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rebelfell · 6 months

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The Third Date

Eddie Munson x Anorgasmic!Reader

When you move back to Hawkins after graduating college, you find yourself reconnecting with an old friend in a new way. Your first two dates with Eddie Munson are everything you’d ever dreamed, but the next one has you unraveling.

Part One. Part Two.

cw: childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, fem!reader, deceased parent, mentions of poor sexual experiences, some drinking, sexual anxiety, making out, fingering, panic attack, eddie being sweet and reassuring, fluffy ending.

I was kinda in my feelings and needed Eddie to tell me all the right things. Sue me. 7k 18+, MDNI

You used to like this mirror.

It was vintage. Full length with an ornate gold frame, swirling embellishments on the top and sides. Not to mention it was a fucking steal at $10 from an estate sale. You’d liked it enough to make it one of the scant number of things you hauled all the way back to Hawkins when you moved out of your shoebox apartment in the city.

Right now, though? You kind of hated it.

Usually, standing before it made you feel stately and elegant, even if all you had on was ratty denim shorts and a threadbare t-shirt riddled with holes and bleach stains. Yet here you were in one of your favorite outfits, hair meticulously styled, face glowing and dewy after spending an hour on it, and all you felt was ridiculous.

Not the mirror’s fault, technically. But it was the messenger. It told you at every twist of your hips, at every outfit change, at every pluck and tug of your clothes, that you were never going to look right—that you were never going to feel right. And it mocked your every failed attempt to do so.

You inhale, breath shallow and shaky as you try yet again to calm down. It’s just a date, you remind yourself. It’s just a date and he’s just a guy. There’s nothing to be worried about.

Except it wasn’t just a date. It was the auspicious Third Date.

And it certainly wasn’t just a guy…it was Eddie.

This was something you’d been waiting for forever. For longer than forever. For longer than you could count. Eddie Munson was your oldest and dearest friend. Growing up, you were like each other’s second heads—facing the worst of what small minds in a small town in Indiana cooked up. You stood, middle fingers brandished like swords, dreaming of a wider world.

It felt strange to think this would only be your third date when you’d basically been dating since you were thirteen. You went to movies together, wasted weekday afternoons at the record store, lounged on the gravelly bank of Lover’s Lake reading well-worn paperbacks—Two Towers for him, Dorothy Parker for you. He begged you to sit in on Hellfire when he started the club your junior year and only had three members, himself included. He’d sneak you into the dive bar where his band played Tuesday nights, and you would immediately stick out among the five drunks who assembled every week. But as long as all you ordered was ginger ale and swore up and down you weren’t a cop, the bartender let you sit there all night to watch him.

Nights never ended the way “real” dates did. No hands being held as he walked you from his van to your doorstep; no kisses under flickering porch lights scored by a cricket symphony.

He never touched you too much, always quick to withdraw his hands when they lingered on your hip or back or arm. That would change, though, if he smoked or drank a bit and his cuddly side came out. Secretly, you longed for these times. You reveled in having his chin rest on your shoulder or his arms wind around your waist to hold you close. It never felt gross or crossed the line into groping like with other, lesser, guys looking for something to fondle. With Eddie, it felt more like he was showing you how he wished he could be all the time.

At least that’s what you let yourself imagine.

He always apologized the following day, just short of castrating himself over it. It made you want to slap him. Slap him and then kiss him and slap him again. How could he not get it? How could he not see how goddamn in love with him you were? How could he not feel the same way? You waved him off, assuring him he hadn’t done anything wrong. All the while thinking, you fucking idiot, and not even knowing if you were referring to him or yourself.

Then came graduation. Or rather, your graduation and his sullen admission he wasn't eligible, which lead to the longest, most difficult conversation of your lives so far. It wasn’t even a conversation so much as it was you swinging wildly between reactions—scolding him for not telling you sooner; grasping at the straws of extra credit assignments your teachers would never assign; volunteering to stand guard while he broke into the administration office.

Eventually, though, you had to face the reality of losing him and it left a prominent break in your heart. Your acceptance letter to a school in Indianapolis that used to make you feel weightless, like you could finally fly out of here, now felt more like chains dragging you away.

You had half a mind to take him with you. You must have rehearsed the speech you wanted to make something like fifty times. Screw Hawkins, you’d say. Screw their closed minds and their disdain for anything even a little different. He could get his GED—you’d help him, happily. He could find work in the city and take community college classes or go to trade school. The two of you could live together and watch slasher movies every Friday night, falling asleep on his chest when you got tired just as you’d done all throughout high-school.

Of course those thoughts inevitably spiraled into what would happen once he started dating. A bigger city meant a bigger pool of people, all with the potential to realize the kind, sweet, caring boy who was bursting with passion for his fantasy games and music and his other rich interests was actually a massive catch and not a social pariah. In no time, it would be someone else falling asleep on his chest and you watching them be carried to his bed.

You couldn’t bear the thought of that. Maybe even moreso, you couldn't bear the thought of asking him to come with you and him saying “no.”

So, you went alone. You packed up your car with the barest necessities, you kissed your dad goodbye and said you’d see him at Christmas. But it was Eddie who saw you off, taking you into his arms and holding you there with your head tucked under his chin. You buried your face in his chest, tears leaking onto the patches you’d helped him sew on his denim vest. He told you how proud he was and how much he was gonna miss you. He said to write. To send pictures.

All you could do was sniffle.

At college, you tried expanding your horizons. You joined a couple clubs to make new friends and started going to parties. You met people like Carl. And even though he was handsome and seemed nice enough, you turned him down when he asked you to dinner. It wasn’t until much later, when your roommate scolded you for doing so, that you even felt some doubt about it. What was even the point when you knew he wasn’t what you wanted?

Except what you wanted might never be yours.

That first trip home to Hawkins was wildly unnerving. You knew it hadn’t actually been that long since you left. But why did it feel so strange that everything felt exactly the same? Had you really changed so much already that your home no longer felt like home?

Even seeing Eddie again felt like rupturing old wounds you thought had successfully scabbed over. You withdrew from him without even realizing you were doing it. He knew something was wrong, but didn’t dare voice it. His greatest fear loomed: you were done with Hawkins.

Done with him.

It took a while to strike the balance between the old and the new. You’d run away so fast and tried to overwrite everything in your life, returning to Hawkins felt like entering a fantasy world. And Eddie became like an apparition, a specter of everything you missed most.

You started writing to him more, sharing stories about your classes, gossip in the dorms, drunk adventures in the city. And he wrote back, telling you all about the new members of Hellfire who also happened to play instruments and were eager to replace the members of Corroded Coffin who had graduated and moved away. Eventually, the letters became more like a diary.

You could confess things you’d never imagined telling anyone—stuff about your mom and how you’d spent every day wondering if she’d be proud of you; how you worried about your dad and wondered if he would ever get over her; how you feared you might never find love like theirs and even if you did, how it might be taken away from you like it was from them.

And he confessed back to you. Amidst his ideas for new D&D campaigns and song lyrics, he gave you deeper insight on things you knew already—his father’s sordid criminal history and his mother’s inability to cope, which led to her dropping Eddie on his uncle’s doorstep at the ripe old age of eleven. Reading about Hawkins through his eyes made it feel more real and less like a dream you’d woken up from. It kept that connection open, a bridge between your worlds, so you could experience college and all the new things it had to offer, but still felt connected.

Then the end of your sophomore year brought more bad news.

Again, he wasn’t eligible. Again, he wasn’t graduating.

You’d not been able to let go of that fantasy of him joining you at school. Every time you walked across the quad, leaves crunching beneath your boots, sunlight dying as it dipped behind the old brick buildings and cast everything in a hazy golden autumn glow, you imagined a pair of clean, white sneakers next to yours and a ringed hand squeezing your fingers.

He promised you this was his year. Swore it, in fact. ‘86, baby! he’d scrawled big and messy under his signature at the end of one of his letters. And maybe it would. He said he was doing better—army crawling his way towards a D in Mrs. O'Donnell's class, already planning how he would snatch his diploma and flip the bird at the principal as he walked the stage.

He was certain enough it made you start to believe it too.

You never dared to broach the subject of what he wanted to do after graduation. He hadn’t mentioned applying to any colleges or looking for work. The rest of the band was graduating with him. Maybe they’d all move here to get more exposure. Maybe they wanted to record a demo they could pass out to record companies. Or maybe Eddie wanted to go solo.

The lack of information made you antsy. Was he being decidedly cagey about his plans? Was he hiding something? Or was he just afraid of disappointing you again?

It was nearing the end of the school year when you finally broke. You had to see him.

For once, your spring breaks were going to overlap. You blew off your classes on Friday to make the drive and managed to get to Hawkins High just as the final bell was ringing. His van still sat in the parking lot and you pulled in alongside it to wait, practically jumping out of your skin with excitement. Thirty whole minutes crawled by before you finally spotted him.

He emerged from the woods at the back of the practice sport fields, chattering with ease to maybe the last person on earth you would have expected to see.

Chrissy Cunningham was just as pretty as she’d always been. She was a couple years behind you and Eddie in school, but everyone knew of her from the moment she made the varsity cheer squad as a freshman—a staggering feat no one else had ever managed. She still had the same bouncy ponytail, the same enormous eyes and cherubic cheeks you imagined must ache at the end of each day from her constant smiling. And she was somehow smiling even wider than normal at whatever Eddie was saying as he grinned back at her.

It made your stomach churn thinking what they could have been doing to have her smiling like that. You knew he’d started dealing for Reefer Rick to earn extra money, but in what universe would the queen of Hawkins High be struck with the urge to buy a bag of skunky weed?

Unless it wasn’t weed she was after at all.

Panic doused your body. You jammed your key back in the ignition and sped out of the lot, praying he didn’t see you. You drove straight back to school, tears streaming down your face for the entire journey, making you hate yourself more with every salty trail that stained your cheeks. Because what else did you expect? For him to pine for you like you did for him? For him to be like you and not date anyone, ever? To keep everyone who even attempted to get close at a distance? Reserving a space in your heart for someone who might not even want to fill it?

You loved him more now than you ever had. Even without seeing him every day, even without having him constantly at your side. If anything, it had gotten worse. Your feelings piled up within you just as his letters did in your room. They all lived in a box under your shitty dorm bed to be pulled out over and over and over so you could parse every line for hidden meaning. Crying at his words, so heartfelt and honest you didn’t even notice the grammatical and spelling errors.

By the time you got back to campus, you felt raw and spent. Your face was streaked with tears and you were breathless from crying. For days, you walked around campus like a ghost until you bumped into Carl, the only other soul not off on some debaucherous Spring Break trip. And when he asked you for seemingly the hundredth time if he could buy you dinner…you said yes.

It came in the mail a few months later. Your address scribbled messily on an invitation to the Hawkins High Class of 1986 graduation. Eddie had included a photocopy of his final grades and written “proof it’s not a clerical error” with a little smiley face in the corner.

You called him that night to tell him how proud of him you were. And you were proud of him. So unbelievably proud. But when he asked if you were coming, you lied. You said your boyfriend’s parents would be in town and that he wanted you to meet them. You told him how sorry you were, all the while thinking Chrissy could congratulate him enough for the both of you.

And in spite of yourself…you let yourself pretend you heard a little dejection in his voice when you used the word “boyfriend”—fictitious as it was.

The truth was, you’d only been officially dating Carl for a couple weeks. And he was perfectly nice. He’d kissed you and it felt fine. It didn’t quite live up to what you believed it should feel like, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe what you imagined wasn’t realistic. Maybe what you thought it should be wasn’t feasible.

Maybe you just had to let that go.

And dating Carl was simple and uncomplicated. It served a purpose. It made you feel at least like you weren’t languishing in a wasteland of your unrequited feelings. It made you feel like you were trying. Sure, the sex wasn’t great. But you hardly expected it to be good for you.

You’d hooked up with the odd guy here and there over the years. It was a pattern that began with some guy you met downtown whose assignment was to keep you occupied while his friend put the moves on your roommate. You were a little drunk and a lot lonely, so you’d gone along with it. It was quick. A little uncomfortable. It certainly didn’t make you eager to repeat the experience. But at least you could say you’d done it.

Part of you thought maybe it would get better, but it never did.

Even guys you thought were decent at first were quick to gloss over the preamble and lead up, jumping straight to stuffing themselves inside you with no regard to your winces of discomfort. It didn’t take long before you started to assume you had to be the problem. Even by yourself, it took you ages to reach any sort of precipice. And even when you did, even when you felt your heart rate rising and your body heaving in response, the pay-off was…underwhelming.

With Carl, you thought it could be different. Maybe you needed a deeper connection; maybe you needed a few times to get comfortable with someone to properly ascend that peak. But the more you did it with him, the less attainable that seemed. Maybe you were just broken.

You also tried not to dwell on the fact that the only times you ever got close were when you pictured a different face hovering over yours; when you imagined your fingers twisted up in dark, shaggy curls; when you visualized pale skin littered with tattoos and sinewy arms caging you in; when you lit that one candle you only bought because it reminded you of Eddie’s cologne.

The decision to move back home turned out to be less a decision and more a necessity.

A whole year out of school and you’d had truly terrible luck finding a job—at least a decent one that actually wanted to pay you. Carl, ever the charmer, wondered why you even wanted to work when you’d just wind up quitting when you got married. Really, you appreciated it. It was exactly the kind of comment you needed to jolt you out of a relationship that had been on autopilot.

You were a mess. Lost. Aimless. Barely treading water. Wishing you could call the one person you knew would cheer you up, but unsure if it would only result in more heartache. In the blink of an eye, it had been over five years since you left home and it was starting to feel like your only accomplishments were breaking up with your boyfriend and buying a mirror.

Then came the call from your dad.

He’d taken a nasty fall at his hardware store. He was fine, for the most part. But he was now significantly weaker and would have to have surgery as well as physical therapy after. And he certainly couldn’t run his store anymore. It had never run particularly smoothly to begin with and his books left something to be desired—another thing you’d be helping with once you moved back. He never outright asked you to do so, but he also didn’t have to.

The only good news was the bad news: a massive fire that disintegrated Starcourt Mall had led to an influx of renovations to the downtown area. In the wake of the mall’s destruction came a resurgence in small businesses that breathed life back into the desolation the mall caused.

It was in this newly resurrected downtown where Eddie was making his mark. He had opened a hobby shop where he still hosted his weekly D&D games with a lot of the kids who had originally been in his club. His store became like a beacon for all the kids (and even some of the adults) in Hawkins who felt there was no place for them. Eddie gave them somewhere to belong and celebrated all the things that made them targets of ridicule to everyone else.

It was also your first stop on your first day back.

The whole shop was so Eddie. As you walked inside and took in the decor, it seemed entirely possible he had just moved everything from his bedroom at Wayne’s right in here. He’d even rigged the entrance with a speaker that played the guitar riff of “Enter Sandman” when someone came through the door.

You wished you could bottle the moment he came out front, your arrival signaled by the song.

“Holy shit…”

The box of miniatures and figurines he’d just finished pricing in the back fell to the floor with a thump and a rattle of plastic parts. He barely registered it, though. With round, unblinking eyes he stared, too stunned to move a muscle until a smile cracked his face wide open.

In just three long strides he crossed the store and swept you into his arms, lifting you up and whirling you around. “You’re here!” he gushed, arms crushing you around the middle in the most exquisite pain. “You’re really here!”

“I told you I was moving back!”

You laughed heartily in his ear as he placed you back on the ground, telling yourself it must have been the unexpected lift making you breathless and not how the sunlight coming through the windows hit his eyes and made them shine like molten honey. He kept you close, letting his hands rest on your arms and squeezing them like he had to be sure you weren’t a mirage.

“I thought it was one of those ‘too good to be true’ things,” he said sheepishly, a pink blush creeping across his cheeks. “Had to see it to believe it.”

“Well, believe it,” you sighed.

You were already prepared for the loss of his touch, for when he would shamefully retract his hands, but he never did. He held you comfortably, his thumb lightly brushing over your skin. He let you go reluctantly, not regretfully, letting his fingertips trail softly down your arm.

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, his voice coated in warmth. “I missed you so much.”

You nodded, your throat pinched as you tried not to cry. “I…I missed you too.”

Eddie’s smile grew even bigger, his eyes seeming to dance with excitement. “Well, we have to celebrate,” he said. “I close up shop at six. Meet me back here and we’ll go to the Hideout?”

You stalled, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you considered. Almost on instinct, you’d nearly agreed right away. Old habits and what not. But did you want to fall immediately back into your old patterns? Hawkins had changed so little since you left, it felt too easy to slip back into the trap. Could you really go right back to hopelessly pining for him as you’d done so long?

“Come on,” Eddie urged, flashing those doe eyes he knew you couldn’t resist. “It’s one drink.”

“Okay, okay!” you laughed. “One drink.”

One drink turned out to be three. Starting with your first legal drink together at his old haunt while a different band of hopeful kids fumbled their way through clumsy Metallica covers.

“Please tell me we were never that young,” Eddie sighed, taking a swig of his beer.

“You’ve never been young,” you teased. “You came out of the womb a crotchety old man.”

A little later, you absconded to the corner booth and tucked yourselves away from the rowdiness of the growing crowd. You were flushed from the alcohol buzzing in your bloodstream and from how close Eddie was sitting. It felt just like old times, except it was nothing like old times.

Because this time, he was flirting with you. And not being subtle.

You thought maybe you were imagining it at first, but it only became more obvious the longer the night wore on. There was a whole new confidence and intention in the way he talked to you. He’d never been shy, never had any trouble drawing people in, but there was a fire lit behind his eyes tonight you’d never seen before. And you were the sole object of that blaze.

“So…still with Carl?” He finally asked, after bolstering himself to do so for the last three hours.

You took a long sip of your drink, eyes never leaving his over the rim of your glass. The liquor made you bold, the burn at the back of your throat adding smokiness to your voice.

“No-pe,” you said, popping your lips on the final syllable. Eddie smiled wolfishly and leaned in.

“Good,” he purred. “Cos that would have made it real awkward when I asked you out.”

He took you to dinner two days later. Rang the doorbell and smiled at you as he stood on your porch wearing a black button down under a darker black velvet vest. His black jeans were a new- looking pair of the same kind he’d always worn, sans the ragged holes over his knees.

Despite the thin material of your sundress and the balmy weather outside, you were sweating with nerves. The breeze played with your skirt as he walked you to his van and the coolness of it on your clammy skin made you shiver. But when Eddie suddenly darted ahead of you to open your door and turned around with his hand held up to help you inside, it made you melt.

The gesture filled your body with warmth, chasing away any hint of a chill.

After dinner, he suggested you walk a block or so to a bar where Eddie liked to play pool. And as you did, his hand reached for yours and he threaded your fingers together. You stared down at it, stunned. How many times had you wished he would do that? How many times did you imagine the heat of his palm against yours mixing with the coolness of his chunky silver rings on his fingers? It had always seemed so impossible and he’d just done it.

Like it was nothing. Like he’d done it a thousand times before. Easy. Natural.

He held your hand all the way into the bar, only letting go of you to accept a tray of balls from the bartender when Eddie requested a table. With a couple of beers in hand, you followed him to his favorite one that was tucked away in a little alcove, practically private.

You set down the beers and watched as he racked the balls, gaze lingering on his long frame and chuckling at the way he shimmied his hips as he leaned over the table to break. “Eyes on me,” he told you, playful smile revealing his teeth.

It was a redundant request, because it was entirely impossible to look anywhere else.

Eddie had filled out quite a bit since high-school. He was never an athlete by any means, but evidently a regime of guitar playing and dice throwing was enough to maintain decent tone. You stared at him unabashed as he walked around the table, lining up his shot. His vest now flapped open and he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal the familiar smattering of bats under his elbow and the puppetmaster etched inside his forearm. It made you wonder how many more tattoos—new ones you’d not yet seen—were hiding under the rest of his clothes. He smirked at you, smug as he leaned over the table, thoroughly enjoying the way your eyes followed him.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” he drawled before sinking a bank shot.

You rolled your eyes, trying to fein being unimpressed. “Trying to distract me, Munson?” you asked, chalking the tip of your cue in a much more sensual manner than necessary, letting your fingers lazily stroke the stick as Eddie watched transfixed. He huffed a laugh at the display.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Evidently, both of you were equally distracted. Most of your games lagged for a mutual inability to sink more than one shot in a row as the other did their best to pull focus. It was far easier for you, having only to lean forward slightly across the table from him to reveal a healthy dose of your cleavage. That, coupled with a coy smile and batting eyelashes, spelled disaster for Eddie. Everytime you did it, he’d scratch his shot and chuckle dryly at his own hubris.

He took a different approach, choosing instead to stand as close to you as he could as you lined up your shots. His musk and cologne filled your nose, a tantalizing woodsy smell that made your head spin as you struggled to keep your eyes on the ball. He rested his hip against the table, handcuff belt buckle glinting as it reflected the light from the lamp hanging overhead.

You could practically hear the childish taunt of not touching you, not touching you.

“Just take your shot, baby,” he cooed, low and husky. The sound made your heart hammer.

A couple hours of teasing and toying later, both of you were ready to explode. Your glasses sat empty on the nearby table, neither of you terribly interested in a refill. And as Eddie sunk the eight ball again, his eyes flashed to the tray for the balls rather than going to re-rack them.

“I guess I should get you home?” he asked.

A little sullen at the idea, you nodded and returned your cues to a rack on the wall while Eddie brought the balls back to the bartender and settled the tab. Only when you were walking back to the table to get your purse and passed a pair of men who reeked of tobacco did something occur to you: Eddie hadn’t taken a smoke break once.

“Did you quit?” you asked, staring at him with wide eyes. He smiled as he drew nearer to you, relishing the way your chest heaved as you reacted to his closeness.

“Took a couple years, but yeah,” he said. “Sometimes I still need a little help, though.”

He tugged his shirttail out from the waistband of his jeans, causing his belt and the chain on his wallet to jingle slightly as he lifted his shirt to flash a strip of his stomach. You’re so distracted by the action and the cut of his v-muscle it takes a few seconds to register the beige nicotine patch stuck on his hip. You stared at him and then back at it, fingers itching to reach out and touch.

He leaned in, his face the closest it had been to yours all night, his voice hushed so only you could hear. “For when I’m really nervous,” he said.

Streetlights and stars blurred as you stepped out of the bar and he whirled you into the alley. The rough brick scraped your back and snagged on your dress as you were flattened against it and you gazed up at Eddie, string lights overhead shining brightly in your eyes.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly. “Are you ready for this to start?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight his eyes trained on your face. Your hands settled lightly on his waist and you gave an impatient tug as you nodded. It was all the invitation he needed.

His mouth met yours like the sun met the horizon. The softest kiss you’d ever had deepened gradually until you were grasping at him, fisting his shirt in your fingers. Your lips felt molded together, pliant to the other’s movements, but still insistent as they chased one another.

Control shifted subtly between you, taking turns drawing the other in and pulling back. More teasing, more toying. Yet you never denied each other long, unable to stay apart.

God, this was it. This was what it was always supposed to feel like.

It could have been hours you stood out there kissing and laughing, but you’d never have known. The only thing that alerted you to the passing of time was when the lights inside the bar shut off and the employees filed out for their final smoke break before heading home.

