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carolmunson · 10 months

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love language six

love language set list another sunday another sun-slay -- ft. dad!eddie and flashback child!eddie love language blurbies are back in action -- again, these are just vingettes into a relationship with eddie no chronological timeline, no story -- just mini moments. this is longer than my other love language blurbs. reader discretion is advised: eighteen plus content. this blurb explores the concept of eddie being a child of abuse that sides with the abuser for his own safety and struggles with that as an adult. some content in this work may be uncomfortable to read, and if dv or abuse is triggering for you, i would not recommend reading it -- this work features rough language, references to abuse, abusive language, descriptions of abuse, and attempted domestic violence. the ending is not sad, i promise.

1971, Forest Hills Trailer Park sherri munson squats down in a shift dress with flowers that match the ones growing in the patch outside of the kiddie park. her sandals crease. the skin by her eyes has too. up all the time, just waiting. waiting for her boy to cry. waiting for her husband to come home. waiting for the cops to show up. she was gonna be a dancer one day. now she stays up and waits. now she just fights with her son about when it’s time to leave the park.

'well i don't have to listen to you anyway!' he whines, ripping his hand away from her with all his five year old body could muster. 'yes you do, eddie honey, i'm your mom,' she tries to laugh it off, but it comes out half-hearted. the other mothers at the park look at her, their eyes burn as hard as her husband hits.

'no you're not!' he yells, stomping while she takes his hand again. 'eddie, yes i am, i'm your mother, let's go,' she urges. he rips his hand away again and raises it the way her husband does when he's warning her.

'you're -- you're what daddy says you are, mommy,' he yells, tearing up in anger, not sure where to put it. she tries to reach for him but he brings his hand down to strike, only cutting through the air.

'baby, we just have to go home from the park, we can come back tomorrow,' she pleads.

'daddy's right, what he said to you this mornin’ -- you’re – you're a fuckin' idiot.' he sounds like like him, just smaller. she knows he doesn't know what he's saying, what that means. but it hurts the same way it hurt at breakfast when she spilled some coffee on the counter. maybe worse. she can't find it in herself to yell at him.

'that was a very mean thing to say to mommy, ed,' she mutters, the balloon in her chest swelling and swelling, 'say you're sorry.'

'why should i? daddy never has to say sorry,' he shouts while she catches him by the hand again. the other mom's sizzling stares soften, perfectly plucked brows raising. she can almost hear their necks turn to give each other knowing glances.

'that's just how your daddy is, ed,' she sighs, watching him pout at her with big glassy brown eyes, 'let's go home, baby. i'll make you some chocolate milk with your lunch.'

that perks him up and he smiles, hand clasping in hers while the others watch them leave like a bad car wreck. she tries not to hear them whisper, she tries not to hear their words travel through the wind and blow through her hair, through her chest. it's not anything she hasn't heard before.

she’s doing dishes when ed's daddy and wayne come home from lake doing some fishing. wayne moved in next door after the first time alan put her in the hospital. eddie was too young to remember that part, old enough to remember that mrs. marsden let him have so many popsicles when he stayed with her that his tongue was blue for two days.

she focuses on the rush of the water and the ‘scratch, scratch, scratch’ of the sponge on a pan that never feels clean. she swallows while her husband's keys jingle in the door. her eyes watch the suds slide off the pan in a cloud, scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing -- maybe if she just stares down at the sink she’ll go right down the drain. then she won’t have to –

"hi honey," she says down to the counter next to the sink. eddie sits at the kitchenette table, nursing his glass of chocolate milk.“hi daddy,” he says quietly, big brown eyes follow his father’s every move – half scared, half enamored. big man. big angry man. never hits him, just hits mommy. so he must be good if that’s what happens. he must be so good.

"hm," he grunts, door slamming behind him. it doesn’t take long when he’s in one of his moods. he stalks down past the living room and into the bedroom to change out of his sticky clothes – summer heat making him slide like a snake back out to the kitchen. “house is a fuckin’ mess sherri,” he says. big man. big angry man. boa constrictor tight on her throat while she swallows. why can’t the drain just swallow her the same way?

scratch, scratch, scratch. scrub, scrub, scrub.

“you hear me sher? i said the house is a fuckin’ mess,” he bellows from the side of her. eddie covers his ears. big man, big angry man. big voice stained with fifteen years of cigarette smoke.

“yeah, i heard you al,” she says to the suds as they float down the drain. her heart aches. balloon in her chest pops.

“oh, you’re bein’ smart with me?” he asks, big angry hand reaching out to clutch her by the back of the neck. pulled out of the drain and into the wall, “you bein’ smart?”

she braces as her side hits the wall, she can smell the beer on him like white on rice. she wants to scream at wayne for letting him come into the trailer this drunk. “m’not being smart with you al,” she grits out. “yeah you ain’t smart, are you?” he taunts, hovering over her. big shoulders, big arms, big everything – big man. big strong man, “you know what you are?” she shakes her head no, eyes shutting tight – she can just float down the drain. “y’already forgot huh? damn sherri – you fuckin’ stupid? i told ya this morning,” he barks a laugh that sends heat down the back of her throat, her nose warms, the threat of tears warns her the way he does – always just on the line. “you’re a fuckin’ idiot,” he bites, “you lazy fuckin’ bitch.” “you gotta stop sayin’ that shit in front of ed, alan,” she says quietly, hair sticking to her face and neck. sweat and sticky. can’t keep fighting anymore kind of hot.

“oh how come?” he asks with fake concern, “he believin’ it? he cert’n’ly should.” he turns to eddie, with a flash in his eyes, “you think your mama’s a fuckin’ idiot, boy?” big strong man. big angry man. big boa constrictor with big snakey eyes. kaa’s hypnosis. “i asked you a question,” he seethes, his body close to turning completely. eddie sees the gold ring glint on his fist. “yessir,” he nods quickly, “y-yeah…that’s what mommy is.” “look how scared you got him, al!” she yells from the drain in her chest, “look how scared he is! look what you’re doin’ to him!” but he didn’t ask her to speak. eddie covers his ears again but it doesn’t block out the first three cracks of his daddy’s palm across her face. doesn’t block out the crunch of his knuckles on her cheek. he shuts his eyes like is mama always tells him, runs to the cupboard under the sink to hide. crack, crack, crunch. wail, crack, crunch, cry. cry, cry, yell, crack, yell, crack, crunch, cry, yell. eddie watches through the space in the doors like a movie he’s too young to watch. rated r. rated never. warm yellowed wallpaper and orangey wood staring back at him, his daddy’s fishing boots stomping into frame. a small smatter of blood on the scuffed linoleum tile. rated r, rated never. yell, yell, yell, choke, spit, cough, cough, yell. yell, yell, cry, yelp, cough, whimper, yell, cough. wayne’s voice cuts in the pattern. “i told ya alan, i’d shoot ya the next time i had to come in here.” whoop, whoop. the flashing lights eddie sees every few weeks glitter on the back wall of the kitchen where he can see through the space. glittering while the sun shines. he likes that. “nah, nah, you ain’t gonna run from ‘em this time al,” wayne says. eddie can’t see the scuffle. “she ain’t even fuckin’ concious.” she was gonna be a dancer one day. eddie stays in the cupboard. just for a little, even after his daddy takes a night in the clink. even after wayne says it’s okay to come out. even while his chocolate milk stands on the table untouched. he stays for a minute, while the world around him rumbles.

