at Eddie with a parted mouth and he says,

“Behold,” his arm stretches, moving behind him to guide your vision. Eddie’s ringed hands unearth his surprise, where your eyes follow his direction. “A piano,”

There’s a primeval grand piano in the middle of the room, the dust wiped off of its existence; its legs had been duct taped, the lid chipped and it’s missing two wheels but it was beautiful nonetheless. 

“You said you’ve always imagined playing Billy Joel on a grand piano, so here you go,” he lightly punches a wall. “Now, I know I’m no rich, snobby person, but I would applaud you, sweetheart,”

You near the piano, running your fingertips across the keys, pressing on one of them to see if they’re in tune and they are. You snap your head at Eddie with a slack jaw, tears welling your eyes. 

“Gareth and I drove up here, fixed up this room. Luckily, he knew someone here in Illinois who could tune the piano. And as for the blanket, and the beer, and the sandwiches, well, uncle Wayne did me a favor and brought all that shit up here. Now, I know it’s kind of gross in here and it’s like, one in the morning but—oh!”

Eddie’s tackled by your hug, feet knocking him back and almost to the ground. You wrap your arms tightly around his neck, nose digging onto his hair and eyes slammed shut to fight back the overwhelming tears. There’s not a single bone in him that’s hesitant to hug you back, holding you close to his chest, his heart pounding against yours when he presses his lips on top of your head.

“This is amazing,” you say against him. “I can’t believe you-you did this for…me.”

You pull away from him, hands on his biceps when you turn to look back at the grand piano. Eddie’s arms run back and forth on your waist, looking down at you with a triumphant smile before he twists you so that your back’s to his chest.

“Anything for you, Mandy,” he moves his hands up to your arms, rubbing them. “This was all I could do but-”

“I accept anything you give me,” you murmur with a smile, starstruck with the piano and his gift. 

“Yeah, I know,” he rests his chin on your head. “Now, you’ve got something to play for me?”

-

The lively music created by your adroit fingers was enough to make Eddie sway. You lack the guitars, the drums, and the trumpet but it’s robust with buoyancy nonetheless. 

You play the same way Eddie did—with a bobbing head, a bewitching voice, and dexterous fingers that know their way to your beloved instrument. He sips his beer, sitting cross-legged on the blanket, watching you with such awe; an exact mirror of you and him in the Hideout.

You keep your eyes riveted on the piano lest of mistakes. But Eddie thinks you’re far from failure, with how nimble your fingers are, and how your voice was as angelic as it had always been.

“You mighta heard I run with a dangerous crowd, we ain't too pretty, we ain't too proud,” your fingers glide, from left to right, pressing on all chords in quick speed, and it makes him holler. “We might be laughing a bit too loud. Aw, but that never hurt no one.”

“YES!” he claps. “You’re amazing! A fuckin’ star!”

Eddie takes a swig of the bitter liquor, headbanging to a song that wasn’t even metal but you could headbang to any song, right? 

When you’re done, he pulls out a rose from a basket and throws it at you, falling on top of the piano as he stands up from the blanket, clapping loudly that it ricochets outside the empty, broken halls. You flush, smiling bashfully when you stand up and take the red rose into your hand, bringing it up to your nose and bowing as if you just finished an hour-long concert.

“Felt like I was in church,” Eddie pants, wiping his palms on his jeans. “You’re goddamn amazing, Mands. You really could be the next Billy Joel,”

“Oh, stop,” you wave him off, playing with the stem of the rose. “You’re just-”

“Complementing? Praising you?” he cocks a brow, walking towards you and places his hand on your back. “Okay, now sit. I’ve got a surprise for you, babe,”

“I swear, if you’ve got Billy Joel around, I won’t hesitate to kiss him in front of you,”

“Keep it in your pants, young lady,”

You guffaw. “How could I keep my lips inside my pants?”

“By- shh. I’m trying to show off here,” he stretches his arms, fingers settling over the keys. “Um, Dustin taught me this. Kid’s great with the piano and all that shit. Not as great as you, though. He’s more…superior with his mind than he is with music. But, he was able to help me with this so let’s thank the little shrimp for that.”

Nodding, you bump your shoulder with his. A smile paints your face, having already been surprised that Eddie Munson learned how to play the piano for you. But you wait for the real one, eager to see what he has in store when he positions his fingers on the piano, rings pressing against the ivory.

“Uhhh- oh!”

You peer quietly, watching the way his fingers keep a leisurely pace; an obvious sign that he’s still unsure of which keys to press next. But he knows the words by heart — something you’ve never heard of, and it’s obvious that he’s written this himself. You deem the meaning behind them salient, singing with his voice a dulcet tenor, eyes evident that he’s repeating all the words Dustin said: 

Remember the keys. Play gently. Make sure you don’t get pinched by the keys, and you can always go slow. This isn’t some Corroded Coffin show where you start headbangin’ and making those fucking riffs. You play- gently! What did I just say? God, you’re gonna die a virgin.

Eddie looks at you for a split second, nervous, worried with the way your eyebrows furrow and your mouth parted. If he were being honest, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. The minute he sat down on the bench, he'd forgotten half of what Dustin had said, mind almost omitting to remember the lyrics he’d worked hard for for weeks.

And god, you’re staring at his hands and his face with bewilderment. And you’re beautiful. He feels so fucked up (in a good way). He’d probably kill himself if he fucks this one up.   

But you regard the lyrics. They’re meaningful and heartwarming, meant just for you when he takes those short glances, but there’s a part that stitches all your wounds together, provided by his dangerously blunt needle.

“You whisper into my heart. And I've never been quite smart, but I heed your words in a tempest; just where our bones will rest,”

Piano played with fidelity, lyrics sang with breathless devotion, fingers genuflect to please you with its core venerated. Eddie Munson plays for the key to your heart even though he’s had it in his palm for a long time; shakedown your mind with a flickering flame in his mind, veins high on morphine. 