Giggling like terrible criminals begging to be caught, you and Eddie hugged the shadows and made your way back to his van. You rode home with your panties soaked, subtly shifting in your seat, trying not to think about the arousal pooled between your thighs. And at home, back in your room, you were so tempted to dip your fingers into the slickness as you thought about Eddie’s breath on your lips; how the ends of his curls tickled your sternum when he leaned into you; the way his scent lingered on your skin after being pressed between his body and that wall.

But you didn’t dare risk the disappointment that would follow when your pleasure receded like waves being drawn into a riptide; when you backed down from the edge of that cliff, feeling even emptier after not reaching that peak. Again. No, you couldn’t spoil this night with all that.

You saw him more throughout the week. He started popping into your father’s store almost as soon as it opened, offering you coffee and a kiss. And he spent the first hour of the morning with you at the front counter, propped up on his elbow with his chin resting on the heel of his hand.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you asked, swatting him with a folded up newspaper after you finished doing the jumble together.

He just shrugged with all the casual ease of somebody whose own shop didn’t open until 11. Or noon if he was hungover. “What could be better than hanging out with my favorite girl?”

Favorite girl. The words lived in your brain all day. It made you positively giddy every time you thought about it, even causing you to accidentally enter a customer’s 15% discount as 51% and not even bother correcting it. The loss on a value pack of paint brushes and trays seemed a paltry fee for the smile that spread across old Mrs. Gershwin’s face when she saw her total.

Eddie started calling every night at 9:30, practically on the dot, and it didn’t take long for you to get in the habit of settling into your bed around that time so you could pick up the receiver in your room before the ringing disturbed your dad dozing in his recliner downstairs.

“So when do I get to take you out again?” he asked, clearly not oblivious to how it made you melt on the other end of the line.

You blushed your way through making arrangements for an early movie Saturday followed by dinner. Then, before beginning the long process of saying your goodnights, you paused to ask him the thing you’d been wondering since that night at the Hideout.

“Eddie…are we really doing this?” you asked, torn between giddiness and trepidation.

“I certainly am,” he hummed into the receiver.

He talked the whole way through the movie and still had more to say at dinner afterward.

It didn’t bother you, though. You loved listening to him talk. Your ears had gone so long without his rambling, it was more like music than words. His feet toyed with yours under the table and after you ordered dessert, he excused himself to use the bathroom only to slide into your side of the booth when he came back. You giggled over tiramisu and cheesecake, your sides pressed together from shoulder to ankle. Later, the tastes of your desserts would mix in your mouths as he kissed you deeply in his car dropping you off.

Everything about it felt so alive. So ripe with the promise of what this could turn into, what it had already become. In two dates with Eddie, you felt more connection than you had in two years of dating Carl. Not that it was fair comparing them. Nothing and no one could ever compare to this.

It was a Wednesday when he made a new proposition. You had already crawled into bed and swathed yourself in blankets to wait for his call. And after the few customary minutes of talking about your respective days, he brought up his idea for Friday night.

“Would you want to come over here for dinner?” he asked.

“You…you mean like your place?”

“I was thinking mine, but if your heart is set on a neighbor’s, I’m sure breaking in wouldn’t be too difficult.” He’s smirking so hard you swear you can hear it over the phone.

“I guess yours will do,” you chuckled. “Does this mean I’ll get to see The Hair in person?”

Eddie was living with Steve Harrington, which had taken a commanding lead for being the most confusing thing you’d learned since returning home. Apparently they’d been brought together by a shared friendship with Dustin Henderson, one of the kids from Hellfire Eddie had taken under his batwing during his third and final senior year. Dustin had spent months insisting both boys would get along if they only gave the other a chance until his badgering paid off.

Now, the pair shared a tiny apartment downtown, walking distance from Eddie’s shop and only a short drive to Family Video where Steve was now the manager. And Dustin evidently couldn’t go five minutes without congratulating himself for bringing the two of them together. Eddie liked to joke that they were now co-parenting the little shithead (affectionate).

“Actually, Steve is out of town this weekend,” Eddie said, struggling to contain his excitement and keep his cool. “So, we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Breathe, breathe, breathe. “Oh, yeah?” you said, voice spiking just an octave too high.

“Yep. And, um…you could stay over if you wanted? If that sounds good to you?”

Stay over. You knew what that meant. There was something gut wrenchingly endearing about the way he asked—the innocent peal of his voice. But there was no doubt in your mind what he was getting at. This wasn’t going to be like crashing on his couch after a movie night or pouring yourself into his bed after a Corroded Coffin show that lasted to the wee hours.

This would be something new. Something completely different.

“That sounds great,” you said, finally.

And it did sound great. It just also sounded a little terrifying.

Admittedly, you hadn’t been on many dates in your life. But television and film had successfully indoctrinated you with knowledge of that classic Third Date milestone. And it made sense. He wasn’t some stranger. You’d known each other for so long, it stood to reason things would continue to accelerate between you. And was that such a bad thing?

This was Eddie, after all. He was your best friend. He was your other half. You weren’t sure if you even believed in soul mates, so to speak, but if they did exist you couldn’t imagine anyone besides him in that role. He had stoked life into the coals within you that you were certain had burnt into a lump of ash. You never felt with anyone the way you felt with him.

So if you were gonna do this, you were gonna do it right.

You went shopping, fighting off anxious nausea as you perused the racks of lingerie in the far corner of a little boutique. Averting your eyes from the more salacious options, you settled on a matching set of midnight blue embroidered with silver thread to look like stars. It was made of thin mesh that gave the illusion of coverage, but revealed plenty through the sheer netting.

It also looked a little like something a wizard might wear. And for obvious reasons, you had a feeling Eddie might like that.

Securing your purchase you thought might make you feel more prepared, but it only caused your thoughts to unravel further. This was the first time Eddie would be seeing your underwear and it wasn’t even your own. At least it didn’t yet feel like your own the way your drawer full of less suggestive garments did. What if he thought you looked ridiculous? What if he laughed or got turned off because your thighs were too big or the pudge of your stomach grossed him out? Worse yet, what if you failed to live up to the implications? What if he saw it and assumed you knew what you were doing, only to be woefully disappointed by your skills? Or lack thereof?

It was impossible to reconcile the two wolves fighting for dominance in your mind. On the one hand, it was wildly exciting: the thought of finally getting to be with him and touch him and have him touch you back. At the same time, though, you were overwhelmed at the prospect. What if it changed things between you? You’d always thought you wanted more than friendship with him, but what if in that pursuit you lost the person you treasured more than anything in the world?

And then of course there were the normal fears.

After so much unfulfilling sex, you couldn’t help but be fearful your body would betray you as it always had. It was hard not to pin all your hopes on this and you didn’t want to add any more pressure to this night than you already felt. But even if you backed off that peak and failed to reach the summit, surely the ascent would feel just as nice as long as it was with him.

Right?

This was what you tried to tell yourself as you turned one last time in front of your mirror.

Literally everything about this night was making you uncomfortable and it hadn’t even begun yet. The lingerie that felt fine when you bought it was tight and itchy on your skin, and it felt glaringly obvious you were wearing it under your clothes—like a diaper or a straightjacket.

You’d shaved, even though it made you feel like a creepy bald Barbie, and even though you found the concept kind of disturbing. Whose brilliant idea was it anyway that to be sexy you had to look like a child between your legs? And you always wound up completely bare because you could never get it even and kept having to take more from each side until nothing was left.

Still, you did it. Because that was what everyone did, right? That’s what he would expect?

Shaking your head, trying to fling away all your thoughts, you busy yourself packing your small overnight bag. It was the same one you must have brought over to Eddie’s a hundred times over, but for the first time you found yourself doubting it. Would he think you were high maintenance for wanting your own toothbrush and a change of clothes? For bringing something comfortable to sleep in? Would he think you were a weirdo for not just sleeping naked? God, what if he saw it and figured you’d been sleeping with so many guys, you just kept it packed all the time?

Panic creeps up the back of your neck. It burns hot on your cheeks and makes your heart pound in your temples until you’re so dizzy you have to lean against the door with your head bent.

Breathe, you think. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

Frustratingly slowly, the thrumming in your chest subsides. You managed to bring yourself down off the ledge and find your center—Eddie.

Eddie would make everything alright.

He always did.

Part Two

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #tw: anorgasmia

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spiceofvy · 1 month

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Can I pls request a BTS headcanons? They have a crush on their friend who is not a celebrity, so they can't confess to her because of their reputation/job, but they are really close. One day someone from their company revealed a sensitive information about them. So, the members and the company accused her of it because they thought that she was only with them to become famous. They didn't believe her and also told her many hurtful things. But later it was revealed that it was not her but someone else and she was telling the truth. Later they try to reconcile with her and asks her to forgive them but it was too late. Can you please write it as angst?

BTS - Thinking reader betrayed them

cws: gender neutral reader, sfw, angst with no happy ending

Seokjin: He goes for the confrontation. Inviting you out to a cafe, to talk to you. He asks you for your reasoning for hurting him like that. But he is not truly alone, he has some trusted staff members a couple of feet away from the two of you in the cafe some tables away. So he doesn‘t feel alone in this situation. He breaks up with you on the spot. You don‘t get any chances to wash your name clean, he made his decision when he heard the news, and as the oldest, it is his job to make sure that he protects the other members, even if it means kicking you out of his life. But then he learns the truth? He regrets everything he ever said to you. Being so quick to judge you. He asks you to come to the cafe again, so you can talk it out. You don‘t show up. You don‘t answer his calls. Neither do your friends. So he stays behind, feeling like he lost the light in his life. And the worst part is that it's all his fault.

Yoongi: Also chooses confrontation. The moment he hears from a trusted source what you did, he is standing on your doorstep. He just wants to know why. Why would you hurt him like that? Why did you choose betrayal? Why him? Hasn‘t he been through enough? Can‘t he have a single nice thing? Why? Why would you do that? And he says so many things he didn‘t think through. So many hurtful words he could never take back. So many things he never wants to take back after what you put him through. You deserve to feel just as terrible as he does after you broke his trust, broke him and his idea of love. The moment he learns the truth his world breaks apart. He isn‘t gonna be seen for days. No one gets to talk to him. He will never forgive himself for what he put you through. Not that he could ever deserve forgiveness.

Hoseok: Has a hard time believing what he hears. There is no reason for you to hurt him like that. You love him. You would never use him just to get information you could sell. All those times you told him that you love him weren‘t all lies. You wouldn‘t do that. But he lays awake at night trying to find an explanation but all his thoughts lead to only one solution. He cries that night. When he forces himself to come to terms with the bitter truth that is that there is no other explanation but you betraying him. He gives you a chance, just one to apologize. To tell him the truth and maybe he could forgive you and you could stay friends. But you don‘t, you swear that your story is true and he just isn't able to believe you. When everything turns out to be a lie and he tries to talk to you, he realizes that his keys no longer fit into the door of your apartment. And maybe, he thinks, he deserved that.

Namjoon: He is beyond distraught. He is heartbroken. In his mind you broke his trust, you threatened him and his band, his family. He could never forgive you for that, no matter how much he loves you. No one is allowed to betray him and his boys like that. But what hurt even more was him finding out that he was wrong. That you never betrayed him like that, that this whole time you were honest to him. This is what truly breaks his heart. He hurt you, he lashed out at you, he made you cry. And he can never forgive himself for that. He is too scared to reach out to you. How could he apologize to you after that? So when he finally brings up the confidence. It‘s way too late. And honestly? He can‘t find himself to judge you for that.

Jimin: No. He doesn‘t believe it. Why would you betray him? You have no reason to. You love him, just like he loves you. You love each other, and anyone who says anything different is wrong and a liar. Those are all lies. It takes a huge intervention from the rest of his members for him to ever question you. But then, what they say makes so much sense. And they wouldn't lie to him either. Or say something they are not 100% sure that would be the truth right? So as much as it pains him, he calls you and confronts you with what they said. You swear you‘re telling the truth but the fear stays and so he leaves. When the truth comes out he runs to you, banging on your door, begging, pleading for you to hear him out. But now the fear is within you, and so you decide to not let him come back.

Taehyung: He knows what betrayal feels like. Too often people hurt him and used his belief for the good of the people for their use. So when the people he trusts the most, his brothers and his bandmates tell them what you supposedly did. He is done with you. No second-guessing, the pain he collected over the years immediately resurfaced and now he is lost without knowing who he can truly trust. But then when he does learn the truth he turns all his anger to the rest of the world, to everyone who lied to him about you. He wishes he could go to you and just take everything back he said. But he is scared and so he just turns away, staying along with his pain.

Jungkook: Not quick to judge but also not stupid. He trusts his team and the other members so when they tell him the „truth“ about you he doesn‘t even want to confront you about it. He is in pain and just accepts their words. He only meets you to give you back your stuff and then moves on. Or at least he tries to, but in reality, he is still in pain. Cuts everyone off for some time. But when he hears the truth he needs to see you. He needs to talk to you and apologize for not believing you. And when you don‘t hear him, telling him that he had his chance to believe you and now it‘s too late, he lashes out, not to you but to everyone that told him those lies about you. He didn‘t fight for you back then but he will at least make sure that everyone knows what truly happened.

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balkan-marie · 1 month

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Fan splatband based on my culture!

The band's name is "7/8 Craze"

They're called like this because Bulgarian folk music, dances and singing are characterized by unevenly divided (irregular) time signatures, also called Bulgarian Rhythms (7/8, 9/8, 11/8 and so on). The most unusual Bulgarian dance is in the 25/16 [7/8 7/8 11/8] time signature.

More about the characters below cause it's a lot. (Appreciate it if you read it)

The first man is called Stamen, 21y.o. He's from the Shopluk region (Western Bulgaria). The Shopi people are said to be very stubborn and selfish people who refuse to change, have good sense of humor and are not that smart. For example, Once upon a time three Shopi climbed on top of the Vitosha Mountain. There was a thick fog in the valley so they thought it was cotton. They jumped down and perished. Or another one about a Shop buying a soap thinking it's something to eat, he began to eat it but soon his mouth was filled with foam. He said: "Foam or not, it cost money, I shall eat it."

Stamen thinks his region's dances and music are superior because the Shopluk has the most complex and fast dances. He also refuses to go to Inkopolis plaza, Inkopolis square or Splatsville. He prefers to live in his small village. Stamen plays the instrument kaval.

The second woman is my splatsona, she decided to join the group cause she was bored. The rest of the members forget that she exists, they can't remember that she's a girl and mistake her for a boy, nor does anyone in the group know her name. She's rarely hanging out with the band and spends her time alone or walking around with her Smallfry. She's from Thrace and plays the gadulka.

The third woman is Galya (21y.o). She's also from the Shopluk region and is married to Stamen. She's as stubborn and not very smart as Stamen, but more goofy. She plays the tambura and does the choir singing. Galya tries to talk to the nameless girl once in a blue moon or just tells her to keep her hair safe.

Fourth man is Momchil, 23 y.o., he plays the kaba gaida (a bagpipe from the Rhodope mountains). He gets easily distracted and he's often staring at Zornitsa. His friends from his village warn him about the woman because there's something suspicious about her but he doesn't listen*. Momchil is calm, disciplined, quiet guy and a fish (but idk what type yet)

Fifth woman is Zornitsa(unknown age, but is an adult). She's yuda-samovila (similar to a Samodiva), an evil female mythical creature in a human (or should I say inkling here) form in Bulgarian folklore/mythology. Sometimes these women appear in front of young men, bewitch them with their beauty and trick them into marrying them, then take the man's soul. Zornitsa also can choir sing. She's from the Rhodopes.

The sixth man - Bai Chavdar [Ol' uncle Chavdar] is the oldest of all, 60 years old man. He's the founder and leader of the group, he plays the tupan and can sing. Bai Chavdar gets in arguments with Stamen pretty often. He is a sprat fish and he's from Thrace.

The band got known to the public when the unknown girl played 7/8 Craze's music in the waiting lobby, getting the other inklings/octolings' attention then spreading to everyone and even the salmonids.

*Momchil and Zornitsa are inspired from this video with similar designs, 11:13 time stamp. To understand them better.

#splatoon #splatbands #splatband #Fan splatband #Splatoon oc #I was wondering if embroidery in Splatoon universe is mix of those tiny squid/octo drawings and actual embroidery?#Didn't do it for the frame sorry but Stamen has it #7/8 Craze

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sleepanonymous · 19 days

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REVELATIONS NEWS ❖ COMMENT ❖ HEAVY FUCKING METAL HOT NEW BAND

Sleep is not just for the weak, according to Vessel and co

STAY TOKE The gimmick may be goofy, but Sleep Token’s music is no laughing matter

“My favourite 90s album is Fantastic Planet by Failure. It’s devastatingly bleak in a way that resonates into our deepest self.” – VESSEL (VOCALS)

SOUNDS LIKE an intriguing and shadowy blend of atmospheric post-rock and tech FOR FANS OF Meshuggah, Bon Iver, Explosions in the Sky LISTEN TO Calcutta

Over the years Metal Hammer has heard all manner of bizarre sonic coalitions and watched bands emerge from the deepest, weirdest corners of our scene, yet mysterious collective Sleep Token are up there among the most unique and ‘WTF?’ propositions so far. Not only is their music a fairly unclassifiable fusion of brutal tech-metal and atmospheric post-rock, but the band, driven by masked and cloaked frontman Vessel, claim to live in thrall to an ancient deity called Sleep. OK…

Much like Ghost’s Nameless Ghouls, the remaining members of Sleep Token have chosen to remain anonymous in order to retain their shadowy presence— only agreeing to answer our questions via email.

“They go hand in hand,” explains Vessel when we ask if the band’s sound and image are simply an exercise in gimmickry. “Sleep Token serves to add a visual dimension to our journey. A world without texture isn’t a world at all.” The story goes that Vessel first encountered Sleep in a dream where he was promised glory and magnificence in return for his worship. “He is the oldest God, a primal majesty that has endured the ages unperturbed by the morality of a flawed and chaotic human race,” says the frontman helpfully. “He is everyone. He is you. There’s a power in music that binds us all, every note relates to another. He showed me a vision of a world filled with depth and texture.”

OK, so their ‘backstory’ is silly. But as far as the music’s concerned, Sleep Token are an undeniably intriguing prospect, inhibiting a sparse world of heart-breaking beauty and intense heaviness where start, and sometimes sinister skeletal soundscapes build to throbbing climaxes with mesmerising effect. Recent single Calcutta, which premiered on Hammer’s website, builds like a storm: violent, djent-tinged destruction erupting amid Vessel’s ethereal and vulnerable Bon Iver-esque vocals.

“We sculpt, build and craft these sounds with an aim to deliver the emotional magnitude of His words,” says Vessel. “Destroy and rebuild over and over until what is left is what His followers shall hear. The influences come from the physical and emotionally charged world at large. Dreams are textural, so is music and much like life; they bring both darkness and life, beauty and ugliness— it’s our job to translate and convey those complexities as best we can. Each of these songs is an experience, but to find the real details you’ll have to explore them yourself. The music will ring out and people will continue to follow, for that’s what people do best. Follow. Stay with us and we’ll show you the whole world through His eyes. What a magnificent sight that is.”

“WE WORSHIP THE OLDEST GOD, A PRIMAL MAJESTY”

SLEEP TOKEN’S NEW EP, TWO, IS OUT NOW VIA BASICK

METALHAMMER.COM

(This is in my Google Drive also, here.)

#sleep token #vessel sleep token #vessel #vessel interview #metal hammer #lost media #circa 2017 #wake up sleepy babes #new vessel/sleep lore just dropped #(and by just dropped i mean has been around for 7 years)#metalhammer let me read the full emails i beg

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space-invading-pigeon · 2 years

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Glad the fandom agrees that Gareth is to Eddie what Robin is to Steve.

When Steve and Eddie get together, Eddie is obviously accepted by Steve's friends. Immediately: they can't go through hell together and NOT want every single member of the party to find something good and healing like love. The Party loves Eddie, obviously; they know he'll look after Steve, they know Steve will look after Eddie, and despite his love for both of them, Dustin gives Eddie a shovel talk so detailed, so disturbing, and so terrifying that Eddie asks Dustin to DM their next one shot (that little shit has some skills in manipulating emotions when he wants to. He did bully Mike and Lucas into making up in season one, Steve into hunting demodogs in season two, Steve into trying to translate Russian correspondence in season three, and ERICA into helping them infiltrate the Russian bunker base in season three. Kid has skills, we're all lucky he leans more towards chaotic neutral than chaotic evil). Point is, Eddie does not experience any negative reactions to the news that he and Steve are dating.

But the Party does not include Eddie's oldest friends. Gareth, Jeff, and Nelson (I like that name better than "unnamed freak 1," saw it in a fanfic and adopted it into my headcanons) are very much AGAINST Steve and Eddie dating, not because they're two dudes, but because Steve was best friends with Tommy Hagan, arguably the largest douchebag in Hawkins history, and they don't want Eddie to get hurt. So every time Steve joins Eddie for band practice, if Eddie is out of the room or even out of EARSHOT, all three of them are a little extra rude to former King Steve. But no matter what they do, Steve won't lash out. He'll grit his jaw, sure, and say something about how they don't know anything through clenched teeth, but he never argues when they call him an asshole or a bully or a liar.

When Jeff says that Steve is full of bullshit, Steve goes totally rigid before he just shuts down. Gareth sees this and immediately tries to backtrack; a parallel to Steve in high school, he's said a few regrettable things but he mostly just allows it to happen in front of him. Eddie comes back in from his bathroom break, sees Steve, and is instantly on the defensive. He drags Steve out of the garage, shooting absolutely deadly looks to his band, and they don't see him for two weeks. When Eddie does return, all three apologize to him, then less genuinely to Steve, and Steve quickly forgives them. Again, Eddie ends up taking a bathroom break, but this time, Gareth sits gingerly on the couch beside Steve.

"Are you really dating Ed? Like, no ulterior motives?" He asks, and Steve nods.

"I can't say how, but he saved my life. I was wrong to think he was just some freak," Steve says, but then he hesitates. "I- I really love him. I'm sorry you don't- I know I was a shithead in high school, but really, I love him." Gareth believes him. There's an earnestness in his eyes, a desperation for someone to know, and he can see the anxious set to Steve's shoulders. Gareth never thought that he'd see this, the King admitting to loving another man with not a trace of ill intent, and now that he DOES see it, he can see the tremble in Steve's hands, the tension in his posture and bags under his eyes, he can see the exhaustion written in every line of Steve's posture. So Gareth decides then that, whatever horrors have made such a self assured, confident person this tired, nervous, fidgety man, Steve is a good person. So he asks Steve to be good to Eddie, and then he goes back to his drumset. Jeff and Nelson are kinder, too, seeing that Eddie's #1 best friend, Platonic Soulmate, has decided to trust the fallen King.

After that, to Eddie's shock and embarrassment, Steve and Gareth get along like a house on fire. First, it's just teasing Eddie, then it's sharing embarrassing stories (Gareth shares the time Eddie spent an hour crying over a ladybug he killed before they told him it was just an M&M, and Steve shares the time that Eddie shot off of the couch during movie night and face planted into the wall, because he was half-awake and convinced that he'd just seen Ronnie James Dio through the window). Finally, it's Gareth who puts the pieces together that Steve is dyslexic, and helps Eddie record tapes for each chapter of books that Dustin and Eddie have been trying to get Steve to read.

