#and ironically there are like two original songs by him that i like

[comediakaidanovsky]

jack antonoff stop working with female artists and stripping them of their personality and edge and making them all sound the fucking same challenge

#everytime a new artist announces that their new album is an antonoff collaboration i die inside #i hate this man with my life #and ironically there are like two original songs by him that i like #but album after album he's just weaseled his way in with florence with lorde with lana with even taylor swift etc etc he's like a vampire #even if you don't know much about music you can listen to the before and after and tell that something is MISSING #jack antonoff is a horror movie entity infiltrating the music industry #not a single woman singer-songwriter is safe #anyway this is a jack antonoff hateblog i hope he dies i hope we both die #music

[elysieeh]

Bulgarian Music in Studio Ghibli films

”Myth has it that Orpheus was born in what is now Bulgaria. It seemed to be fact, not myth, that his daughters are still singing there”

These words were written by the New York Times in the remote 1963 — the year in which the largest Bulgarian folk ensemble crossed the Iron Curtain to conquer an entire continent with its cosmic art.

The 1975 release of Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares, a compilation album of modern arrangements of Bulgarian folk songs, further popularized Bulgarian music, and in 1977, a vinyl record featuring the folk song “Izlel ye Delyo Haydutin” (Eng: Come out rebel Delyo) began its journey aboard the Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 spacecrafts.

From this point on popularity from the West spread to the East, and Bulgarian folk music made it to the entertainment industry, including legendary Japanese anime films, like the cult cyberpunk “Ghost in the Shell” or the heartwarming Studio Ghibli features.

In this short article I write about two occasions of Bulgarian music playing in Studio Ghibli’s films.

The record that inspired the creation of “Only Yesterday”

“Only Yesterday” is a 1991 Japanese animated drama film written and directed by Isao Takahata, based on the 1982 manga of the same title by Hotaru Okamoto and Yuko Tone. Set in rural Japan, the film draws parallels with the peasant lifestyle present in Eastern Europe.

The original work is a compilation of short stories about 11-year-old Taeko’s daily life in 1966. Director Takahata had a hard time making it into a movie since the manga, told in the form of a memoir, has no plot to hold a feature. Together with producer Toshio Suzuki, they came up with the solution of bringing the narrator of the story, adult Taeko, into the movie. But there is a curious anecdote about how this idea came to mind.

Taeko picks safflower as the Bulgarian song “Malka moma dvori mete” plays in the background. © Studio Ghibli

In a 2021 interview with students from Sofia University St. Kliment Ohridski, producer Suzuki recounts how a record of Bulgarian songs performed by the children choir “Bodra Smyana”, introduced to him by director Takahata, inspired the creation of the movie. Moved by the cosmic voices of the children, they decided to make “Only Yesterday” a musical. He also recalls what a tiring process it was to acquire the rights to the music, but if you’ve seen the movie, I am sure you will agree that it was worth it; the haunting, beautiful songs with the pastoral images of farmers picking flowers contribute to one of the greatest scenes created in cinema.

Producer Suzuki showing the record that inspired the creation of ”Only Yesterday”. Source: Studio Ghibli’s Twitter

In “Only Yesterday”, we can hear two songs from the album Bulgarian Polyphony I by Philip Koutev Ensemble. The upbeat “Dilmano Dilbero” [Eng. beautiful Dilmana] sets a happy mood as the protagonist gets changed and ready to go on the field. As the scene shifts and Taeko starts narrating a sad story about the girls in the past picking safflower with their bare hands, the song and mood shift as well.

While the first song has a fast rhythm, with lyrics about pepper planting that can also be interpreted figuratively, the second one, “Malka Moma Dvori Mete” [Eng., a little girl sweeps the yard], is a ballad about a young girl who is forced into marriage but has never known true love.

Both compositions sing about life-cycle events like marriage and the regular coming of the harvests, with lyrics perfectly fitting the setting and plot of the movie, which makes me wonder if the filmmakers chose them by chance or if they had someone translate the words.

Bulgarian Cosmic Voices Enchanting Howl

“Howl’s Moving Castle” is a 2004 Japanese animated fantasy film written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki, loosely based on the 1986 novel of the same name by British author Diana Wynne Jones. Set in a fictional kingdom the movie draws inspiration from various places in Europe. One of them being Bulgaria.

The story focuses on a young girl, named Sophie, magically transformed into an old woman, and a self-confident but emotionally unstable young wizard, Howl, living in a magical moving castle.

A sketch of a Star Child. Source: The Art of Howl’s Moving Castle

If you’ve seen the movie, you surely remember the scene when Madame Suliman ambushes Howl and tries to strip him of his magic powers. Star Children encircle him and his companions; their shadows grow big, dark and intimidating. They start dancing and chanting unintelligible magic words and are almost successful in their devilish act.

This scene, together with the music played in the background, have been a favourite of many fans of the film. Some even recount it giving them nightmares when they were children.

Star Children encircle Howl in an attempt to strip him of his magic powers. © Studio Ghibli

It turns out, however, that these aren’t any incantations, but the lyrics of a folk song. In Bulgarian. And a love song! Contrary to popular belief, the lyrics have nothing to do with magic and are actually about a boy taking his sweetheart, Dona, to the market to buy her new clothes. The excerpt used in the movie is very short and a bit altered from the original, but the words used go like this: Trendafilcheto, kalafercheto, Done mamino, translated as “the rose, the costmary, my darling Dona”.

I am planing a follow up article where I will post the translated lyrics together with a brief explanation on how they are related to the movies.

If you want to comment on or add something, I would love to hear!

Source

#studio ghibli #only yesterday #howls moving castle #Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares #bulgarian folklore #bulgaria #toshio suzuki #hayao miyazaki #isao takahata #bulgarian music in ghibli films #the boy and the heron #スタジオジブリ #ブルガリア #おもひでぽろぽろ #ハウルの動く城 #宮崎駿 #高畑勲 #鈴木敏夫 #bulgarian music

[skamenglishsubs]

Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Season 3, Episode 3

Episode 3 picks up the day after the camping trip, and Wilhelm calls his mom to check on her. She dumps a massive guilt trip on him, maybe unintentionally, and Wilhelm is feeling a little bit down.

Culture: These are Swedish studentmössor. They originated in the 1800's among Nordic university students and they wore them as a common marker. Later, they were adopted as graduation caps for high school students, signifying that they were now allowed to begin studying at a university.

Culture: Valborg, April 30th, is a traditional Swedish holiday where you celebrate the coming of spring with bonfires. It is also the start of graduation season for high school students, and graduates are allowed to start wearing their caps.

Cinematography: This season they started writing most on-screen social media commentary in English, despite those users being pretty obviously Swedish. I suspect it's because it saves them having to subtitle all of them, it makes it a bit easier for all the viewers to follow along.

Subtext: No, keeping up appearances is more important than mental health for the royal family, which is why this is new behaviour that Wilhelm has never seen before.

Subtext: As a reminder of the increased interest, here's a paparazzi intruding on school grounds. Also, where the hell is Malin? Isn't it her job to shoo away photographers?

Culture: Vintern Rasat is a classic Swedish song celebrating spring that's often performed by student singers at Valborg.

Subtext: Boris cleverly offers August individual therapy, something he sorely needs.

Subtext: It's of course a bit ironic that pretty much the entire fandom hates August and has decided that he can't be forgiven or redeemed. Yes, you, dear reader. But Boris lays out a way for August to start his redemption arc. Will it work? Tune in for next week's episode!

Culture: These usernames reek of white supremacy. Norse mythology references are very popular, and 88 means H*il H*tler, so that's the kind of people we're dealing with. The show is also foreshadowing what's gonna happen at the end of the episode.

Blink and you miss it: Linda made Pabellón, a Venezuelan dish. In season 1 we didn't know where Linda was from, but in season 2 she was canonically made as being from Venezuela, just like Omar is in real life.

Subtext: I think August actually cares, Kristina is family to him too, but Wilhelm refuses to treat him as family, so he lies about how she's doing. Not very convincingly, though.

Cinematography: This is an absolutely hilarious shot with a bunch of students anxiously peering out through the windows as the dreaded enemy arrives: Skolinspektionen! Dun-dun-dun!

Blink and you miss it: There's a rainbow flag on the board to the left.

Subtext: Vanessa totally knew she interrupted a makeout session between our boys. Oh, and there's a lot of purple in these two scenes, colour theory exploded with joy.

Subtext: Simon will be proven wrong, someone will be honest.

Subtext: It's also ironic that Simon joins the rest of the Forest Ridge boys pretending to have a great meal together that is totally not stiff and awkward at all, absolutely not.

Lost in translation: Simon Walter says that May 1st is a "röd dag" - a red day, which is how Sundays and public holidays are usually marked in a Swedish calendar. "Bank holiday" is the term used in the UK for public holidays. There are 13 public holidays in Sweden each year.

Culture: Första Maj is the name of the International Workers' Day in Sweden, because it always occurs on May 1st. In defence of Henry and Walter's shared braincell, most Swedes actually don't participate, but it's a bit weird to not even know what it is.

Subtext: This entire sequence shows how Felice's dad tried to stick up for himself, but quickly learned to keep his head down instead and conform and roll with it. And it wasn't just the other students who were racists, the staff was in on it too. This goes for all the shit the students are doing, the partying, the booze, the alcohol, the bullying: The staff is in on it. They know. They're complicit.

And despite all of this, Poppe's immediate answer when asked how his time at Hillerska was, is that it was the best time of his life. This is why schools like this stay the way they are, why they never change, because they're very good and very bad at the same time. Trauma-bonding works, the kids will all get friends for life, they'll forget the shit and remember the good times. They'll become like him.

But when Felice learns what the school did to her dad, she decides to help shut it down, to stop the cycle of abuse. The reason she goes in alone is because she now knows she can't trust her dad, he's gonna defend the school, and she also doesn't want him to know that she snitched.

Subtext: In official surveys, students from schools like this generally rate them very highly. Student satisfaction is very high. Maybe they're lying, maybe they're delusional, but they sure care more about their schools than public school students.

Blink and you miss it: REAL SUBTLE THERE, SHOW.

Subtext: Keeping with the school theme, this is how students defend the shit that goes on. Outsiders are kept in the dark, you don't tell them anything, because they "wouldn't understand", they're missing the "full context", etc. Oh, I don't know shit about fashion, but Fredrika's jacket smells very expensive.

Blink and you miss it: While Wilhelm pinned a polaroid of himself and Simon prominently on his wall, August keeps a similar polaroid of himself and Sara hidden.

Subtext: Micke's redemption arc is in full swing, so why not play a song that reinforces the idea that people can change?

Subtext: August's redemption arc is in full swing, so let's cut to him nervously waiting outside Micke's place for Sara to come home, while the same song is playing. Is he gonna be a villain forever?

Blink and you miss it: Micke introduces himself as Micke af Eriksson when August introduces himself as August Horn af Årnäs. The English subtitles for some weird reason went with "Micke Eriksson of Bjärstad", but that's actually not what he says.

Subtext: Sara is pretty realistic about her expectations of her dad because she's seen this before, but this also applies to her expectations of August, because she knows that he can also slide back into his normal shitty self. Also, she's wearing a purple sweater.

Subtext: In case you forgot, August's dad also struggled with addiction, and died from it, so he and Sara actually has that in common. Maybe there's hope for this redemption arc thing?

Cinematography: I don't fucking know why they included this baking scene. It serves no purpose, and I suspect quite a few people in the production have a serious hand fetish, because what is this? What is this? Also, why are Simon and Wilhelm joining what appears to be a Manor House thing with the rest of the girls? How? Why? This makes no sense! It's very cute, though!

Subtext: Oh ok, we got a social media pic that Sara could see and feel bad for her lost friendships. But man, those Hillerska aprons! On point!

Subtext: This is unfortunately a very common thing for people on any kind of psychoactive medication. How can you tell if you need medication if you feel good right now? Is it lasting or temporary? Can you trust your own brain? Either way, fantastic conversation between Micke and Sara, which starts her on her journey to reconcile with Felice at least.

🎵 I can change, I'm not the same, not forever. 🎵

Culture: The official hat-on-putting ceremony where all the third-year students put on their hats, set to another traditional Swedish spring celebration song: Vårvindar Friska.

Culture: It's Valborg, so Hillerska has their own little bonfire. We saw some students with torches pretending to light it, but it's actually floating in the middle of the fountain so, uh, how did they do that? Normally, your local bonfire or Majbrasa is just a huge heap of wood that you set on fire.

Cinematography: Man, this is a pretty show. Look at that shot. The fire, the sunset, the pool reflection. The end of April is over a month after the spring equinox, so the days are getting longer, and the sun now sets at about half past nine in the evenings.

Subtext: Ok, let's do one more on-the-nose lyrics thing for when August sees Sara back at school. Yes, yes, he needs her.

Culture: I had to post about it immediately after watching the episode, because setting a sex scene to Uti Vår Hage is hilarious. Everyone in Sweden knows it, most people have sung it at school, it's a cute little song about enjoying your garden, flowers, and giving your loved one a wreath of flowers. I can now never hear this song without thinking about this scene. Thanks a lot, show.

Blink and you miss it: Simon fucks Wilhelm. Yay! Versatile supremacy!

Subtext: Sara is still so suspicious of her dad's behaviour, she can't make herself trust that his current good period will last.

Subtext: Even though this dialogue is about how Simon and Sara are so different, it of course also applies to how Wilhelm and Erik were different, because Wilhelm struggles with not being able to handle his duty the same way Erik could.

Culture: Alright, it's time for the actual local Första Maj event in Bjärstad. The town is probably a bit small to have a proper demonstration parade, but there's people with banners and socialist slogans, and a bunch of local organisations have joined in, including Bjärstad BK, the football club Rosh plays in.

Culture: Meanwhile, the absolutely not socialist rich kids at Hillerska are nursing their hangovers and enjoying the day off, and they're doing some yoga and playing some padel instead. As you do.

Subtext: Drugs. He looks like he's selling drugs.

Culture: These apparently confused a bunch of viewers, but they're just raffle tickets. It's one hundred numbered, rolled up, paper tickets stuck on a metal ring. When you buy a ticket you just tear it off at the perforation, and when all tickets are sold you can just break the seal on the ring and pour all the stubs in a bag or whatever so you can draw winners.

Blink and you miss it: Cute kiddo has a pride pin on his jacket.

Lost in translation: The show waited a bit with showing what it says on the banner behind them in the photo, but if you can read Swedish you immediately saw that it says KROSSA ÖVERKLASSEN - CRUSH THE UPPER CLASSES. Oh no, Simon, what have you done?

Blink and you miss it: Like a pack of rabid wolves, the social-media starved Gen Z kids rush to their phones for an hour of glorious feeding on Instagram and TikTok.

Blink and you miss it: I love Vincent so much, he's terrible, but he's just so much fun! The little fist he makes as he says "kampen" just seals it.

Subtext: The show still hasn't revealed the banner text to the non-Swedish audience, but Wilhelm immediately sees it and knows how bad it is and why Farima tried calling him seven times. Also, Vincent is just on a roll here.

Cinematography: Man, this is a pretty show. Look at that shot. Look at how they perfectly aligned the hole in the window with Simon, the police car, and the entrance to their house, as he discovers that someone decided to vandalize it.

#young royals #young royals subtext #young royals analysis #young royals season 3

[bettyfrommars]

Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

masterlist playlist

Part 2: The Hideout

You follow Robin over the resort property line to a place where guests are forbidden and get a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes.

word count: 3.6k

My blog is 18+ONLY, mature themes, violence, alcohol consumption, eventual smut, fighting, mention of blood, reader is called Bird as a nickname, reader plays the cello. Reader is 21, Eddie is late 20's.

Songs for this chapter: Animal (fuck like a beast)//W.A.S.P. No one like you//Scorpions Mental Health (bang your head)//Quiet Riot Wasted Years//Iron Maiden

a/n: it has been so much fun to pull this out of the rubble and jump back into this world for a rewrite, I hope you enjoy. To my I'm on Fire peeps, there will be a scene in this chapter that feels very similar to something that happened in IOF, and that's because I originally stole it from this fic, thinking I'd never post it, lmao. Thought about changing it, but it's just too perfect. Plus, there will always be a hint of biker Eddie in all of my Eddies.

