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#I know I'm the same age as the singers but I LOVE Little Mix
lovebugism · 11 months
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i need more of “the customer is always right” before i wither away and die <3 the anticipation of IT happening is quite literally killing me ilysm
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THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | b-minus
summary: eddie munson takes the unconquerable english midterm that's forced him to repeat senior year two times. dustin henderson gets a pep talk. uncle wayne gives his nephew a warning. you cook your eddie spaghetti some spaghetti. (17k)
pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader
tags: idiots in love, experienced!reader, domestic bliss, staying the night, eddie munson tries to get used to being loved TW probable typos, swearing, discussions of being poor, talks of insecurities, kissing, heavy petting, oral sex (m!receiving) 18+ only!!
a/n: hi. hello. me again. you probably don't remember me because it's been almost TWO MONTHS. i'm really sorry about that btw this semester of college was sent from the actual depths of hell. please take this sixth installment of tcar and find it in your heart to forgive me <3 ily all xoxo
( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )
 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
“Okay, this is officially the last time I let you drive me anywhere,” Eddie gripes from the passenger seat of your too tiny car as one excruciatingly happy ABBA song bleeds into another.
He shouldn’t have expected anything less. You’re made of the same stuff you listen to — sunshine and melted ice cream and summer breezes. You match the blue skies above you as you belt the lyrics to the song you seem to know by heart.
The sight makes Eddie grin to himself, still beaming no matter how hard he rolls his eyes.
This was the only good thing about the breaks of his van going haywire and having to bum a ride to school from you — getting to see more of you in your element. 
As much as he loved having you in his passenger seat, bobbing your head to whatever rock song he’d popped into the cassette player, there was something entirely different about seeing you in the driver’s seat.
This car was your safe space, spotted with stickers on the console and polaroids on the speedometer, where you could sing any damn ABBA song you wanted to because it was your own little bubble where nothing could touch you. 
Eddie’s grateful you let him see it, all these parts of you that you reveal slowly to him like so many tiny rays of sunshine.
It’s even better to witness with a full stomach, which was maybe the second good thing about driving with you. You picked him up with time to spare to get breakfast — to take the long route to school and watch the rising sun sparkle over Lover’s Lake. There was no reason to speed through town like a maniac because he wasn’t in a rush. Today might be the first time all year he’s not five minutes late to first period.
He tells you to sing louder when you get all shy and hyperaware of his gaze, feeding you bits of your breakfast — but only on the instrumental parts so you don’t miss your favorites. The boy props his arm on the center console and folds down the wrapper of your greasy, plain biscuit with his thumb so it doesn’t get in the way of your bite. He doesn’t even complain when you try to sing through the mouthful. 
He figures that this is what love is. A part of it, at least. That stupid, philosophical feeling people have been trying to describe for ages is sitting right beside him — with crumbs sticking to the corners of her mouth as she mixes up the words to the Dancing Queen chorus.
Love isn’t butterflies or tight chests — it’s this. It’s letting a person listen to music you hate because you know they love it and not caring that they’re singing horrifically off-key.
And it’s not like Eddie’s in love with you or anything. He’s just got a lot of adoration for you. It’s the kind of innocent affection that makes him love ABBA and think you’re one of the best damn singers he’s ever heard in his life — even though neither would be particularly true if he didn’t care about you so much.
It’s sort of like the love he’s got for Dustin, to still care about the little shrimp even when he’s annoying him to no end. But, at the same time, it’s not like that at all. Because Dustin Henderson isn’t the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. Dustin Henderson doesn’t make him feel like his heart is being trampled by an entire stampede of zoo animals. 
No one quite makes Eddie feel the way you do. But even if he was in love with you, he’s got no way of knowing the difference — between loving and being in love. The only thing he’s really sure of is that he doesn’t know a damn thing. And that the sick feeling in his stomach he gets every time he looks at you can’t possibly be normal.
“Oh, stop being such a baby,” you retort. Your words come slurred and slightly muffled through the bite of biscuit in your cheek. “I know you secretly like it.”
“Of course I do!” he shouts over the catchy bass guitar and your subsequent laughter. “It’s just not the kinda shit I wanna listen to right before I take the biggest test of my life.”
It’s true. The past two times he’s been forced to take Ms. O’Donnell’s impossible midterm exam, he's listened to the exact same song — ‘Ride the Lightning,’ Metallica. It’s the only song that gives him enough of an adrenaline rush to gather the confidence to fail the same test. Twice. 
Eddie Munson is a creature of habit. Today marks the third anniversary of the dreaded day that makes or breaks his high school career, but instead of spending it with Metallica, he’s spending it with you. He wants to believe you’re a good luck charm or some kind of lucky omen, but he’s terrified of getting his hopes up.
Expect the worst, and you’ll never be disappointed. That’s what Uncle Wayne always said.
“I think ‘When I Kissed the Teacher’ has plenty of useful advice, Eddie Spaghetti.”
The boy turns to you with a bemused wide-eyed gaze. “If you’re suggesting I makeout with Ms. O’Donnell to pass her class, I’m gonna hurl— like actually hurl. And I will deliberately do it all over the floor of your car.”
“Would you rather repeat your senior year? Again?”
“Yes,” he answers without missing a beat and with a very enthusiastic nod that makes his wild curls sway around his face. “I would rather be a senior for the rest of my life than kiss Ms. O’Donnell.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you won’t have to, right? Because you’re totally gonna ace this thing.”
This is what you’ve been doing for over a week now — twisting everything negative into something more overtly positive. You meet Eddie’s pessimism and self-doubt with a sort of hopefulness he lost somewhere between the first and second time he got held back. 
You force him to study in the gentlest way possible because you’re never anything but soft with him. You make him pretty little flashcards and flip through them with him on the opposite side of his bed, obviously more enthusiastic about the whole thing than he is. You give him sympathetic pecks on his cheek when he gets a question wrong and kiss him totally breathless when he gets the odd one right.
Eddie would be lying if he said the incentive didn’t help at least a little bit.
There is no hint of impatience or sign of hubris that makes him feel stupid. You just teach him to be kinder to himself with tiny little reminders that you’re doing all this right along with him.
“Considering I’ve failed it twice already, I highly doubt that, sweetheart,” he counters, and he’s kidding — mostly. He says it with a teasing lilt and a twinkle in his squinted eyes, but you know that’s his way of covering up that he’s totally serious. 
He really doesn’t think he can do it, pass this stupid exam. He’s got absolutely no faith in himself — but that’s okay, because you’ve got all the faith in him in the world.
“Well, that’s because you didn’t have me to help you study,” you argue, just before accepting the last piece of biscuit he plucks from the parchment and offers to you.
You speak through the mouthful. “But now you do! And we’ve been going over this all week and—” You cut yourself off to swallow the dry pastry. “—And you totally got this. You’re gonna blow ‘em outta the park, Eddie Spaghetti. I can feel it.”
Your optimism makes him smile even though he doesn’t really feel like smiling. He lolls his head against the seat to look at you, finds you with a pretty grin and tiny biscuit crumbs on the corners of your mouth, and has the sudden urge to tell you that he loves you.
It comes out of nowhere. It bubbles up all at once like vomit and startles him with its unexpectedness. The sudden and unfamiliar feeling makes him feel sick, like he just went upside down on a rollercoaster. Whoever said love felt like butterflies was a liar because it feels a whole lot more like getting punched in the stomach.
The words rise from his throat like bile and linger on the edge of his tongue. Eddie forces himself to swallow them back down again. The unsaid ‘Holy fuck, I love the shit outta you’ tastes far more bitter going down.
“What do I get if I ace it then, huh?” he wonders after an awkward blink of silence.
“Uh, I don’t know,” you shrug. “Your diploma.”
“I meant as a reward, dummy.”
“I feel like graduating high school is enough of a reward.”
“I just think I should be compensated for a job well done, is all,” he proposes with a lopsided grin. The teasing nature of his words drips from his mouth like honey.
You glance at him once, eyes wide and dumbfounded, then back to the road. “Eddie Munson…” you scold in a lighthearted lilt. “Get your head outta the gutter. It’s not even eight o’clock.”
That sort of thing wouldn’t have bothered you before. Any other time, you would’ve been all too happy to pull over and jerk him off in a barren parking lot, relieve all his pent-up stress about the exam in the form of a quick handjob. But you’ve been quite obviously keeping your hands to yourself since he told you he was a virgin. 
You were serious about what you said before, about starting over, and Eddie learned that very quickly. You take to giving him tiny little pecks on the cheek and holding his sweaty hand in yours and hardly anything else — like you’re a couple of kids going steady.
Eddie likes it, though, the comforting nature of your unhurried disposition. He just hates the ache it leaves him with.
“It’s all I’m gonna be thinking about,” he confesses with a scrunched nose. “Just so ya know.”
“As long as it helps you pass,” you respond with the shake of your head.
“As long as it helps me pass…” Eddie echoes, quieter. 
“Just think about the biggest kiss I’m gonna give you when I see you again,” you tell him, flashing him a beam as you slow at a stop sign. You trap your smile between your teeth and flash him a glance that can only be described as whimsical — full of shy smiles and fluttering lashes and sparkling eyes. “‘Cause I’m gonna kiss you absolutely stupid, Eddie Munson.”
A rose-colored hue sprinkles along the apples of his cheeks. He never thought a threat could sound so appealing.
“Cool…” is the only thing he could think to mutter in the moment, too busy trying not to smile too wide. He turns his glowing cheeks towards his lap and purses his smile towards his fiddling fingers. “But, uh, I have Hellfire after school, so… Maybe tomorrow?”
You meet his disappointed glance with a shrug. “You could come over after if you want?”
He wants to. He always wants to.
“It’ll probably be late.”
“Then just stay over.”
Your offer comes effortlessly but strikes a deep feeling of complexity within him. Eddie doesn’t know why it makes him so suddenly nervous, only that it makes his palms sweat almost instantly.
The two of you haven’t crossed that threshold yet — of sharing a bed to sleep. He’d catch you dozing on occasion, slouched against his headboard with your head on his shoulder, and he’d wake you. Not because it made him uncomfortable, but because he didn’t want your neck to ache. 
You’d rouse with a groggy apology — “I should probably leave before Bowie starves to death and I drool all over your shoulder,” you’d tell him. 
And it’s not like Eddie wanted you to leave, but he was more than happy to sleep alone. What if he snores obnoxiously loud or he does something gross in his sleep? If you got instantly turned off by some sleeping habit he didn’t even know he had, he thinks it might destroy him.
Eddie can’t control the front he puts up around everyone when he’s sleeping. And for a boy who’s still trying to impress a pretty girl, that’s a very frightening thought.
“Uh, okay… Are you— Are you sure?” he stammers.
His apprehension confuses you. The offer hadn’t felt like that big of a deal to you. “I mean… yeah? We practically did it over the phone last week. It’ll be just like that — but, you know, in person.”
“Right… Okay.”
“I can make us dinner, and we can watch a movie or something,” you propose and grin at the daydream of it all. You wouldn’t have to miss Eddie if he was beside you all night. You wouldn’t have to drift off to thoughts of him either, because he’d be right there. “Bowie would be stoked if you stayed over. She’s practically obsessed with you.”
The thought makes Eddie smile to himself. His heart swells at the idea that other parts of your life have already started to accept him. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy in his leather jacket and ripped jeans and chunky metal rings.
“Her mom is too, right?” he asks you, mostly playful. He smirks all smug, but his cinnamon-tinted gaze gleams with sincerity.
“Oh, obviously,” you scoff without a second thought. “Have you seen her? She can’t get enough of you…” Your teasing lilt and soft smile fades as you squint at him. “Don’t tell her I told you that, though.”
Eddie pinches his thumb and forefinger together, zipping them across his lips, then rolling down the window to toss the imaginary lock out of it. 
Wind whips through the small car with vigor, making a wild halo of Eddie’s already less-than-tamed hair. The intrusion forces you to squint, even more so when you laugh. 
The sound of your giggling is like glitter or sunbeams. It’s as bright as yellow and soft like summer rain. It makes him smile, too, because that’s all he wanted to do in the first place — make you laugh. It’s all he ever wants to do.
Eddie cranks the lever to roll the window back up again as you tell him: “And, you know, if you stayed over, then I could give you that reward we were talking about.” 
You’ve successfully stooped to his level now: head stuck in the very depths of the gutter. Most of your thoughts are innocent, cooking for him and holding him while you slept. Others, not so much.
“And that would be…” he trails off with raised brows.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you squint at him as you turn the steering wheel to pull into the bustling parking lot of Hawkins High. 
The place is as wretched as it always was. It hasn’t changed a bit, just sort of deteriorated with time. The nameplate on top of the building has started to grey and the tiger mural painted on the bricks is fading, but it’s still the same. The familiarity of it all hits you with an ice-cold pang of nostalgia.
“I would,” Eddie nods a very vigorous nod, all innocent and wide-eyed, as you park on the far side of the lot. “I would very much like to know.”
You lean across the console to press a swift kiss to his cheek. “You’ll find out later,” you assure him, lingering just ahead of his face. Closer by an inch or two and the tips of your noses would nudge against one another.
“Have mercy…” Eddie murmurs to himself, eyes and limbs suddenly heavy under the weight of his desire for you. 
You made him promise he’d stay sober for the exam — no drinking the night before, no smoking while he got ready. Before now, he’d been perfectly clearheaded. Then you go and look at him with that look, and he’s instantly drunk on you.
He tries to close the distance between you but succeeds only in brushing your noses together before a loud honk blares from ahead of you. It sends the two of you jerking away from each other almost instantly, heads whipping toward the direction of the too loud beep. 
It comes from Steve Harrington’s maroon Beemer that he’d parked just ahead of your Volvo. Him and his friends file out one by one — Robin from the passenger, Dustin Henderson from the back, and then Steve from the driver’s side. 
The former two are beaming, far too happy for it to be so early. Steve looks more like a victim to the morning as he leans against his open car door. His smile looks like a wince and he props his wrist on the door, throwing his fingers up in the place of an actual wave. Dustin and Robin are far more enthusiastic with their gestures.
You and Eddie wave a tad bit awkwardly back at them.
“Look at him,” the boy says, trying and failing to hold back his laughter. “King Steve. Carpooling his kids like a real mom.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s a babysitter first and a human being second,” you joke, then more seriously tell him: “You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to, you know?”
“I know,” he nods. “But I want to.”
“Okay… I just— I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to, you know, force you or something—”
“It didn’t.”
“—I was just saying it could be nice, you know? But I feel like it sounded like I was being a little pushy.”
“You weren’t.”
“And I don’t want you to be, like, scared to say no to me or something, you know? It wouldn’t hurt my feelings or anything, okay? I promise,” you ramble, partly lying because you know it would hurt a little, but you’d never tell him that. “The ball is totally in your court, so… Whatever you want to do, it’s completely—”
Your nervous blathering is brought to an unexpected halt when Eddie brings his hands to your face. He cups your cheeks in his palms, brushing his thumbs along the apples of them. The sleeves of his leather jacket tickle your chin. He sprayed his wrist with cologne this morning, you can tell; the musky cedarwood and tobacco are more prominent now. 
The boy laughs softly when the suddenness of his action makes your eyes go wide, chuckling louder when he squeezes your cheeks and makes your lips pout softly.
“I wanna come over, okay?” Eddie assures through his laughter. ���And you’re never annoying me when you ask. I promise. I’ll probably say yes to just about anything when it’s coming from you, sweetheart.”
“And you’re not just saying that?” you press, words slightly muffled with the way Eddie’s holding your face.
“I’m not just saying that,” he echoes more confidently. He shakes his head at you, then moves your jaw back and forth with his palms so he’s shaking yours too. You jerk away from him with a grin. 
“I’ll see you later?” he asks you while he collects his things from the floor, which is just the little tin box he carries everywhere. He swears it has everything he needs in it. You assume it’s just a dull pencil and a couple of baggies of weed he plans to sell between lunch shifts.
“Yeah,” you answer with a smile.
He clicks the handle to open the car door, then kicks it open the rest of the way. He rolls his head back and puckers his lips for a kiss. You happily oblige him, meeting him halfway but turning at the last second so his mouth meets your cheek.
“Kids are watching,” you joke at his surprise.
And even though he’d only pecked your jaw, it makes Robin and Steve roll their eyes. “Gag me with a spoon,” the girl gripes as she walks past the hood of your car.
Dustin follows behind her, too preoccupied to care. He’s got an anticipatory grin on his face that reveals the blue and green braces on his teeth. The composition notebook in his hands has the Hellfire logo drawn in red and yellow sharpie on the front of it.
You’ve never met the kid, but he’s exactly how you’d expected him to be.
You heard a lot about him — from Steve mostly, but from Eddie too. Robin has the occasional story about the boy from whenever he visits Family Video. They all call him little shit most of the time, shrimp on occasion, and Dusty Bun when he’s done something particularly sweet.
It’s all from a lighthearted place, though. You figure it must be because Steve Harrington is waking up at seven in the morning to take some fourteen-year-old to school. And Eddie’s even worse — the second Dustin calls asking for a ride, he’s hopping in his van without a second thought.
The boy barely lets Eddie get out of the car before he starts bombarding him with questions about the latest D&D campaign. He prattles on and on about it while they walk towards the school, pointing adamantly at the notebook in his hands. You imagine it’s full of conspiracies and potential ways to beat the Cult of Vecna. 
He’s so invested he doesn’t even care when Robin slips the cap from his hand and flips it backwards.
“Have the best day ever, kiddos!” you shout through your rolled-down car window.
You get a half-hearted wave from Dustin, but he doesn’t even glance at you when he does it. Eddie blows a dramatic kiss your way, but Robin rivals his sweetness with a middle finger and a rouge-tinted smile.
The bell chimes overhead, high-pitched and too familiar. The parking lot empties slowly, and the mindless muddled chatter fades too.
Steve saunters to your car after everyone else heads inside. He folds his arms along the passenger door as he leans down to look at you. 
His hair is un-styled, but in a cool sort of way that only he can pull off. Chestnut strands fall down over his forehead while others are pushed back from where he’s ran his fingers through them. His jaw is dusted with a fine layer of stubble that sprinkles a shadow of a mustache on his cupid’s bow.
You’re both wearing the elements of your uniforms.
He’s got on a pair of faded jeans and the mandatory collared shirt, even though he swears Keith only makes him abide by the dress code. You’re wearing the all black get-up required of all Enzo’s waitresses. The flowy blouse and a-line skirt are now wrinkled from the drive over. You’re only missing your floral apron and Steve his forest green vest.
“How long until your shift starts?” he asks you, voice deep and gruff with the morning.
Your eyes flit down to the flashing clock on your dashboard, then back up to him. “I don’t have to go in until eleven today, but I was gonna see if I could pick up an extra shift.”
He nods and juts out his lips as he turns to squint down the parking lot. He looks back at you with a more hopeful gaze. “Wanna go fuck around at Family Video instead?”
And, of course, by “fuck around,” he means popping popcorn and playing some terrible, terrible slasher film on the television behind the counter that has more boobs and blood than actual plot.
You’ll stop for junk food on the way like you always do and spend the bulk of the movie tossing gummy bears and M&Ms into Steve’s mouth. You’ll waste hours talking about nothing, but it’ll feel like only minutes have gone by when it’s time for your shift.
“Are you kidding?” you scoff like it’s not the best idea you’ve heard all morning. Or maybe second best because Eddie’s proposal of a reward is still swirling around in the confines of your mind. “Of course I do.”
 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
By sunset, Eddie Munson’s got a B-minus on his midterm, a crowd of kids singing his praises, and a date with the hottest woman on the planet. Life, as it turns out, was really starting to look up for the local freak.
“Best… campaign… ever!” Dustin shouts. He’s still so boyishly excited about the whole thing that he has to take in deep breaths before he says each word. 
The emphatic exclamation echoes through the dim, empty hallway of Hawkins High. The rest of the school had left some time ago; all that’s left now are the scraps — the basketball douchebags, the theater geeks, the D&D nerds.
The Hellfire Club gets the entire west wing to themselves, and the unusual vacancy allows them to saunter down the corridor’s length like they own the damn place. 
They don’t have to look over their shoulders for assholes that might trip them or stuff them into lockers. Still bubbling with the after-effects of such an utterly sadistic campaign, they feel like they’re on top of their own little world.
Eddie Munson hasn’t felt this good in a long, long time.
He spins on the heel of his worn-out sneaker and walks backwards ahead of his friends so he can examine each of their faces. He’d unleashed the whole Vecna lives twist that he’d been keeping in his metaphorical back pocket for some time now.
You were the one that gave him the idea, sprung it out of nowhere during a smoke session so many months ago. It feels like it’s been forever now. That was back when you were just his customer, and he was just your dealer — when all you needed was a little free weed, and Eddie just needed to pass a test.
You both somehow ended up with far more than either of you bargained for, but he’s not complaining. He hopes you aren’t either.
Dustin had sort of predicted Vecna’s resurgence. He’d scribbled it down in his journal with all the rest of his endless conspiracies. Well, actually, he suspected that Kas was still a villain and hadn’t slain Vecna like they thought — which wasn’t exactly right, but it was still pretty damn close. Eddie’s never met someone who cared so much about one of his campaigns.
So, needless to say, the curly-haired boy is beaming. His green-blue braces and pearly whites are on full display, partially from excitement but mostly because he was sort of right — in a vague, roundabout way.
Mike had been enthusiastic about it too, but that was before he had to suffer through his best friend’s endless boasts. His brown eyes roll damn near to the back of his skull as he huffs, angled jaw clenching from gritted teeth.
“Well, when you spend eight hours coming up with, like, a thousand different theories, one of them is gonna be right,” he’d finally groused. 
Dustin only smiled at the lankier boy, totally unfazed by his grumbling. “It’s not my fault you have exactly zero work ethic. You’re just mad you lost.”
“Yeah, because staying up all night writing in your diary makes you a real winner.”
“For the last time, Mike, it’s not a diary!”
Lucas was too far away to join in on the bickering. The boy had been distant for a while now, actually. Eddie joked that he must’ve been upset about missing basketball practice with Carver and the rest of his goons, but Lucas hadn’t laughed as loud as he’d hoped. He only chuckled under his breath, shook his head, and said it was just girl troubles.  
Gareth, meanwhile, is still grumbling about Vecna killing his ranger. Even though Dustin’s bard brought them all back with a resurrection spell in the end, he doesn’t like to lose. Eddie doesn’t blame him, but he’d be lying if he said the angry scrunch contorting his best friend’s features wasn’t hilarious.
Jeff had lost his druid too, but he was a much better sport about the whole thing. He usually is, especially compared to the rest of the club. He’s perhaps the only one who doesn’t treat every loss like the end of the world.
“Well, thank you, Ser Dustin,” Eddie responds in a fanciful sort of accent, bending at the waist in a gracious brow. “But I cannot take all the credit, I’m afraid.”
Dustin’s brows pinch together. “What do you mean?”
“He means that his girlfriend helped him put it together,” Jeff lisps.