They're not as close as Eddie and Gareth or Steve and Robin, but Steve and Gareth become great friends. Eventually, Steve and Eddie convince the party to bring Gareth into the know (Gareth is suspicious, but El's abilities and their story combined fill every single hole in the official story. He's terrified but comforted to know that it's over now)

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things headcanons #eddie and steve #gareth stranger things

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toomanythoughts2 · 6 days

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Theory on Why Murderface and Toki don't practice.

(Just a heads up, this is going to be a bit of a theory with a lot of analyzing but I'll put the gist above the cut away in case no one wants to read the long version. To keep things in order, I follow the Dethklok age range, oldest to youngest: Pickles, Skwisgaar, Nathan, Murderface, and Toki.)

GIST: Magnus' abrupt dismissal from the band and Dethklok being just signed on with Crystal Mountain Records put a lot of pressure on Nathan and Skwisgaar (both known perfectionists), thus resulting in Toki's (brand new member) and Murderface's (hard-headed bass player) parts being re-recorded by Skwisgaar in order to satisfy Nathan and Skwisgaar's perfectionism. This in the long run would further push Toki and Murderface being apathetic toward practicing.

Below is a more detailed description and timeline of this theory.

(I would like to point out that this theory is not to make Nathan and Skwisgaar the bad guy, but more to pinpoint how perfectionism can often times have negative effects on individuals who are just starting out, like Toki and Murderface.)

So this theory is based on a lot of information I can gather from the show about Nathan and Skwisgaar's perfectionism, Toki and Murderface's apathy and work ethic, and the theory timeline of how it started.

______________________________________________________________

Nathan's Perfectionism

As everyone knows, Nathan is a notorious perfectionist. Nathan is known to record, delete, re-record, delete, re-re-record, delete, over and over again until he is satisfied. It's a theme that is shown multiple times in the show. The very first album we see them make in "Dethwater" is because Nathan kept deleting the record.

Nathan's perfectionism (along side his connection to the Whale Prophet) is a whole arch in Season 4, resulting in him destroying their master record in "Prankklok".

In fact, it could be argued that Nathan's whole arch in Army of the Doomstar of trying to write the Song Of Salvation while still in a Death Metal Perfectionist Mindset was one the reasons why he wrote the wrong song in the first place. Nathan trying to figure out who he wants to talk to and what he would say to them that would also match his perfect Death Metal Image is why the lyrics came so hard to him, even before Murderface's possession interference.

The idea of being the hand or the fist in Army of the Doomstar can also play into his perfectionism. It could resemble the idea of forcing oneself to be a certain way rather then letting oneself just be who they should be. (Peep the painted nails, LOVE!)

Now, while we don't see Nathan "practice" like how Skwisgaar practices his guitar, it's safe to assume that he does have a lot of knowledge on how to sing. For his style, it would be important to know how to practice singing in order to maintain his signature growling voice, especially since that's not his normal voice. On top of practicing, we also know that Dethklok is Nathan's band. Not Skwisgaar's, not Pickles', not Murderface's, and not Magnus'. Nathan's band. That is a very proud fact of his that he has shown to not hesitate bringing up when other people try and mess with his band, including higher ups like Abigail. Dethklok is Nathan's baby, it's his first love, it's his literal everything. As the creator of Dethklok, the frontman, the "dad" of the band, Nathan has a LOT of pressure on his shoulders to make sure that the albums that come out are good albums.

This is why Pickles' character is so important to Nathan because he balances him out. Pickles cares about Dethklok just as much as Nathan but he's been down this road before, and he knows how Nathan is. "Prankklok" and "Writersklok" are so important to bring up when discussing their relationship because it shows just how much Pickles knows about Nathan's perfectionism, temperament, and what that obsession can do to him. THAT'S WHY PICKLES IS SO DETERMINED FOR THEM TO GO ON THEIR FRIENDER BENDER, TO KEEP NATHAN AWAY FROM THE ALBUM AND LET LOOSE! Their fight in "Writersklok" wasn't just a funny "Mom and Dad are Fighting" bit, it was real argument with anger and frustration. It was about the album and about Nathan's lack of an apology or recognition to what he's done. (Look at how scared everyone looks around them while they're fighting. They are scared.)

It's also important to note that Pickles and Nathan's problems revolving Abigail didn't really start until much later in the season, I wanna say "Going Downklok", AND Pickles was not aware of the Whale Prophet until the end of season 4, when even Nathan finally had to confront his own memory about that night and what the Whale Prophet told him. THAT IS WHY NATHAN'S APOLOGY IN CHURCH OF THE BLACKKLOK IS SO FUCKING MEANINGFUL AND GOOD! That despite the group now understanding that Nathan had to destroy the record, he still apologized to Pickles for doing it because he knows it harmed his relationship with him.

The destruction of the album is equivalent to Nathan saying that everything that was put on it was not good enough, meaning it looks like a big "Fuck You" to Pickles when he's laying on the floor watching Nathan destroy the Master Recording.

Now remember: Nathan's perfectionism and destruction of the album harmed his relationship with Pickles in an almost life altering way. Nathan's inability to apologize almost split up Dethklok permanently.

Skwisgaar's Perfectionism

One of Skwisgaar's most famous characteristics is that he is always playing the guitar. It's a running joke in the show that he is always fretting, always practicing, and playing guitar is all he knows and does. He plays in the hot tub, he plays at meetings, he plays at the dinner table, he plays outside, he plays when he's stressed, he plays when he's bored, he plays in his sleep, and he plays when he's hurt in Army of the Doomstar. Skwisgaar is known to play his guitar and play it very well. So well in fact, Skwisgaar regularly records the parts for both Toki and Murderface for the albums, even when Toki and Murderface already have a recording. It's another running joke in the show that Skwisgaar will just go back to the studio and re-record whatever they have already done. However Skwisgaar has also been shown to listen, critic, and make Toki re-record his parts numerous times as if to find a good take for the record.

He even offers to show Murderface how to play his bass parts in "Dethsiduals", despite prior viewer knowledge that Skwisgaar records his parts anyway.

For me, Skwisgaar's perfectionism is in between "No one will ever be as good as me" and "Why isn't anyone as good as me?" He obviously wants Toki (and Murderface but he has more interactions with Toki and his guitar playing) to play to their full potential but his expectations are either never met, or they are met too close to "Good as or better than me" that he lashed out. In "Dethlessons" Skwisgaar lashes out at Toki when he gets a new guitar teacher and the band are being dicks to him, making him think Toki is getting better.

(This could also be read as jealousy for Toki's guitar teacher because Skwisgaar has been shown to be attached to Toki in their strange rival/BFF relationship in a way he is not attached to anyone else. I.E. "The Duel" in Doomstar Requiem and Skwisgaar's Nightmare that happens in "Dethlessons".

[If you want a really good analysis on Skwisgaar's Nightmare, check out this post by @dichromaticdyke. It's honestly one of my favorites.]

OR jealousy in the sense that someone ELSE was able to get Toki to start practicing in a way that is actually beneficial. No, Skwisgaar, dropping a bucket of blood on Toki during a guitar lesson is not good teaching.)

Something else to remember about Skwisgaar is that he has been playing and practicing since he was a child. "Fatherklok" shows us a glimpse of how Skwisgaar got his first guitar, and how attached he had become to that guitar, showing that he has been practicing for years and years and years. He has also been in countless bands before Dethklok like said in "Snakes n' Barrels", when they're naming off bands they have been in. Skwisgaar has discipline to the craft and an ego to match. He is known as a glowing guitar god. That's why "Skwisklok" is so important for the viewers to understand the amount of stress that title brings him. He knows he's the best but he also knows that everyone eventually falls, including himself. That's why he is so stressed about the show, because not only does he have to be good at playing guitar, he has to be good at teaching the guitar (which is shown in "Dethlessons" that Skwisgaar may not be completely talented in teaching guitar than he is playing. Granted, in the special features video that actually shows an episode of Skwisgaar teaching the guitar part to the Duncan Hills Coffee jingle, he is capable of teaching. It may not be his strong suit, but he can do it when need be. This also goes back to the idea that Skwisgaar's strong suit is guitar playing due to years of practicing)

In both episodes, "Dethlessons" and "Bookklok", the viewers see how stressed out Skwisgaar becomes when his title is compromised (Specifically by Toki but again, that's their own specific relationship) It can be implied that, without his guitar, Skwisgaar believes that he doesn't have a place in music (obviously "Fatherklok" showed us Skwisgaar can be a regular jackoff, but this is about his thought process, not his actual capabilities.) If he didn't believe that, he wouldn't be so freaked out and catatonic when his title is compromised by Toki.

"Dethlessons" and "Bookklok" also show us a side of Skwisgaar where, despite his fears, he still cares deeply for Toki's abilities and wants him to play good, though this is usually shown when it's apparent that Toki isn't going to be able to top Skwisgaar's playing ability (which goes back to that ego of his of being the best.)

It's also important to note that Skwisgaar writes all of the guitar and bass rifts for the band, meaning that anything he could play, they should be able to play, despite knowing he was always going to re-record their parts while knowing his bandmates limitations. I see it as Skwisgaar presenting them a challenge they could barely win in and then deciding at the last second that it's too difficult for them and yanking it away, destroying any possible effort, progress, or self esteem. In "Bookklok", Skwisgaar and Toki's interaction before the solo really shows how much importance Skwisgaar puts on practicing. But this episode also brings their relationship to a head, where Skwisgaar's constant negativity toward Toki's playing destroys their relationship, but it is not invalid. Skwisgaar has absolutely valid reasons for not letting Toki play the solo, especially if he had not been practicing, however, constant denial and bullying by Skwisgaar to Toki over years makes Toki's feelings also valid about being constantly snubbed.

How many solos has Toki been snubbed out of or destroyed by Skwisgaar due to his jealousy?

It's also important to note that Army of the Doomstar does have Skwisgaar genuinely teaching and complimenting Toki's guitar abilities, specifically about during a time when Toki practiced. That is an important detail because Skwisgaar does not compliment Toki's guitar playing in the show nor does he show any genuine interest in actually teaching Toki either (that doesn't end with Skwisgaar or Toki being upset.) This tiny interaction shows the viewers that Once Upon a Time, Skwisgaar did not have to worry about getting Toki (or Murderface) to practice and even liked it when they practiced.

Now remember: Skwisgaar regularly writes and re-records Toki's and Murderface's parts for the albums, despite making them record over and over in the first place. At one point, Toki did practice and Skwisgaar was aware of it, even saying it was good. This was most likely not a problem for Skwisgaar so he did not freak out.

______________________________________________________________

Toki's Apathy and Work Ethic

Toki (my love) is what I would call, gifted. I truly believe that Toki's character is suppose to represent the musically gifted or naturally talented. He has the type of talent that people could only dream of possessing. I say this because Toki's ability to shred like he does during "The Duel" makes to no sense without being gifted. Toki's childhood is isolated, desolated, physically and mentally abusive, neglected, and frowned upon. Toki was the outcast, he was the forsaken, the forgotten. He should be dead, but he isn't. He shouldn't have known about the village closest to his home but he did. He shouldn't have known Runke but he did. Toki is a story of perseverance and looking for the light in the dark and not letting it consume him. (He is VERY Cinderella coded.) Toki represents the raw talent of guitar playing. We are never shown nor is it talked about where Toki's love for guitar came from or how he first came upon it or for how long he had been playing for before meeting Dethklok, but it couldn't have been a long time.

The only clue he do get is that he was once friends with Runke, the owner of Drep Du Selv, a black metal record shop. With no other information, it's safe to say that Toki probably got his love for music and metal from that store, and probably from Runke personally. It can be inferred that Toki was probably sent out for errands in the village, came across the store, and fell in love with music. The topic of Toki being professionally taught by Runke or if he learned on his own is anyone's guess, especially when the wiki describes Runke as being slightly rude to Toki when he comes in. Toki has a hard time understanding what a "good" friend is suppose to be (E.I. Dr. Rockso, Magnus.) so what Toki remembered as a friend, was maybe more a begrudged acquaintance.

So, with that being said, Toki is probably self taught with very minimal interactions with other guitarists or musicians to guide him in the right direction. Toki's home is very rustic. I can't recall if the house showed any signs of having electricity, but it wouldn't be out of the realm that they wouldn't. That means Toki probably couldn't actually hear his own electric guitar, since he has no amps, cords, or other electrical devices to help him. Toki either had to practice at Drep Du Selv or he practiced WITHOUT HEARING HIS GUITAR PROPERLY!

The guitar he is seen playing in "The Duel" is also banged up and held together with duct tape, and is seen as being that way from the beginning. This means Toki was practicing guitar with no electricity on a busted and possibly broken guitar.

Also remember, Toki can't read music, so it would be very hard for him to learn on his own without understanding sheet music while being at the level Toki was when he first met Skwisgaar.

Which takes us back to Toki's journey to meet Dethklok. We aren't shown how Toki is kicked out, but it's implied it's due to his passion for guitar. At this point. Toki is probably well within teaching himself cords and melodies. Granted, we do not know anybody's actual age, but I have always seen Toki in his teens when he is kicked out. Whatever time frame was between Toki being kicked out, his journey to America, and his life on the streets is up to interpretation, but a year doesn't sound too far off, in my opinion.

All of this in between time, all of this time when Toki is in the punishment hole before being kicked out, all of his precious free time, Toki was most likely filling it with practicing the guitar the best way he could. Toki has a wild imagination, as we see with the clown doll we see in the punishment hole or his spider-dad in "Dethzazz". What's to say he wasn't constantly imagining his life as a famous guitarist, playing on stage or people, where he is loved and adored and no one hurts him anymore.

With all that being said, TOKI PRACTICED! HE PRACTICED!

At "The Duel", Toki's raw talent mixed with his determination to play guitar despite his challenges, is the reason why Skwisgaar chose him above anyone else. He made Skwisgaar feel challenged, which is not something anyone has done before, because no one before him has ever been as dedicated to the craft as him.

Toki and Skwisgaar are both dedicated musicians in their own right, in their own obstacles, in their own influences.

And that's where the problem lies.

Where Skwisgaar could feel himself growing and changing and getting better, Toki couldn't because his mentor/friend/rival knew his potential and wanted Toki to reach him, but not so much Toki would surpass him due to his perfectionism, stress, and self esteem issues. Skwisgaar's instance for better guitar playing, Toki's back and forth relationship with Skwisgaar being friends and rivals, and Toki getting used to Nathan's methods of recording, caused a feeling of apathy to grow in Toki.

"Why does it matter if I practice or not when I'm constantly being scrutinized and then replaced?"

Over the years of being in the band, just like how Toki described his and Skwisgaar's relationship in "Bookklok", it was once very good then bit by bit, it began to crumble. No more compliments, no more comradery, no more genuine interest (at least to Toki's perspective). As time would go on, Toki's passion for practicing guitar would eventually die down until practicing just became a thing of the past, while his passion for other things, like videogames, went up.

It is also important to note that practicing for adult Toki is not completely gone. In "Tributeklok", Toki/Skwisgaar is fully capable of playing the lead guitarist in Thunderhorse with no hiccups or problems. "Dethlessons" where Toki seeks out guitar lessons from Skwisgaar and his guitar teacher, shows determination from Toki to get better at guitar. "Bookklok" also shows us that, with the right motivation (and a power trip), Toki is fully prepared and able to play a solo to a sold out crowd, completely confidant in his abilities, unlike in "Dethlessons" when he initially freaks out. "Bookklok" Toki shows us a Toki that has most definitely practiced for this show, with a costume and attitude to match.

In Army of the Doomstar, we finally get a chance to see Skwisgaar genuinely teach Toki something about his guitar, and tell him he needs to practice "like when he was good". No buckets of blood, no yelling, no insults, no fighting. Just a genuine tip and a stern notion to practice with a compliment. And what does he do? HE PRACTICES!

So apathy has not completely destroyed Toki's ability to practice, but extreme circumstances have to happen for him to even want to do it again, which isn't viable.

Now remember: Toki represents raw talent with serious determination and discipline for guitar playing in horrible conditions. He did practice and can practice. Constant belittlement of his talents, especially by Skwisgaar, has rendered him to be apathetic toward practicing. However, Toki seems more inclined to practice when he is given a reason, such as a power trip or by positive reinforcement and lessons.

Murderface's Apathy and Work Ethic

Murderface (my other love) is what I would call, spiteful. We get almost 0 information on his background other than: his parents murder-suicide, growing up with his grandparents, he threatened his principal so he could graduated while only drinking, smoking, and playing bass, and that he is most likely Southern American based on his confederate flag boxers and pension for Early American wars.

From what can be gathered, Murderface is an angry boy that turned into an angry man. Murderface's parent's deaths most likely uprooted Stella and Thunderbolt's entire retirement plan (along with Thunderbolt's stroke) Seeing from how Stella dresses and how we see Thunderbolt for the first time, Murderface's childhood was probably one in poverty. Mixed with medical debt, new child debt, the loss of a son and daughter-in-law, and with a seemingly already angry outlook on life (and possible Southern Baptist Christian religious values) Stella most likely raised Murderface in a very angry and unsafe home.

With how we see Stella talk and hit Murderface the few times she's on screen, their relationship as grandson and grandmother is probably very very strained, toxic, and hostile. I could imagine Stella being particularly cruel and hateful toward Murderface, crushing any kind of attempt to connect.

It is canon that all Murderface wants is to be loved and love back. But how is one suppose to do that when they grow up in a home that hates him, blames him, tells him that he's nothing, that he can't do a damn thing right, that he's stupid, and that he isn't going to be anything?

That's the difference between Toki and Murderface. Where Toki refused to be swallowed up by the hatred, Murderface embraced it, and it became his saving grace.

We see Murderface try to take credit for things he hasn't done or try to say he's an expert in something that he barely knows anything about. It's half assed attempts to get things for himself, but also, for people to admire him for something he is good at. Toki is known as a copy cat, but Murderface mimics a lot, especially intelligence for things that people often respect. I could imagine Murderface trying his best as child to make friends but his constant failure of "everything" ruining it for him. The things that made him him were not good enough. So he would start mimicking what got other people positive attention. Which would lead to him being caught and getting in trouble, but with his background of being an angry household, anger and violence was how he would react to being called out, making him more of an outcast.

This is also why we see Murderface wanting to constantly give his bandmates "advice", because it mimic's someone respected and someone that people want to listen to. It's not the best when he forces it, but at times, when he is being genuine, like when Murderface is consoling Nathan about his G.E.D. test, it does make him into someone that people want to listen to.

Now, while we have no timeline for Murderface at all, we can say that he was playing bass in high school, so a good 4 years of his teenage years were spent playing bass. So somewhere in his childhood, Murderface found the bass, he started drinking, and he starting smoking. He also completely gave up on his high school career to focus on the bass.

Why would he do that?

Because Murderface's passion for the bass didn't come naturally.

He found himself a niche he was good at and got him the tiniest bit of attention, and he ran with it. Why would he focus on something, like school, where he was probably bullied and teased by his peers, teachers, and family when he could focus all his time on something he was actually good at, like bass. Something important like bass got him attention and praise and the connection he longed for. So he practiced for years, day in and day out, in order to get a taste of admiration.

But not only did he practice with his hands, he practiced with his penis. Murderface has CALLUSUES on his DICK! You only get those when you practice over and over and over again! Murderface in Dethklok is known for his dick bass solos! It's what makes him very unique compared to any other bassists.

So, Murderface HAS A WORK ETHIC! HE HAS MOTIVATION! He wants to be admired and respected and he wants people to like him. So he practices. However, I don't think bass playing is his top passion, which makes him more suspectable to lazing about and not practicing.

During "Religionklok", Murderface keeps getting gifted basses from the band while in the hospital, even when he has a pile next to him just growing, and he doesn't look too excited to get them either.

Now, in "Birthdayface", the band gifts Murderface the Kennedy car with Abe's chair and a car destruction lot, and he sheds a single blood tear.

He shows more emotion toward the car than he does the bass, which makes me think that Murderface's passion for the bass is because it pulled him out of poverty and into the limelight and not because it's his greatest passion, where that would be history. (This is not to say that Murderface has no passion for bass, he obvious takes great pride in his dick playing and has never once decided to pick up another instrument.)

Murderface, for as lazy as he is, ABSOLUTLY HAS A WORK ETHIC AND CAN AND HAS PRACTICED HIS BASS BEFORE! He would not have been in Dethklok if he sucked. Nathan would not consider him the brutalist bass player if he sucked. Murderface sucks in a way where his playing can never really be beat by anyone else but he's not giving bass playing his full attention either. Murderface is the best bass player in the world, but the band is not acknowledging it, and is constantly the butt of jokes for his instrument.

He is responding to the bands bullying like how he responded with the kids at school. The one thing that made him liked in school, his bass playing, now made him a running joke in the band, so he's desperately trying to find something else to make them respect and admire him. That's why he is always trying to do something, like start his own band, "Planet Piss", be fire chief for the band, claim the title "band dad", claim writing credits but he knows he sucks at all of these things. Of course he does, he's self aware enough to know these things, but he still tries, because he's desperate for their attention and respect.

And when Murderface is looking to try something else, he isn't practicing, and when he's not practicing, he's not good at the one thing that got him in the band in the first place. This results in more bullying, more cutting of his takes, more desperate moves for attention, and more spitefulness.

Murderface only knows how to respond in spitefulness, so when faced with Skwisgaar and Nathan's perfectionism, he only grows more bitter and cold toward his playing and becomes completely apathetic to it, knowing that he could never truly please them anymore, and has to find something else.

Now remember: Murderface is an original member for Dethklok and has shown and talked about years of practicing. He craves loves and attention but is bullied by the band for the one thing he knows he is good at it. The bullying and perfectionism of those he desperately wants approval from makes Murderface branch out into other niches or ways to get that positive attention, which negatively effects his playing. Bass is most likely not his number one passion, and thus more likely to be pushed aside for other favored passions, like history.

______________________________________________________________

Magnus Hammersmith

Magnus is a very interesting character but I will keep this part short in reference to the theory.

Very limited knowledge is known about Magnus but just enough is known of his early involvement with Dethklok and why his removal brought the band so much stress.

Magnus most likely had industry experience but was never in a band, perse. From the clues in the show we get, Magnus is an OG member for Dethklok. He is so OG, that he is still known as an Ex-Member of Dethklok. You can see it on the flier for Rock-a-Roonie camp in Toki's room. This means that Magnus was a part of the band when they were actively giving out music. At least enough for people to see his name in the credits.

Now, Doomstar gives us a look at Dethklok's old band manager, an unnamed man, but someone before Charles. However, in "Renovationklok", we see Charles is Dethklok's band manager when signing on to Crystal Mountain Records and Magnus is in the back. So it's safe to assume that Magnus was there in the very very beginning of the band. It's also safe to assume that, when Roy is talking to the band in "Breakupklok" about receiving a CD with a sharpie written name on the front called "Dethklok", we can assume he is not referring to Toki on this CD, but Magnus.

We also get a glimpse of a Dethklok with Magnus in it where everyone looks happy, where they are all friends. I am assuming the picture was taken before being signed on, because Magnus leaving and Toki coming in, had to have happened AFTER they were signed onto the label, as Magnus was at the signing!