Suddenly he stops, and Eddie looks at you with a face so wrecked with nervousness you just want to kiss hug him. 

“That’s- that’s everything that I remember,” he flops his hands down to his lap with a huff. “It’s actually unfinished. But I couldn’t wait any longer,”

You croon. “Why not?”

“Well, why’d you think I brought you here in the first place?” he whispers. “Other than me wanting to surprise you. I mean, Mands, I wanted to impress you. Think of any other guys who’d bring someone to an abandoned home for anything but a date.”

“A date, huh?” you repeat, slowly smirking. “This is a date?”

Eddie pales. “Well, I mean, if you want it to be… a date...”

You decide to play with him. “I hardly think of this as a date,”

“Why not?”

“I’ve barely eaten,”

He giggles, leaning back with his head lulling back. “Sorry! Sorry I jus’- wanted to see you play.” Boldly he reaches up to push your hair behind your ear, the side of his face glimmering by the bright moon seen from the huge hole on the wall of the room. “I stole your lyric, by the way. Kind of makes me not want to give you some credit,”

Flushing, you look away, mustering up the courage to place your hand on top of his. “I’d really appreciate the credit, Munson,” you murmur. “That way the world would know who I was,”

“But who cares about the world?” he cups your face, thumb resting on top of your cheek. “I’m here, Mandy. I’ll… heed your words. Y’know? I’ve never been smart but I’ll heed your words in- what was the next word?”

“Tempest,”

“Tempest,” Eddie repeats. You giggle, leaning into his touch. “I am…stupid for you. But I’ll understand you. I’ll listen to you, and I’ll take care of you, (y/n). I…”

He’s redolent of piety to genuine amor. Eddie looks at you like you painted the stars on the dark sky, like someone who’d pulled him out of hellfire and thought that all his devilish, leather and metal glory was worthy of your attention and acceptance. He cradles your heart in his hand.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he states. “I didn’t know anyone could fall in love twice but, life is full of possibilities.”

Tears well your eyes, rivulets transferring to your eyelashes. It seems like Eddie has mirrored you, too. You cock your head to the side, letting out a dry chuckle. 

“Me too,” you bite your lip. “I really like you. And I think I’m in love with you,”

“Thank fuck. My next option was to sacrifice you to Satan if everything went to shit,”

“Hey!”

“Kidding,” he smiles softly. “Can I kiss you?”

Four words enough to sweetly kill you, only to be resurrected by his yearning stare. You nod. “I don’t know. Can you?”

He doesn’t answer, but yeah, he can kiss you.

It’s tender, it's soft, it's warm, it's free, and it’s loving. It feels like summer in the dead of the night; like sitting in front of the fireplace with hot choco during winter. Eddie kisses you the way a lover would, with megawatts of avidity. And his lips are soft and home and so validating. I see you. I feel you, I understand you. 

Eddie fully carries your face in his hand, slanting his mouth against yours when he takes a deep breath. He breaks away for a moment before he tackles you with an open mouthed kiss that you reciprocate, the feeling of his balmy tongue grazing your plump bottom lip.

You feel the heat wave itself from your chest to the space between your legs that makes you subconsciously lean closer to him, thighs bumping. Eddie’s hand crawls from your cheek, to pressing lightly on the dip of your neck, to your plump shoulder, grazing the tattoo he painted on your skin until they land on your thigh, lifting it on top of his.

You moan softly that vibrates across his warm chest. Eddie hums, playing with the ruffles of your red dress, keeping your hot mouth locked against his. But when your hand comes down to grasp at his bicep, moving behind to tangle lightly on his curls, your body searches for friction and uses his thigh as the nearest solution. 

“Christ, babe,” he breaks away, the tip of his nose still pressed on your cheek. “You only got panties beneath?”

“You never know,” you pant. 

He groans, feeling blood rush down to his cock that immediately hardens. You feel an acute bump beneath your knee, giving Eddie a rubicund glow. You press the back of your knee against it, which makes him squeak. “Y’ really wanna- wanna do this? I mean, I just kissed you.” he swallows thickly. “And I’ve- I’ve never done this before,”

Eddie looks ashamed, like it’s embarrassing to be a virgin in your twenties. Your heart melts for him, face softening, taking his hand into yours and kissing his knuckles. 

“Me, too,” you confess. “But I trust you and- and I wanna do this with you. Besides, it’s better than to leave high and dry, right?”

I trust you.

He laughs jovially. 

“You’re right,” he gives your mouth quick pecks, too short for your liking but he makes up for it when Eddie readjusts himself so that he’s fully facing you, urging you to do the same so that he’d wrap your legs around his waist. “‘M gonna take care of you, Mands.”

He easily lifts himself off the old bench, carrying you with him. You sway with every step, arms locked around his neck, lips slotted against him with his eyes closed tightly but luckily he knows his way to the thin blanket.

Eddie kneels, almost falling down with your weight. He places a hand to the back of your head and the other on the bottom of your spine when he gently lays you on the light eiderdown. 

Immediately, he lays himself on top of you, a forearm on the side of your head with the other palming at your waist. Your dress rides up to your thigh, pooling beneath you when Eddie moves forward to caress his thigh against yours, your knees pressing up at his sides. 

“Can I- Can I remove your dress?” he asks gently, eyebrows joint. “Please?”

“Yes, please,”

His hands wander to the buttons in front, removing them with ease until your bra appears. It doesn’t match what’s below you, something you’re slightly embarrassed about, but Eddie goggles at them as soon as he pulls on your strap. “Oh, god, you’re hot.”

He mouths at the top of your breasts, sucking gently as he begins to pull down on your dress until he sees your cotton panties. He drags them down until your body’s free of restraint, where he moves back so he’d remove them off your legs and place them on top of the basket to avoid any dust ruining the fabric.