1997, Forest Hills Trailer Park

and the world sure does rumble sometimes. hazy afternoon had been smooth sailing for the most part -- pick bud up from summer rec camp, grocery run. chasing bud through the aisles while his laugh plays marco polo with yours. it's good to buy your five year old some chocolate when he behaves. it's good to watch him run around again when you get back home, hustling in the backyard in your new trailer with two bedrooms. letting him run through some sprinkler toy you saw at dollar tree a couple weeks ago before the weather got hot. covered in mud, soon enough, covered in clouds. you’re thankful he’s inside before the rain starts. down pour – the sky heavy with thick air and angry beatings to your tin roof. you slip off his shoes before he tracks mud in the house, you rinse off his hands before you get him changed into something more cozy that’ll make bedtime go a little easier. you start dinner after fixing him a snack and he muses about four square and kickball – you silently laugh when he tells you he got picked first for the teams. money’s tighter now. tighter than it was a couple years ago. a little too tight when you switched to part time to pick up bud from kindergarten and camp since wayne’s working day shifts now. wayne’s too old to be watching bud now anyway, bud’s all over the place. the tighter the money, the bigger the fights. but you both knew how to fight. masters of the ring, big booming cracks of lighting for tongues. always in bed dressed in pajamas and apologies. maybe less so now. maybe less apologies, less pajamas. speaking in bodies and sweat – soft rumbling i’m sorry, lemme show you. you don’t think either of you mean it like you used to. he can afford a nicer trailer for his son, but sometimes he doesn't know if he can afford to show him how to treat a woman. you swear it's progress, but he only hears the whir of the tape being rewound over and over again. every clipped word, every raise of his voice, every tense roll of his shoulders. boy turned big man. big big man.

you start the oven, slicing and dicing while he comes in the door – coveralls all covered in rain and motor oil. big boots on the linoleum, faint smell of beer on his breath. just one with the guys after the shop closed – that’s what he says anyway.

“hi honey,” you say, chop-chop-chopping at the green onion on the cutting board, “rain’s rough out there?”

“hm,” he replies, kicking his boots off next to bud’s sneakers. he sighs out of his nose, “s’mud all over the place here.”

“i know, i’m sorry, i forgot about it – i’ll get to it after dinner,” you say, hearing him make big steps over to his son, running a hand over his hair. just wanna avoid another back and forth – let him sleep off all that frustration – ease out the elastic in his shoulders that’s waiting to snap.

“you know,” he grumbles lowly, coming over to look at the mail on the counter next to you, “you’ve been gettin’ real forgetful lately.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask with a smile that can’t believe he’d say that. you put the knife down.

“why’d i get a call from the city today saying the water bill’s past due?” he asks, a darkness creeping into his voice that’s been turning his tongue to sludge, to whipping winds, cruel and unforgiving, “you tryna make me look bad? want people to think i can't pay the fuckin' bills?”

“i – shit i forgot to drop it off yesterday, i’m sorry hun,” you soothe, “i’ll bring it tomorrow, i wasn’t trying to make you look bad.”

“you can’t just forget this shit,” he says, voice rising, “we got –”

“mommy, can i have some more juice?” bud’s little voice leaks into the conversation like a dove floating by.

“yes, baby,” you say, getting the juice out of the fridge to refill his cup at the table.

“we got a kid at home,” ed repeats, "can't just have the water shuttin' off. what's wrong with you? take some responsibility."

“i understand that ed,” you reply, defensive edge sliding up in your voice like a razor, “i’m the one whose with him all day.”

he scoffs, grumbling, “yeah, you pick him up from camp – mother of the fuckin’ year. can’t even pay the bills on time with all my fuckin’ money.”

“watch your mouth,” your voice stern while you close up the juice. thunder rumbles overhead, the rain coming down in droves. two cracks of lightning who can’t let up.

“you don’t tell me what to do,” he glowers, “you don’t ever tell me what to do. i’m the man of this house, you hear me?”

“man of the house? you hear how you sound?” you ask, leaning forward on the table, “why don’t you go back to the garage and figure this attitude out, ed?”

“don’t run your mouth to me,” he growls, “don’t get fuckin’ smart with me.”

“watch. your. mouth.” you warn again. bud flinches when the thunder rumbles, he hates storms like this. drinks his juice anyway. “oh, so you are gettin’ smart with me?” eddie grimaces, bearing his teeth, nostrils flaring. he vibrates with the thunder outside. "well let me tell you something then, huh?!" he grits out, rounding the table with an outstretched hand to grab you, wrapping like a vine on your wrist. like a snake. you flinch when you see how fast he moves, when he reaches for you -- cracking like lightening, like a whip, cracking like your marriage this year. "wait, wait, i'm sorry!" your voice sounds breathy, worn down -- terrified. it doesn't sound like you at all. “god, you’re such a fuckin’ id–” your son drops his fork on the ground, clattering eddie back to clarity. your son's eyes match your husband's, they meet each other. your son just stares -- frozen on the spot. you stare too. you look at his hand around your wrist, the flex in his forearm, veins lifted and pulsing. big man. big strong man. big strong angry man. just like his daddy. the wind howls outside, huffs of breath out of your noses fill the room quietly.

"daddy?"

eddie straightens, looking at his hand tight on your wrist before letting it drop to his side. he swallows. looking at the both of you like he was mid crime scene. eddie blinks. looks at his son at the kitchen chair and then the cupboard under the kitchen sink. "i..." he starts, choking on the words, "i'm gonna go for a drive."

he stands for a second while you nod at him, eyes brimming with tears you aren’t sure will fall. rooted to your spot, you hold your breath when he leans in, hands reaching out much more gentle than before. he fills the space between you, still smelling like motor oil, rain, and musk. both of his calloused hands on your cheeks now – he kisses you.

"m’sorry,” he says, loud enough for your son to hear. he lets go only to turn around and take his son’s face in his hands and give him a kiss too.