Sticking close behind Robin, you crossed the arc of a walking bridge over a creek and disappeared on a worn path through the trees.  It was only then that you could finally make out the building where the loud music was coming from.  

It had corrugated metal sides and roof, like a structure you might see on a farm that housed large equipment.  There was a picnic table out front where a few people were seated, and the shell of a vintage automobile with bullet holes in it sat in the weeds.

A little more than a city block away was a modest cabin made from actual logs with an old truck, a van, and a motorcycle parked out front.

“Who lives there?” You nudged Robin.

She stopped to see where you were looking first, and then, “oh yeah, that’s Wayne’s place.  The head maintenance guy.  This is his too,” she gestured to the metal building where the music and shouts were coming from.  “Both him and his nephew Eddie.  Have you met Eddie?”

You absolutely knew who he was, but didn’t want to come off as a stalker, so you shook your head.  

The large sliding door entrance to the building was open about a foot, letting out wafts of smoke and a hazy, golden light.  From over Robin’s shoulder, you could see quite a few bodies moving around in there, and just then came the sound of a glass breaking.  

“Ready?” She smiled back at  you, struggling to hold everything in her arms as she reached for the handle to slide the door open the rest of the way.  

“Let me?” You lurched forward.

“I got it,” she insisted, fumbling one of the guitars before catching it again with a gasp of relief.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting to see when she eased the door open the rest of the way, but a topless woman dancing on a table top was not one of them. 

Her hair was bleached blonde, frizzy and teased around her face.  She was tan with a prominent bikini line over her pert breasts, and it looked like she’d just pulled the top of her leopard print spandex dress down to give a little show.  

The song Animal (Fuck like a beast) by W.A.S.P. was blaring and the guys around the table cheered while the woman flipped her hair and worked her hips in a circle.  You were sure you recognized her as one of the waitresses from earlier that night. 

Metalheads of all kinds were crowded together, mingling, and you feared that you stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. Some were in leather; some wore jean vests with pins and patches all over them.  A handful had long hair that they must’ve tied back or wore under hats while they worked at the resort, but a few of them, like Steve, kept theirs short and tidy, for the most part.  Overhead string lights swayed from high wooden beams, and a chandelier that looked like it was made out of wrenches.  An old, pea green Kelvinator refrigerator and a small kitchenette was to your left, as if someone had lived there at one point, and two couches sat against the wall that were mismatched and worn.  

Most of the crowd of people seemed to be lingering together in the middle, standing there as if waiting for something.  Taking shots, smoking blunts, and making out with each other, blocking you from seeing beyond them.  

Robin signaled to follow her, and you were hesitant to start moving through the masses, holding the guitar case flush to your body, feeling like it was something to hide behind.  You noticed posters on the walls for bands like Judas Priest and Metallica, and on the concrete floor you saw smudges from white chalk markings, dark splotches the color of dried blood, but that was ridiculous.  

You pushed between a girl with a blue mohawk and a guy with a shaved head that was covered in tattoos in a hurry to keep up with your escort, and the two shot you a hard glare.  When you could finally see the far wall, there was an oval, threadbare carpet in the corner with a drum kit set up, three microphones, two amps, and some other equipment that suggested live music would soon be happening.  

“This is where they practice!” Robin shouted over the music, directing you where to put Eddie guitar down.  “We call it The Hideout.”

“'Where who practices?’ You set Eddie’s baby near the wall where she told you to.  

“Eddie and Chrissy’s band,” she motioned for you to stand over at the wall with her. 

“Oh,” you turned to look at the instruments again, heart flopping a little at the idea he would show up at any moment.  “They're playing tonight?”

There was a commotion up ahead and you both turned to look. "Later maybe! The fights are tonight,” again, yelling over the growl of the music.  Now the song was No One Like You by Scorpions, and it sounded like people were cheering at someone who’d just come through the door. 

“Fights?” You leaned in to get more information when everyone started pushing back to make room for whatever was about to happen.  You remembered that one of the guys on the porch earlier that day with Chrissy and Steve had a black eye, and you’d noticed another worker at the resort who had a busted lip, but you hadn’t paused to think that maybe they were somehow connected.

It was then that you saw Eddie appear from out of the sea of bodies, and took a sharp intake of breath, holding it in, afraid to let it out for fear you might whimper.  

He was so beautiful, it made you dizzy. You stood up straight, adjusting yourself, covertly checking to make sure you weren’t perspiring too badly.

He was wearing the tux he’d had on for the show earlier, but the tie and cummerbund were both gone, and his white shirt was unbuttoned almost to his stomach.  You caught a glimpse of tattoos on his chest, and a necklace of some sort. Someone handed him a beer and he threw back a generous gulp.  

“There’s going to be boxing? Here? Tonight?” You were trying to act casual and not stare at him the whole time, but it was hard to tear your attention away.  

“Nothing professional,” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest, putting her shoulder blades against the wall.  “Just your average bare knuckle street fighting, basically. The guys were doing it to blow off steam, but then some others got involved and people started placing bets, so a whole thing started.”

Eddie unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and took it off, passing it to someone in the crowd.  Your mouth went dry at the sight of his lean muscles under the scattered ink.  He kept his hair tied back and started wrapping white tape around one of his hands while Steve said something in his ear.  

“How do they choose who fights who?” You were invested now, wringing Robin out for any information she had.  

“I don’t know how they figure it out, but the new guys usually fight each other, and then a winner challenges Eddie or Steve or Alex,” she pushed off the wall to get a better look at the center of the room. “But it looks like Eddie is up first.” And then with a smirk she added, “all of the new hotshots at the resort think they can beat Eddie.”

“Can they?” Your voice cracked, eyes locked on the scene.  A guy shorter than Eddie but muscular in a football player type of way, was also shirtless in the circle now, with taped hands and wearing a pair of sweats with the name of a university down the leg. The guy was hopping from foot to foot to keep himself hyped up, punching the air in front of him.

“No one beats Eddie,” there was pride in her voice.  “Looks like the guy he’s fighting tonight is Lance, one of the new ski instructors.  Totally full of himself.”

Steve was wearing a white wife beater and jeans, and he raked a hand through his mop of hair just before pointing in your direction.  Eddie’s gaze followed the line of his finger directly to your stunned face, and then it lingered there.

He seemed to contemplate, wetting his lips, and then he nodded to Steve and was on his way over.

He didn’t have to push people out of the way because they were all quick to part to make room for him.  It wasn’t long before he was standing right in front of you.  You tried not to let your gaze linger on the full curve of his slightly chapped lips, or the way his wavy bangs framed his cherrywood eyes.  On closer inspection, you could see that the necklace he wore was a ball chain with a guitar pick hanging from it.  

Robin opened her mouth to say something, possibly introduce you, but Eddie cut her off.  

“What the hell are you doing here, Princess?” His voice was low with an edge of irritation.  He pulled the chunky metal rings off his fingers one by one as he spoke.

Robin cleared her throat, stepping forward. “She’s with me,” she stuttered a bit nervously, knowing full well she shouldn’t have brought you there.  “She came with me, she’s cool.”

Eddie collected all of the rings in his fist and kept staring at you as if he wanted to hear it from your mouth, not Robin’s.  

Your brain short-circuited for a second and you forgot how to form words when he was so close you could see the detail of the dragon tattoo on his chest.  But then, finally, it came to you:

“I-I carried your baby.”

The second it slipped out, you knew how stupid it sounded.

Unblinking, he gave his rings to Robin, and then he was gone.

You stared at the space where he no longer stood, flushed with embarrassment.  

“I carried your baby?” You repeated in a whisper, covering your face with your hands. 

Someone turned the music down so that Steve’s voice could be heard, and he waved his arms in the air to get everyone’s attention.  

“I don’t have to explain the rules to you, because there are none,” his announcement was met with screams and cheers.  Robin tugged at your arm, signaling for the two of you to get a bit closer to the action.  “First one to hit the ground for whatever reason is the loser.  Just fists, no blades or other stupid tricks.”

At one side of the circle of bodies, Lance the ski instructor was practicing some tight punches, and at the other end, Eddie rolled his neck while Chrissy finished taping the knuckles of his other hand.  It was then that the chalk and the stains on the concrete you saw earlier made sense.  

“You two ready?” Steve put his arm up between them, waiting for their nods, and then, at their signal, he chopped his hand down between them as if he were slicing the air.  

Lance was hopping from foot to foot, trying his best to look like some fancy footwork he saw in a Rocky movie, while Eddie walked casually, giving the guy a hooded, bored stare.  

Eddie could read Lance like a book.  A fight was a lot more than just a mindless throwing of hands, there was a mental prowess and skill needed that a lot of the punks busing in from suburbia did not have.  Street smarts was one thing, and Eddie surely had that, but he’d been fighting bullies off since he was a kid, and Wayne taught him to fight like it was a game of chess.

Eddie could tell where Lance was going to go a second before he made the move. He saw the guy was amped up, letting his emotions fight for him, and that was only one of his first mistakes.

Lance charged at him and swung, but Eddie was already steps away; relaxed and agile, holding his guard up. The ski instructor came at him aggressively, again and again, until Eddie pushed him, making his opponent stumble back. 

Keeping his form, Eddie caught you standing there out of the corner of his eye.

…what were you doing there at the Hideout?

He let himself ponder that question for too long and Lance was on him again, aiming a left jab to his ribs, and Eddie absorbed the blow with a grunt, arching to the side. 

You were not supposed to be there.  What was Robin thinking?

Mostly, Brenner and Joyce stayed out of their business, as long as whatever they did was off resort property, but if they found out one of the guests was somehow involved, there would be hell to pay.  

Lance charged again and Eddie dodged, angry at himself for not being able to focus .

“C’mon Lance, stomp that freak,” someone yelled from the crowd. 

And that was all it took

For Eddie to get tired of dragging it out for betting purposes.

Lance charged forward with a cry and Eddie socked an uppercut into his unsuspecting jaw.  

The surfer boy went down

Hard. 

Saliva and blood flew from his mouth as he flailed back, arms going ragdoll.

It felt like it happened in slow motion but soon enough, Lance was splayed out like a starfish on the concrete floor.

“Goodnight sweet prince,” Steve said sarcastically as he collected bets over the ski instructor’s limp body.

Robin cheered with her hands over her head, and you gave a few slow claps, your brain barely able to register where you were or what you were seeing.

“You want a beer?” She asked as you watched Lance numbly get to his feet with the help of two friends and attempt to shake it off.  

Robin motioned for you to follow her around to the refrigerator which was stocked from top to bottom with nothing but beer cans. She handed you one and then went to lean against the side of the appliance, cracking open the tab with a hiss.

With your back to the crowd, you prepared to follow suit, listening to Steve introduce two more fighters.

But then there was someone at your side,

“Not like that,” a voice said.

Eddie had come up behind you, wearing his white shirt unbuttoned, skin still glistening with sweat. Mental Health (Bang Your Head) by Quiet Riot came over the speakers, eliciting a wave of yelps and screams from the group.  

“Wait,” he put his hand on top of yours to keep you from opening your beer while he motioned for another guy to toss him one.  You turned to seek comfort or guidance from Robin, but she was absorbed in conversation with a girl in a platinum pixie cut who’d just walked up.  

“Like this,” he brushed his bangs to the side, and winked as he fished a ring of keys out of his pocket.  He used the serrated metal edge of one to punch a hole at the bottom of the can.  

It was the wink that made your skin flush hot, and then your jaw went slack as you watched him wrap his lips around the newly made hole in the can.  He made eye contact with you one more time before tipping his head back, and cracking the tab of the beer open with his thumb so that the liquid when squirting down his throat.  

The muscles in his throat jerked as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing.  

It wasn’t three seconds before he lowered his head and crushed the can in his hand to show it was empty.  He let out a refreshing, “ahhhh,” and darted his tongue out to lick a droplet from his chin.  

You were still holding your unopened beer, waiting for him, mouth dry.  “I-I’m not sure I—”

Yes, you knew what shotgunning a beer was, you’d seen it done plenty of times at college parties and in movies, but had never been tempted to try it yourself.  

Ignoring your hesitation, Eddie motioned with the crook of his finger for you to come closer.  You shuffled to be within reach of him as if your knees were locked in place.  

With a gentle touch, fingers brushing yours, he took your beer from you, wiped it off with his shirt, and then proceeded to make the same hole with his key in the aluminum.  Some of the beer sprayed up and misted your face.

“Here we go,” he tipped your chin with his finger and butterflies swarmed in your stomach as his eyes searched yours. “Just let it shoot into the back of your throat.”

You swallowed nervously to make sure your throat was working, and then wrapped your lips around the can at his instruction.

“Easy, just like that, hold it there,” Eddie was so close now that your elbow was touching his bare chest.  He put a hand on the back of your head.  “When I say, tip your head back all the way, and I’ll flip the tab for you.”

You swiped your tongue over the hole in the can, thinking about how embarrassing it would be if you messed it up and beer went shooting out of your nose.  

Robin offered a few words of encouragement and you noticed a tendril of hair clinging to the sweat on Eddie’s neck, right over the heartbeat in his throat.  

“You ready?”

You weren’t but—-

“Okay, now.”

You closed your eyes, slammed your head back, and prayed, even though you weren’t at all religious.  Some lukewarm beer leaked onto your tongue, and then Eddie pulled the tab, keeping one hand over yours to hold the can steady.  

The gush of liquid hissed and exploded down your throat, and for a second you thought you would choke, but then your swallowing reflex bolted into action and it was over so fast.  

You gasped and swiped beer from your chin when you pulled away to look at the empty can, amazed. 

Eddie cupped his warm hand around the back of your neck, and you felt him shift closer until his mouth was at your ear.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

An actual chill ran down your spine.

Robin put up her hand and you gave you a high five.  “Not bad for a first timer,” she joked.  “Now crush it on your forehead and grunt.”

“Ha. Ha.” 

You turned to Eddie, “that was fun maybe he should—”

You were about to say the two of you should do another one, 

but he was gone.  

—----

The next night, Eddie couldn’t sleep, so he decided to head to the property to finish up some work at the pool house.   

The place he shared with Wayne was close enough to walk to the Hawkins Landing property, but that night, he drove.  He wanted to roll the window down on the van and blast Wasted Years by Iron Maiden and belt out the lyrics.  

He slipped into the parking lot for visitors and employees, turning the music down so that it wouldn’t be heard by any of the nearby cabins.  There were two street lamps on, but a third one he noticed was out, and made a mental note that he’d have to get Jamie to fix it tomorrow.  The sidewalks along the manicured lawn were also lined with lights that came out of the ground like little mushrooms, and the boat dock far off to his left was lit, but other than that, he was in the dark.  

Grabbing his red toolbox from the passenger seat, he put a flashlight in his tool belt holster, and the van door creaked on its hinges just before it banged shut.  His ribs still ached from the punch he took the night before, but he only allowed himself to cringe and curse in private. Luckily, his only companions at that moment were the crickets and the lapping of the water against the bank.

It wasn’t until he was a few yards down the sidewalk, head down, lost in thought, that the din of classical music made him halt in his tracks. 

It was definitely strings, possibly a violin? No, it was too deep.  

He looked up at the main house, but the sound was much too close to be coming from way up there.

He cut to the right and up the grass.

Then he saw the attic light on in cabin #11.

He told himself not to bother, but as the passion of the playing increased, curiosity got the better of him.  

He came right up to your driveway, staying half obscured by a tree trunk, and watched you.

The cello, of course that’s what you were playing.  He was no expert on the classics, but he’d always learned music by ear and had a unique sense for identifying instruments.  

You weren’t reading from sheet music, you were just playing while you stared out at the sky.

Playing something by heart, or making it up as you went along, he wasn’t sure.  

In his mind, you were so far out of league, it was criminal.

Your attention broke when a sudden movement down on the road startled you.  

The bow zipped clumsily across the strings one last time, and you stood up to get closer to the open window.

But, your eyes must’ve been playing tricks on you. 

There was no one there.    

-----

Hi hello! thank you so much for reading! For those wondering, this fic will still be centered around music, not boxing, but the little fight club they have has a lot to do with the spin of the plot soon.

thank you all so much for the suppport! we are getting to the juicy parts now! give me those hungry eyes. comments and reblogs are cherished!! like, I live for them.