Then he goes back to kissing your tits, hands cupping them together, bunching the material of your bra in his fists. You moan softly, grasping his shoulders.

“Beautiful,” he says. “Goddess divine,”

Eddie helps you sit up slightly so he could reach behind and clumsily unclasp your bra. His tongue pokes out in determination, makes a happy sound of success once he sees your bra loosen, straps draping down your shoulders that he gladly removes from you. 

“Hold on,” he leans back, moving to his knees to remove his vest and shirt. Eddie stuns you with his alabaster skin tainted with black ink. A gnarly demon on his chest beside a black widow, the infamous bats on his outer forearm, the puppet master on the inside and the butterfly on his wrist; the wyvern on his bicep, and there’s a huge, hotly formidable tattoo of a pair of bat wings starting from his v-line, curving around his waist, and a skull beneath his left pec. “There. Now we’re even,”

“You look… christ, I’m not even gonna fucking hold back. You look hot. Very fuckable,”

He laughs with a light shake of his head. “I’m gonna pretend you were looking at my face while you were saying that.”

When he goes back down, his lips attach to your hard nipple. You mewl softly, feeling his hot saliva lather around your tit when he suckles hard like he searches for something in there. You clutch at his hair, head tipping back, hips jolting up to grind against his bulge which makes him groan. 

“Do you have to suck on my tits longer or should I start touching myself already?”

Eddie chuckles in disbelief. “Patience, honey. ‘M gonna give you what you want, don’t worry.”

His hand grips at the warm flesh of your thigh, index finger moving up to slip beneath the waistband of your panties, massaging your flesh. And he treats the other breast with the same hunger, doesn’t stop until he’s certain they’re sensitive (they are. They really are.)

Finally, he starts moving down, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses on your belly, down to your navel, until he reaches your dampening underwear. You prop yourself up to your elbows when he stutters in his movements, staring up at the wet spot that reveals the indent of your little cunt.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, a forming billow of insecurity preparing to tackle you the longer he stares at your clothes sex. 

“Nothing,” he clears his throat. “Jus’ that I’ve never… eaten a girl out, before. Well, I’ve had practice. Just not at a girl’s p-pussy,”

Curiosity waves insecurity off. “Well, where? At your hand?”

“At a fleshlight,”

Your head feels like burning. “Oh,” you blink. “Well, do your best, I guess. Good luck,”

“Thanks,” 

Eddie sniffs at your arousal, biting back an animalistic groan that scratches at his throat when the aroma of nectar fills his nostrils. Eddie leisurely removes your panties, lifting his eyes up to connect with yours. They’re achingly concupiscent, pupils blown in the thick glaze of frisson that makes the hair on his arms raise with anticipation. 

Finally, he tugs them down, wiggling them off you. Eddie’s practically edging himself, with the way he slowly reveals your cunt, mouth watering at the shiny gloss at your clit from your slick. He growls lowly, sliding them off faster until he tosses them into nowhere (you make a note to hit him later for that).

His hands push at your knees, spreading your legs apart, making your pussy open and splay out for him to press his tongue against. 

Which he does; Eddie’s lips purse, lets a thick glob of his spit cascade down to your clit before leaving a featherlight kiss to it, until he licks a fat stripe from your tiny hole to the bud. You keen, back arching, which makes him link his arms around your legs and press a hand on your navel to keep you down.

It’s a foreign feeling you know you’d relish for the rest of your life, especially when it comes to his tongue. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper. 

“You taste- taste fucking amazing,” you do. Like honey; like a pétillant sweet moscato, syrup on pancakes and all other sweet shit he could think of. Eddie repeats his action, which makes your hole flutter around nothing. He suctions his mouth at your clit, sucking all the juices that continue to leak out of your blushing cunt. “Christ on a fucking clutch- oh, god, Mandy.” 

There’s an embarrassing sound that seems to be like quiet slurping and the raw music of wetness created by his lips and your arousal. Your toes curl, the tip of his tongue dragging along your folds like some kitten before he returns to taking your clit back in his mouth.

Mewling, your elbows give out and your head falls down to the sheets, eyes squeezing shut. His vacant hand comes down to drag itself along the mess of your hot sex, amalgamated with his saliva and your lubricous dampness, rubbing your clit with his index and middle finger in slow, pressured circles that begins to ignite the flame below your stomach. 

“God- Eddie- I-”

“Wanna use your words, babe?” he laps at your hole, nose rubbing at your clit when he shakes his head vigorously. “Tell me how good it feels, come on. Don’t go shy on me.”

You nod, your wrist pressing on your forehead when Eddie parts your slick petals with his fingers, formed into a v to expose more of you. He licks at it, teasing your folds, gawking at you. 

“Feels- feels amazing. Felt like I was gonna pee whenever you- fuck- suck at my clit. God, Eds, I want more,” you whine, bucking your hips at his face. “Please. Please please please,”

He laughs against you. “You weren’t gonna pee, sweetheart.”

“How’d you know?”

“Porn,” he furrows his eyebrows. “Eavesdropping works sometimes.”

Eddie licks at his fingers, index and middle stuck together in his mouth as he twirls his tongue around them. He pulls them out with a small pop, eyes  wandering up to your bare, heaving chest, and he couldn’t resist a teasing squeeze using the hand pressed on your navel.

Then, he begins to ease one finger, lips apart, breathless as he watches you take in his digit slowly. It’s a strange feeling, with something prodding deep at your entrance, where Eddie doesn’t stop until he’s practically knuckle deep into you, pressing against your viscid walls; an alien sensation that feels good, albeit you still don’t feel full, even so, it’s tingly and blissful.