“sorry, buddy,” he says softly, “daddy’ll be back before bedtime, okay?”

in five years, eddie has never missed one night of reading him a bedtime story. “okay,” your son smiles, earning himself another kiss on the top of his head and a ruffle of his hair before eddie grab his keys. the jingle of them rings in your chest while you watch him leave. your eyes linger on the storm door even while you listen to the car start, even while you hear it drive away. the rain doesn’t let up. you put dinner in a tupperware for him later. — you’re in the bathroom after a shower when he comes home, the door partially open in case bud needs you – cozied up in bed playing with dinosaurs in his room. you listen while eddie makes his way in to see him, padding down the hall in wet feet to not get caught. “hi buddy,” he says with a voice that had done nothing but cry, “how was dinner?” “was yummy,” your son says. you know bud’s looking up at him with glowing admiration. his daddy. he was his daddy’s boy. the bed creaks when eddie sits down. “i’m glad, kiddo,” he says, “i wanted to say sorry for how mean i was earlier. i was being really mean and that wasn’t nice.” “you were really mean to mommy,” buddy mumbles, “you made her cry.” you hear ed’s voice crack, “i know bud, i know i made mommy cry, and that’s not okay.” “and i’m not gonna yell at mommy anymore, and i’m sorry.” “mommy’s the best,” bud says, “but it’s okay to be angry sometimes, that’s what they say at camp. just count to three!” “daddy’s angry is a little different, bud,” he tries to explain, a little laugh coming through, “but i’ll try it next time, i’ll count to three.” “and take deep breaths,” bud explains. “and i’ll take deep breaths,” eddie says through sniffles, you can hear the soft smile in his voice. “and bud, i think we should make a big promise to each other, would that be okay?” he asks your son. big shiny baby brown eyes. eyes that get kissed by the moon. “mhm.” “let’s promise that we won’t ever yell at mommy, or call her any names, because that’s not nice,” eddie says softly, “that was really mean of daddy and mommy doesn’t deserve that. and i don’t want you to think that’s okay.” “okay, i promise,” bud’s voice leaks like a dove through the door. you hear a kiss pressed to his forehead while eddie stands up to grab the beat up copy of the hobbit next to bud’s bed. you’re in your pajamas in the bedroom by the time ed’s done putting your son to bed. he somes in quietly, looking you over post shower – beautiful bride, beautiful wife, so pretty like this. so pretty for him – big man. big strong man. big sorry man. “i owe you an apology,” he says softly. “yeah,” you say, cold cream soothing your hot skin like ice while you slather it on. eyes avoid him.

“m’so sorry, baby,” his face cracks like all the plates his daddy shattered, that you’ve shattered too, “that’s…that’s not me – i’d never – i never thought i’d–” "i know you wouldn't," you say quietly, knowingly. your eyes travel – how many slats are in the wood paneling of this room? "cause if you did --" you finally find it in you to look at him. "if you did, if you ever raised a hand to me or bud –” “i would never,” he urges, “i’d never–” “if you did,” you repeat, eye piercing him, “i would get in that car with your son and you would never see us again, do you understand me?” he nods, face blanching, tinged green at the thought. he could’ve lost you both. he could still lose you both. “bless her soul ed, but i’m not your momma,” you remind him, “m’not gonna stick around for a man who thinks i’m a punching bag.” he nods again, quiet, tongue thick when he talks. “i’m so sorry, baby i’ll – i’m gonna do better,” he sounds like he means it, “i’ve just..things are so hard right now. i’m trying.” “try a little harder,” you say softly. “i will,” he says, wiping his eyes while they brim with tears as wet at outside. “i love you,” you start, “but i think you should go stay at wayne’s tonight.” his lower lip quivers, “o-okay. i – um – i love you, t-too.” he packs some clothes for the night and tomorrow even though wayne’s just three trailers down. his heart sinks when he realizes he’ll have to explain. just like his daddy. big strong man. snake eyes. snake eyes gone soft. big sorry man. big sorry eyes. kissed by the moon. kissed by you. “i’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow, okay?” you say gently after his full warm lips break from yours, “just think you need some time alone tonight.” he nods against you, eyes closed. lips brush again. he leaves and you listen to the storm door close with a rattle. the world rumbles. so does he. but he’s gonna be better.

#love language em #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #dad!eddie #dad!eddie munson #stranger things fan fiction #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie x reader

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unholycringebirther · 1 year

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Would wear a crab costume to attract your Yandere mate?

YANDERE MEN X GN!CRAB SUIT!READER [FANFICTION/DRABBLES]

SUMMARY: I hate how you say that as if there is another way, what have y’all been doing??

WARNINGS: CRAB, HORNY THOUGHTS, MINORS DNI

CHARACTERS: SUNNY DAY JACK, ALAN ORION AND JOHN DOE.

[A/N: I wrote this at literally (not even being dramatic) 3:22 AM so don’t be expecting too much quality 😀 I could’ve re-written it, but I’m in writers block and I’m not spending any longer on a post this kinky]

[PROLOGUE]

I slipped on the cursed onesie, the soft fabric sliding against my skin surprisingly smoothly.

When I turn to look at myself in the bathroom mirror, my lips twitch in the stomach-hurting way I hold back my laughter at the sight infront of me, not that I don’t look incredible, it’s just the cherry red fabric of the crab suit doesn’t cut the most flattering look with its shapeless form.

With a grin, I hold up the claw mitts that my hands press into, taking a moment to admire myself.

It was the score of the century, and I didn’t even buy it myself, an old friend was cleaning out her garage and I’d offered my help, aiming to catch up with her while we sorted, and then this masterpiece pulled itself out of the wreckage like a diamond in the rough.

We fooled around with it for more than a few moments, and at the end of the day, when we were both sweaty and still chuckling, she asked if I wanted to take it home.

Of course I said yes, who do you think I am? Oh right, I’m you.

And now, here I stand, dawning the crab onesie while posing theatrically, my face almost splitting at the force of my grin, my hands making puppets as I shift the fabric to make pinching motions.

Distracted, I almost jump out of my skin when I hear the fridge door close, and that jogs my memory enough to turn that large indulgent grin more mischievous, and perhaps a tad curious.

My boyfriend was home, and here I was, dressed as a crab, it’s pretty much fate.

[SUNNY DAY JACK]

I open the door, all of my teeth bared in the smile I wear.

Jack’s in the kitchen, and judging by the alluring smell of pancakes and the sizzle of the frying pan, I can easily guess what he’s doing, which means he’s probably distracted.

I keep my footsteps light to avoid alerting him of my presence, there he stands, unassuming and whistling a cheery kids tune, I flash a campy villain face before launching forwards.

I wrap my arms around him waist, shouting slightly as I hold his firm body against mine, he jerks slightly before whipping his head around.

The smile he gives me is one of a man happy to see me, but hasn’t fully taken my glorious fit in yet.

