#when they have an ''innocent'' image or at least an illusion of one like if you're married and have a baby then there's no denying it

[mickeys-malarkey]

Pt. 3/3: My BATDR Timeline & Plot Twist Theories!

First, I think both BATIM and BATDR take place sometime between 1978 and 1991. I already suspected BATDR was happening in the ‘80s based on the fact that card readers – which have featured in many of the environment screenshots we've seen – were invented in 1979...

…and Audrey's clothes and hairstyle look very 1980s.

Then they released the images of Audrey's office, where her chair and desk lamps also look very 1980s, and the wallpaper and flooring looks pretty 1970s…

…and @inkdemonapologist pointed out that the type of bankruptcy we see documents for in Joey's apartment didn't exist until 1978…

…and I remembered that Joey's apartment also had a newspaper whose headline took place in the future— Princess Diana's 30th birthday which, as TetraBitGaming on YouTube pointed out, would be in 1991 since Princess Diana was born in 1961. She should be two years old if BATIM were really taking place in 1963!

Maybe, at the time, they didn't mean for these two to be clues, since they seem to have rolled the date backwards a bit from the newspaper one; but at this point it feels pretty clear when BATDR takes place, to me. And I'm even more certain than I already was, after finding out that this image from the JDS website…

…is titled “museum” (good work yoinking it, @halfusek /gen 👍🏻), that we know the ink dimension's new home: Nathan Arch Sr.'s private Joey Drew Studios museum that he mentioned he was curating in TIOL (meaning it's existed since around 1972).

“Over the years, I have collected every single piece of the studio memorabilia I could find to restore it to its former glory, to create, in a sense, a private museum that gleamed with the true vision of Joey Drew…” ~ Nathan Arch, The Illusion of Living, pg. 2

Also, besides the fact the museum image has clearly aged, here's some more evidence that at least a few years have probably passed since Bendy was purchased: it generally takes a fair bit more time (years!!) to make movies/documentaries, as Archgate Pictures seems to have made about Joey, than it does to make shorts.

As for BATIM, I think that time has been moving as normal outside of the loop, we were just seeing a repeat of that significant day in 1963; Henry and Joey have been trapped in the ink dimension for somewhere between twenty and thirty years, and the bankruptcy paperwork and Princess Diana newspaper were pieces of the real world leaking into the memory. This explains how there seems to be evidence of Audrey in BATIM and how BATDR is still supposedly neither sequel nor prequel to BATIM despite all the evidence that it takes place long after 1963! They're happening at the same time!! I wonder if Audrey is the daughter of the little girl we hear at the end of BATIM? So, Henry's (great-)granddaughter or Joey's (great-)great-niece?

Now, onto my big theory: the plot twist.

If they handle it right, it would be really, really cool if “break the cycle” really doesn't just mean “end the time loop” but also “break the cycle of abuse/trauma” and a lot of the huge cast of not-so-innocent characters wind up with the potential to get redemption arcs. I have an idea of exactly how they might be planning on even providing the opportunity for Joey.

Victor McKnight commented this on his Artistic Hallowing music video and pinned it:

Those last two sentences. “Make sure you're watching every second! You don't want to miss any vital information. 😉” Does that not sound to anyone else like he's got insider information? Now, I want y'all to watch these music videos that either Victor himself or his brother Noah were suspiciously involved in all of (and one of which is supposedly a BATDS song but for some reason involves Audrey) and tell me if you notice any patterns.

This one seems to be a duet between Sammy and the Ink Demon, both singing to Audrey. Sammy mostly sings in the default sepiatone, asking us things like “Can you see me? Can you feel me?” (that feels so… sad… and desperate…) and telling us things like “make sense of the consequence we witnessed on that day” (Excuse me, you're telling me that there was a consequence for something on a specific, significant day that we witnessed?? 👀) The demon, on the other hand, mostly sings when the grayscale effect is on, and seems to just be playing a stereotypical villain roll until you notice “be forced to believe what I see” (why would we even give a crap about what you're seeing /srs? How the actual heck would we see what you're seeing /gen? You don't even have eyeballs, bro /j) and “be damned in this evil received” (how do you receive evil that damns you? Maybe by being abused and becoming an abuser in response?).

Two apparently-separate characters singing with the same voice but very different tones and outlooks on the situation, still both singing to Audrey, in this one. One mostly sings in the default sepiatone, again, at first seeming more hopeful, helpful, and friendly until you start noticing ominous comments like “you've made mistakes, accept the change. You will be punished too” (*incoherent noises* 🚨🚨) and “welcome to my dream . . . you still think you are safe in my dream.” The other mostly sings when the grayscale effect is on, again, and seems much more aggressive and seductive until you start noticing comments like “take up your weapons, just leave my friends be” (why is this stereotypically evil-seeming character both telling us to take up weapons, not just letting us have them, and asking us to leave his friends alone with them?).

More hints that the demon who will rise and presumably is most important to the story is linked to grayscale, in this one.

And, in this one, Sammy's asking if the grayscale-linked demon is the one who will set him free (as he claims to be in the first two videos).

Across all four of these first videos, there seems to be an overall “things change when we switch from the default sepiatone to grayscale” and “grayscale is dangerous and seems hopeless but it's important and linked to truth and freedom” theme…

…You're telling me that Sammy and his followers' past (BATIM?) selves were worshipping an imposter demon…? And the truth will be revealed in BATDR…?

Hum, hum, hum… fascinating. I'd noticed the sepiatone vs. grayscale split and imposter vs. true savior thing long before I read the books; for the longest time, I thought it meant we would be dealing with a Henry-Bendy and a Joey-Bendy, as I've been seeing people theorizing. But then I read TIOL, and discovered what I think is evidence that this info is indeed canon and was not left on the cutting room floor while BATDR was in development limbo.

Nathan makes a very strange note on Joey's story about the Sparkle Unicorn speakeasy…

“…I remember this night well. Though I remember it being at the Bee Room, gold and black, not silver as the main design aesthetic. Doesn't really make much of a difference though, I suppose.” ~ Nathan Arch, The Illusion of Living, pg. 44 (emphasis added)

Nathan remembers that night in sepiatone, Joey remembers it in grayscale.

Now, I've seen all kinds of theories all over about how Wilson actually “banished/killed the ink demon…” “Wilson took advantage of some sort of blip in Bendy's existence that happened when Joey died,” “Wilson got rid of him by purifying him and turning him into Dapper Bendy,” “Wilson got rid of him by fusing him with either Henry or Joey,” “Wilson got rid of him by trapping him in Henry's loop,” “he didn't, Wilson's just another liar manipulating everyone,” etc…

What if we're looking at this from the wrong angle? What if the point is that, whatever happened, neither of the BATDR Bendys is the original soulless monster we see in BATIM and the books? What if, whether they share a body or are separate, there are two human souls involved here? What if one of those souls is the “new evil” in the ink dimension, not Wilson, who may have been meddling in ink dimension affairs since 1963?

Going back to the time frame I propose BATDR is happening in… Joey was born in 1901, which means that if Nathan was 18 or 19 when Joey was just turning 16, then he was born in 1899 or 1898. So, in 1978, Nathan would've been 79 or 80, and in 1991 he would've been 92 or 93. Especially considering the clues that point towards Nathan having been a smoker, it wouldn't surprise me if he's straight-up already dead in BATDR. Mayhaps for 211 days? During Loop 414…? Could this be why the BATIM loop is different, with Henry apparently not remembering anything that previous versions of himself could? The now-previous owner of their prison has died of old age and/or lung cancer? And could that be why the JDS museum has fallen into bankruptcy? Has Nathan Jr. taken over and isn't as ruthless a businessman as his father?

Itsjustjord on YouTube pointed this out in his trailer reaction, which when he said it set my Clue Radar off so that I went to the trailer again to get a closer look. And… well… *clears throat*

…Do y'all see this weird effect over Dapper Bendy? Compared to every other character we see in the trailer as well as the environment around him, does it not look as if we're seeing him, specifically, through some sort of cartoony filter? Maybe it'll only be in circumstances like this (far away in weird lighting) that the edges of the illusion will fray in-game, based on the other teaser image we have of him, but it definitely looks off to me.

Especially with what I now suspect Allison and Susie's situations were in relation to Nathan, I think that the ink creatures’ perfection vs. imperfection has nothing to do with how pure/good vs. impure/evil their hearts are as we've been lead to believe/is the conventional surface-level reading, but instead how intact vs. broken their hearts are. I think that the more horrific the ink being's appearance, the more the soul inside was abused while it was alive. Allison isn't a perfect Alice because she's a better person, it's because she obeyed Nathan and wasn't made to suffer as severely as Susie, who Nathan chose to be his next Isabel. So, why is one new Bendy (apparently created after Joey lost everything, I suspect even being made to watch his Shoulder Angel's murder before being murdered himself) so much scarier than the original (created before Joey lost everything) and the other so goshdarn perfect, proportions and all?

Maybe the banning of everything related to Sammy's demon cult and Henry under Wilson's rule has to do with his decades-old mission to keep the Creators from joining forces, as well as everyone including himself feeling like they're finally free from The Great Puppet Master?

I love Dapper Bendy's design as much as everyone else!! He's positively adorable, and it would also be a nice outcome if the baby boy is exactly what he seems and just a precious lil friend to love forever; but I theorize that Dapper Bendy is the perfectly sane, untraumatized, and truly evil one, that (assuming we actually get choices in BATDR, unlike in BATIM) his route, no matter how things seem in the moment, is the wrong one, that he's Nathan. And I think Freaky Teeth Bendy (that's been my nickname for him since we first saw him and I'm sticking to it lolol) is the damaged as heck but able to be saved one, that his route is the correct one, that he's Joey. I also think that we won't get to see either demon for what they really are – won't be able to get the True, Broken Cycle, “Joey's Redeemed & Nathan Faces Justice” Ending – unless we somehow unlock Grayscale Mode like we could in BATIM and gain the ability to see Joey's truth. Until then, we'll be seeing the demons the way Nathan wants us to see them. Through Nathan's tainted, gaslighting, sepiatone filter.

If I'm right, the fact that they did choose these color palettes is so perfectly poetic~! Sepiatone is what happens when black-and-white images have been chemically altered for preservation purposes; Nathan's altered our perception of himself, Joey, and all the events surrounding them, and his version of events is much more resilient. Meanwhile, Joey's would be more pure and unaltered but easily destroyed— including by himself, with his Illusion of Living coping mechanism… The only thing that could make it more perfect is if not only do we get to see Henry in BATDR, but when we do he's an angelic toon… *Vibrates with excitement*

Please, please, please, JDS, let me be right about where you're going with this!! Cause this would genuinely be so freaking cool…!! 🙏🏻 I hope that we eventually get to “rejoice with our founders,” as Artistic Hallowing says, when they're reunited.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk, rofl. Congratulations on making it through the ramblings of a hyped AuDHD fangirl (though, I guess we already knew you were capable, if you've read TIOL. I could do a whole nother rant on evidence that Joey's basically confirmed canonically ADHD(+?), my freaking gosh). 😝

Read the Rest of the Original Analysis/Theory: Part One • Part Two • Unexpected Part Four

BATDR Analysis/Post-Playthrough Theory Revision: Part One • Part Two • Part Three • Part Four

#long post #spoiler warning #book analysis #game analysis #book theory #game theory #bendy and the ink machine #batim #dreams come to life #dctl #the illusion of living #tiol #crack up comics #bendy: the lost ones #bendy: tlo #bendy and the dark revival #batdr #batdr trailer #batdr theory #joey drew #nathan arch #henry stein #allison pendle #thomas connor #wally franks #bertrum piedmont #sammy lawrence #tw: abuse

[bellafemme]

The letter Sinead wrote to Miley Cyrus.

'Dear Miley,

I wasn't going to write this letter, but today i've been dodging phone calls from various newspapers who wished me to remark upon your having said in Rolling Stone your Wrecking Ball video was designed to be similar to the one for Nothing Compares … So this is what I need to say … And it is said in the spirit of motherliness and with love.

I am extremely concerned for you that those around you have led you to believe, or encouraged you in your own belief, that it is in any way 'cool' to be naked and licking sledgehammers in your videos. It is in fact the case that you will obscure your talent by allowing yourself to be pimped, whether its the music business or yourself doing the pimping.

Nothing but harm will come in the long run, from allowing yourself to be exploited, and it is absolutely NOT in ANY way an empowerment of yourself or any other young women, for you to send across the message that you are to be valued (even by you) more for your xesual appeal than your obvious talent.I am happy to hear I am somewhat of a role model for you and I hope that because of that you will pay close attention to what I am telling you.

The music business doesn't give a s**t about you, or any of us. They will prostitute you for all you are worth, and cleverly make you think its what YOU wanted … and when you end up in rehab as a result of being prostituted, 'they' will be sunning themselves on their yachts in Antigua, which they bought by selling your body and you will find yourself very alone.

None of the men ogling you give a s**t about you either, do not be fooled. Many's the woman mistook lust for love. If they want you xesually that doesn't mean they give a f**k about you. All the more true when you unwittingly give the impression you don't give much of a f**k about yourself. And when you employ people who give the impression they don't give much of a fµck about you either. No one who cares about you could support your being pimped … and that includes you yourself.

Yes, I'm suggesting you don't care for yourself. That has to change. You ought be protected as a precious young lady by anyone in your employ and anyone around you, including you. This is a dangerous world. We don't encourage our daughters to walk around naked in it because it makes them prey for animals and less than animals, a distressing majority of whom work in the music industry and it's associated media.

You are worth more than your body or your xesual appeal. The world of showbiz doesn't see things that way, they like things to be seen the other way, whether they are magazines who want you on their cover, or whatever … Don't be under any illusions … ALL of them want you because they're making money off your youth and your beauty … which they could not do except for the fact your youth makes you blind to the evils of show business. If you have an innocent heart you can't recognise those who do not.

I repeat, you have enough talent that you don't need to let the music business make a prostitute of you. You shouldn't let them make a fool of you either. Don't think for a moment that any of them give a flying f**k about you. They're there for the money… we're there for the music. It has always been that way and it will always be that way. The sooner a young lady gets to know that, the sooner she can be REALLY in control.

You also said in Rolling Stone that your look is based on mine. The look I chose, I chose on purpose at a time when my record company were encouraging me to do what you have done. I felt I would rather be judged on my talent and not my looks. I am happy that I made that choice, not least because I do not find myself on the proverbial rag heap now that I am almost 47 yrs of age … which unfortunately many female artists who have based their image around their sexuality, end up on when they reach middle age.

Real empowerment of yourself as a woman would be to in future refuse to exploit your body or your sexuality in order for men to make money from you. I needn't even ask the question … I've been in the business long enough to know that men are making more money than you are from you getting naked. Its really not at all cool. And its sending dangerous signals to other young women. Please in future say no when you are asked to prostitute yourself. Your body is for you and your boyfriend. It isn't for every spunk-spewing dirtbag on the net, or every greedy record company executive to buy his mistresses diamonds with.

As for the shedding of the Hannah Montana image … whoever is telling you getting naked is the way to do that does absolutely NOT respect your talent, or you as a young lady. Your records are good enough for you not to need any shedding of Hannah Montana. She's waaaaaaay gone by now … Not because you got naked but because you make great records.

Whether we like it or not, us females in the industry are role models and as such we have to be extremely careful what messages we send to other women. The message you keep sending is that its somehow cool to be prostituted … its so not cool Miley … its dangerous. Women are to be valued for so much more than their sexuality. We aren't merely objects of desire. I would be encouraging you to send healthier messages to your peers … that they and you are worth more than what is currently going on in your career. Kindly fire any motherf****r who hasn't expressed alarm, because they don't care about you.'

She warned Miley and she warned the world about priests raping children. Nobody took her seriously.

Rest In Peace. 🌹

#sinead o'connor #miley cyrus

[theunbearableweightofpedropascal]

Be my Baby chp.2

Warnings: (male masturbation, slight make-out sess.)

A/N: Finally have somewhat of a plotline to follow for this, and more importantly a title.

Word count: 2.6k

Frankie stares at his laptop for the umpteenth time willing his perverted thoughts to go away. He could do it, he has all the privacy he wants since moving into the guest bedroom to sleep. The way you squeezed his arm and oogled him like he was twenty-something again replayed in his mind. That small interaction made him feel like he was the most attractive man. To thank you he wanted to bend you over that front desk and rut into you but Benny just had to make an appearance.

Honestly, he was still a little confused about what attracted you to him, you worked with Benny and Will all day for crying out loud. Frankie shelves those thoughts in favor of grabbing his laptop. He opens it and searches for that shameful website. 

He immediately clicks on the search bar, typing your attributes to find porn stars that look like you. He realizes it won’t be perfect but that doesn’t deter him from being picky. He finally finds a promising video, of course you two don’t look the same but there is a likeness that draws him in. He’ll put his shame away for the duration of the video. 

Frankie palms his cock through his boxers, teasing himself pretending it’s you. The girl in the video looks into the camera while she’s sucking, making Frankie imagine your innocent eyes looking up at him from your knees. He’s sure you would give him that sweet smile while tugging on him. 

When he finally takes it out he swipes the pre-cum of his leaky tip with his thumb. With the girls back to the camera he really can pretend it’s you. He imagines watching his cock disappear into your weeping hole, his balls clench at the mental image.

His right hand tugs harder on his shaft giving the illusion that it’s your tight, wet cunt milking him. Frankie can feel himself getting closer and closer until he feels the spurts of cum all over his hand. But somehow he's still cumming, so he pumps himself dry thinking only of you.

Once he’s out of the fog Frankie shamefully cleans himself up, thinking about how much of a dirty old man he is. But as much as he should close the tab he opts to bookmark it to come back to later. 

While lying on his back he thinks of how he can start a conversation with you next. He thinks of questions to ask you, even stupid ones like what your favorite color is. It’s like he’s reliving his first crush all over again. The prospect of seeing you keeps a smile on his face despite the rough couple of months.

…….. 

In the morning Frankie wakes up earlier to cook Rosie a full breakfast before he drops her off to daycare. She loves his omelet with a side of sugared strawberries and apple or orange juice, depending on her mood. He knows he really shouldn’t give a 4-year-old sugar in the morning but it’s not like it’s every day, and Rosie always gives him those puppy dog eyes. Before he can even go upstairs to wake her she’s already up and dragging her favorite purple plushie next to her. Her chocolate eyes looked up at Frankie with a tired smile on her face. 

“What are you doing up sweetie usually I have to drag you down here myself.” Frankie turns back around to plate the food while she saddles up next to him to watch. 

“I smelled bacon.” Rosie simply responds before trying to reach onto Frankie’s plate to steal a piece. He playfully swats her tiny hand telling her to sit at the table. 

As they eat their breakfast Frankie asks Rosie questions on how daycare is and if she’s making friends. Her answer calmed him, he was worried about sending his baby to daycare. She’s a reserved kid much like himself and it was hard making friends for him at times. He just wants Rosie to have the best, or at the very least better than him. 

After breakfast, it took some hassle to finally get her in a coherent outfit that also appeased her terrible fashion sense. He prays she grows out of wanting to wear a tutu, cheetah leggings, and a striped shirt. Frankie may not be the best person on fashion trends but even he knew that was wrong. 

He waves goodbye to Rosie reminding her that her mom would be picking her up in the afternoon. He only pulls off once he sees her go inside the door, uncaring if he holds up the carpool line. Frankie then makes his way to the garage his veins thrumming with excited nerves. 

This time when he pulls up he doesn’t need to sit and ponder he already has all the preparation he needs. He enters the shop only to find you wearing the prettiest but shortest sundress he’d seen in a while. All the conversation starters seem to vanish with your beauty. You look up at him and smile rounding the front desk to greet him with a hug. It doesn’t take him long to reciprocate by wrapping his arms around your waist. Even though his hands itch to dip lower and cup your ass. 

“You’re staying out here with me all day today right?” You peer up at him through your lashes while settling your hands on his biceps.

“I’m all yours.” He doesn’t mean to sound so desperate when he says it but he’s sure it comes off that way. Nonetheless, your smile gets even brighter as you take his hand and guide him behind the front desk. 

Seeing Frankie walk in made your day, especially since you put more effort into the way you dress. You knew Frankie would be of more use to Benny or Will but you selfishly want to keep him to yourself even if all you’ll do is look at him. 

“For now I’m mostly working on sorting all the digital records.” You go to pull up the program showing him what you have so far. “Most of it is simple enough but I don’t quite have the terminology down yet.” The understatement of the century considering it looked like a foreign language.

“That’s because you’re not supposed to fill out all of the forms.” He points to the section that’s been giving you trouble. “You’re supposed to stop here because they have to fill out what was wrong, the part they’re using to fix it, and this is the form to order the parts.” 

You felt like a dumbass. Of course, Benny and Will would need to fill that part out. 

Frankie sees the look on your face and is quick to reassure you with his arm circling your waist. “Anybody would’ve been confused sweetie. Why don’t you take a break, I think they’ve been working you too hard.”

“Only if you’ll take it with me.” You don’t mind taking your break alone, but having Frankie’s company would be nice.

“I just got here Cariño” Frankie laughs.

“Please,” you plead wanting to spend your lunch break with him. “There’s a diner down the road with burgers and milkshakes.”

“Alright let me let the guys know we’ll be leaving.” He hands you the keys to his truck. 

When he arrives in the garage only Will is there, working on a 2009 Toyota Camry. From the way Will’s positioned he can tell it’s an issue with the engine. Frankie slides in next to him to help inspect the vehicle, and it looks like it’s a broken valve. Will’s working on replacing it but he still wonders if he needs help.

“You got everything covered?” Frankie asks

“Yeah why?”

“I’m taking the receptionist you overwork to lunch, she thought she had to fill out the ordering forms.”

Will laughs a little at that knowing you try to do everything you can, despite him and Benny telling you otherwise. “We’ll be good when Benny gets back from the bathroom I’ll send him up front. Have fun Fish.” The tone of his last statement causes Frankie to playfully roll his eyes.

Frankie walks out of the open garage and into the parking lot where he finds you already in his truck. Not in the passenger but sitting right in the middle. He sees you adjusting your face and makeup, not that you need to. When you hear the truck door open you pull up his mirror and pull back attempting to look natural.

“We’re all set. Which way is the diner?” You direct him to turn right once he exits the lot. The drive is shorthand from the outside Frankie can see he might become a regular here. 