Your brows furrow, lips disjoined to produce heartily mewls, evoking Eddie of his altruism. He can’t get enough of how you taste, of how heavenly your sounds are despite the deed being so irreverent. He’s thrusting the single digit slowly. So you buck your hips against his face, almost shoving your clit into his mouth.

“M-more,” you whine. “Please. I can take it,”

“Yeah?” he kisses the outside of your cunt, nipping at your thighs. “Gotta stretch you open first, right?”

The tone’s a question, though it careens to remind you of what he’s going to do next. Eddie pulls his finger out, moaning quietly at his scintillating limb. He lifts his middle finger, placing it beside the sticky index before he gingerly impels inside. Your hips raise, your wails turning a bit louder, bursting into pleasured linns of coloratura. 

When he brushes that sensitive spot that makes you sob, one that abuts the waves and fluxes delirium on every blood that swims on your insides. Eddie looks up at you, hair in a tangled mess when you keep pulling on them as he picks up his pace and quaffs at your pulpy button, shoulders spreading your legs at an almost uncomfortable distance that puts an ache from your legs to your thighs.

The sounds you make are absolutely empyrean. They reverberate from the torn walls of the hallway just outside, like angels warbling as they play the harmonious harp with their cherubic fingers; like the skies had opened, let out a beam of sunlight surround him in a circle and take him up to heaven where you remain. 

And they shouldn’t be taking sinners like him; a devil worshiper as they rudely opine. Yet here he was, listening to an angel cry, her teardrops leaking down his fingers to his gyrating wrist, combing through his hair pruriently. 

But now, because of him, he doesn’t think you're an angel anymore. With what’s happening — angels don’t submit to the devil now, do they?

Eddie’s hair is a blazing abradation against your sensitive skin, heightens every part of your senses that explodes your mind. You feel an overwhelming, anomalous twist in the pit of your stomach. 

He places gentle kisses on your silky thighs, looking up at you with such vehemence. “You make the prettiest sounds, Mands. Just as pretty as your voice, hm? Wanna sing for me? Gon’ make you sing so loud, baby.”

Fingers fasten. They scissor, and they spread, and they augment on your viscous in your tight canal. An amoral sound produced by his neophyte hands and your needy, swelling cunt that aches for more despite already having been split open by his fingers. 

You moan, loud, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit as his arm begins to shake the faster he moves his hand inside you. Eddie begins moving up, fingers still fucking you, kissing his way up to your face. He leaves wet spots on your skin, both of his saliva and your wetness. Your hands leave his hair, eyes scrunched close to weep coarsely, pushing at his hand, urging him to go deeper that his cold rings sting your raw folds. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, stomach flexing, arm grasping at his hastening hand. You clench around his fingers, locking him in place for a split second from how tight it was. “God, Eddie, I’m- you’re making me cu- I’m close,”

“You can cum,” he kisses your cheek, dragging his lips up to kiss the corners of your eyes. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Come on, be a good girl and cum for me,”

You do, with your back bowed, jaw slack with mewls and moans, thighs shaking when he continues to rub your clit even when your cum starts to coat his fingers, dripping down to his rings and wrist. Liquid spurts, a hollow but wet sound when he slows his fingering and fucks your tiny entrance open. 

Finally, Eddie pulls them out with a humiliating shlick, cum leaking out of your hole and onto the thin blanket. He shoves his fingers in his mouth, like it’s his libation —god of fingerfucking, as you’d call him in your mind when he sucks all the white sap.

“Felt good?” he pokes your cheekbone with the button of his nose. “Because if it didn’t, I might as well leave you here and go back to Hawkins butt naked.”

You laugh, slapping lightly at his arm. “It felt amazing, Eddie. Don’t worry.”

Your hands fumble with his jeans. But Eddie kisses you, unrestrained with his tongue sweet, a faint bitter taste of the beer he drank earlier. He places his hands on top of yours, placing them on top of your stomach before he goes back to removing his jeans. 

The sound of his pants unzipping excites you, eyebrows raising as you kiss him harder, hands coming up to grasp his face gently, thumb on his cheek and the rest of your fingers below his jaw that you caress its emolliency. Eddie raises his hips, tugging them down until he’s clad in nothing but silver rings and checkered boxers.

He nods towards his crotch when you break away from him, eyes leading from his chest, to the fuzzy brown hair of his happy trail, to the bulge that pokes out of his loose underwear. “Wanna see it, babe?”

“Can I?”

Eddie snorts. “Yes you abso-fucking-lutely can. Take it out, sweetheart. You can play with it a little,”

He moves to lay halfway beside you, legs dropped and slightly spread, hands on his back to support himself. You get on your knees, face aflame when Eddie’s eyes watch your every move with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. You wonder how he could be so calm; if he felt the same nervous sensation overwhelm your core, both being neophyte to sex. Nevertheless, you’re not nervous enough that you want to stop.

But when you tug down on the band of his boxers and his cock vaults up, he tries to hide how overwhelmed he is. You ogle, and if you could, you would have foamed at the mouth at the sight of his thick girth, tip swell with precum, how a vein bulges beneath and how his sack hung heavy. A voice in the back of your mind wonders if he could even fit inside you but suddenly you’re starved.

“Pretty,” you breathe out, tongue licking your lips. “Dude, you’re big,”

“Thanks.” he blushes.

Gallantly, you swipe your hand across your slick heat to lubricate your palm. He visibly shudders, eyes glassy, groaning when your fingers enclose around him.