-------

taglist: @tlclick73@micheledawn1975@kurdtbean@katethetank@elvendria@spookysqaush86@somethingvicked@stylesxmunson@laurenlokirby@sapphire4082 @kellsck @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @justdamnpeachy @dashingdeb16 @corrodedcoffincumslut @bexreadstoomuch

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson series #Dirty Metal Summer #Eddie Munson fic #dirty dancing au #eddie munson x reader

[sc0tters]

Repeated Moments | Quinn Hughes

summary: you and Quinn get a chance to see that your usual summer fling works all year round.

song: August - Taylor Swift

request: yes/no

warnings: bit of swearing, allusions to sex but nothing explicit.

word count: 1.41k

authors note: so the song August actually inspired the In His Arms series and I came up with it before this request came in. So I figured that I’d give you guys what was the other option that I had when building that series main character! If you want to see more of the celly you can find the playlist here!

He was never yours for long enough.

It started back in 2020 one night at the lake house when you two had far too much to drink and you ended up in Quinn’s room with your clothes on the floor and you tangled in his sheets.

There was a joke that you’d end up like that one day, Ellen saw the way you looked at her son. She saw the way he looked at you too. In fact the only people who didn’t see it was Alex, Jack and their other friends.

Luke didn’t see it but he walked in once when you were on Quinn’s lap making out with him and once you swore him to secrecy the youngest Hughes vowed to never tell a soul.

Despite the fact that you sat Quinn down swearing that what happened could never happen again because you believed your brothers friendship was more important than a quick fuck, it seemed to continue to happen.

After the third and fourth time that you landed up in his sheets it was clear that this was bound to be more than just a drunken evening.

Quickly it began your secret, you’d go to bed waiting until everyone fell asleep before you’d make your way to Quinn’s room making sure that you were back in your room by the time Alex was woke up.

Sure there were a few times that you two were almost caught, Jack went to the bathroom early one morning and saw you leaving his brothers room, Alex came to your room to give you a blanket once and was met with your empty bed. Cole thought he heard moans coming from Quinn’s room but he just assumed that it was him being sleep deprived.

The moment it all should have been caught was when Alex saw the hickey on your neck that you chalked off to be a burn from your curling iron, your hair had been straight all week but your brother still offered to get ice for you.

Things continued on for another summer always ending when the first one left the lake house.

A spanner was thrown into the works though when Luke invited you to his debut game because he knew you were in New Jersey for the week. The young Hughes boy had a soft spot for you because when he was like twelve you threatened to punch Jack and Trevor if they continued to tease him.

Quinn didn’t know you were going to there but the signs should have pointed to it. Ellen came with a box of your favourite fudge that only this one small candy shop in Michigan made, you were the only one on this planet Quinn knew who ate it. Jack and Luke had been talking about a girl coming with Trevor and how they were surprised that she willingly had him accompanying her on the flight.

Trevor was the kind of person that you used to put up with, he was nice don’t get yourself wrong but he literally spent the first four years of knowing you trying to flirt with you. Sure you appreciated the fact that he found you pretty but his efforts began to get irritating after a while. To put it nicely you loved Trevor but you loved him even more when he kept his mouth shut.

But recently it seemed that you two had grown close or at least that’s what it looked like to Quinn. The younger boys arm didn’t leave your shoulders when you first arrived. Originally it was because the box was packed and you had the kind of luck that would have you lost within seconds. But after a while it grew comfortable there much to Quinn’s dismay and as a result he forced himself to muster up the confidence to go over and tell Trevor to hit the road.

Every jealous bone in Quinn melted when he saw your face light up “Quinny!” You giggled as you threw your arms around him, the moment was quickly interrupted with a scoff “how come I didn’t get that reaction?” Trevor pretended to act offended by it as he placed his hand on his chest. A smile formed on your lips as you placed a kiss on your middle finger before you flipped the younger boy off who ended up laughing as he walked off.

You got the chance to turn your attention back to the older boy “hi,” you giggled as you could still see the glare he was shooting at Trevor “Quinn?” You added as you snapped your fingers in front of his face.

Quinn forced a smile onto his face as he looked at you “what’s up?” He asked as you clearly now had his attention.

There was something on his mind that you were trying to figure out “you jealous?” You teased as you hadn’t really seen him like that before.

The boy let out a scoff “why should I be?” He shot back trying to play a defensive hand.

It was all clicking in your mind “you didn’t like how close he was getting to me!” You gasped as the Canucks player placed his hand over your mouth.

Quinn rolled his eyes as he could hear your muffled laugh from behind his hand “okay maybe a little,” he sighed as he dropped his hand “you’re cute when you get all jealous,” you teased as you leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

That seemed to hit a switch in his mind “fuck I missed you.” Quinn confessed as he wrapped his hands around your waist only being allow to give you a small hug as Ellen came over to you two the moment she saw your face.

the next morning

You groaned as you heard the noise of the knocks at your hotel room door “yeah?” You yawned as you swung the door open and were met with the younger of the two Hughes brothers “you know where Quinn is?” Luke asked as he sent you a smile when he held out a cup of coffee for you, it seemed that the boys made a pit stop on the way to your hotel.

Your lips pushed into a thin line “I haven’t seen Quinn since last night in the elevator,” you lied as you sipped the warm drink. You did see Quinn in that elevator, but it wasn’t the last time that you saw him.

Jack sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair “if you see him let us know?” He mumbled as Ellen had sent her sons on a mission to find him and they just thought that his best friends room would be a good place to start.

It was awkward “of course!” You nodded as you shut the door desperate to not say anything.

Quinn popped his head out from the bottom of your bed “you think they noticed me?” He asked as he cocked his head.

You fiddled with the ends of the shirt you were wearing “nope,” you looked like an absolute angel, hair all messy, lips swollen, the clear hickies that were beginning to form, and Quinn’s Canucks shirt.

Jack furrowed his eyebrows as he leaned against the elevator wall “what are you thinking about?” Luke could see that there was clearly something working in his mind.

The middle Hughes boy snapped his fingers “you see that Canucks shirt she was in?” He asked as the T-shirt looked like it came from a team development camp.

Luke began to think about it as he also had your oath he had in his mind “yeah,” it was that moment that the penny seemed to drop “oh my god!”

You and Quinn were totally oblivious to it all as you had both been in the shower to ‘save time’ “come back here!” Quinn’s complaint drew a laugh from your lips.

He wrapped his arm around your waist as he began to place kisses along your neck “Quinn!” You tried to move your head as the feeling of him was tickling your neck.

But all of a sudden when you went quiet the eldest Hughes boy stopped “what?” He asked as he scanned your face that was full of worry.

Alex 🖤: YOU FUCKED QUINN

Alex 🖤: I shouldn’t even be surprised

Alex 🖤: you did call him cute

Alex 🖤: on multiple occasions

Alex 🖤: just no making me an uncle just yet

“you think I’m cute all the time?”

“shut up,”

Maybe this time there will be more than enough time for you two.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x y/n #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #nhl oneshot #imagines #oneshots #ambers 150 celly #amber writes fics

[kingofthe-egirls]

EXHIBITIONISM: LUFFY x Y/N

original idea by @thevirtualvalentine 💕 thank you so much for letting me play with this scenario! it sparked something sexy in me and i dont think im the same after ☠️

(cw: exhibitionism, sex, dirty talk, slut/whore/bitch, dom!luffy, handcuffs/chains)

(a/n: hhhnnngggg im sooo normal so normal)

Songs: "Sexy Villain" by Remi Wolf

words: 1.5k

“There she fucking is,” Luffy pants, marveling at the sounds you’re making, his hand around your throat. “Thought ya’d never speak up.”

You whimper, moaning against the bars of your cell. Your hands are cuffed in front of you, like Luffy’s, but he’s using the chain of his to pull your hips back against him as he fucks you. The iron digs into your stomach, your torso left bare for all of Udon to see. Jeers come from the neighboring cells.

“No fair! Why don’t we get to see her!?”

“Yeah, make some noise! We wanna hear ya cum!”

“Scream for us, girlie!”

And other profanities are shouted your way. Even the guards are palming themselves at their posts. Your blood boils, anger fighting with lust as the infamous Mugiwara no Luffy fucks you like a toy.

“Ah, fuckin’ listen to them,” Luffy moves from choking you to playing with your tits, pinching harshly at your sensitive nipples. You cry out, and immediately bite your lip. A roar of encouragement comes from your fellow prisoner audience.

“S’hot, isn’t it baby?” He leans forward to lick the shell of your ear. His tongue is hot and strong, just like the rest of him. He sucks at your neck possessively. “‘M takin’ ya home with me,” he murmurs, palming your tits before sliding his hands down to grip your waist. His pace quickens. “Every pirate needs a whore, hah? And the king deserves the best, dontcha think?”

His pace is rapid, now, approaching the first of many climaxes for the night. This has become a sort of routine, with you two. It had started as just flirting, both of you skipping hands over knees, pressing elbows into sides, as you passed each other doing “chores” for the guards.

Then kissing started, snuggled together as much as you could be on the cell floor. And then fucking.

When Luffy fucks, he fucks loud.

It wasn’t a secret for very long, before the surrounding cellmates heard you two going at it like hungry wolves.

And then the cheering started.

It’s a nightly show, almost, kept under wraps by the guards who are too horny to get the two of you to stop. If anyone gets near the cell bars anyway, Luffy fends them off with a wave of conqueror’s haki. And he never lets them touch you during the day. Devil fruit or no, there’s no way he’s letting them get their disgusting hands on you.

Oh, they can jerk off and jeer, for all Luffy cares, but they’re not allowed to touch you. You’re his whore, he decided the first moment you brushed your knuckles along the back of his hand, passing by him in the dusty path. He had felt an electric jolt of want course through him, and one touch of his haki told him you felt the same. It wasn’t long before the two of you started fucking every night.

Now, he slaps your ass with the flat of his hand. Somehow still flexible in his cuffs, he lands another slap, and then another. He lets the dogs outside watching call out a count: all the way to ten. Your ass cheek is tingling. Luffy leans forward again, caressing the spot that now bares his handprint. “Ready for the other side? Hm?” He grins, biting at your ear. “How ‘bout ten more this time?”

You whimper, wiggling your hips back against his pelvis. He slows his pace, just for a bit, letting you fuck yourself back onto his cock. You’re so desperate, for this.

“Yes, sir~!” You moan out, already drunk on the attention. He grunts.

“Hear that?” He asks the crowd, raising his voice enough to be heard, “She wants the other side, now!”

And Luffy spanks your ass twenty times for them. He’s not cruel: he doesn’t hit the same exact spot twice in a row, but god you’re gonna be sore tomorrow. “And it’s captain, bitch,” he murmurs in your ear.

“Yes, captain!” You moan almost immediately, closer to cumming than you’ve ever felt in your life. Your blood is running hot—hotter than fire—and Luffy’s chaotic thrusts are only bringing you closer and closer toward your delightful, little death.

“‘M cumming! ‘M cumming!” You manage out, gripping onto the sweaty bars in front of you. “Thank you Luffyyy!” He cackles behind you, speeding up just enough to tip you over the edge. Your eyes roll back, rocked to your core by a violent, sucker punch of an orgasm.

“Good girl,” he soothes, slowing down for you, “Such a good job for me, pretty,” he turns you around, cupping your face softly in both hands. He presses your back against the bars, cold metal stinging your exposed skin. You’re flushed, panting, and Luffy is grinning like the sun. His smile stretches halfway across his face, and you have no choice but to meet him with a soft smile of your own. (He’s too handsome for his own good).

It doesn’t take you long to figure out Luffy knocked out the surrounding voyeurs. There’s nothing but snoring, now. He laughs, running a hand through his hair as he backs up away from you. You lean back against the bars, yourself. Your legs feel like jelly. You meet his eyes from across the room, hazy and dark like glinting jewels. You cock an eyebrow.

“So, when are we getting out of here, captain?”

He grins.

****

It turns out to be tomorrow afternoon, in fact.

He scales the sheer cliff face with ease, having knocked out any potential threats with a sophisticated blow to their energetic awareness. Several guards slump over beneath you, spears still loosely grasped in their clumsy fists.

Luffy starts snickering almost immediately, your arms wrapped around his neck as he carries you like a backpack. “Was just waitin’ for the right time,” he tells you, cheeks flushed with exertion. You hop up another few feet, bouncing on his back a bit as he scales the cliff.

Your chest is pushed up against his back, with your legs wrapped around his thick torso. His build is sturdy, his strength immeasurable, and you feel almost at peace—like a baby koala.

You tell him as much, and he laughs.

“S’cute,” he huffs, reaching up to grab another jutting handhold in the rock face. “Ya like being my baby?”

You grin, tucked between his shoulder blades. Your lips move against his skin: yes. Your ratty t-shirt presses into him, absorbing his heat and warming you through. The night air sends chills down your spine, but only just. Luffy’s like a radiator, climbing with you on his back. He hums.

“Like having ya as my baby,” he continues, jumping upward several feet. You gasp, but he lands with both feet firmly planted against the rock face. His hands scrabble for a landing, loosely grasping at stone, before you start to tip backwards.

You shoot out your hand before you can think: gravity pulling at your stomach and twisting harshly. “No,” you hiss, gripping the stone in front of you so hard your fingers bruise. You grit your teeth against the sharpness of the stone, holding your weight long enough for Luffy to get a hold on the cliff face himself. Three quarters of the way there.

He pants. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” you mutter, and hide your face between his shoulder blades.

He climbs the rest of the way, and neither of you have another problem scaling the sheer wall surrounding Udon’s base. Luffy sighs, landing on his stomach once he pulls both of you up onto the ledge. You unwrap your limbs from his sweaty, shaking body before crawling off to collapse on your own.

“Cmon,” he croaks, grabbing your hand, “Can’t stop now.”

So you get up, and start walking.

All the way back to his ship.

****

After the war (which you sorta help with, in your injured, post-prison state) he takes you back to his ship for good.

“Here she is!” Luffy laughs, collapsing on the deck of his warship. “Our new crewmate!”

Usopp eyes you warily, slingshot clutched in his fist. “Wh-what’s her job?”

Luffy sits up, smiling. “She’s my girlfriend!”

You stare at him, blankly. He’s never mentioned that to you, nor has he ever used something so sweet to refer to you. "Whore" is usually more like it.

He stretches out a rubber arm to wrap around your waist. He brings you over onto his lap, grinning like a monkey. “She’s got the best—“

“Okay,” you slap his arm, cutting him off, “They don’t need to know the specifics.”

He stops, but only just.

His eyes are glimmering with mischief.

****

It’s not long before he’s pounding you into the mattress of his sweaty bed.

You’re crooning out sounds you never thought possible, with his monstrous speed and elongated rubber cock. He’s better than a vibrator, you think.

Luffy slaps your ass. “Atta girl,” he preens, “Let em hear ya.”

He’s an exhibitionist outside of prison, as well.

So are you.

So you scream and cry on his dick, letting Captain Luffy know just how much you need it.