The reason Magnus probably snapped at the band is because he too is a perfectionist. This was his first band and he didn't know quite how to handle the pressure that came with it. Everyone else in the group had a good handle of keeping themselves in line, except Magnus. Magnus, who is known only for being an Ex-member of Dethklok and nothing else. Magnus, who once put under a lot of pressure, attacked Nathan by stabbing him in the back. Magnus, who was kicked out the band after being signed on, thus creating a 5th member slot open.

The conversation between the band, Charles, and Crystal Mountain Records was probably not good, not at all. In fact, it probably brought the pressure up tenfold, seeing how a member was missing, an instrument would have to either be filled or deleted from their already created songs, and this would be their first real record as a band, which could make or break them.

With Magnus' departure, the pressure was on.

Thus, welcoming Toki, into a steaming kettle pot of stress.

______________________________________________________________

Timeline

This timeline describes the theory as it begins. The analysis describes how the boys are all suspectable for perfectionism/apathy and how that carried over with them through the career.

It goes as followed:

Pickles leaves Snakes n' Barrels

Nathan graduates HS

Skwisgaar comes to the US in search of another band

Murderface is entering high school, practicing bass, drinking, and smoking.

Toki is learning how to play in secret in Norway

Pickles meets Magnus at an industry party and discuss a partnership of sorts but nothing concrete happens

Nathan puts out fliers for a band "Dethklok", looking for musicians

Skwisgaar finds a flyer, auditions, and joins

Murderface continues to practice and threatens the principal to leave him be

Nathan and Skwisgaar struggle to find other members for the band, so have to go in and out of jackoff jobs for a few years

Pickles joins a few bands to fill his pocket with Magnus by his side, producing or engineering for a few years

Nathan and Skwisgaar wind up at an industry party, where they meet Pickles and Magnus. From here, they audition as musicians and get in. They get their first manager.

Murderface graduates HS and runs away from home to Florida, where he stumbles upon the flier and auditions for Dethklok, getting in.

Toki is found out by his parents and kicks out of the home, resulting in Toki being homeless

Dethklok produces a few songs with their old manager but decide to kick him out once they learn he was embezzling money from them

Dethklok meets Charles through an employment office, using the last of their money to hire a new manager who knows his shit.

Toki works his way through Europe until he can find a way across the ocean to America.

Charles is able to get a Dethklok CD to Roy Cornickelson, CEO of Crystal Mountain Records and he likes them. The band is signed on shortly after. They are given a year to produce a full album with a sign on bonus. They use the money to buy equipment and roadies, also known as "Klokateers".

Toki is able to get a boat ticket that will take him to Florida

The pressure of making the record begins to get to the band, specifically Magnus, which results in him insulting the band.

Toki is in Florida, living on the streets, and playing and going to any audition that was open, only for none of them to want him since he was a gross looking homeless boy

While practicing, Pickles changed the drum pattern that Magnus created, causing a fight to break out between Nathan and Magnus.

Magnus is kicked out the band.

Magnus destroys the apartment and the equipment, along with threatening the band and insulting Murderface.

The sign on bonus is dwindling quicker once new instruments had to be bought

Dethklok tells Charles what happens and he schedules a meeting with Roy. Roy is not happy. They had a decision to make. Either redo the whole album without a rhythm guitarist or find another member, and fast, as the deadline is virtually around the corner.

Dethklok decides to hold auditions for a rhythm guitarist, Skwisgaar decided to dual them all and if one can beat him, then they can join

Toki find the flier for the audition, gets lost on the way, and arrives late. Skwisgaar decided to let him duel, they duel, and Toki is let in the band.

With the deadline approaching, Nathan and Skwisgaar are very concerned about the album, and plus the introduction of a new member.

While recording Toki and Murderface's parts, Nathan and Skwisgaar are pushed to their limits at being perfectionists, nitpicking everything about their playing. Pickles ends up having to reel them in when Toki looks close to crying and Murderface looks close to murder

Toki and Murderface both manage to get their parts recorded, but are then deleted and redone by Skwisgaar in fear that the band will suffer and fail due to an inexperienced teenage guitarist and a hot-headed bass player.

Pickles finds out, and while also sharing their same fears, tells them that what they did was not cool. Skwisgaar and Nathan end up keeping a few of their original recordings in the songs that they don't care for so much as the other, EP style singles, as a way to appease Pickles and to make their "not guilt guilt" feeling go away

Toki and Murderface do find out from a drunk Pickles that a majority of their stuff was erased from the album upon completion and they are equally hurt by the revelation

Their hurt gets pushed to the side once the money starts coming in and Toki is still revealing in the fact that he has a family now and is no longer on the streets

Toki and Murderface decide to let it go and focus on the positive the album has brought them

Nathan and Skwisgaar secretly credit their re-recordings for the reason that the album did so well, and continue to do it, becoming less and less secretive as time went on

Toki becomes more and more hurt and confused as to why his once amazing guitar playing skills were being deleted and scrutinized by the same guy who wanted him

Murderface is hurt that the one thing he believed he was good at was now not enough, thus loosening his hold on his passion and seeing out other things to get their attention

Toki and Murderface become apathetic to practicing as their parts are always re-recorded, deleted, or never mixed in

Skwisgaar and Nathan believe they are doing the right thing for the band and get upset when Toki and Murderface don't practice

______________________________________________________________

Conclusion

The cycle of being deleted and bullied and being upset that their bandmates aren't doing their best end up creating some animosity in the band. It isn't until Army of the Doomstar that the band will be able to fix their wrongs, work toward being better toward each other, embrace each others own unique abilities and styles with their instruments, and apologize to one another. Toki and Murderface feel re-energized to practice once more and Nathan and Skwisgaar are instead working with the material they have instead of trying to force something out of a hundred+ takes.

It is also important to note that Dethalbum IV is said to have more rhythmic guitar and bass sounds than previous albums, thus concluding to a musical standpoint that Skwisgaar is writing and letting Toki and Murderface shine on this album rather than mixed out to hidden behind the lead guitarist. This development is incredible and backs up what

And THAT is why I think Toki and Murderface don't practice!

#william murderface #toki wartooth #pickles the drummer #metalocalypse #nathan explosion #skwisgaar skwigelf #metalocalypse theory #metalocalypse headcanons

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jagibee · 1 year

Text

Call Me Luna

(Stray Kids x Reader)

Chapter 3

2,855 Words

A/N: New Chap let’s gooooo! As always, likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated and lmk what y’all think!💞

…

Well. This was unexpected.

You were prepared to deal with the excitement of working closely with members of an internationally well-known band and all that that would entail. Really, you had finally made peace with that.

But. Stray Kids.

What the hell.

Your brain was flooding and the only thing keeping you afloat was Kwang-sun’s voice sounding once again from the front of the room.

“I will give you ten minutes to look over your clients’ files and then you will meet up with their respective managers. I look forward to working with you all.”

And with that, he left.

The two clipboard people, however, remained standing where they had been for the entirety of the day, aside from what you assumed to be their lunch break. Your feet hurt just by looking at them.

You turned back to the table. Each of the other caretakers were looking through their files and they seemed to make mental notes.

While looking at them, you began to wonder why each person was assigned to each group. It wasn’t by gender and it couldn’t have been by age because while Jae was the oldest and got assigned TWICE, Stray Kids was the second oldest band in those five and you were the youngest of the caretakers.

After a couple minutes of drifting off into those thoughts, you realized that you should probably look at the file.

Opening it, you saw the first page showing a profile of the oldest three members.

BANG CHAN - Alpha

SCENT - Eucalyptus

RUT NOTES - very possessive, sometimes aggressively so, good to have at least two members with him at all times but not Lee Know and Changbin at the same time or he will get aggressively anxious about the young ones, likes to wear things scented by all the members, prefers to stay in his dorm, will eat a lot

LEE KNOW - Alpha

SCENT - Caramel

RUT NOTES - doesn’t like wearing clothes so keep him in the dorm with no surprise visitors, likes to mark up anyone but especially the younger members, not particularly possessive but more aggressive than usual when members don’t do as he says

CHANGBIN - Alpha

SCENT - Cooking spices

RUT NOTES - gets especially bad headaches, likes to cuddle with the omegas and betas, will eat a lot, likes other members to wear his clothes

All of this information looked rather typical to you, so you turned the page to see the next members.

HYUNJIN - Omega

SCENT - Coffee

HEAT NOTES - gets especially bad cramps, keep a lot of heating pads and warm water packs in dorm, not particularly protective of nests, will usually nest in common room and everyone is welcome in

HAN - Beta

SCENT - Chocolate

SLIP NOTES - sense of smell increases, likes clinging to the members, will mimic nesting

FELIX - Omega

SCENT - Lemon dessert

HEAT NOTES - very protective of his nests, will only build them in his room and no one is allowed in until he invites them, likes to cling to alphas outside of the nest

You frowned at the use of the word “mimic” in Han’s profile. Even if he wasn’t an omega, nesting was nesting and if it made him feel better, what did it matter?

You shook your head. As long as it’s just in a random file that won’t even tell you all of the details, it can’t cause that much harm, right?

You turned the page again.

SEUNGMIN - Beta

SCENT - Mint

SLIP NOTES - doesn’t like touching people or interacting

Well now that was almost too much information, you thought sarcastically.

I.N - Alpha

SCENT - Toast

RUT NOTES - doesn’t have regular ruts yet, they are seemingly random and unexpected, is particularly possessive over Felix and Seungmin, will get aggressive if anyone else gets too close

Before you could think any more deeply about the profiles, Jisu from earlier entered and brought three others with her.

She smiled before addressing everyone. “Hello, my name is Jisu, you might remember me from before. My colleagues and I are here to escort you to your meetings with your band’s managers. Jae, Ha-Eun will take you,” she gestured to a short alpha woman, “Saira, Ja-Young will take you,” this time, a curvy beta stepped forward, “Millie, Jung will take you,” now it was a tall beta man. Then she turned to smile at you and you noticed her cat-like eyes for the first time. “Y/N and Justin will be with me.”

You each gathered up your file and the rest of your things before following your guides out of the room.

The clipboard people came out as well and followed you, Jisu, and Justin.

Oh god, they don’t think I’m a threat, do they? You shook the thought from your head. I am probably one of the least threatening people in this building. They could just drop me off in a random room and I would be helpless because I wouldn’t know my way out of the building.

You walked for about five minutes before you came to a stop before a door and Jisu told Justin that his meeting was in that room. He went inside and one of the clipboard people, the beta, followed him in.

Then, Jisu turned to look at you with her cat eyes, looking you up and down before turning around and strutting away. “This way, Y/N!”

You scrambled to follow her, the clipboard person keeping you in between the two of them.

When you had gotten close to Jisu and settled at her pace, you turned to the clipboard person. “Hi, sorry, what’s your name?”

He looked startled. “My name is Chang-ho.”

You smiled at him. “It’s nice to meet you. What do you do?”

He blinked a couple times, then looked at Jisu and back at you. “I usually help the screening process for new hires.”

You frowned a bit. “Am I still being screened?”

Before you could hear his answer, Jisu whipped around and smiled at you. “Here is the room you will be meeting your band’s manager, Y/N. I hope you will fit well in our company. It would be nice to see you again.” Her cat eyes gleamed as you passed her, in a way that was both unsettling and slightly attractive.

Entering the room, you saw a large desk with one nice leather chair behind it and three much less comfy-looking chairs in front. Choosing the middle of the three seats, you watched as Chang-ho grabbed the left one and dragged it to the back of the room before settling in.

You were about to ask him what he meant earlier about the screening process but you were interrupted by a new presence.

The man had an average height and build and had what you could tell was an expensive haircut. He wore special extra-strength scent blockers so you didn’t know his secondary gender. Nothing really stood out about him, but he had a nice smile.

“Hello, Y/N, my name is Cho Ha-Joon, manager of Stray Kids. I look forward to working with you.”

After exchanging pleasantries, you both sat down and he pulled out a similar file to the one you still had. “So,” he started, “any immediate concerns about what your job will be entailing?”

You remembered what the file had said and decided your first priority. “Do you really not have a specialized nesting space?”

Ha-Joon’s eyebrows furrowed. “The omegas nest in their rooms or in the dorm’s common room. Is there really a need for something more?”

You hummed thoughtfully before responding. “Yes, I think there is, especially because in the Stray Kids dorm arrangements, the two omegas are kept separate. I think it would be more beneficial for them to have a combined space.”

Just then, the door opened. Expecting Jisu again or maybe another clipboard person, you sat patiently until Ha-Joon could respond.

Then Bang Chan walked in.

“Hello, Ha-Joon, I just wanted to let you know-”

He cut himself off when he caught sight of you, just releasing a breathy “oh”.

He was wearing a slightly askew beanie with a few curls poking out along with a black sweatshirt and black basketball shorts. Classic Chan outfit, you thought. And then your brain promptly shut down.

After a few seconds of just staring at each other, Chan seemed to snap out of it, and cleared his throat. “I am so sorry, please forgive me, I didn’t know that there was a meeting going on.”

Ha-Joon just waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, it would be nice to have you anyway. Are you busy?”

Chan shook his head. “Ah, no I was actually coming here to tell you that the boys are heading home a bit early. They were a bit excited about the new caretaker and couldn’t focus so Lino got fed up and ended practice.” The entire time he spoke, he kept glancing back at you. “I was just going to head to my studio and get some work done but if you want me here, I’ll gladly stay.”

Ha-Joon nodded. “Of course! Speaking of the new caretaker…”

You stood up and bowed quickly. “Hello, my name is Y/N and I will be the new caretaker for your band. I look forward to working with you!”

You mentally patted yourself on the back for not going into cardiac arrest.

Chan smiled and bowed back at you. “Hello, I’m Chan and I look forward to working with you as well.”

You tore your eyes from his right dimple when Ha-Joon cleared his throat. “What were we talking about again?”

The three of you sat down, Chan taking the remaining seat at your side.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself down, thankful that Chan was also wearing heavy duty scent blockers. If you were able to smell him, you might have fainted.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you tried your best to recall the earlier conversation. “We were talking about a combined space for the omegas to nest.”

“Ah, yes.” Ha-joon nodded. Then he turned to Chan. “Let me know if you have any input on behalf of your members, alright?” At Chan’s nod, he started up again. “We were planning on changing the dorm arrangements, one with the four alphas and one with the betas and omegas. We would buy a new space in order to give you your own room with the omega and beta group. The boys would have to move, but they will get used to it.”

Out the corner of your eye, you could see Chan’s head tilt in confusion. Did he not know about the plan to change the living arrangements?

You frowned. “While that could work, I truly think it would be more beneficial to leave the boys in the dorms as they are and allow me to rent my own space. Acquiring a caretaker is already a big change, I don’t want to force them into anything more. Plus, I think having my own apartment would be beneficial not only for myself, but for the band as well. That way, no one feels like they’re being smothered by me, they can come and go as they choose if they need me or just want to get away, and I would like my own space for my heats until I feel comfortable enough with the band. Also, while most caretakers do tend to focus on omegas, it’s important to not prioritize one’s mental health over another’s based on their secondary gender. I hope that each and every member of Stray Kids will feel comfortable coming to me when they need to.”

You could feel Chan’s gaze on you, but tried to ignore it in favor of being taken seriously.

When Ha-Joon seemed to be considering it, Chan stepped in. “I also think the boys would prefer keeping the living arrangements as they are. We move between each dorm so freely anyway, there would really be no point in making a huge deal by moving. Plus, I like Y/N’s idea of a shared omega space. Felix and Hyunjin like to nest together but it’s a bit of a hassle to move all the right blankets and pillows and stuffed animals from one dorm to the other when they want to.”

Fuck. Your name sounds good in his voice.

Double fuck. He’s supporting your thoughts and putting his band mates first.

How were you supposed to work with this guy when everything he does makes you want to eat him?

Nervously fidgeting with the edge of your own scent blockers, you hoped that despite the lesser quality, no one would be able to smell how much you were mentally drooling. Thankfully, it was company policy to provide the heavy duty scent blockers for employees that worked closely with idols, so hopefully you would be receiving some soon.

After a few moments of deliberation, Ha-Joon looked down at his papers and wrote something down. “You both bring up good points. I’ll talk to Kwang-sun and see if we can decide what the best course of action is.”

Looking back up at you, he said, “Y/N, it was great meeting you but I’m afraid we’ve run out of time. Here is my card, and please email me if you have any questions.”

Taking the card he offered, you stood up and bowed at him. “Thank you so much for everything, I look forward to working with you!”

Turning to Chan, you felt your breath hitch.

He stood up as well, and you both bowed at each other before he clasped one of your hands with both of his. “I’m really excited to get to know you, Y/N, and so are the rest of the boys.”

Trying not to melt, you did your best to respond. “Yes, I can’t wait to meet them! I really hope you’ll all like me.”

His smile honestly could have blinded you. “I know we will! It was great talking to you, see you tomorrow!”

Tomorrow? You were seeing him again tomorrow? Did that include the rest of the boys as well?

Just then, Jisu walked in. She looked a bit surprised at Chan’s presence, but she recovered quickly, smiling at you. “The car is waiting to take you back to your hotel, Y/N. Are you ready?”

Saying your final goodbyes, you followed her back out of the room and down the hall. Realizing that at some point, Chang-ho had left, you decided to ask her about that.

She frowned. “Chang-ho? Oh, yes, he was there monitoring you while Justin was also being watched because we were on the fence about who to assign to which group.”

When you stopped walking, she turned around and looked directly into your eyes. “Both Stray Kids and ITZY wanted you as their first choice, Y/N.”

Wait. What?

Two globally famous bands wanted to hire you as their caretaker? And they chose you themselves instead of the company choosing for them? They specifically wanted you?

At your obvious surprise, Jisu just shrugged and turned back around. “I suppose your resume must have been impressive.”

Instead of going crazy because what the fuck, you decided to focus on one question circling your thoughts. “Okay, so why was I chosen to be assigned to Stray Kids instead of ITZY?”

You could see her press her lips together before she answered. “I don’t know exactly, I wasn’t too involved in the process, but I would guess it’s because you have more credits that they trusted you with more people.”

Another question surfaced. “Wait, I thought you were just here to escort us around and make sure we all got where we needed to be, but you seem to know a lot about this. What exactly is it that you do?”

You could see her eyes flicker over to you before she looked straight ahead again. “I also studied to be a caretaker for a few months when I was younger. But then, I decided I wanted to be more on the business side of things. They have me working as an assistant manager but because of my background, they use me as sort of a liaison between the management and the caretaking departments.”

By now, you had arrived outside and in front of the car. You turned back to Jisu. “I hope we get to spend some more time together then, Jisu.”

Her eyes widened a bit before she smiled. “Yes,” she purred, “I hope we do too.”

By the time you got back to your hotel room and all cleaned up, putting on a loose top and old sweatpants, it was dark out.

You decided to order room service and while you waited for your food, you wrote down everything you could think of that you wanted to talk to the company about.

Finally, you heard a knock on your door.

Since you were expecting room service, you didn’t look through the peephole and just swung the door open abruptly.

The person at your door was not room service.

“Uh,” Chan smiled and gave a tiny wave. “Hi.”

…

A/N: What’s this? An interaction with Chan? And now he’s showing up at your hotel room? Ehhhhhhhh?

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oceanpulls · 19 days

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Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross have a plan to soundtrack everything

Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross – best friends and Nine Inch Nails bandmates – found unlikely creative fulfilment (and a couple of Oscars) by reassessing what they had to offer as musicians. Now they’re thinking even bigger, and imagining an artistic empire of their own making

By Zach Baron

Photography by Danielle Levitt

Every weekday, Trent Reznor makes his way from his house, a cottagey sprawl behind a white wall in a canyon on Los Angeles’s Westside, to a studio he’s built in his backyard. There he meets his best friend, bandmate, and business partner, Atticus Ross, and they get to work. Reznor and Ross observe the same hours, Monday to Friday, 11am to 7pm. “We show up,” Reznor told me. “We’re not late. We’re not coming in to start to fuck around.” It’s a methodical, orderly existence that Reznor could not have foreseen in the ’90s, when he was fronting Nine Inch Nails and struggling with a drug-and-alcohol problem that was his answer to success. “I would do anything to avoid writing a song,” Reznor said. “I’d rewire the studio 50 times.”

Now Reznor has a wife, Mariqueen Maandig, five children, and multiple jobs. He is sober. Since 2010, when the director David Fincher asked Reznor and Ross to score The Social Network, for which Reznor and Ross won an Oscar, the two men have had steady employment composing for film. This year, Reznor and Ross are also starting a yet-to-be-named company, built around storytelling in multiple disciplines: film production, fashion, a music festival, and a venture with Epic Games.

And then, of course, there is the oldest and perhaps still the most complicated of Reznor’s jobs: being the frontman of Nine Inch Nails. In 1988 Reznor formed what was then a one-man band; the first two full-length records Nine Inch Nails released, Pretty Hate Machine(1989) and The Downward Spiral (1994), have sold more than eight million copies. (Over subsequent years and subsequent albums, the band has since crossed the 20 million mark in sales.) In the ’90s, for a time, Nine Inch Nails were ubiquitous: a phenomenon on the level of Nirvana or Dr Dre. During that decade, the success of the band nearly killed Reznor. “I didn’t feel prepared to process how disorientating that was,” he said. “How much it can distort your personality.”

These days, Nine Inch Nails, which Ross joined as a full-time member in 2016, present a different problem – how do you make something old, something so already well-defined, new again? There are years when Reznor feels like he has the answers and years when he’s less certain. He has put the band on hiatus more than once; after the last Nine Inch Nails tour, in 2022, Reznor deliberately took a break from playing shows as well. “For the first time in a long time I wasn’t sure: what’s the tour going to say?” Reznor told me. “What do I have to say right now? We can still play those songs real good. Maybe we can come up with a new production. But it wasn’t screaming at me: this is what to do right now.”

But he and Ross still come to work, daily, in search of transcendence. “We sit in here every day,” Reznor said. “And a portion of the time organically becomes us just figuring out who we are as people and processing life and a kind of therapy session. And in those endless hours it’s come up: why do we want to do this? And the reason is because we both feel the most in touch with God and fulfilled.”

It is easy to make things when you are a teenager growing up in rural Pennsylvania, near the Ohio border, as Reznor was, and you have nothing to lose and everything to gain; it is considerably harder, once you’ve got older, and found a way to make things that people like, to keep going. It’s an old story: the act of creation can lift you up, but those sharp gifts can also destroy you, and if you make it past that, the sheer blissful regularity of life with money and a family can even you out so thoroughly that there is no friction left to work with. You look inside the cupboard and the cupboard is bare, or it’s a mansion and living inside of it is a person you’re bored of, and so you stop looking. But Reznor and Ross have never stopped looking, and the search for that magical feeling of finding something – that feeling of, in Reznor’s words, “I don’t know where it came from. I don’t know how I just did what I did, but I’ve channelled it into something that worked” – is still the thing that organises their days and their moods.

We were talking in their studio, which was low-lit and cold and full of synthesizers’ blinking lights. Reznor was on a sofa and Ross sat in a chair nearby. The two men first met in the ’90s, when Reznor signed Ross’s band, 12 Rounds, to Reznor’s Nothing Records. Soon after, they became friends, and then musical collaborators. “I was just getting sober,” Reznor said, “and I was in a pretty fragile transitional phase. And I just hit it off with Atticus right off the bat. And part of it was, he was someone who was on much firmer ground, in a mentor-y kind of way, than I was.”