Frankie slides out of the truck and holds his hand out to you to help you down. He also opens the door for you to go inside first. You head inside greeting Amelia, the seating hostess you’ve become very familiar with. 

“Hey sweet pea, and who’s the handsome man?” She tries and fails to keep her voice down, but it produces a genuine smile on Frankie’s face. 

“I’m Frankie, her new co-worker.” He gives Amelia an award-winning smile that reddens her cheeks.

“More like boss, are there any booths left?” You look around at all the available tables.

“Of course sweetie follow me.” She leads you to a corner booth with a window facing the road.

Amelia set down your menus and informed you she’ll be back in a few minutes. You already know what you’re getting so you sneak a peek at Frankie. His forearms border the menu while he slouches to read the fine print. 

“You know you shouldn’t slouch like that, especially at your age.” You semi-joke with him.

“You know you shouldn’t go out with married men.” Frankie fires back at you without taking his eyes off the menu. 

“Married men shouldn’t accept the advances of a harlot.” He can’t contain the laughter bubbling inside him, but he does hide it with a balled fist to his mouth. 

“Matchpoint. Now let me figure out what I wanna eat in peace.” He jokingly waves you off.

The theme of the diner commands your attention, it’s a simple combination of pink and blue. It has a polished look that you could almost mistake for something straight out of Grease. Everything was so shiny it would glint when the sunlight hit it. Instead of turning on the overhead lights they always opted for natural lighting. The best part was the jukebox in the corner, the music selections including everything between 1960-1979. 

Although there was a low murmur of the other patrons immersed in their conversations and plates clanking in the kitchen, you headed for the jukebox. You felt Frankie’s eye follow despite him not asking what you were doing. Upon reaching the jukebox you flipped through the selections before landing on the song you always look for. The drums for Be My Baby by The Ronettes fill the diner in a soft lull, not disturbing the peace of the atmosphere. 

“She plays that song every time she comes in here,” Ameilia is back at the table and talking to Frankie. “Do you know what you want sweet pea?” 

Her question has Frankie’s head leaving your approaching figure, “Yes ma’am I’ll have the bacon cheeseburger, well done, a side of fries, and a coke. Thank you.” 

As you slide back into your side Frankie just finishes up with his order so Amelia turns to you asking if you’ll have your usual. You nod your head before glancing at Frankie. 

“Alright, I’ll be back with your drinks in a minute.” Amelia heads to the kitchen to put in your order.

“How often do you come here?” You seem very familiar with the diner and staff.

“Every lunch break I have. And if I don’t feel like cooking dinner too.” Truthfully you didn’t feel like cooking 3-4 nights a week, especially after digitizing mountains of paperwork. 

“It’s not healthy for you to eat out so much, just say the word and I’ll cook for you.” Frankie’s words cause warmth to spread through your cheeks.

“And what would you cook me?” You hope he doesn’t say chicken alfredo.

“Whatever you want sweetheart.” Frankie hopes he isn’t laying it on too thick.

You don’t get to reply because Mila began placing your plates on the table in front of you. The both of you thank her before she takes off to her next table. Frankie looks over to see what your usual is, but it’s the same thing he got but with a milkshake. The only noise coming from the table was chewing and the occasional gulp. 

The first to tap out is you. Most of your burger is gone and you finished all your fries. Frankie on the other hand is still going strong, usually men eating grosses you out but it is Frankie. The food must be good because he hasn’t said a word in 15 minutes.

“Now you see why I come here so often?” You stare at him with your arms crossed. 

“I can already feel the weight I’ll gain from coming here.” He swipes his thumb around the outer edge of his mouth before fully wiping it with a napkin. 

“So you’re just gonna steal my place from me?” Playfully you narrow your eyes at him.

“How am I stealing it if you’ll be with me when I go?” Frankie finds flirting with you to be easy, and natural. 

When the check comes Frankie insists he’ll pay and you pretend to object. The both of you head back to work in comfortable silence. You appreciate the break because you have been working non-stop to get an organized system for Benny and Will to use. Frankie pulls back into the lot in no time, but you aren’t ready to leave the cramped truck. 

“Thanks for lunch Frankie.” You unbuckle your seatbelt before turning back to give him a peck on the cheek. 

“If you want I would love to take you out to dinner and a movie.” Frankie would have to work out Maria’s schedule or hire a babysitter.

“I would love that,” You smile at him before adding, “I can’t do this week though.”

“Yeah, me either I gotta make sure Rosie’ll be situated first.” He informs you.

“Your daughter right? How old is she?” You have been interested in his home life since he dropped the bomb on you.

“Yeah she’s 4,” Frankie fumbles to get out his phone to show you his lockscreen. “She’ll be in kindergarten next year.”

“She’s adorable and she has your eyes.” You gush while looking at Frankie holding a young girl with a head full of curls.

“Really?” Frankie’s face scrunches at your admission. 

“Yeah you both have puppy-dog eyes, I’m sure you can never say no to her.” Frankie playfully groans before agreeing that she is picking up on that fact.

Frankie places his hand on your thigh before squeezing, “I almost forgot to tell you how beautiful you look.” His compliment has your thighs involuntarily clenching together. 

“Thank you Francisco.” Your voice is barely a whisper. 

For once you’re the flustered one and he’s not. Frankie takes full advantage and moves his left hand to caress the side of your face. His eyes never leave yours while he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. He slowly leans in towards you giving you time to back away if you choose, but you lean the rest of the way touching his lips with yours. You follow his lead and tilt your head to bring your lips closer. His right hand is still situated on your thigh, the weight of it has your head spinning. 

Knocking on the driver’s window causes you to reer back, only to be met with Benny’s face split in a shit-eating grin. A heavy sigh leaves Frankie’s body before he opens the door to yell at Benny. You take your time going back to the front desk after being caught by your boss making out with your other boss. 

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #triple frontier fic #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales

[jordanianprincesses]

My post is actually going to get some heat but I really have to say it

I know rajwa gets a lot of hate online and people are sympathetic towards her BUT BOOHOO CRY ME A RIVER she’s an iffing future queen and frankly I think she doesn’t give a damn (I’m not excusing bullying I’m just saying she clearly doesn’t care) here’s why I think some of the criticism she’s getting is actually somewhat justified…

Rajwa was really popular once the engagement was announced ALOT of people praised her and liked her but unfortunately here’s a list of what the JRF did to completely ruin rajwa’s reputation

1) they acted as if she was this very conservative Saudi woman from a big and important family (they literally mentioned all her family tree during the announcement) when in fact she wasn’t!

2) they literally didn’t even try to remove pictures from online and save rajwa from the public scrutiny she’s going to get once the pictures are released

3) rania spent so much time praising her and pushing her which gave people the illusion that she will be a working royal SINCE WE SAW HER EVERYWHERE BEFORE THE WEEDDING

4) they set high expectations for her without making sure that she was actually fit for these expectations (I feel like they just ignored that she might be lazy and simply didn’t want to work)

5) they spent way too much time coddling and protecting her instead of working on improving her and her work ethic. I think they did that because they were terrified she would leave otherwise!

It seems like the JRF were actually setting her up from the start l. Now now for the part that I will get hate for…I don’t think rajwa is completely innocent and she helped in tarnishing her image as well

1) she did not contact certain people to delete some of her past photos which is insane because she knows how popular Hussein was in the past and she should’ve at least used her brain a bit.

2) she enjoyed the limelight before the engagement a bit too much without thinking this will make the expectations for her higher.

3) she thought that being queen in Jordan is an easy task where you only have to play dress up and look pretty, which leads me to believe she didn’t even bother to simply google how messed things inJordan are.

4) she doesn’t even TRY to push against the royal family! She does what they want without even asking or thinking whether it was good for her or not. She doesn’t use her brain at all.

5) THE FAMOUS BIKINI SCANDAL: now now before you eat me alive I do think she was a victim and we should blame the person that invaded their privacy BUT it’s so stupid on her part to think that she can just slip under the radar and wear whatever she wants after the HUGE wedding they had! She was 100% aware of how popular she had become and still she didn’t USE HER BRAIN and think for a moment that there’s always people watching especially in public. I genuinely would’ve excused her if they were in the privacy of their own home.

6) now finally the most inexcusable of all: I think she genuinely doesn’t want to work. Now people like to come up with “theories” that maybe rania doesn’t want her to work (which is almost impossible considering how much time and effort rania put into hyping up rajwa and making her popular) or that Hussein is the one setting her up with is also not true because he is trying to push her as well… so we are left with the only option that Rajwa genuinely doesn’t want to be a working royal and just wants royal treatment with no royal responsibilities… because if she wanted to work, she would have. It’s not that hard to ask your team to give you a task to do.

7) wearing boycotted brands in the middle of genocide

Conclusion: I think both parts are at fault here they set her up and then she proceeded to set herself up as well. I wholeheartedly believe rajwa did marry for the title mainly and was so protected and coddled that she thought that’s all she’s getting A TITLE. I think she was shocked and overwhelmed with the work that comes with it. So she decided not to work at all. As if for the bullying? I honestly don’t think she cares she’s living her absolute best life and she’s set for life with the JRF stolen money and endless connections. 🤷🏼‍♀️

It’s crazy coming up with these conclusions now… I was rooting for her & Hussein so hard just about a year ago ! 💔

I agree with you in most of what you said but not all of them . Anyway, welcoome

#answered

[marvel-noms]

Can i suggest an oneshot where Thor noms Loki? (not pairing, just protective brother vore)

Oh course anon!!)

“Thor I see that look. absolutely not.” Loki grounds out, staring at his brother with annoyance. Every since everyone found out he had acted by the will of Thanos they had made it their apparent mission to keep him ‘safe’ which was annoying when it was Thor and ten times worse when the Midgardians got the ability as well.

“Brother, I have no idea what you’re referring too.” Thor responds an air of false innocence in his tone. Loki takes a step back manifesting his knives. They wouldn’t do much damage, Thor having compared them to the Midgard animal of a cat. It was probably due to his size.

He bares his teeth in response trying to see if he could scoot past his oaf of a brother, or at least create an illusion to distract. He takes a swipe at the fingers that come to scoop him up, grimacing when his back hit the wall. “I am beyond serious brother, I will stab you.” He practically hisses out, knives raised as his brother looked at him fondly.

“You haven’t been sleeping Loki. While it may not affect us as much as the Midgards it is hurting you. I see it in your eyes.” Gods the one time his oaf of a brother was observant enough it had to be now. “It’s none of your concern.” He snaps back, though he could feel himself lowering his knives.

“Friend Stark speaks of it too, you see him don’t you? You see the carnage, the control..the outcome.”

Loki swallows nervously trying to force the images away. He didn’t want to relieve it, he didn’t need to. It was a tad comforting to know that someone shared the same experience as he.

“I know the heat is uncomfortable so..I had friend Stark aid in that regards.” Thor presented him with an odd looking pill, it was blue in nature and had icy tendrils. “What is this.” Loki turns his gaze from the pill to his brother, narrowing them in what he hoped was threatening and not confused.

“Friend Stark explains that it makes the stomach colder, no pain for the one who takes it and will reverse in a few hours.” Thor explains his smile only growing with each passing second. Loki hesitates a sense of relief washing over him. It was obvious that he would be going down regardless but there wouldn’t be an uncomfortable heat that made his skin crawl.

“Fine.”

Thor gives him a confused glance before speaking. “You accept?”

“Yes. But if anyone asks I will deny it.” Loki hisses back, as he sheaths his daggers. Sleep had started to make his life unbearable and he craved the normal blissful nothingness as he rested.

Thor didn’t seem to question it, taking the pill without so much as blinking. Ha eager bastard. “This doesn’t mean you have my permission to do this during battle, I am more than capable of doing so.” He warns as he was plucked up by his waist. “But of course brother.”

“I don’t like your tone. Who taught you sarcasm.”

Loki rolls his eyes when the only answer he got was being slid into his brother’s mouth with a rumbling chuckle. “Bastard.” He mutters under his breath, kicking the teeth once he was sealed in darkness. Surprisingly It was indeed much cooler than he was used to and while it wasn’t freezing it was a welcome change from the heat.

“Don’t drag it out this time your oaf.” He adds on, shoving at the tongue when it started it’s attack on him. He groans in annoyance as saliva soaked his clothing. He happened to like the outfit that the spider child picked out for him. He hoped these Midgardian clothing cleaners were as good as they claimed.He grimaces when the muscle continues it’s job, saliva building up to the point he knew he would be going down.

The tilt of gravity makes his insides flip and soon his feet were positioned right before his brother’s throat, the flesh pulsing ominously. “Get on with it you drama queen.” He snaps patting the muscle beneath him. No sooner did he finish his sentence a swallow pulled him down, the muscles rippling over him as he was pulled further into his brother.

His teeth hits the tight ring of muscle to the stomach, it gives easily and soon he’s plopping into the stomach. The heat was..gone. The stomach had a cool air to it, the electricity sparking under the muscle making the stomach almost..comforting.

“Are you alright brother?” The loudness of his brother was toned down much to his relief. “Yes. I’m fine.” Loki settles down against the muscle, letting the movement press into him. He sighs and closes his rest, relieved to find none of the images haunted him.

“If anyone asks where I am just say I am causing chaos with the hot dog cart man.”

“Of course brother. “

#admin snexy #marvel vore #soft vore #angry prey #I tried #hey we sorta live lol

[eyecicles]

What do you think about L's monster speech ?

I’ve talked about it a few times. And I mainly think the speech doesn’t work for manga!L.

What all DN adaptions (minus the musical, perhaps) have in common is that they always try to make L softer, more relatable, or in other ways more sympathetic. So while he calls himself a monster here—admits that he isn’t exactly innocent—it’s used to make L seem more torn about both his tactics and his lifestyle. There’s one instance in the manga of L being self-deprecating, but he himself admits later that he was essentially just moping.

Relight (and I’d argue the anime in general) takes this a step further and paints him as someone who feels bad about lying, about having no deep relationships and so on.

And that scene really is quite straightforward: L uses all sorts of tactics to accomplish his goals—which achievements mainly just give him a hollow sort of pleasure—and neglects his “human” side, and that (apparently) makes him a monster in his eyes. It’s quite easy to disagree with him here! It wouldn’t surprise me if that’s what they were aiming for, which in turn would probably make you feel sorry for him.

The closest equivalent to the speech we have in the manga is L saying he would be a criminal in the eyes of the law, and that he catches criminals for fun. But it’s not a moral evaluation, it’s instead used as a reality check for the Wammy kids, to leave them no illusions about who he is and what he does.

I do sort of see why someone could interpret even the original L as lonely, at least, but there’s still no reason to think that he struggles with self-loathing. But if the added rain scene wasn’t obvious enough, the “monster speech” makes it even clearer that that’s what the anime thinks of L.

It ultimately comes down to L being a fan favourite, and woobifying him a bit is a form of fan-service, haha.

I personally think that the pitiless way in which the manga treats L is much more intriguing and fitting for his character. Doesn’t mean you can’t feel sorry for him—on the contrary—the sadness I feel for him is much more natural than whatever emotional reactions the anime causes in me.

Uh yeah, what all of this means is that I don’t like the “monster speech”. Especially not when someone uses it to contrive an overly complex, if not contradicting, image of L the manga would never give you. I don’t think the speech is nearly as sophisticated as some people in the fandom seem to believe.

#anon #asks #l lawliet #meta #monster speech

[katalinachalamet]

THOUGHTS ON 27TH APRIL, 2023

Format : stream of consciousness good luck!!

Fashion choices not exactly important - gothic fashion is a countercultural statement against popular notions of ‘good femininity’ - it is more important for people who have had faced trouble with the philosophy/psychology of popular conformity (aka me) - you’ve never been faced with shunning for being an ‘imperfect female’ so of course you don’t care about gothic fashion - it’s all about a subversion of popular culture - to paraphrase, goth clothes say ‘I do not care to be your good christian woman’ - also serves to signal to people with similar ideologies it’s not so complicated love <3

You can’t help but make a fashion statement - your clothes probably signal ‘I am autistic and I don’t care about fashion’ which is perfectly okay - I prefer to be in control of what I signal sometimes ofc it doesn’t serve to be anal about it

Also body image - basically you want to like what you see in the mirror - it’s like how you prefer to see yourself shaved than not (maybe lol) - it goes like you relate better to what you see in the mirror/photos - even if it’s just a visual illusion - that’s why it’s self indulgence - with survivors of early trauma, you often feel disconnected from your body - with a numbing of your senses - ‘my body is not my own I have no agency’ - with makeup/decoration you feel like you reclaim your body step by step - since it doesn’t look so much like the person you loathe/was so helpless/whatever - you are almost someone else and your life is your own once more

‘Pretty’ is a fallacy of ambiguous language don’t even worry about it - I don’t find rocks pretty either it’s an extremely personal concept - sure it’s a visual version of cute - something you find calming/comforting - visually indulgent - like the #oddlyrelaxing videos you like - or perhaps an affirmation of your experiences since no one likes to be alone - there is no consensus

You can’t help want self expression - your brain’s whole resting function is to make sense of your relationship with the world i can cite research - oh, I get it, maybe it’s because you almost never relax…. - anyway it’s not something you can escape

Pretty/aesthetics : It is upsetting to communicate because I am still hurt you found M- pretty/cute and I am somehow in the same category of objects for you - also because your word for ‘pretty’ is often ‘hot’ - which while often overlapping aren’t exactly the same - and is so reductive it makes me uncomfortable - at least past you conveyed this to me - it would also have been kinda okay if past you didn’t make me feel completely objectified - my pretty/art is a remnant of my innocence and something i’ve had forever and I don’t want you/past you to destroy it - it’s the fight/flight/freeze response to trauma

I don’t doubt that you are capable of appreciating art - that was just mean I am very sorry

You aren’t that bad at communicating at least with me - we are both autistic - you just hurt me an insane amount and while I am aware no one - not you or my parents or anyone, even society - intended to make me a casualty - it still hurts so much I can’t really think and my reptilian brain takes over

How I feel about you - I loved you before I knew you and I love you even having known you - the first time I felt ANYTHiNG since forever ago (7th grade?) - I want to love you innocently like a child once again - in fact I do most of the time - except when some inadvertent signal sends me into a state of #brainfreeze because I am just very, very hurt and my body won’t forget my past - I’m sorry - I will get better

Also if all 20 y/o’s are like what your mom describes there’s something radically wrong with society eh? It doesn’t make the young adults so vile - we are kinda systematically set up for torment

Footnotes :

Please just keep me forever, I don’t even want to live without you

All of this is backed by scientific research

You are my favorite creature, I appreciate the fuck out of your existence and love you a million suns

#artists on tumblr #spilled thoughts #online diary #tumblr diary

[ofbluesandyellows]

Eleven: Jitterbug Love - Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 8,848

a/n: this are just fluff and yeah we are right at the end, hope you like this

Previous chapter

Eddie was almost hyperventilating when they arrived at your building, it took them more than an hour to get there, the cars had to stay in some parking lot that was just secure enough to have Steve’s Mercedes looked after. They walked and took the subway to get to Queens.

Eddie gulped, he had to clean his sweaty hands over his jeans. They were received by your mom, who happily hugged Robin, and greeted the rest of them with warm smiles and a light squeeze on the arm. It was kinda crazy how you looked just like your mom, but also very different, you were a tiny bit more intimidating, it was the gaze and the way you moved in a room, catching attention without noticing it. At least that was what Eddie thought the first time he saw you, you were like a magnet trying to drag the attention from others, yet you were unaware of it, looking down at your feet or anywhere else.

The teens and the two boys sat down between the open living room, they drank pink lemonade and a few pieces of watermelon, because your mom didn’t want them to dehydrate, and keep them occupied until the food was ready.

Robin was lively chatting with your mom, sharing anecdotes and mostly gossiping about people in Hawkins.

Eddie was occupying himself by drinking his very refreshing pink lemonade, trying his best not to freak out and contain the urge to get the hell away from there. The door swung open making him choke on the liquid as you came into view, his chest somersaulted when his eyes landed you, with your red cheeks and sweaty forehead, headphones on. He gawked.

“You okay?” Dustin asked Eddie, who nodded as he felt the boy patting him on the back, but he was just mesmerized, with his hand he cleaned the drops coming from down his nose and across his neck.

You passed by the living room as if they were ghosts. Your mom put a finger on her lips as she saw you walk by, straight to your room.

For you it was a normal day of spring break, a little too hot in the city but you had to go out and print some images for the magazine, so as expected the subway was starting to stink. You felt like changing your clothes the second you got home.

Eddie’s mixtape was playing on loop in your walkman. Morrissey sang to you while you changed your t-shirt, Max’s tie-dye gift was the one you chose as you hummed along to the song. The photographs Jonathan took of a protest in Illinois were nowhere to be seen. You were sure you had put them on your desk the night before.

“Mom! Have you seen the photographs I had on the desk?” you heard nothing coming from her. You took the headphones off, they rested on your neck, “mom?”

You came out of your room, squinting at the silence, your mom was a loud one, always making noise around the apartment.

Walking into the living room you pressed pause to the walkman, not minding the whole scene until your eyes turned ahead. You froze on your spot. A loud horrified scream came out of you unbidden.

“Surprise!!” everyone said untimely.

“What are you doing here!” you shouted, covering your mouth in a second, your mom laughing at the reaction as you got tackled by Robin.

Damn, your heart pounded all the way up to your head, you felt like you could faint any second, good thing Robin was there to avoid the horrible fall.

Tears burning your eyes. It was all like an illusion there was no way they were there.

“You need to keep your promise now y/n. Forbidden Planet, tomorrow!” Dustin said with a grin on his face, you were too in awe to say yes, you just laughed and held your cheeks with your hands, feeling flush and with blurry sight.

Hugs and greetings were exchanged. Jeez, where were you supposed to fit them all in your tiny apartment now? El was so cute and the most innocent girl you’ve seen, Mike half hugged you and handed you a yellow envelope with the words “From Nancy Wheeler” on.

You could check that later. Steve’s hairspray scent filled your nose as he came to hug you in a very harsh motion, but it was fine, you had missed him a lot too.

“But what are you doing here, what about Family Video?”

“We’re here for business…” Steve winked at you but you were kind of confused “don’t worry about it we’ll tell you later. Thanks for the sweater by the way.”

He nudged you lightly.

“He wore it for like two months straight” Dustin added with a grossed face, this made you smile “did you like my present thought?”