#dumpster dive #my writing #one piece fanfic #fav #luffy fanfic #kitty speaks #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #luffy smut #one piece fic #luffy fic #luffy x you

[aphpuffinchild]

since it's out i can finally post my piece for @hws-anthology as well as the timelapse for it. as is arguably all my hetalia work, it's a love letter to my friend @pyrrhocorax 's fic Sendlingur og Sandlóa - i'll ramble a bit about how much it means to me, as well as the symbolism i wormed into this piece below the read more :)

i originally had two pages planned for this piece, potentially more - the fic is a good 74k words long and certainly not light on scenes i could and wanted to pull from, but various things led into other various things and one page was all i could manage, so i tried to cram in what i could, so here's that (in a rough, somewhat arbitrary order of focal points)

the opening chapter! the car is a framing device for the piece as much as it is for the journey the characters will take following that first chapter, so i wanted to use the car window/shapes as a literal framing device in my drawing

joi, shaky at best in his sense of self, sees no reflection in the window, instead there's a silhouetted raven to signify the search he must go on to find it

while not perfectly transcribed by virtue of wonky (plus an extra) line(s), the notes coming from joi's headphones are the opening to the song sendlingur og sandlóa, the fic's namesake, which a loved one kindly transposed by ear for me for the purpose of this piece

in a similar vein, the stickers on joi's suitcase are of a purple sandpiper and a ringed plover, the birds after which the song is named - here they are as transparents and in their original colours

i wanted to create a sliiight impression that joi is the one knocking over the chessboard, representing his repeated rejections of it (both physically, and the things it represents)

the chess pieces were also chosen specifically! originally i was going to use a black rook and a white pawn to match chapter 41, but for the sake of having alternating colours and the rest of my metaphors working (iirc) i swapped those colours around. that, and i wanted to match chapter 13's white king and black pawn - the black pawn stuck, the white king was colour swapped for colour cohesion reasons like the other's. (visual contrast was important to me, but the white queen blending slightly into the sky was okay for symbolism reasons) (there was also black king, white rook from chapter 3, so it all worked out anyway - there's a lot of chess in this story and i only had space for so many pieces and colours, basically)

speaking of which, the black pawn is for joi (chapter 13), the white queen is for halle (someone who, from joi's perspective, can go anywhere, vs joi's pawn, someone to be used -> see chapter 35 and perspective).

the king piece is falling (but hasn't quite fallen) between halle and henrik (chapter 3, 7, 13, though i most clearly thought of 19)

the person in the top right corner is eduard! i desperately wanted to include him because i think he's deserved it, and i considered a lot of ways of working him in, but i think an ambiguous silhouette that isn't Quite part of the main picture works better narratively

note also that he's separated from the other's through a red curtain, to represent the iron curtain (naturally) i wanted it to match ber + tino's part in some way, to sorta emphasise their similar foundations despite being split apart across places

the flowers at eduard's window are placed and chosen purposefully as well! orange/red zinnia's outside (for familial ties, steadfastness, friendship and remembrance) for what eduard puts out in to the world, then lily-of-the-valley for tino and cornflower for him inside to show what he wants to hold close :)

halle and joi are the only characters with their eyes open - halle looks towards the viewer/author/reader/joi, while joi looks away all together. if you've read the fic (which i assume you have because i can't imagine this is interested to read otherwise) you probably don't need me to explain why that reflects their roles in the story

similarly, every character apart from the brothers is turned towards another in some way (eduard does not count when his flowers do, and his role in the story is based around that disconnect partially anyway) tino towards ber and eduard (and hana, i guess), ber towards tino, henrik to halle, halle to henrik (though he looks away - his values are elsewhere even when they are together). joi, at best, looks at his own reflection in the window

the colour scheme, while arbitrarily picked from gradient maps based on what i felt "fit" has been approved by the author as being very "SoS core"

finally, the poem on the note, chapter 46

all that being said, i can and will now talk about my personal relationship with SoS, so unless that interests you i imagine the post is done now! thank you for reading :)

the first comment i posted on SoS is dated 2nd November 2016 - logging into my old account i can see i bookmarked it on the 31st August that same year, so i can safely assume i first read or at least found it then. a month after my first comment, i posted another on a different account, pouring a few bits of my heart out and the author responded! we went back and forth a bit and eventually talked (i think) via tumblr for a little, but the majority of our conversations were via skype for whatever reason (we didn't call, just texted). it was a lot of me looking for writing advice, insight to their work/process/skill, talking about The Brothers and talking about psychology/the brain on a general and personal level. i think if i read our conversations back now i'd cringe, given that i was an awkward, fumbling 16 year old, but i dont think anything else wouldve been fitting given the subject matter. eventually our conversations fizzled out and we stopped talking for years, but i'd go back to SoS routinely and cry.

in may of 2021, i posted another comment during what in hindsight was definitely another relatively minor mental health episode - i think it was half trying to emphasise how important the work was to me on the off chance pyrr saw it, and half a bid for connection since i had no idea if they even remembered us talking. i assumed nothing would come of it, and for about a year that was true - until pyrr responded after all in february of 2022 - i'm happy to say we've been talking consistently on discord since then. i feel a little weird speaking too intimately about our friendship as it is now since it's not just my story to tell (though pyrr, if you're reading this) (i'm sure you are at some point) (you're welcome to talk about it however, i just didn't want to without consulting you) but i can say with some certainty that it's at least a little bit my fault that we have a sequel now - cementing my place as official number #1 fan and validating the me from almost 8 years ago in a way i don't think either of us processes well.

it's here that i feel the need to talk about my other dear friend, @hws-lceland , who i'm grateful to have met through the zine's discord server. i'm sure they're reading this too, and a lot of what our relationship means to me is stuff that's probably a bit too vulnerable for either of us to speak publicly, but i *can* say that i love them very much, and i'm really grateful to have someone else to understand, and that he read SoS for me. i thought he needed it, and i hope i was right

sendlingur is...endlessly important to me. i'm aiming to not write an essay here (a goal i think i've already sorta shot in the foot) but i think it's important for me to talk about some of this a little loudly, all the same. my writing has changed because of the series - remeeting with pyrr and showing them some of my more recent work was interesting since it was apparent even to them the influences i'd taken (to be fair, in one section i explicitly asked and did borrow a format of theirs, but this goes beyond that). when i was 16 i asked my mum to read the fic in a desperate bid to be understood. i've cried reading the fic many, many times. i've signed off letters and poems with my switched around version of i'm sorry / thank you / i love you (i swap the first two around) many, many, many times, including in a close friend's wedding gift. SoS has very sincerely changed my definition of love. the name halle is a part of my abstract mindscape. id already considered changing my name to johannes anyway and this fic certainly didnt help. i've gained a friendship of 7 and a half years through it. i've gained another newer one now, too. i am not well. i wasn't well then, reading it, and it hasn't fixed me (i am worse, now, arguably), but it healed something, or at least made me feel understood. i could go on, and maybe sometime i will (there were so many things i wanted to include in my piece and pay homage to!), but for now i will thank anyone who took the time to read all this (again), and say that i look forward to experiencing the sequel

as always, i'm sorry, thank you, i love you

#hetalia #hetalia nordics #hws iceland #hws norway #hetalia iceland #hetalia norway #hetalia denmark #hetalia sweden #hws sweden #hws estonia #hetalia estonia #hetalia finland #hws finland

[rentumblsstuff]

Random Hatchetfield Headcanons

The first time Alice Woodward ever smoked weed was when (after much inner turmoil) she asked Deb to shotgun it with her.

Max has two snaggletoothed incisors which is why people swear to god he has fangs.

Deb also has a snaggletooth which is what inspired the vampire part of Alice’s vampiric sapphic play. Alice also thinks it’s ironic she made a vampire character when Deb is a vegan.

Ruth as a Sophmore hit on Senior Alice a lot. Alice thought it was funny and she and Deb “adopted” her. Max and Steph also put the PANIC in bi panic for Ruth.

Max would find it weirdly hot that Grace wears bathing suits under her clothes because of the idea that he gets to see what her body looks like before even she does.

The hospital is downtown, so Becky Barnes definitely got infected in TGWDLM. Despite never wanting to do it again, Becky climbs the tree as someone calls the HFPD to save Kathy’s cat because she’s still infinitely compassionate even under Pokey’s control. Plus, Pokey knows she wants to get over the trauma associated with climbing trees, so he makes her do it to give her a big number about finally overcoming her past. She accidentally flings the cat as soon as the song starts, which is why in Show Me Your Hands, the cat dies so quickly even though it JUST got called in.

Peter infected Steph who infected Deb who infected Alice in TGWDLM. Pete and Steph would have been Sophomores and Deb and Alice were Seniors, but I always imagine Steph and Deb knowing eachother because MRFC said Steph is in the Smoke Club on Twitter at some point. Assuming Steph’s been a little punk for a while, she’s been in the smoke club since at least Sophomore year, and probably a new inductee the same year as TGWDLM (2018).

Alice and one of her parents (maybe Bill) were also raised in purity culture because we know the Woodwards and the Chastitys go to the same church. The Woodwards probably take it with a grain of salt though (Alice has expressed dislike over Grace’s prudishness)- either that or one of her parents (probably her mom) wasn’t originally from said church and also raised Alice with “this is what you’re learning here, but here’s also what I learned at my church at your age.” Bill was likely the one raised in purity culture because he does NOT LIKE DEB and thinks that if she HAS TO date a girl, she should date someone like Grace Chastity, implying she’s an exemplary teen girl. Ms. Woodward lets Deb sleep over and probably knows she smokes and likes her anyways; three points for Alice’s mom not being the puritanical one.

Ted reads romance novels. He’s a former geek turned sleazeball- you know he reads the smuttiest novels ever and calls them “his research”. He refuses to read any book with the friends to lovers trope because it’s too upsetting to think about. (Side note Time Bastard gave us a definite date that timelines don’t branch/reset before depending on whichever theory you believe because the homeless man is in every timeline, meaning that Jenny’s death is fixed in time and never changes: October 7th 2004, so the timelines change anywhere between October 8th 2004 and 2018.)

In whatever timeline Emma finally gets to have her weed farm, she meets Paul when he tells her he was prescribed that marajamij for his anxiety and he was too scared to try Xanax. She thinks he’s kind of cute for a wet cat of a corporate slave. “Fuck the patriarchy? Yes please.” (Side note Paul seems so uptight and unfuckable like bro gotta be blank down there like a Ken doll and has no discernible kinks from what I remember while Emma is laid back and chill asf and like… normal in comparison so yeah sure Paulkins canonically fucks but does Emma enjoy it?? Like dude even Pete’s more fuckable than him come on.)

Pete and Steph don’t kiss when they admit their feelings for eachother even though one of them would die before ever getting to kiss each other because they both think it’ll only make it that much harder to go through with sacrificing the other. One of the reasons Pete also chooses to be the one to take the bullet because he doesn’t think he even COULD pull the trigger on her. Like it’d be physically impossible for him, in his mind.

TGWDLM was originally meant to be an allegory for the institution brainwashing us. Show Me Your Hands and America’s Great Again: examples of people in power working for and fulfilling the evil wishes of some almighty, otherworldly, inhuman THING (be it aliens, be it those in power). It’s clearly meant to satirize the way that power corrupts and tries to convince you its way is better. Even Hidgens, THE FUCKING TEACHER, tries to teach his student that it will be better for everyone to join in that corruption and give in to the hive mind. This reminds me of how the school system in America tries to paint our history as something glamorous; manifest destiny instead of genocide of the indigenous populations. The people in power convincing those under them that the deaths of countless lives is a good thing and it will pave the way to a better future. Cool motive, still murder. Which is why Emma “Fuck the Patriarchy” Perkins is the last one to be infected. She was incapable of being brainwashed , and even when she was the last one left, she saw that the people watching didn’t care, and the all-consuming threat of corrupted power closes in on her until the very last moment.

The Lords in Black were going to try to convince whoever sacrificed their most treasured something to do more work for them, but Grace required very little convincing. Like Wiggly spoke into her mind like “Gracy-Wace! You forgot my booky-wook! Look in it, see any thing you like? Wanna kill all the pervy-wervys?” And she’s like “holy cow I can kill all the pervy-wervys with this book?” Pete would have needed the most convincing because he’s just lost the only girl who will ever love him (in his mind) and so he’d think these things took away his one chance at true love and NEVER want to deal with them again. Even if they offered him a way to get her back, he’s too smart to know that won’t come without an even bigger price AND too paranoid to think she won’t come back wrong like Max did.

If the Green-Foster family ever did get to move to California and Lex got to be an actress, her interview attitude would be a lot like Reneé Rapp and if she ever got asked about why she’ll openly shit talk people in an interview, she’s like “I used to work retail I learned pretty fast that nothing gets done if you keep your mouth shut.”

#starkid #hatchetfield #tgwdlm #black friday musical #nightmare time #npmd #alice woodward #max jagerman #grace chasity #bill woodward #stephanie lauter #peter spankoffski #ted spankoffski #paulkins #paul matthews #emma perkins #lautski #ruth fleming #becky barnes #lex foster #jenny starkid #lords in black #wiggog y'wrath

[creteevidence]

watched wish a few days ago and was underwhelmed with the execution of the cool ideas they went with so i took it into my own hands

first of all i took the star boy concept and made it real

more under the cutttt

(his pronouns are he/they/star/any btw (self-indulgence))

- they are a shapeshifter, being able to change their form at will. at first, theyre a ball of light/star shape but when they see asha they’re like omgg cool form and use that new humanoid form more often

- the amount of light they give off changes with their emotions/health

- they are mute, communicating through sign language, magic, shapeshifting, or acting things out

in my story asha is a princess like she should’ve been and is the adopted daughter of magnifico and amaya (who are both evil like in the concepts)

the two have somehow connected rosas and the star kingdom and use the star peoples’ magic/life force to power their own magic. asha, being adopted, struggles to use this magic well but feels immense pressure to make her parents proud. the use of this magic by the king and queen (and asha) is slowly killing the star boys kingdom. it killed his parents, causing star to run away (they have a problem with running away from their problems)

he and asha meet at this time after she wishes. her wish was something along the lines of being good at magic finally or being able to help people/fulfill expectations. he IMMIDIATELY falls in love with her lmao. it takes her much longer. either way they start to help her learn magic, both of them unaware that it’s killing him and his kingdom.

they grow very close and in loooveeee hee heeee

at some point asha and him fight, maybe they both find out what ashas magic truly is and star feels betrayed. they run away from her and go to her parents in the castle to try and win them over and be dimplomatic, still not really knowing her parents are the real problem. (it’s at this point he changes his outfit to the one on the far right of the top image as it’s more traditionally accepted in a kingdom like ashas and he wants to make a good impression on her strict parents.)

unfortunately, it doenst matter and he is immediately captured lmao and the king and queen start to drain them of their life force/magic for similar greed reasons to the original movie.

something something asha has to learn the truth of her kingdom, face her parents, and save him idk i’m bad at writing stuff like this on the spot

ALSO the “This is the Thanks I Get” song is no longer magnifico singing to his subjects but both parents to asha basically guilt tripping her into being better and being on their side. aaanddd “At All Costs” is no longer a weird duet with asha and mag but is with asha to star teehee

this isn’t completely thought out or anything but i thought i might as well share it real quick while the iron is hot or something

#i might update this as i get more clear ideas idk #i’m saving you asha from that movie #also asha no longer has the adorkable personality she’s more serious and puts more pressure on herself to be perfect #star helps her be better and be happier #AAAHHHHH #i’m un normal for them #wish #disney wish #wish 2023 #wish rewrite #asha #princess asha #asha wish #i WISH this movie was better #wish star #rewrite #crete’s art

[humanityinahandbag]

Steddie Modern AU: TikTok

Steve would absolutely be that guy who would not understand TikTok. He and Eddie are older by the time it comes out, and most of the content there is of young kids going completely buck wild. Steve of course disapproves, hands on his hips, huffing about no supervision these days even though he was absolutely a terror in high school.

Eddie, rock star that he is, gets it to an extent. "They're expressing themselves!" he'd say.

Steve would only shake his phone around and point aggressively to a video playing on loop of a young man dancing along to some new trendy song, trying his hardest to seem cool and popular. "This isn't expression," he'd say, mother hen voice at top volume. "This is them trying to peacock to the world!"

"You did that once, too, Stevie."

"Yeah, and I was a little shit!"

And so Steve, in an effort to curb the young teenage population and keep them from making his mistakes (mostly due to parental neglect and hopeless, crushing self deprivation), would start his own TikTok channel.

"Hey there," he says into the camera, because for all the pride around his good looks, he has zero clue how to record a video of himself. "My names Steve, and I've been noticing a bunch of you on here who are out of control! Listen to me, alright? You need to dial it back. All that shit in high school is completely null and void when you're an adult. Trust me. From a former popular asshole, there's better shit you could be doing. Now let me show you how to scramble an egg."

His videos mostly consist of simple lessons. Giving out little pieces of advice. Teaching them basic life skills he had to learn on his own. How to cook. How to clean. How to iron a polo shirt. How to style your hair. How to do laundry. How to do basic first aid.

He often becomes transparent, telling them about his own childhood.

Sometimes he brings Eddie into his videos.

"This is my husband's favorite," he says, by way of explanation as he shows TikTok how to make pasta sauce from scratch. "He used to eat spaghetti out of a can. A fucking can!"

Despite his posturing on stage, Eddie becomes shy whenever a camera is in his face, and ducks his head away, smiling quietly towards the camera. "It's not that bad," he says.