“Fuck,” your wrist gyrates, starts moving up and down on his length. Eddie’s hips buck into your fist, your movement leisurely, like you’re relishing the feeling of his hot cock in your hand. But you lean down, mimicking him earlier by letting a dollop of your spit drizzle down on top of his tip. “Oh- oh god, that felt good,”

You slant down to wrap your lips delicately around his engorged helmet. He moans, breath ruptured when you sink down onto him, taking only what you could and coat the rest with your trembling hand. “Fuck- shit- yeah, baby, your mouth’s amazing,”

He tries not to buck up into your mouth, restraining himself by carding a hand through your hair to cup it on the back of your head. His hearing becomes muffled, nothing but the opaque sound of birds, deluging it with your gurgles, your spit and his fluid that continues to leak from his slit leaking down to his balls. 

Eddie had imagined this once- twice- three, he doesn’t know. It had been too many to count and he feels bad thinking about it; what kind of normal person would imagine their friend being on their knees, naked, sucking on their cock?

You look up at him, eyes vast and credulously submissive with enameled innocence, like you’re repenting with his dick in your mouth, as if it had been your god and you beg for forgiveness for all the sins that you’ve caused.

Jesus, Mary, Joseph. Oh…fuck.

Cardinal paints the alabaster marble of his cheeks, brushing over it until it spreads down to his clenching neck and heaving chest as you imbibe his tip, suctioning your cheeks around his length and jerk him off. You look like you know what you’re doing, leading him to wonder if you’d done this before. He should be jealous, let that fraught warp in his mind and spread over his nerves until he stops you and begins to ask. But pleasure besets him, too much, that the question withers away into the carnal haze.

You gag and he almost cums. “Shit, ‘ve been thinking about this for a long time,” Eddie’s voice is rough, sweat dripping down his temples and onto his hair that settles over his shoulders. You break away from his head, moving down to lave your tongue up from the base above his sack to the ridge beneath his tip. “Ohhh- fuck,”

Eddie gently pulls himself off your mouth, his hand coming down to your cheek and raising your head. His cock grazes your upper lip when it pops out and arches to his stomach, leaking down his happy trail. A luster of his precum and your spit smears on your plump lips, mouth parted to take a short gasp of air as he pulls you up to him.

“How’d you learn how to do that?” he wipes the fluid off the corner of your lip, bringing you into a kiss because he misses you, and just because he wants to taste himself.

“Gave a guy head before I left New York,” you murmur against him. “He came all over my face and some of his cum went in my eye. Got pink eye for two weeks,”

He winces. “Ouch,”

Then he gives you a kiss on your eyelids, your laugh that he interrupts with his mouth, cajoling you with kisses as he lays you onto your back beneath him where he slots himself between your legs, his cock grazing your still sensitive folds that makes you whimper in his mouth.

Craving, Eddie’s hand ventures from your waist, squeezing your ample thigh, stopping on your calf to hike your leg up his waist. He grinds down onto you,  pressing his hardness against the swell of your cunt.

“Still want to do this?” he questions between wet kisses, your hands venturing the slope of his back. “Just say the word and I’ll stop.”

“Don’t,” your eyebrows furrow in frustration. “I mean, I still want to do this. Christ, please,”

“Okay,” he breaks away, moving across you to check the basket. “Okay okay okay okay- fuck. Gareth forgot the fucking condoms.”

You stammer. “W-you knew we were going to have sex?”

“You never know,” he laughs nervously, copying you. “Um. I could pull out. I mean, I can’t exactly promise you I’d have the- the energy to do so. But I could just eat you out ‘till you’re okay. OH! Sixty-nine! We could do that! That way we’re both satisfied,”

“Eddie,” you reach between to grab his cock, squeezing lightly. His eyes flutter, groaning. “Just- just fuck me, okay? We can figure it out later.”

“Shit, okay,” he leans down to kiss you. “And I’m not gonna fuck you, babe,”

Eddie digs his nose into the crook of your neck, his hand replacing yours, slapping his tip on your bud. His forehead rests on your cheek when he does this, relishing in your small moan. “Why not?”

“‘Cause I’m gonna make love to you,” he lazily kisses your cheek. “‘Y need to stop being vulgar sometimes, sweetheart.”

He jabs at your entrance, before he slowly pushes himself in.

A searing pain threads around your cunt, chiefly at your entrance and your inner walls; though, when the pain spreads across your body, it numbs on your nerves, so the only thing burning was your sex. But Eddie’s taking it slow, agonizingly slow, feeling the tension that radiates. He comforts you through soft strokes against, kissing your cheek at every inch he pushes in.

When you wince once his pelvis pushes against your clit, Eddie lifts his head from your shoulder, his eye twitching lightly from holding back. He massages your thigh, other hand coming up to cup your face and rest his thumb on the corner of your eye when tears begin to form. 

“Are you okay?” he whispers, trying not to move, but his tip’s right at your spot. “Do you want me to pull out? Does it hurt too much?”

“It’s supposed to hurt right?”

“Well, I heard it does,” he kisses your nose. “Sometimes it doesn’t for others, though,”

“Okay,” you chuckle lightly, grasping harder at his back.

It took almost a minute for the sting to retire, and he stayed pliant inside you, waiting until he felt your walls relax around him; until your crumbled face slackened and your mouth opened, letting out sacred breaths. 

“You can move now,” Eddie smiles, slanting his mouth against yours. His tongue explores your mouth, mouth staying closed around yours as he begins to pull out halfway, before he pushes back in slowly. 

Eddie sheathes himself inside you, an omnipotent surge of sybaritism divaricates your senses.  He brushes his hair behind your ears, gazing down at you even though your eyes are closed and you stare into a void with your body aflame. And he feels good- amazing, with every stretch that enkindles every nerve.

You look blissed beneath him, every bone submitting to every grind, every time his head hits that very spot that lets you create sensual croons, soft ones that it seems like you’re silently gasping with your parted lips. He places a kiss to where your eyebrows join, sloppy with his hedonistic thrust. 

It’s nothing but soft, breathless moans, his grunts and your whimpers when the pain numbs out, his lips moving down until he meets yours with his ever loving tongue brushing your bottom lip from the lax kiss. The tush of hair tickles your skin, his balls slapping gently against your ass, his hand leaving your thigh to push your silky coiffed hair off your shoulder. 