I can see it in his dark, dark brown eyes when he finally realises, and he starts laughing, confused but cheerful, “Sunshine? What’re you wearing?” He shifts around until he’s facing me, taking in the obnoxiously red outfit.

“What do you mean, Jack?” I feign naivety, before pretending to notice and look down at my outfit, the ridiculously oversized onesie threatening to break my character and make me laugh, “Do you not like it?”

He laughs again, tipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut, “No, no.” He starts, simmering down his laugh until it’s a giggle in his voice, “You look very nice, sunspot!”

“Where did you, uh, where’d you get this?” He plucks gently at the sleeve, and his voice goes high as he struggles to choke down more laughter.

“Why, Only the finest clothing place on this earth!” I put on a snooty voice, pretending to be one of those rich white women on the shows playing late at night, “My friends garage.”

Something changes in his eyes at the last comment, but it’s gone before I can place it.

“Ah, is that clean?” He looks a little concerned now, humor still plagues his eyes and voice but it melts slightly as he inspects the costume a little more diligently, “Friends shouldn’t give each other things that could be dangerous for your health, sunshine!”

I did wash it, but now that he puts it like that, I don’t know how long the onesie has been rotting in that box, and I look down at my red arms to inspect a little more for myself.

“I don’t doubt you tried to clean it, sunspot,” he tuts, but the disappointment in his eyes aren’t aimed towards me, “I think it’s great to give your friends gifts, and they don’t have to be brand new, but I don’t think it’s very nice to repay all your hard work helping them clean with a dirty onesie that could be very dangerous for your health!”

I squirm slightly, the image of years worth of germs crawling all over the fabric that’s currently on my body, he’s right, that IS kind of gross.

But it isn’t as gross as the smell of burnt pancake mix, Jack turns around to fuss over the burning liquid with a few apologies thrown over his shoulder while I turn to go change, intent in throwing out the gift.

Then a thought hits me, how did he know we were cleaning? Maybe I told him and just didn’t remember, though I really don’t think I did.

Whatever, it doesn’t really matter.

[ALAN ORION]

Alan’s been staying over more than usual lately, it’s time he discovers what I do here all day.

I stomp out of my room like a pleased goblin, the fabric rustling as I shuffle towards the living room where Alan is seated on the couch, staring fixedly at the T.V as a rebooted version of an old clown show is currently broadcasting.

“Ohhh Alannnn!~” I call out in a singsong voice, and I can see him perk up at the sound before turning his head, “How do I look?!”

He stares for a moment, those black and white eyes taking in the sight for a few beats, and I can barely wrangle back my laughter as I can practically see the rusted gears turning in his head.

“Ah,” He finally seems to regain himself, and he smiles a adorably confused smile, “You look great, doe-eyes!”

And the worst part? He seems to be telling the truth, he’s always supported whatever I’ve chosen to wear, growling off any perverted eyes if it happens to be more risqué than normal, he really doesn’t like anybody else looking.

And now here he is, faced with the most provocative outfit of all, a giant crab onesie curtesy of my friends garage.

I can’t hold back my chuckle any longer, the constant twitch of my lips giving way to a bright, giggly smile.

He gets up, walking over to me and pulling me to his chest, kissing my cheek before looking down again, the hesitation in his voice letting me know he’s still completely lost, “Y-You look very pretty in red!”

My laughter gets caught in my throat, and I lean in to kiss him on the lips, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, tipping my head down into his neck to hide my smile when the giant, obnoxious claws brush his neck.

He keeps adjusting his arms, clearly trying to situate himself comfortably against the cotton-filled add ons of the crab legs that are situated on my sides.

Clearly, as he pressed kisses into my neck, most likely soon to be bites, the crab seduction has worked.

[JOHN DOE]

Most partners get lingerie to surprise their partner, and now, I’m one of them.

I shuffle out of my room, laughter escaping me in peels as I run down the hallway, into the trippy abyss of the kitchen where my boyfriend sat, raw chicken molded into a hotdog in-front of him.

I open my mouth to question him about the odd choice of food, momentarily forgetting about the outfit, and about why he looks like he was about to dip in in gravy when his comically large eyes widen.

Hearts burn in his eyes, literally, those small black pupils shifting and melting into hot red hearts.

“Dearest!” His voice sounds excited, and I can feel the air change, sweetening almost, and he immediately drops his wheat bread chicken-dog into the pot of gravy, rushing over to embrace me, “You look great!”

He nuzzled into my neck, and my face almost gets consumed by his messy black hair that almost seems to move towards me like a magnetic pull, kissing and nibbling against the exposed skin.

Laughing, I can feel the shape of his wide grin against my shoulder until he pulls back slightly, to look down at me, almost purring at the sight of my crab fit.

His hands roam all along my back, constantly brushing against the plush legs sewn onto the onesie.

He’s staring, he always stares, those heart-pupils never leaving you for a second as he feels around the costume, the symbol on his shirt melting and changing from a heart to a smiley face in a almost dream like way.

If you’re wondering what happens next, it’s all kid friendly hugs and nothing else :-)

#sunnydayjack #sdj #somethings wrong with sunny day jack #swwsdj #sunny day jack #john doe #john doe horror game #john doe game #john doe x reader #john doe x you #mdhm alan #mdhm game #mdhm #my dear hatchet man #alan orion #alan x reader #alan orion x reader

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idontknowreallywhy · 7 months

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Got myself in a cycle of stress editing / rewriting particular piece which will not go the way I want. So I abandoned it for now and challenged myself to just write a one-off scene that has lived in my head for a long time with no going back and editing or adjusting but just a linear splurge of words and silliness.

It’s entirely ridiculous but here it is anyway (with an affectionate nudge to @crunchyluigi @obeyweegee214 @galaxytransman)

It’s a Secret No-One Knows

6pm on Tracy island and all was quiet as Scott made his way up the stairs into the lounge.

Virgil, Gordon and Alan were still in the air on the way back from a tricky mine rescue in Northern Europe. He was grateful that success had been confirmed on comms as he’d been on the point of ignoring John’s pointed comments about flight hours and heading north.

He’d have been there with them of course if, when the call came in, he and One hadn’t already been plucking panicking, inexperienced climbers off of one of his favourite crags in the Blue Mountains. His nimble ship was always the most suited to such environments and frankly he could have done it in his sleep.

Oh, but it was such a waste of his time and fuel! Enough awful disasters happened around the world every day without people putting themselves into danger because they were more focussed on researching what shots they wanted for their vlog than on the rating of the climb they were undertaking. The names the Aussies had assigned to each route didn’t exactly help - the latest gaggle of idiots had got half way up “Does my Bum Look Big On This?” wearing entirely inappropriate shorts for the weather and got themselves tangled in each others’ safety lines while trying to take selfies from a distinctly unorthodox angle. It had taken every last ounce of self-restraint he had not to accidentally drop their phones into the ravine.