Ross is two years younger than Reznor, but when they met, he’d already been through certain things Reznor was just getting around to. “I got clean when I was very young,” Ross told me. “So I had a bit more experience than him. Put it like this: I knew you could have fun without being high.”

Their friendship has been a constant in both their lives since. “I don’t know if parts of us are broken and we don’t feel good enough,” Reznor said, staring at the ceiling of the studio, “but we know if we work as hard as we can and do the best work we can, it fixes something. At the core of it, that’s what unites us creatively. On top of that, I think his take on the world and role in life helps me understand my place and not feel as detached in some ways.”

Reznor often jokes, or simply explains, that he is a “quart low” on whatever it is that makes people happy. “I think we can both, on our own devices, run below zero as a baseline,” Reznor said. “I don’t mean manic depression, I just mean we don’t take compliments well. It’s like when we won the Oscar, it was the day after: ‘Let’s take today guilt-free, kind of say fuck yeah.’ And tomorrow we’ll have settled back down to a few feet below sea level.”

In their years of collaborating with each other, both men have found some mutual reassurance – a little lift. Reznor gestured at Ross.

“I remember something he said to me – I don’t know if you want me to say this or not – in one of our talks years ago: ‘Here’s what I want today.’”

“I see what’s coming,” Ross said, nervously.

“I just want to feel OK,” Reznor said, quoting his friend. “I want to feel like I’m OK.”

One day this winter, Reznor greeted me at the door of their studio – in the course of reporting this story, I never saw him anywhere else – wearing a black hoodie made by the synthesizer company Moog, black jeans, and black running shoes. At 58, Reznor still retains the angular intensity and jet-black hair of his youth, but time and fatherhood seem to have made him quicker to smile. He looks a little like a college professor now, or an unusually-well-cared-for software engineer. He led me back, past walls of unused gear and several black-clad mannequins, all of which startled me, to their primary workspace, where Ross – a tall west Londoner (he grew up in Ladbroke Grove) with a stern face and a pleasantly reedy voice – sat at a computer, also all in black. (Once, I asked the two men whether their upcoming clothing line would feature any colour. “No,” Reznor said, incredulously. “Of course not.”)

They were on deadline for two films at the moment, including Luca Guadagnino’s forthcoming Queer. “But we’re trying not to work,” Reznor said, drily. Leaned up against one wall was a photo of the two in tuxedos, accepting the Academy Award for best original score for their work on The Social Network. Reznor had contributed to soundtracks before, in the ’90s, but he’d never formally scored a film until The Social Network.

But Reznor and Ross quickly realised that the work, in some ways, wasn’t so different from songwriting. “What do we do when we write a song?” Reznor asked. “We’re trying to emotionally connect with somebody.” Take the Mark Zuckerberg character in The Social Network:“Here’s somebody who thinks this idea is so important that it’s worth kind of fucking your friends over for it. And then realising maybe it wasn’t worth it, or I didn’t realise how I’d feel if I got what I wanted at the price of this. I can relate to that in my own language. Suddenly there’s music.”

“I’m grateful not to be as angry and frustrated and desperate as I have felt in the past,” Reznor said. “I couldn’t have predicted that I would feel this level of fulfilment.”

And Reznor found that he enjoyed the exercise of solving someone else’s problems instead of his own. “There’s something about not being the boss and working again in service to something that I initially felt guilty for feeling kind of fulfilled by in a weird way.”

Reznor said that on another Fincher film, Mank, the director suggested: “What if it sounded like maybe inspired by Bernard Herrmann and as if it were recorded in 1935 and this film canister sat on the shelf for 60 years?” OK, interesting. (Ross and Reznor were nominated for that one too.)

On the first film the two men scored for Guadagnino, Bones and All, “we got a cut of that that was nearly four hours long with no music and we kind of thought, Oh, fuck,” Reznor said. “Four hours we sat without a pee break, transfixed. It didn’t need music. And when you watch that you approach it differently.” Then Guadagnino brought them Challengers, due for worldwide release in April. Reznor said, “He started us down a path, saying, ‘What if it was very loud techno music through the whole film?’” (This is exactly what it turned out to be.)

“I wish I had his notes,” Ross said of Guadagnino. “His notes were so fucking funny on what each piece was meant to do.”

“Oh, yeah,” Reznor said. “‘Unending homoerotic desire.’ It was all a variation on those three words.”

They liked the challenge of scoring, they found, and that feeling of not being in control. They also liked the way it made them crave being in control again: “It makes you more inspired to work on other stuff when we’re finished,” Reznor said. “Even if it’s just, Thank God it’s done now and we can appreciate the freedom we had before we gave it up.”

These days, Reznor and Ross also like having jobs that let them be at home, around their families. Both men had tumultuous or lonely lives when they were younger; both men have found that fatherhood soothes certain unresolved aspects of their pasts. Ross has three kids, and “probably the greatest reward is how balanced and happy they all are compared to – certainly my growing up was an unusual sort of scenario. It was a fairly chaotic youth.” Ross comes from a notable English family, but his immediate lineage was more unstable. “My dad had a club called Flipper’s Roller Boogie Palace in LA in the ’70s,” Ross told me. “He went bankrupt in England and had a judgment passed against him where he couldn’t talk to a bank manager for 15 years. So he moved here and opened this sort of Studio 54 on roller skates on La Cienega and Santa Monica.” Ross held up a coffee-table book full of photos of the club. “You don’t need to look at it, but it was just a mad life. So I grew up in some madness.”

It is particularly endearing to see Reznor, who at a distance was a fierce and terrifying figure in his 20s and 30s, find domestic bliss. I am old enough that my adolescence coincided neatly with the S&M-flavoured, I wanna fuck you like an animal era of Nine Inch Nails; when I was leaving Reznor’s house one day, I noted with some amusement the cheerful mundanity of a basketball hoop in the backyard. “I’m grateful not to be as angry and frustrated and desperate as I have felt in the past,” Reznor told me. “I couldn’t have predicted that there was a world where I would have a sizeable family with kids and feel the level of fulfilment and comfort and be able to live in that.”

Was that something you were consciously seeking before you found it?

“I think I had some abandonment issues from my parents splitting up, or feeling I never fit in, and I’d gotten accustomed to being on my own. And largely due to my own, I think, inability to really be intimate with people, or share or be open or know how to be a friend or a partner to somebody… Trying that out and doing it with pure and full immersion has led to an unexpectedly great outcome.”

-----------------------

The other film project Reznor and Ross were on deadline for was Scott Derrickson’s The Gorge, a science-fiction thriller starring Miles Teller and Anya Taylor-Joy. They were working on a lengthy, music-dependent scene that they’d already mostly scored. But, Ross said, “the director wants it to be a bit more, I can’t think of a better word than just a bit more scary and intense.” They weren’t sure what that directive meant, exactly, but they were content – they were happy – to try to figure it out: to enter the room once again, carrying nothing, and to try to leave it with something that didn’t exist before.

Ross called up the scene on a monitor at the centre of a long mixing board: Teller and Taylor-Joy in an evil-looking spiky forest. Reznor and Ross have somewhat fluid roles in their collaboration, but today the plan was for Reznor to improvise some music while Ross edited and manipulated it in real time. “Atticus’ superpower,” Reznor said, “is that I can come up with a melody and a chord change, and he can make that sit on the scene in a way that is meticulous, and mind-numbingly boring to watch him do.”

A studio assistant, also in all black, presented himself to help Reznor set up a microphone and a cello next to a keyboard that sat underneath another computer monitor. Ross hit play on the footage and what they’d already completed of the score, a kind of haunted, chanting murmur. “It’s basically atmosphere at the moment,” Ross said. Next to him was a synthesizer whose make and model he asked me not to print and which the two men use as a kind of sound ecosystem to feed stuff into.

Reznor began by pushing down on the piano’s keyboard, while with his other hand he manipulated the sound with a flat synthesizer on the desk in front of him. It began as a kind of mellow pan flute thing, and then, with a push of a few buttons, became more of a sad, Social Network-ish plonk. Ross stood up and started tapping the synthesizer to his left, and the sounds Reznor made began to loop and accumulate – little melodic figures that plunged in and out of feedback. Reznor moved from the piano to the microphone, where he sang a few soft passages in a baritone falsetto, more sad than spooky, and then to the cello, which he played slowly and choppily. Ross moved between the computer and the synthesizer, trying to harness it all as it built to a loud, echoing crescendo.

After about 20 minutes, Reznor sat back in his chair, and Ross soon followed suit. Everything got quiet again. “It’s going fishing,” Reznor said to me, shrugging. “Sometimes something happens.”

-----------------------

Or, sometimes, everything happens. One of the first things you see when you arrive at Reznor’s home studio are two original paintings by the Yorkshire artist Russell Mills – on the left, a razor against a rusty red background; on the right, a decaying yellow-and-black collage – that ultimately became the insert and the cover art for Nine Inch Nails’ The Downward Spiral. This is the record with “Hurt” and “Closer” on it. It’s an album Reznor nearly didn’t survive.

Why do I bring this up? Well. If I may, for a moment, sound like the ageing dude in a black T-shirt leaning against the back wall of a bar where you’re just trying to be young and free of recitations of what the year 1994 felt like, there was a different quality to the way things would happen in music. Bands would labour for years, unknown, and then just get struck by lightning, is the best way I can put it: one day, you’re just a guy, and then one radio station plays your song, and then every radio station plays your song, and everyone is listening to those radio stations, because there is nothing else to do, and then MTV loops your video, and everyone watches it because, again, there is nothing else to do, and all of a sudden you are known by millions of bored people in a way that doesn’t quite happen now. This is a gross oversimplification, of course, but here Reznor is, one of the very few people who have experienced the thing I’m describing. I thought: let’s just ask him what that was like.

Reznor said, OK, he could tell me exactly what it felt like. He gave me a single moment: Woodstock ’94, which Nine Inch Nails almost didn’t play – “it seemed like it was going to be gross, to be honest with you” – but ultimately did. “And when we got there, it was terrifying,” Reznor said. “It was way bigger than I pictured in my head and walking on stage. But this is the point of the story: I knew. You could feel like you were in the right place at the right time.”

In retrospect, how did you handle success?

“Had a drink. That’s what sent me down the path. I wasn’t the guy that, you know, at 12 years old cracked a beer. That wasn’t it at all. Just, I feel anxious around people. I’m not sure how to act, especially now that you’re someone that’s supposed to act a certain way. There’s a projection. It feels uncomfortable to walk down the street and people are looking at you because they recognise you. That’s weird. Suddenly everybody wants to be your friend and you’re the coolest. Everyone wants to date you and shit like that.” Reznor said he found it was “easier to have a beer before I go in that room, and then a couple of beers before I go in that room. And pretty soon over a period of time, wait a minute, things start to get out of control. And you know how the story goes.”

Here’s how the story went: Reznor began to wonder if Trent Reznor could ever live up to the Nine Inch Nails guy that people had in their heads. “The reason I was having to drink was to fix that problem, my own insecurity. But the net result is: I’m not really who I am because now I’ve got drugs or alcohol in my system and I’m not thinking as who I really am. And that comes into focus once one gets sober and has time to reflect and kind of think about what got you there and shit you did.”

Eventually, Reznor got sober, and built himself back up. Today he’s happy to talk about all of it, obviously, but he and Ross have done a lot together since – 10 albums’ worth of Nine Inch Nails (Ross was an official member of the band for five of them), among other things – and Reznor is, by nature, not one to dwell too much on the past of a band that he’s still very much trying to figure out. “We’re not fans of resting on our laurels. We’ve been afraid of thinking about nostalgia. That’s a whole other conversation, but the reality is we’re getting older and our fans are getting older and that’s a fact. And I think, say, during the pandemic, not that you asked this question, but as I’m sure everybody was, I was pretty genuinely freaked out and very clearly came into focus: I’ve got to protect my family.”

He was consumed by fear, by terror of what might happen, of what he might do about it. “I can’t even fit all my kids in a car,” Reznor said. “But in the midst of that anxiety, sitting alone in here, I found comfort in nostalgia. I found comfort looking back at things from my youth that I’ve been afraid to even allow myself to glimpse at because it meant artistic death. Because one has to look forward. One can’t be self-referential. I was so afraid growing up in a little shitty town. I could see people that thought the highlight of their life is junior in high school catching the football. You know what I mean? That’s it. That was the peak. I don’t want to fucking be that person. I could see my fate if I stayed in that town.”

In those moments sitting by yourself, what were you getting nostalgic for?

“I miss parts of living in Pennsylvania. I miss a simpler life that I grew up with. I really loved the first INXS album in 1983. I was a senior in high school, and when I listen to it now I could almost start crying because it fucking reminds me of driving in a shitty fucking car in the summer in Pennsylvania. You know what I mean? Man. I allowed myself to kind of immerse myself in who I was at that time, and what it felt like.”

Reznor had been trying to remake himself ever since he left where he grew up, and now here he is in Los Angeles, over 40 years later. “And I kind of went on a deep dive for a while and allowed myself to realise: I am who I am. And the things that made me weren’t the cool things. I’d always been ashamed of: I came from a shitty town; I didn’t have an exotic upbringing; shitty education, you know what I mean? That’s who I am. I’m not sure what the point of all that confession was.”

Well, except: “It plays into where I’m at now.”

-----------------------

The last time I saw Reznor and Ross, it was once again in their studio. They were sitting very still. Had they been working before I got there?

“We were for a little bit,” Ross said. “And then nervously thinking about you arriving.”

Really? It’s OK if that’s the truth.

“That’s the truth,” Reznor said. They’d just been in this room for the past weeks, months – years, really, he said. Head down. Working. He gestured at me. “It’s a different mindset.”

And “I was thinking about something you said the other day,” Reznor said. That was on a Friday. I’d asked a somewhat rude question about their soundtrack work, which was: why would Reznor or Ross work for anyone else when they didn’t have to?

Now it was Monday. “I thought about that over the weekend,” Reznor said. “It’s like, Why are we doing this? The idea comes from what we think is a good place of ‘Let’s break it up. Let’s get sent down the rabbit hole on certain things and feel like we’ve got tasks being assigned to us rather than us just blindly seeing what happens creatively.’ ”

But, he said, “I think coming out of a stretch of a number of films in a row, I want some time of seeing where the wind blows versus: there’s a looming date on a calendar coming up and we’d better get our shit together. And certainly in the last few weeks I’ve been itching to do what we often do, which is just come in and let’s start something that we’re not even sure what it’s for.”

Some of that energy, he and Ross said, would probably become the next Nine Inch Nails album. Doing soundtrack work, Reznor said, had “managed to make Nine Inch Nails feel way more exciting than it had been in the past few years. I’d kind of let it atrophy a bit in my mind for a variety of reasons.”

But now, “I do feel excited about starting on the next record,” Ross said. “I think we’re in a place now where we kind of have an idea.”

And then there was the company, which Reznor and Ross spent the last two years putting together, piece by piece, with the help of John Crawford, their longtime art director, and the producer Jonathan Pavesi. The idea was, what could they do that they hadn’t already done around storytelling? Some of that might take the form of examining Nine Inch Nails from yet another angle – “we’ve been working on homegrown IP around Nine Inch Nails, stories we could tell, and we’re working on developing those in a way that are not what you think they’d be.” (As in: not a biopic.) They also have a show in development with Christopher Storer, the creator of The Bear, they said, and a film with the veteran horror director Mike Flanagan.

Reznor put on a pair of black-rimmed glasses so that he could examine a piece of paper next to him. “We just wrote some notes because I knew I’d forget what the fuck I’m about to say.” There was a short film coming with the artist Susanne Deeken. There was a clothing venture, a T-shirt line made in collaboration with a notable designer whose name they’d like to keep secret for now, which will arrive this summer. There was a music festival that they were currently planning, “where we’re going to debut as performing as composers along with a roster of other interesting people,” and a record label, both scheduled to launch around the same time.

And for two years they’ve been working with Epic Games on something that is not exactly a video game, in the UEFN ecosystem Epic has built around Fortnite – “It’s what Zuckerberg was trying to bullshit us into calling the metaverse,” Reznor said. “You can’t say that word any more, but in terms of the tool kit, thinking about it through the lens of what could be possible for artists and experiences, we thought that would be an interesting way to tell a story through that.”

They were nervously contemplating the prospect of having day jobs again, of being responsible for more than just themselves. Early on, as they contemplated launching the company, they’d sat down with David Fincher to ask him about movie production: how does it work? “And he’s like, oh, you’re fucked,” Reznor said. “I can distil a two-hour conversation into that. Because, he said, ‘I know you guys, and no one’s going to care more than you do, and you will not be able to let it go.’”

Reznor has actually had this experience before, of being sucked into a project bigger than Nine Inch Nails and having it take over his entire life. Years ago he worked as an executive, first for Beats and then for Apple, building a streaming-music service.

“Trent was very clear when we started,” Ross said. “We cannot let this get into Apple terrain.”

Reznor laughed. “What I mean by that is – I will make this brief; I’m trying to think through what I’m about to talk shit on. Just to self-censor for a second.”

Reznor paused for a moment and then explained. For years, he said, he’d wondered: what would make a good streaming service? This was before the advent of Spotify in the US or Apple Music. Jimmy Iovine, Reznor’s old label boss – later, Iovine would also become Ross’s brother-in-law, after he married Ross’s sister, Liberty, in 2016 – was launching a music service at Beats, which was then acquired by Apple, and Iovine said to Reznor: come try to make this thing a reality. And Reznor surprised himself by saying yes.

“It was a unique opportunity to work at the biggest company in the world at a high level,” Reznor said. “And it was interesting, the scale of the people that you reach through those platforms, just the global amount of influence those platforms can have was exciting. The political situation I was dropped into was not as exciting.”

Reznor enjoyed working with Apple’s design team and its engineering team. “But it made me realise how much I want to be an artist first and foremost.” Reznor also became discouraged with the possibility of fixing the problem that he was trying to solve. “I think the terrible payout of streaming services has mortally wounded a whole tier of artists that make being an artist unsustainable. And it’s great if you’re Drake, and it’s not great if you’re Grizzly Bear. And the reality is: take a look around. We’ve had enough time for the whole ‘All the boats rise’ argument to see they don’t all rise. Those boats rise. These boats don’t. They can’t make money in any means. And I think that’s bad for art. And I thought maybe at Apple there could be influence to pay in a more fair or significant way, because a lot of these services are just a rounding error compared to what comes in elsewhere, unlike Spotify where their whole business is that. But that’s tied to a lot of other political things and label issues, and everyone’s trying to hold onto their little piece of the pie and it is what it is. I also realise, I think that people just want to turn the faucet on and have music come in. They’re not really concerned about all the romantic shit I thought mattered.”

Anyway, Reznor said, turning to Ross, “That was a long-winded way of saying, when we talked about this company, I just said, ‘Be aware of what success might look like because it will turn into something that eats up lots of cycles and time and attention and energy.’ ”

But, Ross said, taking on new responsibilities was, paradoxically, also a way to stay a little younger. “I know we’ve all been talking about being dads and being adults and all that,” Ross said, “and there is a part of me that thinks: it’s important to keep the kid alive.” Meaning the child inside yourself, rather than the one you’re responsible for.

He told a story about him and Reznor visiting the director David Lynch at his house to work with him on the 2017 revival of Twin Peaks. “And I don’t know how old he was at the time,” Ross said, “but he was older. But just walking in there, and he had the room set up and there’s a screen there, there’s some chairs here and there’s some musical instruments there and he’s smoking a cigarette. There’s nothing old about that dude. You know what I mean?”

Lynch showed them some Lynchian footage. It was incredible, even if they didn’t quite know what they were looking at. Lynch was probably 70 or 71 at the time. “But it’s that thing of it doesn’t matter how old he is,” Ross said. “He is alive. It’s that bit of it all that one doesn’t want to lose with age.”

The point was, Reznor said: “Let’s try some stuff. We’re bored. We are. You know what I mean? We’re grateful. We enjoy doing films. We can write a better Nine Inch Nails record, I think. We can put on a cooler tour. We are aimed to do that. But man, what if we try to do that?” Meaning, the company. “What if we could take what we’re good at, like we did with film? We identified something I think we’re good at and we figured out how to apply it to something else. What if we take that theory and try it on some other things? And that’s led us into: we’re not beaten down completely yet. And it feels exciting. That’s what matters to us right now.”

-----------------------

Styled by Mobolaji Dawodu Grooming by Johnny Stuntz using Dior Capture Totale Hyalushot SFX Makeup by Malina Stearns Grills by Alligator Jesus Tailoring by Yelena Travkina Set design by Lizzie Lang at 11th House Agency Produced by Emily O’Meara at JN Production

#my ninposting #my transcription #trent reznor #atticus ross #nin #nine inch nails #trent #reznor #gq

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temyteabag · 22 days

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🔥Ablaze - from Kismet

I loved Kismet! even if they apeared like, 4 mins. I would like to write something about this fellas but first I think I need to put some more personality so let's start with Ablaze.

I think Ablaze would have like a Pop-Punk vibe (I drew him while I was lisenning to this playlist "it's not a phase, mom. it's a lifestyle" || Pop Punk Playlist of sinpai https://youtu.be/Wp_VrvtGjqE?si=KUtVonJOiF3Izf8q and I was like, "yeah, this can fit him")

I have this head-canon that his parent could have come from the Rock territory and ended up in the Troll Tree but was picked up for not being like the rest of the Trolls in the tree, alas, leaving Ablaze orphaned or smth like that.

I think that he could like the energy drinks like gatorate or monster and maybe have a thing for smoking.

I also have this idea of him being the guitarrist of the band and the oldest member and I'm still trying to figure out more little details for his persona.

Also, I'll stick on my head canon of Ablaze being, if not a Rock Troll, at least half Rock, so like, a Pop-Rock Troll based on this point of his trivia in the Trolls Trollpedia:

In the Spanish dub of Trolls Band Together, Ablaze said "¡Qué se arme el rock and roll!" roughly translating to "Let the rock and roll happen!/Let's make rock and roll happen!" or "Let's create rock and roll!/Let rock and roll be put together!" so he's basically saying, "Let's rock and roll", which could hint to him being a Rock Troll. If this is to be true, then we can assume Branch joined Ablaze and Kismet after Trolls World Tour.

Also just a little something, in the drawing I tried to put some more color into Ablaze's hair and it ended up having a lot of blues and turquoise colors, but I promise is a pale yellow, orange, a red-magenta and a more reddish purple.