“No way!” the boy gapes, totally dumbfounded. “The girl from this morning? In the car? She’s… She’s into Dungeons and Dragons?”
“Not really. No,” Eddie shrugs right before flashing a shit-eating grin. “But she is into me, so…”
The less-than-humble brag makes Gareth groan. His sandy curls fall back as he tilts his head toward the ceiling, ocean eyes rolling and then fluttering closed. “If I have to hear about your stupid girlfriend one more time…” he’d griped after the first few times Eddie managed to bring you up in every conversation — about a million of them ago now.
His annoyance doesn’t lessen Dustin’s confusion. “I don’t get it…”
“Gareth's just mad because he’s in love with Eddie’s girlfriend,” Jeff clarifies once more, feigning pity as he pats the boy on the shoulder.
“All I’m saying is, I would’ve tried a little harder to get her attention if I knew she was into freaks,” Gareth grieves, a little forlorn and distantly heartbroken, but shrugging it off like he isn’t all that affected by it.
You were a bit like Steve The Hair Harrington in that way. A little like Vicki Carmichael or, god forbid, Billy Hargrove. You’ve garnered a sort of popularity that’s made you into a sideshow attraction that everyone wants to ride — literally.
You’re popular in a much, much different way than Steve or Vicki or Billy. It’s left you acutely fetishized in an extreme sort of fashion, an object of desire for many in disgusting, lurid ways.
It seems Gareth didn’t go unscathed with his lust for you either.
Well, too little too fucking late if Eddie had anything to say about it. But he would never, because that’s his best friend, so he decides to scoff and tell him: “Like she’d be into you anyway.”
“Oh, please. I’m a total catch.”
“Is there anyone she isn’t into?” Jeff chuckles, too kind of heart to realize the mercilessness in his words. “Isn’t that, like, her whole thing.”
A sharp pang of anger strikes like lightning in Eddie’s chest. It’s ice-cold and red hot, a burst of adrenaline that feels like fight or flight. His hands curl into fists before he even realizes it. If it had been anyone else and not one of his best friends, he imagines he might’ve swung before he even thought about what he was doing. 
Before the words to defend you spill like venom from his mouth, another beats him to the punch.
“Hey,” Lucas scolds from a little ways behind the group, making them all turn to look at him. His brows are furrowed slightly, but the rest of his face is contorted in an unreadable way. His hands are tucked deep into the pockets of the puke-green letterman he wears over his Hellfire tee. “Leave her alone.”
“How do you…” Eddie starts, then squints past the group, gaze zeroing in on the boy. “Since when do you know my girlfriend, Sinclair?”
“She’s friends with Max. And she’s, like, really nice. So maybe we shouldn’t talk about her like that.”
The boy with the wild hair grins something wilder. His gaze is stern but no less playful when he turns back to Jeff. “You heard the kid. Leave my girlfriend alone, Jeffy.”
When the phrase leaves his mouth, for perhaps the billionth time that day, he realizes how often he must say it. My girlfriend, he says. My girlfriend, my girlfriend — because he can’t get enough of how it sounds.
With a grin on his face and his dream girl on his mind, Eddie spins on his heel again to swing open the double doors of the high school’s exit. The chill smacks him in the face almost immediately.
It’s the strange knick of time in early spring where the days are warm, but the nights are so, so cold. This one isn’t any different. A bitter breeze pounds at his chest, ruffles through his curls, and pierces the fabric of his jacket. Eddie’s body mourns the sudden loss of warmth almost immediately.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Dustin continues to whinge, even though the rest of them have more than moved on. “Does— Does everyone know her but me? Mike, do you know who she is?”
The boy perks up at the mention of his name. He tends to get a little reserved unless he’s bickering or talking bout his girlfriend. The kid’s a complete and utter wreck when he’s been away from her for too long. Eddie used to make fun of him for it. Not so much anymore.
Mike runs a hand through his lengthy raven hair, then scratches at the back of his neck. His eyes squint and his nose scrunches. “Uh… not really? I mean, I think she knows El because she knows Hopper, but… I don’t know… No?”
Dustin’s face falls flat at his answer. Or lack thereof.
“Wow. Very enlightening, Mike, as always. Thank you,” he deadpans, then turns back to Eddie. His features go from deadpanned to hopeful: eyes wide, brows raised, lips quirked. “So when are we gonna get to meet her? Do you think she’d do a campaign with us? Holy shit— she could be the fairy! You know, of the Firethorns! I mean, you did just say the campaign was feeling a little empty—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it down a few notches, alright, Dusty Bun?” Eddie chuckles as he slumps a heavy arm around the boy’s shoulders.
“Don’t call me that. We talked about this; that name is reserved for Suzie and Suzie only—”
“Didn’t you guys break up?” Mike wonders with a sort of blandness to his tone that only he could pull off.
“Shut up, Mike,” Dustin bites in response.
It was still a bit of a sore subject for the boy who’d just lost the so-called love of his life.
Suzie was a girl he met at summer camp about a year ago. Things were going pretty well until they weren’t. Something about her family being uber-religious and not approving of Dustin’s more agonistic disposition.
She broke up with him over Cerebro and hasn’t been on the channel since. It was cold. Ice cold.
Dustin still hikes up to Weathertop every now and then with nothing but a packed lunch and the hope that she’ll answer. She hasn’t yet.
And Eddie can make a mockery of just about anything — it’s practically a superpower at this point — but he knows when to leave well enough alone. Even the most innocent question can send the boy into a spiral of despair. Even now, he gets so suddenly weighed down by the burden of his sadness; lips turning downward and the insides of his brows curling slightly.
Eddie smiles a sad sort of smile down at the boy, but he’s too busy moping to see it. He pulls him closer with one leather-clad arm and uses the other to pat the boy on the chest. Their feet stumble less than gracefully over one another. 
“Yeah, you’re never gonna meet her…” Eddie says in a mournful sigh.
Dustin blinks up at him, confused and even more hurt than before. “What? Why not?”
“Because she’d obviously like you more than me,” he scoffs like it’s obvious. “And I can’t have anyone taking my girl, Henderson.”
That confuses him even more. He was more prepared for one of Eddie’s stupid quips than something short of a compliment. It takes him by surprise at first, leaves him gaping for a moment, before rolling his eyes. “Shut up…”
“I’m serious!” Eddie chuckles, all loud and boisterous. The sound echoes through the vacant lot, made somehow emptier by the cold.
He stops walking suddenly and makes Dustin stop walking too. He takes the boy a tad bit roughly by the shoulders and looks down at him like it’s the first time he’s seeing him. 
“I mean, look at you! What’s not to like, huh? You got their hair, the smarts, the personality—”
“And Eddie’s only got one of those things, so you definitely win,” Gareth quips from a few feet behind them.
“Exactly! Suzie was an idiot to let you go, Henderson.”
Dustin winces when Eddie jabs him in the chest. His saddened gaze flits to the pavement for a moment, then back up again. His eyes are brighter now, but still a bit melancholy — sort of like the streetlamp that flickers across the way. A light that’s going out but grasping for reasons to stay burning.
“You think so?”
“I know so, Dusty Bun,” Eddie grins — smiling wider when the kid’s beam falls flat again. He wraps his arm around Dustin’s punier frame. It’s supposed to be a hug, but it looks more like a headlock. “Never change, Dustin Henderson. Never change…”
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since he was ten.
Fifth grade. Franklin Kowalski’s place in the suburbs. Trampoline in the front yard, pool in the back, and an assortment of soft drinks in a fridge in the garage. Maybe he remembers it so vividly because it's perhaps one of the more traumatizing experiences a prepubescent boy growing out a buzzcut could go through.
He knew he didn’t belong there — not in the good part of town with a bunch of boys in brand-new tennis shoes. Eddie Munson was trailer park trash, through and through. He wasn’t used to new clothes or two-story houses or underground pools. But he didn’t care where he came from. And neither did Franklin. Not at first, anyway.
The other kids were nice enough to him. They offered him their swim goggles when Eddie didn’t have his own and made sure he wasn’t left out of any of their conversations. It was all in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way, though. Their kindness was manufactured, a mask for pre-teen boy cruelty. 
See, they only gave him their goggles so they could laugh when they got tangled in his curls. They only included him in conversation so he could be the punch line to each of their jokes. 
All of it went over Eddie’s head. He was too innocent to realize he wasn’t being treated nicely, he was being taunted. He laughed along with each of their inside jokes because he wanted so desperately to be included, having no idea it was himself he was laughing at.
It took him until two o’clock the next morning to understand. He woke up all alone in the living room and found that everyone else had migrated upstairs without him. They were still awake, still laughing — and Eddie was forgotten in the dark.
He nearly cried when he called Wayne. He wasn’t sure if his tears were from anger or from sadness, but they stung all the same. 
He punched the numbers on the keypad with a clenched jaw to keep from sobbing out loud. His gaze was still blurry with unshed tears. It made it dreadfully hard to see, and what little light spilled from the television — which had turned to static after midnight — didn’t help either.
“It’s three A.M., Eds. You sick?” his uncle gruffed into the landline.
“A little,” Eddie half-lied. He twirled the curly wire around his fingertip until it turned purple. He prayed he didn’t sound as sad as he felt. “Everyone else is asleep… ‘M scared I’m gonna puke everywhere.”
Wayne was there barely fifteen minutes later. He drove his rusted pick-up to the suburbs, found his nephew waiting on the curb, and didn’t ask questions on the drive back to Forest Hills. 
Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since.
He’s got a feeling this one will be different, though. Because pre-teen boys are a hell of a different kind and you’re… you. 
He’s pretty sure you couldn’t be mean to him even if you wanted to be. You’re nice, far nicer than he deserves. You’re lovely and sweet and decent — every synonym of the damn word in a thousand different languages. It still floors him that it would ever occur to you to be kind to him. 
Eddie doesn’t feel all that worthy of your sunshine. He happily basks in your golden rays anyway. Maybe it’s because he’s selfish. Or maybe it’s because he’s so damn pale — in both the literal and figurative sense.
Eddie packs his overnight bag without a hint of methodology.
He isn’t totally sure of what to bring as he rifles through his disorganized drawers, so he ends up packing bits of everything. 
He does the sniff test for each of his crumpled-up t-shirts. The one’s that smell the freshest get stuffed to the bottom of his bag. He can’t be sure of how many he’s shoved down there now — three or four, maybe five. It makes it harder for his pants to fit, two of the pajama variety and two of denim. 
He grabs multiples of everything, just to be on the safe side. It takes only minutes for his backpack to fill up. He nearly breaks the zipper trying to fasten it, and still, he worries he hasn’t brought enough.
The bag sits upright on his mattress as Eddie bends down to grab the box of condoms that’s been idling under his bed for a year. The cardboard is coated with a fine layer of dust and time. He holds it between his ringed fingers, debating whether or not to finally break the seal and bring a few — just to be on the safe side. That’s when Wayne walks in.
The man isn’t looking at him. He’s too busy wiping his oil-stained palms on an already-stained rag, but his presence is sudden enough to freak Eddie out. The boy jumps like he’s been caught red-handed, scrabbles for a hiding place almost immediately, making the box sputter out of his grip. The thing falls to the ground with a dramatic thud.
He kicks it back under his bed again.
Wayne’s eyes finally flit up to his nephew’s at all the commotion. His bushy grey brows furrow when he finds him standing upright, hands behind his back, totally not suspicious at all. Raising a teenage boy has taught the man not to comment on what doesn’t concern him, so he keeps on swiping his fingers between the fabric of the grimy rag. 
“I finished looking at your van,” he says, accent deep and husky and not of Indiana origin. “Turns out that noise you were hearin’ was a damn rock in the break line.”
Eddie scoffs, then eyes a stick of deodorant sitting on his dresser. “Wow,” he marvels as he swipes the thing from its place. He stuffs it into the side pocket of his bag. “A measly pebble coulda killed me, huh?”
“Should be good to go now, though.”
“Sweet,” the boy nods.
Eddie squints as his eyes flit around his room, head darting in either direction to make sure he’s got everything. Wayne watches him with an identical squint. “Where you runnin’ off to now? You just got home, what, fifteen minutes ago?”
“Uh… I’m gonna go see a friend,” Eddie answers, voice trembling and slightly far away. He unzips his bag again to make sure it’s sufficiently filled. He does a little mental checklist: shirts, pants, PJs, shoes— how the hell is he supposed to fit shoes in here?
You’ve only got one pair of shoes, Munson, he reminds himself. Where the hell do you think you’re going, anyway? A nature walk?
“Oh, right,” his uncle nods. A smile plays on the edges of his lips, but it weirdly still looks like he’s frowning. “The friend.”
“Yeah— Well, she’s my… She’s my girlfriend, so…”
The admission makes Eddie blush in a way he isn’t typically used to. He can’t count the number of times he must say it in a day, but something about saying it in front of Wayne feels different — real.
He turns his glowing cheeks down to his bag and makes difficult work of zipping it back up again.
Wayne doesn’t bother to hide his excitement. The bright emotion is almost unfamiliar. “Well, shit,” the man’s chuckle sounds from the depths of his chest. “Look at you, Eds. My nephew’s finally got his first girlfriend.”
The boy rolls his chocolate eyes. He jerks under the pressure of the shoulder clap Wayne gives him. It’s equal parts annoying and embarrassing — to be talked to like a child in this way. Maybe because most children have long had their first girlfriends by now, and it took Eddie all of twenty agonizing years.
“We were gonna hang out at her place since I passed my English test and everything...”
The excitement washes from Wayne’s tired eyes. They widen, as though in shock, and reveal more of the glassy whites of them. He just blinks at him for a moment, like his words are still processing. “You… You passed?”
“Yep. Got a B,” Eddie nods, a tad bit sheepishly. He finds it hard to meet his uncle’s mystified gaze. “Well, a B-minus, but… Turns out, I might actually graduate this year.”
Wayne seems to experience every emotion at once. He’s surprised, of course — it makes sense. Eddie spent two years failing the damn thing, after all. Then he’s proud, overjoyed that there’s a chance his nephew might finally grow up. He’s distantly saddened by the exact same thought.
The man swallows thickly, as though to down each emotion. He nods and tries his best to smile. “Damn. Good job, kid. I’m… I’m prouda you.”
Eddie isn’t sure whether to take the praise or cower from it. At a loss, he opts to deflect entirely.
“Yeah, well, she— the friend helped me study and everything, so… I feel like we should probably be thanking her, you know?” he half-jokes as he swings the pack over his shoulder. His winces under the weight of it. “I probably wouldn’t have passed if she didn’t force me to read that stupid book. I mean, it’s 1986; who cares about the roaring twenties and blinking green lights—”
“Hm…” his uncle grunts. It isn’t an acknowledging grunt, though. It’s more of a bemused sort of grunt. And he’s got this quizzical twist to his features that makes Eddie confused too.
“…What is it?”
Wayne only shrugs, trying to act like it was nothing, but can’t help but to ask: “You’re real serious about this girl, aren’t ya?”
Eddie, feeling a bit weighed down by such a heavy question, shifts on his feet.
“Uh… A little bit, I guess. Yeah,” he stammers in the place of an honest answer. If he were being totally truthful, he would’ve said something like, “As serious as a goddamn heart attack.” But that might’ve actually given Uncle Wayne one, so he doesn’t answer with all that.
The man seems to hear all the words Eddie doesn’t say, though. He always does. Eddie figures that’s what happens when you raise a kid for fifteen years — you get attuned to their every thought like a superpower or something. 
It doesn’t make it any less annoying, though. Eddie’s never been able to keep a single damn secret from Wayne because he’s a total mind reader. It’s entirely possible Wayne knew Eddie was in love before he did.
“Just be careful, alright?” the man advises. He looks genuinely concerned, eyes glinting and brows pinched, like you’re a treacherous road or poison ivy.
The misplaced cautiousness makes Eddie breathe out a soft laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“C’mon, Eds. Don’t play dumb,” Wayne tells him with a gruff chuckle — not totally unkind, just a Munson sort of curt. “You know what I’m talkin’ about. I didn’t even know her real name until you started bringing her around, 'cause all the kids at the shop call her the—”
“Don’t,” Eddie interjects sharply.
The bitterness in his tone is foreign. It contains the sort of venom he’s more like to spit at Jason Carver or Mike Wheeler if he’s being particularly dickish. Never at Wayne.
But that dormant urge to defend you rises like a sleeping dragon that just got poked in the belly. The words rise like bile in his throat and spew out before he can think to stop them.
Uncle Wayne is a weathered man. He’s seen a lot of the world, too much of it, but nothing’s ever quite taken him aback like this. He’s never seen his nephew’s chocolate button eyes hardened into something so cold.
Eddie gets all hyperaware of the heart on his sleeve and starts to crack under the pressure of it. He deflates, stern features crumbling into something softer.
“It’s different, okay?” he assures with his chin brought down to his chest — brows raised and wide eyes twinkling. It’s the same thing you’d said to Hopper not too long ago. Eddie hopes you met the words as wholeheartedly as he does now.
“And even if I explained all the reasons why it’s different, you still wouldn’t get it.”
His melodramatic tone makes Wayne scoff. “What? ‘Cause you don’t think I’ve ever been a kid in love before?”
“No,” Eddie shrugs playfully. “‘Cause you’re old.”
The foreign tension ebbs all at once with a pair of laughs. One is gruff, a couple of sharp exhales more than anything else. The other is a lighter, far more boyish giggle.
“I’m just trying to look out for you, alright?” Wayne tells him once the laughter fades.
“Yeah, I know. You always do,” Eddie lilts with a disposition that might make it seem like he’s displeased by his uncle’s constant pestering. In reality, he knows it’s saved him from a world of shit.
Like that time he wanted to get tacos from a new food truck that gave the whole town food poisoning. Or when he’d wanted to ask Tina Burton, the most popular girl in school, on a date his sophomore year. 
It was Wayne that saved him the embarrassment from either. It’s like he can smell bullshit or something.
“But this is, like, the first good thing that’s happened to me since Ride the Lightning came out… So, I’d kinda like to enjoy this whole thing while it lasts,” Eddie winces like it’s a joke, but he means it more than anything.
Wayne nods understandingly. “Will do, kid. But first girlfriends are always hard, okay? Remember that. Try not to let it hurt you too much, Eds.”
His uncle claps him once, then twice, on his shoulder before swiping away the grime he’d accidentally spotted there. Eddie lets him, too far away to shrug him off. He doesn’t even move when Wayne walks out of his room.
He knows his uncle means well, but something about his cynical words makes his chest burn. It’s like he’s betting on his relationship with you not working out or something. 
And Eddie knows he isn’t wrong. First girlfriends are hard. He’s heard enough shit from his friends to know that. Hell, Mike and Dustin have spent all year complaining about how complicated relationships are. 
But it’s different. 
Because they’re just a couple of kids and their girlfriends aren’t you.
Whatever form you come in, lover or executioner, Eddie’s more than ready to receive you.
 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
You’ve never cooked for anyone other than yourself. And maybe Bowie.
That’s not to say you were a stranger to dining in company. Binging on takeout with Robin and Steve was routine. You’re pretty sure Benny at the diner has made more dinners for the three of you than you’ve ever made for yourselves — combined. 
But it was different, to make something for someone with your own hands. It took a relative amount of care, an acute sort of attentiveness that only felt deserved for someone really special. 
And Eddie was really special and then some.
There isn’t a word that encapsulates all the special he is. It makes you feel a bit guilty sometimes. You wish you were smarter so you could think of a big enough word to describe how much he means to you. But since you aren’t, you stick to making him homemade spaghetti and hope you can pour enough love into it that he feels all of yours.
Eddie arrives at your apartment before you’re ready for him.
You’d wanted to do more with your appearance by the time he came around — with your hair and your makeup and your clothes. Not because you ever had to, but because you thought Eddie deserved a girl who took extra care of herself in that way.
You got a shower in before you started cooking, but that was it. Your hair is unstyled and air-drying; your face bare and glistening in all its naked glory.
Clad in nothing but a hilariously oversized t-shirt and a pair of fluffy socks, you look more ready for bed than date night.
The knock at your door sends you into a momentary whirlwind. You scramble like someone’s seconds away from catching you naked — like there are four different fires in every direction and you don’t know which one to put out first. The panic is elaborate and fleeting, a bucket of ice-cold water on bare skin.
You figure that’s another part of caring about someone. You make them spaghetti because you love them and get nervous when things aren’t perfect. Love is all things stressful and homemade.
Eddie knocks on your door with several rhythmic raps. They’re evenly timed and spaced out. You recognize the bass line to ‘Crazy Train’ almost immediately. Da-da… Da-da, da-da, da-da. He must’ve been listening to it on the way over.
“Uh, come in!” you waver after an awkward beat. You’re yelling a little because you’re still standing at the stove, stirring the pot of noodles.
The door clicks once when it opens, then again when it shuts. The wall that separates the kitchen conceals your view of him, but you can hear Eddie’s shuffling in the living room from where you are because he’s never done anything quietly in his life.
Eddie toes off his sneakers before he heads into your apartment. You never asked him to do it, so it always confused you as to why. He’d told you, when you asked, that he knows he’s not the cleanest and that he cares too much about your space to make a mess of it. 
He tells you he can’t take care of you in the way he would like — that if he had it his way, you’d never have to work at Enzo’s again; that he wishes he was rich enough so you never had to wait on snobby stay-at-home moms or misogynistic businessmen. But since he isn’t a rockstar yet and The Hideout pays their busboy’s fuck all, Eddie figures the least he can do is not leave shoe prints on your carpet.
It’s boyish and strangely profound and so, so sweet.
He drops his backpack and leaves his sneakers by the doormat like he always does. They fit neatly between the wall and the roughly textured rectangle that reads ‘glad you’re here’ on the front of it. One is upright, the other falls to its side.
Bowie blinks at him from where she idles on her perch, green eyes wide and pupils set in narrow slits. “Hey, pretty girl,” Eddie greets in a quiet coo, scooping her up in his arms. Despite her round belly, the calico weighs no more than a feather. 
She meows once after being so suddenly plucked from her flower petal spot but settles into him instantly. He scratches at her chin to make her purr and revels in the soft buzzing sound she makes. Eddie waltzes into the kitchen with her, cradling her against his chest like a newborn baby.
You look over your shoulder and smile at the sight of them — at your two favorite beings on the planet, so obviously taken with one another. Bowie lolls in Eddie’s arm like he’s made of clouds and cotton candy. Her blinks are slow and lazy, her purrs audible to even you. She’s only this affectionate for him. You can’t even blame her. 
“Smells good in here,” the boy compliments trying his best not to blush at the wide smile you give him. He’s still not used to being looked at so tenderly. 
Failing to feel deserving of it all, he averts his chocolate gaze and flushed cheeks to the counter, where he plops Bowie down beside her half-empty food bowl.
You could only get her to eat so much of it before she got annoyed with you. Now she laps happily at the chunk of cat food like it’s the first time she’s ever tasted its goodness.