“You’re kidding? That was awful Dustin you need to try harder, I don’t know how Suzzie is dating you if you give such horrible gifts”

You heard Eddie snort on the far end of the room, your lips twitched. You almost forgot he was there, the butterflies in your stomach woke up.

“Oh shut up y/n, Suzzie loves me for my charm I don’t need to give her anything because she appreciates me for who i am”

“Okay whatever Dustin, you either apologize or there won’t be Forbidden Planet for you”

“Steve, look what you did to her, she sounds just like you,” Dustin squealed and the ruckus started.

Robin quickly intervened, as the chatting increased when your mom informed the food was ready, making it all way more chaotic as the conversation moved to your tiny kitchen.

This was your cue, your hands were trembling, with a big deep breath you moved. Sooner or later you were going to talk to him anyway.

“Um, hi.”

Eddie gulped, and tried to mouth some words but he was speechless somehow, looking like some fish out of water, he couldn’t be more pathetic. You felt like you were about to lose sanity by having him there, with that outfit and his tattoos showing off on his slightly more tanned skin, your attention slipped to his lips, so pink and soft, and his eyes so wide and bright. Not to mention the way his biceps flexed when he crossed his arm over his chest.

Fuck fuck fuck,

“Hi, hello.” He finally said, it made you smile, he was so not how you first saw him almost a year ago, confidence had left his body, replacing it by clumsiness and cuteness.

You could see the cherry color spreading all over his cheeks and ears.  

“You look good,” he said first, taking you out of guard. His eyes never leaving you. It made you feel very self-conscious, still you probably weren’t as nervous as he felt but Eddie noticed the way your breathing hitched.

Eddie noticed everything when it came to you. It was almost like when he bought his precious guitar all over again as if the whole world had disappeared from around and it was just the guitar shining, but you were a million times more beautiful and captivating. His body and mind were not ready to see you, yes he had tried to wrap his head around the whole encounter with fake scenarios during the whole trip, still those didn’t do the trick for him. He couldn’t believe you were even more pretty now than what he remembered, hell! He was so in love and mesmerized it took his brain a moment to notice everyone had moved to the tiny kitchen to get food on their plates.

You smiled at him when he noticed the commotion. “You look good too! like a rockstar, you always looked like one to be fair”

Eddie’s smile caused a ripple of shivers on your spine. “Nah, I look like I could run a cult or at least that’s what people think.”

“For what it’s worth, I like how you look. I've always liked it.”

His eyes met yours, “That's all that really matters then.”

“Come let's have something to eat.” Your mind was not ready to touch on any delicate matters, not yet.

“Yes ma’am”

A grin formed on your lips as Eddie followed you to the kitchen. When you entered, your mom threw you a look, you knew her too well to know what that minimum innocent glance meant. It was a question charged with a cheeky meaning behind it. She came closer to you and whispered “is that him? The one from the band?”

Your eyes widened, they could’ve dropped out of their sockets, “Mom!” You whined.

“What? You spent the whole year listening to that cassette.”

Swallowing all your words you only shook your head and went to eat with your friends.

Both Eddie and you were not discreet when it came to ‘discreet' glances, and this time neither him nor you approached the other again. It was like an unspoken rule now, you couldn’t interact without making the rest of your friends to remain silent let alone to make the ambience feel awkward. Still they were doing their fair share, trying to tiptoe around the topic, no mentions of Corroded Coffin or concerts and definitely not the name that started with the letter C.

The afternoon didn’t lead to chatting with one another either. You weren’t sure if talking with Eddie was a good idea, yes having him there was a lot and it made you think twice of what to say if the moment occurred. But the sensations he made you feel were playing games with your brain. So when everyone left even after you and your mom insisted on them staying, you tried to get to your room before she could get to you, not wanting to explain anything to your mom but moms are smart, and sneaky. You couldn’t really hide anything from her.

“That’s the kid, right?… I wouldn’t forget a mop of hair like that. The Munson kid if I’m not wrong. He was always very… out there.”

Your mom was sipping from a mug, she looked tired under the fluorescent lights. But she managed to surprise you not once but twice now.

“I like him, he looks like a nice boy, even with all the dark clothes and the hair… although that style suits him. However I don't like him for that. I like him because I’ve seen the way he looks at you, as if you were the only one in the room.” Your mom smiled at you, you diverted her gaze, “now don’t tell me you don’t like him because I’m your mother and I know you y/n.”

She gasped, making you jump in your place, “or do you like that boy Steve? He is cute but you’re too comfortable around him so I’m assuming you’re good friends with him and you finally let that crush go-“

“MOM!” You were so embarrassed, trying to hide your face from your mom was not making it better.

“What? I’m just trying to understand, so is it Eddie or Steve? My money is on Eddie.”

Grunting you picked at your iridescent nail polish, “it’s Eddie… I like him but what if he just-“

“Sweetie, I heard that tape you carry everywhere with you, and he does! You’re just scared to reciprocate him.”

Well those weren’t news to you, but always being reaffirmed by someone else hit different.

“Of course I am mom! What if things don’t work out, we get along nicely but still, he has his band-“

“And you your magazine,”

“Exactly,”

“But you can work that out, eventually. You haven’t even gone on a proper date with him.”

“Uh, how do you know that?”

A smirk formed in her face, she tried to hide it behind the mug. “A little bird told me a few things.”

“Dammit Robin,” you mumbled.

“Hey, she did it because she cares for you, besides how on earth do you think we planned this, of course Robin was the master behind this operation.”

That was true, it had been a nice-scary surprise.

“Lately it seems like she talks to me more than you, I’m not judging sweetie just go with the flow a bit, you’ll do fine, you’re smart and young. Whatever it is that's making you uncomfortable, I know you are going to solve it, because you are not the kind of person that lets opportunities pass you by. Everything has a solution sweeties, remember that.”

“Thank you mom… I’m just scared, I don’t want to get hurt.. I guess”

She let out a chuckle, a sad one, “oh sweetie, that’s part of the game, if you don’t get hurt then you don’t learn anything, the point here is if you are ready to risk that for maybe a better outcome, you never know, maybe you won’t get hurt.”

Your eyes found hers, the tea in her mug got put aside. She grabbed your hands in hers, a little comforting feeling sitting on the base of your stomach.

“Still, It doesn’t depend on me? Eddie… he liked somebody else and now he is here and I know he likes me and I do like him but, mom…” you whined.

“Well honey, that, as you said, is not for you to decide, you only need to be open to whatever this thing is happening between the two of you, just let it happen honey. It’s always better than wondering what could have been, don’t you think? Plus, he is cute, too cute.”

“Mom…” you whined, she laughed, “please what if he actually becomes my boyfriend?”

“Than I’d have a cute son in law,”

“Ugh,” rolling your eyes, feeling like pop rocks were bubbling in your insides just by the mere thought of actually making Eddie part of the family. “I guess that wouldn’t be that bad.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“So if he asked me to go on tour with him would you let me?”

She shook her head, releasing a little sigh, “now you’re overstepping on my kindness honey, please go to sleep, you have a big day tomorrow. When the time comes we’ll see.”

You half shrugged, that went better than expected, “fine. Goodnight, and thanks mom, you truly are the best.”

“Thank you baby, I know that already.”

You snorted, kissing her cheek, finally making your way to your room.

You managed to keep the fake scenarios at bay for the last couple of days but that night they took over your mind after a whole day of having Eddie in your line of vision. Your eyes were fixated on the popcorn ceiling, questions started to pop, doubts brewed.

Eddie deserves another chance?

What if he doesn’t want another chance?

I need a damn sign. You grumbled and rolled with a pillow over your face, frustration was eating you alive.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Maybe you are thinking much into it, so it was decided, you were going to let things flow, intrusive thoughts needed to be drowned. They dissipated when a knock put you on alert.

☼

Eddie’s hands were shaking to say the least, Steve was by his side, looking up to your building, the kids were in his car waiting for him, faces plastered on the windows nudging one another, of course they didn’t want to stay at the hotel, gossip was their main motor. The night spring air felt fresh against Eddie’s face thanks to the little pearls of sweat covering his forehead. Shivers ran along his body not because he felt hot but for the anticipation.

The plan had been quite a success so far, he carried a bag over his shoulder filled in with sweets and drinks he knew you liked—or rather he bribed Robin to tell him what to buy—. Logistically was not the strongest plan, they had to go all the way back to the parking lot to get to Steve’s car and Eddie’s van to drive all the way to the hotel to then drive back to yours.

Was this a risky plan? Totally, but Eddie was willing to do anything in his power to fix things up.

Dustin honked Steve’s car, his hands up as if saying: ‘what are you waiting for?’

“Well… from now on you are on your own. Good luck Munson, I’ll see you… when I see you.” Steve smiled at Eddie giving him a heavy pat on the shoulder. “Don’t mess it up,”

“Yeah, no pressure at all. Thanks man,”

“Any time,” with that, Steve went to his pretty Mercedes and drove away, the kids waving at Eddie giving him thumbs up and hopeful grins. He only hoped that tonight was not a complete disaster.

Eddie was not a guy who exercised much however he pushed himself to do so the moment he climbed to the fire escapes, when he reached the seventh floor he was doubting his body would let him reach the twelfth.

It was fortunate that earlier Robin had a little tour in your apartment, she reassured Eddie that the fire escape was right outside your window, at least that way Eddie was sure not to encounter your mom or cause a lot of noise if in any case he had to try and enter the apartment to find you. Yeah that in itself sounded beyond crazy but then again he was checking on all his options.

“Fuck my life,” he said stepping the last flight of stairs, your window that indicated your room was closed, great.

He panted, taking a second to recover, taking the time to remind himself not to do this again, unless it was for you, for you he’d go to the rooftop and back six times if you wanted him to.

The way his chest was buzzing was not for the lack of air or the amount of effort he put into getting there, it was all because he was going to talk to you, and he was afraid of what you would say to him, he knew thing could go both ways, so he took a big deep breath. Squatting down to the same level as the window, he knocked very lightly.

His hand formed a visor around his eyes to try and catch a glimpse of you but the room was too dark, he clocked the shape of furniture but failed when it came to find you.

Eddie waited a minute, maybe it was less he didn’t know how time worked anymore he was eager. So he knocked again, almost yelped when your face appeared out of nowhere, the light of the city barely illuminating your features.

You laughed, but Eddie couldn’t hear, he waved a hand and you furrowed your eyebrows, wondering what the hell was he doing there.

His hands tried to push the window but he couldn’t, not until you unlocked it and he almost fell at your feet.

“Christ!” he squealed.

Gaining back his posture, crouching down he was still a little taller than you, you bit the inside of your cheek hiding a smile, it was impossible for you to stop the fluttery feeling in your stomach.

“Well, hello.” Eddie whispered, raspy, deep voice, you almost lost it there.

“Hi, what the hell do you think you are doing?”

Eddie looked around your room, and then at your face, to finally look at his hands, “isn’t it obvious now?” you squinted, Eddie let out a chuckle, he placed the bag he was carrying right between you two  “I came to see if you wanted to go to the rooftop. I checked and it has a very great view. I brought some snacks too…if you are interested.”

He didn’t check but Robin told him, so he trusted she was right.

His eyes were shining and that damn wry smile on, was he drunk, or high, how was that now his poise was the same as that night he took you out of your aunt’s house, it was a bit of a déjà vu moment.

“I need to change first… wait here, and don’t make a sound, my mom is asleep.”

“Sure thing, ma lady.” Eddie felt like jumping and screaming for a moment looking at you. He thought you were about to deny him the honor of spending the night with him.

It took you two minutes to pick up your clothes and put them on in the darkness, ballsy of you to do that with Eddie right there.

Eddie was playing with his hair, curling it around his index finger, just when you came out of the window.

“Let’s go!” you said to him, passing him by.

He said nothing, following you silently, the way up was easier for Eddie than for you, he was costumed to feel the effort and pain. Once at the top where the hue of lights made it look like some yellowy cloud rested at the very top of the buildings, Eddie pointed to his van, the car looked very small, it was kinda funny.

“You brought your van?” you asked, “and you painted it.”

Eddie felt embarrassed by that statement, “yeah,” his hand went to his neck, “I got new seats as well, it wasn't cheap but the gigs are paying off.” He grinned, pretty proud of the latter.

“Cool,”

Eddie opened his bag, pulling out a blanket, he expanded it flat, followed by a hand gesture for you to sit on the now covered surface, to be fair you didn’t mind the scene so you plopped on it, Eddie following suit, the whole feeling sent you back to summer, the very subtle smell of smoke and the first awkward interactions, it was a bit reassuring to see not everything was different.

“Music?” he asked, taking out a small cute little portable radio, a few mixtapes fell at your feet for you to choose.

“Nice, so… do you have any recommendations?” you avoided looking at his face because the whole thing was nerve wracking enough to add that pretty profile carved by the streetlights.

Eddie shrugged, pushing play to the cassette he had already on the radio.

“This one is Dustin’s, he has quite the eclectic style.”

The chorus of Never Ending Story started to blast from the speakers.

“Well, now that’s jolly.” Eddie mumbled and you started laughing at it, his eyes went to your face, you were practically holding your belly from laughter, Eddie with a grin tugging at the end of his lips started to place the snacks on display.

“Never thought of all the people to see you Eddie Munson listening to this. It’s priceless.”

“It’s not even my mix, Dustin recommended it and it happened to be half way through the song, I don’t even know what that is.”

“Yeah, sure, I think we’ve gone through this, you can admit it, I won’t tell anyone.” you bit your lips trying to seem convincing.

���I—okay I may have given it a listen… or two.”

Your laugh rumbled all over the rooftop, making it echo with the walls of nearby buildings. Eddie felt like maybe things would be okay after all between the two, your laughter was his favorite sound, he would never get over it.

Never Gonna Give You Up played next and the mocking continued, it was too pop-y for Eddie, he only felt his cheeks go extra hot.

“Damn, this tape is making me look so bad, hope you’re happy now y/n.”

The mention of your name caused the laugh to die slowly, “It kinda did… So what do we have here?”

Your eyes traveled all the way from the buildings forming the skyline to the various snack packages.

“Just a couple of goodies…gummy bears, some Oreos, and yeah, these good old drinks. A guy I met during the tour said these were nice, but I haven’t tried them yet so beware.”

You gulped, “so, you… kind of planned this?”

Eddie scratched his cheek with his slender ringed fingers, god you wanted to hold his hand so bad.

“Yes, I’ve planned loads of different things but this one seems the most appropriate. But if you want we can do something else, whatever you want we can do it.”

“No, this is fine, we can talk here.”

Eddie felt the nervousness crawling down his arms to the tips of his fingers, feeling clammy already, “yeah, so… you really want to talk with me? After… all?”

“Why not?” you half shrugged, ripping open a bag of gummy bears, “you said you liked me in the tape so I’m willing to listen to you, because I thought it was pretty obvious back then but in any case you missed the clues… I liked you too, I still like you, but you hurt me.”

Your eyes had been glancing around, near your worn out shoes, so when you looked up, gathering all the courage you could to face Eddie, he had his eyes closed so tightly it made you grimace a little.

“I know, I’m the worst, and I was truly the most horrible person ever. It means everything to me that you didn’t kick me out the moment you saw me in your house. Or right now, you would’ve just ignored me back at the window and I would’ve understood. Because Jesus! What a colossal idiot I am.”

“You’re not a colossal idiot… just a normal idiot.”

Eddie finally managed to trade a look with you, “fair enough I guess.”

You grinned. Eddie sighed, now what, he had apologized enough but you wanted something else so whatever that was he wanted to give it to you.

“Chrissy and I broke up… or–I don’t even know if we were really in a relationship, she was cool but as I said, you were occupying all my time, I felt so bad about what I did that I got caught up in my own heartache that I forgot about her and of course she had her own plans.”

Eddie mumbled about the whole Chrissy situation, you noticed that he hadn’t talked about it with anyone, because he didn’t stop for air, not he took in mind that he was talking to you about the girl he had chosen over you. It made your chest clench, yet you understood that Eddie, more than anything, needed a friend at that very moment.

“I know where the loyalty lies when it comes to our friends, of course they took your side. They were not easy on me, let me tell you that.” He pointed.

“Good.” You chuckled, Eddie understood, he smiled back.

“Yeah I deserve that, Dustin almost punched me on the face the day after he saw you crying that time outside of Family Video, he didn’t let me be part of the campaign for two sessions, is absolutely mental that kid, then we have Robin and Steve, I owe my uncle like twenty bucks because they kept on charging me for a ‘lost’ VHS I never rented, it was so infatuating until Sinclair told me what was happening with them, so if you think I haven’t paid for my sins, you’re very wrong, although I’d do that again if I knew you were going to sit with me on the rooftop of your apartment, drinking cheap beverages of dubious origin and candy, the skyline of Manhattan there and the most beautiful girl by my side.”

“You drove more than twelve hours just to tell me that?” you said, wondering if your intuition was working. You hoped you were playing it cool, because your heart was leaping in your ribcage.

Eddie scoffed, “yeah, it’s the least I could do, don’t you think…” He winced, “Listen, Y/n I meant every word in the tape, it’s been hectic for me; not only with you but with the band and during the tour I realized how much I wanted you to be there to share the whole experience… it’s not fancy but it’s exciting and I love it.”

It was impossible not to feel something for Eddie, he was vulnerable right there by your side, his arms surrounding his knees as if he was trying to protect himself from something, as if he knew you were going to hurt him and he was keeping his body and heart warded from the words you could say, but maybe he didn’t need to do that.

“I missed you too, you know?” you sighed, subtly getting closer to him, “it’s unlike me to get so attached to someone so fast, and these past months I’ve had no one other than Nancy and Robin to talk about the magazine and it felt bad to do this without telling you about it, because you were the one that came up with the idea, so… I guess I called the other day for permission and also because I do want Corroded Coffin in there…”

“You don’t owe me anything, really y/n. I told you about the magazine because I knew you’d be good at it, you are fucking amazing at everything if you ask me, you play guitar now-“

“Thanks to you, though.” you chuckled.

“I’m a great teacher, we’re not debating that, however, you learned in one freaking session, and now you have a proper project that it’ll only grow and become even greater than the damn Rolling Stone, mark my words because it’s happening.”

His stomach fluttered when you beamed at him, this could be one of the single most magical moments he has had in his life.

“So… what do we do with this?” you nudged him slightly.

Eddie gulped, he wanted everything from this, from you. “Whatever you want, I already told you how I feel, and I’m not going to be naive to believe you are forgiving me completely for what I did, which is totally okay. But if I could ask for something… It’d be to stay close to you, in any way or form you allow me to be.”

His shiny doe eyes, locked with yours, you weren’t exactly certain how things would work out for you, because you both had different plans for the future.

“I would like that too, Eddie.”

He sighed so loudly he started chuckling, “damn, that’s a relief. You have no idea how my hearts reacts whenever you call me Eddie, I fucking love it.”

“Eddie,” you whispered, he shoot you a warning look,

“Careful there,” his hand, cold rings and warm skin reached for your hand.

Eddie intertwined his fingers with yours, and it felt nice, you could melt there just by the soft touch and droopy smiles, you hadn’t touched any alcohol yet and you felt like flying. On the other hand Eddie felt like he was going to burst, this was way better than whatever image he had created and recreated in his brain during the past few days.

“Can we just go slow, like starting as friends… we don’t have to rush anything right? and, I know Corroded Coffin is still going strong and getting bigger, and I have to go to college but I think we can figure out how to make this work, if we– you know… date or something.”

Your eyes never leaving his, it was magnetic the way your faces were getting closer and closer by the minute.

“Okay,” Eddie’s breath fanned you on the cheek, gummy bear sweet. “Leaving all the logistics aside… Can I kiss you?”

“But friends don’t kiss.” you blinked, getting dangerously close.

“Just a friendly kiss then.” Eddie smirked.

Your noses brushed together, you couldn’t stop yourself, lips clashed a little too harshly maybe, your hands untangled just for yours to meet in Eddie’s neck, while Eddie’s found place in your cheek and the back of your head.

It wasn’t slow or cute, it was needy and hot. Eddie’s low grunt made you smile halfway through the kiss, it was all you needed, but you didn’t want it to stop, nor did the boy in front of you.

But oxygen was necessary to live.

“That was… friendly.” You whispered, still inches close to Eddie’s lips.

“It was… amazing.” unbidden and all he peaked you on the lips once more, “I could do this forever you know.”

His pupils were as wide as you guessed yours were.

“I’m gonna have to add kissing into the list of things we can do to hang out… as friends of course.” you said, seeing him light up like a puppy with a new toy.

“I second that notion.” He went on to kiss you again but you moved last minute, lips finding your cheek, immediately he furrowed his eyebrow “hey, I thought we said-“

A laugh escaped you, “trust me I want to keep on doing so but we need to talk about business here… Eddie.”

“Okay, but I’m going to need an incentive ever so often.”

You rolled your eyes at him, “a kiss and you transform into an annoying boy.”

“Uh, excuse me? It’s not my fault you have me all smitten, business sounds boring right now.” he pouted.

“Maybe one last kiss and then we can talk about the interview? Does it sound fair?”

“Yeah, totally fair.”

In a second Eddie balanced over you making you squeal and laugh, the kisses were now slower, taking time to savor every second you two had of the night, sighing and a few unbidden moans made each other giggle.

It was happiness right there. The talking after that was deeper and also childish, the interview thing got left for another time, what mattered the most was how you two felt safe and comfortable with one another on a rooftop in the middle of Queens.

Yes you were hesitant about the future and so was Eddie, there were so many plans and expectations from both but that moment was just you, Eddie, half eaten snacks, a can of something bubbly and sweet getting warm and your company.

Eddie left you by your window at five in the morning, he drove back to the hotel they were staying in, not being able to keep it cool, not able to sleep or try to, he took a shower and waited for the rest of the gang to wake up.

It was an easy lead for Dustin when he saw Eddie writing down in the tiny journal he always carried with him, a smug smile on his lips when Will asked what had happened.

“I’m the happiest man on earth!” His arms up in the air, he looked like he had won the lottery and he had, with you it was that way and ten times better.

Steve hugged Eddie and both shared a look, it was like proudness and happiness and just friendship brewing there.

“I’m really proud of you man, this is the easy part, now you need to keep her and yourself happy.”

Mike and Lucas hissed.

“Hey what’s that supposed to mean, I got this, idiots, don’t doubt me.” Eddie scoffed, clearly offended.