#temyteabag #fyp #fypツ #drawing #fanart #trolls fandom #trolls fanart #trolls #trolls kismet #trolls ablaze #punk rock #character card #vacations #idk what else to tag #i love trolls #i have an obsession #a problem #love it #good evening

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end3rs-eye · 4 months

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Trolls Band Together and the Way it Presents Family Relations

Do you ever watch a movie then get possessed and write a 1623 word long essay about the complicated nuances of sibling relationships? ….me neither

Before we get into it I’m just going to say that a boy band made out of teens and children is never going to end well (look up the jackson 5 if you don’t know who they are already). Seriously, who let them do this? Also as a disclaimer I am the oldest of two so I will obviously not have as much experience with the position of the middle child or the youngest. This is written with the rough estimate of bro-zone ages as John Dory (~19), Bruce/Spruce (~17), Clay (~15), Floyd (~14), Branch (~5). Here's why I’m going with these: link. This got a little (a lot) out of hand but I hope you enjoy :]]

John Dory

John Dory’s role in the family is the leader, the responsible one. He embodies the oldest child syndrome, defined as: Obsession, desire for perfection, high self-esteem, or pressure to meet parents' expectations (link). For the most part John Dory is the closest thing they have to an adult (excluding Grandma who didn’t seem like she was doing much). Keep in mind he’s in his late teens in Bro-zone. He’s given this HUGE amount of responsibility of watching his four younger brothers and isn’t really given credit for it, only being “the bossy one”. This is mentioned once in the movie during their fight on the bus, but isn’t really mentioned afterwards or anything. This is pretty typical for the oldest sibling. Having to take on huge amounts of responsibility at a young age.

John Dory wants his brothers to be happy so he pushes them to be perfect. He forgets there are other ways to be than just perfect. He ended up pushing them and pushing them until he had pushed them all away. Because of this want, this need to be perfect, John Dory ends up not realizing that people, including himself, are allowed to change. This is seen with his constant babying of branch and deadnaming of Bruce. He even says “Well, I wasn’t allowed to change! I’m the oldest. I had to be the leader”

Bruce/Spruce

Bruce is introduced as the hearthrob with chiseled abs. There are a couple of main features that people associate with the heartthrob character. Hot, irresponsible, and noncommittal. Out of all Bro-zone members, Bruce has the most healthy relationship with his boy band history. He balances what he hated in Bro-zone with what he liked. He disguards his name and any association with the band (although his reaction to John Dory calling him Spruce shows that he is recognized from time to time). He settles down quicker than any other member, something that goes directly against heartthrob stereotypes and has an (frankly unbelievable) amount of children. But despite separating himself from Bro-zone, Bruce stays in the spotlight in his co-ownership of Vacay Island.

Clay

Clay falls into the common comedy relief middle child trope. Clay is also the one that suffers the most from stereotyping during the Bro-zone era. The audience's first introduction of Clay is him being told that he needs to continue being the funny one despite his protests.

This is made even more evident when he’s introduced post Bro-zone breakup. Clay spends the majority of the 20 years apart being the opposite of the fun guy. He feels like he has something to prove. Clay tries his hardest to distance himself from Bro-zone and in the end he dedicates years to it. His entire personality is trying to escape the stereotypes he was put in as a teen.

Floyd

I have SO MANY feelings about Floyd. He’s the one in the Bro-zone that we get the most character development (other than Branch of course). Floyd’s role in the family is the mediator. He’s the one who watches for the other’s mental health and steps in when John Dory gets a little too intense. In the opening scene he not only checks in with John Dory, telling him to take deep breaths, he also helps Little Branch through some first show nerves. It doesn’t seem like this is the first time either. Floyd is also the one that seems most reluctant to break up the band and to leave Branch alone so it’s clear how much he cares for Branch. He ends up being the rock of the family. Branch tells Poppy that Floyd would be the one brother that he’d be willing to go on another adventure for.*

*I’m not sure if this is actually true, Branch also might do this for his other brothers but definitely not as willingly

Comparatively, Floyd changed the least after the band broke up. He takes a mediator role even in Velvet and Veneer’s relationship and continues to show a people pleasing, other-people-first attitude. This proves true to the real life people pleaser experience, these habits stick around long after leaving the environment that created it. Velvet and Veneer stealing Floyd’s talent is a metaphor for the way that people take and take from a selfless person like Floyd until the person is completely burnt out. Some, like Veneer, are more worried about the person's health but still end up taking it. Others, like Velvet, don't care and take it without thought.

Another key factor with Floyd is his selfless, self-sacrificial nature. During both John Dory and Branch’s visits to him in the dressing room, Floyd insists that they leave him to save themselves despite his life being in danger.

Branch

Branch is basically abandonment issues personified. Okay it’s a little more complicated than that but when you get down to it yeah. When I think about Branch, maybe 6 years old, in a boyband it makes me think of family vlog channels. IT’S SO INCREDIBLY UNHEALTHY. I promise I’m normal about this (lying).

Of course these problems start with the fact that he was ACTUALLY ABANDONED??? Then these abandonment issues are only accentuated by his grandma’s death. Whether or not Floyd meant to, he put the weight of taking care of Grandma on Branch’s shoulders. This just means he felt worse being the major cause of her death. This creates the feeling that he’s not only been abandoned again (this time in death) he feels like it’s his fault. Fun!

Branch shows a very interesting combination of self isolation and building his life around making people stay. Particularly his brothers. Branch hides in the fear of being abandoned again, first from the outside world and then from Poppy in his refusal to open up. At the same time he says he doesn’t want them [his brothers] to come back into his life then makes a bunker based on the base they wanted to build together. He keeps wearing Floyd’s old jacket and he holds onto the dream they once had. I mean for someone who claims to want his brothers out of his life did you SEE those puppy dog eyes when they told him they were planning to separate after rescuing Floyd.

Branch’s actual place in the family is the baby of the family. Although this label may have fit him 20 years ago, Branch has long outgrown it. Not that anyone else cares (other than Floyd). His family continues to treat him as the baby and ignore his maturity and needs. Upon reuniting with his older siblings Branch is promptly picked up, pinched, and generally treated like a child. Even Clay and Bruce who except each other in the ways that they’ve changed, still treat Branch like a small child. Now he feels like he has to prove that he isn’t a child, i.e. refusing the pacifier from Baby Diamond over and over again.

In conclusion, Trolls Band Together is a wonderful movie that presents common band stereotypes and the ways that being put in boxes affect the real people behind the band. It highlights people stuck in their boxes, John Dory as the leader and Floyd as the sensitive people-pleaser. It also shows those who try (to vairing degrees of success) escape the boxes, Branch as the baby, Bruce as the heartthrob, and Clay as the funny one.

#trolls band together #trolls 3 #main tagging this bc i actually want people to see it #john dory #trolls clay #trolls floyd #branch #trolls spruce #analysis #character analysis #essay #long post #cas whispers to the void #i think thats all the tags?

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chvnnie · 2 years

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stray kids as dads

skz ot8 x reader

word count: 13.9k (1k-2k per member)

genre: fluff, some suggestive content, a dash of angst with minho - MINORS DNI

warnings: illness (stomach bug - chan), mentions of birth, jisung gets a lil mopey, mentions of food, almost oral (seungmin, fem receiving), it's just really fluffy tbh. if i missed anything - PLEASE LET ME KNOW.

summary: a day in the life of dad stray kids

a/n: i have baby fever and i'm making it everyone's problem. also sometimes i write fluff - this brought me lots of comfort so i hope it does for you as well.

this is a work of fiction. this fic in no way represents stray kids members as people or the band as a whole. you are responsible for the media you consume. please read responsibly.

taglist: @lix-ables, @rachalixie, @agustd-essert, @gibbysupremeacyisreal, @katieraven, @miamormi, @woahfruity, @isilentprincess

Bang Chan

When you’re expecting, everyone tells you to get all the sleep you can, because it’ll be a while before you get a full night’s sleep again. All these things about “sleep when the baby sleeps” or “you won’t ever be able to catch up”. In Chan’s case, he found the lack of sleep the easiest part of parenting. He never slept anyway, what difference did a baby make?

Chan functions best between the hours of midnight and 5 am, which made him the obvious choice to take over night time feedings/diaper changes. You were exhausted, Chan wasn’t, so what was the point in waking you up?

He spent most nights in his home studio after you fell asleep, keeping the baby monitor on full volume so he could run back upstairs when needed. Most nights, when the baby stirred, he would just take them back down to the studio with him, snuggling as he worked until they fell back asleep.

It was a great routine, and Chan was almost sad when all his kids started sleeping through the night. There was no need for a monitor in his studio anymore, nobody waking up for a midnight snack or just some cuddles - he wasn’t really needed at night anymore. Chan went to his home studio less and less at night, trying to adjust to everyone else’s sleep schedule. There were some positives to this; he got to fall asleep with you now instead of after you, he never missed family breakfast anymore, he got to take his kids to school. Following everyone else’s routine was better in the long run.

Even though he missed the one on one time he got with his kids. There was something special about those late night snuggles that he wasn’t able to recreate.

A stomach bug entered the Bang household suddenly and aggressively. It started with the oldest daughter. Chan got a call from her piano teacher to come pick her up from practice, saying that she had been vomiting aggressively for the past ten minutes. He broke many traffic laws racing to his daughter's school, and then just as many to get to the ER, just to be told it’s just a really shitty stomach bug.

The bug then began to bounce around, hitting his youngest daughter next. For two days, Chan ran between the girls’ bedrooms, bringing soup, gatorade, crackers - whatever they needed, he was right there to help him. He wanted to help them feel better while keeping you and the baby away from the bug. The last thing he wanted was for either of you to get sick. So, it made sense that the next person to get sick was himself.

Chan slept on the floor of the bathroom the first night. The tile was so cool against his body, which was so hot. He opened every window in your bedroom to try and cool his body off as he laid immobilized on the bed. The second day, you came in and shut the windows.

“I understand you’re hot, Chan, but it’s snowing outside.”

With all the strength he could muster, he rushed you out of the bedroom. The top floor of the house was ground zero, and now knowing first hand how awful this bug was, he wanted you as far away from him as possible.

The third day, Chan began to feel better. He was able to make it to the bathroom without having to stop for a break, and could successfully hold down soup. With the girls fully recovered, and Chan more than halfway there, he began to feel optimistic that the bug would skip over you.

Then, the baby got sick.

Within the next 10 hours, you started to vomit.

Chan was moved out of the bedroom and into his home studio so you and the baby could quarantine in there. From what Chan could tell, you got the worst of it. The first night he sat next to you while you sobbed into the toilet, afraid to leave because you didn’t know when the nausea was going to hit again. You could barely pick your son up, who weighed at least 10 pounds less than both the girls did at 15 months. Every time he cried, you would cry harder, feeling both miserable and guilty, like you were the one who got him sick.

The only positive was that both you and the baby slept, and slept hard. The physical exhaustion from vomiting and sweating all day meant you both were getting at least 12 hours a night. That was the only time Chan would leave your side, wandering down to the couch in his home studio.

Chan tried really, really hard to fall asleep that night. He took melatonin, drank sleepy time tea, even wore an eye mask to make sure it was completely dark. He just couldn’t shut his brain off. It was jumping all over the place - from worrying about you, to coming up with new track ideas. He couldn’t calm down enough to go to sleep.

Chan removed the eye mask to check the time on his phone. 11:00. He had been trying to fall asleep for 45 minutes without success.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to him before turning on the lights and powering up all his equipment.

If he couldn’t sleep, he sure as fuck could work.

///

2:45 am, and Chan was thanking whatever God he could that Jisung’s sleep schedule was just as fucked up as his.

“I just finished the hook for this track, if you want to give it a listen.” Jisung’s groggy voice filled the empty studio. “If you’re too tired, I get it. Just thought you might want to-“

“Nah, man. I’m wide awake. Send it.” Chan said, clicking open his email to get ready for the track.

He listened to Jisung’s keyboard click as he waited. “Sent. Everyone in your house still feeling bad?”

The notification popped up before Chan could even refresh the page. “Almost everyone. The girls are feeling better, for the most part. I still feel a bit nauseous but not bad. Not as bad as…”

“Yeah, no, we got it too.” Jisung sighed. “I’m the only one who hasn’t started throwing up, so I’ve been on newborn duty.”

Chan smiled to himself, remembering when his kids were that small and the long nights spent together in the same room he was in now. “That was my favorite part.”

“Of course it was. You never sleep, it makes sense for you to take on the night shift.”

“I mean, true. But god, the alone time with them? The way their weight felt against my chest as they slept while I worked? There’s nothing like it. I miss it.”

Jisung chuckled softly. “I get that. Being needed is always nice.”

The conversation ended there, as Chan pulled up the track to review it. He smiled while listening to it; Jisung never produced a bad track, even if he hated hearing it.

“Ji, man. You just get better everyday.” Chan said as soon as the track ended.

“Shut the fuck up. The beat at 15 seconds sounds funny-“

“It’s different, but it flows well with the rest of the song.” Chan saved the track to his computer. “I want to play around with it a bit but I doubt there’s any adjustments I need to make. It’s fucking good.”

He could hear Jisung getting flustered on the other end of the phone. “You can change whatever you need. I have some other-“ his friend was cut off by a sudden wailing noise in the background. “Again? She literally fell asleep an hour ago- Ah, Channie, I gotta go.”

Chan smiled, feeling slightly envious of his friend. “Go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Jisung gave a quick goodbye before he ended the call, leaving Chan alone in silence. He pulled Jisung’s track back up, deciding to start messing around with it now. Maybe he could get it back to him before 5:00-

Chan was so caught up in the track that he didn’t hear the basement door close, or the thumping of tiny feet against the hardwood floor. He didn’t even notice his youngest daughter sneaking into the studio, dark, curly hair clinging to her face, a kangaroo doll clutched to her chest. He didn’t know she was there until he felt something tugging on his shirt sleeve.

Chan whirled around, spooked by the sudden movement. “Jesus Christ- oh. Jellybean, you scared me.” Chan said with a laugh. “What are you doing awake?”

She sniffled, and then Chan realized she had been crying. “I had a nightmare, Papa.”

“Oh, baby.” Chan scooped his daughter up, gathering her in his arms. His fingers found her hair, slowly threading them through it in an attempt to calm her down. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head as she squeezed Chan tighter. “Just want Papa.”

“I’m right here, love.” Chan slowly moved the chair back and forth in a rocking motion, like he would do when they were babies. He kissed the top of her head, sweaty from sleep. As long as she needed him, he would stay, holding her against his chest.

“I have to do some work, Jellybean, but you can stay here with me if you want?” Chan whispered, pulling his chair back into the desk.

Sniffling, your daughter gave a small yes, determined to stay until she was certain there wasn’t anything lurking in her closet like her dreams had made her believe.

Chan played Jisung’s track at a low volume, adding some minor adjustments. He felt his daughter’s heart rate slow down, her sniffling stop, and he was almost certain she was asleep until she spoke again:

“Papa make this?”

“I wish. It sounds good, right?” She nodded her head in response. “Uncle Ji made it.”

He felt her smile softly against his chest. “Pretty.”

“It is pretty.”

His daughter moved her head to look up at her father. “Uncle Ji has a new baby, right?”

“Mhm. Baby girl.”

“Can we see baby soon?“

Chan smiled down at his daughter before pressing a kiss against her forehead. “When mommy and bubba feel better, we can go over and meet the baby.”

She smiled for the first time that early morning as she thought about holding the new baby. She nuzzled back into her father’s chest and said: “I like babies.”

“Babies are great.”

“I wish I was still a baby. Like Bubba. Or Uncle Ji’s baby.”

“Well, you may not be a baby. But, you’re my baby.”

“I like being your baby.”

Chan felt his heart swell as he squeezed his daughter.

Babies were fun. That bonding time Chan had with all his kids was fun. But this? This was so much better.

Lee Minho

Minho had been looking forward to this trip for weeks.

He had “spontaneously” planned it about a month ago after a long phone call with his mom. His parents didn’t live too far away from you guys; in fact, you often saw them once a week for family dinners. But, within the last few months, you all saw less and less of each other; weekly family dinners turning into monthly, if you’re lucky. The loss of family time had made his mom sad, and Minho shared that sentiment. He was close to his family, and not seeing them enough brought his mood down considerably.

After the phone call ended, Minho made his way to your shared bedroom. The bedroom tv softly played reruns of your comfort show, filling the otherwise dark room with soft blue tones. You were sitting with your back against the headboard, comforter bunched at your waist, breast pump humming softly. Minho shut the bedroom door quietly, causing your attention to shift from the tv to him.

You gave your husband a gentle smile, the same smile that made him fall in love with you all over again, and made grabby hands at him. Minho quickly dove into the bed, pushing his lower body under the duvet and resting his head in your empty lap.

Your right hand found his hair, threading your fingers through it slowly. Minho’s body visibly relaxed.

“Everything alright? You were on the phone for a while.”

Minho sighed sadly. “Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine. I just miss my parents.”

“Me too, my love.” You said with a pout. “Did you invite them over for dinner this week?”

“I did, but dad has a work thing he can’t get out of.” Minho’s legs intertwined with yours as he tried to bring you closer to his body.

You two sat in silence for a bit. Minho felt his eyes grow heavy as you continued to play with his hair. Nobody had ever played with his hair before you. The first time you did it was at the beginning of your relationship, when he had had a really shitty day. You had held his head to your shoulder as he cried into it, one hand running up and down his spine while the other found his head. Ever since then, Minho sought your hands for comfort any time he was upset. He could always feel the tension leaving his body once your nails raked against his head. He felt safe and loved in your hands. You protected him.

“Min.” You whispered, removing your hand from his hair. “Can you move for just a second? I need to take the pump off.”

Minho rolled off your lap and onto his pillow, watching you as you carefully removed the full bags. His eyes drifted from your breast to the bassinet right next to the bed.

“When did she fall asleep?”

“About 45 minutes into your phone call.” You placed the sealed bags on your bedside table. “She was not very happy with me, though.”

“She’s never very happy with you.”

You chuckled softly, causing the corner of Minho’s lips to twitch up slightly. “She never is, is she? She definitely prefers you.”

“Ah, don’t say that-“

“I never said I was upset about it.” Pump off, you pulled yourself out of the bed in search of Minho’s shirt you slept in. “I love how much she loves you, because I love you just as much.”

Minho smiled, eyes never leaving the bassinet. He never thought he was capable of love until he met you, and then he didn’t think could love any deeper until she came along. She had smiled at him first. She had laughed at him first. He had always wished he had a sibling, but now he finally understood why some parents choose not to have more children; one was enough.

She was enough.

You finally found your shirt, quickly putting it on and grabbing the bags of milk. “I’m going to put these in the garage freezer, then we can go to bed. Sound good?”

You had slipped out of the room before Minho could respond, but it was okay. His thoughts were too focused on his daughter, what it felt like to be a parent, to be her parent.

God, he missed his parents.

By the time you made it back to the bedroom, Minho was running you through his idea. He had two weeks of unused vacation time, and you hadn’t left the city since the baby was born three months ago. You both needed a vacation, and Minho needed more family time. He would call his mom in the morning and run the dates by her, making sure they were okay with a two week visit.

And of course they were.

Every morning, on his way out the door, Minho would kiss your forehead, smother the baby with kisses, and shout how many days were left until your mini vacation.

“20 days!”

“13 days!”

“One week!”

“One more sleep!”

Before Minho knew it, you were making the short drive to his parents. Less than an hour without traffic, he planned to make it there before breakfast.

You sat in the passenger seat, knees up to your chest and leaning towards Minho. His hand rested firmly on your knee, rubbing his thumb in smoothing circles as he drove with one hand. The car was quiet; baby snoozing in her car seat, your playlist quietly filling the car, the morning summer sun warming the car slightly. In Minho’s opinion, it was the perfect day.

“My mom talked about taking Bubs to the zoo sometime this week.” Minho said, voice barely louder than the music.

“Hmm, that sounds like fun. I don’t think I packed her a hat, though.”

“Mom might have one. If not, we can always go out today and look for one. Dad said there’s this cute baby shop close by- FUCK.” Minho shouted, slamming on the brakes. His arm flew out in front of you, keeping you back against the seat.

If he hadn't been paying attention, he would have rear ended the car in front of him who hit the brakes just as hard as he did. The once quiet car was now filled with heavy panting, and loud cries of your daughter who woken from the sudden stop and Minho’s cursing.

“Bubs.” You panted, unbuckling your seatbelt and throwing yourself into the backseat. Quickly buckling her, scooping her into your chest and shushing her as you rocked her back and forth.

Minho was frozen. His arm that braced you still slung over the center console, his other hand gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. His body, once warm from the summer sun, was now ice cold with fear.

Nothing had happened; it looked like it was just an early morning traffic jam. Someone in front of him hadn’t been paying attention and slammed on their brakes too late, causing a domino effect. Causing him to slam on his brakes so he didn’t hit a car.

It could have been so much worse.

Minho shifted the car into park and quickly unbuckled his seatbelt. Fuck, it felt so constricting. Turning around, he reached behind him to grab your hand.

“Is she okay?” He asked, wide eyes staring at his daughter’s head.

You nodded your head. “I think she just got scared.” He heard your voice crack. His eyes shot up to your face, watching hot tears stream quickly down your face. “Fuck, Minho, that could’ve been so bad.”

“Oh, no.” Fuck traffic laws. Minho crawled over the console into the backseat with you, his mind anywhere but the cars surrounding him. “Hey, no.” His thumbs wiped your face clean. “It’s just a traffic jam. We’re okay.” He pulled both of you into his arms, your face buried into his shoulder as you sobbed.

Minho brought a shaky hand up to your head and slowly began combing your hair with his fingers. He planted a kiss on your forehead, keeping up with the flow of his hands. Your fingers always made him feel safe, and now he needed to do the same for you.

“I'm here. I’m right here, love.”

///

You refused to leave the backseat for the rest of the trip. You leaned over your daughter’s car seat, hands going from her little feet, to touching her little head, to grabbing her chubby hands. This was where you needed to be - right by her side. Even if it was just a little scare, the fear that threatened to drown you wouldn’t leave. You knew eventually it would, but now? For now, you weren’t leaving.

Minho didn’t want to drive. He didn’t want to be separated from either of you. He needed to be next to you, to feel your heartbeat against his chest, to feel your hands in his hair. He needed to feel his daughter’s hand gripping his finger, needed to hear her giggle as he kissed her belly over and over.

The traffic jam didn’t cut much time off the trip - Minho was back on his route in a matter of minutes. He drove quickly, wanting to be out of the car and in your arms.

The moment he parked the car, he was out, running to the back of the car to open your door. Once he flung it open, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in close.

In his head, Minho knew he was overreacting. It was a small traffic jam that was over quickly. If he had been by himself, he would’ve been pissed, but would’ve gotten over it before traffic even started moving again. But, he wasn’t by himself. You were in the car. She was in the car. And there was no way in hell he was going to let anything happen to either of you.

From her car seat, your daughter started to fuss. You turned around to grab her when Minho grabbed your arm.

“Let me.” He said, eyes brimming with tears. “Please.”

You nodded, sliding out of the car so he could climb in and grab her.

Her eyes were still shut, small baby fists up by her face as she tried to stretch the sleepy out. Minho smiled to himself, tears finally falling, as he pulled her out of her car seat.

“Oh, hi my girl.” He whispered. Your daughter, hearing her father’s voice, slowly cracked her eyes open. “I missed you.”

The baby yawned in response, nuzzling herself deeper into her father’s chest. Minho chuckled, leaning down and kissing all over her small face. The baby wiggled, and he swore she was trying to push him away with her tiny little hands. But, Minho didn’t stop. He kissed all over her face, blowing raspberries on her cheeks until she released a shriek like baby laugh.

Minho felt your chin rest on his shoulder, looking down at her. He blew one last raspberry on her belly this time, just to get her to laugh again.

You laughed with your baby. “Oh Bubs, is daddy so silly?”

She giggled in response, nuzzling back into his chest.