"Not that- The sodium in that could kill an elephant!" Steve laughs.

"Yeah, well... I don't want you doing too much for me."

"I like doing things for you."

Eddie flushes and ducks his head, hiding his face away behind a curtain of curls.

Steve leans over a kisses his temple, pushing him gently out of frame where he'll be more comfortable, before turning back to the camera. "Anyway, this recipe is great if you're on your own for long periods of time. Especially because you can freeze some for later. Now the trick here is garlic. Let me show you how to peel it without making a huge mess!"

It's a month later where Dustin shows up at their door and shoves his phone into Steve's face. "Why the fuck," he'd snap, "are you trending?"

It turns out, the tiny community that Steve had been lecturing to wasn't as small as he originally thought.

There are so many kids out there desperate for parental affection, and they look to Steve, feeding off his pride, his kindness, his stories, his advice. Not only that but the fact that they get to see a former bully, a former popular kid, a man who grew up from neglect, become someone happy and married?

That's just... so wonderful.

"I've been on TikTok from the beginning and I only have, like, two thousand followers."

"So what? I don't have that many."

"You've got three million, Steve," said Dustin. Steve was not expecting that, squinting at the phone screen in his face. "Three fucking million! People are stitching your videos saying you guys are their new dads," Dustin squawked. "How did you not know you were this popular!?"

"I didn't know how to check my follower count!" Steve said, sincerely. It wasn't like he actually checked the thing! He just enjoyed making videos.

"You're so old."

"Hey," said Eddie from the kitchen, "don't talk about your mother that way."

"Yeah!" agreed Steve. "Don't talk to me that way! Now get into my next video so I can introduce you to your three million siblings."

And that is why I firmly believe that, if given the chance, Steve (and subsequently, Eddie) would absolutely become the internet's favorite parental figure(s).

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson

[madebythe0cean]

Hey I may have an ask but many I ask for an Hogwarts legacy MC that transform into a puffskien, but every time the MC gets pick up by someone they scream bloody murder untill they get put down back on the ground? All students + professors if u can btw have a great day and drink water and stay safe 💝

A/n:This made me laugh so hard with the mental imagery 💀 all I can imagine is that one frog scream.also thank you!gotta stay hydrated in this hot ass weather lol💖

Hogwarts legacy characters with an Mc who was turned into a puffskein who sings the song of their people

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+

Sebastian💀:

✭ Bro he was laughing his ass off at you.i mean mans was clutching his stomach for mercy type laughter

✭ he tried to pick you up but immediately dropped you as you released the most ungodly screech known to wizard kind

✭ aaaaaAAAAAAAAAÆÆÆÆÆ

✭ this gigglemug was the sod who accidentally transfigured you into the small puffball you are now

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+

Ominis 🐍:

✭ He was next to you when it happened and was repeatedly asking what was happening only to be met with uncontrollable laughter and the following screech

✭ His wand showed Mc’s form one second and a….small beast? The next…Sebastian what did you do this time?

✭ He swears that his fellow Slytherin will be the reason he’s sporting a full head of grey hair by his early twenties at least

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+

Amit⭐️:

✭ Oh boy this poor lad got quite the scare when he was minding his own business with his new lunarscope and a little puffskein came barrelling into him

✭ The incessant squeaking made him worry that the poor thing was hurt when Garreth came tumbling in seconds after quickly mumbling something about ‘new poly juice variant gone slightly awry’

✭ Said gingers sad attempts at picking up the newly fluffy Mc nearly blew out his ears.Garreth held on for a good while to as you wiggled and squawked like a mandrake

✭ the poor boy was so worried he was hurting you he swept you up into his arms and onto the floor next to him with a glare that could wither a venomous tentacular

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+

Garreth🧪:

✭ Ok in his defence he was certain his new concoction would work! Maybe he did skip a few of the necessary steps of the original recipe…and maybe he did tell Mc it was just a slightly modified wiggenweld so he could see the effects…ok not one of his brightest ideas-but! He’s positive that with a little bit of work his new variant will work even better than the original recipe

✭ He’s apologising repeatedly as you spasmed in his hold but your quickly taken and soothed by a VERY annoyed soft spoken Ravenclaw

✭ With a fleeting guilty smile he flees from the crime scene before his aunt could catch wind of one of her (favourite) students being turned into a bouncing ball of fluff

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+

Imelda🧹:

✭ Ok no,if you expected any sympathy you came to the wrong Slytherin entirely

✭ she’s the one who nudged Sebastian’s wand as he was casting to mess with him…you just so happen to be in the cross fire

✭ Although her wheezing laughter was cut short as she poked your nose smugly when you nipped her finger.hard.

✭ yeeeeeah you almost got hit across the class like a quaffel

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+

Natty🦌:

✭ Oh dear….She sees now where that Slytherin and Griffindor rivalry comes from

✭ She is NOT amused by the two Slytherins mocking laughter and lack of help with your obvious distress

✭ she notes quickly your distain for being picked up as her ears still ring from your little song

✭ Gently stroking your small form,feeling your rapid heartbeat,she mutters little words of comfort in Swahili

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+

Poppy🌻

✭ good luck getting out of her arms,screech allll you like your now her pocket puffskein pal

✭ You eventually succumb to her iron grip(how is such a small girl so damn strong????)

✭ She’s going to keep you as a puffskein for as long as possible,totaaaaally not asking garreth for more of his ‘brilliant brew’

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+

Professor Fig📚:

✭ Well there’s certainly never a dull moment with Mc around is there?

✭ While he’s certainly unamused with Garreths experimental concoctions he admires his drive for certain

✭ He wasn’t expecting the ear piercing screeching

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+

Professor Garlick💐

✭ she was actually coming to see her dear friend Matilda with a new assignment for you when she heard the distant aaaaaAAAAAAAAAÆÆÆÆÆ

✭ She had to cover her mouth a bit to not giggle at the scene.you being clumsily held by Sebastian while you tried your damnest to bite his fingers

✭ She does clear her throat at Matilda’s faux stern look but quickly takes you out of Sebastian’s arms and onto your desk where your settled surprisingly quickly

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+

Professor Hecat⚔️

✭ She low-key was reminded of when she threatened headmaster Black with the threat of transfiguring him into a puffskein if he didn’t stop his incessant yapping when they were students

✭ But she keeps a straight face and deduces a few points from Slytherin for Imeldas little prank

✭ she’s surprisingly lax about the whole ordeal.she remembers fondly her escapades when her body was young,the whole situation actually made her chuckle a bit when all was said and done

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+

Professor Ronen🎊

✭ Honestly? He let out a bark of a laugh before he composed himself.he couldn’t help it! It was quite entertaining to watch young Weasley chase your puffball self around his classroom

✭ But he does use Arresto Momentum to put an end to this little kneazel and puffskein chase

✭ he lightly scolds Garreth for his unsanctioned poly juice brew but overall he’s very chill about the ordeal

✭ After all he made his fair share of malfunctioning potions in his youth.no harm done-well except to his ears but all is forgiven

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+

Professor Weasley 🦋

✭ She had actually been helping you adjust your wand when you were hit by Sebastian’s stray spell

✭ Both he and Imelda get a hefty lecture as she pats you comfortingly,she totally doesn’t have favourites what do you mean?

✭ She promptly transfigures you back and give a moment to settle as your a bit dazed from the whole ordeal

✭ she also notes to keep earplugs in her desk for future mishaps

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+

Professor Sharp🛡

✭ Thoroughly unimpressed to say the least

✭ he’s not a fan of the incessant screeching and bouncing you seem to taken up

✭ Oh boy does Garreth get his fair share of detentions for this stunt and a looong lecture about the dangers and risks of potions

#hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy #0ceantalks #amit thakkar #garreth weasley #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #natsai onai #professor hecat #professor ronen #professor garlick #professor sharp #professor weasley #professor fig #amit x reader #sebastian x reader #poppy x reader #natty x reader #imelda reyes #Imelda x reader #ominis x reader #garreth x reader #garreth

[fluffvstheworld]

hihi! i had n idea so i was holping you could indulge me maybe... matthew patel with a (male) reader who saw him fight in the rockit and made a craigslist post to try and find him again afterwards? idk if it makes sense but i think it would be silly :-3

A/n: This was such a cute prompt to write TToTT hope I did it justice! I decided to use the original universe in this one because I feel like Matthew would be moping on his computer after losing to Scott

Note: Although no pronouns are used, it was written in mind for a male reader

Reader Trying to Find Matthew Patel on Craigslist After the Rockit

You were pretty excited for the battle of the bands

It was Crash and the Boys vs Sex Bob-omb, two of the most well known indie bands in Toronto

There was a lot you were expecting. Cool songs, the fun of competition, the excitement in the crowd…

What you weren’t expecting was a man blasting his way from the balcony towards one of the main bassists

As he got punched back into the crowd by Scott, landing himself fashionably, you finally got a good look at him

And to your surprise... he was quite cute!

A lot of talk started about his ex-girlfriend in the crowd, a league of exes apparently made in her stead. But once they stopped, the fighting started again

Along with a musical number!

You do admit it was quite catchy

Sadly the mysterious boy was defeated, sent back to his home only leaving $2.10 in his wake

But as you walked out of the venue in shock, there was only one thing on your mind:

I need to find that guy!

And the thought stuck to you like glue

At your home, at your job, on the bus, etc

Even now, as you lay on your bed staring up at your ceiling, the thought still continued its rampage in your mind

Your eyes slowly wandered towards your desk, most of its space being taken from your computer

You shut your eyes in thought for a moment before promptly getting up and sitting down on the chair. You were not going to wait any longer, otherwise you were going to go insane

Booting up the crappy piece of hardware was a challenge, but eventually you got onto craigslist and into the general tab, typing away

[Hey! The other day there was this guy at the Rockit fighting the bassist for Sex Bob-omb.. anyone know him? I think his name was Matthew?]

After you clicked enter, you leaned back into your chair and waited

And it surprisingly didn't take too long

A notification from your email made your heart jump as you quickly clicked onto it

[...Are you perhaps talking about me?]

You smiled widely. You finally found him!

[Depends. Is your name Matthew Patel?]

[...yes?]

[Then yes!]

[May I perhaps ask as to why?]

[Your musical number left a very big impression on me. Plus I think you're cute.]

Although you couldn't see it, you could tell the comment flustered him as the next email came back a few minutes later

[Oh..!]

You giggled a bit to yourself. Guess he didn't really know what to say to that

[Was that a good or a bad 'oh'?]

[..A good one I guess.]

[Well that's good at least haha. I was thinking... do you wanna meet up one of these days? I know you live in America, but I want to learn more about you!]

[Oh.. sure! I live close enough to the border.]

[Alright, it's a date then! Meet you back at the Rockit this Thursday?]

[Sure.. though I didn't quite catch your name.]

You smiled as you typed in your name and leaned back once more

[Well alright then, I'll see you there]

Your grin widened as you shut off your computer to process what just happened

You got a date! With a cute guy at that!

The grin faded as you realized you needed to iron out your clothes

As you scrambled to get up from your chair towards your closet, you smiled knowing that Thursday was going to be a great day

#matthew patel #matthew patel x reader #scott pilgrim takes off #scott pilgrim vs the world #spto x reader #scott pilgrim takes off x reader #scott pilgrim vs the world x reader #spvtw x reader

[milknhonies]

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Chapter 4 || Masterlist || Chapter 6

Chapter Summary: After defending your housekeeper, Sherlock takes a rough hand to your backside....

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Spanking, Domestic Abuse, rough kissing.

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes: I am sorry this took forever to post but I'm lucky and glad to say I should be moving to a new rental home in a month. Yayyy!!!

Inspiring Song: Partita for violin n°2 by Bach.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

6:30am Wednesday 7th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England

With baited breath you hurriedly rushed to push your husband out of the line of the door way. You shoved Sherlock and with some surprise, he moved. He rolled his eyes and pressed his back to the wall beside the door.

You feared an inevitable future. Mrs Hudson would enter your dwellings. And see your husband...how ironic for you to be scared of something meant to be.

Mrs Hudson knocked again and you heard the handle of your door twist.

A strike of horror whipped you into action. You fluttered to the cracking door as the old woman announced in a hushed whisper.

“Y/N dear, are you awake? Your mongrel of a groom is gone if you would like to come out now!”

Your fingers clenched into fists behind you and the offended snicker from Sherlock from next to you beside the opening door didn’t help your embarrassment. He knew you didn’t approve of his past behaviours but to be made apparent how much you deplored him was humiliating.

You forced a tight smile for your landlady as she took a step closer into the doorway. How you wished you could’ve asked her to leave, but how could you, it would seem rude after all her kind hospitality and assistance.

She greeted you with a happy wink while still under the belief her original tenant was no longer in the house. But her eyes did flutter after she glanced you up and down, surprised by your prepared dressed state.

It was a unspoken question, ‘Who helped dress you?’

You gently interpreted aloud, “Oh...he is still here...and...” your lips became dry. Why did Mrs Hudson have to be so invasive as landlady even if under pure intentions?

The old woman grew pale with her wide grey gaze. Her lips smacked open. You looked over your shoulder and gasped with a jump at the ridiculous state of your husband standing directly behind you, with a naked torso.

“Mrs Hudson,” he smirked, “Good Morning,” he said rather proudly with his hands settle on his finely shaped hips. His tongue lazily licked his bottom tongue with his eyebrows raised.

He found the lewdness incredibly hilarious. ‘Great, my husband is not only arrogant, rude and mean- he is also childish one would gather.’

“Quite...” she said as colour grew quick to her face in the shade of a wet red rose. Her wrinkled throat tightened. Her fingers gripped at her apron while her lips pursed disapprovingly.

Your husband briskly moved you aside by holding your hips and directing you out of his path before he strutted out from your door frame entrance.

You and the elder woman did perhaps inspect the curve of his bottom in his trousers for too long as he swaggered back to his bedroom. A plump arse in a husband has never been known as a requirement, but for the advice of a future generation you were sure to note it.

Mrs Hudson somewhat breathless and at a disadvantage twisted her head back and leant to your ear inquisitively, “What happened?” her eyes darted back and forth.

It was then as you saw her forehead shrink, you realised, she was concerned for your safety, for your health and wellbeing.

You could only imagine the distress the dear Mrs Hudson experienced when she found you in a puddle of blood on your bed only two days prior.

Your own lips parted and you raced to find the words. You struggled and stuttered to explain how on earth you came to lay in your bed with your own husband. It felt challenging and at half your conscience considered lying for the sake of modesty and privacy. It shouldn’t have been so difficult to say; you and Sherlock were bloody husband and wife. A small laugh in the back of your head jingled.

“Well...ugh...as husband and wife we...came to an agreement.”

Your fingers came up to touch your lips. A small smile was upon them. How else could you say your husband showed you terror and bliss all in one night. You knew it was not custom for a groom to tie up his bride and ravage her to a mindless state of ecstasy.

It had been so terrifying and exciting. The debate crossed your mind, ‘should I fear him, or submit with praise?’

He had treated you so awfully until this morning. You raced to wonder what had changed his mood so speedily in your favour...’Was it the deal? The debasing?’ In which you relinquished your pride and dignity to him that you already had so little of.

Her eyes narrowed at your wording, “An agreement?”

Those shrivelled pink lips settled in the shape of a pondering ‘o’ for sometime until Sherlock stuck his head back out from his rooms while buttoning a white shirt.

“We fucked Mrs Hudson,” he bluntly muttered startling you both in the midst of shock. It was uncouth to swear as he did, especially as a gentleman, especially in front of women. He was so unlike his high browed brother.

The older woman clicked her heels together and sputtered, “Sherlock!”

“-now if you aren’t too busy gossiping with my wife,” he sneered, cutting Mrs Hudson off, “I would very much like a cup of tea!”

“Well I never-!” the elder woman crossly huffed with her blushed face still blooming.

Your girlish grin disappeared. There he was. The rude and demeaning man.

Your fingers clenched to fists. The disrespect to Mrs Hudson was an insult to you. After all these hours in this new home, this woman sacrificed her time to help you. She did not deserve foul treatment from your husband even if he had always behaved that way to her in the past. You were now living here and wouldn’t stand for it.