“Thanks,” you respond with a slight tremble to the edge of your voice. You turn back to the pot of spaghetti you’ve been stirring for close to ten minutes, eyeing the mixture of noodles and sauce and beef with intent because you need it all to be perfect. “I probably should’ve asked what you liked before you left this morning, but I only know how to make spaghetti, so… I made spaghetti.”
You look back at him, flashing the boy a nervous tight-lipped smile. It makes him grin, too, as he makes the terribly short trek over to you.
“Well, I actually love spaghetti,” he confesses, and it isn’t totally a lie. He just stopped caring for it around the millionth time Wayne made it because it’s one of the only things he knows how to cook too. 
Eddie lingers at your side, hip pressing into the counter, radiating warmth like a sun stuck in human form. You can’t tell if he’s toasty in his leather jacket or if you’re just cozy in the honey-coated tenderness you have for him. You don’t even realize you’re smiling at him when he scrunches his nose at you. 
“You should be careful, sweetheart. I’m kinda starting to think we’re soulmates.”
“That’s crazy,” you marvel, wide-eyed. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“Wow… We really were made for each other, huh?” he huffs with a similar sarcasm.
You try to keep the joke going, but it’s hard not to smile when you feel his hands creep around your sides. His fingers are soft on your waist, featherlight and a little unsure as he slithers along your back. The affection feels foreign on your skin. You bite back a shiver.
“Looks like way,” you affirm with a nod, tilting your head back so you can meet him halfway when he leans down to peck you.
It’s a soft and swift little thing, a brief brush of the lips that doesn’t mean anything but also the entire world. He kisses you just to kiss you — because he likes the feel of you or because it’s the sort of thing he can do now as your boyfriend. Either way, you revel in the unfamiliarity.
“Did the, uh… Did the test go okay?” you ask once he parts from you. You try not to sound like you’ve been agonizing over it all day and more like the thought had only just crossed your mind.
Eddie bites back a smile as he turns to walk to the opposite side of the counter. He makes sure any traces of the smirk have washed away when he hops onto the edge of it.  The forlorn look he gives you is manufactured, all pinched browed and gloomy eyed. 
“Um, no…” he fibs. “I, uh— I failed it again.”
You eye him from over your shoulder and notice how he shifts on his weight, looking down at the tile rather than up at you. It doesn’t cross your mind once that he might be joking. You just hope the flash of disappointment on your features was too quick for him to catch.
“That’s okay,” you assure and cover your chagrin with a smile. You shake your head and shrug. “We just try again, right? Not the end of the world.”
A grin tugs slow at Eddie’s lips. It’s bemused slightly and still sort of sad. He can’t believe how supportive you are of him even after he’s just told you outright that he’s failed — still loving even when he’s not good enough.
He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a packet of stapled-together papers. It’s perhaps the first piece of schoolwork given to him that wasn’t immediately thrown away. He’d folded it twice in half, then tucked it safely away with the intent to show you later. He unfolds it again to marvel at it once more.
The letter grade is written in red and circled twice. Ms. O’Donnell’s fancy cursive is scribbled just beside it — “Finally! Good job, Eddie! I’m very proud of you!” Even though the boy has never been particularly fond of the woman, her compliment makes his chest swell.
“Oh, shit…” he murmurs under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear.
“Hm?” you hum back in response. You don’t look at him, though, more focused on not burning yourself as you pull a tray of golden brown garlic bread out of the oven.
“I read it wrong…” he answers, feigning surprise. “This isn’t an F. It’s a B.”
The pan clatters to the stove when you spin around the face him. Your eyes are wide and your brows are raised, each of your features agape with shock. You’re not entirely sure how he could’ve misread it, but you’re prepared to celebrate with him anyway. 
Eddie flashes you a pink, lopsided smile as he flips the creased paper around. He puts the grade on display for you with a knowing, mischievous glint in his cinnamon eyes. He’s too pretty and you’re too proud of him — you can’t even care that he was tricking you.
“Oh, my god, Eddie!” you shout with a bubbly laugh, all but launching yourself at him. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to reach where he sits on the counter. The bottom of your stomach digs into the granite as your arms wrap around his neck. 
You don’t realize until you’ve locked him in this embrace that you’ve still got your oven mitt on.
Eddie bends awkwardly to reciprocate the hug, meeting you halfway so you’re not doing all the work.
One hand keeps hold of his midterm, but the palm of his free one spreads wide and warm along your back. The tops of your chests collide, soft and snug. They press together in such a way that it confuses him how he could’ve gone so long without feeling you like this — even in the most innocent way.
His chin settles along your clothed collarbone. With his nose digging into the cotton of your t-shirt, he inhales to find your warm floral scent. Eddies sighs and relaxes against you without thinking. He doesn’t know if anyone’s ever hugged him like this before.
“I’m so proud of you!” you praise, chin bopping on his shoulder. “I knew you could do it.”
Eddie chuckles softly at the severity of your hug, so full of intent — louder when you peck him on his cheek and then the rest of his face when you realize you can’t just kiss him once. His stubble is rough against the plush of your lips as you press them to his jaw and chin and nose and mouth.
He tries to kiss you back, but he’s smiling too wide.
He’s almost certain no one’s ever gotten this much loving over a B-minus.
“It’s ‘cause of you,” Eddie insists.
“No, it’s because you’re smart.”
“Mm, I don’t think that’s it,” he retorts with the shake of his head, too damn stubborn to take a compliment.
His chin pulls closer to his neck when he parts from you. Your noses are barely inches apart, lips so close he can taste them. He could kiss you if he wanted, but he doesn’t want to stop looking at you.
“I’m pretty sure I only passed because I was thinking about you the whole time...” 
His words trail off. He’s got a crooked smirk on his lips like he’s only teasing, but brings his ear to his shoulder and gazes at you that way — so full of love and mischief. You think he might actually be sincere.
“Eddie Munson…” you scold at his suggestive tone. 
A smile dances on the corners of your lips as you pull back from him completely. You finally slip the mitten off your hand as you return to the stove, clicking the knob on the back panel until it turns off again.
“I just hope you’ve been thinking about that reward,” the boy lilts as he slips off the counter. He grins and walks until he’s leaning on the refrigerator beside you. He’s no more than a couple of feet away, but he somehow feels much closer than that. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe we agreed that I’d get something if I passed…”
Eddie’s only teasing. He doesn’t actually want anything. Spending time with you now is enough. Making you blush was just a bonus. 
He’d be lying if he said it didn’t cross his mind, though, far more times than he’d like to admit. 
And truth be told, you had thought about it, too. But that makes it sound too simple. It plagued you, really. First, it was the “oh god, what if he doesn’t pass,” and then the “what the hell am I supposed to do when he does?”
A passing grade isn’t usually that big of a deal. You’ve certainly never received anything from one. But passing a test after failing it the first two times and having to suffer two more agonizing years of school because of it certainly deserved to be celebrated.
Eddie was strange, though. He wasn’t materialistic or overtly enthusiastic about anything other than music and D&D. Maybe if you had more money, you could’ve gotten him a cassette or a new Dungeon Master’s manual. But thanks to Enzo’s salary, you’re lucky if you’re able to pay bills on time. And it sucks because Eddie deserves nice things, and not just for passing some stupid test. 
You hate that you don’t have anything other than spaghetti and adoration to give him.
It’s not fair to either of you.
You’d lamented to Steve about all this over gummy bears and buttered popcorn as Slumber Party Massacre played on the tiny television above the counter. The film was ripe with blood and random nudity, but you hadn’t fully paid attention to a single scene. You don’t think Steve had either because he was too busy trying to fuse two different halves of gummy bears together.
“Okay, you just passed a test you failed two times in a row,” you tell the boy, painting him a picture of your dilemma. “Your girlfriend wants to do something nice for you, but she’s boring and poor. What would you want?” 
“A blowjob,” Steve answers without missing a beat. His brows scrunch together like the answer was far easier than you made it out to be. He shrugs and squishes the strawberry head of one gummy bear onto the blue raspberry bottom of another. “Obviously.”
You didn’t think the answer was so obvious. Especially not when you’re trying to take things slow. It wasn’t an easy feat either — not with Eddie at your place, looking at you with that look. His features drip with honey as rose petal spill from his mouth. It’s like he’s trying to tease you. 
He’s got no idea he’s quite literally dealing with the master of teasing.
“We’ll see how tonight goes,” you tell him, flashing him an arched brow and a knowing smirk as you drag two of your fancy, ten-dollar porcelain plates from the cabinet. “Only if you’re good for me, yeah?”
Eddie quite literally forgets how to speak.
Like, if you’d asked him a question, the only thing that would spill out would be unintelligible murmurs of made-up words. 
His brain turns to mush with the look you give him — a two can play at this game kind of smirk that makes his mind melt. And your words are so effortless, so smooth, like you know just what to say and exactly how to say it to work him like a wind-up toy.
He’s in way over his head. The realization makes his breath hitch.
All he can do is nod like an idiot and let you fix him a plate of your “finest batch of spaghetti.” That’s what you call it, and he figures you must be right because you lay an entire three-course meal out in front of him. Well, it isn’t quite that extensive, but it feels that way.
Plates of pasta, a bowl of salad, and stacks of garlic bread decorate your small square dining table. Eddie almost feels like he’s at Enzo’s, even though there’s never been a world where he’s been able to afford Enzo’s.
You wine and dine him like the finest of them. Even though it’s nothing more than homemade spaghetti and apple juice in wine glasses, it makes him feel special — the kind of special people spend hundreds of dollars to feel. But he gets you for free and fuck, he doesn’t deserve any of it.
He got so damn lucky with you. 
He’s done trying to figure out why. He just wants to be more grateful for it.
Once he’s pleasantly full on a home-cooked meal, you usher him to the bathroom. There’s a bag full of stuff waiting there for him — toothbrush, toothpaste, body wash — all the essential shit that he’d forgotten all about. It makes his chest ache.
It’s less so that you knew he’d forget and more so that you thought about him at all.
Eddie imagines you getting off work, still in your Enzo’s-appropriate skirt and blouse uniform, scanning the aisles of Bradley’s Big Buy for things you think Eddie might need.
It’s mundane, but so beautiful still — to be remembered in the most minuscule of ways.
“—I didn’t know what to get you, and I couldn’t afford a lot, so I just got you that 3-in-1 stuff,” you ramble as you pull the dark green bottle out of the brown paper bag on the counter. You wave it mindlessly in your hand. “I don’t know, it was affordable, and you seem like the kind of guy who might use this sort of stuff, so—”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie chuckles, trying to act like he doesn’t have an off-brand bottle of the stuff sitting in his shower back at the trailer.
“I don’t know,” you answer with a giggle of your own. You shrug and sit the thing back down. “You don’t have to use it if you don’t want.  I just wanted you to have some stuff here so it could, you know, feel more like home…”
Your words strike something profound in Eddie’s chest, a lightning strike or a punch to the stomach. In that moment, he comes to the realization that home isn’t a place. It’s not four walls or the little trinkets that fill it. The people that make you feel all warm and cozy inside, the people that make you feel like you have a place in the world — that’s home.
It’s Wayne and it’s Hellfire and it’s you.
So it’s easy for Eddie to feel at home in your little apartment, and not just because you bought a bunch of stuff to make it that way. 
He’s warmed by the hot shower and the thought that you’re waiting for him in your bedroom down the hall. The idea that he gets this night and so many others you with makes him feel all giddy — like he’s ten years old again and no sleepover has ever traumatized him.
Eddie uses everything you bought, still a little dizzied that it’s for him, but opts to use your vanilla body wash. It’s sweet smelling, with hints of deep musk and high lavender.
The scent of it on his own skin makes him feel like you’re on him and all over him. He has to flip the hot water to freezing before he steps out of the shower. Because, sure, he’s been less than shy about how much he likes you, but walking into your room with a hard-on is a bit more forward than he’s used to.
Eddie finds you waiting for him in your bed. You’re idling at the very center of it, knees up to your chest and back against the headboard, like you’ve been waiting for his return to get truly comfortable there.
You smile when you see him again. It’s that same grin you always look at him with, as though every time you see him is the first time.
He brings an air of cleanliness in with him. He's dressed in fresh pajamas, curls damp and still drying. Steam radiates off his skin along with the scent of freshly baked cookies and flower petals. It’s familiar to you because it’s yours, but it’s different on Eddie in a way you can’t describe.
“You smell good,” you compliment as he maneuvers through the velvet darkness of your bedroom. The black night is evaded only by your dim yellow lamp and the streams of orange that filter through your curtains from the streetlamps outside.
Eddie scoffs as he climbs onto your queen-sized bed. “Did I smell bad before?”
“No. You just smell sweet now. Like a milkshake.”
You shift to make room for him, pulling back your green gingham comforter so he can slip in beside you. Even though you’ve given him ample room to sit down, there isn’t any hint of distance between you. You keep yourself intently pressed to his side despite the several inches of space next to you.
Eddie hopes you never realize there’s a whole world of other places you could be than right next to him. He doesn’t ever want to see a day where you’re separated by more than an inch or two. 
“A milkshake, huh?” he echos as he leans back against the slatted headboard and all your pillows. You twist until you’re practically on your side — hip digging into the mattress, shoulder propped along the cushions, chest pressed against his arm.
“Yeah. Like whipped cream or… vanilla cake…” you trail off, quickly losing interest in describing the scent of him when you’re staring the pretty boy in the face.
One half of him is bathed in shades of golden orange, the other half coated in a deep, deep navy. Eddie’s eyes are somehow darker than any night sky. They swim with their own galaxies and stars that twinkle back at you.
He looks at you and all words lose meaning.
“Yeah, I’m totally stealing your soap before I leave,” he jokes.
You shake your head at him, but smile anyway. “Thanks for letting me know, Eddie Spaghetti.”
Just like all the times before, neither of you realize you’re kissing until you already are. The gravitational pull that brings the two of you together is effortless and natural. You’re like the moon and Eddie’s like the tide — you drag him to you without trying and he bends to your every whim.
Kissing him is easy. It’s like breathing. You don’t ever have to think about it, you just do it. 
You press your lips against the rosy plush of his, and it’s like taking a deep breath of fresh air. It’s an atmosphere kissed by the sun and the trees and the morning dew. It fills your lungs with a new life, makes it impossible to quit kissing him.
But when his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, when his mouth pries yours open to slip the pink muscle inside — that feels like getting the breath knocked out of you. The rough pattern of his tongue slides against your own, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.
Your lungs stop working, your chest aches, and there’s nothing you can do about it but let the moment pass.
Eddie keeps kissing you soft, though, coaxing fresh air back into your burning lungs. He helps you breathe normally again.
You move together like entwining summer breezes. Your thigh swipes against his lap and his hands find your hips to help guide you the rest of the way over. He’s halfway lying down now and you’re looming like an unconquerable mountain above him. Your back arches like a cat’s and your palms cradle his jaw while your tongue makes uncharted territory of his mouth.
The warmth lingering between your thighs presses into his lower stomach. It makes his grip on you tighten, hands pulling your hips further against him until he hears you moan.
The pressure of your clothed pussy against the pudge of his stomach brings you a distant pleasure. What really does you in is the thought of what little separates you — just the fabric of your cotton underwear and Eddie’s faded grey Tatcher Tire t-shirt.
But it’s hard to be indulgent when you’re so stuck in your head. Your mouth moves with Eddie’s on autopilot while your mind travels elsewhere. Because this isn’t supposed to be about you — it’s supposed to be about Eddie. You want to make him feel good for a change, but you have no idea how to go about it.
The foreignness is strange. It leaves you fumbling like you’ve never done any of this before.
In a way, you haven’t. Eddie is different from any guy you’ve ever been with. Not just because he cares about you, but because you’re practically the only girl he’s ever cared about in this way.
He’s a blank slate and you’re scribbled all over.
You don’t want to taint the pristine image he’s painted of you.
“Hey, Eds,” you murmur. The words are halfway spoken against his mouth because you don’t pull away in time to say them clearly. 
Your tongue darts out to feel how numb your spit-slicked lips have gotten after being kissed so ardently. You know they’re probably swollen and more vibrant in their color now. Eddie’s a lot of the same, mouth rosy and obviously kissed.
“Hm?” the boy hums back.
“Do you wanna… Do you wanna do something else?” you ask him, all slow because you don’t want to say the wrong thing. His brows furrow beneath the thin curtain of his curly bangs. The silent question eggs you on. “Would it be okay if I gave you a blowjob?”
Eddie’s eyes widen for a moment. He swears he goes blind because he doesn’t typically see white when he blinks. The question isn’t the weirdest for a guy in this predicament — with a pretty girl on his lap with his spit staining her mouth. It just catches him a little off guard.
“Would it be…” he tries to echo but trails off with a breathy laugh. You say it like it wouldn’t be perfect — to have you between his legs with your warm mouth on his cock, looking effortlessly beautiful while you swallow him whole. 
“Yeah… Yeah, I think that… I’d be a total idiot to say no,” he manages to stammer out, though words have long lost meaning by now.
The sight of his glazed-over eyes, warmed cheeks, and pink mouth makes you smile. He always looks at you like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen — like you're the infiniteness of space or a deep, deep ocean — something profound he desperately wants to discover.
“I feel like you deserve it, right?” you squint down at him, partially teasing. “For a job well done, you know?”
Eddie nods until he finds the words to respond. “Yeah… Right. Totally.”
“Do you wanna lie down? Or would you rather me get on my knees?” you ask him.
Eddie swears he’s dreaming. He isn’t quite sure how you manage to say something so sinful with such sincerity.
“It might be comfortable to stay like this, but most guys like the visual of girls on their knees better so…” 
There is no seductive lilt to your voice, no mischievous teasing to rile him up. It’s just a question of how he wants you, and it’s a very dizzying thought. Knowing he can have you however he wants makes his stomach all whirly and his vision start to swim like he just spun around ten times.
Eddie just blinks at you. His chocolate eyes and heavy lids flutter slowly like he’s trying to look at you through a layer of honey.
It takes him a second to answer because he doesn’t know what he wants — he rarely ever does, but now especially. How is a boy who wants you in every way imaginable supposed to pick only one?
“Uh, can you—” he starts before the words get caught in his throat. He grunts out a cough to clear it. “Could you, um… get on your, uh— your knees? Please?” 
You smile at how politely he phrases it. You don’t think anyone’s ever said please when asking you for a blowjob before.
Eddie fidgets awkwardly beneath you, and you’re not entirely sure why. You’re the one that just offered yourself up on a platter, totally and unequivocally happy to do whatever he wants. He’s not the one that should be embarrassed.
You nod down at him, still grinning like an idiot. “Sure. You can stay sitting if you want. Whatever you wanna do.”
“Okay…” Eddie mumbles in response.
He watches you with wide, inquisitive eyes as you maneuver off his lap and onto the rug beside your bed. When he swings his legs over the edge of it, you settle intently between them. His cock twitches at the sight of you below him, blinking up at him with sparkling eyes that almost look like they’re begging.
Your palms settle on his clothed thighs as your knees press into the woolen rug beneath you. Your chest warms when you’re finally level with his concealed cock. It makes your heart go silly, the sheer thought of what you’re about to do. You don’t think you’ve ever been this excited to suck dick before.
You wait patiently for him to make the first move — then you realize he doesn’t know how because he’s never had to before. Instead, he’s waiting for you to tell him what to do. With button eyes intently focused on your form and hands anxiously gripping the edge of the bed, he’s entirely prepared to move however you want him to.
“Take off your shirt, Eds,” you guide gently.
He listens to you without thinking twice. His fidgeting fingers reach for the fraying hem of his shirt to yank it up and over his head. He has to tug harder when the neck gets caught around his chin.
It isn’t the first time he’s been shirtless in front of you. Between changing and heated kisses, he’s had ample opportunity to get over his lingering insecurities.
For a while there, he found himself comparing his body to all your other more prominent escapades — the Billy Hargroves and the Steve Harringtons. The overtly masculine types with bodies that scream, ‘I peaked in high school.’
Eddie doesn’t look like them. He isn’t as toned or as thin. He’s got pudge on his belly and sparse hair on his sternum in the place of defined abs and pecks covered in layers of chest hair. He doesn’t look at all like those basketball douchebags that could easily model for whatever magazine basketball douchebags read — if they even know how to, that is.
But you don’t seem to care. You love on him anyway.
Even now, your eyes rake over his bare upper half with a gaze that isn’t anything short of hungry. You reach for his face to pull him down for a ravenous kiss that does little to quell your appetite. Your fingers tangle in the drying strands of his hair in the same way your tongues do. 
Eddie’s patient hands curl around the insides of your elbow as he keeps his lips obediently parted for you. He sighs into each of your eager kisses, more than content to let you swallow him whole.
You move down to his jaw and then to his neck. You nose his curls out of the way to sprinkle wet pecks to the warm skin there. You somehow manage to take your time and move with haste all at once — loving on all the places that need loving, but not lingering in one place for too long because there are too many of them to count.
The tip of your nose trails down his milky torso in time with your craving kisses. You press a final one between his ribcage, tongue darting out briefly just so you can hear his breath tremble before pulling away entirely. 
Eddie’s hands remain on each of your arms as your fingers curl around the hem of his plaid pajama pants. It makes his grip unknowingly tighten.
“Wait,” he blurts with his eyes squeezed shut. You tense almost instantly. “Can you— I mean, can we, just… you know…” he trails off, voice tight like he’s holding his breath. It’s probably because he is.
“What?” you pry with wide eyes and the sick feeling like you’ve done something horribly wrong. “Is this… Is this not okay? We don’t have to, like, do any of this if you don’t want. It was just a suggestion, Eds. We can just—”
“No!” he exclaims, eyes flying open to find your panicked ones. He shakes his wild head so vigorously down at you it makes his curls sway. He both wants to quell your worry and plead for you not to stop. “That’s not it. I— I want to, okay? I do. I really… really do. I just… You’re so far away like this…”
His words drip with a soft sincerity, his honeyed eyes even more so.
Your alarm curls into a gentle smile at his reassurance.
You haven’t had many firsts in a long, long time. Your first kiss was on the playground of Hawkins Middle. Your first handjob was in the locker room of the community pool not too long after. Your first time having sex was on a towel in the grass beside Tina Burton’s pool after her birthday party when everyone else had gone to bed.
All your stereotypical firsts happened lifetimes ago, but you’ve had a billion more with Eddie.
You can say with more confidence than you’ve ever had in your life that this is the first time a guy’s turned down a blowjob because you were too far away on your knees. 
“What?” the boy wavers at your silence. Your accompanying smile is somehow more frightening.
“Nothing,” you assure. Your brows pinch together as you smile up at him. “I just… I really don’t think we can be any closer than your dick in my mouth, Eds.”
Eddie rolls his eyes. His cheeks go rosy at your quip. “You know what I mean…”
“Yeah,” you answer softly. “I know what you mean.”
You rise again, this time planting yourself on his thigh. Your knees settle on either side of his leg and dig into the mattress below you, on top of him all over again. The position is a familiar one. The only thing different is a few months’ time and a lack of Fast Times playing in the background.
Eddie tilts his chin to peer up at you. It’s easier this way, he realizes, to be below you and at your mercy rather than above you. Sometimes he thinks you were made to be on top of him like this.