“It’s hard to have a long distance relationship, Eddie.” Dustin sat on the bed, his messy curls coming out from under his cap, “Something tells me y/n is going to be the one making it work, you are too emotionally dumb for that.”

“Well, I’m offended but nothing you say to me can ruin my day, so fuck you man!”

He said this with a grin on his face.

☼

Robin, El and Max had you screaming through the phone the moment you saw Eddie leave in his van.

“You need to pay girls, told you this was going to happen, I know my friends pretty well.” Robin said but it didn’t bother you that they made a bet on your love life, you had gone through worse to be honest.

“Hey, hey as much as I love that you are making money at my expense, guys what’s the plan for today, should we just go all for it or… play it cool? Literally my lips hurt-“

“Ew” Robin said

“Aww,” El voiced.

“Put some vaseline on.” Max advised. “But if I were you I’d play it cool, I mean, Eddie probably is telling the boys about it right this moment.”

“True, so… just act normal? That’s what you are saying because I’ve been trying to keep my chill the whole night, I could roll on the damn floor right now and jump on my bed and jump out of the window any given minute but I’m sitting on my bed punching a pillow, this is fucking insane Max, I wanna grab Eddie and hug him forever and kiss him and hide my face in his chest and brush his air and-“ you grunted and punched the pillow again.

Fuck!

“She lost it.” Robin confirmed, “Y/n, honey listen! We got you, we’ll keep him occupied and you can do whatever the hell you want to him when you get alone, we don’t want to see you behave weirdly.”

“I’m a bit offended but okay.”

“He is going to write you lots of love songs, it’s so romantic. Mike barely expresses it, but it’s fine I still love him.” El complained, and you understood.

“Hopefully he’ll learn something.”

“Yeah, men are so oblivious.” Max came into the conversation.

Robin hummed.

Everyone sighed, each one thinking of their own love struggles.

☼

Everyone arrived at yours midday, everyone was acting kinda weird. Glances getting exchanged, smirks and low giggles, you furrowed your eyebrows but it all came into place when you saw Eddie, like a force coming at you. You gasped when you noticed the two daisies in hand and the nicest smile you’ve seen.

The boys were all smug and the girls were giggling and squealing, it was truly a scene.

“Hi, these are for you.” Eddie’s poise back to what you knew him for, all flirty and confident. Looking extra hot with a sleeveless black shirt, the logo of a band you weren’t sure you knew about.

Biting the side of your cheek you muttered, “Thank you,” he kissed you on the cheek.

“He grabbed them from some random yard,” Mike shouted as he crossed the street.

“Dude…” Eddie whined. “Mike, seriously I’m gonna have to kick you out of the Hellfire club for a whole session if you try to humiliate me again.”

Mike rolled his eyes and huffed, “whatever.”

“It’s still nice, thanks.” you said to Eddie, he smirked, gaining his confidence back.

“Okay, stop staring weirdos, let’s fucking go get some comics!” Eddie exclaimed, taking your hand and started walking.

“You heard the man, let’s get going, don’t separate from the group, if anyone needs a bathroom break, water or food, let me know in advance because we need to find a place to do so.” Steve shouted, as the mom of the troop everyone nodded in agreement.

“Shit, that Harrington has talent.”

Eddie said to you as he looked back at the group, admiring how everyone followed Steve’s instructions as he stayed behind to watch the pack of teens at his supervision.

“He’s been doing that for years, funny how they had always followed him around like a big brother even if they didn’t like him at first.”

“I like him… not more than I like you though.” Eddie smiled, kissing the top of your head as his hand left yours free, placing his arm over your shoulders.

“Keep it PG 13 guys, please.” Robin begged from behind you.

Your thumb went up in the air, to reassure her. Eddie laughed at your side.

The day went easy as you guided them to the subway, Manhattan had them all gawking and taking pictures of each other on film cameras. Hot dogs on the street, Lucas made the ketchup explode all over his face and shirt, which was really funny for everyone. Forbidden Planet got the attention of all the boys, except Steve and the girls.

El though, seemed interested in everything her eye landed on.

Robin, Steve and you waited for them near the entrance, Eddie’s head popped out of an aisle every now and then to say hi to you, it never failed to make you beam.

“You are almost drooling y/n, this is unbelievable.” Steve said, shaking his head but he seemed happy for you. Nudging you with his arm, he smiled, “so… everything is fine with Munson now?”

“It’s good, we need to see how things go when you guys go back to Hawkins, but we’ll worry about it when the time comes.”

“Well said,” Robin made a pirouette as she looked at the ceiling, she was dead bored, “we need to pick up some tapes near here so that’s our next stop. Keith wanted to come but we convinced him to let us do it… well Steve did it, don’t ask me how but he made it work.”

Your eyebrows shut upwards. Now that was a first. Keith was known to talk shit behind Steve’s back and always made him work twice as hard, so the fact that Steve convinced him was the biggest achievement ever made in Family Video.

“How?” you looked at him with crossed arms, daisies a little sad now from the city’s heat.

Steve puffed, and brushed his hair to the side, “I won’t tell you it’s too embarrassing.”

“Now you have to tell us!” Robin jumped in front of him, too close.

“Tell us Steve…” you also stepped closer. You knew Steve didn’t like to feel he had no personal space.

“Get the hell away from me you crazy women. I won’t tell shit.”

“Aw come on! What if we can help you?” Robin insisted, if someone knew Steve that was Robin.

“It’s so humiliating…” Neither you nor robin yielded position. Steve grunted, giving up, “I swear if you don’t help me I’m gonna have to cave my own grave.” with a sigh and a grimace Steve pulled you and Robin closer as if he was going to tell you a big secret. “He… he wants me to host his annual summer Star Wars trilogy watch.”

“Oh dude, that's harsh for you.” You said, pitying your friend, you well knew his reputation was at stake, but you were mostly doing it for shits and giggles, and Robin caught up quick, trading a glance with you.

“That’s not all of it…”

Robin gasped, clearly adding more drama to the whole situation. You had to fake a cough to cover your laugh.

“Keith practically forced me to sign a paper to assure him I’m doing it and that I’m bringing enough people … which if you know me that’s easy because I know a lot of people but the problem is who the hell would want to spend a whole day watching that? you know? It’s crazy.” Squealed, huffing, running a hand over his hair again.

“But you’re doing it.” Robin pointed

“Yes… I have no other option, have I?” He rolled his eyes at the obviousness of the statement.

“Well you got me and Vickie, I bet the kids will go anyway and Eddie and his friends too…”

“And I’ll go,” You smiled.

Both of them turning your way “what? Didn’t I tell you I’m coming for the summer?”

“You did not!” Robin pointed and immediately jumped to hug you.

“God fucking bless, the three musketeers back together!” Steve joined the hug and kissed both of your heads. “It’s gonna be amazing, and you’re saving me from Keith’s rage, I’m winning this summer, I can feel it”

The rest of the day was you following Steve and Robin around a VHS store as they picked up the latest films that had come out in the last few months, ready to get delivered to Hawkins' Family Video store. After that it all went smooth and nice, ice cream stops, Central Park walks and Steve smiling at girls who were not very interested in him.

The following two days, were a mix of sweaty bodies laughing while commuting in the subway to the most touristic and crowded spots in New York City, on other occasions you’d have avoided going out at all coast but everyone was having the greatest time, and Eddie was being the sweetest most caring boy in the whole world, even Dustin and Mike commented on the weirdness of his behavior but of course they would, they’ve only seen him behave like the freak they knew at school or the too cool to care-boy in the rock band , it was a bit of a shocker to you too whenever he kissed your cheek and intertwined his fingers with yours.

He didn’t care to show some PDA, Eddie loved everything about being with you, near you, it was as if he needed to show the world how much he cared and appreciated every second he was able to spend in your presence; skin touching and lips pressing together, he was not going to let any stupid teenager try and make himself feel self-conscious about his actions, he was beyond that, it took him long enough to be in that moment so why not enjoy it as much as he could, Eddie had limited time with you, until he had to go back to real life.

Unfortunately the weekend came to an end, with bags filled with comics, classic I <3 NYC shirts, instant photos, souvenirs and an uneven tan, the whole Hawkins gang was going back home. You and Robin cried just a little as you clung to the other, Steve patting both of your backs, he already familiarized with the dynamic of the farewell. There were only going to be a few more weeks until summer but that didn’t make it any less sad, Steve sniffed too when he clashed his body against you.

For some reason you had learned to love Steve’s hugs, they were always so full of love and it made you feel protected, always smelling nice but he had a little too tight of a grip. Steve kissed your forehead as he stepped back, the teens went and formed a line to give you their respective goodbyes. Will handed you a freshly drawn image of you and Eddie holding hands. Your chest squeezed with love and admiration at his talent. On the other hand you had Dustin giving you a coupon he and Eddie had won after all the nerdy stuff they bought at Forbidden Planet. Twenty percent off in your next visit, you were definitely not going back but a sharp look from the teen made you reconsider it. And it was annoying.

“I don’t promise anything… but maybe if I get a nice Christmas present I can pass by.”

“Here we go again, back to the same thing, yeah Y/n okay I’ll give you a nice gift, now please can you–just get me something else from there?.” Dustin said exasperated

“Alright fine,” Dustin smiled at you and went to spit on the palm of his hand, extending it to you.

“Yeah I’m not doing that, you have my word, though.”

Dustin nodded with a giggle and sparkly eyes, he cleaned his palm over his jeans, “and you have mine, now I leave you to loverboy… guess who is going to have to deal with his love nonsense when we get back? yeah me, so I want good comics y/n… anyway I guess we’ll see ya in a few weeks, take care!”

Max hugged you and promised she’d show you how to skate during the summer. El gave you a little pepper with her dress so you could write to her whenever you wanted, and you gave her yours just in case.

Last but obviously not least was Eddie, the boy leaning on his van, a smug smile on his face as he watched you say goodbye to everyone, he nibbled at his bottom lip once you started to approach him.

“What is it?” you asked, pushing his shoulder.

Eddie laughed, immediately placing his hands on your waist. “I’m just trying to remember everything, we have a long wait ahead.” he shrugged, he was not ready to leave, he didn’t want to be so far from you but deep down he knew he’d be rewarded for his patience, still he needed to hide his face in the croak of your neck for a second to try and gain some willpower to drive away.

You squealed when Eddie kissed the spot between your neck and jaw, he was gentle enough to make your skin tickle but the touch was causing a commotion in your belly. And yes he knew.

Just as you knew how he felt when you touched the sides of his face and kissed him on the lips.

“How am I going to be able to leave you when you kiss me and hold me like this… Christ! it’s going to be fucking nightmare!” He shouted to the skies.

“We can do this! you have my phone number and… we can talk.”

“You’re going to be so sick of me when you come to Hawkins… I can feel it.”

“I am already tired,” you heard Robin complain from afar.

You snorted, “just focus on the band.”

Eddie's eyes widened, “we didn’t talk about the interview.. shit!” his forehead clashed with yours gently.

“We can wait a little longer, I have a few other pieces I could add… but that interview is definitely happening.”

“Wasn’t expecting less from my girl.”

Your heart somersaulted at the last words, the flush coming for your whole face, so you looked down at your hands, the ones Eddie took a second later, one of his rings missing. Your eyebrows furrowed, but the silver ring appeared in your line of vision, Eddie holding it up for you to see.

“I want you to have this,” you took it between your thumb and index finger, watching it shine under the burning sunlight, it made you smirk. “Yeah I know what you’re gonna say, it is a bit mushy still I want you to have something mine while we wait to see each other again.”

Cheeks going full on red, Eddie scratched his cheek, he did feel embarrassed however this was some kind of oath for things to work in your favor.

“I’ll take care of it,” you mumbled, it was quite big to wear it but you could find a clever way to carry it around.

“I know, so… see you in a few weeks, okay?”

“Yes, drive carefully.”

“Call you when we get there.”

Eddie leaned down to kiss you, it wasn’t rushed, on the contrary, it was sweet and delicate, you felt his hair tickling your neck.

“Jesus, this is going to be so hard.” Eddie whined, kissing you again.

“Okay that’s enough guys, we need to go.” Steve yelled from the window of his car.

Eddie rolled his eyes, taking the opportunity you peaked him on the lips one more time.

“Good thing we were talking this slowly, huh?” Eddie said, with that smug expression as he poked you on the shoulder, “for the record I’m not complaining.”

“Well sorry, maybe I shouldn’t kiss you then.”

“I was joking!”

“Eddie!” Mike, Lucas, and Dustin shouted from the back of the van. Will laughing at everyone.

“One last kiss, and I’ll be off, promise.” and you gave the boy what he wanted, he hummed as he deepened the kiss a little.

“Now go or I won’t let you get in that damn van.”

Waving hands out of the car window, Robin’s half body out of the copilot seat, and everyone slowly disappeared down the road, the music Eddie put in his van vanished as he drove away.

Jumping, squealing and giggling you entered your apartment. Your mom was reading, she threw you a look, she hadn’t said much since you’ve been out the whole weekend. But it was obvious she knew something had shifted, mom’s always knew somehow.

“So… I’m guessing you’re going with your aunt’s for the summer?”

You nodded, trying to hide a smile.

“I already told your aunt. Only rule, no boys in the room.”

“Of course not, I’m not that forward, I barely let Eddie kiss me.”

Your mom widened her eyes, “Oh, so you are official! I’m so happy for you sweetheart, wow, that was so fast.” she got up and hugged you as if you had achieved the grandest of awards.

“Mom!” you giggled but slowly loosened the hug, her hands found place around your face.

“Tell him I can cut his hair whenever he wants, that boy Mike also needs a bit of a haircut and Will too, poor boy who keeps on cutting his hair like that.”

“Don’t know but  I’ll let them know.”

You sighed, it felt like a release from all the emotions you’ve been experiencing, ready to let the next couple of weeks pass as fast as they could.

Next chapter

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #EDDIE LIVES #steve harrington #protective steve harrington #robin buckley #protective robin #Nancy Wheeler #mike wheeler #eleven #Max Mayfield #dustin henderson #Lucas Sinclair #stranger things #80s music #80s rock #friendship #reader insert #fem reader #corroded coffin

[iy0v]

Beyond Matter

Part 3: Enter the light of monotheism

In the mental realm’s colossal space of pathways and endpoints, one can venture into the hells of cognitive states as much as one can into the most enlightening realities, within all possible categorizations of perception. It is not surprising that the subject exploring such a vast mental realm -in accordance with human nature of curious exploration and determined conquest-, one would naturally seek to reach for the source of these endless connections, and to gain understanding of what exceeds all these entities and psychic energy concentrations. It is the aspiration to reach for the grand scheme of schemes, the deciphering code of all interlocks, the meaning of it all.

It is quite the irony that in this very stage, the spiritually-hungry ego somehow yearns for the soul, no different than a thirsty lone man roaming an empty desert. It is thus reaffirmed, that if the subject undergoes this life-redefining experience with the right intention and focus, not only preliminary scientific findings are made, but also life-changing spiritual ones. To venture beyond the world of entities, beyond the imagery, one requires bravery to gaze upon an abyss of blinding light. One must devout himself lovingly to a greater mission than his very own existence. One must do good to their best ability and innate understanding of what good is.

Preparation for this remains paramount. Altering one’s consciousness leaves the subject in a compromised and vulnerable state. It is no different than the parable of having a once in a lifetime opportunity, to temporarily transform to one’s inner child version, the feeling state of a 5 year old kid. Kids are innocent, docile, clean, soft, warm for the heart. But on the other side, they can be very vulnerable to any danger out there, both physically and emotionally. Consequently, to access a higher state of consciousness requires a certain level of vulnerability, which inherently allows to perceive the realities in such an awe-like, enthusiastic, innocent way like a clean-hearted child would. A trusted companion is recommended, and caution is advised.

Once the subject has made the intentions to seek this place of the Beyond, the overarching Source, in full humility, and goodness of heart and mind and has made the necessary preparations and fairly assessed the risks, it is here where the hero journey of the soul begins, the adventurous voyage to fulfill the subject’s longing for a sense of fulfillment and wholeness.

With deeper inhales and deeper concentration; as the default mode network slowly shuts down, and the brain increases in neuroplasticity; as the brain awakens in all its blessed glory; so does the soul. Everything, at least for a human being, begins with a thought-feeling, deep within, which would conjure an image. It is only thus, when energy is further allocated to this internal creation, that the ultimate manifestation takes form.

As spacetime advances for our esteemed passenger, the unimaginable happens: the experience of seeking the pure source of it all begins unraveling with a hefty price; the dissolution of the ego state. Beautiful is the taste of death, for it shall shatter all the illusions that once dominated the eyes.

As the ego-death process continues, the experience of the 5 senses begin to wither away. Sight is no longer consisting of geometric and/or fractal shapes, but of a pure white light dominating. Sound is no longer a bell ringing, but a pure vacuum of reigning silence. Smell is no more but the absence of itself. Touch is non-existent, as no mass nor matter passes through the borders of this ethereal zone, only mind is permitted beyond with grace. As for taste; beautiful indeed is the taste of death.

At this point, mind has left the body behind, in lower realms, lest the mind can travel through the light tunnel. But at a certain point, due to the exponential nature of this trip that seeks to strip a form or lack thereof from all its components and elements, even mind has to let go of its own properties, gradually, in order to get closer to the source, the essence. You see, mind, strips itself of all later builds, as an act of humility, per se, so that it may be accepted near this infinitely powerful Source. In a way, mind has to submit itself to this infinite reality.

This dissertation as it moves forward, moves equally in uncreased difficulty in describing the increasingly abstract and inexplicably unfathomable. Yet in this space or nearly the absence if it, was still some form of received communication, a feeling of guidance, a lended invisible-hand, that was gently leading towards the light. The source of this inspiration is quite mysterious. Is it the benevolent entities once encountered in the beginning stages of the spiritual iceberg? Or is it the entities beyond? Could it be the Source itself? The mystery continues, that it may be unfolded.

The mind in its continual voyage is continuously being stripped of its faculties and components. Mind, as the ensemble of human consciousness and perception, reaches an unprecedented place, defragmented of memory, reason, emotion, and all of, let’s say, the software building-blocks of what constitutes the mind. The uninstalling continues beyond the operating system, and shall transcend beyond the kernel of the mind. Pretty much all software is gone by this point, and most hardware is shutdown. Mind is brought down to its most elemental form, an indescribable state. The only hardware that seems to still function is heartbeat, at low rates, as well as quasi-breathing, which is the last string of thread that connects the fleeting mind to the mind; it is the only life line remaining.

To understand this degree of consciousness, imagine as if it was an atom achieved awareness of nothing but itself, with no thoughts, feelings or memories. A state of pure awareness. It is here, in this moment, that may have been few minutes in human calculation, but felt like eternity through the subject’s own experience, where the majesty unfolds. This is the sweet part. This is what motivated me to passionately share this dissertation in the first place, for the love of what I, or lack of of it at the time, once experienced, and for the compassion of humanity, the readers.

In this space of perfect silence, in this void of light, empty of thoughts, memories, people and entities; it can be quite challenging to accept this state of consciousness for those who had attachments to such previous components. Here you are in a space where none of those properties exist, in a realm where it feels eternal, one which you cannot escape by will. It is beyond your control. It can be terrifying.

However, for those who accepted this experience, What for those who let go of such attachments, and surrendered to this pure happening. Glad tidings, verily.

Well, for me at least, this which I experienced was the most important and life-changing event in my life. In this realm beyond mortal men and their spiritual counterparts, beyond all that is deemed to perish; the invisible force beyond, pure and One, merciful and loving, powerfully terrifying as well; Light, but one that could blind if gazed at; it guided what was left of my mind-soul. I was gently guided to just let go, to surrender, to submit, and to put my trust in it. This is the most vulnerable state a person can be in, and I took the risk to submit, by its guidance. This alone taught me about the nuances of the fine intersections between freewill and determinism, and it is a fine line indeed. Glory be in the Name of this Force, that no vision can grasp, that no eyes can see, but for which the hearts began to tear, to melt, in humility, in tears, in truth, of what the hearts were able to see.

In the heat of the moment, when everything was gone, even when I was pretty much gone, in its blissful embrace; the Only One remained. All creation evaporated, but the Preceder of it, the Creator, gloriously remained. One, beyond description, everywhere and every-when, has always been and will always be. Fully aware, perfectly aware, these words are my love letter to You, I revere you like those who came before me, in love, for your Mercy and Compassion transcends the fabrics of all ideal forms. The Cause of contingents, everything thus had a purpose, a meaning, an origin. How could those who were in your merciful presence, not bow down in awe, in worship; for you are the cause, of the beginning and the end, before existence existed, and will remain after it all will end. For You, glory be in Thy Name, are the only worthy of the title of the God. Not by my judgement, but inherently in nature, beyond my understanding, beyond my jurisdiction. It is a truth written in the walls, and my soul only follow truth wherever it leads. To worship you, only benefits me, to glorify you, only benefits me, for you are Abundance and Sufficiency. I know that in this current form of mind, my mind cannot comprehend you, but what I saw that day, was Truth in full glory, and for that alone, I am eternally grateful. I bow down in humility of your perfection, and purify my heart from arrogance of the voices that shout pride, hate, defiance. Exalted are you from what they describe of you, from what I do my best describing of you, but I will do my best praising you, because how can one not adore perfect and flawlessly eternal beauty.

By your mercy I submitted, and thus was healed, of all the hurt. I testified that no Majesty is there except yours, nor Lordship except yours, nor Divinity except yours.

It was here I knew that my life changed forever. After coming back to my senses, coming back to my memories, thoughts, feelings, ego, an body; I began a new chapter in my life.

After resting, and digesting a minute proportion of the endless wisdom nuggets of this voyage, my subsequent research led me to embark on finding out that this is what one would call monotheism.

Throughout my voyage, I ultimately learned that people would end up glorifying and even worshipping the realities to the extent of the level of consciousness they were able to reach. People will always worship something or some reality because the feeling and act of doing so is ingrained within us: this willingness and tendency to glorify and to be devoted. Yet, those who haven’t grown aware of the Light, may end up exercising this innate disposition upon realities that are inherently perishable, thus associating the contingents with the Ultimate Source. Those who only indulged theirselves upon this world, may end up glorifying the materialistic elements of it (i.e., wealth, money, power, hedonism, etc.). Those who only did preliminary skimming off the tip of the spiritual iceberg may end up glorifying the mortal and immaterial entities and archetypes that reside there (self-proclaimed deities of love, war, thunder, etc.). But those who went all in, for Truth, sincerely, in righteous deed and humility; such mystics achieve gnosis of the reality of the everlasting. It is natural to realize that you cannot make unequal things equal. You cannot equalize the Creator with the creation. That would be an insincere and hypocritical to Truth, which by human standards is not logically nor morally acceptable.