And the next one to use the word ‘gnarly’ was going to experience an Incident with the passenger loading bay door.

Over the ocean.

At Mach 19.

When had young people got so ridiculous?

And when had he stopped being one? He sighed and dragged his hands down his face. Damn, he really was getting old and grumpy.

And probably hangry, now he thought about it. Well that was fixable even if the inexorable march towards irrelevant middle age was not. He made a beeline for the fridge and found himself uninspired by the array of pre-prepared high calorie low effort snacks they usually favoured post mission. He craved something… nutritious…

Ignoring the imagined old-man mockery of the younger brothers who resided in his brain, he pulled out every fresh ingredient they had in stock: Eggs, bacon, sausages, three types of cheese, peppers, spring onions, basil… ah Ha! He knew exactly what this was going to be. A quick rummage in the larder turned up a bag of potatoes and he hefted it over his shoulder, flicking the switch on grandma’s ancient radio as he went past.

Ooh, ‘Happy 90s Hour’ was starting. One of his guilty pleasures as a teenager in the early 50s…

The repetitive peeling and dicing task combined with the irrepressibly cheery pop bangers slowly eased the knot of grouchiness in his chest. By the time he scooped the mountain of potato cubes into the dustbin-lid sized frying pan he was singing along with both halves of the Barbie Girl duet. A pleasing sizzling ensued and he grinned to himself. This was going to be epic. A little prodding with the spatula to cook them evenly then he turned the heat down and did a little slide sideways to fetch the meat and a shuffle and a hop back to add them to the pan.

As John popped up on the kitchen comm, his big brother was too busy volta-ing through the kitchen with a cheese grater to notice. Because you can’t just walk across a room when Ricky Martin is playing. John’s quizzical single eyebrow was rapidly joined by its twin as he spotted the pan on the stove… he cut the connection and leapt into the elevator, sending a message to Virgil to put his proverbial foot down.

Frittata Night was not to be trifled with.

And so it was that all four younger brothers took the elevator up from the hangar together and arrived in a state of some excitement for the culinary experience that awaited them.

As the door opened however Virgil threw out his arms to prevent them piling out. The chatter stopped immediately as they peered round the wall of brother to spy their eldest dancing to and fro at the stove and belting out the words to some ancient pop song:

So hold on to the ones who care

In the end they’ll be the only ones there

When you get old and start losing your hair

Can you tell me who will still caaaaare?

As the chorus dropped so did the jaws of Alan and Gordon for who knew their biggest brother could move his hips like that? And why was he waving the spatula that way? Alan looked wide eyed to John and pointed with a shaking hand as if to ensure his space brother was seeing the same thing he was. John, didn’t acknowledge him, instead staring straight ahead, tapping a finger on the doorframe in time with the beat. Gordon turned to Virgil unable to verbalise beyond “bu.. bu… bu…” only to find his tank of a brother smiling broadly and… his jaw dislocated further… also swaying his hips in time.

Then he was gone.

… And so was John!

Both of them jigging across the floor to join their brother in an honest to goodness dance routine while the three of them sang nonsense words. Alan lost control of his knees and collapsed cross-legged to the floor. Gordon desperately tried to grab his phone to record the moment but fumbled and dropped it down the back of the couch. And then it was over.

And there was frittata.

And if the Tinies were unusually quiet during the meal, the elder three didn’t notice as each treasured the memories of their little dance trio ‘performing’ for their biggest fan. While eating her signature dish.

Fin.

*****

You want the dance routine? Course not… but here is is anyway (Scott starts singing at about 0:40, chorus and excellent hip action kick in at about 0:52)

Edit to add: Weirdly specific note because the precise image is apparently super important to me (clearly been sucked in by the child watching Strictly) and because I forgot there are two types of Volta… this is the move I mean - the samba one (skip to 1:44 of the video and it’s just a few seconds).

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #alan tracy #thunderfluff #ridiculousness #90s music #frittata #probably nobody ever made a song fic of this one before #probably for good reason #earworm warning #idontknowreallywhy fanfic

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muiitoloko · 2 months

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I love your Alan Rickman fics! but sometimes i just insert myself as the masc one cuz im a boy... would you.. maybe make a Male reader pov? cuz i feel so left out with the fanfics (And please Eamon de Valera?? or Phil Allen)

Title: Styled with Love

Summary: You and Phil have fun.

Pairing: Phil Allen × Male! Reader

Warnings: none

Author's Notes: Thank you very much for your request! I hope you like it, this is the first time I write about Phil. (And oh, I wrote this with a male reader in mind, but you can read it as a gender-neutral reader too.)

"Are you sure about that shirt, darling?" Phil's voice floated from the other room, his tone laced with playful skepticism.

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of the shirt you had chosen for your day out with Phil. It was supposed to be a simple outing, just the two of you enjoying each other's company, but Phil seemed determined to make it difficult.

You rolled your eyes, knowing this routine all too well. "Yes, Phil, I'm sure. It looks fine."

But Phil appeared in the doorway, a mischievous grin on his face as he scrutinized your outfit. "I don't know, love. It's a bit... bland, don't you think?"

You sighed, feeling amusement bubbling up within you. "Phil, we've been through this. I like this shirt. Can we please just go?"

But Phil shook his head, still wearing that cheeky grin. "I'm sorry, darling, but I can't let you go out looking like that. It's simply not up to my standards."

You groaned inwardly, knowing there was no point in arguing with him. Phil had always been particular about fashion, even more so now that he was no longer in the hairdressing business. He seemed to take great pleasure in teasing you about your wardrobe choices, always insisting on making last-minute adjustments.

With a resigned chuckle, you headed back to your closet, searching for another outfit that might meet Phil's approval. As you changed, you couldn't help but chuckle to yourself, realizing that maybe Phil just wanted an excuse to play fashion critic.

"Alright, how about this?" you asked, stepping back into the room in a different shirt, hoping this one would pass muster.

Phil's eyes lit up with mock seriousness as he took in your appearance, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Now that's more like it," he declared dramatically, his voice filled with mock satisfaction. "You look absolutely stunning, my dear."

You grinned, feeling a sense of satisfaction at Phil's over-the-top approval. Despite his fussiness, you knew that his intentions were good, and you couldn't help but be amused by his antics.

"Thank you, Phil," you replied, your voice tinged with amusement. "I'm glad you approve."

And as you headed out together, hand in hand, you couldn't help but feel grateful for Phil's unique sense of humor and love. Despite his quirky ways, he was the one who made you laugh and feel special, and for that, you would always cherish him.

As you and Phil entered the diner, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air, enticing you both with the promise of a delicious meal. You settled into a cozy booth by the window, the morning sunlight streaming in to warm your skin as you perused the menu.