“How about this,” you lilt with a raised brow. “I can just jerk you off—”
“Sounds perfect,” Eddie nods.
A giggle bubbles from your lips. “Let me finish, you weirdo. I can jerk you off, and you can just tell me when you’re about to finish.”
“Okay,” he answers right before his brows furrow. “Uh… why?”
“So you can come in my mouth,” you shrug like it’s obvious.
Your words knock the wind from Eddie’s lungs — it’s like you’ve punched him square in the stomach. Staring up at you through drooping eyelids, he swallows thickly, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s sounds… Yeah…”
You breathe out a laugh and lean closer to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. You couldn’t help yourself — he’s too damn adorable. Your fingers curl back around the hem of his pants and boxers, dragging them both down in one fell swoop to free his half-hard cock. You tuck the tops of them under his balls.
You’ve seen a lot of dicks in your time — long ones, short ones, thick ones, skinny ones — you could make a damn nursery rhyme of the variety you’ve seen. Eddie’s doesn’t particularly stand out.
It’s middling in length and in girth, not big but not too small either, with a width that won’t hurt to take but will stretch you out nonetheless. 
His cock is pale and a faint strawberry red at the tip. It’s the same rosy color his cheeks get when he blushes. There’s a vein that trails up from his balls and splits like a forking river up to his bulbous head. The bush at his pubic bone is fitting for a metalhead, but it looks like he’s taken a trimmer to the chestnut hair there sometime in the past month or so.
His dick isn’t ugly and it isn’t special, but it’s perfect anyway because it’s his.
“You’ve got a really pretty cock, Eds,” you praise in a low whisper.
He thinks you must be trying to talk dirty, but your gaze gets all shy — quirked brow, curled lip, twinkled eye — like you must really mean it. You seal your compliment with a soft, lingering peck.
“Can dicks be pretty?” he asks you, the question muffled against your mouth.
“Not usually,” you blurt before you realize.
Most guys are gross. They don’t shave because they don’t think they have to. Sometimes they smell bad, too, because they never really learned how to wash themselves. Either that, or they taste overtly of soap because they shoved a whole bar of the stuff down their pants right before.
Boys tend to care less about the situation their cocks are in. Only a handful you’ve been with really knew how to take care of themselves — Eddie for one, Steve for another, and Billy Hargrove on occasion.
“But your’s definitely is,” you promise.
“Um… thanks?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out like a question; he just never thought that exact string of words would ever be spoken to him.
It’s a little bit surreal to receive a compliment on a part of you that most people wouldn’t typically notice — like your shoulders or lips or thighs. Eddie’s almost sure you’ve complimented each of those at some point or another.
You kiss him again, both because he makes it insanely hard not to and because you know that’s the only way to get him out of his head. He’ll never get hard if he’s worried about getting hard. So you keep kissing him, letting him focus on the pattern of your tastebuds and the curves of your cupid’s bow, while you happily do all the work.
Your fingertips trail up and down the underside of his cock. Your caresses are featherlight and meticulous along his warm, stiffening skin, all but coaxing him hard. 
When his cock is totally stiff and standing at attention at his stomach, you part from Eddie to bring your palm to your mouth. You spit a glob of saliva onto the center of it and let the added lubricant help your fist glide along his dick.
A stifled groan rumbles in Eddie’s throat as your fingers wrap fully around him. You’re only touching his cock, but it feels like you’ve embraced every inch of them.
The pleasure feels like static, like he’s just rubbed his socks along the carpet and he’s sizzling with the newfound electricity. He feels it in the tips of his toes and in the strands of his hair.
“Um, just to, uh… save myself the embarrassment,” Eddie cautions shakily. His voice is a few octaves higher than normal and audibly fragile. “I should probably urge you to lower your expectations—” He has to stifle a whine when you squeeze the base of his cock. “—Just a little bit.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’m probably gonna come, like, really, really quickly,” he tells you and tries his best to laugh. It’s as shaky as the smile he gives you because you haven’t stopped touching him, even despite his warning. 
Your fist squeezes his cock, then rises again. You pause momentarily to swipe your thumb over his leaking tip before sliding back down again. It’s a slow and methodical cycle that’s going to make him burst far quicker than he’d like.
“That’s okay,” you assure with the shake of your head, brows furrowed because you don’t know why that’s such a band thing. You shrug. “Just means there’s more time for me to make you do it again.”
Eddie huffs out a sigh as his cock twitches in your fist, growing somehow harder at your words.
Your unhurried pace hastens in a way that’s still obviously disciplined. Your hand moves faster until you hear his breath start to race and see his milky white chest splotch with red. Then, when his rapid pants begin to tremble, your pace goes back to normal.
You push him to the very edge of the cliff and then pull him backward before he falls.
It’d be agonizing if it didn’t feel so damn good.
His eyes have long fluttered shut by now. You miss his chocolate syrup irises, but the look of pure serenity on his face is the kind of beautiful most people pay to see. His agape mouth, bared neck, rosy cheeks, and long lashes that tickle the apples of them deserve to be hung in the Louvre. 
It’s a sort of heavenly that everyone needs to admire in their lifetime, but one that belongs to only you. The sheer thought of someone else having him this way makes you angry, sparks raging orange embers just behind your sternum.
Eddie grows quiet. Suspiciously so. He isn’t moaning as much as he was before, and his chest is totally still, as though he were holding his breath. You feel his gentle grip on the outsides of your thighs start to harden. You figure the added tension helps him stay hushed. It’s less so accidental and more like he’s trying not to make noise.
“Let me hear you, Eds,” you urge in a whisper. “It’s okay. Go ahead and whine for me.”
The assurance barely spills from your mouth before he’s moaning for you. It’s a long, drawn-out whine that travels from his chest to his throat and out of his mouth, concluding in a fragile sigh.
The sound makes you double your efforts. You want him to make that noise again — you never want him to stop making that noise for you. So you squeeze harder, rise faster, and pay more attention to his rapidly reddening tip. 
You’re not entirely sure what Eddie likes the most. Most guys moan louder when you do something they like, but he seems to like all of it, so you don’t pay extra attention to one place. You keep jerking his cock, faster still, even when the muscles of your forearm start to burn.
“Fuck—” the boy sighs in a heavy moan, then cuts himself off with a pitiful whine.
He tries to lift his head and open his eyes to look at you, but he doesn’t have the strength to anymore. His head lolls back again when the pleasure begins to crescendo.
Sufficiently stupid, he can’t even find the words to warn you. “I’m— I’m close, sweetheart,” he slurs lowly. “I’m… Fuck… Fuck, I’m gonna…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence. His face screws up, nose scrunching and brows furrowing, as the feeling becomes almost unbearable. It’s all the warning you need.
Your fist holds onto the base of his cock as you dismantle his thigh and settle on the rug again. You don’t think twice before darting forward to lick the dribbles of pearly-white pre-come spilling from his reddened tip.
You wrap your lips around him totally, cheeks hollowing as you suck him there like he’s a piece of candy.
And Eddie dies. He passes away on the spot.
It’s the only way he can describe the feeling.
The crescendo of pleasure — that’s the life flashing before his eyes. The brief moment of numbness is the infinite void of death. The burst of ecstasy that spits from his cock in one, two, three loads is heaven.
It just has to be.
There can’t be a higher pleasure than the feeling of your mouth on his cock and the way you moan around him when his come spills on your tongue.
Eddie whines something pitiful. He loses all the previous inhibition that kept him so quiet he was too scared to breathe. One hand twists in the sheets while the other settles on the back of your hand, not pulling or tugging, just resting there as his hips buck off the mattress. He can’t tell if he’s running away from the intensity of his pleasure or if he never wants it to stop.
You don’t seem to mind that he doesn’t know.
You let his hips jerk wildly even when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and makes you gag. It does take everything in you not to laugh, however, when Eddie murmurs a fragile “sorry” through his cries.
And when his fingers knot in your hair, you don’t mind that either. You let him halfway fuck your mouth, even though you’re pretty sure he’s too far gone to notice that he’s fucking your mouth.
You don’t stop until he’s shuddering. Only when you’re sure he has nothing left to give you do you finally pull away from him. You leave a delicate kiss to the tip of his softening cock, no longer the angry red color it was moments ago. Eddie’s stomach clenches at the feeling of blatant sensitivity. His face scrunches as another feeble cry gets trapped in his throat.
You snap his boxers and pants back into place on his waist and rise.
“How was that for your first blowjob?” you ask him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
Eddie just shakes his head in response. He flops back against the mattress, the springs bouncing under his weight, and tries to find the words to answer you.
He doesn’t know how to tell you that he just saw Heaven and Hell at the same time and that you were both God and the Devil. There isn’t any string of words in any language that could explain the otherworldly pleasure you gave him with nothing more than your hand and mouth, so he decides to stay quiet.
With his eyes still closed, he can hear you laughing quietly at him while you slither in at his side. You lie beside him on your stomach. When you’re finally in reach again, he peeks his eyes open and reaches for you, pulling you toward him for a searing kiss.
You think it might be the first time he’s ever done so without asking awkwardly first — as though there was a world where you would ever turn him down. He seems to understand that now, the way he kisses you without thinking twice about it.
His tongue swipes into your mouth. The both of you moan when he tastes the salty tang lingering there. Eddie doesn’t even realize that it’s him he’s tasting at first — that the heady bitter-sweetness on your tongue is his come.
It’s less so that he’s tasting himself, and more so that his taste is in your mouth at all, that makes him exhale a moan against you. The heavy breath of it fans against your cupid’s bow.
“Oh,” you hum through labored pants when you part again. “It was that good, huh?”
“Better,” he answers with a crooked smirk on his swollen pink mouth. He’s finally able to open his eyes and see more than a blur when his high starts to subside. “That was fucking… I mean, that was… fuck…”
His speechlessness makes you giggle. Your gaze stays locked on his profile when he turns to look up at the ceiling.
“That was exactly what I wanted. And, like, I didn’t even know I wanted it, you know?” he rambles. “How did you— How did you know? How do you always know?”
You’re not entirely sure what he means by that, and honestly, neither is he.
You just always know what he needs. You buy him a toothbrush because you know he’ll forget his, and when you touch him, you know exactly what he likes — even though he doesn’t even know what he likes.
It’s like you’re another half of him, and not in the stupid soulmate way everyone always thinks they’ve found. You’re an identical part of him that no one else can fit. He’s only whole with you — like a sandwich cut into triangles or halves of an orange. 
“Well, to be fair, I did ask Steve what a guy would want in this sort of situation,” you admit with a scrunched nose. “I just sort of went with what he said.”
Eddie’s brows pinch together as he turns his head to peer at you again. He blinks at you for a moment, dumbfounded, then sputters. “Wait— You’re telling me I have Steve to thank for that blowjob? Like Steve-Steve? As in Steve The Hair Harrington?”
His dramatics makes you giggle. You hide your grin behind your palm.
“Hope that doesn’t change anything, Eddie Spaghetti.”
You meant it as a joke, as in, please don’t think of Steve every time I give you a blowjob from now on, but your words settle something heavy on the both of you. 
Because you’ve had Steve The Hair Harrington, in more ways than most friends tend to have one another. You’ve had a lot of people like that. There are people in the world with parts of you that most only give away when they’ve found someone really, really special. 
You learned about that too late. And now you feel a lot less special.
Eddie hears all your dreadful, no-good thoughts because they’re also his own. 
He’s a virgin with the town slut, so he often feels like he’s drowning. It isn’t because of you, though. It’s never because of you. The number of people you’ve slept with doesn’t mean a damn thing to him; he just wants to measure up to them.
He wants to be the kind of man that sticks in your head after you’ve been with a thousand of them — the kind you can’t help but remember fondly because there hasn’t been another one like him.
He’s got no idea he’s already better than every person you’ve ever been with combined.
“No, sweetheart,” he assures with the shake of his head. The apple of his cheek rubs against the fabric of your comforter as he looks at you with eyes deeper than an infinite galaxy. His gaze holds all of its own stars, and each of them is named after you. “It doesn’t change a goddamn thing.”
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virtualflatmates · 1 year
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B & H's totally realistic settings/roles we'd love to see some of our beloved BL actors or pairings in
Hiiiiiii!
Today we bring you some crack fresh from our twisted minds!
Do take it one with a grain of salt (and optionally caramel), because obviously we're just rambling and sometimes the scenarios get a little out of hand/weird...as do our lame working titles that we've totally spent loooots of time coming up with 🤪
Also, we can do polls now - so let's wish one of these into creation!
Bible Wichapas & Jeff Satur
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We start with Bible, because he's the culprit responsible for us even making this clownery post.
H: I want to see him as a noir-ish private detective catching bad guys. The baddie who proves most difficult to catch is, of course, the one who evokes increasingly inconvenient feelings the longer their cat-and-mouse game goes on. Baddie can be played by Jeff 👀
Lame working title: How to catch a serial killer in 10 days
B: Bible as sexy boy band idol who hates the lead singer of a rock band (played by Jeff) that always crosses his path slightly too much - they get involved in some event and after that, they're always invited to the same gameshows etc. even though they can't stand each other's guts! Sparks fly.
Lame working title: Rock me, Tiger*
(*to be clear, Tiger is Jeff's character in this scenario)
Mile Phakphum & Apo Nattawin
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Vampire BL - the vampire played by Mile owns a bar that is called Bar of the Ages. The owner never changes, or so goes the legend. In the backroom he hosts illegal gambling activities and Apo plays the undercover cop who's is on the case.
Lame working title: Bar of the Ages
Max Nattapol & Tul Pakorn
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Imagine Max and Tul in a coffee shop setting - but there's also (actually well done) BDSM. Cute barista and vanilla latte drinker in the streets, kinky bastards in the sheets! LOL, We would all die. That's it, that's the pitch. They'll figure out the rest.
Lame working title: Vanilla Latte (hey, at least it's not Vanilla Extract)
Or imagine them in a courtroom trying to outsmart each other! Two opposing lawyers striving to beat the other on each case they get. There's lots of staring daggers at each other and playing mind games and getting all annoyed with each other...
Lame working title: The Contingency Plan
Gun Atthaphan & PP Krit
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H: Let them play two iconic lead besties? Please! Free casting choice for love interests. In fact, I'd even watch it without love interests. Give me a Mean Girls concept series with them! We can cast Jeff Satur as the third in the trio 🤣 Yes I'm putting Jeff everywhere I can, but can you deny he'd slay as hard as Gun and PP? No, you can't.
Lame working title: Mean Boys
Earth Pirapat & Mix Sahaphap
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A vet and a firefighter, fate brings them together in many different situations. Take a guess who plays whom. B thought of this scenario first, and when it came to thinking about which actors would fit best, this was the only plausible choice. If you think of a firefighter and a vet and they don't look like Earth and Mix in your mind, we'd be surprised. 🤣 But do share who you think of, if so!
Lame working title: Bark with Fire
Khaotung Thanawat & First Kanaphan
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Okay, hear us out: our first idea is a comedy about an assassin hired to kill the future love of his life a high-ranking politician's son (who is a bit clueless about life but has his heart the right place). Whenever the assassin tries to kill him, something out-of-the-blue and funny happens to prevent it. It's a series of fails and frustrations for the assassin, plus he fails to resist his victim's charming smile.
Lame working title: Killing Love
Second idea: they play members of two rival biker gangs. There's enemies-to-lovers shenanigans. And maybe a conspiracy or two. You know the drill.
Lame working title: Gang Wars
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hon3ymo0n · 10 months
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Jikook moments that scream "f*uck it"- A thread.
Euphoria: a strong feeling of extreme happiness, excitement, well-being or elation, sometimes leading to overconfidence.
As I said here, one of the words that come to my mind when I think about the guys, Jikook included, is courage. It takes you courage to love, to accept to be loved, to get into a non-heterosexual relationship, at the age of not even twenty, while being in the biggest boy band of the world, and it takes you courage to hide protect said relationship. But do you know what's the most difficult, beautiful, and brave thing that courage could make you do? To dare. Read this post, if you want, knowing that it is based on my personal opinions, ideas, thoughts, and feel free to disagree or suggest your points of view, with kindness.
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What does euphoria have to do with all of this? It actually plays the main role. Let me explain why. The moments I'm going to talk about happened, for the most, on stage. This says a lot. I'm not an idol, and I'm not particularly into anything that brings me DIRECTLY in front of a large group of people, but for a musician, dancer, singer, the exact moment you step on stage must be magical. Your emotions mix all together and that little anxiety becomes the right push to give your best in that performance. And, of course, this could also lead you to to give too much, because balance is everything in life and the same goes for a show. When you're too pretentious with yourself, you might end up on a floor, tired, out of breath, and afraid of not being able to be on stage next time. This is one of the most heart breaking moments that best represents this scenario.
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Jungkook overworked himself. He probably was full of adrenaline, and went too far with the exhibition. Typical of him, someone who loves his fans and always wants to show them the best live, with the best vocals, and the best coreography. But you gotta be kind with yourself, JK. All of this is not worth your health.
Jimin, of course, was by his side that day. He was right next to JK while the doctors were taking care of him, and he tried to suppress his nervousness and concern with some smiles. His eyes were very worried, though, and they reminded me of Jungkook when Jimin cried during the MOTS concert, after the quarantine.
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That smile was for both of them. JK was trying to say to JM : "I'm here, stop crying now. Everything will be alright". But he was also saying that to himself. Covid hit really hard on all of us, including them. As a couple, as individuals. On the group either. Even during that tough period, their only certainty was their love. And this is the proof. They never stopped taking care of the other when he needed love and support, because real love should be "disinterested", and with disinterested I mean that you should never do something, in a romantic relationship, just for a personal benefit. For your interests, indeed. And this is so evident with Jikook. It was before the pandemic, during, and after it. I'm not saying they would literally risk their lives for the other, but something like that. Metaphorically speaking. But this is not the point of this written, and I'm afraid that if I don't stop RIGHT NOW with digressions I'll never get to the end of this. I'm sorry.
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Euphoria, I was saying. Yes. It can turn into something bad. But with Jikook it can boost their dynamics even when we are there too, with them, and they know we're watching. And no, I'm not talking about hugs, little interactions, cute moments, glances or subtle touches. I'm not talking about simple skinship, to make that clear. That adrenaline that made Jungkook faint, infact, is the same hormone that made him lick Jimin's ear during Rose Bowl. Sorry not sorry. The first moment that literally screams FUCK IT, LET'S DO THIS, is that one.
1.ROSEBOWL We all know what happened that day. I know. I don't wanna be repetitive. So I'm not going to bother you with a long and annoying explanation. Actually, for all of these moments, I would like to focus on the why. Just briefly, for those who might be new to BTS and/or Jikook: this happened on May 2019. 4 years ago. The concert was BEAUTIFUL as always. Their performance was amazing, and YoonMin looked very, very happy. All of them were, but this picture is just something else:
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The concert was running towards the end. The guys were thanking and saying goodbye to armys, and Jimin got caught up in his emotions and ended up crying. He kept saying "I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU GUYS!", like the pure heart that he is. Jungkook heard him, saw him drawning in his own tears, and ran towards him. He also said "I LOVE YOU GUYS" to the microphone, and then he said "I LOVE YOU", and I think this one was not addressed to armys anymore.
Only god knows what JK told him in that ear:
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Facts. A lot of poeple were so baffled when this happened, and after all this time, looking back at it, I kinda get why. None could understand WHY Jungkook did what he did, and still nowdays we don't know. For me, the simpliest answer is the right one: he wanted to. And trust me, in such a special moment, with that public in front of you, in one of your best eras, your heart beats so fast that you can't believe it. And I guess that what Jungkook really needed to do (being close to Jimin, hugging him, even licking or sucking on him) was something that was going to shock himself, or JM, not people. He was not thinking about anyone or anything else. He wanted to push his own limits and I'm sure his last tought before doing it was: "Fuck it, I don't care". But who cares, honestly. They were happy and so am I.
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Jimin was literally overwhelmed, in a positive way, by love, happiness and joy. Even if he was crying. He literally burst into tears when he felt Jungkook's lips on his skin. And Jungkook was with him, euphoric of having his other half next to him (or below), on the same stage, during such a unique moment. So spontaneous, nothing to do with fanservice. You can think whatever you want, of course, but this is my opinion: nothing of this was preapared or had a second purpose. The only purpose was showing physical love to who JK loves, because the feeling was so strong that he had to put it somewhere. And he chose Jimin's ear! LOL
Jimin's reaction after the moment:
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And them leaving together after the concert:
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I think that day really affected their dynamics. And I'm so happy JK did it. I get euphoric too watching these clips again.
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2.JUNGKOOK'S LAP This is a first-class thirst trap. This was back in 2018. The Love Yourself tour was wild. They were really, really, really loud. These are two of the many many moments from that period:
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I'm leaving you a compilation so that you can really understand the context we're in. I suggest you to watch it, it's really good, but I'm warning you: this moments made me sweat from head to toe.
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At the time, they were even spotted together hanging out in Berlin, taking pictures, recording videos, and probably having so much fun. Anyways, during one of the shows, in October, Jungkook remained on the chair and the members kept interacting with him. Jimin did that a lot, and he had his "fuck it, let's do it" moment too. That must have made him feel so damn free.
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Jimin is close. He already wants to do something so obvious and suspicious at the same time. Jungkook sees him and pulls his necktie: he's smirking. Jimin gives him a rapid glance, sits on his lap, and looks at the audience. Their eyes, in that moment, were literally screaming: "this is my man". They stared the WHOLE world in the eyes and told him to step apart and stay silent.
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I really, truly, honestly, sincerely, don't know what else to say. Look at these pictures. Jungkook's hand on JM's waist. His eyes. Jimin looks so confident, but this is one of his personality traits. Not the absolute and unshakeble confidence, which I don't think actually belongs to him, but the audacity. It was sassy from him, but I dare you to say that this was out of place. He probably did it, differently from Jungkook one year later, on purpose. Not for fanservice, don't misunderstand me. He did it to show everyone that they belong to each other. He doesn't need to be "possessive" in order to get his man's attention. He just approached him, and JK was already smirking. He sits on his boyfriend's lap and pretends to be nonchalant until he makes it. He fixes his hair with the right hand, hugging JK with the other. "Fuck it, let's show them how fucking powerful we are". Very rapid, so cool. And when he leaves, Jungkook looks hit and teased. He probably thought: "we're talking about this later". And this is so evident in another moment, when Jimin sits on JK turning his back on him. When he leaves, again, Jungkook pushes him in a playful way.
This moment altered my brain chemistry. So attractive. Jimin is really good at this, and Jungkook looked blessed.
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3.HICKEY - An old way to do crossfit (according to Namjoon) You might be wondering why do I consider this a "fuck it" moment. Let me explain. Jungkook and Jimin arrived at work together, with the same car, as usual. We can't really say they looked tired, or worried, or mad. They were kinda sleepy, maybe, but nothing to consider. Also, Jimin was carrying Jungkook's jacket. Very, very cute.