You couldn’t allow this treatment to continue, “Sherlock!” both of their heads snapped at your raised tone, “Do not address Mrs Hudson in such a manner again!”

The man deemed London’s greatest detective looked bewildered, as if you slapped the man himself in the face. That masculine confidence fleeted from his face. Your landlady fluttered her eyes at your outburst. Perhaps you appeared aggressive, your knuckle pressed to your lips.

Your chest felt tight. You were panting. Yes, you had yelled so loudly it would be no question if those on the sidewalk below in Baker Street heard your bellowing.

You were angry. Resentful. The spell of his magical touch and charm had worn quickly off. Back you were to being a forthright wife.

His tongue stabbed the inside of his cheek. His eyes narrowed. Whatever was he thinking?

“Very well,” he said and he nodded once, “Mrs Holmes.”

He began fiddling with the buttons of his trousers, tucking his shirt in.

You lowered your hand and placed them on your exaggerated hips.

You gave a little huff to add on, “And say please to Mrs Hudson when asking for tea.”

Mrs Hudson glanced between you both before scurrying back to the dining table where breakfast had been so generously laid out. She clearly was smart enough to know not to intervene in this rising argument.

The smell of cinnamon and porridge filled your nose. Mrs Hudson quietly poured you a cup of tea. From the corner of your eye you watched the steam rise.

“For god sake woman,” Sherlock grumbled with exasperation and waved his hand in front of himself, “She is merely the housekeeper.” 

You stood between them and wagged a finger at him, “And landlady.”

He sighed with annoyance and rolled his eyes. His lips pinched. Accepting his defeat in his stubbornness he spun on his heels and re-entered your room. He left his door open.

You took a step forward and remembered yesterday how cross he had been when you entered his space without permission...’permission be damned.’

You swallowed down that cold prickling fear and followed him in and took note on how he sat on the trunk with deviant tools within. He hiked up his trouser legs up. He sighed at your presence- not fully annoyed but not fully relieved either. 

You knew where he kept his shoes and what type after your savage pilfering clean the day before. You selected for him a dark navy cravat to match his chosen blazer he pointed out to you. You selected a golden pin and black dress boots for him.

He cleared his throat and muttered a soft “Thankyou,” as you handed him the cravat and pin while you silently knelt to the floor and began slipping on his garters, socks and shoes onto his feet.

He looked like stone. His face unreadable. You could not tell if he was annoyed, amused or just plain bored by his lack of emotion.

Maybe you had shut him up and taken him down a peg. Indeed, perhaps you had really humiliated him in front of Mrs Hudson to the point of expressionless silence.

6:40am Wednesday 7th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England

He wasn’t sure how to feel about this. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or if he was to be frightened by it.  Your quick submission, your gentleness after such a loud scolding. You had such a voice. You had a fearsome outburst that you used said voice with.

So seeing you play demure wife with the snap of second put him on a strange edge...what game were you playing at?

He sat back on his hands and stared at you struggling to button up his buttons he did the only thing he knew how in regards to people. He analysed you.

Your hands were clammy...sweaty and warm indicating either your heighten blood from your outburst or the after affects of your embarrassment when Mrs Hudson discovered his existence in your bedroom.

Your breath was slightly ragged. You were nervous he decided.

He glanced at how every few moments you wriggled your hips. Very faintly. Disguised as an attempt to readjust your sitting position, whereas in fact...you appeared to make soft rocking motions...

Oh, he smiled internally...you were aroused and embarrassed. You were helpless and desperate. Poor little lamb.

He looked around his room and back to you on the floor. You both were in rather a similar pose last night before he blackmailed you into sucking his cock. He twitched his head to the side and wondered how scandalous and quick he could pull out his cock and shove it past your teeth; all the while Mrs Hudson stood only a few feet away past the door with her back turned to you both.

How naughty...

And your sweet eyes looked up from his shoes...if only you weren’t sitting on your skirts. He mourned for all he waited more than ever was sneak it  beneath your shift and between your thighs.

‘How charming,’ he larked in his mind, ‘Polishing my shoe with her pussy.’ Your hairless pussy in fact.

Sherlock didn’t not hate body hair. But rather he liked the satisfaction of making pain in doing something as torturous as ripping hair from a sobbing woman. And the softness was something that never ceased amazement.

He did once mention to John before his comrade met Mary how on occasion, cunnilingus on a hairy woman was comparable to kissing a man on the face. John, he recalled, laughed at Sherlock and announced he had never eaten a cunt, so why bother eating one covered in hair... now it was all the man could ever speak of when it came to his wife that he worshipped.

When you finished folding his trouser paints so that mud would not soak the hem, he leant forward and place a finger under your chin.

Your pupils flickered. Oh yes. You were definitely aroused, he concluded.

And he felt somewhat generous. He cupped your cheek and lifted you higher to your feet.

“Come here,” he whispered.

He almost burst out laughing watching how your eyes fluttered. His thumb scraped over your lip. He pinched your cheeks and pulled you into his face before he slowly stood off his bed.

He pushed his tongue inside and moaned. With how you tried to return the movement he smirked. You were desperate and he knew you wanted to please him. He flicked around and sucked your bottom lip.

Pulling back you were panting loud and your eyes wide.

He gave you passion, so what were you to do with that?

“Now Mrs Holmes, go sit down for breakfast,” he purred, “I will be out shortly.”

His cock was getting hard and he needed to give himself a moment or else he felt compelled to fuck you right there, Mrs Hudson could rightfully fuck off down stairs if she didn’t want to see the show....

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

6:46am Wednesday 7th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England

On weak, shaky legs you turned away from him. Your hand stumbled along his door frame. You could feel the hot buzz still on your lips. You felt hot all over. Behind you, he softly shut his door. You needed to sit down and so you reached out to your side of the dining room. You hobbled into your chair and reached for your warm tea.

“Well you must’ve done something right,” the landlady chuckled under her breath, wiping her hands lazily on her apron, “I haven’t seen him so caught off guard since his mother last visited. Put him in his please, she did.”

You nodded slowly. Sherlock Holmes would always be a true enigma. You sipped carefully. He kissed you with great heat, after you had scolded him? It made no sense.

“Is it within the best interest that I remain rather than leave you alone with him?” Mrs Hudson whispered as she saw your gaze staring off at the nothingness of the room.

Your eyes fluttered to focus and you smiled up at the kind woman. You squeezed her hand and shook your head.

“No, I am sure I can manage my husband Mrs Hudson,” you rose and carefully took the tea pot from her hands, “I think I shall pour his tea.”

Your land lady peered at you suspiciously as she relinquished the china. She smiled grimly and nodded before walking off and departing the apartment.

Sherlock wasn’t so scary now that you knew he wasn’t cross. And surely...if anything occurred, Mrs Hudson might intervene? Yes?

So where the hell was she last night? The thought wasn’t really your own, it just came up in the back of your mind watching as she left the apartment.

Your husband didn’t take long to come out, fully dressed. He sat down and searched over the table.

Mrs Hudson had brought up warm croissants, fresh butter and a scrumptious jam to lay on top.

You stood over him and poured tea into his cup. You felt his eyes rolling up and down your body. When you stood away, he poured in his own cream.

You placed the pot down gently and returned to your seat.

In those few seconds there was peace and power, submission and dominance. And you didnt even know it...

You folded the napkin over your lap and spread a fine line of jam over the bread like treat.

Sherlock? He sipped his tea and wouldn’t stop staring, to the point where it made you feel intimidated. What was he looking at? Was there jam on your face?

He clear his throat again and shook his head. He tore a piece of a croissants with his fingers and stuffed it into his mouth. It was something you disapproved of. But you didn’t have the patience to teach a man almost twice your age on the art of table manner etiquette.

And after an eternity of silent air filled with chewing and sipping...

“Finished your breakfast?” Sherlock smiled, rising from his chair, you nodded and patted your lips. You needed to return to your room and find some hair pins along with a hat if he expected you to join him.

“Good...” Sherlock said coming around to your side and helping you out of your chair with a single lending hand...and he led you to the main sitting room.

You tried to turn around go back to your room, maybe he forget the negative propriety of a woman wearing her hair unfixed in public.

He caught your wrist and tugged you to the side of the chaise.

“Bend over,” he purred into your ear.  You blinked.

“What ever for?” you audibly pondered before hearing him sigh frustrated.

You looked between him and the lounge.

His voice was coated in a acidic hiss, “Bend over or I’ll make you.”

You didn’t understand. Naively you bent over the arm. Had he lost something between the soft mattressing? Your fingers reached for the small cushion to look under when you felt him start to lift your skirts. Your eyes widened. What the hell was he doing!?

You went to stand up straight before he pushed his hand on your upper back and pushed you down again. You grunted and grizzled.

He tossed your skirts up over your backside to your waist. His hand softly rubbed across your drawers. The weight of his palm made you jump in surprise. His finger traced the splitting fabric. He pushed the pieces aside.

You held your breath. Your fingers clenched the chaise as you tried looking over your shoulder.

He couldn’t have been suggesting that he would mount you like this...here.. out in the open of your home...surely not...

He smirked at the alarm written all over your face. He bent his head down to you...he kissed your cheek and peppered small pecks to your ear.

“I’m going to strike you ten times,” his hot breath came.

Your eyes widened and your nose curdled.

“What ever for!?” you repeated with a sneer while you tried rising up again. This time, he shoved you down harder.

Sherlock smiled mockingly, his voice was sweet and high but beneath it was hate and sadism, “For speaking against my authority in front of Mrs Hudson.”

He cupped your backside and you swallowed hard.

It wasn’t right! He didn’t need to be so rude to the house keeper. You felt the coming punishment to be unwarranted.

“Such a pretty bum...” he sighed pawing at each unmarred cheek, “Such a disobedient wife...” He awed slightly...you were trembling. You shut your eyes and prayed to turn back time.

The first slap took you entirely by surprise, a sob tore itself from your lips instantly as his hand made contact with your backside.

You stomped your foot and tried twisting around to stop him but he flung you back over the chaise. And then the woosh of a flying hand swatted you. The burning crack of his palm left you feeling choked and brought to tears faster than ever before.

You cried immediately. And do you know what your torturous husband did? He let you cry...he let you catch your breath. He waited until you quieted...and then he hit you again. The third time hurt as well yet, felt stronger. It was the force of the hit that was more like a punch then a slap to your rear end bringing you into a shocked gasp.

You stomped your foot and whimpered, “Unhand me! You brute!”

He chuckled and smacked his palm fast against your bottom, the rising flame of nerves made you whine pitifully.

“Stop!” you pleaded, “Sherlock please!”

The soft touch on your abused arse cheek did little to soothe the stinging pain and the third slap made it far worse. Your skin was turning a shade and felt indescribably hot.

“We are almost finished Mrs Holmes, take a deep breath for me,” he asked.

You sniffled terribly trying to clean your sobs. Your eyes were watering while Sherlock’s pale hand rubbed up and down your sensitive thighs. Your belly jumped and butterflies fluttered. You felt tingly and in need of a cold cloth. You attempted to wriggle away once more but that only made Sherlock grasp on you tighter.

By the sixth slap your whimpers evolved into breathy pants. You felt his run his fingers soft and slow on your hot skin. They were cold and like a balm to the suffering he inflicted. You felt the swirls and managed to feel him draw an S and a H.

It became a vile pattern where he allowed you to compose your crying and fall quiet before delivering hell by his palm.

You could only recall the last spanking you received was from a school teacher when you were nine years old because you spilled ink down the dress of a girl bullying you.

The next whip made you gasp and continued to lessen the soreness you tried breathing through your lips shaped in a ‘o’ which made a most heinous noise...a moan.

“You are taking this very well my pretty Baker Street whore.”

You knew it had to be Sherlock’s voice but it felt so far away now. Your lower body felt incredibly warm and light.

“Never again will you humiliate me In the presence of our housekeeper, do I make myself clear?” his voice became a lifeline.

You were trembling beneath him. You felt him step closer and the side of your neck.

You didn’t agree with him, you didn’t humiliate him, he humiliated himself with his lack of manners. You were tired, relaxed, starting to accept the burning heat of his hand. You heard him chuckling in your ear. Your mind was falling to pieces.

“Yes s-sir,” Your voice shook which fell into a voice a new moan as the next strike connected to your bottom.

“Very good little lamb,” he said pleasingly. He slowly released his grip on your back and ran his hand lightly over your displayed flesh.

He rubbed his thumb into your muscle and took glee in your snarling hiss. He tapped your exposed hip softly.

“There,” he said slowly lifting you from the lounge and letting your skirts fall back to your ankles. He wiped away the tears with his thumbs, kissing each cheek as he went.

When reality crashes hard like a stormy wave, you flinched and moved away from him. You cupped your mouth and tried not to cry but the tears fluttered fast.

You felt him stand behind you and you wished you could’ve run away. You felt so embarrassed and ashamed you made such lusty tones. He wrapped his hands around your waist and towered above you.

He asked quietly, “Are you sure you want my fidelity now?”

It felt like a open wound that he was digging inside further. It was cruel, his smugness.

And this was a really trap. You could swear it. He wanted a reason to be allowed to return to Mayfair Row.

He wanted you to waver, to give in, to let him betray the wedding bed. It was like a candle filling the room with light. He didn’t spank you because he was embarrassed that you scolded him in front of the housekeeper, oh no, no, ‘twas a beneath the layers. Sherlock was trying to break you into letting him do as he desired, to continue his habits before your marriage.

You gulped and squeezed his hands; the tools he just beat you with. You felt sick. You felt angry. You felt like you had successfully figured out the solution to an ancient problem...

You could’ve caved in...you could’ve let him ruin the marriage entirely...the shame...you were fragile and almost let him.

You almost, but you didn’t.

You swallowed hard and fluttered your eyes and stated tightly, “It will take more than a whipping by your hands to make me let you go back to whoring, Mr Holmes.”

You turned your neck to glare at him. And instead of a snarl or a frown or disapproving look, he was smirking. His brows were raised in pleasant surprise.

“Marvellous,” he whispered, “an utter spectacle, you are.”

You scoffed and wiped your eyes again of a burning tear and shoved to move past him to go retrieve your hair pins and hat.

He followed on your tail and cackled, “Oh don’t be so prudish...I too heard that little moan.”

Your throat tightened as you tried ignoring his relaying fact.

You came to your room and saw him through your mirror leaning on the door frame, watching you. You perfected your usual modest style while you snapped, “If you honestly believe I under any circumstances enjoyed that, you are truly-  terribly mistaken.”

He was chewing his bottom lip and racing his eyes over your entire body. He was comically a wolf starved for his lamb.

You couldn’t even sit down at your vanity with the heat radiating on your backside under all your skirts. You didn’t even want to come out with him today, you almost dared state you would stay home after his assault.

However, lord only knows where Sherlock would really gallivant off to if you didn’t chaperone him today. Any man can break a promise.

He came into your room slowly and went to your hat box. He handed you the straw brim and cleared his throat, “Get your gloves, we must make haste.”

You rolled your eyes at him and snatched your hat from his hands, “If we were in such a hurry it might’ve deterred you from your unnecessary beating.”

He was fast as lightning and holding your jaw tearing out a gasp from you as he huffed, “Indeed, If we weren’t in such a hurry, I would have my cock down your throat for that comment Mrs Holmes.” His eyes turned a shade darker that dragged a bolt of fear back down your spine.

His smile was not as cheery, it had transformed into a sneer in lilt, “Gloves. Now.”

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

#sherlock holmes x female reader #sherlock holmes x poc!reader #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x ofc #sherlock holmes x reader #Dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dark!sherlock holmes #dark!henry cavill #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x female reader #dead dove do not eat #henry cavill x #henry sherlock #enola sherlock

[nicolesainz]

You’re losing me (CS 55)

Carlos Sainz x f!reader

Summary: long distance is difficult, taking flights, seeing each other only a few hours, you slowly forget who the other is

A/N: Miss TayTay loves to break my heart. That song is pure ache.

Warnings: intense fighting, swearing, angst, heartbreak

Packing my luggage for what is about to be the last time around Carlos. I take a look at my paddock pass that is hanging around my neck for one last time. This will probably be passed on to another girl in the future.

Originally, I wouldn’t have stayed for the race. Who would have thought that my surprise would blow up and be an absolute failure. The annoyance in his face when he saw me, broke my heart.