Minho was so caught up in his daughter that he didn’t even hear his mother approach the car.

“I thought I heard a car door!”

You turned around, running up to your mother-in-law. “Oh, hi, mom.”

Minho looked up to see you two hug, exchanging “I missed you”s and comments on new haircuts. The baby in his arms squirmed, ready for more attention from her father.

“Do I hear a baby?”

Minho smiled at his mom, then looked back down at his daughter, who was staring at him like he hung the stars.

She didn’t even know he felt the same about her.

As his mom’s voice grew closer, Minho felt safe. Minho felt loved. Minho felt comforted.

It was how he always felt with you and Bubs around, and his mom just added more warmth to those feelings. You two were his safety.

You two were his home.

Seo Changbin

Sundays.

A day for sleeping in.

A day for getting those last minute chores done before the new work week begins.

A day for easy dinners and family tv show nights.

Most families would say Sundays are their favorite day of the week. Sundays are easy, Sundays are quiet, Sundays are peaceful.

For Changbin, he would say it depends on the season. Because spring Sundays were anything but easy, quiet, and peaceful.

If he slept past 6:30 on a spring Sunday, he could go ahead and count the day as a loss, because there was no way he was coming back from that. All three kids were typically awake by 7:15, the twins grouchy and hungry as Bin tries to get them dressed for the day. You typically took baby duty; he preferred you to your husband and was struggling with dependency issues. Besides, Changbin would much rather tackle the two snappy seven year olds than let you navigate the absolute chaos that was the oldest boys.

The night before, Changbin set multiple alarms to make sure he woke up before you. Sundays were his busiest days, and he wanted to sneak a workout in before the chaos erupted in his household.

The problem with alarms is, no matter how many he sets, he will always sleep through them.

However, he was proud of himself today. He woke up on the third alarm instead of the sixth like usual. For a brief second, he thought this Sunday would be easier than all the other Sundays of this month.

Rolling over in the bed, he reached out for you only to be greeted by cold bed sheets. Changbin quickly sat up, thoroughly confused. He was sure he would be the first to wake up. After all, why would you be awake before him, at 5:45 on a Sunday? He cursed at himself under his breath as he hoisted himself out of bed and threw on the first pair of sweatpants he could find. This shouldn’t have happened. You shouldn’t have been awake before him, and he wanted to know why you were.

The moment Changbin stepped outside of your shared bedroom, he felt his foot press against something strong and sharp. He leaned against the door, hissing in pain as he picked up his foot to investigate what the hell he had just blindly stepped on.

“Goddamn cleats.” He cussed, kicking the shoe out of his way. How many times did he have to remind the boys to leave their shoes at the front door?

“Seo Changbin, shut UP.” He heard you hiss from the kitchen.

The kitchen?

At 5:45?

Limping slightly, he made his way to the kitchen. On the short walk there, Changbin found himself running into more things: his left big toe stubbed against a bat, he felt a pacifier squish under his foot, one of the twins’ many reusable water bottles almost made him slip and fall on the hardwood.

Changbin used to think he was envious of the people who got to clean on Sundays. Now he realized, as he stepped on the cleat matching the one in front of your bedroom door, he really fucking hated those people.

He was ready to curse everyone who had an easy Sunday until he saw you, and finally realized why you were the first one up.

Your hair was tied messily back, strands falling in front of your face as you supported the youngest of your three sons with one hand and used the other to peel oranges. The youngest had his eyes closed, nestled into your chest as he softly ate. Your shirt (that you had stolen from Changbin within your first year together and refused to return) was wet with a mixture of orange juice and baby spit up. You were frazzled, overworked, and exhausted.

And now, Changbin was upset he overslept for a different reason.

“Baby, why are you awake?” Changbin asked, rushing over to your side to grab the orange you were about to drop.

Once he grabbed it, you leaned against the fridge to support your weight. The baby weighed more than the twins and you were exhausted from supporting him with one arm for so long. “Bean was fussing, so I got up to go check on him and feed him. As I was doing that, I checked my phone and saw a reminder text that it’s our turn to bring snacks to the t-ball game this afternoon. I totally fucking forgot, Changbin. I tried to put him back to sleep, but with his dependency issues and cluster feeding, he wouldn’t let me put him down, so I brought him out here with me.” Your head hit the fridge door with a thud. “I only got three oranges peeled before I heard you yelling.”

Changbin felt his heart sink. He had spent so much time this morning grumbling about being behind schedule when you had been doing all this work by yourself. To say he felt like an asshole would be an understatement. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

You waved your hand as if to dismiss him. “You were sleeping so peacefully, and I knew we’d have a busy day today. I just wanted you to sleep.”

“First,” Changbin placed the orange on the kitchen island and closed the space in between you two, “always wake me up. You are far more important than any amount of sleep. Second, while I feel like such a fucking dick for letting you do this alone, I wanted to let you know how grateful I am for you. You are an amazing wife and an even better mother, and I couldn’t do this without you.” Changbin’s eyes drifted from your face to the baby attached to your chest. He had let go of your nipple, breathing heavily as he slept against your chest. “Third, you suck at peeling oranges. Let me take over. Go put Bean to bed and then yourself.”

“But, Changbin-“

“Nah, I don’t want to hear it. No kid is going to want to eat these oranges with a shitty peel job.” He playfully scoffed. “Who taught you how to do this? No wonder the twins never eat them when you pack them for lunch.”

Using your free hand, you playfully punched his shoulder. Changbin cried out in fake pain and dramatically grasped his shoulder, whining about how you injured his orange peeling arm.

“You’re obnoxious.” You whispered with a grin on your face.

“It’s been 10 years, you’re just noticing that?”

Laughing softly, you grabbed him by the forearm and pulled him in for a kiss. “I love and adore you.”

Changbin pecked your lips once, twice, and then a third time. “I love and adore you, too.”

He watched you walk out of the kitchen, heart swelling in adoration. You were like a superhero in his eyes - someone navigating the world with three loud, clingy boys and their equally clingy father with an abundance of grace. Changbin didn’t know how you did it, but he wanted to, because he never wanted you to have to go through this alone. The baby’s bedroom door shut, allowing Changbin to direct his attention to the half peeled orange in his hand.

He picked up one and glanced at the clock on the oven. 6:00 am. He had maybe an hour to get most of these oranges peeled before he had to start breakfast. There was no way he was going to let the twins go to their t-ball tournament without eating breakfast. Just like he wouldn’t let them go without sunscreen-

Sunscreen.

Shit.

That’s what he forgot to pick up at the store last night.

He aggressively picked at the orange, trying to peel them faster so he could slip away to the store before anyone else in his household woke up.

“Goddamn sunscreen.” He mumbled to himself.

Sundays in the Seo household were busy, loud, and chaotic.

But goddamn, did Changbin love Sundays.

Hwang Hyunjin

“Fuck.” Hyunjin mumbles under his breath as he takes a sharp left turn, barely missing the car speeding towards him. “Sorry!” He calls as the driver honked at him, as if they could hear his half ass apology.

The car pulled into a parking spot with a squeak, and Hyunjin barely turned the car off before throwing himself out of it. “Fuck.” He curses, yet again, locking the car before running inside. He was late. Like, late late. Hyunjin was never exactly “on time”, but he also was never this late. In his defense, he had lost track of time. It completely slipped his mind that it was Thursday.

There was a line at the clock out desk. He bit his lip and aggressively untied his ponytail, trying to distract himself before he started cursing in front of all the other parents at his daughter’s daycare. When it was his turn, his code didn’t work. Hands shaking with frustration, he pulled his phone out and quickly called you.

“Hyunjin-“

“What’s your code?” He slightly snapped.

“What code?”

“The code for Pumpkin’s school. What is it?”

“Our anniversary.”

“Which one?”

“Yah, Hwang Hyunjin-“

“We have like, five. Which one?” He hated when he lost his temper with you, and he knew he would be begging for forgiveness later tonight, but he was already going to have to apologize for how late he was.

“Wedding. 1027.” Your voice was laced with anger.

He quickly punched in the code and was rewarded with the click of the front door unlocking. “Thank you, honey.”

“Hurry, please.” You said and hung up the phone without saying goodbye.

Fuck.

That was three.

When pregnant with Pumpkin, you were insistent on applying for daycares early. They made you nervous, and you wanted some place that you felt safe leaving your child. Hyunjin had remembered Chan talking about this preschool they looked at for his son - very prestigious, excellent reviews, very low acceptance rate. The website promised small class sizes, lots of one on one engagement, parent/teacher interactions daily. It was the perfect school. Five months pregnant, you two toured the school and immediately sent in your application. Hyunjin got the call offering Pumpkin a spot while he was driving you to the hospital. But, she had gotten in. Four years later, you and Hyunjin were still so in love with the school.

So, that’s why he felt bad for sprinting through it today.

He almost slid past Pumpkin’s classroom, leaning in to catch her attention.

“Yah, Hwang.” He said. Your daughter snapped her head around, braids he had put in this morning loose from a busy day of playing. “Let’s roll.”

Your daughter put the marker she was coloring with down before sprinting to her father. Hyunjin squated to catch her, picking her up and spinning her as he kissed all over the top of her head.

“Hey, Pumpkin. How was your day?”

Before your daughter could answer, her teacher popped up in the doorway. “We have some papers for you to take home and sign,” the teacher said, handing Hyunjin what he considered to be a small packet “if you could turn these into the office by Monday, that would be great.”

He nodded, quickly saying thank you. “Say bye, Pumpkin, we’ve got to go-“

“Oh, quickly, before you run off.”

It took everything Hyunjin had inside him not to sigh.

“We had a bit of trouble keeping our hands to ourselves today. We pulled our friend’s hair quite a few times and-“

Your daughter looked up at Hyunjin, face scrunched in disgust. “THEY started it. They touched me when I said NO.”

Fuck.

Four.

“That wasn’t kind of them not to listen, you’re right. But that doesn’t mean you can-“

“But it’s my body, and I said no. Mommy said I can always be mean if they don’t listen to my no-“

“I mean, you’re right-“

“So I can pull hair.”

“No.”

“Why?”

Hyunjin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As much as he wanted to deep dive into this topic, the clock was ticking and they had to go. Now.

Hyunjin grabbed his daughter’s backpack, forcing her to apologize to her teacher before running back down the hallway and out the front door. During the first few years of parenthood, Hyunjin struggled with car seats. He couldn’t figure out the buckles, had a hard time taking them out of the car, and, much to your horror, often forgot to take coats off before buckling in. That mistake he fixed quickly, but the others? It took him years to get it right and get it done in less than two minutes.

Today, however, he broke his record, buckling Pumpkin up and adjusting the chest clip in 30 seconds even. He would brag about that later. It was time to go.

///

The class had already started by the time Hyunjin and Pumpkin came barreling through the door. His daughter, spotting her brother, dropped the doll and made a beeline to him.

Hyunjin sighed, as he scanned the room for you. You were sitting against the back wall with the rest of the parents, still dressed in work clothes, hair bumpy from the bun it had sat in all day. Hyunjin stepped over the other parents, sliding down the open spot next to you. He leaned in to give you a kiss on the forehead, but you moved your head before his lips could connect.

“Hey.” He whispered.

You shook your head. “You’re so late, Hyunjin.”

He sighed, bringing his pointer and middle finger up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I know, I’m sorry. Meetings ran long, and then I got caught up in the studio and completely lost track of time-“

“And then you snapped at me.”

“I did. I’m sorry. I was frustrated with myself for running late and lost my temper. I’m so sorry.” Hyunjin felt like shit. He should know by now; dance practice was every Thursday after school for both kids. You always picked up Bear, he always picked up Pumpkin. It was your family routine since they started dance class. Hyunjin had no excuse.

He stared at his kids who were smiling at each other, whispering about their days. They were best friends, and if Hyunjin thought about their relationship for longer than a few seconds, he would cry. He didn’t have siblings, so watching them love each other filled his heart with a joy he has never known.

“Bear had his timed math quiz today. Answered them all correctly.” You said, head leaning slightly towards your husband.

Hyunjin smiled. You did this often - you hated focusing on conflict for too long, and after apologies were given, you would switch the topic. You never held a grudge, especially against Hyunjin, and he was always grateful for your conflict management.

“Couldn’t have been me.” Hyunjin rested his head on yours, wanting to be closer to you. Typically, you both kept PDA to a minimum, especially at your children’s activities. Hyunjin, however, didn’t give a shit today. He needed to be closer to you. “I was awful at math.”

You chuckled softly, leaning into him more. “Same. I don’t know where he got that from.”

“Pumpkin pulled some kid’s hair today because they wouldn’t stop poking her. She said she told them no, and they wouldn’t stop, so she took matters into her own hands.”

“Good for her.”

“Right? We know where she got that from.” Hyunjin glanced down at you with a smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I always keep my hands to myself.”

Hyunjin couldn’t stop the loud laugh he released. The night you two had met, and the moment Hyunjin knew he needed to know you, he had watched you throw a drink in a man’s face. The man had been following your friend around all night, not taking no for an answer, and you had just gotten sick of it. When he approached your table for the fifth time that night, you had taken a sip of your vodka soda, then threw it right in his face. The man began to raise his voice at you and threatened you, while you just laughed at him crying over a little vodka in his eyes. Changbin had walked over to try to get the guy to leave you alone, and you had snapped at him, saying you could defend yourself. Eventually, the creep left. Changbin attempted to apologize to you by buying you a new drink, but you waved him off and gave him a quick apology of your own. It was then that Hyunjin went to retrieve his friend, sensing that you and your friends didn’t need another man hanging around your table. You had made eye contact with Hyunjin right as he grabbed Changbin’s arm.

“You don’t need to buy me a drink.” You had said to Changbin before looking at Hyunjin and smirking. “But if you wanted to, I wouldn’t stop you.”

So he bought you a drink.

And now you were watching your children stretch for their weekly dance class.

Hyunjin couldn’t be happier.

///

Bed time was the most draining part of Hyunjin’s day. It also happened to be bath night, which made the process longer and more complicated than Hyunjin would have liked it to be.

Pumpkin changed pajamas five times before she felt satisfied with the pair she had on. Hyunjin didn’t see what the difference was between this pair of polka dot pajamas and the other, but he was picking his battles. Finally climbing into bed, Hyunjin sat next to her, opening the first book she requested.

Midway through the book, Pumpkin looked up at her father. “Can you hold me, daddy?” Her voice was so soft, so gentle. How could he say no?

Collecting his daughter in his arms, he continued with the book. By the end of it, she was snoring - head against his right bicep, legs resting on his left arm, little hands gripping on his shirt as if she was afraid of him letting go. Hyunjin closed the book and let it fall to the floor, grabbing his daughter and holding her closer to his chest.

She wasn’t the snuggly kid. When Pumpkin no longer needed support, she rarely sought out hugs or cuddles. She just didn’t want it, and while he respected it, it had completely shattered his heart. He felt like she didn’t need him, and while he adored her independence, he just wanted to hold his daughter like he used to.

Hyunjin shifted lower in the small bed, trying to get more comfortable. He would sit like this just for a few more minutes. Then, he would lay her down, tuck her in, and crawl into bed with you.

Just a few more minutes of this.

Just a few.

///

Hyunjin’s eyes shot open when he felt someone playing with his hair.

“Hey. Want to come to bed?” You whispered, a soft smile on your face.

Wasn’t he in bed?

Why did the ceiling have stars on it?

Hyunjin turned his head to his left, where Pumpkin laid next to him. She had stretched out, but still had a tight grip on his shirt. The duvet covers were twisted and pushed to the middle of the bed, barely covering her little body. One of his legs hung off the side of the bed, foot brushing against the book he dropped earlier in the evening.

He brought a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“11:00.” You whispered. Fuck, he had been asleep a while then. “I didn’t want to bother you, but when I heard something fall, I figured it was time to wake you up.”

Something fell?

Hyunjin lifted his head to see his daughter’s alarm clock on the floor, numbers creating a pink hue on the carpet. He was too lanky for this small bed.

“I should probably…” his voice trailed off once he looked at his daughter again. Sleeping soundly. Eyes twitching as she dreamed. What was she dreaming about? He was dying to know what went on in her little head.

He looked back up at you, eyes hot with tears. “Can I stay here? Just for a bit longer.” His voice a shaky whisper.

You nodded before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ll wake you up in the morning.”

Hyunjin slowly reached down and grabbed the duvet cover, pulling it over both his and Pumpkin’s body. Pumpkin nuzzled into the warmth, head finding her father’s chest against. Carefully, he moved her slightly so he could fit his other leg on the bed.

She’s spunky. She stays ready to fight anyone who even looks at her wrong. She loves her brother more than Hyunjin ever thought someone could love a sibling. She’s funny, and loud, an absolute force. She looks just like him; big brown eyes, long black hair, always mimicking his disgusted face. She’s absolutely everything to him.

He placed a gentle kiss on her head, before allowing his eyes to shut. He was never leaving her side.

Han Jisung

Jisung is convinced he was made to be a father.

Nothing brings him more joy than caring for others or being needed. He loves when his younger friends, and sometimes older ones, rely on him for support or ask him for advice. He feels important, and likes that they see him as someone they can trust, who is always there for him.

So when you told him you were pregnant, he felt like running laps. It was a big show; first his eyes became saucers as he processed your news. Next came the jaw drop, quickly covered by his hands as he let out a soft screech. “Really?” He asked, and when you nodded, there was too much excitement in his body to stay still. Jisung jumped up from the bed, steps bouncy as he ran over to you, hugging you so tightly you had to warn him to be gentle.

“We’re having a baby.” He whispered in your ear.

The next time he said that sentence, it was more of a scream. So much so that Changbin, on the other side of the phone, cursed at him for being so loud and asked him to repeat himself. Jisung spent the next hour or so calling all of his friends, giddy about the fact that it was his turn to have a baby, and the best part about it? He gets to have a baby with you, the most important person in the world. The person who hung the stars, who holds the entire world in the palm of their hands. You. He gets to do this with you, and that’s all he could ask for.

By month three, he has the hospital bag packed (“We need to be prepared!” He said as he stuffed a quokka doll in the overpacked duffel bag). By month five, he had already read every new parent book he could find at the local bookstore. By month eight, you could place him in the middle of a delivery room and he would know exactly what to do. The amount of knowledge he retained in such a short amount of time was so impressive, and it really worked out in the end.

Your doctor commented that she had never had such a smooth delivery with a patient, and you really had Jisung to thank for it. Not only was he ready, but he knew how to keep you calm, how to support you and make sure you felt as prepared as he did. He helped you up from the bed, to the yoga ball, even to the inflatable pool, which is where you stayed until the baby was born not even an hour later. Sitting behind you in his swim trunks, Jisung held your hand, whispering encouraging words and repeated praises. You were magical, you were strong, and he was completely in awe of you.

His awe transferred over to your daughter. Your perfect, beautiful daughter with the squishiest cheeks anyone has ever seen. She had a full head of dark hair, and even though she was right out of the womb, she looked so much like Jisung it was almost scary. Copy and paste; she was his twin.

The obsession with her began when you told him you were pregnant, and only grew. Jisung practically lived with a baby carrier strapped to his chest, your daughter nuzzled against his chest as he went about his day. Be it the house or the studio, if Jisung was moving about, you could bet the baby was with him.

She was just as attached to him as he was her; the sound of his voice always made her big, brown eyes light up. She slept better when he put her down, did better in public spaces if he held her. They were inseparable, and it made your heart swell. You had front row seats to their love, often getting to be in the middle of their affection. The little family that everyone dreams of was your reality.

It was one of the rare days Jisung couldn’t take her to work with him; they were shooting all day, and frankly his stylist was over cleaning up baby spit up off his clothes. It broke your heart to see the way his eyes watered as lingered at the bedroom door to find an excuse to stay.

“Are you sure you feel well?” He asks you, trying to blink back his tears. “I can stay and make sure you get enough rest.”

You felt fine, there was no reason to ask that, but you could tell he was trying to find something to get him out of work. To let him stay home with his two favorite people in the world. “Ji.” You whisper, trying not to wake the baby asleep on your chest. “We’re going to be alright. Go to work, we’ll be here when you get back.”

He looks down at his feet, shoving shaky hands into his sweatpants. “I just miss you guys already.” And though you can’t see his face clearly, you know the tears have broken, a little sniffle accompanied by his confession.

A promise to FaceTime him later (more than once) is what finally gets him out the door after you kiss his tears away. Leaving her, leaving you, never gets easier. The older your daughter got, the harder it was to be away from her. Especially in such a heavy developmental stage; he was so scared he would miss big moments.

He had missed the first him she rolled over, and the day she started crawling. When he laid next to her on the ground during tummy time, it shocked him when she proceeded to crawl on top of him instead of staying still. Jisung turned his head to you as you stood by the couch.

“I was about to show you the video, but I guess she beat me to it.” You said with a giggle, dropping to the floor next to him to lay with them. She crawled fully onto Jisung’s chest, chubby baby hands grabbing his cheeks and squishing them between her little fingers. And while he was so proud of her, so excited to feel her death grip on his cheeks, he couldn’t help but feel sad that he missed seeing it first.

All day on set, he looked forward to your calls, praying that he didn’t miss anything exciting. So far the day seemed normal, if not dull. You called as you made breakfast, and he watched her refuse a spoonful of mashed pears.

“She doesn’t like them.” He said, eyes shut as they worked on his makeup. “I told you that, but you never listen-“

“She eats them for you!” You said, and he can hear his daughter fussing as you attempt to try again.

“Yeah, well she likes me best.”

When you huffed, he laughed, eyes opening just enough to see a playful pout on your face as you abandoned the pears and tried applesauce instead. You opened your mouth, mimicking the action you wanted the baby to make as you closed in with the spoon. When her lips wrapped around the yellow plastic, you smiled brightly, turning to the camera.

“She never eats applesauce for you.”

He shakes his head, chuckling softly. “Fine, she likes you better.”

“Thanks, I know.”

Both you and Jisung went about your days, him sneakily looking at his phone on set to see if there were any updates. He smiled at the selfies you sent, at the video of her gripping onto your hair and practically ripping it out, and at a clip of her watching one of his music videos, focused on him any time he was on screen. She giggled any time she heard his voice, inching closer to the screen as if she could reach him.

God, he wanted to be home.

Around dinner time, they finally started to wrap up, each member just as antsy to get home to their own families. Jisung was the first one changed and out the door, unable to slow down until he pulled into your neighborhood. The car was barely turned off before he barreled out of it, kicking his shoes off at the garage door and haphazardly throwing his backpack down next to them. Nothing was more important than seeing you two.

He found you in the master bathroom, leaning over the tub that was filled with an abundance of toys, but little water. You were singing to the baby, who was giggling loudly as you gently scrubbed shampoo into her thick hair.

Good. He hadn’t missed much of bath time.

“Hey.” Jisung said, walking over to the tub and kneeling down beside you. You turned to face your fiancé, smiling happily at his arrival. His lips gently brushed against yours, melting away every ounce of worry and stress the day had brought him.

“Hi.” You mumbled before giving him another kiss. “Sorry, I would’ve waited for you but somebody-“ you dramatically turned your head, playfully narrowing your eyes at your daughter, who giggled at the quick almost movement. “-decided she wanted to spit dinner up allllllll over herself.”

Jisung gasped loudly, pulling more laughs out of the child, who seemed too proud of herself. “Not my Squish.”