JK has a hickey on his neck. It's very clear. Of course, he had to give an explanation to everyone there, members and staff. I mean, he didn't have to, but it would have been worse if he just pretended everything was normal. So JM helps him. He tells us that they had a few drinks together (not a few, in my opinion, but anyways), and that Jungkook was dizzy, picked JM up, and didn't want to let him down. They smile, not because they're happy to share the story, but out of embarassment. JK looks so shy, but when Jin tries to touch his neck, he gets a little upset. Not in a rude or angry way. He just wanted people (except Jimin, of course, who was the author of the crime) to respect his bounderies and to don't touch his body and neck just for curiosity. This is also a very important point. JK never pushes JM away when it comes to him touching his body. Sometimes JK returns that affection with cuteness or smiles, sometimes he doesn't and just accepts that wave of love from his man. The same goes for the hickey. Dizzy or not, he let his "best friend" bite his neck, to the point of leaving a mark, a hickey, a love bite. Call it as you want, but you can't tell me that it really was JUST a bite, so that JK would let JM down. A bite should provoke istant pain, even more so if it's made to "defend" yourself from a situation that it's making you feel uncomfortable, such as someone spinning you around while you're drunk. In order to leave such an evident mark on the skin, for the whole night, until the morning AFTER, the bite must have not been painful at all. So Jimin kept going, and JK didn't stop him. Also, this is not how a bite should look like: there was sucking going on, I'm sorry to tell you like this.
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I saw people on twitter writing stuff like: "well, they still care for each other, even when they're drunk. JM didn't want to hurt JK, so he bit him gently".
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So Jimin, dizzy, between his boyfriend's arms, in the middle of the night, asking him repitevely to let him down, but with no success, would have thought "I love him, so I'm gonna bite him gently, just to let him know that I'm not really okay with this game"? Also, biting gently should not leave any mark, at least not until the next day. I don't know how to say this in other words. The only two ways to leave such a permanent mark on someone's skin with your mouth is to bite it hard, painfully, for a long time (which I don't think is the case, otherwise JM would be a cannibal) and to suck on it. And yes, JK was drunk too, so you might be thinking that he didn't realize how bad the bite hurt him, in that moment. And that's fine, as I always say. Everyone has their opinions, expecially with Jikook, who can easily leave you a crumb of the benefit of doubt in every situation. So I won't try to convince you. But my question is: do we really think that JM would bite JK in such a hard way? Would you do that to your "friend" when you're drunk? And if you would/did, would it leave such a red and lasting mark on their skin? I want to be rational too. But, sometimes, in order to be rational and catious, we avoid what’s evident, just because… it is. For me, the tought of Jimin's lips being on Jungkook's neck enough to leave such a lasting mark on it, is everything. Jin's reaction is everything. The way they justified it, is everything. They basically gave us the same version, almost using the same words. Jungkook kept touching his neck in a nervous way while he was talking to the camera, and Jimin immediately put his mask back on once he realized he was laughing and smiling about a painful bite, according to them. That's not how a bite looks like. It could be only if Jimin had baby's theet. But I don't see any theet's marks, at all. Do you?
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"But if it was a hickey he could have just covered it up". Yes! That's where I was going!
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He could have covered it up. I completely agree. I'm not saying he had to, but he could have. JK could have hid it, but didn't. Maybe he thought about covering it up, at first. They both use makeup, so they probably had some foundation ready for the use. And if they didn't, they could have asked the staff. I'm sure someone there was in possession of the appropriate product. We don't know if, at that time, they already were an "opened" couple to the company, but in both cases it just screams "fuck it, I don't care". I don't care if they can give me something to cover this up, I don't want to. I don't care if they don't, I'm gonna show up anyways with a beautiful and obvious mark on my neck. I'm gonna let the cameras film it. I'm gonna walk around with it on my skin. There is no fanservice here, again. The thought didn't even touch me. The mark was not fake at all. So, unless someone called them in the middle of the night, or some minutes before getting up from bed, and told them to put on this show, everything is true: the hickey is hickeying. Period. "The staff took advantage of it so that fans could be entertained". Yes, maybe. But the hickey is still there, staff or not, fans or not. No one forced JM to do it. Maybe I was wrong, before, when I said they were not tired. They were. Tired of being afraid of what others could think, say, tweet, post. Jungkook didn't want to look at himself in the mirror, after a funny and lovely night with his boyfriend, and cover that mark up. He wanted to show it to the world, so that everyone could fucking envy him.
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There are so many other moments, I’m sure about it, but for now I could just think about these as the most important ones. I would love to end this thread with another personal opinion, this time about Jungkook. I don't know him personally (damn🙄), but I can speculate, thanks to what they show us in these spontaneous moments. He is sensitive. Jimin is too, he is a first class empathetic. And he struggles in silence. Jungkook is not that good at that, instead. I don't wanna make this post any longer than it already is, that's why I want to thank you for arriving here, so I'm not gonna write an introspective script about their personalities (for now), but I would like you to understand how special these moments are. How hard it must have been for them, how strong their bond is: the only thing that keeps them going through this windy storm. Jungkook let himself go, despite the world ready to eat him in pieces if he does anything wrong, and sucked Jimin's ear. Jimin sit on him in the most bratty and teasing way possible, knowing that not everyone was going to like that. And Jungkook showed us his neck so that HE could feel free, just for once, out of his bubble with his lover. It was an escape, brief and special. Simply doing what you want to do might sound so obvious to us, but what’s easy for us, is not always easy for them. So these "fuck it" moments mean a lot, and I hope everyone can really appreciate them. This kinda of reminds me of a song, saying "All I know is you're here with me". It's "Here With Me" by d4vd. If you want to, just read the lyrics. And tell me if they remind you of Jikook or not.
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thesinglesjukebox · 24 days
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BILLY JOEL - "TURN THE LIGHTS BACK ON"
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The theme narrows a little, maybe...
[4.15]
Hannah Jocelyn: The first Melodyne’d word of this song -- P L E A S E -- had me worried. This is the latest in a series of '70s and '80s rockers coming back one last time, normally with Post Malone's producer Andrew Watt at the helm. The results can either be pleasant, like the Rolling Stones' Lady Gaga collaboration "Sweet Sounds of Heaven", or abysmal, like Elton John's horribly edited "Always Love You." But Watt's not here; behind the boards instead is industry songwriter Freddy Wexler, a Billy Joel fanboy who convinced the artist to release music again. If the song sounds a lot like "Piano Man" and "Summer, Highland Falls," repeated listens reveal it's not just a cheap nostalgia grab. It sounds exactly like a new Billy Joel song should in 2024, P L E A S E aside, with a tasteful build and some grandiose but lovely lyrics: “Pride sticks out its tongue/laughs at the portrait that we’ve become/Stuck in a frame, unable to change.” Joel occupies a weird place in pop culture -- not as acclaimed as Dylan or Springsteen, but more thoughtful and introspective than the Eagles or anyone else in his imagined supergroup. With "Turn the Lights Back On," it all makes sense. He invented an archetype now filled by musicians like Adele post-21 or even Hozier: pop songwriters with enough depth to earn them a devout following even if they’re not critics' favorites. The liner notes reveal more connections. Eclectic producer Emile Haynie drops in to provide some additional production, the same way he did on "Hello" almost a decade ago, and the song is mixed by Adele's engineer Tom Elmhirst. It's an effective repositioning of Joel not as a "33-hit-wonder", not as a poet, but as one of the great pop balladeers and craftsmen. And my dad loves it, which is all that really matters. [7]
Alfred Soto: Despite the co-writers and a video whose nostalgia bid is as, ah, shameless as Paul McCartney's last year, "Turn the Lights Back On" sounds like any generic thing that might've appeared on Storm Front or The Bridge. Which is the point. [4]
Aaron Bergstrom: A direct descendant of Elton John's far superior "This Train Don't Stop There Anymore," as underlined by their similar music video treatments. While Joel was able to use cutting-edge AI technology to de-age himself in his video, Sir Elton had to make do with the tools available to him back in 2001, which is to say, Justin Timberlake. (Both AI and Timberlake are now trying to make their own music, with limited success.) [5]
Ian Mathers: Get the fuck outta here with this uncanny valley "AI" CGI shit. I'm not shocked boomers would cling to yet another way to deny they're old as fuck now -- it'll happen to all of us, I'm sure -- but it's still repugnant. Despite Joel being away for years, god knows you still hear the hits, so I'm kind of shocked that his voice seems to have lost most of its distinctive timbre. If you'd played me this blind I don't think I could have told you the singer, although the voice would have felt weirdly familiar. And look, respect to the man's undeniable achievements in his craft (which even haters should admit he takes pretty damn seriously) and especially stardom/mass popularity, but partly given the characterlessness to his performance here, my answer to "did I wait too long, to turn the lights back on?" is... yeah, you kinda did. I don't think the reason I loved the ABBA comeback singles and not this is just because I like ABBA and don't care for Billy Joel; I genuinely think they did a better job on playing off their context than he does here. [5]
TA Inskeep: I'd like to keep them off, please.  [1]
Isabel Cole: Billy Joel was one of the few artists my whole family could agree on during long trips in the car; my first concert was his dual tour with Elton John at Madison Square Garden. So on the one hand, the sheer nostalgic sentiment aroused in me by the thought of Billy going back to songwriting after all these years is real, and powerful. On the other, I know whereof I speak when I say that even assessed by the generous lens of someone who was once a 13-year-old girl glad to name Songs in the Attic as her favorite album, this is mid-level Billy at best. Lyrically, so much of his appeal has always been his willingness to indulge—in shamelessness, in sentiment, in spite, in just being kind of an asshole—but this song is too busy wrestling ponderously with its own existence to have that kind of fun; musically, it’s just “I’ve Loved These Days” but not as good. [4]
Rachel Saywitz: It's good, for a budget store "Piano Man."  [5]
Dave Moore: The best thing I can say for this lugubrious comeback ballad, loosely patterned on vintage Billy Joel and a dollop of "Hey Jude," is that it technically clocks in at under four minutes. The worst thing I can say about it is that I am not yet convinced the vocals aren't BillyJoelAI, though it does sound like him really playing the piano (derogatory). [3]
Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy: God, what a trudge — the type of pianoman mewls I thought every Joel song would be as an uneducated youth. But then I heard "Movin' Out," and what a fuckin' joint! (Fun fact: I think a quick browse of Billy Joel's biggest hits has taught me "Movin' Out" is, uh, the only BJ jam I like. Sorry.) [3]
Katherine St. Asaph: I dislike the term "overproduced" in criticism; it's often a way to sneer at pop without having to say something so gauche. But when you have a swelling string section -- a mercilessly effective cheat code to make a listener moved -- and yet that listener cannot be moved because she can't fucking hear it over everything else in the arrangement, your song is overproduced. When you autotune everything about your singer's voice except the notes that he actually flubbed, your song is -- well, not overproduced exactly, but produced poorly. Can't imagine how I'd feel if I were even a Billy Joel fan! One singular point because I learned something: it's not just the de-aging "AI" (scare quotes), Billy Joel really did look kinda like Harry Styles back then. (Harry Styles would probably love to remake this. It would still be a [1]). [1]
Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: This absolutely shouldn't work on me. I, of sound mind and body and possessing no strong relationship with the music of Billy Joel, ought not to have any reaction to this at all. It's a Billy Joel song that is once again about the romance between the performer and the audience, hitting all the marks he last hit 30 years ago. If nearly everything else he's done leaves me inert, then this should do the same. Yet something about its twilight glory, the way Joel puts himself through his own paces, moves me nonetheless.  [6]
Brad Shoup: I know I'm not the first person to interpret this as a metaphor for Joel's relationship with the public. For me, he's always been a sort of pop midpoint, and I've never been able to budge him. Everything he's ever done has been... fine: the bangers always fuck up somewhere, the groaners are never that embarrassing. So leaving things off with "The River of Dreams" (my favorite) wouldn't have been a bad way to go. This is confident schlock. The snare smacks like a worn copy of "Bridge Over Troubled Water"; he does a little "Piano Man" twirl before the orchestra goes for broke. I don't think he waited too long; I think this song was within him the whole time, for better or worse. [5]
Nortey Dowuona: I understand the hatred. For us, being smooth and easy on the ears is a crime. To refuse the challenges that push the artform of popular music and music culture, or worse, to fight them tooth and nail, is enough to make you an enemy in our eyes. But I do understand the actual reason to simply play to the middle of the road: to connect with everyone since you have learned, possibly later or earlier, we are a rare and bold breed, despite the infighting, backbiting and slimy behavior I will not detail here. Billy Joel has waited long enough -- he at the height of his popularity was despised and condemned, a figurehead for the stultifying demands of white yuppiedom. Unfortunately he was wrong; the fire was started, and will never stop. We, as a far more revered and loved writer said, made our choice as a species, and it's just a question of how long it takes to play out. Billy once wrote of New York being destroyed and its citizens fleeing like rats to Miami, reminiscing over their glory days. But now in 2024, New York refuses to go away. Our mayor, as Wiki and MIKE said, is a cop, and millions are homeless and starving, struggling to keep afloat and trying not to crumble every time a blank, greasy-faced kid with worn-out clothes playing with a iPhone 14 who could afford to give you $5 shakes his head to ignore you. I understand the hatred. But I can't feel it because the hatred feels pointless, empty, a target for those old timers who have fled the sinking ship and their ancestors who only know to despise the old place from stories and memories. He might've waited too long to turn the lights back once since the wires have rotted and the bulbs are broken, but not because the city is empty. It's full of your fanboys and their grandchildren, who now feel the sour bitterness that drove you to flee and cannot choose any other feeling. It's not too late -- it's never too late. [5]
[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]
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fruitlilliie · 7 months
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bewitched listening party (i<3laufey)
I found Laufey while on tiktok a long time ago before she released music, I knew her because she was a singer/cellist and so was I so I ate up her content. She now has literally the most incredible discography of any newer artist, she has such a unique and beautiful sound like the jazz and orchestral sounds she uses tickles my brain and feeds the part of me that has always loved all jazz/orchestral/choral pieces and performances. As I'm writing this little blurb I'm listening to her new album "Bewitched" and holy shit like seriously I feel like I am ascending while listening to this. I just finished with "While you were sleeping" and it's just indescribable how angelic it sounds. The opening song "Dreamer" started and I just fell over. I was sitting on my floor so it was totally fine but just don't have any perception of what the song will be and then prepare to listen to the entire album (approx. 49 minutes) and you're just going to transform. If you don't like jazz or more classical style singing then gtfo but also come back because Laufey is so amazing that she'll change your opinion. She's always mentioning sunset and that kills me. Love some California representation though but the song "California and Me" just came on and its time for my heart to just fall out of my chest I guess. I know this song very well already as it was released in an EP before the album release. Maybe I am overly emotional about this song because my ex posted it after I talked about how much I love Laufey... but I digress, this song is absolutely stunning. If you have ever felt immense heartbreak hold onto that feeling. If you have ever been on the ride "Soarin" at Disneyworld, imagine the feeling of being on that ride but its like your life X California and Me playing in the background. Now bring back that heartbreak feeling and add it into the mix and that's just like how this song makes me feel just sitting in bed. So I am halfway through the album and I think the most heartbreaking thing she could have possibly done is put the Nocturne (Interlude) right in between "California and Me" and "Promise" (Promise absolutely wrecks me and makes me cry every time its longing for someone you can't have anymore and knowing you shouldn't reach out, you promised, but time moves so much slower without them. How can you distance yourself from someone you love so much, someone you want to spend your life with. "how we didn't say goodbye, just see you very soon" "it hurts to be something its worse to be nothing with you". Like please. Give me a chance to breathe before giving me another gut-wrenching line. She says she'll always lose the temptation of you. "Well never last". She's done the math. WHO HURT HER. Like hello relatable but LORDY. Then we go light bossa nova careless fun song like the variation and just damn TALENT from this girl is insane. Laufey stan for life when can I see her in concert I am itching for a wintertime concert from her. Until then, I'll be daydreaming to her music and living in my delulu world or crying my broken heart out to her sadder songs. Either way, this album is a really beautiful piece of art to the world. Like we are all so lucky to be alive at the same time as music like this (currently listening to serendipity) is being created. "Letter to my 13 year self" is the trifecta perfect addition to this years aim at healing and understanding self and girlhood and life like this song X Barbie X Eras Tour really has made me feel like a human being again. This song would absolutely kill me if I were listening at 13, that age is so horrible and vulnerable and formative like this song would have been such a comfort knowing that it's all going to be ok and not even knowing what "it" is. There so much to learn and to lose and at 13 there's no way to even fathom what on earth will change . Ending this album with Bewitched is beautiful and sick and twisted. Such a heartbreaking album and ending it with a love song pains me but being the title track, shows there's always love at the end.
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legion1227 · 4 months
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Blink 182: One More Time Album Review
All the Small Things, Feeling This, Dammit, What's My Age Again.
In my household growing up, I can recall these songs playing a lot. I have an immense soft spot for these tracks and that time in my life. I'm enamored by All the Small Things and its heartfelt lyrics by singer Mark Hoppus to his at-the-time girlfriend and eventual wife. What's My Age Again is a pleasurable bop, especially now as the song follows a 23-year-old who pranks people and acts childish, and I turn 23 myself in a little more than a month from now. Dammit is an excellent break-up song that has terrific instrumentals that help hammer the message that the couple are not getting back together. And the passion of Feeling This moves me in a way that the other songs don't. Blink 182 has a handful of songs I know and adore, though not as much as other bands, but I respect them immensely for the quality of songs they provided decades ago that I still have in a regular rotation.
So, when I heard that Blink 182 was going to drop an album, I felt inclined to listen. While I haven't extensively listened to their previous catalog, I adore the previously mentioned tracks. Maybe there would be something I liked almost as much as those songs, I thought. One More Time dropped on October 20th, 2023. The album tackles themes of relationships and maturity lyrically while providing explosive, alluring instrumental work with its return of guitarist Tom Delonge after leaving the band years ago.
After enduring a 19-track run for 50 minutes, I find the album to be…fairly okay. Unfortunately, there's nothing here that I would hold to a high standard as their previous big hits, but there is certainly nothing bad. Its initial track, Anthem Part 3, starts with strong, bombastic drums and guitars; Dance With Me is similar but falls just a little short for me with a weak chorus. They guarantee an earworm with an unnecessary "ole ole" at the beginning of the hook. Take that portion out, and I would enjoy the track enough to add comfortably to my rotation. Fell In Love and Terrified follow after, and they have good elements but don't stand out much to me. But then One More Time, the track sharing the same name as the album plays and cements itself as one of my favorite songs from the project. The guitar work is minimal as the vocalist takes over for the song, garnering most of the focus. The subject matter reflects the history between the band members and how tragedy has brought them close together, like Mark battling cancer and drummer Travis Barker surviving his plane crash back in 2008. Every facet of the song works immensely here for me as one of the most personal tracks on the project.
Unfortunately, the songs that follow are a mixed bag. The next 6 songs and one interlude all either have fine vocals but instrumentals that don't work for me or could be better. Or it's straight up the other way around. It's not until Bad News where we have another song that I gravitate as much to as I do with the song One More Time. The presentation of a person falling out of love with someone after a lengthy amount of time in a relationship is intriguing here and works as well for me as One More Time does. I can't relate, but it's a bop, nonetheless.
The last few tracks come and go and…that's it. The vocals are a bit shoddy in a majority of the songs, but solid in a good number of them. The instrumentals are solid, and the subject matter varies from something familiar to something heartfelt.
Overall, I find the album to be…okay. I only really enjoy two out of nearly 20 songs, but there's no song here that I find absolutely abhorrent. It's worth at least one listen, but it's still mid. 3/5.
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survey--s · 5 months
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655.
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When was the last time you did clay work/pottery? About twenty years ago when I last did an art class.
Do you like art, hate it or just not mind it? I don't really care about it either way.
If you had to choose would you prefer dull pain for 12hours or sharp for 2? Dull pain for twelve hours as you can generally work through it.
Koala or Kangaroo? Neither of them are very pleasant in "the wild" but I guess kangaroos as they're more interactive and can be better with people.
Do you know the words to the national anthem of your country? Maybe the first verse if I really think about it.
Is your country ruled by a president, prime minister, queen or other? We have a Prime Minister and a King.
Does blue occur in your national flag? It does indeed.
Talking of flags. Do you like football/soccer? No. I'm not sure what that has to do with flags though?
If yes, do you play and what position? If not, leave blank. .
Would you rather be a Model, Famous Scientist, Singer or Chef? Chef.
Would you rather be a pilot, crime scene investigator or estate agent? Crime Scene Investigator. I don't have the nerves to be a pilot and I'f find being an estate agent incredibly dull.
Does making others happy really make you feel happy? Sure, it's a nice feeling.
What colour literally doesn’t appear in your wardrobe at all? Orange and brown.
Do you actually read the answers others give to your surveys [I do]? I only really read the answers if it's a survey I've copied from someone and I'm replying to it myself.
Did you ever swear at a teacher in school? Why? Yeah, because teachers pissed me off lol.
Have you ever pricked your finger on Holly or another ‘sharp’ plant? Sure, loads of times.
Speaking of Holly, do you adore Christmas or does it bug you? I like Christmas but I wouldn't say I "adored" it.
Have you ever wrote your own short story? Yeah, I did a lot of creative writing at school/as a teenager but it's not really something that interests me now.
What about a novel? Or perhaps you started and couldn’t finish? No. I don't have the patience for things like that.
Either of the above, if this was the case, place short synopsis here: Nah, it was years ago. I don't remember what they were about.
Do you prefer SciFi/Fantasy/Action/Horror or Rom/Com/RealLife? In terms of...what, exactly?
What do you have a lot of faith in [note: can be anything]? Science.
Think of a material thing you want. Name it here (material, made or bought] A new bed.
Would $100/�60 be enough for this item? Nope.
How about $1000/�600? Hmm, yeah, £1000 would be enough.
Would you rather have a big house, a lot of kids or a high flying job? A big house.
Have you ever been to a creepy/haunted/abandoned place? Yeah, creepy/abandoned places - I don't believe in hauntings.
What did it look like and what were the circumstances? ...
What’s your favourite dip? It depends on what I'm eating and what my mood is in.
Chocolate Cookies or Fudge Brownies? Chocolate cookies.
I give you a little baby puppy. What do you name him? I only name my animals once I've met them.
Is crime a big problem in your area? Nah, not really. The only real issues are maybe weed and kids riding around illegally on scooters.
What’s your town/city most well known for? Being a deprived ex-mining town.
Do you know a Jack? What’s he like? I have in the past but we're not in touch anymore. I think he has a kid now and he has a lot of tattoos.
How about a Lisa? What’s she like? Yeah, we met through our beagles. She's lovely but quite introverted and not very easy to talk to.
Are most your friends older, younger or the same age as you? They're a mix of ages.
Do you subconsiously hang out with those with the same starsign as you or as each other, perhaps due to certain personality traits? Think about it: I don't give a shit about what starsign anyone is.
Name 5 objects that you don’t have but would like right now? A new Xbox, a new bed, a new bathroom suite (if that counts as one object), one of those hanging chair things and a new oven.