I thus realized that the 21st century western movement of atheistic materialism that has plagued the scientific communities is unfortunately built on a combination of spiritual ignorance and a degree of arrogance amongst its various members. This view is further glorified by corporations and some governmental entities that mainly seek to consolidate wealth and power, almost to a degree of drunkenness resulting from such pursuits. This is one of the many reasons why the west is decreed to fall, for this model is unsustainable.

As it’s no point of contention that I’m not the first person on earth to have experienced what I experienced, and j. my epilogue of seeking external readings and material that attests and further describes this mystical reality; I decided to focus on reading about different religions and theologies.

As my experiences have led me to witness the purity of monotheism; so did my research led me to read related scriptures. I found myself mainly within the virtual libraries of Abrahamic faiths. But if there was one book, that perfectly spoke the purity of the One above, of the Almighty’s unfathomable being, beyond images, beyond anthropomorphism, beyond human fallibility; I swear by the Infinite One, that this book would be no other than the Quran. As a demonstration of proof, the following are verses that match perfectly the mystical direct experience of the transcendent, and testify that the Divine is One, beyond any form of anthropomorphism or any sort of human embodiment and association:

Say, “He is Allah—One ˹and Indivisible˺; Allah—the Sustainer ˹needed by all˺. He has never had offspring, nor was He born. And there is none comparable to Him.” (chapter 112)

Say, “I seek refuge in the Lord of humankind, the Master of humankind, the God of humankind, from the evil of the lurking whisperer— who whispers into the hearts of humankind— from among jinn and humankind.”

Say, “I seek refuge in the Lord of the daybreak, from the evil of whatever He has created, and from the evil of the night when it grows dark, and from the evil of those blowing onto knots, and from the evil of an envier when they envy.”

“Indeed, my Protector is God Who has revealed this Book. For He ˹alone˺ protects the righteous. But those ˹false gods˺ you call besides Him can neither help you nor even themselves.” If you ˹idolaters˺ call them to guidance, they cannot hear. And you may see them facing towards you, but they cannot see.

Never say that those martyred in the cause of God are dead—in fact, they are alive! But you do not perceive it. We will certainly test you with a touch of fear and famine and loss of property, life, and crops. Give good news to those who patiently endure— who say, when struck by a disaster, “Surely to Allah we belong and to Him we will ˹all˺ return.”

Every being on earth is bound to perish. Only your Lord Himself, full of Majesty and Honour, will remain ˹forever˺.

I once testified that God is the only true deity. But after reading the Quran, I thus testified that the messenger of this message, this mercy that was sent upon the worlds, Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings upon him and his elevated character; has spoken Truth and nothing but the Truth. I testify that the message of this book, is perfect, concise, and sealed.

Dear reader, if you made it all the way to this ending, I congratulate you. I wish you enlightening guidance towards the Truth, which alone will set you free. I have revealed to you the extent of my experience, and I invite you to walk this path as well. I invite you to ponder and reflect, on the depth and wonder of the depths of consciousness, of the endless blessings we’ve been granted, and of the Source of it all. Be smart and learn from he who tasted death, and grasped a burning flame in his hand, to which the sublime has graciously healed.

In your journey of reflection of truth, remember that all shall perish, but the Unfathomable Eternal Truth, that preceeded the very beginning, shall remain, as it has always been.

- Iyov

#essay #theology #monotheism #near death experience #oneness #testimony #truth #personal #beyond #thoughts #spirituality #quran

[tranquilspot]

John: Read Colonel Sassacre's text.

Long post ahead! TW/CW: unabashed sexism, misogyny, racism, call to murder as a 'joke', aged like milk content

Block of text n°2. Get ready to get the old timey dictionary, cause I sure will do a loooot of research.

Before reading the text itself, let's analyze the picture. There's Mark Twain (Colonel Sassacre in this universe) in the middle with a silly magician hat on top and an engraved sun. On his left and right, surprisingly two versions of The Fool arcana.

The Fool represents new beginnings, freedom, innocence, a free spirit. Pretty accurate for John. There's also several clowns: entertainment, playfulness, tricks, but also mockery, illusion, humiliation. I'm saying this because it's relevant. We'll see it much later, during different points in the story. On the bottom, two masks, both smiling. One a demon, perhaps the Devil itself. Which is also a major arcana: obsession, dependency, powerlessness, limitations when it's upright. In reversed it's independence, revelation, reclaiming power, reclaiming control. Very interesting. Let's keep it in mind for later. I have no idea for the other mask, it would be easier if I knew the origin of the 'borrowed' pictures that constitutes this montage. At last, two writing tools that could represent freedom of speech, creation and imagination. The word colonel was added on one of them.

Welp, that's enough dilly dallying on the image, let's dig right into the text now. *grumble mumble I have to manually write it grumble mumble*

Hell's bells, we are having a mighty sporting time of it!

"Hell's bells" is to express anger, surprise or irritation. I'll bet it's surprise here. let's see the rest of the sentence. I haven't find a direct explanation for 'sporting time' but I suppose it means 'dynamic good moment'?

Hold fast, my intrepid fellow pranksmiths! We've merely nicked the mahogany of our japing chests.

Pranksmiths is such a cool term :D So if I understood correctly, this means: "Hold on my fellow pranksters! We've barely scratch the surface."

If I may direct the incisive ogle of your beagle puss to the wriggling regency of rubber bugs […]

Wait wait wait so many new words here!

A sharp eye, okay, of our joke glasses (the one with the funny nose and mustache), and hey! First time seeing 'wriggling', that's mostly used in troll culture. Sassacre was married to the baroness, not sure how much he knew about trolls but I don't think the use of 'wriggling' is a coincidence here. Betty Crocker was already mentioned too. There's miiight be a small chance that this peculiar plot element existed early in the story. 'Regency' is to govern, hmm 'wriggling regency of rubber bugs'. See it's not trivial! Bugs, insects that govern. Sneaky early foreshadowing~

[…] plastic parasite, squirming serpents, pliable pests […]

:0 I know it's common repulsive animals, but look closely. We have bugs, immediately followed by parasite (opinion on his wife perhaps?), followed by a snake (Lord English), and 'pests' are aften rodents. Not sure where does the last one fall in the metaphor. Reading too much into it? Maybe, maybe not.

[…] and every such order and phyla of creepy crawlies!

I'm curious to see what 'order' means in this context. Perhaps 'and such things'? Also phyla! Hello brand new word. Oooh I see, like two branches of the same group of things. Junction! And creepy crawlies! I literally on the picture but i forgor. It's self explanatory, crawling little bugs. This confirm, or at least solidify, my theory on Colonel Sassacre's book to be a parody, autobiographic, but now hinting at what we are to expect from this comic, in terms of plot points and characters (trolls, a tyran parasitic sovereign, snake species..)

Land sakes alive, we are cooking with petrol now!

'Goddamn, now we're talking!' We're half-way through the introduction, of the book I mean! Can't wait to reach the end of Act 1, which is only a part of the 'tutorial'.

In further exhibits we shall dwell on artifice useful to your exploits.

Alright, not very complicated to understand.

Is your pappy's rod and reel handy?

What? *long search* Oooohhh like a fishing rod and thread. I thought that was an innuendo *sweat* I mean it isn't above Hussie to not do it. 'Handy' here means in your hand, or near it.

What about a bit of iron cord; it shouldn't prove elusive.

Are we talking about cord made of iron, or the cord of a iron, the appliance? If it isn't rare to find it I'd say the latter.

Bring those writhing rascals to life, […]

Uuuuuuuhhhhh..

and set the nerves of some old maid to the wreck of Hesperus!

Okay what the fuck old man!! Not only it is misogynist but you take delight in scaring to death a poor woman that didn't ask for it? Bring them to life.. what the heck does that entails? Wait it's rubber bugs and such, so you're not electro-stimuling them, how does cord + rubber work? Whatever, what's more interesting is the mention of another entity, Hesperus. One we never hear about either in the story nor the community itself. It's a titan, embodying the evening. Right between Hemera, the day, and Nyx, the night.

However here it is not about the god itself, but rather a poem, the Wreck of Hesperus. It's the short story of a skipper who board a ship with his daughter and didn't listen the warning about a hurricane. Long story short, the ship crashes and sink, dude dies and the corpse of the girl is found still mangled to the remains of the ship. That's horrifying. What the fuck, it went from 'let's have a jolly time with plastic toys' to 'what if we made scream a maid like a terrified girl on a sinking ship, sounds like fun!'. He really wants to scares a woman to death.

Do you have a bothersome aunt who never seems troubled to find ways with your sunny afternoons? A broad, splintery fence— a bucket of white wash, perhaps?

Sir this is a crime, he's calling for violence and murder. That's a feminicide happening soon! What the fuck, how in HELL is this book not censured, or BANNED?! This is 2009, doesn't someone check books before publishing them?

By gum you'll fix her wagon!

I'll fix your face, time shenanigans be damned! What is it with dudes fixating on other people's ass?!

Also, whitewash is a mixture, and "covering up a scandal" too. Smells like subconscious slip of his wrongdoings~

God this is tedious and awful to read. Almost there!

And what of that tawny gent who puts his lackadaisical lean near the sarsaparilla font?

It feels like a lot of made up words. I mean yeah words don't come from trees or the 'Great Book of All Words and Those Yet to Come', but I can't imagine people using them on a daily basis.

Ok, 'lackadaisical' is showing little effort or enthusiasm, 'sarsaparilla' is either a climbing plant (east asia) or a drink based of said plant. Between the sarsaparilla and the mahogany, him knowing such foreign flora gives me rich traveling dude and colonialism vibes.

You'll have that listless octoroon find the spring in his step just yet!

That's a lot of stuff that I don't understand, but I do know that an octoroon is mixed (ethnicities). "The word octoroon signifies a person of one-eighth African ancestry." according to Wikipedia. Gonna add racism to the old man bingo. Listless means lethargic. As in 'lazy african pests'. Yep it's racist alright. When does it takes place anyway? 1910/20-ish?

Alright lemme think and recontextualize all of it, I suck remembering events and dates so I need time. My grand-grandmother was born in 1912, year and day of the Titanic sinking I think.

The expression "sakes alive" was popular in 1930~1950, and its earliest use was 1860. So I kinda narrow it down.

After a good while I found this screenshot I took in 2019, couldn't find user pepple :/and princeofhope haven't posted anything since 2014. I couldn't even find the original post. But yeah, by relying on this graph it does make sense. [I wish I could properly credit pepple, if they're still there] —>

#homestuck #act 1 #homestuck reread #reread blog #colonel sassacre's book #the fool #old timey vernacular #racism #sexism #misogyny #bigoted old man #call to murder #problematic book #re-contextualizing

[hauntedbyeverythingatonce]

one: the story

09.10.2022, sunday

i live for the narrative.

i have been aware of it for the past few years, but i can't tell when it started. maybe i have been like this all my life.

i view my life as a story, and i live according to that. this is by no means a passive thing. it is obvious that every little thing that is in some way perceived can be, or maybe is in itself, a story. but this is not what i am talking about.

the position the story of a life has in my mindset is close to the opposite of the statement "life writes the best stories", or however you chose to word the quote. my story is not a chain of coincidences, it is not me living through things that might make a good story, my story is completely build and written by myself.

i am actively writing this story and controlling it. do not get me wrong, i don't mean this in an empowering way. i will come back to the possible reasoning behind this later on, just keep in mind that this is not supposed to praise my way of living as a way of taking control of one's life.

decisions i make and things i do are always motivated by whether they would fit into the story i am crafting for myself. there is a certain atmosphere, a point, a type of main character that has to be consistent. and all that i do has to be something the protagonist of my story would realistically do. everything is controlled.

it does not end here. a story needs ups and downs, good and bad events. i am aware of that and take it into consideration when going about my life. i will create my downs, have a self-imposed downfall, have controlled negative reactions to things. i have a tendency of wanting the story to be "clean", to have no open endings and all conflicts resolved or defeat accepted. therefore, most problems are made with a concrete plan of solving them in mind. still, i will suffer for the time being, or make myself suffer, for the story.

and by no means am i portraying myself as a good person, or a hero. the story is meant to be interesting, to be good enough for telling, but that is it. i control the story, i control how i am perceived, but this has no relation to me keeping up a good image.

so, what is the worst that can happen? something sudden and unexpected. bad things happening, i can live with that. i incorporate them into my story, and i tailor my reaction until it fits perfectly and matches the story. but changes made by a higher power are intolerable. some things are impossible to fit into the story. and some of these things change everything about my life and myself. this is when it gets hard. i then have trouble re-constructing my story around this event. some of these events make me unable to continue the story, which puts me in misery. luckily, i am able to fix things most of the time, make turns and changes until the pieces fit back together and things can go on.

while controlling everything, i have very little control. i am controlled by the wish for a neat narrative. i want my story to be one that can be told, and i want it to be a very certain kind of story. this limits me, and besides being my artificially crafted main character, i am not sure who i really am. i can hardly connect to my emotions and myself, and there is no way of knowing what i would do if it weren't for the story.

why? a very simple question, with many possible answers.

the obvious one, possibly the most redeeming one, is this being a coping mechanism. i romanticise to the point it makes everything bearable and controllable, or at least gives an illusion of control, and i make all that happens to me feel unreal. so, this might be either mental ilness or a reaction to mental illness.

the less defendable theories that can hardly be called normal can be divided into three categories, which are innocence, knowledge and arrogance.

the first category, innocence, is fairly simple. i am just hopeful, optimistic and stupid. i romanticise because i am genuinely able to see bad things as part of something good, because i genuinely think that there is the beauty of a story in all suffering. while this is possible, i think it is rather unlikely to be the answer.

the second category is called knowledge, which is the rather philosophical approach to explaining this behaviour. i am aware how meaningless a single human individual, or any individual for that matter, is in this great universe we exist in. no matter what i do, i will die, i will rot away, i will be gone and forgotten. a story, having a point, gives meaning to something that does not hold any meaning on its own, and there is always the chance of a story lasting far longer than the one telling it, possibly becoming as immortal as something man-made can be. while this slightly nihilistic view might seem intelligent, i do not think i am so smart that i internally and truly accept meaninglessness. i think i belong to the majority of people that simply ignore this fact and push it away, instead of facing and accepting it.

this leaves me with the third and last category, which i called arrogance. this is related to the very first theory, the one stating that i use this as a way of coping, but the focus lies on different aspects. i do not have to explain the sheer arrogance it takes to view yourself as the main character. the pridefulness in romanticising your whole life, to the point you believe it to be something as intricate and interesting as a story. while i wish i could disagree with this theory, i morally can not. i know how bad i have been and my morals will not let me defend myself against this allegation. which is why i will accept this theory as the answer.

to be answering the question of why i live for the story with my own arrogance is admitting to being evil. it is admitting that this system of thought has to end, and one more point on the list of my crimes against the spirit of humanity.

my conclusion is causing me pain, but happiness lies in acceptance and acceptance needs truth first. but i am afraid that happines will no longer be an option - that i will know that i am not deserving of it - by the time i have found the whole truth.

[linandara]

Imagine having a desire to create since childhood, strong, urgent, bitter sweet. Producing images, ideas, stories, feelings - which source I didn't know but they seemed terribly important to me. And now I think I know where this came from. I do mourn the loss of past innocence. Maybe this is an illusion and then it is even funny. I can't stop thinking about a joke I have heard long ago: Researchers in a museum suspected there was a famous masterpiece under an insignificant work of art. Painstakingly they were taking layer by layer of paint till another image was revealed. It was indeed a famous artwork hanging on the opposite side of the wall in the next room... When something was just a faint suggestion of another picture hidden, it looked great and mysterious. But it  was only a picture in another room!  A bad quality, fragmented view into another life. Not original sci-fi and fantasy which I thought I was creating.  ...Mountains like frozen flame, a sad boy sitting opposite a dog, people in bright yellow overalls, two figures lost among psychedelic peaks, one figure looking into something new and wonderful from a boulder, sky which was too dark, a frozen body, an idyllic village in a beautiful valley, some faces, "other hands", tents and snow caves...  How can I continue to create from imagination when I strongly suspect it has its roots in reality? I had a peek into "another room".  Well, at least in the global order of things, when people die during the war, this is a terribly unimportant problem.  It matters to me though. And perhaps there are other, still undiscovered rooms in that museum, which is the Universe. I just need another set of keys. Because why not? I was saying to myself "Maybe if I take some kind of ayahuasca I will see something else". Then I heard about a book by Stephane Allix "When I Was Someone Else". He took the magic plant and saw the unexpected… But why not?  #linandara #wonderlust  #escape #innerwork #adventurethatislife #layersofexistence #feeltheforce #thoughts #life #nft #wanderfolk #iamtraveler #portal #iamdreamer #mystery #photomanipulation #fantasticplaces #joyofoutdoors #dreamscape #creativity (hier: In Another Room) https://www.instagram.com/p/CdG1QB7t8NG/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#linandara #wonderlust #escape #innerwork #adventurethatislife #layersofexistence #feeltheforce #thoughts #life #nft #wanderfolk #iamtraveler #portal #iamdreamer #mystery #photomanipulation #fantasticplaces #joyofoutdoors #dreamscape #creativity

[theneondemonx]

HOUDINI | JJK

One Shot

▽ summary: jungkook was your first and only. When he got arrested, you felt like an idiot for always believing his every word and after a few years you decided to date again. But the word somehow got to his ears in jail and he couldn’t let you be anyone else’s but his.

▽ genre: porn with some plot, criminal au, established relationship

▽ pairings: escaped convict!jk x fem!reader

▽ words: 3464

▽ warnings: mention of abusive relationship, mention of alcohol abuse, mention of underage sex, criminal activities, implied murder, possessive behavior, mention of female masturbation, spanking, fingering, female ejaculation, overstimulation, oral sex (m receiving, deep throating), unprotected sex, lots of cum, dirty talk

( ➜ Drabble 1: first meeting ) [⏵playlist]

He hit me and it felt like a kiss He hit me and I knew he loved me If he didn't care for me I could have never made him mad But he hit me and I was glad

You were still very young when you learned that love was nothing like the cheesy romances you’d see on the big screen. Well, you didn’t actually have the money to go to the movies, but sometimes you found the way to sneak in and watch whatever was there to watch. You had a fascination for those stories, for those dancing images on the screen. They were made of pure light. Literally. While everyone was caught in the enchantment of the movie, you were the one to look behind your back and follow the light beam up until its source, looking straight at the small window from which the projector created the whole illusion of life before your eyes.

Most people want to escape from reality. They want to feel like their life has meaning, like it is just one plot twist away from being interesting. I didn’t. Maybe I should have, since mine was pretty shit. But I guess this was the whole reason why I was looking for the disenchantment. It’s like watching a magician. I’ve always been the type to be more observant, to look for the trick. Cause if there wasn’t any, then it would have meant that mine was the only pointless existence.

No one in your block had a penny to their names. Everyone dreamed of going away, of starting a new life and do something meaningful. But you knew that most of them would never make it. They were trapped.

We think of the key, each in his prison. Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison.

Those weren’t your words. They were Jungkook’s. Well, not his own words, actually. He had read them somewhere. He was the type to read, although he didn’t look like it at all. And you know how people who read are: they are good with words. They can shape reality with just a flick of their tongue. And damn if he got a way with words! That’s why you fell for him.

It wasn’t just the fact that he got the looks of an angel. He also talked like one. He could talk his way in and out of everything and you were pretty sure he could lie his way into heaven if he wanted to. He was an exceptional liar, a pathological one too. But you loved him anyway.

You believed him when he told you that he was going to turn your life upside down. Why wouldn’t you? He had already done it more times than you could count. He had done it since the day you first met in that dark movie theatre. You had always believed him and everything he said. He was the only man you ever loved, the first and the last you had sex with, and eventually the one you married.

He reminded you of your father. They had the same dangerous charm. Their eyes gleamed with the same light: that of a man who was willing to con the whole world and make it his own. Your father didn’t make it, though. He became a drunk mess and ended up in prison for attempted murder.

Only a pathetic fuck goes to jail for attempted murder. Either you go down for murder, or you don’t go down at all. That’s how much of a failure he was.

But you didn’t care about him. He used to beat your mother whenever he felt like it. Jungkook, on the other hand, never did that.

So, when he told you those words – “the less you know, the better” – you didn’t question him. You just believed him. And when he came home with a bag full of money and his hands covered in blood, you still didn’t question him. You just did as he asked and bent over the kitchen table to let him fuck you senseless.

You really didn’t care about what he did. Everyone in your block was somehow entangled with criminal activities. That’s just how it is when you can’t afford an honest life. What if he robbed a bank? What if he killed someone to get that money? So what? You’d love him anyway. You’d love him no matter what.

You still loved him when you heard the sirens wailing through the block and stop outside your shared house. You didn’t care about the fact that he just ripped your marriage into pieces. You always knew he was an Icarus.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll be home for dinner.” He told you with a cocky smirk, while being pushed inside the police car.

And again, you believed him.

He was the only magician who ever managed to deceive you into thinking that his was actual magic and not just a trick. But when the jury found him guilty of aggravated robbery and murder, you felt like the lights had gone off and the curtain closed on his magic show. It was over. And now you were left standing in a sad empty circus, with just the distant music of the carousel to remind you of the fact that it was all a rouse. A convincing one for sure, but still a rouse.

When you saw him being taken away from the trial, you thought about those words he told you years before.

We think of the key, each in his prison. Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison.

And you smiled to yourself. Somehow, even though your whole life had just gone to pieces, you found them ironic. Who would have thought, back then, that he would end up in an actual prison? Not you for sure.

The years had passed and although you never really moved on from Jungkook, you decided it was time for you to build a life for yourself. You were still young and pretty, so it wasn’t hard for you to fool some stupid rich boy from the city. Kim Seokjin was no Jeon Jungkook, but he had money and a steady job – one that could actually pay for rent, food and vices without raising any question from the authorities.

He didn’t know you were broke as fuck, and you did your best to hide it with the means you had and the cunning that your lowlife background had teach you. You would buy fancy dresses and hide the tag when you wore them, so that you could return them the day after. You would also tell Seokjin to come pick you up at work in Gangnam. You never worked there, of course, but he was dumb enough to believe you. It didn’t really matter: you planned on sleeping with him soon enough and let him knock you up. Men always get way too excited when you tell them that they can fuck you without putting on a condom.