He doesn’t hurry, takes his time with you like he’s got every second of your lives, like you both don’t lack sleep. And Eddie can’t stop kissing every inch that he could reach — whether it be the hollow skin of your collarbone, or leaving bites on your neck to mark you, not because he claims your being but because he wants to own your heart. He kisses your cheekbones dampened by your tears, taking your hand from his back, leaning down to kiss the tattoo he stabbed onto your skin. 

“You can cry,” Eddie whispers. “I got you. You look so pretty, hm — fuck, my pretty, pretty girl.”

You let your tears fall down to his thumbs, slowly opening your eyes even though it stings to do so with the tears that prod at your eyeballs. Eddie smiles, clasping his hand around yours and kisses every calloused fingertip.

“Ah, Eddie,” your bottom lip juts out, letting the moans flow. “Feels- f-feels so good. Your cock feels amazing,”

“Shit, Mands, don’t say that,” he laughs weakly. “You’re gon’ make me cum faster than I intend to,”

Each thrust builds a bubble inside, until it explodes and floods you in rhapsodic waves. A heavy feeling that tells you that you’d never get sick of feeling him buried deep in your gummy walls, or of hearing his breathless moans, or the love that radiates through every caress of his that brings you comfort. 

The lacuna is almost not there, like he wants to melt his skin with yours. His sweat drips down to your bare chest, where his lips venture until he wraps his mouth around your sensitive nipples that had been chafing against his chest. You run your fingers through his hair, your hips lunging up to grind with his. 

Eddie’s definitely not fucking you. No, no with his velvet sighs, or with his naughty suckles. He’s making love to you like he said; like he promised. 

“You feel me making love to you?” you nod, taking his face down to smush it against yours. “Put your legs around me, sweetheart,”

You do, gently circling your legs around his waist, heel pressing onto the bottom of his spine. You feel yourself split open, suctioning his cock, driving him deeper. It’s when the lewd sounds increase their volume, whenever his heavy sack hits your wet cunt as he picks up the pace of his thrust, pushing in and in and in.

“Fuck,” you cry out, pulling lightly on his hair. When you suck on his collarbone, a claret bruise colors his pearlescent skin, his chest reddening from the amount of sanguine blood that flows through. “You’re so deep,”

“Can you look at me, honey?” your eyes force itself open to stare deep in his doe eyes, roaring with ecstasy, staring right at the windows of your soul. “Hi there, Mandy.”

Eddie gathers both your hands in one hand and pins them above you, which you meekly allow him to while his vacant one slithers itself between your bodies to rub on your clit. The words in your mouth turn into moans, getting drunk at the bliss. 

He moves faster, the sounds making it seem like he’s fucking you but you’re too lost to care. Eddie moans, keeps on nudging your nose whenever your eyes begin to flutter shut from lethargy.

“You’re taking me so well, hm?” he nips at your jawline. “Pretty little pussy just taking my cock, yeah?”

It’s just you and Eddie inside that abandoned home, you believe. You feel him carve his skin against yours like a promise, when you exchange your slick sweat and your breathy moans swallowed by his open mouth that hovers yours; his hips folding against yours in corybantic impetus. He refuses to close his eyes as if he’d lose you when he blinks, devotion swelling his waterline. 

He drills faster and deeper, the hollow and wet sound of your arousals spurs him on more. There’s a sting on the inside of your cunt, though too faint for it to even dwell in your mind. Then that now familiar feeling of something twisting at the bottom of your stomach comes to surface, burgons over your senses, and so did Eddie’s.

“I’m gonna cum,” you mewl softly. “I’m gonna cum, Eddie.”

“I know, baby,” his grip tightens on your wrists, his thumb on your clit adding pressure and fastens his rubs. Eddie wantonly fucks his cock inside you now, moaning at your small cries when he hits that spot over and over again. “I gotta pull out, okay?”

“No!” you push his chest against yours, locking your feet around him. “Cum- cum in me. Want it in me, please.”

And who was he to resist you?

(Someone who isn’t ready to be a father, technically. But he seriously couldn’t resist you.)

Eddie kisses over your fluttering pulse, his cock snug, pressing himself against your thighs. He continues rubbing your clit, his blunt nails pressing on the sides of your wrist. And he coaxes you through the billow of your orgasm. “That’s it, baby. Good girl- shit- oh, fuck, gonna cum inside this pussy, yeah? Gon’ give you all of me.”

You cum with a gasp, lewd sloshing from your pussy as you gush around him weakly. You feel his cock twitch inside you, right before he tries to muffle his moans by kissing you sloppily, mixing his sultry seed with yours when he slows his thrust, pushing it inside deeper.

He mouths at your chest, licking across the top of your breast before he works up your nipples. Eddie moves his hips again for a couple more times before he slowly pulls out of you.

Your legs fall to your sides. Eddie kisses your knees, massaging your legs, spreading them apart.

Then he pales. “Fuck, (y/n), you’re bleeding-”

“Huh?” your head lifts, seeing the small pink puddle beneath your ass. Eddie wipes his sweat on his thighs, reaching for his shirt that’s been thrown somewhere to wipe it across your cunt hastily. “Babe that’s normal…”

You hide your eyes behind your wrist, panting heavily. The pounding on his heart eases, gently wiping across your cunt. “Really?”

“To some. But I did,”

Eddie reaches for a new bottle of beer from the basket on top of your head, opening it with his teeth before he slots himself back between your legs. You prop yourself up to your elbows, his hand cupping below your mouth when he brings the bottle to your lips.

You drink the bittersweet liquor, swallowing slowly. He smiles at you. “You did a great job, yeah?” He kisses your forehead, and he can’t help but cheekily lather your cunt with his cum when he reaches down to slide his fingers between your semi-bleeding folds. 