When you have children, would you like twins? I have zero desire to have any children.
Do you know any twins? If so, what are they called? Yeah, several sets. Charlie and George. Jack and Harry. Triplets called Abigail, Harriet and Oliver.
If you were given the choice to choose your childs gender, would you? I don't want children, but I don't agree with gender selection as a concept. It's messed up.
What instrument would you love to learn how to play? Guitar.
Does the sound of knocking/tapping startle you? No, it's just annoying. Especially when people tap their pen or whatever while they're thinking.
What’s the scariest story/urban legend/creepypasta etc you heard? The one about a Tulpa. It really freaked me out, hahah.
Do you miss someone currently? No.
When was the last time you were in hospital? What for [if comfy saying]? About five years ago for a pelvic ultrasound.
When was the last time you went to the dentist? Last December. I'm due to go again in about six weeks.
Do you get along well with your family doctor/your doctor? I don't have a specific doctor, I just go to see whoever is available.
What personality trait does nearly everyone in your family seem to have? Hmm, I don't think there is one, really.
The surveys ended. I hope you enjoyed it. :) Sure.
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blueberrymuffiend · 2 years
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Concert Review: Welcome to Hellvetica Tour
Yes, I know that IDKHOW and P!ATD fandoms don't get along.
I don't care. I am an elder emo, I like what I like and I'm not interested in whatever that's all about.
With that out of the way, time to review IDKHOW and Joywave's delightful Welcome to Hellvetica tour, specifically their stop at the Vogue Theatre in Vancouver, BC.
PART I: The Venue
I'll begin by saying that this was my first show here in Vancouver, and I had very little context about what to expect from any venue other than an arena or stadium, which are generally the same everywhere. Last time I saw IDKHOW was this past February at Jannus Live in St. Pete, Florida, which might be my all time favorite venue to date. Vogue Theatre is nothing like Jannus Live. It is an historic theatre (1941 to be exact) and it looks every bit of its age, in the best way possible. It is small and cozy, with the stage level ground area cleared out and seats on the second level overlooking the stage. It feels like the kind of theatre I would have been brought to as an elementary school student on a field trip, but run through an apocalypse filter and aged. It's fantastic.
That said, the stage setup for both bands did lend itself better to a venue with single-level seating (standing) like at Jannus. I'm not confident a venue with a layout like that at a comparable size exists in Vancouver, and it would make sense that if most of the other venues were single-level, the stage would be geared towards that. As a nearly-30-something who is tired by showtime O'clock at night, I opted for the seats up above. I think if I had a little more zip or if my husband had been a little more into it, we would've had a better time standing on the first floor.
PART II: No One Likes the Opening Band
Except I really did. I had no idea there was an opener for this tour because no website I could find indicated this or listed who was going to be opening for any given night of the tour. This made me a little sad because I really liked the opening band, and also a little confused since IDKHOW has their ongoing bit with that song. I eventually was able to figure out that the band was The Darcys, and they were an enjoyable mix of slightly psychedelic rock vibes with poppier elements sprinkled in. They put on an energetic show, the crowd down below seemed to vibe, they were solid without upstaging the coheadlining bands... by all measures, a solid opener and an artist I would revisit and keep an eye on for the future.
PART III: Joywave
I went into Joywave completely blind. Or, I thought I did. I had no idea they were responsible for the deathly catchy 'Dangerous' that I heard on alternative radio back in Tampa. However, I was won over long before they pulled that banger out of their back pocket. Their stage design was, again while something that would be better enjoyed from a more eye-level vantage point, bizarrely entertaining featuring the back of a corvette and arranging the artists in a circle with no instrument being where you might traditionally expect it around the lead singer. Everyone had matching repair garage type getups. It was unusual, it was eye catching, and it worked. The stage paled in comparison to the show they were about to put on. They came out with a very spirited rendition of 'O Canada' that would be reprised during IDKHOW's set, and the crowd went wild. I have not lived here long enough to know all of the words to O Canada, and I was thoroughly impressed. The 'we love Canada, why don't we sell more records here, we had to download ArriveCAN to come here, we want a Juno' schtick was wholesome and pandering without being over the top; when it was revealed that Dallon Weekes did not know the words to O Canada to join in the reprise, it just added to the earnestness and try-hard likability of Joywave. None of this to say the rest of their set didn't knock their socks off; I loved them from start to finish, with an energetic set and a take on the genre I hadn't heard much of before, but that I definitely will be seeking more of. After the first chunk of their set, I had to say I was not shocked that they played something I had heard on the radio just based on how much I enjoyed their set up to that point, it seemed impossible to me that they would not have had a hit yet. Overall, after going in with no expectations for Joywave, they made a (Canadian) fan out of me and I will be petitioning for them to win a Juno.
PART IV: IDKHOW
This was the band on the ticket that convinced me to purchase it and show up; after seeing them on a whim back in St. Pete and being completely blown away by the show, I knew that anything they put their name on was going to be a worthwhile time. At this point, fans probably are aware that this was the last show Dallon played before the laryngitis incident knocked IDKHOW off the bill for a show or two after this one; although he said himself he was feeling a lot better during the show, as someone who had recently seen the band I could tell they just weren't quite on their game like they were in February. This is not to say that the show wasn't excellent; their music is fabulous, the screen memes about the invisible sax solos had me genuinely chuckling, the musicianship was on point, and the setlist was well curated. Their cover of Heaven is a Place on Earth legit sent me, that is one of my favorite older songs of all time and to have one of my favorite contemporary bands cover it and do it justice was a trip. However, at the end of the day, I could just tell that Dallon's voice wasn't quite 100% and he probably didn't feel 100% based on the performance I saw. The great thing about really talented artists, though, is that even on an off day they can deliver something great and IDKHOW did just that.
PART V: General Impressions
If you were on the fence about snagging a ticket to this tour, I would say go for it. I think that both headliners complement each other well, and if you like one you will probably really like the other. They both put on fun, energetic shows and will hopefully be around for a long time. This could be your chance to say you saw them back when they toured the smaller niche venues, so don't pass it up ;)
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worldsover · 3 years
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Dal Segno ft. Chuu
length ✦ 3570
genres ✧ music making; oral fixation; facefuck; subby!Chuu
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Composition is only fifty percent of the process, you've heard, but it's closer to ten for you. For the importance of a solid melody and chord progression with the right instruments and singer, a song becomes less than the sum of its parts with bad mixing because all that effort goes to waste when you can’t hear something, or when something is too loud, or when a certain je ne sais quoi is wrong. But you do know. You don't have to be a chef to be a food critic but it certainly helps. Avoid muddling the lows as it waters down the soup. Carve space in the highs to prevent too much salt from killing the taste buds. Have at most five sounds at a time or else the flavors clash. Focus on these basic techniques to guide you as repetition wears down your mind. Funny. Repetition legitimizes especially in music yet here you are fatigued by repetition as though you weren't down four cups of black coffee. Repetition legitimizes. “From the sign,” the translation reads. Notation, simply instructing a musician to return to a certain point in a piece. You recognize it as an intro song you wrote years ago.
Glass and foam separate the undersized room. Cheap ramen and dampness in the hot air contribute to the odor. You would keep the fan on, if it were worth the extra time filtering out faint noise from recordings. The only scent that keeps you sane is a slight strawberry flavor lingering in the room. Jiwoo. Your muse. A large clock holds both of its hands near one with the lack of natural light muddling whether it’s AM or PM. Studios were always underground man-caves whether they were discount rooms or the signature workspace of the biggest producers. Here you are in the former. Look down at the Macbook and all the wires, sliders, and knobs. Deep breath. “Take 63,” you say into the cheap control room microphone.
“Not good enough.”
“Again.”
“One more.”
Look up. Jiwoo sucks on a grape lollipop. You stare. Watching her fixated on getting all flavor out of the purple sweet derails your flow state. See, work had a rhythm. Listen, volume up, hotkey to copy this clip, volume down. The obvious innuendo sends you offbeat. That perky butt bending over to get a notebook filled with lyrics entrenches the folds of your brain. She didn’t have to wear that skirt. You’ve seen that skirt already and you wish she weren’t wearing it. Oh, you really wish she weren’t wearing that skirt. Guilt sets in. You’re a trusted coworker, she, a naive girl. It takes a while to find your groove again. Your stare has yet to cease until she finally returns the eye contact with candy still in mouth. Her pink tongue laps to secure all the sugar and red pillows engulf the ever-shrinking circle. Pop. Anyone else and it would be calculated action.
“Oppa." Her voice resounds in your monitor headphones. "I don’t know if these harmonies really make sense. Why did you write the second voice to cross down below the main line? Plus it goes so low."
“To be fair, you wrote both of those melodies and you said you wanted them in the same song. Tell me anywhere else they’d work.”
“Ugh, let’s figure this out later. Next song.“
Dozens of takes later and Jiwoo’s frustration causes her to make mistakes. Sometimes she even tries to start singing with the sucker in her mouth. For the character she plays, you know she’s a professional and that she can be better. Yet hours later, she still could not get the vocal runs right. Incomplete songs bloat your project folder: "Jiwoo - Mania", "Jiwoo - Look Closer", "Jiwoo - Untitled Idea 21". Just a small side project that the company approved during another ample period of break time between comebacks. That’s why the director didn’t even let you use the company’s facilities, instead opting to rent out this cheap closet of a studio. At least no one would be mad about the amount of time you spent recording together.
You shift seats from the leather office chair to the white lovechair, the only two pieces of furniture that fit comfortably in the room. Jiwoo follows suit and leaves the recording booth, really more of a phone booth in square footage, while she huffs and puffs on her candy.
“I’m tired, oppa,” she says.
“Me too, Jiwoo. May I remind you that I’m not getting paid extra for this. Are you gonna focus or what?” your voice just a few cents down, just a bit harsher.
“I, I’m sorry.” A lick anyway. Her meek tone disappears, “Ya! You know how good your royalties are gonna be. Sole producer and all that. Plus, here you are still doing all this work for me." Why were you working so hard on this? "You know, if you just taught me how to use Ableton-”
“Then I’d be out of a job.”
Jiwoo frowns, “Wow, selfish much? You could’ve joined me as a trainee.”
“Nah, no way. Fish dance better.”
“Shut up, oppa. You would’ve easily made it with your, um, musical talent.” She clamps down on the lollipop with her mouth.
“You good? What was that?”
“Let’s," she stands promptly, "get back to recording.”
Crack. Jiwoo bites down on the lollipop and throws the stick in the trash. In ten minutes, she nails the verse she spent hours trying to get right. It'd be really nice to know what catalyzed that rally. You'd ask but driving Jiwoo back to her dorm is quiet as usual.
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Make a good impression on someone, anyone, on your first day as a mixing engineer. That’s why you returned to the Blockberry Creative building with an extra bar of Melona in hand. A simple bribery. Light beamed down between two skyscrapers on a short girl with long hair and strands of bangs adorning her forehead. She stood outside the lobby, introducing herself to every passerby. You had to pinch her cheeks, the intrusive thought screamed.
She scurried up to you. “Hi! I’m Kim Jiwoo and I’m going to become an idol!”
Ah, a trainee. You already knew she was destined to become one. Well, not literally, you weren’t in charge of that. But her overflowing charm was impossible to ignore. You had to tease her though, “Are you sure?”
“Hey! What would you know about that, mister?” she said.
You bit down on your mango. “Mister? First of all, I’m only a high school senior,” her lips rounded in surprise, “And second, I’m your new audio guy, and I know for a fact they’re debuting you girls in order of talent.”
“Woooow. Well, I’ll have you know, I have a great voice!” She certainly spoke lyrically.  “Wait a minute, I didn’t know they hired people that young.” You pointed at her. “Okay, I’m in high school too. But that’s different, idols start this age.”
“I guess. I’ve been making music ever since I was a kid, and they liked what I had,” you said and Jiwoo nodded in understanding.
She fluttered her eyebrows. “Sooo, is that mango ice cream for me? Oppa?” A little surprised she already called you that, but it sounded right.
“No, I have this unopened strawberry-” Jiwoo snatched the half-eaten cold treat from your hand, and started licking it. Trouble she would be.
You spent many recording sessions together, alone after all the other members left. She cozied up to you because her little musical snippets had to become full-fledged tracks and you helped her out every time.
Something changed over the years however. Your interactions became colder. It felt like you were the only one who she would respond to in a deeper voice. Jiwoo wouldn't pepper you with silly acts or mess around. Maybe she took you more seriously which is how you managed to make more songs together regardless. Then, you stood idly by and watched her debut. Who didn't love her? But when she was with you, you missed the playfulness, the ice cream and her riffing over your playful guitar strums. It turned less of a hobby and more of a job though you never regretted any second with Jiwoo regardless.
Under the Earth's largest natural satellite, you shared a simple meal in black bean noodles. She was still in her hippie outfit from the comeback, and you handed her your jacket since it was cold. You realized, there was something else there that you were too inexperienced to notice. Your bodies' radiation replace the chill in the air, a bubble with just the two of you eating on the grass in a park near your dorm. A cliche slurping on one noodle and Jiwoo pulled away. In embarrassment, like a damn anime character, she hiccuped. Good thing you didn't close your eyes when you leaned in.
“Wanna make an album together?” Jiwoo says.
“Sure.”
You threw away the noodles’ package and escorted her home. That was all you expected anyway. Fine.
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“That’s enough!”
Three goddamn weeks. It's been three goddamn weeks and you've barely made any progress.
Barge into the booth, slam the door shut and raise your tone, just below a shout, “I've had it up to here! You know how many of my songs have been mashed together in some unholy quest for your perfection? Just one unknown something is missing and either you start complaining or we move on to the next."
She backs up from the mic to the insulated wall but you continue, paying no heed to her, as you spout your piece to the artificially cold air, "You know how much time I’ve spent outside working on these songs? These are songs I’ve saved up over years. And you trash them like they’re nothing. How do you even manage to record LOONA tracks?”
Regret sinks in. This was your passion project as much as hers. Was it frustration from the recordings? Weeks of the same routine and it took until now for you to give in to your temper.
"It wouldn't even be that bad! If you could just one time, you could be cute or cheerful again with me, or,” Fuck. So stupid. You don’t have to take your friendships for granted like this. You’re lucky enough she treats you as much. “Hold on. Wait, I'm-"
Examine her face. It’s not sour and she hasn’t stormed out or even slapped you.
“No, no. You don’t have to say it. I’m. I’m sorry oppa.” She looks down. “I'm the one messing up after all." Her heartbeat a harsh snare drum. "And you. You're. Different. Looking at you always made me feel some, something funny. Not funny but? Ugh. I wish I could explain it.”
You hold in your confusion.
She blabbers on, “Like, are. Are you mad? I promise you, I,” A nervous breath, ”I like you. Okay?"
Your confusion grows like the length of your silence.
"I’m just acting how I really am with you. Do you want to maybe, I don't know, like," her voice decrescendos, "Um. Punish me?”
Your heart, your brain are deprived of blood as it all rushes down. Did you hear that right? Not an apology, not retribution, but a call to punishment? Misinterpreting her, the consequences would be dire but that damned demure tone for such an erotic request. Was Jiwoo the exact type of slut constructed in your mind? The one that made you feel sinful for even imagining. No, no, there's no way.
Too late. Jiwoo must have noticed the absurd bulge now. It had to be these Adidas pants today. Fuck it. Life can’t be lived fully without risk. Hopefully, the same switch turned in her mind. You remove all ire from your face and say in earnest, “Do you like games?"
She lights up a little. You sigh relieved.
"Let’s try…”, you say, ”Strip recording.” She lights up a little more, so you go on, ”If I mess up anything, the mix, the composition, the arrangement, I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Your choice. And every time you mess up-”
Jiwoo unbuttons her denim shorts and brings them down her tight legs.
“D- did I say now?”
However, with her resolve steeled, she continues pulling them. "So what? I did mess up, right?" she says coquettish. Deliberate the turn she makes when she bows down to remove the shorts from her legs, Jiwoo reveals a hint of her innie pussy on that same little ass that ran through your mind earlier. A small trace of her thighs glistens, the only thing reflecting the single lightbulb’s glow in the microphone’s abode. She turns back to face you. "Please. Punish me."
Step closer until Jiwoo backs up to the soundproofing. She’s an eighth note away from your face, flashing her beady eyes and a coy smile, ”Where's your underwear?" A little drop spills out onto the floor, "And why are you so wet, Jiwoo-ah?”
Red on her cheeks, like she only now realized her dishevelment in front of you. “You just… Something about you snapping at me. I don’t get it either. I knew you'd do it, some day, I wanted you to," she mumbles in her best efforts to answer you.
“Have you ever worn underwear to the recordings?”
Those efforts continue to fail.
"Oh, Kim Jiwoo. What do I do with you?" One of your hands grabs her cheek. The other crawls down her back to grab her cheek.
“Oppa… Do I have to say it?”
“I want to hear every." Smack. "Word." Smack. She slips a moan.
“Can you," she says, "can you use my mouth?”
You disguise your long pause as thought, teasing the bare skin of her ass with your exploratory fingers to bide time, but it's an expression of your shock. The interruption helps you come up with a more suitable punishment however.
“How about this then. Every time you mess up, you have to give me a blowjob. Call?”
“Call!” Once more, unprompted, she kneels down in front of you and claws away your track pants. You roll with the punches.
"Oppaa," with an pronounced pop and in a sing-songy rhythm, "I've always wanted to know, if your dick-" It certainly didn't need Jiwoo's dainty hands pulling on your boxers, as it would've sprang out on its own with how like diamond your cock is getting.
"Fuuuck," the first profanity you ever hear her utter, she lilts. "Please. Oppa. Fuck my face?"
After all she said, she could still surprise you. Bring your hips forward and just as you would've her pussy, tease Jiwoo’s lips with the head of your dick. She parts them open, starved, anxious.
Hold her by the chin. "Wait."
She freezes at the command. Again, like foreplay, rub her lips with that head making them turn redder and more plump. You sweep aside her bangs to see her begging eyes. More importantly, slide your dick up to her nude forehead to slap as a first act of retribution. “A-ah!” Jiwoo stutters as you slap her face with your manhood again and again. Bring your cock back down and she's already a mess without you even having entered her mouth. A little drool from her shut lips gently massages your balls while a bit of precum drools from your slit to meet those lips.
Jiwoo mumbles as best as she can with you holding her jaw shut and your dick on her lips, "Please. Please. Shove your dick in me. I need you in my mouth."
You squint your rough eyes to command her.
Muffled still, "Oppa. Please. I. I need to taste you. You just, you're so thick and you're so long and cock is perfect and please I just-"  Loosen the grip on her chin to let her envelop the entire tip with her warm lips. "Mmmmm..." the moan resonates a saw wave and your stern resolve fades away on your first entrance into her face but it returns as her teeth rub against you. She quickly readjusts her jaw but it takes multiple attempts of you pulling out and her sucking you back until only silken lips hold your cock's head. Finally. A focused glint in her eyes. She endeavours to keep your tip in her mouth as long as possible.
You were mad at her earlier, weren't you?
Recall this anger and press yourself into her with all your hips' strength, working against the force of her lip's airtight suction. Saliva leaks to betray the seal. Jiwoo's prying tongue explores the underside of your cock but you reach an impasse while she's not even halfway down the shaft. You shove your dick deeper but to no avail and tears roll down her eyes joining the fluids coating her lips. Thus you exit back out. And back in you go to repeat and repeat and slowly increase your rate, becoming rough sex with her diligent mouth. All the positions you’ve imagined fucking her little pussy, you picture using her throat instead. Even in this compact studio, the couch, chair and desk would provide ample support for you to use her in many ways. The dirty thoughts inspire your speed right now. She slurps and gulps at every quick plunge but you realize her moans and rumbles aren't just incoherent reactions. You decelerate.
“Ah, ahhh, ahhhhhh… Ah’ve ahways- Hmph.” She slurs as she tries her hardest to communicate while her airway is blocked.
She slides up your cock to catch some air, “Thought about it- Mmm.”
“Your dick in my mouth and it’s just so pew, fect- Ahhh.” Jiwoo's lips let go gently then her tongue sticks out to lick up your cock and she shows off a trail of spit leading to your tip. A less patient man would’ve jerked himself off right there to grant her eyes and open mouth's unison request to feed on your cum.
Instead you retort, “You think you’ve earned it? Not even halfway down. Going nowhere, just like our recording sessions, huh?”
“Shut up!”
“Oof.” You’re already weak in the knees so Jiwoo's one handed shove sends your tailbone to the floor. Since you’re still dazed by her confounding strength, she takes initiative and kowtows her head into your lap to crawl down your cock with her tiny lips. Fondling your balls, Jiwoo starts from the furthest point she could muster on your shaft up to your cock head. Her tongue follows back and she starts playing under your tip to swirl that tongue around the most sensitive parts until it explores your slit. You buckle and groan. Jiwoo sucks and spits and sucks while she circles only the most minimal twisting motion of her lips on your head. This is the Jiwoo you know. Relentless. Only now your load is her magnus opus.
Her right hand strays downwards and her face on your dick blocks a full view but you can tell that hand is working as intensely as her mouth. As she strokes herself with more vigor, she starts humming a satisfied melody on your tip. In kind, your subtle grunts turn into full-bodied moans. You're a single measure away from your coda so you reach down and pull her off your cock by grabbing her neck.
You glare into her. “Desperate little girl, aren't you?”
Her breath is stilted and she's nearly shaking. “Please…” she sobs, ”You, you want it as bad as I do right?” Of course. “Won't you just cum for me?” Not now. Not when you have putty in your hands.
“You're making a mess. You can't take me all the way down. And I see that it’s not just your saliva coating the floor.” Point to the spot where she kneels, her drool joins a stain growing ever larger with a strand of juice from her pussy flowing as you continue to berate her. Then you point to her hand. Ha. “Were you playing with yourself using my pencil?”
“No… Wait!”
You back off. “Your top’s a mess too. Anyone can tell I just fucked your face.” You take off your black hoodie and give it to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow for our next session.”
“Wait, we didn’t book tomorrow, did we? Also, you can’t just leave me like this! Oppa!”
"I said, I'll see you tomorrow. I have to go,“ you remind her, ”Ha Rin’s picking you up. And give me back that pencil.”
She hands it to you, unable to meet your eyes despite hers lusting over your cock. You'll definitely use the alluring musk on it for later to save you from your self-induced blue balls. Exit the booth. Of course she barely waits to use your hoodie the same way since she doesn’t notice you lingering in the room. Instead of hiding the grey long sleeve that soaks her neck, your used sweatshirt covers Jiwoo’s face as her fingers make the mess on the floor larger.
✦✧✦✧✦✧
AFF, AO3
Swear to god I’m not just writing the cutest idols to write for. I mean maybe I am but also this answer from @nsfwtwicecatcher​ and all the subsequent pictures that I found of Chuu pouting inspired me. Also, this was a longer piece but I kept spinning my tires on it and decided to split it up, so look out for more.