What you didn’t plan, however, was to find yourself with a tattooed hand covering your mouth when one night you came back home from a date with Seokjin. At first you tried to scream and free yourself from the strong grip of the mysterious man that somehow got into your house, but you froze as soon as he spoke.

“Shh be quiet, baby. You want to be the one to rat me out?”

You’d recognize that voice among millions. It was Jungkook.

How did he get out? His sentence is not over yet. He still has to serve twenty more years.

You thought that by being quiet and staying still, he would loosen the grip on you, but he didn’t.

“Fancy dress you got here, honey.” He hissed, pressing his lips against your ear and making you shiver from his touch. His hand trailed along the side of your body, caressing the expensive fabric of the white dress.

“Was your new boyfriend, the one who bought it for you?”

Your eyes widened at that question and you again tried to free yourself without success.

“Yeah.. I know. I was surprised too when Yoongi came to visit me and told me you were seeing some fancy city boy with his head up his tuxedo-covered ass.”

You knew that no matter how soft his voice could sound, he was mad. He was always calm when he was really mad.. until he wasn’t calm anymore.

“I told him: no, Yoongi, there’s no way that’s true. My sweet Y/N would never do something like that. She is a faithful wife, not some dirty whore who’s ready to sell her cunt to the first Richie Rich who comes around.”

He chuckled darkly.

“But he brought me the photos. So I guess I was wrong.”

He abruptly turned you around, pushing your back against the wall. It was then, that you saw him. His hair got longer and he somehow got some tattoos on his right arm. His dark eyes were gleaming in the dark with a mischievous light that you had never seen on him – not when he was looking at you, at least.

His fingers tightened around your jaw, forcing you to look at him straight in the eyes.

“Did you let him touch you?”

“N-no.” You muttered, with your heartbeat racing fast and your eyes wide open like those of an innocent doe who was just caught by a cold-blooded hunter.

He pressed his body on yours, breathing heavily against your lips without breaking eye contact.

“If you are lying to me.. I’ll know, Y/N.” He hissed. And you knew that those words were a clear warning.

“I expect your cunt to be tighter than it was when I left. If it isn’t..” he chuckled, slightly tilting his head to the side and licking his lips while caressing gently your reddened cheek. “..well, I guess I’ll stretch your holes so wide that there won’t be any doubt about whose little whore you are.”

He didn’t give you any time to breathe, let alone answer. He pressed his lips on yours with such passion that he sucked the air out of your lungs. And you melted.

You still loved him, after all. You still craved for his touch, which you missed every single night that you’ve spent in your empty bed. Every time you touched yourself, you always closed your eyes and think of him: his hands, his lips, his toned body, his cock, his breath, his smell.. everything. No man could turn you on like he did.

You could tell he had changed. He got more violent, more possessive. But for some reason, that didn’t bother you. Somehow, in a fucked up way, you enjoyed it. It was like you just had the proof that he truly loved you. That you were sill his.

You run your fingers through his hair, tightening your grip while kissing him deeply. A muffled sigh escaped from your lips when his tongue entered your mouth, exploring every corner of it like that was the last kiss he was ever gonna give you.

“Touch me.” You murmured, like it was a prayer sent straight to God.

The first one that was actually answered, since Jungkook’s hands quickly slipped under your dress while you kicked off your shoes. He turned you around again, face against the wall, and removed your underwear.

You gasped at his touch on your wet entrance, arching your back so that he could see your pussy in its full glory.

“Fuck, I missed you so much.” He murmured, starting to run his palm on your pussy.

You moaned, grinding against his hand in search of his touch while he steadied your hips with the strong grip of his free hand.

“Already purring like a kitten, baby?”

Another moan escaped from your lips, this time loudly, when he inserted his middle finger in your throbbing core, feeling it clench around his touch.

“Such a good girl. You didn’t lie to me.” He commented in a hiss, inserting another finger to test your tightness and starting to pump his digits on your most sensitive spot.

“So tight. Will you be able to take my cock, baby?”

“Y-yes. Yes I will.” You answered in between your heavy breaths and moans, chasing the pleasure that his movements gave you.

You suddenly let out a sharp cry when you felt his hand slapping your ass cheek without notice. But the lingering pain had the only effect of heightening the pleasure and getting you even more wet.

Hu chuckled, spanking you one more time.

“Fuck! Jungkook!”

He had always loved it when you said his name during sex, and he still did apparently, since he started pumping his digits harder inside you. The lewd sounds of your pussy soon filled the silence of the night.

When his other hand reached your clit and started drawing quick circles around it, your legs started shivering and your eyes rolled back from the pleasure. If it wasn’t for the wall, you’d probably fall on your knees when the orgasm hit you. You moaned so loud that you almost sounded like a dying animal.

“That’s it baby. Cum for me.”

His words only made it worse and you couldn���t help but feel like a fire ball hit you right in the belly. Your walls clenched around his pumping digits and soon your climax reached an unprecedented high, making you ejaculate on his hand while waves of pleasure went through your body like an electric shock.

“Oh my God!” Was is reaction to the mess you just made.

He let out a satisfied laugh, retracting his fingers from your overstimulated core just to smear your arousal on your own lips.

“Open your mouth, baby. I want you to taste yourself – the way I make you feel.”

You obeyed, and even if you were still panting and barely able to function, you took his fingers in you mouth, rotating your tongue around them and sucking every drop of your own arousal before letting them out with a pop.

“Good girl.” He praised you softly, caressing your hair. “Now get on your knees for me.”

Again, you obeyed without hesitation while he unzipped his pants and pumped himself a few times in front of your face.

You looked up at him, licking your lips. You could still taste your slick on them, but you wanted something different. You wanted his taste. And you were so eager to get it, that you didn’t waste any time.

You soon wrapped your mouth around his hard cock, sucking it like it was your last meal. But letting you have it your way was not Jungkook’s plan. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, tying them up in a ponytail that was only held by his own hand, and started thrusting inside your mouth until tears were gathering at the corner of your eyes.

A deep growl escaped from his lips at the sight of your mouth stuffed with his cock and your messed up make up smeared all over your face.

“My little whore. Always so good for me.” He said through his panting, face fucking you like there was no tomorrow.

And probably there wasn’t gonna be one. For all you knew, the police could come at any moment and take him back to his cell – this time, forever. But, if anything, the thrill just added something extra to the whole situation, making it even more exciting.

The rhythm of his deep thrusts against your throat soon made you gag. And that was it. That was what he wanted, what he was looking for.

“Oh shit! Fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

His cum shot straight down your throat, filling you with his warm liquid. You loved his taste. You always had since the first time he sucked his cock. You were only fifteen back then, and you had no idea how to do it. But he was older than you and he guided your every movement, teaching you what he liked and what he wanted. You thought you’d spit him out, but you always swallowed. You liked it. You liked the taste of his orgasm and you liked to know that you were the one to make him cum like that.

“Take off your dress and bra.”

Your jaw was still feeling numb and your legs weak when he ordered you to undress, but you still obeyed, in a daze.

“Now bend over the couch.”

Again, you didn’t raise any question. You just crawled towards the couch and rested your chest on the pillows, closing your eyes while you tried to catch your breath. You could feel your heart beating strong, muffled by the padded fabric of the couch. The only other sound was that of his steps, getting closer and closer to you until he dropped heavily on his knees, resting his large hands on your ass cheeks and parting them.

He let out a pleased moan and you could feel his gaze devouring the most intimate part of your body. You didn’t even need to look or feel him to know that he was getting hard again. And you felt proud. You arched your back and spread your legs a big wider, offering him the whole show. You loved to know that he wanted you so bad. Just the thought of his desire aroused you more than anything else.

He chuckled, spanking you again and making you gasp at the sharp feel of his palm against your sensitive skin.

“God, you’ve always loved being a slut for me. Am I right?”

You thought the question was rhetoric, so you didn’t respond. But when he gave you another spank and bent over you, pulling your hair to get your ear closer to his lips, you knew he wanted to hear your voice.

“Answer me. Whose little slut are you?”

“Y-yours, Jungkook. I’m your little slut.”

He chuckled darkly, letting go of your hair while caressing your reddened ass cheek and pressing his lips on your ear.

“Good girl.” He praised you, slowly starting to align the tip of his cock with your wet entrance.

You whimpered at the feel, arching your back even more to look for more friction. Seeing you like that, so eager to have him inside of you, was all it took for him to sink deep inside your core, filling you with all his length and stretching your walls.

“Fuck! You got so tight, baby.”

You did. While he was away, you didn’t have sex with anybody and you only started thinking about that when you met Seokjin. Not because you really wanted to, but because you felt like it was a necessary step to get what you wanted. Sure, Jin was handsome, but he was no Jungkook. Your husband, your first love, your first everything – he was the only one who could make you wet just by staring at you. He had that power – the power to make your head spin like you had too many drinks.

Jungkook hold your hips in place and started pounding you hard, making you moan at every thrust until you were just a hot wet mess at his mercy.

“Jungkook..” That was all you could say, breathless, while feeling your walls clench around his cock like they were holding to dear life.

He went balls deep inside of you, fucking you for all the times he didn’t in the past three years. It was intoxicating, and you knew you could never get enough of that feeling – of him.

“Jungkook.. cum inside me, please.” You whimpered, pleading him with a mere whisper when you felt his thrusts getting sloppier and more imprecise. Your orgasm was close too, but you wanted to make sure he didn’t pull out. You wanted to feel every drop of him.

“Y/N.. fuck!” Was all he said while he sank deep inside your core, filling you up with his cum and pumping it in to get you closer to your climax.

You came with his name on your lips and the lewd sounds of your sex filling your ears like the sweetest music you’d ever heard. Your hands grabbed the fabric of the couch and you could feel your saliva dripping down the side of your lips, parted by the intense sensation of your orgasm.

He dropped with his chest pressing on your back. You could feel his heavy breath against your skin and his heartbeat trying to get a calmer pace while the high of the climax was slowly fading away.

“We are leaving tonight, baby.” He whispered in your ear after a few moments of silence. “I’m not going back to jail. I’m not gonna let them tear us apart again.”

And again, even after everything that had happened, you believed him.

I guess this is my prison. You are. But I don’t want to escape.

“I love you, Jungkook.”

“I love you too, baby.”

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jk #jjk #jeon jungkook #jungkook oneshot #jungkook criminal au #smut #bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts criminal au #fanfic #oneshot #bts oneshot #bts x reader #criminal au

[fishstyx]

featuring. college au!gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru

wc. 9.2k

genre. dark/taboo, smut, angst

tw. 18+ nsfw, non/dubcon, toxic/abusive relationships, manipulation, victim blaming, dry humping, penetration, masturbation, irresponsible practice of bdsm, hair pulling, mild exhibitionism, size kink (both 6’3”, gojo can lift you), implied corruption kink, degradation, creampie, intoxication/alcohol, incel behavior, misogyny, dacryphilia

synopsis.

“Parading around as my personal fucktoy get you that excited?” he starts with a smirk, wide eyes drinking up your sharp inhale as if it were his own, inspiring pinpricks of heat to rise to your cheeks.

He hooks the hem of your skirt with his thumbs when he’s met with silence, pulls you from the doorframe just far away that he can release the elastic with a snap, silent snigger on his lips when it elicits a small sound of surprise from you. You nod in response, frantic bob of your head drawing a low growl from his chest and a “that’s right, I know what’s best for my pet,” as he lifts you off your feet and carries you to the bedroom.

notes. title inspo: love the way you lie (eminem, rihanna). you’re dating gojo, a charming, manipulative, self-entitled bastard. geto is, of course, his best friend, written as an aloof, self-righteous, bitter incel. please stay safe, read all the warnings, and enjoy. this is the most personal fic i have to offer. it draws from not-so-savory past relationships... i hope it remains the only testament to them. <3

links. broken toys. (sequel)

You were stunned into silence when he first suggested it.

And how couldn’t you be? Any sane person would, or at least should, have recoiled at the proposition. Isn’t that right?

But he makes it seem so harmless, so innocent, somehow. Like it’s no big deal, far from uncharacteristic for either of you—just a walk around campus, nothing new there. He tells you this like you’re overreacting, slow on the uptake, taking far too long to reach a final decision. The rational part of your mind says it’s out of the option. But the irrational part is louder, all-consuming, domineering.

The irrational part says, out of all your options, it’s the only viable one.

“Come on, babygirl. What’s the harm of trying it out once?”

It’s always this way, always has been. He takes your hands in his with a dramatic swell, the sparkle in his eyes big and bright and gleaming, and you bite back the urge to pull away. You would break your gaze if you could, if he didn’t look so determined, if that twinkling blue galaxy wasn’t sweltering with hope and adoration. But you can’t, and he does, and it just about swallows you whole. 

The fact of the matter is, Gojo Satoru wants to take you out on a leash today.

Never mind today; he wanted this yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that, never one to shy away from his desires as you deliberated the entire time. By now he’s asked you to do this one, single thing for him far more times than you can count—initially playing it off as a joke, slowly feeling you out, gradually seeing how far he could push and pull until you explicitly told him no.

Except it’s never just one, single thing with him, and you—with the way you dance around the topic, hoping to give him the illusion that you might give in, or perhaps yourself the illusion of control—you never say no.

A simple line of defense, yes. Even you agree with that. But its execution? Around Gojo, it seems anything but.

Geto would beg to differ.

Geto.

The only other person privy to your latest concerns. The only other person you can bear knowing. And he’d be disappointed if only he could see you now.

Who are you kidding? He’s already disappointed.

A vague outline was all you gave him. A vague outline, you knew, not-so-deep down in your heart, was all you dare tell him—or anyone at all, really.

Because, sure, you’ve adopted a rather experimental lifestyle around Gojo, but that was supposed to be private. Reserved for behind closed doors, you thought, until now.

You were right in that the brooding brunette didn’t need every last grueling detail of Gojo’s newest request. He’s his best friend; he’s seen you at every single step of your whirlwind relationship together. The fervid beginnings, when the two of you couldn’t be physically separated, let alone in different rooms from each other. The ups and the downs, each one more intense than the last, each one blowing up in your faces before you ran back into each other’s arms and kissed and made up. You knew that much.

What you didn’t foresee, however, even as you recounted your latest grievance to him, was that nothing you were saying was new. To Geto it was regurgitated rhetoric, distorted and distressed, yesterday’s news—whereas you saw it as a unique conquest, a new hurdle to overcome.

“It almost amazes me how you can come up with so many new ways to say the same old thing,” he said, slanted eyes dull with apathy as they panned away from yours. “Almost.”

You could only choke on your words in response.

What Geto told you next is now a hushed murmur in the back of your head. It reverberates against your skull, pinballing against the walls of all that empty space and showing no signs of slowing down. It tells you to just say the magic word and it’ll be over, every last bit of Gojo’s borderline demands, washing away all of that white noise if only you’d breathe some life into it. That one word, the one that plagues your mind night and day, it begins to materialize upon your lips, poised and ready to spring into action, flexing on the tip of your tongue as if it were a wind-up toy. 

Just say it already.

Just say no.

But you’re always holding your tongue around the both of them, together or alone, whether on the bony roof of your mouth or its flexible, fleshy floor, biting your words back for an eternity and more. Perhaps you were only faking yourself out, simply going through—no, barely feinting at the motions so you can come back to this chapter of your life and say that you tried. The moment passes, the pause your boyfriend gave at the sight of your mouth ajar long over, his words beginning to bleed into your reality once more.

And he’s saying, “I bought such a cute collar for you, too,” voice rising and falling with lovelorn disappointment. You can’t help but wince at his gentle timbre, all too painfully aware that such a small investment is far from the root of Gojo’s displeasure. You can hear it in his tone, too, how his carefree singsong runs steely as his thoughts begin to wander, settling on a resigned indifference.

So you wander, too. Tear your eyes from his in search of something, anything that might lend a reason to divert your gaze. Your fingers encircle white leather before you realize it, turning the thin strip over in absentminded idle, silver o-ring jingling in place. The metallic clank doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You should at least try it on before I return it, don’t you think?” 

And you can’t find it in your heart to disagree, stiff choker tightening around your neck as he fumbles with the clasp. You trace the sanded edges before latching a finger—two fingers—beneath the leather material. 

Perfect. 

Perfectly irritating. Irritatingly perfect. It sits in the center of your neck without slipping, just snug enough that you can still breathe easy, comfortable and almost disturbingly so. 

“Well?”

White lashes flutter idly as he considers your reflection as if studying it. And with the hint of a smile behind you, large hands on your waist in the mirror’s image, you start to think for the first time that the collar really is a pretty number, and a shame and a waste to throw away. 

Because he looks so pleased now, creased cheeks and crinkled eyelids as he smooths his palms over your hips, like maybe you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever held. Because instead of the pouting you’ve come to expect, the declarations that you’re “no fun,” or that you’re “overreacting,” or that you need to “relax” you’ve come to accept, he simply brushes your hair to the side and rests his cheek against yours, warm breath just about tickling your chin.

It begs the question.

“Will you love me more if I do this for you?”

And it sends his eyes into a frenzied state, hungry void for pupils swallowing crystal irises with unabating greed, all frisky lashes and overeager ridges. 

Ideally, he’d take your hands in his, tell you that that wasn’t his intention at all and beg for your forgiveness. Ideally, he’d hold you close, say that he loves you no matter what and promise to never push you this far again. You know all of these self-evident truths and more, yet you still can’t stop your heart from skipping a beat when he tells you, voice hushed in awe, triumph washing over you in spite of yourself:

“Of course I will.”

It’s different when you actually go through with it.

You try not to regret your decision immediately when you’re chained to Gojo’s hand in public, dog leash swinging in the wind as you round the campus loop. What a waste of a beautiful day for you to be hanging your head low, tips of your ears burning with shame. You don’t even believe that you’ve agreed to this yourself as you search the faces ahead of you for a trace of anyone you might know, pushing down the urge to cross your fingers behind your back.

But Gojo himself? He loves the lingering stares to tiny little pieces, practically basks in the attention as he pushes his sunglasses back so they rest above his hairline. Airy tufts of white spill over the tinted lenses, billowy strands coming to rest upon his forehead. When you think of it as your gorgeous boyfriend showing you off, it makes it all a little more bearable, has you standing up a little straighter. But your heart nearly stops every time you think you recognize the passerby, and eventually you dread the sight of absolutely anyone in the distance, for fear they will finally be a person who knows and calls you by name.

Gojo takes quick notice, realizes you hardly want to take another step in this undignified manner, and thinks to himself that there must be a better way to go about the arrangement.

His solution is to turn your walk of shame into a crawl of shame.

“On your fours,” he says, delighted when you actually crouch to the pavement, thankful for an excuse to hide your face. He ruffles your hair and slaps your hand away when you try to pull your skirt down, enamored by the way it rides up and reveals the lacy material below. You suppose it’s a trade-off you’ll just have to take, and in a confession that gets caught up your throat, you don’t wholly mind it: the pairs of eyes you can feel burning through you, though real or imagined you can’t be entirely sure. It makes you wonder if anyone wishes they were Gojo. It makes you wonder if anyone wishes they were you.

In the corner of your eye, you think you see someone sneaking a picture, but you don’t dare lift your head for a closer look. Instead you track the ground for rubble, hoping you’ll get away without scraping your knees, shaky line for a pair of lips as micro cuts come to crisscross your legs.

The rest of the walk is spent with you crawling the ground, light breeze tickling your backside, every part of you flaunted as if you’re Gojo’s most prized possession. You had better be, you think to yourself as you circle back to his building, and luckily enough, he’s about to make good on that expectation. 

Maybe it’s the collar around your neck, or maybe it’s the surge of relief you get from returning, but by the time you meet the first glass door, you’re aching for whatever Gojo’s planned next.

He’s moving on predatory instinct the second you’ve set foot in his apartment, flushed lips curling around your own as soon as he pulls you up from all fours. A hollow knock sounds behind you as your heels strike the door, lower lip traced with a wet warmth until you’re gracious enough to grant him full access. He easily cages you with his entire frame, pressing that cute pink muscle in your mouth flat before writhing his own to the rhythm of his heartbeat, booming and ricocheting and alive.

It’s not nearly enough for either of you, of course, his hands beginning to roam all over your pliable form, all over his property, skirting along your outline and creeping closer still to the innermost curves of your contour cutout. Flitting fingers brush against your navel, dancing lower as you suck your tummy in by reflex, stopping right before the tingling bundle of nerves that just might explode as soon as he touches them. 

But he takes pause instead, presses his forehead flush against yours, jewel colored eyes waiting on you with intent. You swear they can see right through you, even sheathed behind a cluster of wild white lashes, gauge everything there is to know about you faster than you can say “blue.” The moment freezes over, two bodies still and unmoving until you suddenly remember your need for air, gasping when you realize you’ve been holding your breath. 

“Parading around as my personal fucktoy get you that excited?” he starts with a smirk, wide eyes drinking up your sharp inhale as if it were his own, inspiring pinpricks of heat to rise to your cheeks.

He hooks the hem of your skirt with his thumbs when he’s met with silence, pulls you from the doorframe just far away that he can release the elastic with a snap, silent snigger on his lips when it elicits a small sound of surprise from you. You nod in response, frantic bob of your head drawing a low growl from his chest and a “that’s right, I know what’s best for my pet,” as he lifts you off your feet and carries you to the bedroom.

Your body bounces back from the force with which he tosses you into the mattress, giggles erupting from your throat when he climbs atop of you, tugging at your leash. A thin stripe of saliva trails up and down the column of your neck, laving intermittently over the leather that encases your flesh. A coppery taste, of earth and salt and smoke, dances on his tongue as his front teeth sink into the stretch of your collarbone, nipping and sucking at the delicate flesh. You sink into the bed as you ease into his touch, but he doesn’t give you much time to get comfortable.

“Touch yourself, then,” he says, “if you like to be watched that much.” 

It almost sounds like a suggestion, especially with the way in which he uses the lightest touch to brush the stray hairs from your forehead, but you know better than that. Your fingers fly to the wet patch on your panties, thin material almost see-through with your slick, working the fiber flat against dampened skin. An echo of a chuckle reverberates throughout the room as he watches you, undoubtedly pleased by the way in which the fabric clings to your already dripping folds. 