“Ah-” you squirm away, gripping tightly onto him. “Ouch. Sen- sensitive, c-christ,”

“Sorry, baby,” he plucks his finger inside his mouth, morsel of cum and your blood filling his taste buds. “Couldn’t resist,”

Eddie slants his lips onto yours, letting your pulse relax in the frenzied mist, the afterglow ensnaring your beating hearts. You see that the moon grants his eyes a vermeil glow when he pulls back, skin glistening like stars in the night sky, luring you in for you to lose yourself in them — you do, basking in the comfort of his gaze, pilfering your soul.

Double-cross the vacant and the bored

They’re not sure just what we have in store

In November of 1979, Eddie Munson stood breathless on the stage of the theater room for the Middle School Talent Show, electric guitar in hand, buzzed hair drenched with sweat that dripped down to his Bauhaus black shirt. The aftermath of his oh-so-metal performance of Breaking The Law left the parents clapping scatteredly, and his classmates hollering and yelling from their seats.

He looked back on his then bandmates and little Gareth who sat proudly behind the large drum set. Eddie laughed, clapped with them before he genuflected, ignoring the judgemental stares of conservative parents who watched his every move as he walked down the stage.

“Well, that was a very loud and brazen performance from… Corroded Coffin,” Mr. Clarke smiled brightly at them, holding the card in his hand. “Up next we have a very, very lovely girl named-”

He said a name, which Eddie deemed as the girl who sat in front of him during History, who wrote things on top of her books that he recognized were lyrics he’s unfamiliar to. Eddie ran his hand across his buzzed head, looking around and wondered where that girl may be.

Little Gareth stood beside Eddie, who pointed behind to the backdoors. When he turned, the doors were swinging open, the exit seen through the small window where he saw her running away to Hawkins High.

Eddie patted his friend’s back, deciding to follow that girl in a purple dress and short pigtails that disappeared into the darkness of the school parking lot.

The doors slammed against the walls, twice, and he ran and ran until he reached Hawkins High where she hid. He roamed the unfamiliar walls, knocking against the dents of the lockers, until he heard the gentle sound of piano from the music room nearby.

Like an angel’s cry for help, as he remembered. The tune of that song his uncle sang every morning familiarizes itself in his eardrums. Eddie approached the door, peaked through the small window, and saw

You.

Your back to him, back hunched, purple dress resting down to your knees with your hands idly pressed at the keys with a melancholy mist surrounding you. Eddie listened to you sing, a couple pitches wrong but nevertheless soft and dulcet, even though he heard something restraining your throat with what seemed to be held back sobs.

“Oh Mandy, well you came—”

When he stormed in, the doorknob slamming at the wall, you yelled, high pitched and laced with fear. Eddie’s eyes had widened and closed the door, placing a finger up to his lips to shush you.

“Hey- hey hey hey no, shh, quiet—” he lunged at you, cupping his hand over your mouth. Your screams had died instantly, though your eyes remained wide with distress and tears that stained his hand. You placed your hands on the bench, waiting until Eddie removed his hands from your mouth.

He saw that you had missing teeth like his, both on the same spot when you hissed at him. That you looked like you had been freshly crying (which you were) with your lips pouted and eyes stained red with the tears that priced your eyes.

Once his hand returned to his side, you kicked his shin, hard enough that Eddie knew he’d have a bruise (he did. A big one that lasted for a week). He winced loudly, rubbing the spot “What is wrong with you? Why didn't you knock?”

“Dramatic entrance,” he spread his arms, bowing down to you like he’d just finished a show. “I didn't mean to scare you like that. S-sorry. Are you okay?”

You had surveyed his intimidating demeanor of oversized black Bauhaus tee, ripped jeans, a single skeleton ring with a slick buzzcut that shone from the fluorescent lights of the music room with puffy eyes. Eddie felt that nervousness bubble in his stomach, knowing how well you’re judging him. But your posture remained relaxed and you showed no ounce of fear so he thought that was new.

When you remained silent, he took the opportunity to speak again. “My uncle loves that song,” he sat beside you, making you scoot over. “He sings it almost every morning.”

“Mandy?” you said, fiddling with your fingers, sniffing.

“Yeah,” his tongue prods at the gaps between his teeth, feeling the gums that protected his adult teeth. “Oh, Mandy. Well, you kissed me and stopped me from shaking,” 

You smiled weakly, sniffling. “My mom likes it too,” 

“Really?” You nodded, tugging on your dress. “I wouldn’t blame her. I like it, too.” Eddie had reached for his pocket, pulling on his skull handkerchief as he spoke again. “Why did you run away? You were next and you ran.”

“I was nervous,” you huffed, tears welled your eyes. “Tammy Thompson said I sounded like a muppet singing so I ran away so I wouldn't embarrass myself,”

Eddie gasped. “She said that?” he furrowed his eyebrows. “She’s the one who sounds like a muppet.” 

You gawped. “No she doesn’t!”

“Yes she does!” Eddie pressed his fingers on either side of his nose, before he began singing in a voice shrill and deafening that made you laugh hard. “Yesterday's a dream- oh! I face the morning yeah yeah crying on a breeze woah ooh The pain is calling- aaaaaaa!!”

You laughed beside him, both your small chests aching for the lack of breath that had been wheezed out, cheeks strained and eyes welled with tears. “Okay, maybe she does sound like that,” your smile withered. “But, what if she’s right?”

 “She isn’t.”

“You didn't even hear me sing,”

“Yeah, I did,” Eddie scooted closer, bumping his arm with yours. “You sounded cool. You sounded like an angel. A pretty metal angel.”

You remembered that it had been the first time you blushed — thirteen year old Eddie Munson, who still had baby teeth at his age, had been the receiving end of that bashful smile; you remembered that he asked if you could play, and you did, with the ends of your purple dress tickling his knees that exposed from his jeans.

“Metal?” Eddie nodded. “I was playing the piano.”

“Well, anything can be metal,” he pulled out his handkerchief. “Crying is metal. Singing is metal. This chair,” he used his other hand to grasp at the leg of the bench and shook it, making you giggle. “Is metal.”

That night, not only did Eddie Munson offer you his handkerchief for aid (that he wiped beneath your nose himself, unbothered by the thick snot dampening the fabric), but he offered you friendship. He offered you comfort and validation, and you offered him acceptance. 

That he proceeded to compliment not just your voice but your hair and your dress. Eddie Munson made you comfortable that night, had kindled something between the two of you that you called a friendship. He watched you play that piano in the music room unabashedly and confidently, him being your first ever audience, and Eddie stood up from the bench, and clapped at you like you’d performed at a concert.

That he sang Don’t Fear The Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult (and gave you a mixtape right before you left) in front of you so you’d get even.

He took your feelings seriously, said that you’d do great and it’s normal to get nervous before a performance; talked to you with his innocent, doe-eyes gaze with his hand on your shoulder for comfort.

And that he watched you, standing in front of the crowd, cheering you on as you sang Mandy with full confidence and carelessness of the judgemental eyes and insults from Tammy Thompson.

You went back home with the thought of that boy with a buzzcut that made you smile brighter than anyone else had. And you had a silly little childish crush on him for god knows how long. 

But Eddie had a crush on you until 1982, where he unfortunately started to forget. And you, the same.

Yet he never forgot. He always thought about that girl in the pretty purple dress who had a pretty smile and a cute laugh, who gave him a kiss on the cheek for cheering her on during the talent show. 

He thought about her — you — every night before going to bed and he dreamt of you. 

And now, here in 1986 where you sat on the passenger seat of his car with a cigarette in your mouth, racing the borrowed time before the sun begins to rise, the open window that blew the hair out of your face as you stared out with a blissed smile, Eddie realizes he’s been playing that dangerous love game since he was thirteen.

That he’s already charged Vecna and his swarm of bats with nothing more than a blunt spear, courage, a dream and a crush that blossomed into love. He’s been there since 1979, having it paused for four years before returning to the Upside Down when you came back.

He’s already played that dangerous game of love and now, he’s killed Vecna with a stake through his heart and won.

Eddie parks his car beside the broken fence of weathertop, the black sky now a bright shade of gray. You smile at him, unbuckling your seatbelt, before you simultaneously open the doors together and exit.

You hold the basket in your hand, the other laced around Eddie’s, climbing up that hill until you reach that spot you both were in weeks ago, with the tall grass tickling your bare ankles, hands tight against each other, a silent promise of protection as he holds you close to him. 

Your equilibrium is askew from earlier events, his shirt hangs well over your body that tickles your sensitive skin, and Eddie actually is shirtless, after unfortunately getting too much dust on your dress. 

But he feels free, standing on top of the hill with his tattoos and the love of his life holding his hand. When the white clouds start to emerge and levitate above him, its shapeshifting glory; pertinently gifting you with peaceful vapor that flows through the town. 

You both sat down, and soon you’ve both got a sandwich and a beer in your hands, sitting side by side, watching as the sun deliberately rises from the earth. You rest your head on his shoulder, munching on the sandwich, bottles balanced between your legs.

“No wonder why your mom’s eager to watch the sunrise,” you smell his musk of faint sex and cigarettes. Eddie presses a kiss on the top of your head. “It’s beautiful,”

He looks at you, the afterglow of sex still dawned on your vogue. You rip a piece of bread off and pop it into your mouth, and Eddie says, “I love you,”

You look up at him, the warm, dandelion smolder of the sun illuminates your face stupendously. He doesn't need to go further into detail how pretty you looked. 

But you? — with all the darkness of the world put on pause like some movie, the pastel colors of dawn that crawl up from his chin to the entirety of his face, his tangled mush of curls that frame his picturesque, devilishly handsome face, it heralds safety; love and adoration that you harbor for this man. 

“Yeah?” you press your chin on his shoulder. “Didn’t peg you as the type to fall after sex, Munson,”

“Oh, sweetheart, I fell a long time ago,” he rubs his nose against yours. “I just forgot,”

“How romantic,”

Eddie places his sandwich on his lap, just so he could push your hair behind your ear and stare at you. So he could see you, validating you for all your worth. 

You both sit there, on the field just where your bones will rest, until it withers into dust and disappear behind those dirt and stone and go one like you both never existed. But death was the least of your concerns, relishing in the moment you have with this person who'd given you validation when you sought for it (and Eddie, who stares at you with such devotion like you'd given him everything he fought for — acceptance).

“But yeah,” you whisper. “Maybe me too,”

He leans down to kiss you. And when the sun rises and coats you with its celestial brilliance, with his kiss chaste and soft and so loving, you break away with a small click created by your wet, plump lips.

“I love you,” you say. And you mean it.

songs played by sequence: unnamed Mötley Crüe song/ Mandy - Barry Manilow/ Your Love - The Outfield/ Third Uncle - Bauhaus/ Marian - Sisters of Mercy/ Message in a Bottle - The Police/ I Wanna Be Somebody - W.A.S.P./ I Want To Know What Love Is - The Foreigner/ Paranoid - Black Sabbath/ Breaking the Law - Judas Priest/ Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic - The Police/ Broken Wings - Mr. Mister/ Runnin' With the Devil - Van Halen/ Only The Good Die Young - Billy Joel/ 1979 - The Smashing Pumpkins (not in the fic)

special thanks to @poppy-metal and her very horny anons who inspired me for the smut i love u

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED 💕

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