✦✧✦✧✦✧
Fermata, the aforementioned sequel
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nerdchasingadream · 2 years
Note
Hey there ☺️ we've been mutuals for a while but don't think we've ever talked haha
On the Asks post: how's 15, 44, 52, and 53?
Hope you're having a nice day!!
Hey! Seriously, it's been years! Thanks for asking ☺️
15. Personality Description: I'm an anxious, silly and hopefully kind person. I am a curious little thing and I love trying new things (hence why my back is killing me from snowboarding yesterday 😬).
44. Age you are mistaken for: I often get an age range of 17-20. That's not so bad now that I am 25 and I'm no longer getting misten for 14-16.
52. Something I'm talented at: I use to be a singer a few years ago. I performed in plays, led a church choir, sang the national anthem for my town's mayoral inauguration, and took singing lessons too! It was a whole thing. I told everyone I retired, but I like to think I'm still a talented singer.
53. 5 things that makes me happy:
1. Food! I love to eat and I get super excited when I take a bite of something delicious. I'm learning how to cook so that I can enjoy eating at an affordable cost.
2. My boyfriend. I've never met someone who loves me with so much raw emotions as him. He is the smartest and most courageous person I know. He encourages me to always be a better version of myself and I hope I'm doing the same for him.
3. Movies! I love watching movies and shows on my streaming apps. I can spend hours watching and analyzing movies.
4. Alcohol. I promise I'm not an alcoholic, but I enjoy going out to parties and dinners and having a mixed drink or two. It's also nice to have a glass of wine while reading or relaxing.
5. Music! I like finding new bands and artists and diving into their work. My current favorites are Tame Impala and Frank Ocean.
Thanks so much for asking, those were great questions! I hope you're enjoying your day as well 💃🏾💥
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tilions · 3 years
Text
Tinwë Lórnammon
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I'm not an Artist (not a good one at least) that's why I just this Picrew to visualise him. (Tolkien OC 6/?)
Some Headcanons »
Tinwë (Q. spark, [apparent] star) Lórnammon (Q. Dream catcher)
Maglors father-in-law
Counted as one of the Nelyar
Tall, lanky boy, doesn't know what to do with his limbs most of the time (he kind of folds them underneath his torso when sitting down, which looks very awkward)
Light skin, Silver-blonde hair and pale blue eyes (don't let him wear white he'll look like a ghost)
Loves pastels and soft colours
Has a very gentle and caring personality, but can be a little lost at times 
Generally wants everyone to get along
Looks like a cinnamon roll and is actually a cinnamon roll
Soft boi
If he ever met Finarfin they would be instant best friends for life
Last elf who awakened at Cuivienen
He has some elvish variation of Retinitis pigmentosa (a genetic disorder that affects one's ability to see)
Stars are his thing™
Probably named a few prominent constatations and stars before he went blind
He sets out on the great journey as part of the Nelyar but doesn't get farther than the Blue Mountains for several reasons
He fell hard for an elven woman named Norian when she protected him from a pack of orcs during the journey
He has a thing for badass women ok? 
He awkwardly proposes to her half a century of pining later
After he loses his eyesight, he relies on sound and touch most of all → Becomes touchier, not that Norian minds it
Cuddles are his favourite pastime
Father of three children → Morgil, Cellin and Gilorn
Proud grandfather
His people's language is a weird mix between ancient Quenya and Doriathern Sindarin, as well as a bit of Noldorin thrown in in later ages (due to Maglor)
Likes traveling despite his disabilities and is a surprisingly good runner
If he could he would've abandoned the concept of social hierarchy in an instant because he hates being called Lord Tinwë with a passion
Will argue with anybody who insists calling him that until they give in
Dad jokes, all the dad jokes
Loves Maglor in a very fatherly way and strives to help him atone for his sins
Always wants more family members
A great entertainer and storyteller, not much of a singer though
If offered he will always say yes to food and drink
Never gets drunk
Ever
He drank Elmo under the table during one of their visits to Doriath 
Several hundred years later the same thing happened with Fingolfin and he wasn't allowed to challenge anyone to a drinking competition from that day onwards
(It may happen again in the third age with a certain woodland king)
Even though his wife is the leader of their people, it is considered his house and his line (House of Tinwë, Tinweans) and he is so bothered by it
He would die for his wife, children and grandchildren
Tolkien OCs Masterlist
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iloveakindofmagic · 3 years
Text
PLEASE STAY AWHILE
One shot
Relationship: Deacury (John Deacon x Freddie Mercury)
Words:  2.7k
Summary:
If the death of Freddie Mercury had not happened and it was only a dream that a bassist had...
... would life give Freddie a second chance to be loved?
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November 27, 1991
It was a day more cloudy than normal, large gray clouds covered the London sky with threats that it was going to rain.
The world of rock and music were in mourning ...
...Freddie Mercury died ...
~ • ~
Days before the vocalist, pianist and showman of the famous band Queen had left this world due to complicated pneumonia by AIDS, which he had acquired in 1987. Freddie, however, he kept it quiet, to avoid scandals and harassment by the press, although the latter was impossible, since the paparazzi had surrounded his house since the rumors began that he had this terrible disease.
But despite everything, he denied such rumors. Until the condition worsened and the end of Freddie approached. He decided that it was time to reveal to the world his true state of health. All the media reported the new declaration of the QUEEN’s vocalist
The day after the news, Freddie Mercury passed away ...
Thousands of QUEEN fans gathered outside the singer's house to say goodbye, singing songs, leaving messages of farewell to the singer who had become a Rock legend...
~ • ~
Now, Freddie's funeral was going to take place this day. Family, friends and the members of QUEEN were present to say goodbye to him.
For the band, Freddie's death was the most painful, they had lost an essential member of the band, an excellent singer and above all a good friend with whom they shared thousands of anecdotes.
The remaining members of QUEEN were completely devastated, especially the bassist John Deacon, who for him, the vocalist was his best friend, protector and motivation. He was deeply affected by this terrible loss, to such a degree that he was crying throughout the funeral.
After the funeral, Brian went to take a vacation with Anita so he could take in everything that was going on, Roger went home with Debbie and their children. John for his part went home to be with Veronica and spend time with his children to get through this.
The bassist came home, he was still devastated. He climbed the stairs and came to his room and then locked the door, he did not want to talk to anyone, he just wanted to be alone and let his tears flow freely. His wife understood that the death of his best friend affected him. She preferred to leave him alone for that day and the next morning she would talk to him.
John was sitting on the bed, he had a bottle of whiskey in his hand, he was drinking and letting the tears and sadness wash over him.
He couldn't believe what was happening, his heart was in pieces. He had lost one of the most important people in his life. He had a strange mix of sadness, hatred, anger, and guilt.
He felt guilty and hated himself for two strong reasons: on the one hand it was for not having been able to protect Freddie from fucking Paul Prenter, that bastard led Freddie to the world of debauchery and total perdition, which was the cause of that he got AIDS.
But he also hated himself for not expressing his feelings ...
John loved Freddie. At first he believed that it was a kind of affection and admiration for the Persian for protecting him and motivating him to write songs, however, one day he realized that he was more than a friend.
However, it was slow for John to realize that he was bisexual. He always hid these feelings because he had a wife and children. It did not mean that he did not feel love towards Veronica, he loved her, but not intensely as he did with Freddie.
But now John was broken inside. The love of his life was forever gone from this world and Freddie would never return.
He wished this was all just a bad dream and that Freddie was alive.
He lay back on the bed and he kept crying. The memories of Freddie are on the bassist's mind, he remembered the beautiful brown eyes that he had, his lips, that energy that made him unattainable.
How could he be so stupid? Why did he never confess his love to her? He wondered over and over as he took another sip from the whiskey bottle.
John was a mixture of sadness and drunkenness. His eyelids began to feel heavy, he let himself be carried away by Morpheus's arms, falling deeply asleep.
~ ☆ ~
~ ☆ ~
~ ☆ ~
John woke up with a severe headache, he had a huge hangover. It was already night, he had slept most of the day, his family must be worried about him.
Before getting up he realized something: He was not sleeping in his room, he was not even at home, but he was sleeping on a sofa that was in the main living room of Freddie's old house.
The bass player was puzzled. How the hell had he gotten there? Was he too drunk and traveled to Freddie's house? Everything was very confusing.
He got up and went to a bathroom that was close to him. He wiped his face with water and turned his gaze to a mirror. It was observed carefully, her hair was completely brown, there was no whiteness in her hair; his face was free of wrinkles, his appearance was as if he had turned when he was 28 years old, the age he was in 1979. He was confused.
"What the hell is happening here?" Thought John.
Suddenly, John heard a melody provided by a piano, then John out of his thoughts, it meant that he was not alone in that house. It was a melody so harmonious and powerful at the same time began to be heard. John could recognize him from thousands of miles away.
Quickly, he got out of the bathroom and walked around the house in search of the origin of that beautiful melody. The house was practically dark. Meanwhile, he finds a lighted room in the shadows, slowly he approached and leaned out to then find a surprise that left him in shock.
He was there, he was alive ...
... Freddie was alive ...
And there was Freddie, playing the piano. He looked so handsome, jovial, full of energy. He had short hair, however, he did not have the characteristic mustache of the 80s. Meanwhile, the brunette turned his back to the bassist as he focused on playing the piano while singing "You and I".
"Laughter ringing in the darkness
People drinking for days gone by
Time don't mean a thing
When you're by my side
Please stay awhile ..."
John had written that song to Freddie so that he could indirectly realize his feelings and an invitation to have something more than a simple friendship. John wanted to cry, he couldn't believe his eyes, he was seeing Freddie again, he was hearing his melodious and beautiful voice again.
Was he dreaming? Did he go back to 1979? o Was Freddie's death just a bad dream? Whatever it is, he wanted to keep the brown-eyed there forever.
"You know I never could
foresee the future years
You know I never could see
Where life was leading me
But will we be together forever?
What will be my love?
Can't you see that I just don't know"
The bassist listened carefully the song performed by the vocalist.
"I can hear the music in the darkness
Floating softly to
where we lie
No more questions now
Let's enjoy tonight
Just you and I
Can't you see that we've gotta be together
Be together just you and I just you and I
No more questions just you and I "
...
When Freddie finished the song, he turned to look towards the door, finding John standing on the threshold of it, he gave him a smile
“Finally, You had woken up, Deaky” Freddie said, approaching where John was standing “You had drunk too much and fell asleep. Brian and Roger left, so …” He was interrupted by a sudden hug provided by John, taking the persian by surprise. Freddie responded quickly to this act.
“Don't go …” John said and began to cry in the arms of the vocalist “I don't want to lose you again” John whispered in the Persian's ear deepening the hug, he blushed.
"W-What are you talking about, John?" He said, he was puzzled “I am here... I'm not going anywhere” He separated a little to see the child's eyes and meet his beautiful green eyes full of tears, which worried Freddie. "What's wrong, John?" He asked as he caressed the minor's pale face causing him to shudder.
If this was just a game of his mind and he was only dreaming, he didn't want to wake up anymore. This felt more than a dream, it felt so real, Freddie's touch was so warm and comfortable.
The Persian took him to the kitchen and invited him to sit down.
"Do you want some tea?" He offered with a small smile, John just nodded.
He made and poured the tea into two cups. They were both silent for a long time as they took small sips of the drink.
“I had a dream, Fred" The youngest began to speak “In that dream you contracted a terrible disease and …” He stopped to take a breath “... You died young” John burst into tears again. “You left me alone, Freddie …” The Persian was shocked by such words, he worried about forJohn, he didn't like to see the bassist cry.
If there was one thing Freddie hated, it was someone or something hurting John, because these hurt him too. They were hurting the most important person in his life and the person he loved. That I did not forgive anyone.
Freddie had loved John since he had joined the band, he was different from the other men he had known. His way of being with him, his sweetness and innocence; Those green eyes which tore when he laughed, he was perfect for Freddie. He had always silenced his feelings because he knew that he loved Veronica, his wife with whom he had procreated beautiful children.
That is why he only limited himself to protecting and supporting him as a kind of minor brother.
“Oh, darling…” Freddie hugged John and he responded by hugging him tighter, letting his tears flow “I will never leave this world soon ... Brian, Roger and especially you will have Freddie for many  years, I promise " He whispered sweetly. They continued hugging, enjoying the warmth.
John separated a bit from the older one
“Freddie, you must stay away from Paul Prenter” He changed his tone of voice to a serious voice, surprising the vocalist.
“John I …”
“He's not a good guy …” John interrupted Freddie letting go of the hug “He will make you fall into bad steps and that bad dream can come true” his hands held the vocalist's face and staring at him “ Please, let me protect you like you have always done”
“O-Okay John” Freddie blushed at John's words “Tomorrow morning I’m going to fire Paul”
A satisfied smile appeared on John's face, he felt that he had saved from a dark fate to Freddie.
They stared in silence, a slight blush appeared on their faces. Suddenly they both began to draw their faces closer, their hearts were beating fast, they could both feel their breaths.
They finally closed the distance when their lips met in a loving kiss. They both enjoyed that kiss, they transmitted thousands of emotions and feelings that they had saved for a long time.
Before they could deepen the kiss, Freddie reacted and separated of John quickly
“J-John, I'm sorry …” The vocalist got up from his chair, he felt that he had ruined a great friendship “I shouldn't have done it …”
“ Freddie, wait …” the brunette grabbed his wrist before he left “Haven't you realized?” He got up from the chair and grabbed the brunette's hands “I love you, Freddie. I've always loved you”
Freddie blushed when he heard those words, he was surprised.
“B-But Veronica …”
“The love I feel for her doesn't compare with the great love I feel for you” John got closer to Freddie, being inches away from him. They could see the difference in stature between them, John was taller than Freddie and the older man liked that difference.
The bassist hugged the older man's waist and brought him closer to him, blushing Freddie more
“I love you from the first day I saw you and I will always love you, Fred”
Freddie started to cry, he was very happy to hear those words
“Deaky, darling ... “ his hands held John's neck “I love you too much and I will love you forever”  
John blushed, he couldn't believe what he was hearing, he was very happy. Freddie stood on tiptoe and approached John’s face.
"You don't know how much I wanted this feeling to be mutual, John."
They both joined their lips in a sweet kiss, they felt that nothing else mattered but just the two of them. Now they could finally be happy together.
They deepened the kiss, now their tongues danced between them, exploring her oral cavities. The bassist’s lips traveled to Freddie's neck and he kissed his neck, drawing moans from the vocalist.
Freddie took John to his room and there they continued with the passionate kissing session ...
Finally, they made love with passion. Freddie was very happy, he had felt John inside of him and it was so special. It was the best sex Freddie had ever had in his life, it was so romantic and so passionate at the same time. Besides he was very happy to have made love to the person he most loved.
John was happy to finally be with the love of his life. For John it was not just sex , it was the beginning of a relationship and a new path in Freddie's life.
Both of them finally fell asleep hugging each other.
~ • ~
John woke up the next morning, he was naked and he was covered only with a sheet. Slowly he opened his eyes and found that the vocalist was not at his side.
A fear seized him when he saw that Freddie was not in bed.
Was it all a dream? Was Freddie really dead? He thought.
I was about to cry, when suddenly, Freddie came in holding a tray with a plate full of toast with cheese and orange juice. John immediately changed his face.
“Good morning, Deaky” He left the tray on the nightstand and approached the bassist to kiss his lips.
“Good morning, Fred” He said without stopping to see his new boyfriend.
The singer wore a kimono that he had gotten on one of the many tours to Japan. John was stunned to see him in that garment.
"Do you like what you see?" The old man modeled. John was able to see her naked and well turned thighs, she looked so fucking sexy with that.
“Y-Yes" He blushed "You look beautiful, Freddie" He confessed with a slight smile. Freddie's face  turned red when he heard those words.
"Thanks, Deaky" She sat on the bed and leaned over to kiss him sweetly. "I love you"
“I love you more, Fred ... And I will love you always” John whispered and then gave him a deep kiss full of love and passion ...
~ • ~
Freddie fired Paul without saying any reason that same day . His ex assistant threatened to divulge everything he knew about him, however, the vocalist gave it little importance, since he had already found that person to love and he didn’t care about anything else.
While John asked for a divorce from Veronica, she understood John’s feelings towards Freddie and she didn’t oppose his decision, the woman promised that she would be discreet with the relationship he had with Freddie. He said to her that his children wouldn’t lack anything and every weekend he would spend time with the children.
A new story full of love and mutual affection began. John didn’t know if life had given them a second chance to be happy together and Freddie could live without having contracted that damn disease or it was just a very real nightmare. The only thing he was sure of was that he was going to do everything possible to make him happy and be that somebody to love that Freddie had always sought. He was going to protect and love him forever so that the dream he had was just it ...
... Just a dream ...
*THE END*
Hi! This is my first story that I post in Tumblr. I hope you liked it. I love write fanfics about Deacury relationship!
Please visit my ao3, Instagram and Wattpadñ. You can find me under the same name: ILoveAKindOfMagic
Greetings! 💞
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rnufharose · 4 years
Text
Chapter 16
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Words: 3.8k
Disclaimer: There will be violence, kidnapping, drowning, and attempted murder in this chapter!
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︻デ═一 ♥
Haneul landed on the floor and listening to the door close behind her, the lock turning. She stood abruptly and jiggled the doorknob, pounding her fists against it, "Let me out!" She yelled, but no one responded. She exhaled sharply and stepped back, running her fingers through her hair and looking around. "Aish!" she hissed.
"Cussing isn't going to help you, sweetheart," a voice came from the other side of the room, and Haneul faced its owner, where a tall man with droopy eyes and slicked hair sat against the wall. He had a cold expression but it wasn't like Sehun's. "What?" He asked. "You're not scared of me? Big hitman with a scary face?"
She furrowed her brows and shook her head slowly, "No, I'm not. I've seen scarier."
The man huffed, getting to his feet and eyeing her carefully, "Well,  it looks like you're the second girl who isn't scared of me."
"I'm guessing you're Jooheon," Haneul spoke, remembering his name during her talk with Hyungwon and Sehun back on the ferry. "MONSTA X's hitman..."
"You guessed correctly," he walked toward her, that cold look now replaced with a gentle smile. "And who might you be, little lady? Why were you thrown in here? You don't look like you're a part of our line of work."
"You're right, I'm not," she chuckled helplessly. "I'm Haneul. By blood, I'm related to the Cho Clan, but I'm here with Sehun, EXO's hitman. That lady, Eun-jae, threw me in here, and I need to get out of here before she hurts someone."
Jooheon shrugged, making a sound, "She hurts everyone."
"But this is a little girl we're talking about," Haneul specified, and then the smile on his face was no longer there, his expression becoming stern once again.
"Little girl?" MONSTA X's hitman parroted. "Did she happen to have three cats? And she lives with her father?"
The brunette nodded, confirming that was the same girl she met earlier, "Yes. Her name is Jiyoung. Do you know her?"
"I do," Jooheon nodded, his hands closing into fists as he looked down, anger in his eyes. "That girl is like a little sister to me. Her father is always welcoming me into their home. If anyone harms a single hair on her head, I..." he trailed off, doing his best to contain the angry outburst that was building up. "She was the first person who wasn't afraid of me... my brothers don't know that I visit her and her father when I'm not working. She's always alone when her father heads off to work and I stay with her to make sure she is protected."
"What does Eunjae want from your Clan?" Haneul inquired, and he took a seat at the edge of the bed, folding his hands, brows furrowed.
"She's wanted our territory in Jeju for a long time. All of her imports are illegal drugs that are shipped to the underground nightclubs all over Seoul," Jooheon said. "But... I'd have to guess that since you're here, she took the opportunity to use you and ambush us to get what she wants. She may also be using Jiyoung to make you join her. If the underworld found out the last survivor of the Cho Syndicate is working alongside her, they will fear her and you."
"I want no part of this," Haneul assured him with a shake of her head. "I didn't even know about who I was related to until recently. I've just been a singer at a cabaret who lived with her grandmother. The EXO Clan were my father's friends and he tasked them to protect me and find the person who killed Halmeoni."
"So you're mixed up in all this too," he nodded slowly before turning his gaze at her once more, giving her an expression of determination. "Then we're getting out of here. I won't let that bitch harm Jiyoung. Will you help me?"
Haneul replied with a nod as well, "I will. Just tell me what to do and I'll follow your lead."
︻デ═一 ♥
Sehun was thrown into one of the other bedrooms, the door closing behind him followed by the click of a lock. When he lifted himself off the floor, he was greeted with a pained Hyungwon, who held his head after taking the trauma, "You okay?!" He asked and the slightly older male groaned, smiling through the dizziness.
"I'll live," he said.
"Sehun," another voice spoke, and the raven-haired male looked up, coming face to face with the patriarch of the MONSTA X Syndicate. He was tall with broad shoulders and a well-built frame. His suit jacket was discarded, revealing the wrinkled button-down, tie, and slacks he was wearing, his short dark hair slicked in small spikes.
"Shownu hyung," the raven-haired hitman stood up, greeting him with a bow. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm alright," he gave him a nod. "But Jooheon and Wonho were separated from us. Minhyuk, Kihyun, and Changhyuk escaped and are asking for help from GOT7."
"We have to get out of here now," Sehun spoke. "Eunjae has my friend and I know she's in danger."
"Your friend?" Shownu questioned.
"Cho Haneul," the younger male answered. "The survivor of the Cho Syndicate. Junmyeon gave me orders to protect her at all costs."
"I see," Shownu nodded slowly, making his way toward the door, grabbing the knob and jiggling it did a moment. "Eunjae is here for our territory. She needs a place for her drug imports to come without facing the law. Jeju Island is the best place for that. There aren't many regulations for what comes to port here."
"So it isn't because of Haneul then?" Sehun asked.
"Well, Cho Haneul is a bonus for her," Shownu continued. "Take the heiress of the Cho Clan and use her name to instill fear into others, and the other Syndicates will forfeit their territories to her. She won't kill her, but those who fear the Cho name will."
"The FT Syndicate sent Eunjae here," Hyungwon said to the older male. "They'll, no doubt, use this as a way to lure Eunjae and the girl to them and kill them both."
"I won't let them kill Neullie," Sehun exclaimed, and the two males faced him, taking in his cold expression. "If they do, they'll have to deal with me."
Shownu's eyes widened slightly, nodding and crossing the room again, leaving Sehun in his angered state while Hyungwon tried to think of a way out of their current predicament.
"He was definitely jealous of those cats," he mumbled.
"What was that?" Shownu asked, and the younger male gave him a coy smile.
He answered, "Animida."
︻デ═一 ♥
Jiyoung was standing outside her house, playing with Hyuk, Kyo, and Toto, listening to them meow and rub against her, purring when she scratched behind their ears, releasing a soft giggle. "You boys are so sweet," she whispered, a shadow casting over her, prompting her to face the person who stood over her from behind.
"Hello, Jiyoung," Eunjae smiled at the girl sweetly.
She stood up slowly, the cats no longer meowing but taking alert stances, their big eyes trained on the unknown woman, "Yes...? May I help you, Ahjumma?"