“Oh, your Squish.” Your own laughs were added in this time, unable to keep a straight face any longer. “Can you hang out with her for a minute? I forgot to grab a towel from her bathroom.”

Silly question - of course he was going to say yes.

Rolling up his sleeves, Jisung took over the bath time routine, clicking his tongue as he turned on the tap for fresh water. “Were you a pain today for mama?”

The smile on her face, which was often compared to his own mischievous smile, was telling enough. Covering his daughter’s eyes, Jisung rinsed the shampoo out of her hair, double checking that it was gone before grabbing a rag. Squeezing the soap onto it, he caught her staring at him. Almost a year old, and everyday, he falls in love with her all over again.

God, what did Jisung do to get so lucky?

“Alright, Squish.” Jisung said once the soap was lathered enough. “Ready for dada to-“

“Dada.”

“Huh?”

The rag dropped into the tub, the impact creating a small splash. Blinking, he stared at his daughter, who was ecstatic about the bubbles created by the rag at her feet. He knows he heard her wrong. There was no way she just-

“Say that again?” Jisung asked, completely forgetting that she’s a baby and isn’t capable of speaking on command.

But, she shocked him again. “Dada.” Blinking at him, she reached out for him while babbling his name over and over.

Jisung scrambled to find his phone before he remembered it was in his bag by the garage. Fuck, you need to hear this. He doesn’t want you to miss this-

“Did you wash her body yet?”

“Dada.”

You paused in your tracks, eyes darting from your daughter to Jisung. “Did she just-“

“She did.” He said, wide eyes still staring at the baby, who, much like her father, could not stop talking.

“Dada, dada, dada-“

The towel is abandoned on the ground as you run over to the tub, dropping down to your original position. Side by side, you and Jisung kneeled over the tub, staring at the baby.

“That’s her first word, Ji.” You whisper, reaching out to unfasten her from the bath seat. She didn’t stop talking, even as you pulled her out. Squirming, she reached out for Jisung, calling his name over and over until he took her from your arms.

He took her from you, shirt soaked as the baby settled in his arms. Awestruck, he rubbed her back, listening to her words because more of a babble, but it was impossible for him not to hear it. He was her first word.

You smiled at him, a hand falling to his cheek and redirecting his attention. When he looked at you, he saw the joyful tears in your eyes, saw the pure adoration you had for the two of them. “I’m so glad you’re home, Ji.”

Lee Felix

People always seemed surprised to find out Felix was a stay at home dad. Before having kids, he was very devoted to his job, often working later hours than necessary and bringing work home with him. He enjoyed his job, but he knew you did as well. So as soon as you surprised him with three sticks and a little stuffed chick, he told his boss that his last day was your due date.

Sure, he loved his job. But he loved you more.

That’s why he was now, very happily, standing in the kitchen making pancakes at 9 am. The five month old slept soundly in the fabric carrier against his chest. Little baby snores filled his ears along with the sound of your three year old’s crayons scraping across her coloring book.

“Bug, what do you want in your pancakes?” Felix softly called.

Your daughter hummed as she thought, then loudly exclaimed: “Chocolate chips!”

Felix laughed and shook his head, grabbing a handful of the semisweet chips and sprinkling them over the pancake.

“Extra, please!”

“Ah, you know you can’t have that much chocolate in the morning.”

She tsked, and for a brief second, Felix wasn’t sure if he was talking to you or your daughter. “But it’s a no school day. Please, daddy?”

Felix was nothing if not whipped.

Laughing softly, he grabbed a small handful and turned to look at your daughter.

“Fine, but don’t tell your mom, okay?”

Your daughter grinned as she nodded in agreement.

Felix swears up and down that she’s a carbon copy of you. From her jaw structure to her hair, all the way to her nose - when he looks at her, he sees you. From the moment he held her, he saw you. If possible, that made him love her even more.

But that smile? That was his. She had his smile, and that was enough for him.

Breakfast went smoothly. Felix decided to save the chocolate chips for your daughter and put blueberries in his. She squealed when she noticed the jar of homemade whipped cream he had placed in the middle of the table (“I helped daddy make this!”) and ended up waking her brother. Somehow, Felix juggled feeding the baby and feeding himself while keeping chocolate (mostly) off your daughter.

Typically, after breakfast, everyone would change out of their jammies into day time clothes. It helped Felix feel more productive, and if they ever needed to leave, he wouldn’t have to wrestle a three year old out of the too-small dinosaur onesie she refuses to take off. Felix decided to switch things up this morning, allowing your daughter to camp out on the living room floor with as many stuffed animals as she wanted and let her watch a movie before they went on their afternoon walk.

Felix enjoyed the simplicity of these kinds of mornings.

Not even halfway through Moana, your daughter was softly snoring at his feet. Felix sat with his back against the couch, on the floor with his children. To his right was the baby, staring up at the dim living room lights from the nursing pillow he was rested on.

“Whatcha looking at, little bug?” He asked in a whisper. The baby’s eyes moved quickly from the lights to his father, staring brightly up at him.

If your daughter had his smile, the smallest child had his eyes. Felix would never grow tired of looking into them.

“Mommy should be home soon.” Felix grabbed the child’s covered foot, shaking it lightly. “She should be here before we go on our walk. Should she come with us?” His fingers danced up the baby belly, softly tickling the sides. “Hm? Do you want mommy to go on a walk with us?”

Your son’s giggles filled the living room, smiling widely as his father tickled him.

That smile? That was yours. And that was Felix’s favorite feature.

Felix was so caught up on making his son laugh that he didn’t hear the front door open. He didn’t hear the way you kicked off your shoes, exhausted from your flight in. He didn’t see you slowly tiptoe into the living room, not wanting to interrupt the giggle party.

He was laughing with his son, smothering the soft baby face with small kisses. Your son squealed, loving every bit of the attention he was getting from his father.

You would hate to interrupt, but you didn’t want to be left out of the party, either.

“What are you two giggly boys doing?” You asked, leaning over the couch to peek at them.

Your son, seeing your head pop up above him, giggled harder. His stubby hands reached up, wanting to be in your embrace. Quickly, you climbed over the couch and sat next to Felix, scooping the baby up and smothering his face with kisses.

“Oh, I missed you so much baby bug.” You said with a content sigh, squeezing your baby into your chest, determined to never let him go.

Felix pressed a soft kiss against the side of your forehead. “Hey, love.”

You smiled, turning to fully face him. He was so close you could count his freckles. “Hi.”

Felix’s left hand reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Leaning into his touch, you sighed. Your work took you to many places, but no place felt as warm as here did. No place felt as comfortable. As soon as your plane landed at a new destination, you were always ready to leave.

Because any place without Felix, without your babies, wasn’t a place worth being.

Felix kisses you deeply, hand holding your chin steady. He tasted like whipped cream and coffee, smelled like baby soap and his cologne. He brought both hands to your face to kiss you deeper. He wanted you to feel how much he loved you. How much he missed you.

Whenever someone asked Felix why he chose to stay home with his children, the answer was always an easy one.

“I love you.” You whispered against his lips.

He smiled, kissing the tip of your nose.

Because nothing, no job, no person, no place, would ever mean more to him-

“I love you, more.”

Your hand softly touched his cheeks, ready to go in for another kiss, when you heard movement at your feet.

-than the three of you do.

“Mommy?” Your daughter asked, voice groggy with sleep. She crawled up both yours and Felix’s legs, burying her face in your lap.

You smiled, tucking her hair behind her ears as she fell back asleep.

“You know,” you whispered, careful not to disrupt the peace, “she looks like you.”

Kim Seungmin

Seungmin firmly believes you can never be too prepared.

Car won’t start? Don’t worry, Seungmin has jumper cables and his mechanic on speed dial if he can’t get it started for you. Forgot your headphones for a five hour flight? Not sweat; he brought three extra pairs just in case. Stupid hangnail bothering you? Give him a second to find the spare set of clippers he always has. And don’t worry, they’re sanitized after every use.

If anything, you could say that Seungmin is over prepared.

But isn’t it better that way? No more stressing, trying to figure out how to handle a situation that’s just been thrown at you. If Seungmin is there, you have nothing to worry about, because he’s ready. His backup plans have backup plans. You can rest easy knowing he is prepared for the absolute worst at any moment.

Well, every moment, except one.

He knew about your pregnancy before you did. His phone had notified him that your new cycle was due, so he waited for your typical period requests.

“Can we just order in tonight?”

“I ate the last of the popcorn, could you go out and grab more?”

“Minnie, could you pretty please run a hot bath for me?”

As always, he was prepared.

But when days passed with no requests, Seungmin began to think it wasn’t coming.

He came home with two boxes, four tests in total. You were confused - your period was only five days late. It wasn’t that big of a deal. But, knowing how your husband always wants to be prepared, you agreed to take the tests.

You two sat crisscross on the bathroom floor across from each other, tests face down. When the alarm went off, you grabbed two each, counted down from three, and flipped them at the same time.

Four VERY positive tests.

And thus, the baby prep began.

Seungmin read every book he could get his hands on, from what to expect during birth to early childhood development textbooks. He researched different ways to give birth, took notes, and thoroughly discussed every option with you. He watched so many birthing videos, he could probably deliver a baby himself. Seungmin asked all the right questions at every appointment without overstepping, listened to you about what you felt was best, and made sure he was ready for a baby to come at any moment.

The hospital bag was packed at twelve weeks. The nursery? Up at twenty weeks and finished within a day, with the help of Seungmin’s friends.

“Why do I have to build the crib? It’s not my baby.” Jisung whined from the nursery floor.

“Shut up and hand me the screwdriver.” Changbin replied.

Kim Seungmin, prepared for anything.

You were late and growing more frustrated by the day. The back pains were almost unbearable, you bend over to tie your shoe, and why, for the love of god, were you dripping in sweat in the middle of January?

Your doctor set a date for induction, even though you fought her on it.

“We’ll schedule it just in case.” She said, helping you off the exam table. “If he comes sooner, great, but we need to be prepared in case he needs some help.”

“I just would rather him come when he’s ready.”

Your doctor smiled sympathetically at you. “I understand. This is just a backup plan. I can give you some tips on how to naturally induce labor so we can try to avoid medically inducing it.”

And of course, Seungmin made sure you tried every single suggestion.

He even worked them into your nightly routine.

Before dinner, you two would take a 20 minute walk. Seungmin made dinner extra spicy every night, making sure you ate an entire jalapeño pepper with every meal.

And of course, the most effective method: sex.

All the time. Everywhere. Any chance you both got, Seungmin was on you. In the shower, on the couch, in the studio; Seungmin was happy to help you get this baby out.

Even with all his hard work, you were no closer to labor than you were at your last appointment.

Two days until your induction date, and Seungmin’s fingers were lightly tracing circles on the inside of your thigh.

“We don’t have to.” He whispers, placing a soft kiss on your belly.

“I want to.” You said, lightly grabbing his hand. “I want to try.”

Seungmin smiled gently at you, picking up your hand and pressing a firm kiss against it. “I love you.” He whispers, dropping your hand and returning to your thighs. Picking your leg up, he rested your foot on his shoulder and began to pepper kisses on the inside of your thigh. “You’re incredible.” His other hand slowly worked up your other thigh, drawing closer and closer to where you wanted him. “There’s no one else I rather do this with.” Seungmin places one last kiss on your thigh before lowering it down and bringing his head closer towards the middle of your thighs.

“So pretty.” He whispered, then slowly brought two fingers up to your clit.

Then, you screamed.

Seungmin sat up quickly to look at you. He was used to you screaming when he was in between your legs, but this scream was different. It sounded like you were in pain.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, searching your face to try to figure out what happened.

Then, he saw it.

The way you were holding your belly, head thrown back, teeth grinding against each other.

“Fuck.” Seungmin exclaimed, scrabbling out of bed to find his sweatpants. “Fuck, where are my clothes?”

You had read the books with Seungmin, you had watched the videos. You thought you knew what was coming. But, you were never quite as prepared as your husband.

“Fuck, Seungmin, it hurts.” You cried, looking for something to grasp onto.

He had successfully found his pants, grabbing yours before he rushed back to your side.

Squatting by your head, Seungmin grabbed one of your hands and used his other hand to brush the hair that dropped in front of your face back. “Hey, hey, I’m right here. Breathe with me, okay?”

You shook your head. “I can’t. I can’t, Seungmin. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. I’ll count, okay?”

You squeezed his hand tightly, focusing on the sound of his voice and the way his breath felt against your neck. The contraction slowly faded out once he hit the twentys.

Seungmin kissed the side of your forehead. “I’m so proud of you.” He whispered. “Let me help you get dressed. It’s time to have a baby.”

///

Seungmin expected your labor to last longer. Within an hour of checking in and moving you into a room, your contractions grew in length and the time between shorten. You were pushing before you could even ask for an epidural.

Seungmin never left your side (not that he would even consider it). He held your hand with both hands, encouraging you to squeeze as hard as you needed to. He counted breaths with you, encouraged you, and kept you stable during the entire process.

A few minutes into pushing, in between contractions, you rolled your head to the left to look at him. Hair stuck to your face, tears stained your cheek, your lip was bleeding it from biting it so hard, and Seungmin swore you had never looked more beautiful in your entire life.

Taking a deep breath, you smiled weakly at your husband. “We’re having a baby.” You said, voice raspy from screaming.

Seungmin smiled back, squeezing your hand. “We’re having a baby.”

“I love you so much.” Fresh tears began to roll down your face. “You’re already the best husband, and now-and now-“ your face winced in pain as another contraction hit. Seungmin jumped back in to support mode, helping you ride it out.

A few contractions later, Seungmin heard it. His son.

The baby, bigger than Seungmin thought he would be, was placed on your chest. You let out a cry of both joy and relief, dropping Seungmin’s hand to hold your baby. Sobbing, you held the baby into your chest.

“You’re here. You’re here.” You whispered through your tears, rocking the small child back and forth.

They took your son away before Seungmin had a chance to hold him. It’s okay, he knew that the next steps after birth. He was prepared.

He was always prepared.

An hour and five stitches later, you were soundly sleeping in your hospital bed. You tried to stay awake, wanting to be up when they brought your son back. Seungmin swore he would wake you up and convinced you to nap until then. He spent the hour calling his parents, your parents, his friends - anyone he could get ahold of at two in the morning.

There was a soft knock on the door, and then a nurse let himself in. Seungmin stood up quickly, watching as the nurse rolled the baby’s bed up next to you.

“Congratulations, Mr. Kim.” The nurse whispered, and then excused himself from the room.

Once the nurse was out, Seungmin took off his shirt. He was prepared; he knew skin to skin contact was important for infants.

He stood over his son and stared at him. He had a head full of thick, black hair and the cutest button nose Seungmin had ever seen. He couldn’t believe that he had a hand in creating something so wonderful, so perfect, so beautiful.

Careful as to not wake the baby, Seungmin picked him up and cradled him to his chest. “Hi, peanut.” He said, then placed a soft kiss right on his forehead. “I’m dad.”

Slowly, his son’s eyes opened and found his own.

Seungmin was always prepared.

But nothing - no books, no videos, no parenting classes - could ever prepare him for the love he felt when looking into his child’s eyes. In that moment, Seungmin was unprepared. He didn’t know what to expect.

And it was the best feeling in the world.

Yang Jeongin

If Jeongin had to describe his son’s first day of kindergarten in one word, it would be: unfortunate. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong.

The morning started out fine; everyone woke up on a time and was in a good mood. You and Jeongin even woke up with enough time to slip into the shower together before waking up your son for the day. Typically, fucking you dumb first thing in the morning is the sign of a good day. He really had no idea that it was just downhill from there.

You decided to wake your son up since you had to slip out to work early. Time with him today was precious, and Jeongin knew you would be a ball of tears if you didn’t get one on one time. So he took breakfast duty, determined to make an omelet as good as you do.

He was doing well; the topping fit perfectly, he folded it beautifully. For his first time, he was excelling. Maybe he should take a picture and brag about it in his group chat. There’s no way Hyunjin can make an omelet like this-

“What’s burning?”

Ah, fuck.

The omelet was too far gone, there was nothing he could do to save it. Scraping it, Jeongin decided to try his luck again, only to ruin it immediately. Whatever, sugary cereal is a great first day of school ever breakfast, right?

Your son certainly thinks so. When Jeongin places the bowl in front of him, the black haired boy smiles widely before shoveling the cinnamon cereal in his mouth.

“Slow down.” You say with a chuckle, placing a sliced apple on a plate next to his bowl. “You’re going to get sick.”

When he eats, you can tell he’s Jeongin’s son; cheeks puffed and full as he takes large bites. Round eyes look at you, silently pouting at your request. It’s too good to slow down. Besides, his father eats like this, why can’t he?

You look across the table at Jeongin, pointing at your son with your thumb. “This is your fault.”

He looked up from his breakfast, cheeks just as full and eyes just as large. A mirror image of his son, large bites and all. It makes you chuckle, even if you fear that they’re going to choke every time they eat.

Once breakfast is finished and the dishes are put away, it's time for you to go to work, and Jeongin to take your son to school.

“Mommy, no-“ your son whines, squirming away as you try to fix his uniform. “Don’t wanna take a picture.”

“Please, bubba? Just one, and then you and papa can-“

“No!” He fusses, moving out of your grasp. Sadly, you drop your arms in defeat. You’re not going to force him to do something that makes him uncomfortable, no matter how upset it makes you.

You look at Jeongin, who was watching this unfold from the garage door. He saw the tears in your eyes - both from having to leave and the rejection.

“It’s fine that you don’t want a picture, but can I at least have a hug?” You ask your son, not knowing if you can handle another no on a big day.

Luckily, your son crashed into your arms and hung tightly onto you. You kissed the top of his head, savoring his sweet hug before he complained about you squeezing him too tight.

Saying goodbye at the car was hard for you, lingering at his window for far too long to get one last look at him before school. Jeongin waited patiently until you stood to your full height. Your husband grabbed you, pulling you into a hug.

“It’s just school.” Jeongin whispered in your ear. “He’ll be back in a few hours.”

You nod your head, sniffling against his shoulder. “It’s just hard, ya know? He’s not a baby anymore.”

The last sentence made his heart sink, your emotions beginning to rub off on him. Quickly, he shoved the feeling to the back of his mind for both your sanity and his. “He’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

“Will you?”

A fantastic question, one that he wished he could answer, but was cut off by the impatient five year old in the backseat. You said goodbye one more time, fussing over the buttons on your son’s shirt before slipping in your car. Jeongin followed suit, leaving the garage right after you.

The goodbyes had set them back just a bit, but that was okay. The school was only a ten minute drive, and they still had plenty of time to-

“Papa?” His son chimed from the back. “I don’t have my backpack.”

Okay, so maybe they’ll be a little bit later than expected. Jeongin turned the car around, back home in less than a minute. The backpack was sitting by the garage door, making it easy to grab it and throw it in the passenger seat.

“Alright, all-“

“What about my foxy?”

Jeongin sighed, turning around in his seat to look at his son. “Foxy can’t come to school with you, Bubba. We talked about this-“

“But I need him.”

“Foxes don’t go to school. They stay at home where mama and papa can-“

“No! Need him!” His son cried, kicking the backseat. This wasn’t like him; typically the quietest, most mild mannered child, your son rarely threw fits. Jeongin knows it’s because of what today is, but he was determined to stand his ground. The fox was staying home-

-until he felt a shoe hit the back of his head as he tried to pull out of the garage for a second time that morning. Fine. The fucking fox can come.

Third time’s a charm, right? There were no hiccups this time as Jeongin left the house, Bubba happily humming in the backseat along with the music. Foxy was snug against his chest, a happy smile on his face. He might be missing a shoe, but hey, at least he’s happy.

And Jeongin can still make it on time. There shouldn’t be any more interruptions, now that his son is happy and he’s actually on the road. Everything should be smooth sailing from now on.

Of course there’s stand still traffic. Why wouldn’t there be?

Jeongin’s head hits the headrest, a groan leaving his lips as he rubs his face. This was not how today was supposed to go. First the omelet, then the picture, the backpack and the damn fox, and Jeongin’s pretty sure he has a headache from being hit with the shoe.

“Papa?”

“Hm?” He grunts into his hands.

“Why aren’t we moving?”

Sighing, Jeongin drops his hands, moving them back to the steering wheel. “Good question.” He mumbles mostly to himself.

For ten minutes, they stayed completely still, both slowly losing their patience. The Jeongin look-a-like was losing control faster than his father, kicking the back of his seat in protest. Like Jeongin could do anything about the traffic.

Right as Jeongin was about to say fuck school and turn around, the car in front of him moved. Whatever had been holding them up was over, a steady stream of cars now flowing into the school’s parking lot.

Jeongin finds the first parking spot at the back of the lot, quickly getting out of the car. He picks his son up, sitting him on the roof and putting his shoe back on (much to his son’s protest). Once it was on, he narrowed his eyes at the boy.

“I need you to give me Foxy now.” He said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

Fear flushed his face, tiny fist gripping onto the fox’s white fur. “No. He has to go to school too.”

“Bubba-“ But when his son started lifting his foot like he was about to kick, he realized the damn fox wasn’t worth it. Jeongin would much rather get chewed out by the teacher, and you, than take a tiny foot to the face at 8:00 am. “Fine. But you have to take a picture for mama.”

The bribe worked - the innocent smile he gave the camera in front of the school made Jeongin roll his eyes. They walked into the school hand and hand, Bubba hiding behind Jeongin’s leg as they closed in on his classroom.

They stood in the line of parents, and before they could blink, it was their turn. Jeongin squatted down, eye level with his son, who was nervously holding onto his stuffed animal.

“Hey, Bubba.” Jeongin said softly, a hand reaching out to pat his head. “You okay?”

His son shook his head, burying his face in the fox. “I’m scared, Papa. Wanna go home-“

Jeongin felt his lip tremble as he looked at his son, who had been on his last damn nerve all morning. His sweet, nervous boy, who was acting out because of the newness of it all. His heart softened, and suddenly, his head stopped aching, every nerve easing.

“I know.” He whispers, smoothing his son’s hair. “I’m scared, too. You’re so much braver than Papa, I couldn’t ever do this.” His eyes began to sting, pride filling his heart. When did his baby get so big? “Do you want me to walk you in?”

His son looked inside the classroom, wide eyes scanning the room. Slowly, he shook his head no before looking back at his father. “No, I do it.”

Jeongin nodded. “Hug?”

The fox lessened the blow of his son’s crash. Jeongin held tightly until his son squirmed free, his wide eyes no longer nervous.

“I love you, Papa.”

That’s when the first tear fell. “I love you, too, Bubba.”

He watched as his son sprinted into the classroom, making a beeline to the musical instruments in the corner of the room. Lingering for just a second, he watched his son turn to the little girl next to him, excitedly giving her his name before asking if she wanted to play with him.

Jeongin’s heart ached in the best way possible as forced himself to walk away, silently crying as he left his son behind. It was silly - he’s going to be back here in a few hours to pick him up. There’s no reason to be so-

His phone pinged, announcing a text from you. When he pulled out his phone, the picture taken just moments ago was still up.

Everything went wrong today, so many hiccups in a day that should’ve been so easy. Yet, no matter how badly everything went, he wouldn’t trade a second of this day for anything. Even he can’t seem to stop crying.

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