Lost in thought, you barely noticed when Phil nudged you, his voice low and urgent as he whispered, "Hey, love, check out the woman sitting at the table across from us. She's been eyeing you since we walked in."

You glanced up, catching the gaze of the woman in question as she quickly averted her eyes, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. You couldn't help but chuckle, a surge of confidence swelling within you as you turned back to the menu.

"Can you blame her?" you replied with a playful wink, your tone light and teasing. "I mean, look at me. I'm irresistible."

Phil rolled his eyes, though there was a hint of amusement in his expression. "Oh, here we go again with the ego boost."

You chuckled, reaching across the table to playfully nudge him. "Hey, you know it's true."

But before you could continue, Phil's hand shot out, swatting your arm with exaggerated force. It drew the attention of nearby diners as you blinked in surprise.

"What was that for?" you demanded, feigning offense as you rubbed your arm where Phil had made contact.

Phil's eyes danced with amusement as he leaned in closer, his voice filled with mock seriousness. "I can't let you get too cocky now, can I? Gotta keep that ego in check."

You laughed, shaking your head at Phil's antics. Despite his teasing, you knew that his love for you ran deep, and you couldn't imagine spending your life with anyone else.

With a smile, you leaned back in your booth, ready to enjoy your meal and the playful banter that always accompanied your outings with Phil. With him by your side, every day was an adventure filled with laughter and love, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

As you and Phil stepped through the door of your home, Phil couldn't resist a playful quip, "Well, if it isn't the dynamic duo returning from their diner escapade."

You chuckled, the tension from earlier dissipating as Phil's lightheartedness washed over you. Closing the door behind you, you felt the magnetic pull drawing you towards him, prompting a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

In one swift movement, you closed the distance between you, your lips crashing together in a fervent kiss. Phil responded eagerly, his arms wrapping around you as he joked, "I hope you didn't eat all the pie without me, darling."

The passion between you ignited, and as you kissed, the world around you faded into oblivion, leaving only the two of you locked in a playful dance of tongues and lips. Phil's playful banter continued as he teased, "You know, they say kissing burns calories. We might need to order another pie."

You laughed into the kiss, the tension melting away as Phil's humor lightened the mood. His touch was both playful and tender, a testament to the unique bond you shared. And as you lost yourselves in each other's embrace, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the undeniable connection that bound you together, heart and soul.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Phil knelt in front of you, his hands expertly removing your pants and underwear. "Alright, time for the main event," he joked, his grin infectious as he prepared to take control of the situation. And with a shared laugh, you surrendered yourself to the playful passion of your beloved Phil.

#Alan rickman #Phil Allen #blow dry #Phil Allen x reader #alan rickman x reader #phil allen #phil allen x reader

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shortpplfedup · 1 year

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Chapter 1: Only You in the Full Moon Night

Fourteen months. That's how long we've been waiting. And in less than two minutes, Aof made it clear that our patience was absolutely going to be rewarded. The long take sequence that introduces us to the Moonlight Chicken Diner and the denizens thereof is probably one of the best openings I've seen in all of television. And as the episode went on, it became clearer and clearer that we are watching Aof evolve in real time. By the time you get to the closing shot of Jim and Wen framed in the doorway of the diner, under the 'moon' of that lantern, you've been on a journey and you're ready to go on another one. This episode is the most assured work we have ever seen from Aof. There was not a wasted moment, not an extraneous shot; every single frame of this episode was absolutely intentional. The characters are richly drawn and organically introduced, and every single actor is bringing their A-game, from stars to supporters to background.

There are things I need to say about the sequence of Jim and Wen going from total strangers to hopping into bed together because my GOD. From the moment they locked eyes the energy was sizzling between them, and the conclusion was foregone: there was no way that night wasn't ending with those two in a sweaty tangle. And the way that was acted, with Jim becoming more playful and Wen becoming more seductive as the night went on; the way it was filmed, with the red and blue lighting and the handheld camera getting close up, putting the audience right into the moment; the sexual tension was palpable. By the time Wen bites Jim's ear, you almost want the release as much as they do. And I LOVE that they didn't kiss at all during their encounter, because that feels totally realistic. This isn't a love affair...yet.

On the side of young love, Heart and Li Ming's first encounter is almost the opposite of Jim and Wen's, in that it's immediately antagonistic. As much as Jim and Wen almost instantly understand each other, Heart and Li Ming don't understand each other at all. And whereas Jim and Wen start close and get closer by episode's end, Heart and Li Ming start far apart and by the end of the episode they're even further apart. I was worried that with Fourth and Gemini's inexperience, their characters here would be too similar to their My School President characters, but I should have known to trust Aof when it comes to casting. Heart and Li Ming are NOT Tinn and Gun, and the work that Fourth and Gemini are putting in here so far is quite good, Fourth especially.

Setting the story against the backdrop of the pandemic-induced economic crisis grounds the narrative and the characters in a specificity that I have found to be a hallmark of the best stories. I've said this so much at this point, but I Told Sunset About You continues to impact the Thai media landscape, and especially the Thai queer media landscape in lots of positive ways, by encouraging more directors to bring the Thai sociopolitical environment and Thai cultural aesthetics into their work. Making Pattaya integral to the rhythms and aesthetics of this story in the same way that Phuket was integral to the rhythms and aesthetics of ITSAY is so key to making the show stand out.

Not having Alan appear in this episode at all, just having him represented by artefacts: the terse note, the phone charger, Gong relaying his 'unread' message, was incredibly effective. Alan and his relevance to Wen's life at this point is defined from the very first by his absence.

Saleng and Gaipa round out the cast of main characters we were introduced to in this episode, with only Praew (and Alan) left to appear onscreen. They don't get much this episode, but they make it count, with hints of the roles they'll play in the narrative peppered into their scenes. Saleng especially is an interesting one, as it seems like Jim acquired his employment along with the diner, which is an uncommon enough arrangement to be noteworthy. It also looks like everybody is aware of Gaipa's feelings for Jim, including Jim, which tells us a lot.

All in all, this first episode gave us a lot, without feeling like a lot. It was so deftly done in the writing and direction, and so organic in the acting, that the overwhelming feeling is one of having spent an hour living a slice of real Pattaya life, not watching a fictional story. I'm so ready to spend 4 weeks living in this universe with these characters, and I'm already sad that I will have to leave them at the end.

Side Dishes

Mix Sahaphap is probably the sultriest actor in the GMMTV stable, and he's so perfect for this role because Wen is a walking, talking sex bomb and he knows it. The way he uses his eyes...lethal.

The actress playing Gaipa's mother, Narinthorn Na Bangchang, is playing such a perfect market vendor, it's reminding me of how similar we really are across the global south.