"Ahjumma?" The woman parroted, irritation behind her kind gaze, bending down to look closer at Jiyoung. "Do I look like an ahjumma? I'm very young. Why don't you call me Unnie?"
"U-Uh," Jiyoung stammered for a moment, looking down and taking a step back. She didn't feel comfortable around this woman. She wasn't like Haneul, who was kind and wasn't annoyed by her presence. Jiyoung could somehow sense the woman's annoyance.
Eunjae looked behind the girl's small shoulder, eyeing the cats she was playing with earlier, "What cute cats you have there. Think we can play with them?"
"O-Oh, actually, they—" she was interrupted by a yowl. Toto's fur was on edge and Kyo hissed while Hyuk meowed with hostility. Jiyoung knew her cats loved girls, but they didn't like just any girl. They were excellent judges of character and could tell right away who had good intentions. From their reaction, she now knew Eunjae wasn't a kind person.
"Well that's not nice," The older woman grumbled. "Your cats don't seem to like me. But no matter. Jiyoung, you're a good girl, aren't you? Will you show me around Jeju Island? I'm new here and one of the neighborhood ladies told me you're a wonderful tour guide."
The door opened, and Jiyoung's father stepped out, wearing his work clothes, "Jiyoung-ah, I'm heading out. Wait for Jooheon and he'll stay with you until I—" he came to a halt, his eyes fixated on Eunjae, who exhaled when she came face to face with the middle-aged man. "Who are you...?" He asked.
"Aish, jinjjah," Eun-jae laughed humorlessly. She didn't want the girl's father to get involved but she had no choice. She called for her men to come through the gate, towering over her and the man and his daughter, who staggered with fear. "Ahjussi, think you can cooperate with me? Give me your daughter."
"What?" Jiyoung's father asked in astonishment. "Why the hell would I do that?"
"I'm not going anywhere," the little girl protested.
Eunjae rolled her eyes, clicking her tongue and smirking darkly, "That's too bad because you have no choice."
The henchmen closed in on the two of them and Jiyoung's father stood in front of her, pushing back the taller, bulked men who endeavored to take his daughter away from him, "Jiyoung-ah! Get out of here! Go find Jooheon!"
"But Appa!" The girl protested.
"Go, I said!" He shouted. "The cats and I will take care of these thugs!"
She took a step back, reluctant to leave her father and her little brothers, but they hissed and yowled, pouncing and digging their teeth into the arms of one of Eunjae's men, causing him to cry out in pain while her father punched another across the face.
"You bastards stay away from my daughter!" He yelled when she ran past the gates and down the path toward the estate where Jooheon told her to go if she were ever in trouble.
Jiyoung stumbled for a moment, breathing heavily looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her, but a pair of large arms grabbed onto her small frame. "Let go of me!" She screamed.
"Shut up, will you?" Another one of Eun-jae's men had cut her off, as if she had anticipated that the little girl would try to run away.
"Jooheon oppa!" Jiyoung exclaimed desperately. "Help me!"
The man put a cloth over her mouth, and she struggled to leave his grasp, the scent of chloroform overpowering her until she became tired, falling unconscious and no longer moving. She hung limp in his arms, and the man threw her over his shoulder, his entire hand holding onto her waist as he made for Shownu's estate.
︻デ═一 ♥
"Let me out of here!" Haneul shouted toward the other side. She and Jooheon had come up with a plan to annoy Eunjae's men and when they were irritated just enough, they would come barging in, and Jooheon would take the opportunity to knock them out and find the others. "You can't do this to me! Open the door, I said!"
"Aw, shut the hell up, you stupid bitch!" The man on the other growled, kicking the door with his shoe. "Or else!"
"Or else what?!" Haneul challenged him, a smile playing on her face when she looked at Jooheon, who was leaning beside the door, stifling his laughter and giving her a nod. "You'll beat me?! You'll teach me a lesson?! You don't have the guts! Now, get me out of here this instant!"
"Aish!" He cursed, unlocking the door and stomping into the room, towering over her. "I think it's time I shut you up."
He made to pin her down onto the bed with brute force, but Jooheon didn't hesitate. He grabbed onto the man and knocked him out unconscious, and he fell the their feet with a soft moan. Haneul released, fixing her coat and giving the older male a smile, "Thanks for that."
"No problem," he chuckled, kneeling before him and grabbing the man's gun, tucking it inside his jacket. "Now, let's find the others and get to Jiyoung."
Meanwhile, in the other room, Sehun was pacing, his usual patience wearing thin at this point, but then he heard footsteps approaching the front door, prompting Shownu and Hyungwon to raise their heads. Without hesitation, Sehun took out his gun, pointing it toward the door, ready to shoot.
"Um! Sehun!" Haneul had called out from the other side. "It's me! I'm getting you out of here!"
"Neullie?!" He choked, tucking his gun back into his jacket quickly lest he make the mistake in shooting her instead. She unlocked the door, greeting him with a sheepish smile.
"Annyeong," she waved.
"Oh, thank God!" Hyungwon exclaimed standing up. "I thought we were going to be stuck here forever."
Shownu laid eyes on the girl, his expression softening when he took in her sweet face. She looked very innocent, almost otherworldly compared to the darkness he lived in. It was no wonder the EXO Clan had to protect her. "She's... so cute!" He remarked.
"Are you okay?" Sehun approached her, his expression filled with concern as he looked her over. "They didn't hurt you, did they?!"
"I'm okay, truly," she assured him. "I had some help."
Jooheon has come into the room, and leaning against him was another muscular male, his hair was a silvery white and wavy, and he had a wide chest, big biceps and abs that could be seen through his fitted black t-shirt. He had big eyes, full lips, a tall nose, and an angular facial structure. "Hyung," Jooheon looked toward Shownu. "I got Wonho. He's okay."
"Took a beating but I'll live," Wonho chuckled tiredly.
With a single nod, Shownu turned toward Hyungwon, giving him his next set of orders, "Take Wonho to a safe place. We can't risk him getting hurt with his injury."
"Right," he replied, walking toward Jooheon and taking Wonho from him, helping him walk out into the hallway, leaving only the four of them in the room.
"There's something you should know," Ha-Neul said to Sehun and Shownu. "That girl I ran into before—Jiyoung—she is in danger. Eunjae is going to kill her if we don't do something."
"Then we'll get her to safety," The eldest male assured her. "If she plans on killing her, she'll bring her back here."
Suddenly, a phone went off in the room. It belonged to Jooheon, and he pulled it out of his pocket to check who was calling him. Instead, he was greeted with a FaceTime call, and the number belonged to Eunjae. "It's her."
"Turn it on," Sehun urged. "Let's see what she wants."
The younger male nodded, accepting the call, and he was greeted with the woman's devious smirk. "I was wondering when you were going to answer!" She cackled. "Well, now look what happened because the Cho heiress decided not to listen to me!"
"What did you do to Jiyoung?!" He asked, and Eun-jae rolled his eyes.
"You know I haven't speaking yet," she groaned with frustration. "The point is, if little Haneul doesn't make up her mind and work by my side, I'll take your territory. Besides, I really need it anyway since my drug imports are so important to me."
"Dammit, just tell me where she is!" Jooheon yelled, and Eunjae released a heavy sigh.
"Oh alright. Fine, since you're so impatient," she turned the phone, and he realized just where she was. It was the pool behind the house, and seated on its floor was Jiyoung, bound at her ankles and wrists, gagged, and blindfolded, tears trailing down her cheeks as she quivered with fear. "Say hello to Jiyoung... I didn't take you for a pedophile, Jooheon... you must be so desperate to—"
"Fuck, I'm going to end you!" He threatened, and she clicked her tongue.
"I didn't even get to the fun part yet," she sang, and then, slowly but surely, water was filling the pool. "If you don't surrender your territory, and if Cho Haneul doesn't join me, I will make sure the water fills the pool faster, and poor little Jiyoung will be sleeping with the fishes. You better act quickly. Don't keep me waiting."
The video call ended, and Jooheon's grip on his phone was so tight, one would think it was ready to break in half in his hands. To see that little girl in danger angered him beyond belief. It was like watching a younger sibling who was in grave danger, and even though the last thing Jooheon wanted was to give in, he had no choice. "Her safety is more important. We can't let her die. He's father will be devastated."
"You're right," Shownu agreed with him. "I'll give up our territory as well. "Nothing is more important than her life."
"What if you don't have to?" Haneul asked them. "Maybe we can turn the tables on them."
"Like trick them?" Sehun faced her, his expression stern. "No, Neullie. We're not doing that. I can't put you in any more danger."
"But if she gets a hold of the ports for her drugs, then people will get sick," she argued. "Come on. You have this territory, and I don't know what their imports are—"
"—Seafood." Shownu answered.
"Seafood—" the brunette parroted. "And Jeju Island is known for that. We can still save Jiyoung and you can still keep your territory."
"If you have a plan, I'm ready for anything," Jooheon said and Sehun protested gently.
"I'm still very against this."
"I know," Handul smiled up at him. "But for saving a child, this is worth the risk."
︻デ═一 ♥
Eunjae waited for them to arrive, her eyes set on the pool as it was slowly being filled with water, and Jiyoung couldn't do anything but sob silently, praying that someone would come and help her.
The doors opened, and Jooheon stepped by the poolside, ready dive and take the girl away from any danger, but he remembered Haneul's plan.
"I see you've made it. That was quick," Eunjae remarked, looking between the four of them. "So? What do you say? Will you give me your territory and will you join me, Haneul? Imagine what you could accomplish with me as your partner! Your very name instills fear into the hearts of men!"
Haneul looked toward Shownu, who gave her a single nod, and she looked over her shoulder, eyes resting on Sehun, and he was ready for anything. Taking a step forward, the brunette got on her knees and bowed, "I'll join you..."
Shownu was next to get on his knees, bowing before the woman, "And I will forfeit MONSTA X's territory. Just please... let the girl live."
Eunjae looked between them for a moment, wondering if this was some sort of trap, but with a huff, she walked toward the pool and glanced at Jiyoung, who grew increasingly scared now that the water was above her ankles. "Thank you for making the right decision," she said, her smirk beginning to fade. "But I'm afraid I'll have to decline."
This time, she released more water, and it was rising quickly, and the older woman released her henchmen to fight against the others, distracting them from attempting to save the little girl.
Sehun didn't take out his gun yet, deciding to use it as a last resort as he fought with the two males, and Jooheon did the same, glancing toward the pool to try and get Jiyoung out, but they wouldn't let him anywhere near her.
Haneul decided to take it upon herself, running toward the pool, and pushing aside one of Eun-jae's men with whatever strength she had once he blocked her, stumbling and watching her dive into the water, where Jiyoung was now underwater.
"Ah, what a pain in the ass she is," the older woman rolled her eyes, walking toward the edge of the pool, watching her swim to the surface and grab onto the girl.
Haneul emerged from the water, gasping for air, taking off the blindfold and gag, freeing Jiyoung from her restraints and getting her to safety. "Go, hurry!" The brunette said, and she little girl climbed out.
"Jooheon oppa!" She ran toward him after he had finished dealing with his opponent, and the male knelt and opened his arms, hugging her close and listening to her sob, stroking her wet hair.
"It's alright. Everything is going to be okay," he assured her.
Haneul proceeded to leave the pool, shuddering from the cold she felt, but Eunjae stood above her, her expression livid, kneeling before her and pushing the younger woman back into the water, her hand on her head. Under the surface, Ha-Neul struggled to push away her hand, flailing as water had begun to fill her lungs.
"Die already!" Eunjae hissed. "If you won't help me, you're better off dead!"
"Let her go!" Sehun shouted, raising his gun and shooting the woman's shoulder. Eunjae cried out, the bullet lodged in her shoulder, burning off her skin as she bled out, but her pained reaction made her pull away, falling onto the ground and writhing.
Sehun dove into the water, grabbing onto Haneul and safely getting her out of the pool, but she wasn't moving. He laid her down, eyes wide as he brought his hands to her chest, proceeding to do CPR. "Come on, Neullie! Come back to me!" He pleaded, opening her mouth, and pressing his lips against hers without much thought, breathing into her before going back to pumping her chest. "Don't do this to me! You have to come back!" There was desperation in his voice, breathing into her again, pressing his lips to her once again.
If he failed now, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself. He promised Suho he would protect her and he didn't want her to end up dying because he pulled her into the fight. Guilt, regret, and anger stirred within his chest, and Sehun tried once more, praying she would regain consciousness, and she did.
Haneul began to cough and sputter, sitting up and breathing for air, and Sehun breathed in relief. "You're okay," he brought her into his arms, hugging her tightly, and she remained still, his body so warm she was no longer shivering.
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hashbrownswift · 5 years
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by Hazel Cills ~ Contributor ~ POP/R&B
19 August 2019
When Taylor Swift moved to Nashville as a teenager with hopes of becoming a country star, she faced an uphill battle. “Basically, all the record companies went, ‘Ah, how cute. She’s just a little kid,’” Swift said in 2008. “They also said, ‘Give up your dreams. Go home and come back when you're 18.’” “I would feel like they were deleting me from their Blackberrys as I was telling them,” Scott Borchetta, president of her label Big Machine, told The New York Times of the Nashville industry’s reaction to signing Swift. She never wanted her age to be “the headline,” or a number that screamed to writers and producers that she was just a starry-eyed hobbyist making music in her bedroom.
On her self-titled debut, Swift established herself as a precocious storyteller who could write love songs vague and ageless enough that anyone might find herself in them, perhaps to prove to Nashville that a teen could do it. Her second album, Fearless, is a rebuke to that approach, with Swift bringing listeners straight to the dreaded football-game bleachers and mean-girl maze of high school. She took her teen self seriously and demanded others do the same, navigating the cloying innocence of a girl who simultaneously experiences relationships like a dog-eared Nicholas Sparks novel and also has the wisdom to know that not all kisses end in a rainstorm.
Fearless straddles the line between country and pop, clinging really only to Swift’s faint, faux-country accent which magically materialized at some point between her hometown of Wyomissing, Pennsylvania and Nashville, and a few bits of fiddle and banjo that flicker in and out of the record. “I write as life happens to me,” Swift told Rolling Stone in 2010 and on Fearless it’s clear she’s dead serious; a day before she had to turn the album in, she begged Borchetta to add the track “Forever & Always,” a break-up song inspired by the pop singer Joe Jonas. The songs are diaristic not just in their images of fairytale romance and frustrated heartbreak, but in how Swift writes her lyrics like mini-stories with wordy, narrative structures. On “Love Story,” she rips from the play I’d assume is burned into every average American high-schooler’s brain, Romeo and Juliet, for a tongue-twister of a chorus (“And I said, Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone…”) She sounds almost breathless by its end. She likes to give a play-by-play, stacking minute summaries of a moment on top of each other like she’s story-boarding the perfect montage out of an indelible memory. “And I stare at the phone, he still hasn’t called/And then you feel so low/You can’t feel nothing at all,” she rattles off on “Forever & Always.”
Prior to and after Fearless, there was a conversation in the press about whether Swift could actually sing, especially as she was still considered an underdog in a genre where her peers were vocal powerhouses like Carrie Underwood and Miranda Lambert. On “Change,” the album’s blow-out finale, her voice loud and guttural in the mix, she proves the skeptics (or as she would say, haters) wrong. But Swift’s talky-delivery and conversational songwriting style—a mixture of personal intimacy and outright fantasy—sounds original and deliberate. With their dramatic arcs and plot twists, these songs often sound like Swift is quite literally speaking as she would to her subject, high off the adrenaline rush of a blindsiding breakup or meeting her new Prince Charming. “When I sit down and write a song, the only person that I'm thinking about in that room is the person that I'm writing the song about,” Swift told Marie Claire in 2009. “And what I want them to know and what I wish I could tell them to their face, but I'm going to say it in a song instead.”
She serves straight Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul with “Fifteen,” half guardian angel and half alarming guidance counselor to high school freshmen everywhere, reminding them there’s so much they don’t know yet, and name-checking her real-life best friend Abigail. At times, the extreme specificity can feel like a misstep, with the album suddenly taking on the dated air of a copy of Swift’s yearbook we’re somehow privy to. Such is the case with “Hey Stephen,” a twee, passed-in-class love note of a song that could be a brother to Plain White T’s “Hey There Delilah.”
What’s remarkable here is Swift’s earnest sweetness. In the years following, she would become a master at biting songs about exes, from “Dear John” to “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.” There’s little to none of that vengefully confessional sentiment on Fearless. The closest she gets is when she calls Jonas a “scared little boy,” on “Forever & Always,” but even that insult, so wholesome, is still understandably tepid for a young woman wading through the minefield that is her first series of serious relationships. The best songs come when her writing is wielded with knife-like precision, revealing feelings with each cut rather than glamorizing the teen tropes of hanging by the telephone or yearning for crushes.
It’s the fantasies that truly define Fearless; dancing in a storm in your “best dress,” a love that feels like a roller-coaster. While the teen pop stars of the early-aughts like Christina Aguilera or Britney Spears had their highly erotic, sensational hits written by Swedish pop masterminds, there was something novel about Swift being a teenager and writing about her reality in her own terms coming into that same mainstream space, redefining what “teen pop” could sound like in the process. But despite the fact that Swift was drawing from her real life on Fearless, the album speaks less to the actual reality of a teen girl than to a teen girl’s imaginative desires, desires which, for Swift, are remarkably pure.
In 2008, teen pop culture was bending to influences of chastity. Swift’s Disney peers like Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers helped popularize purity rings and one of the biggest YA series and its movie adaptation, Twilight, implicitly preached the virginal values of its Mormon creator. “Love Story,” which culminates in being told to pick out a “white dress” for a wedding, or “Fifteen,” which mourns the fact that her friend Abigail gave “everything she had to a boy,” hit hard with this same audience. Their clean, plucky country-lite production cut through the colorful pop of artists like Lady Gaga and Beyoncé on the radio. As much as Swift was hailed for her ownership over her own image and voice, what she was serving to teen girls was still squeaky clean and parent-approved.
On Fearless, Swift also cultivated an underdog, misunderstood voice with songs like “You Belong With Me” and “The Best Day” that would, surprisingly, continue to haunt her music well into adulthood. “They don't like what I stand for,” Swift said of her classmates in 2008. “They don't like somebody who stands for being sober, who stands for anything happy.” Even the clunky refrain of “You Belong With Me” (“She wears short skirts, I wear t-shirts/She’s cheer captain, and I’m on the bleachers”) became ripe for parody in later years, a testament to how meaningless any of those signifiers are now. Yet the simplicity of that refrain was the clearest window into Swift’s potential as a mainstream pop songwriter. The explicit modesty of these songs may be fixed in 2008, but the songs nonetheless stick with you; Swift’s great remake of “Love Story” in slick 1989-era production is proof of its timelessness.
Fearless remains not only Swift’s best-selling album, but her breakthrough into the pop charts, a world which would soon become her permanent home (or a permanent cage, depending on how you respond to her recent material). It was also the last time Swift was simply seen as an artist restless with promise and lived-in inspiration who was deemed a “savant” and a “prodigy” by critics before being saddled with the mark of a tabloid celebrity as well. No moment solidified this more than when Swift was called to the 2009 VMAs stage to accept the “Best Female Video” award for “You Belong With Me,” beating Beyoncé and prompting Kanye West to storm the stage and proclaim Beyoncé’s video better. “I like the lyrics about being a cheerleader and she’s in the bleachers!” West wrote later in an apology.
In Fearless, Swift captures and bottles a girlish sense of romantic excitement and suburban anguish that is all too fleeting, before real adulthood and the depths of the world’s cruelty actually hit her. For the rest of her career, she would uncork this nostalgia like champagne and pour it over her pop mega-hits. “This ain't Hollywood, this is a small town,” she sings, as if to remind herself that she’s still just the teen girl next door, a country singer with dreams of a bigger stage. In that all too brief moment, she was right.
(link)
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anyways-wonderwall · 3 years
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Album of the Week #12
Face to Face
(1966)
By The Kinks
Overall Rating: 7/10
TL;DR: Perfect example of 1960s British rock with a few experimental pieces that make the album even better.
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The Kinks was always one of those bands that I had seen so much about my whole life but never really listened to. Sure I know almost all the words to "Lola" and "Sunny Afternoon", but doesn't everyone? Anyways, I figured I would finally get around to listening to something of theirs, so why not go with what is seen as one of their best.
(Oh and as a general rule I don't review any songs that are only found on deluxe editions, so I may not mention a few songs that are usually on this album)
General Thoughts
Okay look, I know that you really shouldn't base a review on comparing one artist to another, but holy crap did this album just scream The Beatles to me.
I swear that I can offer valid reasoning for this! Early Beatles songs have super distinct characteristics that almost all of these songs hit too: young lyrics, frantic drum set, slightly off harmonies, tinny electric guitar, simple song layout, and no breaks. Now I am not implying in the slightest that The Kinks copied anybody, the two bands were within 100 miles of each other and the same age. I would be surprised if they didn't sound the same.
So here's the thing, I can see why people love this album for the same reason that people love early Beatles songs. They make you feel young and carefree, they have a beat that makes you want to dance, and they're just a fun time. I love these songs, but only a few of them. I feel like it has to be done just perfectly for me to love it and want to keep listening. The Kinks hit that perfect mix at some points but most of the time it blurred together.
Now one thing that The Kinks did that the Beatles were to cowardly to do was add the harpsicord to their songs. And I mean A LOT of their songs. I remember being confused when I saw "baroque rock" on their wikipedia page but once "Rosie Won't You Please Come Home" came on things made sense. Most of the time the harpsicord added a fun little twist to songs but sometimes it was too high pitched and violent for my ears.
While there were a lot that fit the perfect skiffle mold ("Party Line", "Session Man", "House in the Country", "You're Looking Fine"), some went in a different direction and those ended up being my favorite in the album. "Too Much on My Mind" is the only other song on the album I had heard beforehand, and it's amazing. The acoustic works so well with the almost desperate voice, giving the song a haunting quality. The harpsicord works perfectly here making the dreamlike feel even more otherworldly.
"Rainy Day in June" is my hidden gem of the album, as a perfect example of atmosphere building. The storm/rain sounds and harmonies calm you while a droning bass note keeps you on edge the whole time. You want to relax but you can't something about the song keeps your attention. It is a cool and well written song through and through and wonderfully unique.
Now onto the song we all know and love-- "Sunny Afternoon". This song is easily the best off of the album and 100% deserves all the attention it's gotten. I could listen to this song every day for the rest of my life and not get sick of it. The singer has such a level of aloofness that makes the song funny, mixed with weirdly happy instrumentals. The accordion and acoustic give it a folk vibe that really makes you feel like you're "lazing on a sunny afternoon". (fun fact: up until the moment of writing this paragraph I thought the song was called Sunday Afternoon. I feel so betrayed)
Final Verdict
If you like 60s rock or any early Beatles I would definitely recommend this album. It's solid with everything it does and is a really great example of British rock from the time. I'm not gonna spend money on it since I'm not the biggest fan of this type of rock, but it's going on quite a few playlists.
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