Large hands have your legs spread wide open by the time you’ve traced the outline of your clit, your little show put on full display for him. They stay pressed against your thighs as you venture loose, round motions around your sensitive nub. Too timid. You tighten the circles into a coiled spiral, mustering the courage to go harder, faster, the friction of cotton against delicate skin drawing small mewls and sputters out of your trembling form. The delayed relief is sweet, your arousal crying into the pads of your fingers as you pick up the speed. The image burns itself into his brain, watchful eye unfaltering as you play yourself to your heart’s content.

The very air itself seems to buzz as you hold the other end of his gaze, thick fingers running along your sides as you start to roll your hips into the palm of your hand. He’s bent over you with the twitch of his pants, too worked up to remain a bystander any longer as he blows and sucks up your neck. The open-mouthed kisses only hasten the buildup, sensation shotgunning down your body from the surface of your nape.

But the coil in your core knots itself far too early for your taste, and you reel your hand back right before you can realize your peak. You opt to drag a lone finger down your slit instead, afraid that with too much pressure, you’ll come undone before Gojo has the chance to get his fill. 

Too late, too slow; he takes notice of your negligence immediately, eyes darkening at the pitiful way your hand skitters with abashment. He pulls away from the crook of your neck to get a good look at your dwindling handiwork, smirking to himself when you shrink in response.

“Having a little trouble there?” 

His voice is deceptively singsong as he takes your sluggish hand in his, guiding your knuckles back to that aching button that has you arching your back and curling your toes. He repeats the motion, half a mind to force an orgasm out of you right then and there when suddenly, a whimper—yours—sends his eyes darting back towards your own.

“No, not like this,” you say with strained breath, and he quirks an eyebrow in response, working your fingers into the fabric despite the interruption. “I want more, I need…” your voice trails off, a sorry attempt at stalling.

“Need what?” he asks as he catches on, shit-eating grin somehow audible without you even looking. You don’t know how he does it, how he locks his desires up as you squirm underneath him, waiting ever so innocently for a proper response.

“Need, need you,” you say under your breath, and he cocks an eyebrow, a clear sign of an underwhelming response. 

“Oh? I couldn’t quite catch that, princess.”

As if.

“I need you inside of me. Please, claim this filthy cunt,” you whine, determined to play, determined to win. Your hips buck into your interlaced fingers, searching desperately for the one word that’ll send him over the edge and finding it as the leather accessory rides up your neck—as if to remind you of its existence—“Master.”

And it does, it sends a jolt of heat to his groin, has him kicking his pants off and pinning your wrists into the sheets. It’s got him surging with primal need, tugging the pathetic mess of your soaked panties to the side with limitless hunger.

Because even though he’s drawn many names from your lips before, they’ve always been ones he’s insisted on, ones he’s downright pestered you about. Even the simplest “Satoru” was, admittedly, a struggle to pry out of you the very first time you got tangled in his sheets; you shielded your eyes then, cheeks burning and voice low as you whispered it in his ear. And look at you now, sprawled out beneath him as you edge yourself with a hand steeped in your own concoction, begging for his cock with that delicious nickname of your own admission, and it rings throughout his head like an addictive melody.

Master.

Master.

Master.

You can hardly recognize the noises he fucks out of you for the remainder of the night. He showers you with an unsavory slew of awful names, phrases you’ve never even heard aloud before, tells you that you’re his “freaky cocksleeve” and a “bitch in heat” as he jerks your leash without warning. And that’s exactly what you are, twitching for him like an animal as he screws you senseless, the most guttural of responses rising from your throat as he asks:

“Who do you belong to?”

And of course you respond, between labored pants, “You, master,” muscles taut as you fight for air, fingernails scrambling for purchase on his back but finding absolutely none.

It’s not until you’re entangled in a breathless mass that he pulls your head into his lap, strokes your cheeks and coos that you’ve been a good fucking girl, a thick mixture of his seed seeping from your gaping hole.

Morning always comes when you least expect it, sneaking up on you and peeking through the blinds before you’re ready to get going.

Gojo’s still passed out cold when you creep out of bed, only the most languid of movements used to pry yourself out of the mattress as your arms and legs ache for need of rest. The dull pain humbles you, delayed post-nut clarity finally hitting as you rub into your bleary eyes.

It feels like you’ve been struck by a train.

Your gait is but a tiptoe as you stalk towards his dresser, trembling hands slowly rummaging for something, anything that can provide you some cover. Your classes are starting soon, and whether his are, too, or whether he’s simply skipping out today, you know better than to rouse him from his toil-induced slumber. 

It’s nearly inaudible, the sound of the door closing behind you, clank of metal but a whisper as the soles of your shoes kiss up carpeted floor. You’ve left it unlocked, just the way your boyfriend likes it, a small assembly of what you hope he’ll recognize as breakfast perched upon the kitchen table—the last traces of your visit left behind in a neat and tidy little package.

Your eyes find Geto’s once you turn down the hallway, small black beads peering into yours before taking a lap around the block to assess the damage. He must not like what he sees, this tousled morning-after apparition, faint patches of indigo and violet creeping out from under your—no, Gojo’s—oversized sweatshirt, because it’s a solemn sigh that hits your ears next and not a “good morning” or even a simple “hey” that acknowledges you. 

Because he knows your average person wouldn’t notice the marks, too sheltered by all that thick cotton riding up your neck, purposefully pulled up just far enough that you wouldn’t see them unless you were looking. He knows your average person couldn’t have the slightest idea how you really scratched up your knees, pointillistic constellations of reddish purple threatening, however empty that threat is, to inch up your thighs. He scoffs.

“What do you even see in him?”

The words cloud the air before he’s completely aware of them, surprising the both of you as they surface.

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water: for starters he’s charming, engaging, lively and free-spirited. He’s beautiful and he adores you, you want to say, but even though you have all the correct phrases picked out, all strung together in the same time and place, they don’t seem to roll off your tongue quite right.

You seem so tired, forced laugh falling short where it should flutter out of your mouth, the usual cotton candy you spout crystallizing before it can materialize.

“I could ask the same of you.”

It traipses out of your mouth before you can give it permission, easing itself into the atmosphere before sinking like a stone. Truthfully you don’t care to hear an answer, if only to avoid giving your own. You usher yourself out, pushing yourself past the towering wall of a human and stalking down the nearest stairwell. 

Gojo knows just how to toy with your pride. But Geto? Geto knows how to slash it down to shreds. 

The silence is deafening.

Geto sighs once you’re out of earshot, turning his heel to continue his trajectory. If anything, he didn’t want to run into you today, either. He cringes at the small collection you’ve no doubt assembled yourself, of iced matcha and a granola bar, staring him in the face as he stalks into the apartment. For some reason it only feeds into his mounting dread, the rising unease of what he might find waiting for him in the bedroom. 

So he raps the bedroom door with his knuckles instead of barging in like he normally does, hoping in vain that he can get its sole inhabitant to lumber out himself. But of course Gojo doesn’t make it easy, letting out an obnoxiously loud yawn before stretching his lanky limbs with an equally obnoxious groan.

“You said to swing by this morning,” Geto half-yells, half says to himself, already prepared to turn tail and leave. He’s honestly surprised when he gets a legible response instead of the hungover mumbles he’s grown used to.

“Oh, that? Come in, it’s unlocked,” Gojo calls out, each syllable punctuated with tardiness. So Geto braces himself, puffing his chest out before giving the doorknob a firm handshake, stepping deeper into the belly of the beast. 

Geto was prepared to see many things when he walked through that door. Something like lipstick stains and flavored condoms, S&M paddles and ribbed dildos. Instead he’s met with something completely other, the evidence already cleared away. Whatever late-night exploits you enjoyed are long gone, not a trace left behind by now, privy only to a grown man slumped over the edge of his mattress, grabbing around under the bedframe. 

“Ahh, got it!”

With sleepy eyes Gojo lifts his head and presents to Geto the chrome colored box he’s fished out. It’s small and compact and ridiculously outdated, a conspicuous red button jutting out of its interface. He holds it up to his friend’s face, and the device finally registers.

A voice recorder.

“What, they still make those things?”

Geto schools his features easily, wiping the shock off his face before it can even materialize. It’s not exactly a lie; he knows he shouldn’t be surprised at all that Gojo has kept such an antiquated device for the occasion. 

“You act as if you’ve never seen one before.”

It’s a smirk that’s plastered all over their faces now, one that nearly matches the one across from the other, and knowingly so. The two burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all, Gojo slapping his knee and Geto clutching onto his sides. They’re not sure who starts it, but one of them high fives the other.

Girls like you are oh so naïve.

Your wish is granted for about a week total.

Gojo keeps his promise, of loving you more and loving you better, throughout the remaining weekdays. 

He takes you out for brunch, picks you up after class, and best of all, doesn’t ask anything more of you, doesn’t ask for anything better.

He opts to shower you with gifts instead, of stuffed animals and chocolates and bite-sized amenities, insisting that you take them all, no strings attached. Your nightstand overflows with his presents, mismatched tokens that remind you of his affection even when you’re not together. And although neither of you explicitly verbalize it, it seems like his way of apologizing. Silently.

You whole-heartedly accept.

This is the Satoru I fell in love with, you think to yourself as he pets your head one sunlit afternoon, grogginess setting in after a particularly big meal. You nuzzle into his lap and relish in the soft filtered light, sprawled out on your side on the living room sofa. He has you gazing upwards at a tap of the shoulder, all softened eyes and unkempt locks of hair, the smell of sandalwood and fresh dry cleaning enveloping you entirely as he leans in for a faint forehead kiss.

“What’s up?” you half ask, half mumble, eyelids heavy with sleep.

“Just wanted to see my princess’s face,” he says, a fleeting grin on his rosy lips. A hollow thud sounds as you play-punch him in the chest, but you roll over from your side to look up at him anyway.

“You happy now?”

“Overjoyed.” 

The two of you lock eyes, slivers of white hair undoing themselves from behind his ear as your breath syncs up slowly, gradually. He stares at you with such longing that you would think you weren’t laying right atop of him, and you struggle to hold your ground. 

“Are you—”

“Yup.”

You groan, eyes overcome with on demand prickling. “No thank you,” you proclaim as you squeeze them shut, uninterested in indulging him a staring contest. Moments pass and your eyes stay closed, a tide of tiredness washing over you. You loosen up, head rolling back as you allow yourself to relax. 

Big mistake. He takes it as an invitation for his hands to descend upon you, attacking your sides in an attempt to tickle, and you jerk away instantly.

“What the—Sato, cut it out!” You bat his arms away, one eye open as uproarious laughter fills your ears.

“If you’re gonna fall asleep then at least let me lay down too,” he says, drawing out the last word as he props your upper half up. He takes your place on the sofa before pulling you on top, and you huff as you fall into a pile.

“Jerk.”

“Your favorite jerk, though.”

Oh, he definitely feels it when you smile into his chest.

The weekend arrives without issue.

Wednesday night you’re watching the sunset over melon sodas.

Thursday night you’re falling asleep on Facetime.

Friday night you’re in the midst of downtown Tokyo, multicolored lights casting your faces in ethereal glow as you work against the hustle and bustle of regulars and tourists. Karaoke songs eat up the most of your visit, Gojo’s voice slowly going scratchy until the crowd finally works the nerve to drag him offstage. You spend the remaining time hopping restaurants, ordering exactly one dish at each location, slowly working your way through a full course meal. The waitress who serves you nothing more than a plate of gyoza gets an especially generous tip.

Dessert is by far his favorite dish: a deluxe parfait, served in a tall, American-style glass and filled to the brim with sorbet. You can still taste the fruit toppings, fresh and fragrant and honeyed on your tongues as you swap saliva in the back of his car. He cups your face with one hand and holds the small of your back with the other, pressing dangerously close against your body. When you finally have the chance to breathe, a thread of spit trails between your lips, in memory of your union. It glistens in the color of the muted city lights, persevering through the window tint in all of their electric might. A mischievous glint reaches his eyes, and all of a sudden he’s pulling you on top of his lap.

“We can get away with this much, can’t we, princess?”

And you oblige, patch of wetness already creeping through your panties as he starts to move, clothed cockhead grinding against the curve of your ass. He’s louder than usual, quivering groans crumbling as they reach your ears, his hips rolling in stuttering motions. You feel as if you’re aflame, pulsating with need, decadent sweetness enveloping your senses every time he pulls in for a kiss, every time he grazes you with his pubic bone. Your clit sings with praises as he pushes you down by the hips, whispering how good you’re being for him, how gorgeous you look in the dress he bought you, and you make a silent wish in the faint moonlight that the moment will never end.

But it seems that good things always meet their end, and come Saturday night, the monster rears its ugly head again.

Because on Saturday night, Gojo’s got you hanging on his arm, the two of you ascending concrete steps to the usual place. Same group of people, different game every week. The two of you are greeted with sweet sighs and boozy smiles, clink of bottles surrounding you as they prepare this week’s drinking game. Gojo’s a lightweight and Geto sticks to designated-driver duty, so it usually works out just fine.

Just not this week.

If Gojo was the sun, then Geto was the moon.

It always seemed to Geto that his best friend had everything in the world he could possibly need: looks, charisma, and status, all readily available to him without much effort of his own. And honestly? He loathed him for that.

As soon as the clock strikes midnight, Geto knows there’s absolutely no way he’s making it to the party. Instead he opts to spend Saturday night alone in the comfort, or perhaps the prison, of his own room.

Because the sun is a star that births brilliance, instilling vitality and inspiring vigor wherever it goes. Whereas the moon only picks up in the after hours, left to guide the lost and the wandering in the nighttime. He feels like he’s always scraping the bottom of the barrel, the pool of women he can choose from limited to the gaggle of bumbling stragglers who lament, still, the absence of the blinding sun. And for the past twenty or so years of his life, those bumbling stragglers have not so much as glanced back at him, too enchanted by the liveliness of day.

Worst of all is that softheaded people, scatterbrains just like you, they think they can fix Gojo, super-fucking-nova Gojo who burns it all up, destroying everything in his course of direction. Part of Geto thinks it’s absolutely deplorable, the way in which pea-brained whores throw themselves at him, hankering for his attention and jumping through all the hoops necessary to get just that. But part of Geto also wants to have his own stake in the fun, and Gojo—pretty boy, genetic-lottery winner Gojo knows this all too well.

The glint of the moonlight taunts Geto as it reflects off the silver-toned box in his hand, bold “STOP,” “REC,” and “PLAY” lettering practically chanting his name in the dim illumination. He was told that the handheld device was safer with him, well out of your reach in the confines of his single dorm, and he supposes that’s the truth, what with the lack of foot traffic in this cramped room that lacks of fresh air and sunlight.

It’d be doubly safer if he’d just tuck the abomination away, stick it deep in the corner of his sock drawer or perhaps somewhere underneath the bed frame, but he’s kept it well in sight ever since he first laid hands on it. He clutches it tightly as if it just might disappear when he lets go; chances like these are rare for him, to be so close in proximity to the wanton whines of someone he knows and sees almost daily. And if it’s anyone’s fault that you’re still fucking an immature bastard, a privileged manchild who gets pretty much everything he wants, it most certainly isn’t his own.

It’s just so exhilarating, to be able to cradle the cool metal in one hand, throbbing cock in the other, drawstring sweats already halfway down as he thumbs at his flushed, pink head. He’s kicking his pants off as he leans into bed, flat of his slicked-up fingers laving over the sopping tip that cries and weep for release. He’s already imagining it, the kinds of o-shaped faces you make with a leash dangling from your neck, bubbling with excitement and intoxication and jealousy at the mere thought. But he doesn’t start the audio yet, fumbling for his stash of lotion before moving to fist his cock in its entirety, twitching creature red with excitement as he jerks it up and down.

It feels so intimate to him, the fact that you’re so close yet so far away, musical mewls available on demand whenever he so pleases. He quickens the pace, palm of his hand practically flattening the vein on the underside of his cock as he starts to buck his hips into his tightening fingers. He’d just love to ram his dick down your throat one day, but for now he’ll have to make do with his hands.

He hits “PLAY” with bitter determination.

The very first sound of crumpling bedsheets has him curling into a full-body tingle. He’s close, so close he can almost taste it, but he keeps his concentration on the audio speaker, waiting for something, anything to heighten his arousal. He sucks in the cold air between his teeth, curses threatening to pour from his lips at how right, how wrong it all feels. The anticipation is short-lived, however, broken by the sound of Gojo’s voice, just barely recognizable in the speaker’s tinny, superficial quality.

“My, my,” the silver-haired deviant says, corners of his mouth undoubtedly upturned as he leans into the microphone.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, Geto?”

The voice recorder hits the floor at the sound of his own name, blood pressure rising as his arms and legs tense up in disbelief. His own orgasm slips away and out of reach in an instant, petering out in wretchedly slow motion as his stiff cock throbs with pitiful languor. He wants to laugh, he wants to cry, wants to curse the world for ever thinking you were actually within his reach, wants to chuck the accursed gadget across the room and watch it scatter across the floor in glittering smithereens. Or maybe he just wants to cradle his head and sink into the ground, face his back to the despicable device for the rest of the night as the cold seeps into his sides, but he’s not even sure where the damn thing skittered off to and his head is spinning and his eyelids clench shut and the world just grinds to a halt.

Gojo doesn’t take the news well.

Gojo doesn’t want to take it at all.

You’re chatting up the party’s host, a premed student in the same year as him, when you first notice him glancing at his phone.

“So how are things? Between you two, I mean,” Shoko asks as she follows your gaze. 

“Couldn’t be better” is your absentminded answer, and she stifles a laugh—a perfect relationship with the Gojo Satoru? But you’re only half listening as she expresses her disbelief, eyes never quite leaving Gojo’s back as he shifts away from the mass of people and shuffles towards the windows, cell phone in balled-up hand.

The first call is inconspicuous enough—Geto has a habit of running late, after all. But when you excuse yourself to the bathroom and come back find to Gojo still holding the phone to his ear, half crouched with his lips screwed up in a pout, you know something’s off. Part of you doesn’t want to take your place beside him, but he pulls you down by the wrist, grip strong enough to leave dime-sized bruises.

They’re explaining the game of the night before you can ask him what’s up: a  pitcher of beer will round the group of players, all sat in a circle on the carpeted floor, each and every one taking turns trying to steal the last drop. It’s a familiar setting, the music but a hum in the background as the participants buzz with idle chatter, but the person beside you feels alien somehow. The woolen material pills underneath your toes as you curl them into little balls, eyeing him with a sideways glance. You know better than to raise the issue when his foot’s tapping the floor with such force, rapid rhythm almost matching the incessant pace with which he thumbs at his phone. He’s calling Geto three, four, five times before changing tack, demanding an explanation through text.

Shallow breaths are all that fill your lungs as you keep as still as possible, trying your best to get a good read on the screen. If the slump in his shoulders is any indicator, you’re sure he’s seething at the words that light it up. But before you can make out a single phrase, he’s slamming the phone down with one hand, clenching the pitcher of freshly poured beer with the other.

His turn to take the first swig.

He ends up gulping until you’re sure he’s out of breath.

“Whoa there, Satoru,” the person next to him says when he sets the pitcher down, nearly emptied. “What the fuck was that?” 

His wrist rises to wipe the corner of his mouth and he exhales sharply, as if his simple reply requires strenuous effort.

“DD bailed on us,” he announces, “fucking flake.”

“Maybe we should have you sober up, then,” someone else, likely Shoko, calls out from across the room.

The change in his demeanor is instant.

“Ah, we’ll make it back in one piece, won’t we?” Gojo’s glance darts sideways, playful lilt betraying the ice he has for eyes.

The room hushes, waiting for an answer, and you sit up straight when you realize who he’s asking. You quirk an eyebrow, amused. With his cheeks already flushed, what seems to be a pointed gaze unfocused and glassy, you can’t help but beg to differ. You know the answer he wants to hear with every bone in your body. But every fiber in your being knows the truth.

“Bullshit.”

The entire room erupts and it’s decided, against his will, that you’ll be spending the night.

Everything falls apart from there.

Shoko shows you to a guest room once the others begin to clear out, dark circles carved out by cool white fluorescents that cast shadows behind her puffy eye bags.

“Sorry it’s so small,” she says, gesturing at the lone mattress, creeping moonlight like a spotlight on its linen-lined surface.

“It’s everything we could ask for,” you say as Gojo falls into bed, sprawling out against the twin sized sheets. “Thanks for letting us crash.” She shoots him a tight lipped smile before placing a deft hand on your shoulder, brown locks cascading as she leans into your ear.

“Let me know if you need anything, okay?” 

The night is long and never-ending. 

Teeny tiny bits of skylight taunt you from above as Gojo proceeds to keep you awake well past twilight. He’s tossing and turning in the guest bed, kicking the blanket off the both of you with spiteful purpose, inviting in the cool night breeze. It nips you from your face to your toes, colder still even as he tightens his hold on you, and you decide to finally break the silence.

“You still mad about that one thing I said?”

He scoffs, huff of breath like a shot to your neck.

“You seriously have to ask?”

You tense up immediately, spine straightening flat against his chest as he continues, edge to his voice swelling as it looms behind you. “Honestly, who do you think you think you are? Always acting like you’re better than me.” Razor thin needles lodge themselves into your scalp as he pulls your hair back, your chin meeting chilled air as you offer up a whimper. 

“It’s not like that.” 

He only tightens his grip on your hair, pulling it back harder still.

“Think I need to remind you of your fucking place,” he mumbles as he presses into you, something stiff rocking against the fat of your thighs.

“Not here,” you breathe, eyes widening as you realize his intent, the alcohol in your system seeming to swirl in your head. He staggers his hips in response.

“Wasn’t a problem in the car.” 

“Satoru, they might hear us,” you say, the steel in your voice cracking as his free arm snakes around your side, searching for the hem of your pants. “Mercy,” you try again, the familiar, agreed upon safe word sounding foreign and unfamiliar when it comes out but a croak. It hurtles from the shelter of your lips, forever lost as the strain in his pants only grows, breath going ragged as he ruts into your hips.

“Just let me have this.”

And he revels in the way in which he easily overpowers you, enamored in how his towering frame nearly swallows you whole. When a particularly loud groan—one you’re sure anyone in a neighboring room can overhear—escapes his lips, you blister with shame, burying your face in the pillow, limbs aching for need of sleep.

And then his breath hitches as he chases after fireworks and explosions, captivated by the way that you squirm in vain. His palms claim your hips as his own, cockhead grinding behind you, servicing himself with feverish concentration. He presses your side into the mattress, ass cheeks squeezing together like a homemade fleshlight, and you arch your back in a sorry attempt at evasion. 

He groans in response, knees buckling together as he brushes up against the makeshift curve, and you stop struggling altogether. Your body buzzes from the touch, head swelling like a balloon, skin crawling from the jerky movements as you go limp as a ragdoll.

“God, you’re so good to me,” he says, praise anything but endearing when it hits your ears. It’s the same kind of acclaim he gave up just the night before, but it cheapens as he repeats it, banal phrase playing over and over in your head. He’s still humping your butt when he cums, shaky and delirious as he rides out the high, profanities rolling off his tongue until he’s shuddering himself to sleep. All is still once he’s blacked out from the stimulation, pitter patter of salted frustration the only movement left over as it soaks the pillowcase through and through.

You lay awake, caged by his toned muscle, trapped by his carbon curses, praying for sleep until the birds begin to chirp. They sing a song that they borrowed from the night, a harrowing lullaby that has you in a panic, slipping out of his grasp as you crawl out of bed. 

By the crack of dawn you’ve tiptoed into a cab, belongings clutched tight to your chest, apartment complex shrinking in the distance, but it never seems to get further away.

Geto hasn’t breathed a word about the voice recorder.

Geto doesn’t want to think about it all.

He’s paying for it now with a barrage of daily phone calls from none other than Gojo himself, who dials him day and night and morning, no regard for moderation. Geto regards the fallout as both of their instant karma, still miffed by the prank he’d just fallen for, but unwilling to reveal his folly. He fills the role of trusty confidant nonetheless, his betrayal as M.I.A driver long forgotten. It’s a spectacle, the frenzy Gojo is bound in, and he might as well watch from a front row seat.

But he hasn’t made a full recovery yet, forever irked at the pretty privilege Gojo takes for granted, the privilege he downright hoards for himself, barking into the speaker when he feels his blood begin to boil.

“Seriously, what did you do this time?” He wants to tear his hair out at Gojo’s stupidity, his utter lack of tact, wants to pull out his front teeth and pulverize the dental tissue into a fine powder when he’s met with momentary silence. 

It’s been a few days since you left the guest bedroom alone in the wee hours of morning, and Gojo hasn’t been able to get ahold of you since. You haven’t been answering his texts, his calls, Christ, he even tried your personal email, and now Geto finds himself shouldering the brunt of his correspondence, trying everything in his power to get him to calm the fuck down, albeit fruitlessly.

“Nothing we haven’t done before,” Gojo insists once he’s found his choice of words, spitting them out one by one, raking stiff fingers through colorless locks. “I got a little handsy, but it was seriously nothing.” Geto shakes his head and rubs his temples; nothing isn’t enough to make you walk out on him. 

“If you’re telling the truth, then stop worrying already.” A stray section of his bangs fall forward, sweeping over his eye as he slumps over in his chair. “But if you’re lying—” he starts, cut off by the sound of chaste knocks, an unassuming 1-2-3 kissing up at his door before he can finish. 

Saved by the mystery visitor.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d sigh relief, eager to break away from the droning and moaning of the spoiled brat on the other line. Instead he gives pause, as if weighing the cost of answering the door against the merit of staying put on the phone, moment’s hesitation only giving way to a guaranteed getaway.

“Hold on, I need to get this,” is all Geto says as he hangs up the phone, equal parts appreciative and skeptical of the person at his door. He isn’t exactly friendly with anyone on his floor, and few would show up here without asking first, so he peers through the peephole, curiosity getting the better of him.

And lo and behold, speak of the devil, it’s Gojo’s missing girlfriend, standing alone with her hands twisted together.

Amazing. You’re quite literally the very last person he wanted to see right now.

“Do you have any idea how worried he is?” Geto snaps when he answers the door. You have no idea what kind of mess he has on his hands. “Go and make up with your boyfriend already.” He moves to close the door but you react quickly, wedging yourself before the doorframe, eyes wide and pleading.

“I’m in trouble, so please...” You scramble for something half believable. “I can’t turn to anyone else.” He laughs in your face, eyebrows quirked with mirth at how genuine it almost sounds.

Almost.

“Don’t give me that.”

“No, I mean it,” you press on, unwilling to admit that anyone else who’d listen to your cries for help, from trusted family to doe-eyed friends, would undoubtedly have you in a beeline for the authorities. “You—you’re the only other person who can put up with Gojo.”

That gets him stopping in his tracks.

“Barely,” he scoffs, but the pressure on the door lets up. He hates that you have a point there. Hates that he can’t look away from Gojo and his silly antics and his daring ploys and especially hates that he has that in common with you. He wants to turn you away but you look so hopeful, ignoring the dulling pain of the door trying to crush your foot flat.

He bites the bullet.

“You know he’ll be pissed if he finds out you came to me first, right?” You screw your lips together when he cracks the door slightly.

“Well, he doesn’t really have the right at the moment,” you sniff, barging in when he lets go of the door completely.

The room is impossibly smaller than you ever imagined, in direct contrast to all the empty space in Gojo’s rental. It’s a wonder how all his necessities fit in the cramped shelves and tiny drawers, and you almost marvel at the scale of it until the sound of wood on vinyl tiling snaps you back to focus. A few stray articles of clothing are plucked from the ground and chucked to the corner before he’s pulling two chairs up, one for you and one for him. Once he’s sitting, you have his full, unadulterated attention.

Not that you know what to do with it.

It takes a while to find your voice, fiddling with your fingers as you try, unsuccessfully, to hold his gaze. There’s no clock but you swear you can hear the second hand ticking. The curtain’s closed but you’re sure you can feel the heat of the sun disappearing. You’re certain that it ebbs below the curve of the horizon as you watch, timidly, the tap of Geto’s wooden sandal. It remind you of the clack of Gojo’s dress boots, impatience slowly exceeding its carefully drawn bounds.

You time out a moment of silence.

And then another.

And then another, until Geto is staring you down expectantly, pinpricks for eyes. You take the hint.

“I said it.” You look down, fidgeting with your shirt. “I said no.”

His eyes soften immediately, struck by the raw edge of your voice, your inability to look him in the eye.

“And he didn’t respect that?”

“He touched me. When I asked him to stop.” The words have to force themselves out your throat, the little bit of courage you have all that keeps the walls from collapsing in completely. You take as deep of a breath as you can manage when the memory flickers through your mind, clear as yesterday. “He—he fucked me through his clothes.” Your head’s buried in your hands as you fold into yourself completely, rocking in place, and something rages inside of Geto.

“Wait, what?” Geto looks at you incredulously, disbelief scrawled all over his face, eyes narrowing when you keep your head down. “Through his clothes?”

You nod slowly, knowingly, and he feels as though the world is spinning all over again. The ground seems to shift beneath him as your face contorts in pain, saltwater already beading up along your lower lashes. That’s it? That’s what this entire circus is on about? He cards his hands through his hair as he tries to process it, shaking his head when you fail to respond. That’s all it takes for your whole body to quake, hard lumps bubbling up your throat at the bite of his words, breath stuttering irregularly as your windpipe starts to clench up. 

And then you’re crying, body wracked with hiccups as you try to quell the chills crawling up your skin. Your chest heaves in a sorry attempt to keep up with the lurch of your lungs, sputtering as you try to suppress your voice.

“God, you’re all so fucking annoying.”

He watches you bubble over, feeling his own emotions swell as they hit a critical mass, stomach churning at the sight. You couldn’t manage a comeback if you wanted to, a blubbering mess as you try to wipe your eyes dry. The small bit of composure that’s kept him whole these past few days finally snaps when the tears trail down your hands, no end in sight in the onslaught of waterworks.

“I bet you wanted it,” he continues, unfazed by the fattening tears, fingertips digging into his thighs as he spots the yellowed bruises he jacks off to at night. He leers at the fading brown and imagines them overlaid with fresh, new marks, gleaming blush and fiery crimson. “I bet sluts like you don’t care what happens as long as they get dicked down in the end.” A quiet sob tumbles out of you and your cheeks tingle with hurt, like you’ve been backhanded once, then twice.

“It’s n-not like that,” you finally manage to say, gasping through choked noises as he creeps closer, cloaking you in shadow. He stares vacantly from his vantage point, as if looking at an ant on the tiles.

“Then why don’t you walk away for real?” 

And that’s exactly what you should be doing right now, cornered by a large man in his dark, dingy room, but by the time you think to stand up he’s grabbing you by the wrists. He sends you barreling into the desk, spinning you around so your hands clutch the edge, chest pressing up against the surface. He pins an arm behind you with ease, kicking your legs wide open, and you flail the other in no particular direction.

“You secretly enjoy all of it, don’t you? You secretly get off on the idea of being raped by your boyfriend.” He sneers as you buckle underneath him, grazing his growing erection. “All worked up over a little dry humping? Get over yourself already. You females want to be hurt so bad.”

“Fuck you,” you manage between muffled sobs, chest feeling as if it’s about to break in half. “You’re j-just like Gojo.”

“Just like Gojo?” Geto echoes, free hand coming to snake between your thighs, voice catching as he speaks. “You’re sorely mistaken.”

You fall limp as he draws a single finger under your panties, tracing your hipbone as he muses. He imagines their contents, imagines how easy it would be to take you by force, sighing aloud at the prospect of doing it without.

“I can never be him.”

fishstyx © 2021 ✸ all content and their rights belong to me. do not repost, reproduce, or modify anywhere.

#gojo smut #geto smut #geto x reader #gojo x reader #jjk smut #tw. dark. #tw. noncon. #tw. dubcon. #tw. influence. #tw. toxic. #tw. penetration. #tw. showoff. #tw. size. #tw. degradation. #tw. corruption. #🍣.food #fishstyx.jjk

[starkerotic]

The boy is the loveliest creature Tony has ever seen, his delicate features so faerie-like, his slim hips swaying to the beat of the heavy bass of the song playing in the club Tony has taken as his own, his head thrown back onto the shoulder of his dance partner just behind him, lips parted, throat bared. He can’t be more than nineteen, Tony estimates, the remnants of baby fat still clinging to the boy’s cheeks, eyes wide and bright in the strobing lights.

Tony wants, and he will have - one way or another.

He directs a nod to his bodyguard, and Bucky lifts an eyebrow, but moves forward nonetheless, toward the beautiful boy in the center of the dance floor, a path being made for the assassin-turned-soldier-turned-personal-security. When Bucky reaches him, Tony sees the kid tilt his head at the former soldier, watches him move from his previous dance partner when Bucky quirks a finger and attempt to wrap his arms around Bucky’s neck; one hand captures both dainty wrists, presses them to a strong chest as Tony’s observes, Bucky leaning down to murmur a few words into the boy’s ear, then nodding over at Tony as he pulls back, urging the kid to walk with him to the private booth.

(Tony is delighted at how easily the boy obeys, how trustingly he follows Bucky to Tony, no struggles or protests or screams; he’s too beautiful for Tony to bruise for disobedience - perhaps he won’t have to.)

Bucky’s hand (the flesh one, Tony notes) is still gripping one tiny wrist, so small that the Brooklyn man’s thumb and middle finger overlap just a bit. (Tony’s cock twitches at the sight, at the thought of pinning those little wrists above the boy’s head as Tony fucks into that gorgeous body hard enough to break him.) Bucky gestures for the boy to slide into the booth, slowly releasing his grip, then steps back, just outside of their line of sight, giving the illusion of privacy.

“I’m Peter.” The boy’s - Peter’s - voice is soft, breathy, as lovely as the rest of him. Straight, white teeth nibble at a full bottom lip, careful enough not to ruin the rosy shade of color painted onto it, as he continues, “You’re, um- You’re Tony Stark.” It isn’t surprising in the least that the boy knows who Tony is; after all, Tony owns three quarters of the city, including the club they’re sitting in.

Tony offers a sharp smile, taking a sip of his scotch, relishing in the burn of the liquor as it settles into his belly, warm and light. ”Smart boy,” he praises, watching a warm flush of pleasure creep over Peter’s face and - oh. Now that the boy is close, now that the black lights and strobes and the distance are non-factors, Tony sees his eyes, honey and caramel and whiskey swirled in two pools of innocence and curiosity.

(Tony wants to ruin that innocence, indulge that curiosity, keep him filthy and needy in Tony’s bed until he grows tired of the novelty of such a sweet thing.)

Peter, cheeks pink, looks back in the direction he and Bucky had come, a little nervously, but not as if he’s prepared to bolt away, frightened as a rabbit.

(Trusting and beautiful and possessing almost no sense of self-preservation. Just Tony’s type.)

Taking another draft of his drink, Tony reaches out, grips Peter’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, putting his attention back on Tony where it belongs. “Looking for your boyfriend?” he asks lightly, swirling the amber liquor in its glass.

Peter giggles, a tinkling sound heard even over the bass of the music, high and sweet. “Harry isn’t my boyfriend.”

Smile still sharp, Tony lifts an eyebrow. “A friend, then?” He allows his thumb to slip up, to nudge just under the swell of Peter’s lower lip, avoiding smudging the makeup there.

“He wanted a dance to buy me a drink,” the boy tells him, and soft eyes lined with kohl, dotted with small, pink jewels at the corners, widen just a smidgen, landing on the glass in Tony’s opposite hand.

Tony hums and the smile shifts into a smirk. “Here, sweetheart,” he says, lifting his glass, nudging it against the other’s mouth while he releases the boy’s chin. “You can have mine.” Those plump lips part (Tony imagines them opening for his cock, a rosy ring sliding down his length until the boy gags, tries to pull away until Tony forces him back down, shoving himself to the back of that warm throat, saliva dripping uncontrollably from the corners of that beautiful mouth) as Tony tips the drink back, Peter taking a too-large swallow and coughing, making Tony shift in his seat. There’s an imprint of his bottom lip on Tony’s glass that pleases Tony unreasonably.

Peter’s eyes are watering when he looks back up at Tony (and, oh, the images that pulls to the forefront of Tony’s mind), but he’s licking his lips, sniffling as he tries to decide whether he likes the taste or not. After a few moments, he must come to the conclusion that he does because he shuffles closer to Tony on the bench seat and looks up with those eyes (doe eyes, Tony thinks - his own personal Bambi) and asks so sweetly, “May I have some more, please?”

(Yes, Tony will have fun with this one.)

#posting some of my old things to have them on this blog now #starker #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker/tony stark #peter/tony #tony/peter #i know i wrote this in response to something but i can’t remember what lol #my writing #mafia boss tony stark #my fave

[donutdrawsthings]

NO THIS POST IS NOT A DISCUSSION FORUM. EITHER KEEP SCROLLING OR VIBE WITH THE REST OF US

I thought I had already been clear on what my stance was on the matter, but after today I feel like I need to yell it off the top of my lungs. I SUPPORT ROETVEEG PIET AND BLM. LISTEN TO BLACK VOICES AND ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR WRONGS.

(Information about the Dutch holiday and why it’s racist under the cut! includes extern sources and images!)

Summary

Sinterklaas is a Dutch tradition that starts at the first Saturday after 11 November and ends at 5 December. A figure called Sint Nicholaas comes on a boat from Spain to the Netherlands to celebrate his birthday on the 5th with his little helpers, the Zwarte Pieten. The Zwarte Pieten give candy to the kids and on the 5th kids get a gift from Sinterklaas.

The Racism (Black Pete)

All sounds fairly innocent, until you see what the Zwarte Pieten look like.

These are the traditional Zwarte Pieten (it translates to Black Petes btw). These individuals are usually played by white people and are purposely darkened to black with red lipstick, black curly hair and sometimes golden earrings. I have always been told the dark skin was to represent “soot” from the chimneys, however, up until recent years there was no effort made to actually appear as smeared. In fact, a lot of effort was put into making sure not a single speck of light skin was visible because that could ruin the illusion. (the illusion being, hiding your identity behind blackface.)

These characters are also played to be playful, hyperactive, carefree, happy to do their work and often praise Sinterklaas himself. Which are all traits often depicted alongside the “happy slave” stereotype from way back when and the S*mbo stereotype.

other racist depictions are also on display in stores and houses (often on display near a window for kids to see) in the form of little Black Petes, most of them resembling the G*lliw*g. (first image is a common window prop during Sinterklaas, the second image is the racist G*lliw*g)

This very outdated depiction of black people only really started being questioned in the early 2010′s. However, support for questioning Black Pete only started to become somewhat acceptable around 2016/2017... And even then the public has been largely Pro Black Pete until 2020, after the Black Lives Matter movement also started to become a valid topic of discussion in the Netherlands.

The Transition

Between 2010 and 2020 a lot happened since Black Pete officially got taken into question and talk about whether or not Black Pete should be changed started to become a genuine topic of discussion. When the question first rang, the majority of the Dutch folk were against the change. I was against this change as well. I think I should note that I was around 13 at the time and it is a very common phenomenon for kids to mimic the opinion of their parents and teachers. But this indeed a genuine opinion I had at some point and I acknowledge that with full responsibility. 

The main reasons everyone was against this change was because we did not see it as racist and were convinced the “goal” with this movement was to entirely remove Pete from the holiday or remove the holiday as a whole from the list.

I would also like to note that the Dutch folk’s opinion on what is and isn’t racist is very outdated as well. (As I write this now in 2020 it is still not a whole lot better but around the 2010′s it was definitely worse.) As this topic gained attraction, jokes about black men having huge dicks (the m*and*ngo stereotype), “watering the Africans” and much more were made to me and other people regularly enough to be normal or at the very least, were seen as a bit of a cheeky thing to say. And despite being a multicultural country, Asian people were still referred to as “Chinese”, Native Americans as “Indians” and Islamic women as “Penguins” as well.

But back on the topic. As the years went on, more and more protests against Black Pete gained attraction and by now parents started to use these protests as another reason to be against the change because “they are ruining it for the kids”  White parents would also start to praise the word of their 1 black colleague/friend for being against the change as well.

When the topic started to become more prominent, people made the attempt to change the Black of a Black Pete to another colour. This created the short lived bizarre creation of Rainbow Pete. (also seen in the picture above)

Rainbow Pete was a very short lived idea and was considered weird by many. However, I personally do believe this was an important step in the transition. Rainbow Pete took the depersonalisation tied to Black Pete and quite literally, showed its true colours. It’s ehhh hard to explain what “A Pete” is in English. But growing up I never considered them as human, nor were they ever explained to me as ACTUALLY being human. They are just described as a Pete, and a Pete is all they are. They aren’t people who can have other jobs in Spain or can travel the world to find something else to do. They are a Pete, and therefore they will always be with Sinterklaas in Spain, making toys for us, giving us candy and then going back to Spain with Sinterklaas again.

And that’s why I think this odd colour change was so important. Because by making them green or blue or pink it properly showed how ALIEN Petes felt. Like a whole other species. It tied a certain uncomfortable environment to the depersonalisation and after it’s short lived appearance, Soot Smudge Pete was a much easier step to make

Soot Smudge Pete, or in Dutch known as Roetveeg Pete, is the most recent and most inclusive variant of the Petes. This Pete only requires a few dark smudges to mimic actual soot and can be played by all races.

in 2018/19 Soot Petes started to become more present in the official parades, which a lot of parents were rather disgusted about. I personally think this is the period in which a lot of people just straight up outed themselves as racist, actively being against “White Pete” and actively longing for the “Real Petes” to return. Even with these Petes slowly becoming more popular, it is still not safe for most people who are against Black Pete to discuss the matter with Pro Black Pete individuals in this time period. Pro Black Pete individuals (often family or coworkers) more often than not become very heated when the topic arises and I cannot say I’ve ever seen the same attitude from people who are against Black Pete.

Present Day

In 2020, thanks to the Black Lives Matter movement, it has become way more socially acceptable to support Soot Smudge Pete. Parents who are still Pro Black Pete are still vocally voicing their disgust every time Soot Petes are present instead of Black Petes and much like what happened to me back then, their opinions also seep through onto their children. With these people still present in Sinterklaas spaces it also sadly occurs they press their believes on Soot Petes by giving them too much soot and still giving them a black, curly wig.

However, with the way things are going right now and the positive, multicultural depiction present in the media, I believe we are finally on our way to a more positive environment for kids of all kinds of backgrounds!

Afterthoughts

This whole post sparked after I dealt with a nasty situation myself while playing a Soot Pete at my old Elementary school. I really wanted to play this role to tie a more positive view on Soot Petes with all the parents creating such a negative environment around the Sinterklaas times and thought I could take matters into my own hands. However, I was Sooted up by a Pro Black Pete mother and thus, nearly got as dark as my brown hair. (besides that I also have gender issues and despite the school knowing I’m called Josh, put me in a dress outfit,, but that’s a more personal issue) I was able to wipe most of it off by the time the kids came in, but not without sharing some discouraging words with my mother, who told me to “just suck it up”.

It’s really important to me for people to know how Bad stuff like that still is in this country and I just... don’t understand why people would still support Black Pete after all this time. These people are either friends, family, or just kind people I know and love who around November open their mouths to say the most vile things and create such a sour situation for everyone involved. And after Black Pete is proven to be racist time and time again, still supporting it... It makes me wonder if this has to do with pride more than anything.

No one wants to be called a racist, but is it really that hard to acknowledge some of the shit you said and did was just plain wrong to the point that you’re taking your opinion to new extremes and decide to die on a sinking ship..?

I’ve said racist things. I have compared the curly black hair of a Black Pete to black classmates. I have compared Black Pete to black classmates. I have joked about them not needing to be face painted to be just like Black Pete. I have made those connections and I’m ashamed I did. But you do what you can to deal with it and become better for those around you. You listen to black voices, support black artists and black businesses and become better as a person. We need to start acknowledging how much our society is actually structured to belittle and undervalue black people and you can’t do that when you’re THAT far up your own ass. 

phew... anyways. Black Lives Matter! Don’t use tradition to defend racism! Fijne Pakjesavond!!

#racism #tw racism #tw sinterklaas #sinterklaas #roetveeg piet #in this essay i would like to discuss all the reasons why i want to deck several mothers #pakjes avond #nederland #zwarte piet #sint nicholaas #donutdrawsthings #also look at that king in the last pic #he's an absolute legend #also also #if i got any information wrong or forgot to censor a slur #lemme know pls #i've already censored racial stereotype names just in case #blm #black lives matter #blm nederland #essay #damn i guess i really DID write an essay #persona #anti racism