I can already feel Heart and Li Ming wrecking me and this only JUST started. Fourth and Gemini are really something special.

Mark Pakin is GMMTV's sixth man, he can come off the bench and play literally ANY kind of supporting character they need. That is MVP level shit.

This show looks SO GOOD, it sounds SO GOOD, production and direction teams put their foot in this one.

Watching Aof work handheld is a fucking DREAM. He's such a workmanlike director, he prefers to focus on pulling emotional truths out of his actors rather than high style photography. But his cast here being so good means he doesn't need to spend the majority of his directing energy on his actors, and he can experiment more with style. The opening sequence in the diner, and Jim and Wen's walk from the diner to the car, these are the kind of things he's never been able to focus on before, and now that he can it's SUCH a visual treat.

#moonlight chicken #midnight series: moonlight chicken #the moon is beautiful tonight #bl meta series

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cheesecake-beech · 2 years

Text

Minions r funni to draw lmao

#cheesecake talks #valerie/smoke bomb #elliot/blaze #alan/sizzle #tako/heartache #claude/frostbite #minions rise of gru #minions fanart

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thegroovywitch · 1 year

Text

Robert Plant and John Paul Jones attend 'Roadies Raffle' Charity Event, Golden Lion Pub, Fulham, London, October 31, 1978.

Press: "Oh What A Great Night It Was"

It was a night they'll never forget in Fulham! All rock's lovliest stars showed up to present a glittering array of gold discs and album sets at London's top rock pub - the Golden Lion. It was a culmination of hugely successful Ad Lib - Golden Lion Roadies' Raffle - which ended collecting a terrific £816 cheque for the Evening News Toy for a Sick Child Fund.

Led Zeppelin's Robert Plant and John Paul Jones drove down from Birmingham to be there. Ex-Wings star Jimmy McCulloch interrupted rehearsals with his new band to hand over some of his priceless gold albums.

And others who sipped pints and joked with the winners included Yes' Alan White, ex-Animal Eric Burdon, Manfred Mann's Chris Thompson and Mitch Mitchell.

Disc Jockey Mike Quinn compered and Chas & Dave plays a sizzling set. A million thanks to you all!

— From Evening News, Nov. 1978

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uniwolfcorn · 11 months

Text

Buttermilk

(It's been a while since I've posted anything fic related, so I hope y'all enjoy this one! And thanks to @jacksonstarkiller for helping me piece this together <3🧡💛❤️💚💙)

—————————————————

It was another Saturday morning.

Jefferson woke up early & snuck down to the kitchen. He flicked on the lights & fired up the griddle. Oh the sweet scents that would dance in the air, the sizzle of the griddle, the patter of the boys' feet rushing down the stairs, & the bright, brilliant beams across their little faces as they were served the delicious delicacy.

The laughter of the boys & Lucy still rang in his mind.

It was... perfect.

—————————————————

Jefferson had been back home for a few weeks now, but it felt like a few minutes.

One moment, they were little children; - then the next, they weren't children anymore.

Alan had an accident recently. He had been put into a medical coma. The doctors said he would be laid up for a while - a few months at best.

Jefferson was in a morning rush & was running a bit behind. He was expecting a group of Tracys, already on bedside duty. But when he arrived at Alan's room, no one else was there. Perhaps he left earlier than he thought. Seems like he was always losing tracks of time.

The family had been leaving gifts of recovery for the baby of their pack. Jefferson observed the various trinkets.

A mini rocket model from Scott, astronomy books from John, hand-crafted cards by Virgil, starfish stuffies from Gordon, fresh roses from Penelope, a chaperone cap from Parker, a holographic star projector built by Mike & Brains, his favorite socks & blanket from Grandma, even some balloons blown by MAX.

Jefferson sighed as he rubbed his boy's hand. He had to catch himself from flinching whenever his thumb rolled over the IV needle.

What could he give?

Once he arrived home, he entered the kitchen. His shoes squeaked from the glossy flooring - he remembered how the floor once creaked with wood. But surely, baking pancakes wouldn't be so bad.

Right?

"Uh boys," echoed through the kitchen as he was searching through the cabinets. "Where's the griddle?"

"We, um..." Scott replied with a clear wince of regret. "We got rid of it when you left..."

A comforting hand lay on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze.

"Son, it's okay." They shared a soft embrace.

"You at least wrote down your recipe somewhere, right?"

You could just hear a glass shattering as Jefferson's eyes shot open.

Turns out that being lost in space for 8 years had made his cooking skills a bit... rusty.

The pan's too hot, too cold; not enough oil - too much oil; the batter's too thin, too thick; use the first pancake, too many of them at once!

Every single attempt to recreate the fluffy buttery goodness only resulted in sticky, crumbly, & sometimes scorched messes. Week after week was met with failure.

On one particular morning, things seemed to finally piece together.

"Hey, dad. How's it going?" Virgil's hologram hovered over his father's shoulder.

"So far, so good!" He listed with admittedly an amusing beam of pride. "I pre-heated the pan, I didn't over-mix the batter, I didn't use a spoon or an electric mixer, I used the right amount of ingredients & the right ingredients, & I set the stove on medium - high."

"That's great, dad. But..."

Virgil noticed one, little, little problem.

"You did grease the pan, right?"

"..."

"SHIET!"

"Wait wait wait dad, don't do -"

He frantically scrapped at the pan - rolling lumps & scraps of pancakes. Smoke bellowed & nearly triggered the alarm. Brittle & burnt bundles of burnt batter & bread went flying into the trash. The pan clattered in the sink as steam sizzles from the rushing water.

"That."

Tears rolled down his face.

"Dad?"

The only answer was a shaky sigh. He tossed down his apron, sulked away to his room, and shut the door.

There was a soft knock.

"Jefferson?" Sally entered.

He was curled up into a ball of regret. His knees were tucked in tight, & his hands covered his soaked face.

"Honey, it's just a couple of mistakes."

"It feels like that's the only thing I've been making."

"Jefferson -"

"Who was the one that left them for 8 years? Who was the one that couldn't keep them safe from the Hood? Who was the person who flew in that blizzard? Who was the person who couldn't save her? I am. It was all my fault."

There was a stilted silence.

"I just want this to be perfect."

"Son, remember when Scotty made his first cake for Father's Day? He dropped it on the ground & made a huge mess. He cried his little eyes out & thought he ruined Father's Day. But do you remember what you told him?"

"Son, it's okay. Sometimes this stuff happens and nothing is ever perfect in life. But you didn't ruin anything for me, because I know that you're doing the best you can."

"There was a reason why Lucy married you. She didn't see you as someone who needed to be fixed. But as someone who loved her & would be the best person for not just her, not just for the boys, but for himself."

Sally gripped his shoulder with a strong but gentle & firm hold.

"Alan doesn't care if it's perfect. He'll love it because it's from you."

"Maybe... maybe you're right."

"Kiddo, I'm always right." They shared laughter & a warm embrace.

"Thanks, mom."

"No problem. Get some rest, dear."

Night had fallen. Everyone had gone to bed, except Jefferson. The island was in a set of melancholy calm, but his mind was still whirling. He tried to fight against his workaholic-engined brain; he tossed & turned in bed, but his efforts of rest weren't working. He stared at his ceiling in fatigued defeat.

Another memory wandered into his mind.

He remembered that Lucy had a knack for photography. She was always behind the camera, capturing every precious little moment to treasure forever.

Maybe she could help.

He dug under his bed through various boxes & other little nick-nacks. Soon, he found his treasure. Within a large crate laid a trove of photo albums & frames; what lay in the center was an old camera.

He dawned his apron & began to cook again.

—————————————————

The next morning, Jefferson returned to the hospital. He delicately carried a gift box in his hands. He asked the front desk if he could see Alan. The receptionist thoroughly checked the contents. Jefferson got a few passing eyebrows, but was allowed to visit nonetheless.

He strolled down the hall, his heart was racing in his chest. The next door was his son's room. There was a hint of hesitation, but the words of his mother ringed in his mind.

He took a deep breath, & entered inside.

"Alan?" His voice was an audible whisper.

The said blonde stirred from his slumber, as his little eyes fluttered open.

"Hey, dad."

"How are you feeling, Sprout?"

"Still feeling sucky, but a little less sucky today." His gaze gradually rolled to the box in his father's hands. "Is that for me?"

"Just for you, Sprout."

Jefferson carefully perched the gift in his son's arms. Alan opened the lid & peered inside.

Pancakes; slightly crude in shape - definitely were supposed to be stars. Burnt browns & blacks rigidly lined the crust.

Alan took a meek little nibble.

Immediately his taste-buds were overwhelmed with flavors of crude variety & the ashy texture of the scorched crust didn't quite help either.

"Tastes... great..." He sheepishly squeaked with a thumbs-up.

"They can't taste that bad."

The clear gag makes him regret that statement.

"It tastes like burnt cardboard!"

"More like burnt rubber that was run over by the Mole."

The hospital had never heard more humble laughter than now.

#uni's fics #jeff tracy #sally tracy #alan tracy

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thesmokingguns · 2 years

Text

Visit Home

“Do you want to come home with me for Labor Day weekend?” you were laying in bed, chin on Axl’s chest as his fingers brushed down your back, stroking song lyrics on your skin as you laid naked, two bodies that were so close it was like one person.

His fingers stopped, the inhale of breath as he breathed in the words that you spoke letting them swirl around his mind in the brain fog of post sex.

Home.

A weekend to meet your family.

Had the pair of you gotten that serious that you wanted to show him off to the people who you loved? Axl knew that the pair of you were serious, together for eight months and seeming to get more and more in love with each other with each passing second.

But having to shake your fathers hand as he made promises of taking care of someone's little girl. Having him look into Axl’s eyes and know that this lead singer in some rock n roll band was who his baby had fallen in love with.

Maybe he wasn’t ready for that sort of judgment.

“I just promised my mom I would come home for a few days and my dad got a new grill that he hadn’t been able to stop talking about whenever I call. They asked about you and I thought you might want to come but I know you’re busy and I know-”

Axl had to kiss her to get her rant to stop. He knew that she would talk too much when she was nervous and he realized at that moment that she was nervous he was going to say no to her.

“Of course I’ll come home with you. IT’s about time that I met your family. They ought to know who you’re living with.” your eyes widened and mouth gaped as Axl reached over into the nightstand pulling out a key he had made for you.

You pushed up, looking down at him as you held the key in your hand, knowing that you were going to show him how excited you were.

Axl was freaking out as he stood in the backyard. The smell of hot dogs and burgers filled the air as your father grilled, the food sizzling as the small family gathering was pushing fifty people.

When you told your mother that you and Axl were coming she had freaked out, a celebrity in her house. You told her not to freak out and that you were going to only be there a few days. She said she could make up two rooms for you and Axl, since you weren’t married you couldn’t sleep in the same room. It had been a shock to the singer to be shown to a room downstairs in what was once the playroom. But he still smiled and thanked your mother for setting it up.

“I’m so sorry for all this. I didn’t expect it to get so crazy.” you apologized as he wrapped his arm around you, pressing a kiss to your temples. It was easy to melt into his arms especially because you were overwhelmed by your family.

But Axl was your rock and great at playing the all american boyfriend. He was stroking your back, kissing your head and offering you his beer. In truth, he felt better having you in his arms. He was less worried, like you were some shield. Maybe he should have felt guilty about using his girlfriend as a buffer but at the moment he was just relieved he was out of the firing line of your fathers stare.

“It’s nice to be here, though I’m not sure how I’m going to make it without you sleeping beside me,” he confessed. You stroked his shirt, straightening it as you gave him a cospiratory smile.

“I grew up here. I know all the stairs that squeak. You won’t be all alone for long.” you promised him as he hugged you closer, thankful you hugged him tight, “I really do appreciate you coming home with me. It means a lot to have you here with me,” you told him, loving the way he picked you up off your feet to hug you tighter.

“Its me and you, against the world.” he promised, setting you down on the grass, “Or at least you and me against your dad for today.” he muttered into your ear.

Your father was striding across the lawn, his face impassive as he looked at Axl and you together.

“You should help your mother inside. I want to get to know your boyfriend, Alan-”

“Axl.” You corrected your father, knowing he had done it on purpose and was just trying to assert his dominance.

Fucking testosterone.

“Ax, a bit better.” your father was going to play hardass with your boyfriend. Axl gave you a smile, squeezing your hand as he nodded his head, letting you know that he would be okay if you went with your mother.

“Play nice, boys.” you warned as you walked across the lawn you learned how to thrown a football on, thinking about how you were going to have to do a lot of work to make this all up to Axl.

Taglist: @ayablackwood @rocknrollsoul76 @greeneyezblackheart @lady-jane3 @rocketgrrrl27 @slutforstradlin @theoutsiders25 @fispapercrafter @bbyamberx @brezeblog @samanthasgone @aggressive-slytherin @clover270 @grayxiu @another-obsessed-with-duff @badfvith @bia003 @queenbae18 @axl-roses-rose @d-ahliaa @beebemarie @guns-n-roses-gal @themoonbelongstome @pinksweetgirl18 @cemmia @bieberhoodforever

#axl rose x you #axl rose gnr #axl rose fanfiction #axl rose fanfic #Axl Rose headcanon #guns n roses #gnr fanfic

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