Usually when one arrives to surprise a beloved one, they don’t seem irritated or angry with a move like this. They are surprised and happy eventually. In our case, Carlos couldn’t bother to be either of the two. Simply annoyed.

He barely kissed me on the lips. Nothing but a small peck on my cheek. During the whole drive to the hotel, he didn’t utter a single word, no matter how many questions I asked.

“Did I do some wrong?”

“Aren’t you happy I’m here?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Are you stressed about the race?”

“Did you fight with anyone?”

“Did a fan bother you anyhow?”

His answers were either a blunt “no” or a growl.

When we arrived at the room, he shut the door loudly before leaving for the track alone, abandoning me with a simple phrase.

“Take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch”

Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Maybe I should have stayed in Spain. Maybe I should have asked him first if he wanted me here. Maybe I’ve become too bothersome for him.

So many questions flooding in my head, I wanted to throw up. The room felt very claustrophobic, so I took my bag and the key, leaving the room as well. Since Carlos didn’t want us to go together at the paddock, I took a taxi and went there by myself.

Closing to the Ferrari garage, I was greeted by a smiley Charles and laughing Lando, running towards my way. Seeing them this happy, cheered me up, I have to admit that.

“Next time, act more happy when you see us” Lando ironically said, wrapping his arms around me.

“I’m so sorry. Since I arrived everything has been so different” there’s a bitter feeling leaving my mouth saying the word ‘different’

“Did something happen back home? With Carlos?” Charles asks, eyes full of concern as we walk in the garages.

“With Carlos. Ever since I arrived this morning, he has been so distant and mean towards me. I can’t understand what I’ve possibly done” I look so confused and so do the boys beside me.

“Have you tried asking or talking to him?” Lando points out.

“Yes, but he would answer to my questions either with a simple ‘no’ or a grunt. That’s it. After that I didn’t want to bother him anymore. When we arrived at the hotel he immediately left and I was alone” I lower my head as I see Carlos approaching the garage as well.

“Do you want us to go and talk to him? Maybe it’s something about the race. Although he seemed okay on Wednesday when we arrived” Charles placed his hand on my back caressing it softly and apologetically.

“No, it’s alright. I don’t want to involve you in this madness more than now. I wouldn’t want Carlos to be mad at his friends as well” I give both the drivers a sympathetic smile as they slowly fade away to different paths, leaving me alone once again.

When Carlos eyes me, he comes forward and spits again one phrase before abandoning a whole conversation.

“So, you came huh?”

Everything is so random and weird, I can process what is going on with him? What have I done? Did I say something? Did I post something? Did I forget to tell him something? Did I forget an anniversary? Birthday? No, I haven’t. Then what is it?

I surely do not want to get into a fight with him before qualifying, so I shut up and get away from the garage, so my presence won’t annoy him more as it already has. If I’m the problem, I better stay away.

"Do you want me to stay? Should I go?" I quietly say, scared of what his response may be.

"I don't know. Do you wanna fucking stay? Maybe you are thinking of leaving. I don't know. Your call" he bluntly replies and refuses to look at me in the eyes.

"Of course I want to stay, but clearly there is something wrong here. Did I do something?" Why is he acting like this? I can't understand.

"I don't know, did you? And it surprises me that you want to stay. Do as you please!" Now that his focus switched to me, his eyes were hiding pain and anger behind them. And they are screaming to me that I caused those emotions.

"Can we talk? After qualifying? I have already caused you enough stress and I really do not want that." I take his hand in mine and I can his feel his grip being loose compared to other times.

"Yes. Or whatever you want. Hoping you'll actually stay" He keeps saying 'whether I stay or not' and my mind wanders to possible reasons why he is angry with me

"I love you Carlos, very much. More than anyone on this planet" I wrap my arms around his waist and hold him firmly and as tight as I can. I have to show him that I am here to stay.

His breathing is loud and hard. His suffering is apparent, even though the beats of his heart are fast. It pains me to the very last bone, that I was the cause of such harsh and painful emotions, that now have taken over him.

"I love you too" the four words escaped his lips, as if there were a feat to him.

Qualifying went well for both Ferrari boys, having them start in P2 and P3 behind Max. It was a solid result after the first few races being difficult to perform and cope with.

The whole garage started clapping and congratulating their boys for the pleasing result, as I was approached by Rupert slowly. He had a nervous look plastered all over his eyes and I sensed that he knew something I didn't.

"Y/N, can I ask you something? If I am not being very invasive?" Rupert has an apparent difficulty in his speaking as he can't bare to ask me.

"Of course. What is wrong? You are worrying me" my palms are starting to get sweaty and my throat drying up.

"Did you, mhm, ehm, well, ah, oh god I cant say it"

"Please tell me, I won't take any offence"

"I seriously can't. I don't even know why it crossed Carlos's mind. You are the sweetest woman for him, I can't depend on his idiotic theories. That is such nonsense"

"Rupert, can you please tell me what is going on with Carlos? He is acting all weird and I am afraid I have accidentally done something without it crossing my mind." Worry rushes through my veins and my fingers fidgets around a string of my hair.

"If I tell you, swear to me, that you will not tell you heard it from me. You will hear it from him first. I have noting to do with it. I would never condone it nor anyone" Rupert is trying to avoid at all costs this topic. I don't know if I want to stop him or force him to tell me before Carlos.

"You are making me very worried. Was he involved in any paranormal activity that Ferrari shouldn't know? Did he fight with Charles? Does he want to leave the team? What can be so awful?"

Rupert takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes.

"Carlos slept with another woman"

I cant find a pulse, my heart won't start anymore.

"Please tell me this isn't some sick joke. Tell me that you are lying for the first and last time in your entire life. Rup..." I stop talking when I feel a hot breath hitting my neck, sending shivers to my entire body.

Rupert's eyes were taken over by horror and disappointment for his friend, but sympathy towards me. So now I know why Carlos was distant and acted absurdly. He was losing me and he knew it. But preferred not to do anything.

"Rupert can you please leave us alone?" Carlos's voice was breaking as each letter escaped his mouth. Each of them sounded quite than the one before.

"I am sorry Carlos. She deserved the truth" he replied earring a nod by Carlos, assuring him that he did not care who told me the truth. Whether it was him or his friend.

"If you want to leave, it would be more than understandable, but.." he did not manage to finish his sentence before i felt my heart exploding out of my chest.

"Why do you keep on pushing me away? Why do you want me far away from you? Why do you want me to leave? Did I ever say that I do not want to next or close to you? Have I? Because you clearly have the wrong idea of it"

"You kept on being absent from the races. I was alone. With no one to console or cheer me up, after the messiest and absolute fuck all start of a season. I watched everyone being with their girlfriends and I had no one to hug, kiss, no one by my side. A text was never gonna fix anything" tears started escaping Carlos's eyes, before he took a deep breath and continued explaining.

"After the Australian Grand Prix, I was at my lowest. Given a penalty after almost getting a podium and losing all points. Not being able to help my team after Charles's DNF. Receiving all this hate from the media and not being able to handle it they way I should have. I did not want to do all this alone, but in the end, I was. And you were nowhere to be found. Lando and I went out for a couple of drinks, when a girl approached me. My phone kept on ringing, it was you calling me. And yes, I decided on purpose to ignore it. A FaceTime wouldn't cure my pain or fix anything. A few drinks later, she ended up on my hotel room, after one thing led to the other"

Disgust, disappointment, anger, sadness, had taken over my soul and thoughts.

I can't find a pulse, my heart won't start anymore, for you.

"We have been too far gone to bring back to life, Y/N. I did not know whether you'd ever show up to be with me. I thought you had found something more interesting. Someone more interesting. Another person to spend your time. Since I am always absent, it would be more than logical. But the thought of you with someone else, made me want to throw up and run back to you, to hold you in my arms. I didn't know whether you would want us to stay together after all the distance"

How long, could we be a sad song? Till we were too far gone to bring back to life?

"I love you. I could never love anymore more than I do you. If I had give up everything I owe for you, I would. Or even willingly. I would give my life for you. I would take a thousand knife stabs, hundreds of bullets, millions of cuts, if it meant to prove my love to you, Carlos. No matter the kilometres that keep us apart, I would lock my heart away so it wouldn't fall for someone else besides you. Besides the man I fell for, who was thirsty to show the world who he was and had my ultimate support. Still has. Even if you were sunshine and I was midnight rain, I would drop everything just to keep you in my life. No one else, only you"

So I peered through a window, a deep portal, time travel, all the love we unravel, and the life I gave away.

"I will fall on my knees. Beg every second, every minute, every hour, every day of my life, if it means that you will eventually forgive me. I was so scared that our love was drowning and draining, when in fact I was the one who drowned it. With my own hands. Just like your trust. For which I will also plead and kneel to gain back one day, no matter how long it takes. Weeks, months, years, even damned centuries. I will be patient. Just for you"

I pictured you with other girls, in love, then threw up on the street. Like waiting for a bus that never showed, you just starting walking home. They say that if it's right, you will know.

#carlos sainz junior #carlos sainz one shot #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz f1 #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz headers

[yellow-berrys]

december boy, losing joy | sirius black x fem!reader

summary: rockstar!sirius black proposing to you, and the show that made him realise he would do it. established relationship.

warnings: none, allusions to a rough childhood and mention of cigarettes

(a/n: song in this drabble is original <3, really just a bit of prose italicised!)

“This next song is about a girl,” James fiddles with the knobs on his guitar, his voice cracking through the microphone. The crowd screams. 

“That’s right, Prongs,” Sirius grins from his place at the piano, “My girl. My biggest motivation and even though she might not be my biggest fan, I certainly am hers,” he takes a swig of water. 

He sweeps a glance around the arena, girls at the front drinking beer, some girls waving their undergarments at him, some guys drinking beer, some guys waving their undergarments at him. Some look envious and disappointed. Some are “awhhh”ing. 

He catches your eye in the VIP box, you grinning, barely visible as you stare at him. 

“And you’d be surprised that Sirius did pick up a pen and a book for this,” Remus drawls from his position at the bass.

“She’s certainly special enough,” Sirius looks up at you and winks, “Many of you might’ve heard it on the radio. Remus likes to call it “a lover’s musings” but I call it “December Boy, Losing Joy.” Yells and shouts echo as Sirius removes his earpiece. His eyes widen as he hears the noise and he puts it back in. You smile. You love seeing your boyfriend in his element. 

A bra is thrown onto the stage and someone yells, “Pick it up!”

“Sorry people, but I’m taken. Remember, I haven’t done it since ever.”

“No need to be jealous either,” Remus quips into his microphone, “Loving a two year old is harder than it sounds.”

“Hey!”

“Right, boys. We good to go?” James asks.

“Ready.”

James taps a hollow beat on his guitar slowly. The audience is quiet for once, as if instructed to do so. Remus starts strumming his bass, pick moving slowly as the sounds reverberate around the room. The tune is sweet and pleasant. You tap your foot slowly to it up in the box. Unknowingly, Lily is filming your reaction to it. You look down and follow the lyrics on the little card given to you by Sirius, waiting for him to begin. His eyes are closed, light illuminating his high cheekbones. You look at him like he’s your whole world and more.

He starts playing too. The melody is a toned down version of the Pop-esque one that you’ve listened to on Spotify so many times. You never knew the song was about you, thinking it was Remus’ penning or James’ tribute to Lily. But it’s beautiful. It’s also acoustic, you think, it gives the song a certain ethereal, timeless quality. Combined with your boyfriend with his hair up, eyelashes so long, eyes sparkling, you think this must be heaven. 

Sirius’ deep voice is angelic. “I was a December boy / Losing joy,” he sings. The crowd wave their phones to and fro, “Pretending I smoked cigarettes / Pretending I had no regrets.”

“Never one to be semantic / Always crude, brutal, unromantic,” The lyrics, now that you’ve thought about it, are undeniably Sirius’. 

“I was stone cold / And standing on my future’s threshold,” he smiles, “I was an incorrigible man / Shortening lifespan. My excuse was that I’m young / In years I haven’t spoken my mother tongue,” the crowd sings along.  

You hope the photographer they’ve hired is taking photos, because the warm spotlight illuminates where happy tears stain his porcelain skin. 

“December boy / Losing joy / Saying I’ll leave this town / Never wanting to settle down / December boy / Cast iron alloy / Wasn’t one who loved enough / Always trying to call your bluff.” 

“You were picture perfect / An idyllic circus,” you smile, idyllic, you had taught him that word, “Sweeping December clean / Smothering my burning gasoline / Never condescending of my ways / Lustrous, beaming gaze / What more, you cherish my past / Saying you don’t mind being my last / And you love the parts of me which I don’t / You tell me you will never leave me, you won’t.”

“I was a maximalist before I knew you / Rings on every finger, clouded world view / But you became my everything and now I need nothing more / And I told you this when you were unsure / Pretty thing / Please never leave me wondering / Where you are / I’m just a man without you, not a rockstar.”

“December boy / Losing joy.”

You sing along, reading the words, until there’s a diversion of them. You flip the card, but there are only lyrics to other songs there. The mood turns brighter.

“I was a December boy / Wearing black corduroy / Never one to be semantic / Now I’m a hopeless romantic / Not afraid of drowning in love anymore / Because my boat has arrived at your shore.”

“I tell everyone I’m going to marry you / Down Pleasant Crescent near Lover’s Avenue,” The crowd yells and shouts, “And this isn’t a proposal / You deserve one that is more than ambrosial,” he grins up at you, eyes smudged with adoration. 

“And I cannot believe / Heart stealing thief / That I was once a December boy / Losing joy.” 

The song goes viral. Everywhere on the internet you can see the tag #decemberboy, and the Marauders, however popular they already are, grow their fanbase tenfold. Sirius records the alternate version of the song again and he names it “December Boy, Losing Joy (Her Version)”.

The PR manager is very impressed, and gives all the boys a holiday. Remus goes home to see his old flame, James takes Lily on a trip to Honolulu and you and Sirius stay home. You’ve talked about getting married, and both of you are very keen on it. It’s just that Sirius is busy most of the time and the opportunity hasn’t ever arisen. But Sirius secretly has a ring picked out for you, one that he’s seen you look at when you think he wasn’t watching you at the mall. Lily has sent him the video of you beaming when marriage came up in his song, so he thinks you definitely like the idea. 

Lily and James should arrive the Sunday after, you learn, but they’re coming home earlier. Remus is already back but re-doing his house. 

Sirius comes into the room where you’re tapping on your computer, “Do you want to go on a date, pretty? The restaurant near the beach?”

Your cheeks heat up, “Now?” 

“When else?” He laughs, and he’s already wearing a suit. It clings to his body in all the right ways and makes you flustered and hot. His eyes gaze at you intensely. 

“Everything okay, lovely?” He stoops down to curl a stray lock of hair back. You’re still a blushing idiot in front of him, after all these years. 

“Yeah,” you choke out, leaving quickly, “I’ll get dressed.”

You had bought a new dress just a few weeks before, Remus’ old flame begging you to go date night shopping with her. 

You slip it on, getting ready with the aim to look date-able. Grabbing your things, you meet Sirius in the walk-in-closet, where he’s studying his ties intricately. He turns in greeting and he smiles cheesily, “Wow.” He’s blushing now too.

He picks out one that matches your dress. 

“You’re really, really beautiful,” he says as you tie his tie for him. 

You look up at him bashfully, “Just tryna catch up with you, handsome.”

“You don’t need to catch up with me, beautiful.”

All the way to the restaurant, he’s tense. He feels your small hand on his thigh, patting him. 

“You okay, Siri?”

“Yeah.”

His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, and his knuckles turn white. 

“Are you sure, honey?”

You’re so sweet he almost wants to ask you here. Even though the ring is still in Remus’ pocket. But he forces a smile, “Great.” 

Sirius is not normally this tense, but the meal is nice and he’s perfect. Instead of leading you back to the car, he pads onto the sand nearby, “You coming?”

“Shoes, Siri, shoes.” 

You sit down and he takes them off for you, holding them. 

“Why are we here?” 

“The view is nice, I thought you’d appreciate it.” 

“It is.”

You bask in the worldliness of it all. You miss Remus approaching quietly and handing Sirius the ring, having mastered the art of slinking away. It’s only when you see all of your friends approaching, a camera in every second person’s hand, when you frown. You turn to Sirius. He’s looking at you like he’s infatuated, and shakily gets down on one knee, dropping your shoes and taking your hands into his. Is this really about to happen? 

“My love, I love you with all my heart and I promised to give you a proposal more than ambrosial so here it is. These last few years have made me realise that I want to spend the rest of my life with you by my side and let everyone else know that too. I want to love you as much as I can, and I want you to be with me in everything that I do, everywhere I go. Will you continue making me the happiest man in the world and marry me? Please?” 

The delivery is short and sweet, Sirius’ way of doing things. You grin, throwing your arms around him. 

“Yes. Yes!” 

Sirius breaks out into a big smile, and slides the ring you had been marvelling at the other day on your finger. 

He lifts you and kisses you, deep and passionate and loving. Your friends cheer. 

You spend the rest of the night on the beach with your December boy, finding joy. 

#sirius black x reader fluff #sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius orion black #sirius x reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius x you #fluff #lily evans x reader #lily evans x you #harry potter #marauders #the marauders #padfoot #padfoot x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus x you #remus x reader #hogwarts #gryffindor #reader insert #marlene mckinnon #marlene mckinnon x reader #james potter x you #james potter x reader #james potter #rockstar!sirius black

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 12 Prompt: Hallmark Movie Tropes

Tags: Pre-Relationship, Dual POV, Getting Trapped In A Small Town, Stobin Owns A B&B, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Inspired By Hallmark Christmas Movies, Meet Cute,

wc: 3188 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Eddie doesn’t know how luck works, but he’s pretty sure he’s used up his lifetime allotment.

It’s the only way he can explain the last 72 hours without launching himself into a multi-day meltdown. Honestly, who the fuck did he piss off? How did he go from landing in New York after the biggest and most successful Corroded Coffin world tour yet, only to be thrust into the nearest recording studio because somehow the entire third album they recorded on the road is, ironically, corroded and unable to be played?

Eddie and the rest of the guys holed up in that dimly lit studio for 48 hours recreating only half the magic they’d manage to create on the road. If he’s straight with himself, he’s not even sure the songs they churned out are even close to the original. It would be easy to go back and check if he had his trusty laptop and notebook full of lyrics and chords and the like. Unfortunately, they’re a victim of his bad luck too — having been left and lost on the bus ride from the airport to the secluded studio in upstate New York. after their private car no-showed.

Naively, Eddie had thought nothing could get any worse when they finally saw daylight and handed over the second draft of their third album. But then disaster struck again in the form of a blown engine and a fucking snowstorm to end all snowstorms that has him stranded, alone, and cold in middle of nowhere New York.

All he wants is to get home to Wayne and drink his sorrows away with the famous Munson spiked hot chocolate, but no. Life has other plans for him, apparently.

Fresh off the Australian leg of the tour where the sun was shining, Eddie’s not dressed or prepared for this winter weather. Already shivering in the dead van, he bundles himself up in his leather jacket and ratty blanket he hasn’t washed in god-knows how many years and gets to walking.

On one hand, the fact that the snow is still falling is a massive pain in the ass. Eddie’s boots are quickly filling up with liquid and he’s pretty sure his face is going to be frozen if he has to stay out here for more than five minutes. On the other hand, the bright white shines in the evening light, making it so that he’s not tricking through bumfuck New York in the pitch black.

Unfortunately, there’s no pay phone in sight (his cell went dead hours ago) and most of the small shops Eddie passes on his trudge through town have their lights shut off and doors locked. He’s about to cut his losses and accept the fact he’s going to be sleeping (and dying) in his van when he spots a sign for a Bed and Breakfast up ahead.

Eddie’s senses are flooded the minute he pushes the heavy, Victorian-style door open. The air wafts over him like a warm blanket, heating up his frozen fingers and nose in a way that would make him cry if he could even produce tears right now. There’s a cacophony of noise coming from a nearby room — a piano and singing, plus tons of laughter. And don’t even get him started on the smell. Pine and apple cinnamon, hints of vanilla, maybe even fresh gingerbread. His stomach growls on cue.

There’s a small desk stationed in the center of the foyer, a golden bell sits beside a foot-tall Christmas tree decorated to the nines. A small welcome plaque sits in front of it. Brushing off his soaking shoes on the festive welcome rug, Eddie makes his way to the desk and rings the bell.

A second or two later, a similarly aged man appears. A Santa hat sits askew on his head, cheeks flushed from the warmth inside, and a smile so bright he’s pretty sure it could be used as a homing beacon. He’s beautiful.

“Hi there,” the man greets, mossing his way over to the desk. “Welcome to Buckington B&B. How can I help you?”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

“Robs,” Steve whisper shouts, pushing his way past the swinging doors that separate the dining room from their private kitchen. He tries again, a little louder this time but still nothing. He can hear the piano in the other room, the hoard of guests singing along to whatever Christmas song is being plucked out by the five-year-old piano genius on vacation with her parents.

“Robin!” he shouts louder this time, pocking his head out into the backyard that’s currently two feet deep in powder, fresh snow. “Dammit, Robin. Where are you?”

“What’s all the yelling for?” she asks, appearing behind him.

“There’s a guy out front looking for a place to stay. Says his car broke down like a block or two away.”

“Okay, well, that sucks for him, majorly. But we’re already at capacity. You’re going to have to tell him to try Elaine’s or something.”

Steve knows Robin is right. They’re already at max capacity. Max-max capacity if he wants to get technical considering he gave up his room yesterday to the newlyweds who got stranded trying to get to the airport. It’s just well… Well, Steve’s always had a thing for unlucky people, especially when they’ve got a pretty face and a warm smile.

“See, the thing is,” he pauses, scratching nervously at his chin while trying to avoid Robin’s steadfast gaze. “I sort of already told him he could stay.”

“Steve!” Robin scolds, rolling her eyes. “We have no room!”

“I mean, yeah, you’re right. We don’t technically have any visitor rooms left. But, we still have your room.”

“Absolutely not,” she growls, crossing her arms. “No. Not gonna happen. I can’t believe you’re even asking me to give up my personal bed to a stranger! Nope.”

“Oh, come on, Robs!” Steve groans, throwing his hands on her shoulders to stop her vicious shaking. “Remember two summers ago when you made me give up my room for those best friends who fought the entire trip? You know the one you ended up hooking up with? I didn’t complain once!”

“That was different.”

Steve snorts, shaking his head. Definitely not different, but he’s not going to get what he wants if he argues with Robin. It’s not how their friendship turned business partnership works. “You owe me. I never cashed it on it, but now I am.”

Robin huffs and Steve knows she’s mentally stomping her foot like a child. If they weren’t overflowing with paying guests, he knows he’d be getting a long-winded lecture right now.

“Fine.”

He doesn’t wait to hear the list of conditions he knows Robin is going to have. She can’t even call him rude when he rushes out. After all, a freezing cold guest is waiting to be taken care of in the lobby.

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

It’s been a long time since Eddie’s been in a quirky room like the one he’s ushered into by Steve’s warm touch. Gone are the days of sleeping in motels on the side of the road on good nights, and shoved into the back of the van between equipment on bad days. Corroded’s management loves to book them the swankiest of hotels. Always looking for ways to send the label a massive bill — one that always ends up coming out of their own paychecks.

If it was up to Eddie, they’d be staying in places like this instead of the godawful monochromatic luxury prisons they get shoved into night after night. As an artist, he doesn’t get a say though. At least, that’s what he’s been told.

Glancing around, he takes in the bright-colored wallpaper. The dresser is cluttered with frames and other tchotchkes. A burnt orange rug takes up most of the floor and there’s an overflowing box of records perched in the corner by a small record player.

Eddie knows this isn’t a normal guest room — Steve had told him as much while guiding him up the stairs — and yet, he feels more at home in this quirky room than he has in months. Probably since the last time he visited Wayne.

Shit. He needs to call Wayne.

That unlucky string rears its head again as Eddie is met with dead silence when he picks up the pale blue landline. Of fucking course the phone lines would be down. The snow is dropping in sheets now. The telephone poles didn’t stand a chance.

At least he was lucky enough to land a place to sleep tonight, now all he needs is a —

“Hi, sorry to bother,” Steve says, pocking his head in. “I noticed you didn’t have any luggage with you when you checked in. It’s probably best to get out of those wet clothes. Hopefully, these will do.”

Eddie watches as Steve enters the room with a stack of clothes in hand. A pair of jeans and sweatpants sits at the bottom. Various shirts and sweaters stacked neatly on top. He’s pretty sure he spots a fluffy pair of socks at the top of the pile too. He might cry at the generous hospitality. After all, it’s a bed and breakfast not a fucking clothing store which means the clothes folded neatly must belong to Steve.

“You can leave the wet clothes outside the door when you’re done and me or Robin will come get them and throw them in the wash for you,” Steve says, setting the stack of clothes down. Then he’s moving again, hand reaching behind him before pulling out a laminated piece of paper from his back pocket. “I also brought you our itinerary for the evening. There are a few activities and tonight’s dinner menu. No pressure to join us. We also deliver food to rooms.”

“Damn,” Eddie whistles, glancing at the itinerary. “You guys really know how to take care of people around here, don’t you?”

“We try our best,” Steve smiles. “If you need anything else, just give us a shout.”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

Steve doesn’t expect to see Eddie for the rest of the night. Especially not after a freakout from one of the teenagers vacationing tips him off on just who he’s agreed to let stay in Robin’s bedroom. He knew Eddie looked familiar. Wait until he tells Dustin about this — the shithead is going to be so mad he passed up a Christmas at Buckington B&B with Eddie Munson for some cruise.

Color him pleasantly surprised when he walks into the main room a few hours later to find Eddie behind the keys of the baby grand piano. The excited teenager from earlier sits to his left, a few of the ladies circle the edge of the piano as they wait for their cue to start singing “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.”

He’s caught in a trance, watching Eddie in the soft maroon sweater he’s borrowed from Steve professionally stroke the keys of the piano. It only gets worse when he starts singing himself. Rich baritone cutting through the breathy singing of the ladies, carrying the tune in a way Steve’s never heard before.

Usually, Steve hates Christmas carols, but maybe he’s just never heard them sung right before.

He’s the first to break into applause when the song ends. Hands coming together before he even registers he’s the one responsible for the thundering noise. Thankfully, he’s quickly joined by the rest of the guests of the B&B. It makes the embarrassment wane inside for a moment until his eyes scan the room and discover that Eddie’s only looking at him.

“Well, then,” Robin says, sauntering over to him from the kitchen. “Now I see why you couldn’t turn him away.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says and deliberately looks anywhere but in the direction of Eddie and the grand baby piano. Not that it really matters. He can feel Eddie’s warm gaze on him without even looking.

Robin hums, shaking her head. “Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t!”

“Just remember that he’s staying in my bed and payback is one of the only dishes I know how to serve,” she says, winking before she’s whisked away by one of the young children looking for a game to play.

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

The quiet of the early morning should be a welcome reprieve from the cacophony of sound from last night. He had started as a gentle observer in the celebration, but when the young child holding court at the piano was sent to bed, well, Eddie stepped up as the piano player of the evening. It wasn’t long before he had everyone putting a rock and roll twist on those stuffy Christmas carols.

Maybe Corroded Coffin’s fourth album should be a holiday one.

Drinks were poured and ready before he even had to ask and his stomach was treated to a delicious spread of meats and cheese. The gooiest brownies he’s ever experienced and a perfect Gingerbread recipe that would have put his Nana to shame.

It was nice. Existing with others. Reminding himself that life doesn’t always have to be moving at 100 miles an hour like it does when he’s on tour. Sure, he still wished he was home with Wayne, but a call to his uncle when the phone lines came back washed away any of the guilt he felt.

Now, though, alone in his room as the sun begins to rise over the mountains of snow outside. Well, now, he feels that same sense of restlessness he always feels when he’s in one place for too long.

Sliding into a pair of slippers Steve dropped off last night, Eddie carefully pulls open the door and sticks his head out into the hallway. It’s quiet aside from a few muffled snores coming from down the hall. With the coast clear, Eddie tip-toes his way down the hall and to the stairs.

He didn’t get a formal tour when he arrived, but he’s pretty sure Steve mentioned something about a stocked coffee bar on the first floor that was available to them whenever they needed. The first two doors he opens reveal a closet and a bathroom and a wrong turn has him standing amongst cluttered laundry. Not ready to give up, Eddie pushes his way through a swinging door and finds himself face-to-face with Steve himself.

“Oh, hi,” Steve says, voice thick with sleep though his appearance makes it look like he’s been up for hours.

He’s in a yellow sweater and jeans. Hair tousled in a way that definitely doesn’t look like he just rolled out of bed like that. His eyes are bright and shining, just like they were last night. Eddie really has to squint to notice the subtle bags under Steve’s eyes.

“Shit, sorry. M’not supposed to be here, am I?” Eddie asks as he looks around the room. It’s a standard kitchen, except for the two pale yellow fridges that take up an entire wall. A window hangs over the sink just like it does at his uncle’s place and he’s pretty sure they have the same green stove too.

“You’re not,” Steve smiles. “But it’s okay. Robin’s not up yet and I don’t mind the company. Can I get you a cup of coffee? Orange juice? Hot chocolate?”

“Are you sure you’re not running a coffee bar here instead of a bed and breakfast?” Eddie teases, leaning against the kitchen island. “Hot chocolate sounds delightful, thanks.”

“We strive too please,” Steve says before fumbling through the cabinets for a mug. “So, what has you awake at this hour? Was the room not to your standard?”

“The room is great! I’m honestly just not used to the quiet,” Eddie says, eyes trained on Steve as he flits around the kitchen preparing their drinks. It’s weird to find someone so attractive when they’re doing nothing out of the ordinary. But he can’t help it. Steve is beautiful in a way Eddie can’t really comprehend. “What about you? Are you always an early riser?”

“Robin and I usually take turns on the morning shit. Technically it’s her turn, but I told her I’d handle it,” he pauses, shaking his head as he looks out the kitchen window to the snow-covered backyard. “Definitely regretting it now. There’s no way m’shoveling all that snow today.”

Pushing up from the island, Eddie crosses the small distance and joins Steve at the window. Steve isn’t exaggerating in the slightest. The entire yard is covered in at least three feet of snow. Some parts even deeper judging by the absence of a fence he knows should be there.

“Guess m’staying another night.”

Steve hums, sidestepping away from Eddie to finish making the hot chocolate. When he turns back around, his cheeks are the slightest bit pink and Eddie can’t help but wonder if it was the steam of the hot chocolates doing or his own words.

“One cup of hot chocolate,” Steve says, handing him a pipping hot mug.

It’s decent. Not legendary like last night's brownies, but then again hot chocolate never is. Nothing ever stands up to the famous Munson spiked hot chocolate. There’s too much chocolate and not enough milk. And it’s severely lacking in the alcohol department. Though, he supposes, five am is a bit too early for liquor.

It would be easy to ask Steve for a shot of whisky to add, he knows they’ve got a stocked bar around here somewhere judging by last night's festivities. But he’s not about to impose more. Nor does he want to risk giving away his and Wayne’s hot chocolate secrets. At least, not to a guy he’s known for less than 24 hours. No matter how cute he is.

“So, Eddie, where were you headed before you got trapped here?”

“Well, I don’t know that I’d call it trapped,” Eddie says, hiding his smile behind the mug. “I actually think this is the nicest place I’ve stayed in a long time.”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

Steve’s never been one to believe in luck.

He got dealt a shitty card right out of the gate, born to parents who could provide for him financially but never emotionally. Throw in falling into the wrong crowd and struggling through school, and well, Steve’s the poster child for privileged unluckiness.

Some might say luck found him in the form of Robin, but he thinks that a copout. Luck had nothing to do with bringing them together, nor did it have anything to do with the success they’ve found. That was all them. Blood, sweat, and tears.

Wishing on stars and believing in luck only happened in fairytales.

At least, that’s what he’s always told himself.

But now, standing in the kitchen listening to Eddie ramble on and on and on about how great the bed and breakfast is without ever breaking eye contact with him.

Well, maybe luck has finally found its way to him in the form of one stranded rockstar.

#steddiemas #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie fan fic #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington ficlet #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #rockstar eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes