#just really fucking hurts to feel such a connection to this band

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

who's crying over steve tonight raise your hand 🤚

#I don't mean this as a joke #I mean I'm dead serious I'm crying over steve right now #While I could never go the true pain that steve went through and that they all went through #just really fucking hurts to feel such a connection to this band #And then find out the one of them is already gone #and that you didn't even live at the same time #and they're just so far away that they'll never know #And you never knew them but every single day you have to find out all over again that they died #No matter how strong the illusion is #idk when i first discovered leppard the first thing i did was google ''who wrote photograph'' and steve came up first #so i googled him and you know how that went #and i went ''GOD DAMMIT why did he have to go and die before i was born HE WROTE MY FAVORITE SONG'' #i felt this really strong connection to him back then and i couldn't explain it- maybe bc i knew we both had anxiety disorders or something #I'm still watching that documentary and Sav said 'we owe it to Steve to play his songs live have him remembered that way' #And I just flash back to the concert when viv was playing the armageddon it solo and looked up at the heavens #it just made me lose it man #I hope someday I figure out why I was born in the wrong time because it just hurts more and more every day

[inkskinned]

he says i hate everyone except you and that is addictive and that is kind of romantic and beautiful because you're young and you're kind of a sarcastic asshole too and you don't like bad boys, per say, but you don't really like good ones either. and you like that you were the exception, it felt like winning.

except life is not a romance book, and he was kind of being honest. he doesn't learn to be nice to your friends. he only tolerates your family. you have to beg him to come with you to birthday parties, he complains the whole time. you want to go on a date but - people are often there, wherever you're going. he's just so angry. about everything, is the thing. in the romance book, doesn't he eventually soften? can't you teach him, through your own sense of whimsy and comfort?

at first - you know introverts often need smaller friend groups, and honestly, you're fine staying at home too. you like the small, tidy life you occupy. you're not going to punish him for his personality type.

except: he really does hate everyone but you. which means he doesn't get along with his therapist. which means he has no one to talk to except for you. which means you take care of him constantly, since he otherwise has no one. which means you sometimes have to apologize for him. which means he keeps you home from seeing your friends because he hates them. you're the single exception.

about a decade from this experience, you'll type into google: how to know if a relationship is codependent.

he wraps an arm around you. i hate everyone except you. these days, you're learning what he's actually confessing is i have very little practice being kind.

#i used to think it was romantic too and then i was like. now i see it as a HUGE red flag #writeblr #it is also almost EXCLUSIVELY said by immature ppl who think this is normal #fyi even if u think it's funny and ur like 'im an introvert it's just TRUE' like. you need therapy (ily tho) #healed introversion is just ''i would prefer to be by myself'' not ''i hate every person'' ... hate is not normal. that is not healthy #im sorry. i know it feels accurate. but if you're walking around with that kind of rage.... #1. you're making a LOT of assumptions about every single person u have ever met. which is often unfair and unkind #and also usually involves judging people based on their worst moments or little mistakes #2. you are being unfair to the person who is ur ''exception'' #3. there is a VAST difference between ''ur my favorite person'' and ''the ONLY person i like.'' #idk i think this is just a personal bias thing tbh #im sure there are people who have this experience normally #but i have YET to find a man who thinks like this and ISNT absolute DOGSHIT. although tbh.... like. im sure he exists #when u hit like 30 some of the things that were once kind of hot now just sound fucking exhausting. like ''im in a band'' #edit in the tags: i used to kind of be like this too. but the thing is that like. my life became so much more peaceful #once i started believing that people are generally good. like yes i am mad at the world at large #but it's just.... a very hard way to live. you're not a bad person or wrong for the ways other people hurt you and taught you to be angry. #but that anger will continue to hurt YOU. it will punish YOU. it will prevent YOU from making new deep connections. it will protect you yes #but it will also cause MASSIVE blowback. bc if you lose the One Person... your life will fall apart. i know this personally. #i really recommend just trying to be... cautiously optimistic instead. like. yes #people can be horrible and cruel and there are some communities (incels for example) that aren't worth that optimism #but i think like... most people will hold a door for you . most people want to help you find your wallet . #i hope one day you are able to find peace. i hope that rage eventually smooths over. i know how hard it is PERSONALLY #and i know what must have happened to you. and im deeply deeply sorry we share the same wound. #but i promise - sometimes we all need someone else to help us carry the weight. eventually the rage has to die so that we can let help in #i had to spend years biting at outstretched hands. i still often do. im still very wary . and my heart breaks that you flinch too. #here's the thing: i don't blame you. but we were both acting out of fear and pain. .... not out of healthy behavior. and ... change #was needed. i needed change too. rage was useful for a while. then it just left me isolated and bitter. i had to (with effort) #choose to let that rage go. and let people in . VERY SLOWLY THO LOL

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Just the Three of Us

Steve Harrington x Reader x Eddie Munson

Fandom: Stranger Things

AU: Soulmate

Summary: After crashlanding in the mystical magical world of the 1980s, you discover that you have not one, but two soulmates and they are determined to take the best care of you they possibly can.

Note: Takes place sometime after Season 4 I guess?? Everyone lives and is happy (even though we don’t have those answers yet lmao). Also, yes another Soulmate AU. So sorry, but I am trash. Consider this my apology for discontinuing Stranded lol.

Warnings: poly fluff, swearing

Word Count: 3.2k

Reader Is: Female

Holy fuck, did your head hurt. Your ears were ringing really loudly and everything was black. Add to the list your limbs felt like they were full of sand and you were not having a good time. After a long moment, the ringing began to subside enough to make out some (unfamiliar) voices, who seemed to be bickering above you somewhere.

“She needs to go to a hospital. Like, now.” One of the voices argued. “Look at her.”

“And tell them what, Steve, that she fell from the sky?” Another voice, this one younger, replied.

“I don’t know, man, I think Harrington’s right. She doesn’t look so good.” A third voice, this one a bit deeper than either of the others, said. “Add to that the fact that she fell from the fucking sky.”

You tried your best to lift your eyelids, but everything was so heavy. Too heavy to move.

“Well we have to do something! We can’t just stand there and let her—” This voice sounded like a girl. A paranoid one at that.

“Wait, look.” The deep voice said, causing all of the others to stop talking for a moment. Even with your eyes closed, you could feel all of their gazes on you.

You attempted to speak, to say something, but the best you could manage was a low whine. You wiggled your fingers the slightest bit, pushing, pushing, pushing to the surface.

“I think she can hear us.” The first voice, Steve, deduced.

You felt a hand against yours. Large, warm fingers, and something cold, like metal.

“Hey, it’s okay. Take your time.” The deeper voice encouraged.

You took a long, deep breath, and then, after an impossibly long moment, you managed to open your eyes, all of your limbs tingling as you did so. “Fuck.” You groaned, struggling to move, but realizing very quickly that that wouldn’t be happening just yet.

“Oh my God,” The girl said, a hand covering her mouth. Her hair was cut short and there was this quirky, unexplainable energy about her. “Hi. Um. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” You replied, exhaling a sigh as you looked to the others in the room. And as soon as you did, something was…wrong. For starters, one of them looked like he’d stepped out of an 80’s hair band, and the other older boy looked like he had about half a tub of hair gel holding up his shiny brown hair. “Oh God…” You muttered.

Slowly, you began to sit up. There was a fourth person in the room, this one obviously younger than the other three. He was wearing a baseball cap with vibrant neon letters on it, and he had a walkie-talkie in his hand. They all stared at you, waiting for you to speak, or say something further.

“I…where am I?”

“Hawkins, Indiana.” The youngest said, his eyes expectant.

You pressed your lips together, skeptical to say the least. “No, that can’t…” You looked at the décor around the room, old posters for movies and musicians and they were all a little…too vintage to be anything anyone your age would have. Well…unless… “Is this…What…year is it?”

You asked the question slowly and they were all quiet for a really long time, staring at you like you’d sprouted antennae all of a sudden.

“You’re not saying what I think you’re saying, right?” The youngest asked, visibly getting a bit excited at the prospect. “Because if you’re saying what I think you’re saying…”

“Let her speak, Dustin, Jesus.” The guy with the gel in his hair, Steve, you connected, based on his voice.

“Because, I mean, you all look like you’re…from like the ‘80s.” You shook your head. You sounded crazy even saying it out loud. “But that would be—”

“It’s not crazy.” The girl reassured you. “Because, uh, it is the ‘80s. 1986.”

“Fuck.” You repeated, this time more in awe and shock than when you had groaned it before in nothing but pain. Though, you would admit, you were a little nauseous, thinking about it. “I…wow.”

“You okay?” The guy with the deeper voice and the hair band hair asked, noticing your discomfort.

“I don’t know.” You repeated, shaking your head and letting out a breathy laugh. “Holy fuck this is not happening…” To say you were having a bit of a breakdown was putting it lightly.

“Do you remember what happened before you came here?” Dustin asked.

“Yeah, I blew out my birthday candles.”

“Happy birthday!” The girl said sincerely.

You smiled. “Thank you.” You paused, thinking back. “Yeah, no, that’s it. Twenty-first birthday party one minute and this couch the next.”

Putting the pieces together, you rolled up the sleeve of your shirt. Sure enough, there it was, silver and gleaming and glittering and fresh. Your soulmark.

“You…you don’t happen to know a Steve Harrington or an Eddie Munson, do you?” You looked up at them, watching their faces as they looked at you and then each other, and then raced to lift their sleeves to look for themselves.

“You’re (Y/N) (L/N)?” Steve asked tentatively, reading from his arm and looking up at you.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Holy fuck! I knew it!” Eddie jumped, pumping his fist while Steve’s handsome features broke into a giant smile, looking at you with soft eyes. Eddie knelt down in front of you and took your hand in his, looking into your eyes. “I knew there was something about you.” He paused for a moment. “But seriously, do you need to go to the hospital?”

***

It had been approximately an hour. Steve got you some Tylenol and a Cherry Coke and made sure you were comfortable on the couch. Dustin looked like it was taking every ounce of self-control he had to not ask you a billion questions, and Eddie hadn’t left your side for a single second. Robin, meanwhile, was informing the rest of their friend group as to what had happened, and developing a more permanent plan for you.

“When are you from?” Dustin finally cracked, curiosity glinting in his eyes. He had a notebook on hand.

“Dustin, please.” Steve said, exasperated.

“It’s okay.” You told him, chuckling softly. Steve and Eddie both waited for your answer as well, more than curious, due to your connection to them. “I’m from 2022.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped and Steve’s eyes widened. “That’s uh…” Eddie started to do the math in his head, but stopped when he realized what a large number it was. He whistled. “That’s a while from now.”

Steve made an awkward face. “Yeah, you could say that again.”

“How long have you two had your marks?” You asked both of them, looking from one to the other.

Steve chuckled to himself. “It’s only been a few months since we figured out we were each other’s soulmates. But we’d never even heard your name before, (Y/N).”

“Been looking for you ever since, though.” Eddie amended quickly. “To no avail, for obvious reasons.”

You looked down at his shirt. “Is that an X-Men reference?”

“Is what—” He looked down and then smiled. “Yeah, it is. I, uh, named my DnD club after the Hellfire Club.”

“Oh my god, you’re a vintage DnD nerd.” You said excitedly. “What class are you?”

He smirked confidently. “I’m the DM.”

“Holy shit.” You smiled. “That’s hot.”

Eddie was absolutely glowing at this compliment. “Glad you think so, sweetheart.”

“It’s like they’re speaking another language.” Steve chuckled to himself.

“See, Harrington, I told you, you need to start coming to Hellfire.” Dustin said, grinning.

“Should have known my other soulmate would be a nerd, too.”

Eddie smirked and gave Steve a little nudge. “You love it.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile a bit. “Yeah, I do.”

“Harrington here was cool in high school.” Eddie informed you. “King Steve. Got invited to parties and shit.”

You smiled and looked at him, taking in this new information. “That checks out.”

“He’s also a badass. He fights monsters on occasion. Saved my life a bunch.”

“Well damn.” You tilted your head, looking at him. “I can see it.”

“Eddie, babe, you’re gonna blow up my ego.” Steve laughed. He chuckled to himself about the whole thing. “How are you doing, by the way? You know, with all of this.” Steve motioned to the room around you.

You smiled softly. “I’m okay. You guys are making it a lot easier, that’s for sure.”

“Good. Good. I’m glad.” He nodded, a bit relieved.

Robin came down the stairs a few minutes later with a basket of clothes. “Mrs. Byers gave us some of her clothes, too. She said (Y/N) can stay with her if she wants to.”

“Aww, that’s nice of her.” Dustin said, smiling.

“We can take her back to our place, too.” Steve offered, looking at Eddie, who nodded. And then he looked to you. “You know, if you want to of course. We don’t want to rush you or anything.”

“It’s totally up to you.” Eddie tacked on. “No pressure.”

Their chemistry was adorable, you decided. You wondered how long they’d known each other before the universe decided to tell them they were actually meant to spend the rest of their lives together. Maybe you’d get to ask them soon.

“I’d love to stay with you two.” You told them.

“Cool. Awesome. Um, do you think you can walk?” Steve asked, looking you over. You seemed to be doing a lot better than when they first saw you, but given the circumstances, he couldn’t be sure.

“I might need a little help,” you admitted. Despite your best efforts, you were still trembling and your legs felt like Jell-O. Luckily, you had not one, but two soulmates more than ready to assist you.

“No worries.” Steve said, kneeling in front of you. He waited for your approval, and when you nodded, he slipped an arm under your knees, the other wrapping around your back for support. “I’ve got you.”

He lifted you with ease, carrying you up the stairs with Eddie following the two of you closely, your can of Cherry Coke in his hand and his car keys in the other.

“You’re strong.” You said, your arm loosely hanging around Steve’s shoulders for more support.

He blushed. “Well who do you think carried you in here, princess?”

“I think I now have the answer to that question.” You chuckled, very aware of just how close his face was to yours. God, it was true what they said about soulmates. The attraction was…immediate.

Eddie unlocked the car, opened your door, and climbed into the driver’s seat while Steve gently set you in the passenger seat, buckling you in. Steve then climbed into the back seat.

Unlike usual, Eddie didn’t peel out of the driveway at a neck-breaking speed. Instead, he backed out slowly and drove like you were made of glass and he was afraid at every turn that you would shatter. Or puke in his van, one of the two.

“Uh, what kind of music do you like?” Eddie asked, changing the radio to something a little more mainstream than his usual tastes.

“All sorts of stuff. In terms of stuff you would know, um…ABBA and Elton John and Queen…”

“Solid choices.” Steve said. “Is their music still popular then?”

“Elton John just had a musical made about his life, Queen got a Biopic called Bohemian Rhapsody, and ABBA’s music spurned not one, but two jukebox musical movies. So yeah, still pretty popular.”

“And the rock and metal and stuff?” Eddie asked.

“It still has a cult following. Tons of super dedicated fans, but it’s not super mainstream.”

Eddie grinned. “Okay, cool.”

The ride to Eddie and Steve’s new townhouse wasn’t super long. It wasn’t a huge place, but it was the perfect size for two—now three—people. Once Eddie parked, you opened the passenger door and swiveled so your legs were facing the opening. Steve got out quickly and stood right there, ready to catch you.

“I want to try to walk.” You said, sliding out of the seat and letting your feet touch the pavement. Steve’s arm hovered loosely around your waist, ready to catch you if this wasn’t such a good idea yet.

Somehow, though, you got up the steps and through the front door without too much trouble. Eddie went ahead and turned all the lights on, as the sun was nearing setting. You took in the surroundings. There wasn’t a ton of furniture, but that was the norm for college-age guys anyway. There were a couple posters on the walls, and you noticed a picture of Steve and Eddie together, Eddie wearing a graduation gown and grinning like he’d just won the lottery. Cute.

“Make yourself at home, sweetheart.” Eddie told you, his gaze soft and comforting.

And even though you hadn’t been there long at all, it was already beginning to feel like that word was accurate. Home.

“We, uh, have a VCR if you want to watch any movies.” Steve told you, motioning to the machine under the TV.

“You guys have Back to the Future?” You chuckled. “I feel like that one would be fitting, all things considered. Plus, it’s one of my favorite movies.”

“You’re into the oldies, huh?” Eddie teased, the concept of his present being your kind of distant past still weirding him out.

You thought about making some comment about them being the oldies, but decided against it. Probably too soon for that kind of thing. “Yeah, good thing, too.”

“Well, we do have a copy of it. I work at Family Video and—” Steve said, watching the face you made when he said it. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…That is a very vintage sentence.”

His eyes widened with something akin to panic. “What happens to Family Video?”

“They close. All of them. It’s tragic, really. Most media is just digital in the future. Physical media is almost dead.”

“Damn.” Steve shook his head, thinking about it very deeply. “Well, I’ve got about 36 years to get that figured out, huh.”

“We’ll find you a new job by then, babe.” Eddie patted Steve’s shoulder, comfortingly. “That, or my band will be big enough by then that I can just spoil both of you rotten.”

You settled into the couch, and the boys followed after pretty soon after, once Steve put Back to the Future in.

***

The movie ended and you were tired despite taking quite the nap before. Something about time travel just wiped you out. Steve and Eddie could both tell you’d probably be going to sleep pretty soon.

“Hey, so uh, we don’t have a guest room. Um…I’ll totally sleep on the floor out here and Eddie can take the couch and you can have our bed.” Steve explained, sounding a bit nervous.

“I’m not gonna let you sleep on the floor and the couch.” You shook your head. “If you want, um…I’d be okay with…sharing the bed with you guys. I mean, if it’s big enough. And if you want me to. If not, I can totally take the couch—”

“You are not sleeping on the couch after everything you’ve been through today, princess.” Eddie put his foot down. “I’m fine with you sleeping with us. I’m sure Steve is too. Not…not like that of course, just—”

“I get it.” You chuckled.

“Cool. Great. I’ll go get everything ready up there, alright?” Steve said, jabbing a thumb back towards the stairs.  

You nodded. Eddie handed you the basket of clothes the girls had rounded up for you so you could find some pajamas in it. It looked like Joyce had gone out to get you some other basics, too. Underwear and socks and a toothbrush and stuff.

You found something suitable pretty quickly. “Um, Eddie, where’s your bathroom?”

“Right this way, milady.” Eddie helped you off of the couch and led you to the bathroom upstairs, where all of their toiletries were. Yep. This was definitely a boys’ bathroom. “Sorry it’s a mess in there. We weren’t expecting a beautiful guest such as yourself. We’ll clean it up, though.”

“It’s fine Eddie, thank you.”

“Yeah, no prob. Um…I’ll wait out here and listen in case you fall, okay?”

You grinned. “I’m not made of glass, you know.”

“Well, yeah, but I can’t have you hitting your pretty little head, now can I? Harrington would kill me.”

“Why would I kill you, Munson?” Steve asked, leaning against the doorway.

“If I left her alone and she hit her head in the bathroom.”

“Oh yeah. Yeah definitely.” Steve agreed, his arms crossed and a playful smile on his face. “We’ll be right here. No rush, though. Take your time.”

You did just that, taking a good long moment to change into pajamas, brush your teeth, and rinse your face with some cold water. But even when you did that and looked in the mirror, you were still in the ‘80s. Huh. Weird.

You shrugged and walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where Steve and Eddie were on the bed in their pajamas, talking kind of quickly about, you presumed, the crazy new shake-up in their lives. Eddie noticed you and stared, silencing Steve immediately.

“Oh, babe, hey, what side of the bed do you want?” Steve asked and then hesitated. “Wait, should I not call you babe yet? Is it too soon?”

“You can call me whatever you want.” You assured him, laughing. “And, uh…can I sleep in the middle?”

Eddie and Steve both said “Yes.” At the same time.

“Cool.” You chuckled and crawled up the center of the bed, getting under the covers while the other two got in beside you. It was a little awkward, none of you knowing exactly what to say or do, and none of you wanting to be the first to do so.

Steve turned out the light and the three of you laid there on your backs, completely straight in their dark bedroom.

“You guys can touch me, you know.”

“Oh okay cool.” Eddie replied, turning a bit to face you. He took your hand gently in his own and reached up to your face with his other one, pushing the hairs out of your eyes. “I think I speak for both of us when I say I am so stoked you’re here. And I know it can be hard being in a new environment like this, but if you need anything, you’ve got both of us, alright?”

“Thank you.” You whispered, nodding, your voice caught in your throat a bit due to his proximity, his warmth, and that sparkle in his eyes when he looked at you like you were made of pure magic.

“What he said.” Steve scooted a bit closer, an arm carefully settling around your waist. “We’re not going anywhere. We’ll be right here in the morning and…we’re all gonna get this stuff figured out. I promise.”

You nodded against him, your free hand resting on his. “Can I…kiss you guys goodnight?”

Instead of replying, Eddie leaned forward slowly, capturing your lips in a soft, passionate kiss. And then he kissed your nose for good measure. “Goodnight, princess.” Eddie smirked before passing you off to Steve. Steve’s kiss was a little firmer, a little more confident, but still very sweet.

“Get some rest, babe.” Steve told you, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before the three of you called it a night.

Part 2

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x reader x eddie #steve harrington x reader x eddie munson #stranger things #soulmate au

[justmystyles]

All or Nothing

read my other work here!

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

word count: 2.5k

summary: you find a new way to tease Harry during a tour visit, and stumble upon a new way to drive him crazy.

warnings: smut, NSFW, if you're under 18 just don't.

a/n: @manrocket-mo sent me this video and asked me to write what he could possibly be reacting to. this is what I came up with. i don't know if it's really what you were looking for, and it kind of snowballed into something else, but i hope you enjoy it! thank you for thinking of me to write this, and i'm sorry it took me so long to get it finished.

i kind of envision this as part of the NYIML universe, so i guess you could say this is a one shot off of that series.

tags: @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @blue-ballad @blueraspberryreader @brightlightsinlife @creativelyeva @cute-as-ducks420 @deannaard @fanficismydrug @gem1712 @golden-hoax @gothmingguk @groovychaosavenue @hillzrry @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jng4kook @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @laurxn-robinson @lexiecamposv @mrs-anna-styles211994 @n0vaj3an @potterheadandsherlocked @rach2699 @ravenclawdirectioner @stylesfeverr @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tiaamberxx @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @youknowwhaaat

“I’m going to go change, wanna go pick some music? My laptop should still be connected to the speakers.” You tell Harry as you hang your coat up and slide off your shoes.

Harry looks at you in shock. “You’re actually giving me unsupervised access to your music collection?” 

You had always been protective over your music collection, claiming you had a long list of guilty pleasures. Harry wanted desperately to know everything about you, including all of the music you enjoyed. He had gotten bits and pieces out of you, but he knew you were still holding back, so allowing him to go through your music library was a huge step in your relationship. 

You looked at him and shrugged with a soft smile. “I trust you, and I know you’re not going to judge me.” 

Harry stepped up to you, cupping your face in his hands and pulling you in for a kiss. “I would never. I know that this is a big step for you, and it means the world to me that you trust me.” He kisses you once more. “I love you.” 

You giggle against his lips. “I love you too, weirdo.” You moved into the bedroom to put on some sweats, and Harry picked up your laptop from the coffee table, taking a seat on the couch.

“A whole playlist of boy band music?!” You hear Harry exclaim from the other room. “I knew you were holding out on me!” You giggled to yourself, waiting for the inevitable reaction. “What the fuck?!” 

You saunter out to the living room and take a seat beside Harry, tucking your legs underneath you. “Something wrong, babe?” You kiss him on the cheek, knowing exactly what was wrong. 

“You have an entire playlist of boy band music, like several hours of music, and there isn’t even a single One Direction song.” 

“H, I told you, I never followed your band.” You try to wrap your arm around him but he dodges out of your grasp. You chuckle at his dramatic display. 

“But you’ve heard the songs now, you didn’t think a single one of them was worthy of your playlist?” You shrug in response as he scrolls through the songs. “O-TOWN? O-Town is on here but not One Direction?” 

At the mention of the early 2000’s group, you get a mischievous glint in your eye. “Oh yeah, O-Town is great! Best boy band to ever be assembled on a television show!” 

He arched a brow in your direction, knowing exactly what you were doing. “Excuse me?” 

Giving Harry a hard time is one of your favorite things to do. You know he’s just being dramatic for fun, if you were genuinely hurting his feelings, you would stop and add the entire One Direction discography to that playlist. But teasing was one of your shared love languages, it’s why your relationship worked so well. 

“Yeah, they’re awesome. And lyrical geniuses too!” You continue. 

“Did they even write their own songs?” He asked incredulously. 

“No,” Harry’s eyes went wide, throwing his hands in the air. “But they sang the shit out of those songs. It’s like a time capsule for late nineties early two thousands slang. Not to mention the boner references, and a whole ass song about wet dreams.” 

Harry throws his head back, sinking further into the couch. “Ugh… maybe you were right to keep your music to yourself.” He teases. 

You chuckle as you shift on the couch, moving to straddle his lap. “They have this one song,” you begin as you trail kisses across his jaw and down his neck. “It’s about a girl and she’s beautiful, like they think she’s soooo beautiful, but she’s shy. She has no idea how beautiful she is. She keeps blushing, and looking down, and they just want to tell her how beautiful she is. It’s quite lovely.” 

You feel Harry’s chest shake in laughter, causing you to smirk against his skin. “Now you’re just making shit up.” 

“Nope, I’m dead ass.” You assure him. “Want me to play it?” You lean back, looking in his eyes with a mischievous glint. “We could make out while we listen.” 

“No to the song,” He states firmly. “But I will take you up on making out.” He runs his hands up your thighs as he leans forward, capturing your lips. 

A few weeks later, you’re back on the road with Harry. You hadn’t brought up O-Town again, but that didn’t mean you’d forgotten about that night, and you had a special surprise planned for him. As usual, throughout the show Harry’s eyes would travel to you in the VIP area, in those moments, the thousands of fans would seemingly disappear and it was just Harry, pouring his heart out to you. 

You had been so lost in his performance that you had almost forgotten about the little surprise you had planned for him. As he starts hitting the final notes of Sign of the Times, you catch his eye winking suggestively to maintain his attention. He gives you a curious look as you grab the hem of your sweatshirt and begin to pull it over your head. 

Once you were able to see him again, you noticed the smirk on his face as he studied the t-shirt you had been hiding all day. It was a black shirt with five young men doing their best blue steel to the camera ‘O-Town’ scrawled above their heads. He chuckled some more, as he completed the song. 

When it was over, he was saying his goodbyes and waving to the crowd, locking eyes with you once again as you ran your hands through your hair, lifting it over your shoulders and turning around to display the back of the shirt, which had two more pictures of the group, as well as a list of cities listed at the bottom. You turned to look over your shoulder, immediately catching his cheeky smirk. 

He wagged his finger at you playfully. “You bad girl,” he spoke into the microphone as his finger continued to shake in your direction. You felt an exciting chill run through you at his words, looking forward to what the rest of your evening held.

You knocked gently on Harry’s dressing room door, he quickly called for you to enter. He greeted you with his arms crossed over his chest and his brow arched. 

“Great show babe!” You said cheerfully, skipping up to him and pecking his pursed lips. “Cheer up, grumpy Gus!” 

He continued to stare, and you could tell he was willing himself not to grin at you. “You,” he paused, taking a deep breath. You weren’t sure if it was for dramatic effect, or to stop himself from laughing. “Dared to come to my show wearing another band’s merch?” 

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips. “Such a drama queen,” you bump your shoulder against his. “Come on, go change so we can go back to the hotel.” 

“Are you going to change too?” He deadpanned. 

You couldn’t help the smirk that took over, knowing what you had in store for him. “As soon as we get back. Promise.” He narrowed his eyes at you and moved into the bathroom to change.  

Despite his feigned annoyance, you spent the entire ride back to the hotel in Harry’s arms as he planted sporadic kisses on the top of your head. You held on to his free hand, playing with the rings that still adorned his fingers. Not much was said, your rides to the hotel were typically quiet. Harry liked to use that time to unwind from the chaos of being on stage. 

When you arrived back at the hotel, Harry dropped his bag at the door and plopped himself onto the couch. You followed him, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m going to go change into something a little more comfortable.” 

“Good,” he grunted, making you chuckle. 

“Meet me in bed?” He nodded and you moved into the bathroom. 

Once you had done your nightly skincare routine, and changed your clothes, you opened the bathroom door, leaning against the frame waiting for Harry to look up from his phone. He didn’t seem in any hurry to do so, so you cleared your throat to get his attention. 

He looked up, his eyes going wide and phone dropping to his lap when he saw you. You had changed into another tour shirt, one of his. It was a gray t-shirt, just barely covering your panties. His name, and a photo of him onstage across your chest.

“Better?” You asked with an arched brow. 

He didn’t say a word as he stood from the bed and stalked toward you, his eyes darkening. A knot began to form in your stomach the closer he got. When he reached you, his lips dropped to yours in a dizzying kiss. You moaned into his mouth, and his hands moved to your hips, grabbing you gruffly and turning you to lead you toward the bed. 

Your knees hit the mattress and Harry shoved you back, immediately coming over you and trailing his lips across your jaw, taking your earlobe between his teeth and tugging, causing you to moan.

“Harry,” you gasped. 

He growled in your ear, his hands traveling down your body. “I don’t think you’ve ever looked sexier.” His hands reached your panties and tore them off of your body. “I don’t know why you bothered with those though.” 

You giggled at his desperation, but were quickly silenced when he ran a finger through your folds. Your breath hitched, and your back arched. 

“Already dripping for me, such a good girl.” 

“Harry, please.” You begged. 

Harry looked at you with mischief in his eyes. “You show up to my show wearing that shirt, and you think you should be rewarded?” 

“But… but… I…” You stutter as he continues to tease you with his fingers. “I have this one now.” 

“Mmm… that you do,” he hummed, slowly inserting a finger. “And you’re going to keep it on.” 

You were momentarily taken out of your lust fueled daze by his words. “Keep it on?” You looked at him curiously. 

Harry nodded before kissing you again. “Mmhmm,” he confirmed. “I want to see my name plastered across those perfect tits while I fuck you.” 

You let out a soft whimper, if you had known wearing his merch would set him off like this, you would have done it a long time ago. He adds a second finger, and moves his thumb to circle your clit. His lips latched onto your neck, marking you with biting kisses. 

“I’m… I’m close.” You moaned, grinding your hips against his hand. 

“Let go angel, want it all over my fingers.” He spoke against your skin. 

With one final pump of his hand, your back arched and Harry’s name fell from your lips in a high pitched whine. He worked you through your first release, finally slowing to a stop. He removed his fingers and brought them to his mouth, keeping eye contact with you as he licked them clean. He hummed in satisfaction as he removed them, leaning down to kiss you deeply. 

“Are you ready to take all of me?” He asked, his voice low and raspy as he lowered his underwear, his hard length springing free. 

“Yes Harry, I need you.” You pleaded, lifting your hips in an attempt for some friction. 

He chuckled at your desperation, lining himself up with your entrance and pumping his hard cock a few times before driving into you in one swift motion. Pausing for a moment, allowing you to adjust as he intertwined your fingers and brought your joined hands over your head. 

You rolled your hips, signaling that you were ready and Harry pulled out to the tip, and slamming back into you. He set a rough and relentless pace, hitting that spot with each thrust. The room was filled with the sounds of your grunts, and skin slapping against skin.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he groaned, he unlinked your hands, using one of his to hold himself over you as the other cupped your cheek. “I can’t believe you’re all mine.” 

“Only yours, Harry. Always.” You said, your voice wavering slightly. 

You watched as his eyes flitted from your face, to the shirt that still covered your upper body. He felt your walls begin to flutter around him and he knew you were close. “That’s it baby, come all over my cock. I need it.” His thrusts became erratic as he approached his own release. 

Your hands gripped Harry’s biceps, your nails digging into the skin as you fell over the edge, Harry’s name falling off your lips in a series of moans as you coated his cock. 

“That’s it, such a good gi… fuck.” He groaned as he reached his climax. 

He collapsed on top of you, burying his face in your neck as you came down from your high. Eventually, he removed himself from you and rolled onto his back, pulling you to his side. 

“So,” you broke the silence in the room. “What I got from that is that I don’t need to buy fancy lingerie, just need shirts with your face on them.”

You felt his chest shake with laughter. “Don’t kink shame me.” 

“No shame,” you said defensively. “Just observing.” You placed a series of light kisses on his chest. 

***

A few weeks later, Harry was still on the road and you had returned home. You were sitting in your living room watching television when there was a knock at the door. You answered it to find a delivery man with a large package. You accepted it happily and tore it open as soon as the door was shut. 

There was a note, your name written on the front. You smiled, instantly knowing who it was from. You opened it and read the hand-written message. 

One of everything. It’s good to have options.

-H

P.S. Send pictures of them all. ;)

You ripped open the tissue paper and started removing the contents. Laughing to yourself when you realized that he had sent you every piece of merch he currently had. You laid them out on the living room floor, taking a picture that included each piece and texting it to Harry with the caption, ‘just like you asked’. The response came within seconds. 

That’s not what I meant, and you know it. 

You did know it, but you couldn’t help but tease him a little. You brought everything into the bedroom, and put them on one by one, taking pictures of yourself posing in various positions. Once you had taken all the photos, you created a new shared album in your phone, naming it ‘Spank Bank’ and inviting Harry to it. Another, nearly immediate response. 

That’s more like it. 

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles headcanon #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry's house #love on tour #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry edward styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic

[undead-supernova]

I'll Pay the Price, You Won't.

Monsters in the Darkest Dark

Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8

Masterlist

plot: "I broke my own heart 'cause you were too polite to do it."

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: media/public scrutiny of reader's body, hurt/no comfort, fighting, mention of smoking, my apologies

easter egg count: 27

wc: 3k

You didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

Honest to God, your intentions were nothing but pure.

And yet, against all odds, your fate was sealed the moment madness broke loose.

The morning had been gentle, awoken by the smell of burnt toast and melted butter. Eyes opening to the sight of Eddie handing you a plate and a cup of coffee. It was simple. Effortless.

He greeted you with a slow kiss, leaving behind the drag of your teeth against his lips. Toast left to grow cold on the nightstand as you dragged Eddie back into bed.

Most of the morning and afternoon seemed to slip away seamlessly, with gentle kisses and sunscreen and the promise of Jeff’s cooking. And it was all fine and good that evening, laughter pouring from your lips as you sat with Eddie. With Jeff, Gareth, Grant, and Ronnie. Playing an awful round of drunken charades and talking about what was next for the band. Wondering what the next album would sound like. Ultimately, Jeff was the one to shut it down, walking into the room with ice cream and a promise to watch Taskmaster.

But Eddie wanted to head to the beach alone, saying he wanted a moment to himself. You couldn’t blame him. This night was especially beautiful, the stars sprinkled against the obsidian of the sky. The air was just right, blowing a cool breeze through your overheated bodies and leaving behind warmth.

You paused at the halfway point between the beach and your shared house, watching him tuck a cigarette between his lips. Told him you’d see him soon. You let him go, disconnecting your matching calloused fingertips before heading back to your room.

Downed a few glasses of water. Laid back on your bed. Grabbed your phone for quite literally the first time since you’d called Este the previous morning. It’d been left idle on the nightstand, finding the lack of connection quite freeing.

But there you were, ready to venture back on. 

So, you opened Instagram.

It was supposed to be a silly little post. Really, that was all it was supposed to be. A moment of nonchalance. Nothing too big. Just a wish for Mary to have a happy birthday tomorrow when you couldn’t be there yourself. A small gesture of appreciation during the stress of finals.

But as soon as it was posted, you saw the comments grow.

And grow.

And grow.

And you knew you shouldn’t have looked.

You knew.

But you did it anyways.

You pressed on that stupid little comment icon.

And you found exactly what you shouldn’t have.

“What?” you whispered to yourself before going to Google and searching your name.

And within seconds, it was there in front of you. Articles splattered with pictures of you and Eddie on the beach. Specifically zoomed in on your stomach from the side. There was one of you and Eddie sleeping, as if that wasn’t creepy enough. Three showed a red circle drawn around your tummy and the appearance of a double chin. And then there was a video of you making out from across the street, laughing and all over each other. One or two pictures of you in the club, dancing in the mosh pit.

Of course, all the pictures made Eddie look good. A fucking dreamboat. But you? Not a chance.

The articles said nothing about Eddie other than feeling bad for him. But for you, they spoke about how you “gained weight.” How you were “unhealthy.” How you looked “horrible” compared to him. That you were letting yourself go, standing next to the Rockstar who’d only “dated” thin girls; healthy girls—trying to make the words synonymous with one another. Trying to tell the public that your normal body was the problem.

And by association, you. You were the problem.

Eddie had promised privacy, safety. That this was an island of seclusion. And here the internet was, laughing at you. Laughing at Eddie for being dumb enough to be with you. Laughing at your relationship. Despite your heated kisses. Despite the grin on his face and his arms around you. Despite every pretty word that left his lips when he was given the chance.

And, yeah, maybe his words should’ve mattered more.

But you couldn’t help but consider it.

Maybe they were right. Maybe you didn’t fit.

And it was only a matter time before Eddie saw it.

You didn’t know what the breaking point was, couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause of the shift. Maybe it was one of the comments, one of the pictures. Maybe it was the metallic taste in your mouth that began to turn sour with nausea. It could’ve been the girl from last night or the way Ronnie never stopped looked at you like you were running out of time.

Regardless, you snapped.

And you knew you had to leave before Eddie had the chance. Find a way to break him gently so he didn’t feel obligated to keep dating you. Out of pity, out of politeness. 

If you left in the night, left in the shadow of the moonlight, maybe it could soften the blow. 

A swift, clean break. 

But as you started packing, you couldn’t help the tears gushing down your cheeks. Voices came at you from every part of your brain, screaming each vile word spoken about you in the last few years. 

It was too much now, the internet doing exactly what it wanted to do. You’d tried not caring. You’d tried to block out the noise and focus on the life you desperately wanted to live. Tried to let the love you and Eddie shared be the only sight, the only sound that mattered. But you just couldn’t take it anymore.

And maybe you needed to leave it all behind. Give the world what they wanted and go dark. Erase yourself from the public, from the narrative, and find a way to fade from view. Vanish into the shadows and let yourself become merely an echo in the ever-flowing chamber of public consumption. 

But where would Eddie be in all of this? What would you do with the silence, with the echoes of him drifting down your hallways? How would you be able to willingly follow that treacherous quiet? And was there any chance of survival?

It all ripped through you, your sobs ricocheting off the walls. 

And it was then that you heard his voice.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?” he asked, rushing over to you. “Are you leaving? Hey, talk to me. What happened?”

He was so beautiful in his black tank top, hair finally resting over his shoulders for the first time in days. A pretty reminder of just how much this was going to sting.

“I can’t keep dealing with this stuff,” you muttered, zipping up your suitcase. “I need to go.”

“Dealing with what?”

You couldn’t help the bitter chuckle that left your lips as you opened up your phone, still honed in on a TMZ article. He took your phone, eyebrows furrowing as he scanned the pictures. Read the accompanying sentences. 

But then he paused, avoiding your gaze. Voice growing quiet as he said, “I thought you stopped looking at social media.”

“I just wanted to post something for Mary’s birthday,” you explained. “And then…” 

“Sweetheart,” he said gently as he put the phone on the bed. “You’re so beautiful—"

“I don’t believe what they say about me,” you stated, watching his eyes widen as they finally met yours. “I’ll make that clear. I know my body is beautiful the way it is. I know that it’s my body and it doesn’t need to look the way that I’ve been told it needs to. I don’t feel bad about my body.”

“Then why…”

“Because it’s invasive,” you said. “Because I have become a target and I’ve got a lot of easy shots to take. My dating history, my weight. The validity of my bisexuality when I write about men. All of it. 

“Eddie, I am tired of being a joke. I am tired of being seen as some fictional character to write think pieces about and scrutinize and everything else. Maybe I should go into hiding for a while or something.” You shook your head, trying to go back to your frantic packing. “I don’t know. I just can’t be here.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said, pointing at his pile of clothes in the corner. “We can go back to New York and—"

“No,” you said harshly, looking at him. “I don’t want you to come with me.”

Slowly, he lowered his arm. “Uh, why not?”

You paused, knowing you had to deal the blow. Even if it was the last thing you ever wanted to do. “Because I don’t know if we should keep going. I don’t know if this is good for us. For you.”

He flinched away from you; eyes still boring into yours. “What the fuck are you even saying? That you’re just giving up on us because of strangers on the internet?” He scoffed. “Like they matter? I mean, what do they have to do with our relationship?”

His eyes widened, the reality of the situation washing over him. “If their dumb opinions win right now, what does that make me? Collateral damage? Or does that… Does that mean that I’m the problem?”

“Eddie, you’re not a problem at all—"

“It sure sounds like it,” he interrupted. “What’s the common denominator in all this? I asked you to be mine. I’m the one who got you the bikini. I’m the one who asked you to come. I’m the reason you’re given this shit.” He let out a short laugh. “I guess I’m the problem in this equation, huh? Gotta cut me out.”

“No!” you exclaimed before pointing at your chest. “I’m the problem, Eddie! It’s me!”

“Bullshit.”

“Eddie…”

“You act like you’re some problem for everyone,” he started. “With all these fucking people that love you, that see that goodness in you—see the real you. Like…you don’t even realize how much you actually shine.” He sighed, shaking his head. “And yet, you chose to be with me. I didn’t even really understand why, but I was just fucking happy to be yours.”

“Eddie, please,” you whispered. You didn’t know what you were asking. For him to stop saying these things? To stop fighting for you? To give up when you wanted nothing but to stop hurting him? 

Eddie took a step forward, eyes never leaving yours. “And I was so fucking happy because I’m crazy about you. And I thought you were, too.” He paused before his face drew closer. “Are you?”

You sniffled, no longer trying to wipe away your tears. And you cracked, unable to stop yourself from nodding. Because Eddie was what made you weak, made you bend. 

His face was so close, and his cheeks were flushed. You could smell the ocean and the faint hint of nicotine wafting off him. Could feel your callouses brush up against one another. And you were curling into yourself, daunted by the weight of his presence. By his stare.  

How could someone like Eddie still want you through all of this?

“Y-yeah,” you uttered. “Yeah, I am.”

Closer now, his forehead met yours. But your eyes still held each other, neither one of you able to look away.

“Then why can’t that be enough?”

A ragged breath left your lips. “We know why.”

“They don’t matter.”

“Maybe they’re right,” you whispered. “Maybe they see what we can’t.”

His features softened, his lower lip beginning to tremble. “Am I not worth it?”

You shook your head. “Don’t say that about yourself. Please.”

“You told me last night that you never wanted to be with anyone else,” he said, jaw tightening as his eyes glassed over. “And now you’re breaking up with me? Did you really just lead me on for six months? ‘Cause I thought you wanted to stay. That…that, I don’t know, you trusted me. Trusted what we have. Because it’s real. It’s all real. At least…at least it is for me.”

He took a step back, shaking his head. Emotions darted across his face, seeming to change every few seconds.

Frustration, anger. 

Sorrow, grief.

And then he sniffled. Tears spilled over. His face fell into a scarlet flush, lips curling open as a sob left his mouth. 

Every little detail that was surely going to haunt you for the rest of your life. 

“I just don’t fit in your world,” you whispered.

“That’s fucking horse shit,” he cried, furiously wiping the tears from his eyes. “You fit in so perfectly to my life. Can you not fucking see that?”

You could only reflect him, trying to cease your tears as you watched your hearts break in real time.

“I don’t,” you whispered. “You just don’t see that yet. I’m doing this for you.”

“No, you’re doing this for you.”

“This is the right thing to do!” you exclaimed, a hiccup escaping your lips. “This is how I protect you!”

“This is how you protect yourself.”

“Eddie, please. You can’t see it yet, but I promise I’m not good for you.”

Everyone knows it, you wanted to say. They see right through me.

And in due time, he would, too.

Eddie stepped towards you, lifting his hand to your face as if he was going to caress your cheek. But he stopped, curling his fist before bringing it to his lips to try and suppress a hiccup. Shook his head. As if he knew he had lost. As if this battle was already over and he was collecting his participation trophy.

“If you do this, you’re hurting me!” he exclaimed, gasping. “And if you sit there and act like you’re not good enough for me? You’re not just wasting that shit on yourself. You’re losing me in the process.”

“Eddie, I…” You couldn’t even finish your sentence. It was all there, lodged in your throat, unable to escape.

“Do you want to lose me?” he asked, tugging at his hair. “Do you care?”

“You know I care,” you said harshly. “That’s why I have to do this.”

“No, no, no. I’m showing my cards, okay?” he croaked, pressing his hand against his heart. “I don’t want to be with anyone else. I want you. I want a life with you, and I don’t want to sit here and have to wonder what anyone else thinks about it. I meant it when I said I wouldn’t trade you for the world.

���Could you say the same?”

Your eyes darted between his, soaking in his words as they spilled from his lips. He was saying all of the right things, all of the tiny things that made you want to cave. Made you want to call this off and get into bed. Forget that you ever made a decision. But you knew that you had to do this. If it wasn’t now, it would happened eventually.

And your silence was enough for him.

 “I just,” he sighed. “I love you.”

A short gasp left your lips.

He’d said it. He actually said it.

And you were still standing there, saying nothing.

Doing nothing.

Eddie crossed his arms over his stomach, digging his fingernails into his elbows. You could see him pushing into his stomach. 

“Say something,” he pleaded.

“I’m setting you free, Eddie,” you replied, barely above a whisper. “Goodbye.”

Grabbing your suitcase, you reluctantly took a few steps towards the door.

“Why do you have to do this?” you heard him whisper, voice cracking. Like he was saying it to himself. Like he knew that this was done. 

You turned back.

“I’m here fighting for you. And you’re just…walking away.”

And though you watched him fall to his knees, cries getting louder, you didn’t help him up.

You wanted to. Oh, how you wanted to fall back into him and explain that you wanted him so badly that it was tearing you apart. That you also wanted to fall to the floor, contort yourself into a fetal position and hyperventilate. That you understood. 

But you didn’t.

Like a coward, you walked away. 

You sat on a bench by the pier for a while, sobbing into your hands, drenching your skin in salty tears. Listened to the crashing of the ocean, the white noise driving you to the brink of insanity. You stayed there until the sun came up, regretting everything you’d said. Everything you did. 

But it was already too late, catching the first boat back to the mainland.

So now you were sitting on the back of a boat, staring at the empty dock as you waited to pull away.

And in the distance, you thought you saw Eddie standing there.

But it wasn’t him.

It was Ronnie, with her arms crossed over her chest, giving you a scowl. Body rigid as she watched you go.

“You’re nothing but a coward.”

“I know you’ll gladly throw it away just because it isn’t the fucking fairytale you imagined.”

But there was one other thing Ronnie had said to you, the one that stayed stuck in your mind the entire way back.

“Don’t drag someone into your fucking mess if you can’t clean it up.”

And that’s exactly what you were. A godforsaken mess that had to be removed before you could ruin Eddie’s life any further. And if it cut you to the core, sobs wracking your body the moment you fell into Scott’s arms at the airport, then so be it. 

“What did he do?” he asked, pulling you further into the private lounge.

You merely shook your head, clutching your fifth tissue smattered in tears and snot. “It was me. I’m just a fucking mess. A stupid, idiotic fool. A coward. A fucking idiot. I—” 

You choked on another sob, curling further into his chest.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” he whispered. “You’re not any of those things, okay? You’re only human.”

Not to anyone else, you wanted to say. I’m not a human being. I’m just a machine for others to gawk at. 

“I wish I could go back to the beginning.”

“As much as I wish I could take you back…” Scott sighed. “Darlin’, none of us can go back.”

Seven hours later, you ended up back at your New York house without paparazzi sneaking into the airport. Sat in the deafening silence, all alone. Went to your bed, alone, staring at the made bed. Shook your head. Decided to go back downstairs. Laid on the couch, curling into a fetal position.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there, making yourself as small as you could. But you watched dusk turn into dawn. And as the cold light of morning washed over you, you realized that your life was never going to be the same. Eddie Munson was gone.

And as far as anyone knew, so were you.

as always, a big thanks to @strangergraphics for her lovely dividers. sorry to *gunshot* you all in the process of releasing this!

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #modern!eddie munson #modern!eddie x reader #Eddie Munson x female reader #boyfriend!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie #rockstar eddie munson

[hows-my-handwriting]

Hobie Brown Headcanons

long post ahead. will put as much as i can under the cut but i will have a.... loose table of contents.

and im not feeding you everything. i need more content to drip feed you later.

the inspo is driving me crazy but the hands are refusing to write.

the table: backstory food british animals

lmk if ppl want this to be split up into individual posts per category. cuz its l o n g

BACKSTORY:

Not based on the comics. purely my own attempt at writing his backstory and his particular villains.

Hobie's Doc Oc was a university professor pressured by Osborn's regime to produce weapons. Hobie had met the guy while crashing a university class, but nothing more than that. Octavius snapped and took the revolution to the extreme. he built a WMD and planned to use it on the city. Hobie talked octavius down and disarmed the weapon.

Hobie's lizard was his close friend and bandmate who got jealous over their lead singer's affections towards hobie. they were close friends until hobie started drifting away. curtis was bitter and never really forgave him. the final straw was when hobie returned in full, having just abandoned his spider suit. the band is back together but curtis still has hard feelings. he knew vaguely about hobie's connection with spiderman but thought that it was some kind of special deal or friendship which was just another nail in the coffin. he turns himself into the lizard and attacks hobie, demanding answers and refusing to listen.

the above is just an excuse to hurt hobie really bad >:3 i love my angst and my beating my muses up. i wanted to break his ribs.

electro was a civilian who just happened to get struck by lightning. he is the sole reason hobie has insulated all of his gear and one of the reasons all of his spikes can shoot excess electricity like one of those funky little electrode balls. hobie took one look at this guy and immediately got to work.

Kraven was a bounty hunter hired and possibly engineered by osborn and fisk to hunt down hobie. classic kraven activities. he tried to drown hobie in the thames. hobie managed to escape but couldn't breathe or eat properly for a week after the attack

hobie's ship was hauled from the local junkyard. It was originally just used as a figure head to lead the charge from the government locked dam blocking off water. it somehow survived so he uses it as his hq.

hobie is immune to his scorpion's venom after being stung so many times and stealing samples of it to build up an immunity. yes it hurt. yes it sucked. but it worked. (loosely inspired by a fanfic)

the above are not in chronological order. mostly.

FOOD:

Hobie's world doesn't have a lot of spices. it's a closed state unless importing 'important' materials like lumber, steel and other sciency stuff, food is a lower priority or just a restricted luxury. the spice trade has regressed to something like the 1600s where foreign spices are held by those in power purely as a status symbol. the common man might have access to salt, sugar and cream, but anything else- especially anything spicy- is a luxury item.

hobie would love spicy food. i just dont think he's gotten much exposure to it. day one out of e-138 he opened a bag of spicy chips in the cafeteria, touched one and exploded.

exotic/foreign fruits fall under this same category but for more legit reasons of travel and lack of safe storage. so for example: mangoes, oranges/citrus, kiwi, pomegranates.

boba would freak him the fuck out. he has no idea what those little jiggly things are and its only made worse when one of the kids inevitably shows him the hamster 'is it worth it' meme. he becomes scarred for life.

if you take too long to take a bite out of whatever you're holding and hobie is hungry, he will just lean over and take a bite out of it. sandwich? bitten. spaghetti? stolen off the fork. chocolate bar? wrapper and bar, gone.

his favorite flavor of cake is chocolate or caramel. sue me im projecting onto him

BRITISH

he holds out his pinky when holding cups. it's just an unconscious thing that turns conscious once someone calls it out. in which case he sticks it out even further

flips the police and the royal family off regularly with the one fingered or the two fingered version. will only respect the french for inventing the creative two fingered fuck you, but nothing else.

has a winter fit that is just like a pile of whatever sweaters he has and two scarves. and long socks that make the space in his tight boots even more tight. sometimes cuts off circulation to his feet.

loves going to pubs and just chatting with people. also loves picking fights with the drunk people. Particularly the irish. he thinks their accents are funny and has long arguments with them while they're both speaking absolute gibberish.

knows french but only the insults. has an arsenal of french insults he will just whip out of his back pocket and drop on someone's head.

not really a british thing but i bet he doesn't know how to ride a bike. he was a) too tall and b) not willing to get his entire skeleton rattled by riding over the cobbled streets of london.

wimpy's fan. (its like the british version of mcdonalds but less popular and less famous. according to my research).

ANIMALS

Hobie keeps pigeons. he built a little house when he was bored and was surprised to find three pigeons hiding from the rain underneath it the next day. he didn't really intend to keep them but they nested and he kept bringing them food and water. he did name the brown one hobie jr.

hobie has a cat. again, not really 'has' but rather 'it broke into his boat and wont leave'. he didn't name her because he can't think of a good one. for the longest time he had no idea she was living in his floorboards but later discovered a hole in the side of his boat and found a crawlspace just large enough for a kitten.

he is freaked out by snakes. not as in a fear of snakes. but rather in utter disbelief that they can be the size of a human person. he's read about and probably seen the average snake, about the size of an arm. but anything larger than that will make his jaw drop right off of his face

he did have a symbiote dog for a short time. the dog was badly hurt and the passive symbiote had merged with its body to try and help it. he offered it a place to stay and rest and it happily agreed. it followed him around for the short while they had together and one day went off on its own.

he still sees that dog around (affectionately named 'spider-mutt') and offers it head scratches or belly rubs but they always part ways sooner than later.

loves opossums. thinks they look funny.

part two? maybe....

might add more to this as my brain keeps turning.

#atsv #hobie brown #hobie brown headcanons #this has been accumulating for #since the movie came out #i lost my mind #still losing it actually

[madneedshelp]

Hiraeth - Danny Wagner x FReader

Hiraeth: a deep longing for a home to which you cannot return

Summary: You thought life would hurt less if you broke off your painful long distance relationship, but it turns out that’s quite the opposite, and now you have to fight to reclaim the home you once had in him.

Warnings(i guess?): language, breakup, angst to comfort, happy ending bc I’m a softie

“You can’t lay in bed forever. Your boss is bound to fire your ass if you don’t get it together, babe.” 

You looked up at your best friend as she stood above you. She was right. You were a grown woman, and here you were wallowing in bed over a breakup that happened two weeks ago. 

“Just leave me alone. I appreciate you trying to help, but I just need to be alone.” You grumbled and rolled over. 

Things had been okay for a while. Right after the breakup, you had went about life as normal. That lasted for about a week. Then you started realizing that you felt so much worse than you had before you ended your two year relationship with Danny. 

It made sense to breakup. He was a drummer in a famous band, which meant he was always gone, and you felt the connection between the two of you fading. It took a lot of debating, but you finally came to the conclusion that you should end it. 

Now you were starting to think maybe the connection hadn’t been fading, but you had just stopped trying to make it work. 

“Please just get dressed and go get some coffee with me. I need to see you get out of the apartment. You’ve been holed up in here for a week.” Your friend pleaded. 

“Are you really not going to leave me alone?” You sighed, turning to face her again.

“Nope.” She stated firmly. She was a law student, and very very good at getting her way. 

“Fine.” You pulled the cover back and crawled out of bed. “Let’s get a coffee then.” 

She grimaced and scanned your rumpled appearance. “How about you shower and change first?”

You looked down at yourself and accepted that she was right again. Another wave of sadness hit you as you thought about how you let yourself get in this state. You had to fix things. 

An hour later, you were showered and dressed and on your way to get coffee. You made sure to put some effort into your appearance because you thought it might make you feel better. It didn’t, but at least you didn’t look as bad as you felt. 

“Isn’t this better than staying in a fetal position under your comforter?” Your friend sighed and took a sip of her iced latte. 

You shrugged and sipped your own drink. “I don’t know. I guess.” 

She shook her head. “You can’t keep wallowing. I love you, but this is not healthy.”

“I’m not wallowing!” You fumed, but she raised and eyebrow and you caved. “Okay, maybe I’m wallowing, but what else am I supposed to do? I royally fucked up with Danny, and now I go home to an empty apartment from a job I hate, and I feel so lost. I don’t know what my endgame is anymore.”

“I keep saying you should call him! If you feel this bad and you genuinely think the breakup was a mistake, you two should talk about it. At the very least, you’ll have closure.” She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair.

You ignored the growing uneasiness in your stomach. “I don’t think I can just call him up and say ‘sorry I dumped you, but I still love you and I fucked up’ out of the blue.”

Your friend leaned over and put a hand on your arm. “Listen, babe, I’m gonna level with you right now. I have not liked any of the guys you’ve dated before, except for Danny. He’s a good one, and if you think there’s a chance to save things and if that’s what you really want, I think you should try.”

“But it’ll still be long distance, and clearly that didn’t work before.” You huff. 

“I’m not going to tell you how you should conduct your relationships, but I will say that he did make an effort to visit you and call you. I know you, and I know that you like to shut down when you’re hurting. When you called me and said you felt like you were in a rough patch, I could tell that you were already telling yourself it was over. All I’m saying is that if you both really try, I think maybe you could make it work.” 

You looked down at the drink in your hands. She did have a point about the shutting down. It was a defense mechanism that you put in place after one too many douchebags treated you like shit, but it honestly wasn’t fair that you deployed it on Danny. 

He sent you flowers when he couldn’t be home in person. He called you almost every day, and texted if he couldn’t. He flew home to see you as often as possible. He was a good person. You were just scared. 

You couldn’t be scared if you wanted him back. He felt like home to you, and you’d never felt so alone with him gone. If you wanted to change things, you had to fight. What was that thing his brother Josh liked to say? ‘Fuck fear…’ something something? Whatever, you just had to be brave and go fix the mess you made.

——————

That’s how, several hours later, you found yourself just outside of Nashville. The drive was long, but you were a little grateful it gave you some time to plan your speech. You would’ve bought a plane ticket, but you couldn’t really drain your savings, so the drive it was.

Danny had a place near Nashville, like the rest of the band. He didn’t stay there too often, only when he had work. He mostly stayed at your apartment when he was off, but you still knew where to find his place. You just hoped he’d be there when you showed up. 

You pulled in the driveway and shut off the engine. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you forced your door open and made yourself walk up to the door. You came all this way to talk to him, and you couldn’t let yourself get too in your head. 

You rang the bell and waited. There was a long moment of silence, but then you heard a light shuffling inside. You knew you should’ve been relieved that he was home, but your heart seized up. 

It’s just Danny. You’ve talked to him for thousands of hours. You love him. No matter how many times you repeated that in your head, you still felt like you could either pass out or burst into tears. 

The door swung open and you were met with the sharp brown eyes of the man you still loved. 

“Hi,” you croaked, practiced speech immediately leaving your head. 

As he stared at you, his eyes seemed to soften slightly. God, you loved his eyes. Oddly enough, you even missed them. 

“What do you want?” He practically whispered.

You swallowed thickly. It seemed you were leaning closer to the burst into tears side of things, and you were trying so hard not to do that. “To talk. If that’s okay.” 

He nodded and stepped aside so you could enter. He shut the door quietly and led you into his living room. It seemed a little messier than usual, and it looked like maybe he’d been sleeping on the couch. 

“Do you, uh, need anything? I’m guessing you drove and I know it’s a long trip.” He asked.

“No, I’m good.” You shook your head, trying to keep your voice from quivering. 

He sat down on the chair opposite yours and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “So what did you want to talk about?” 

You hated how nervous you were, and how unprepared and scattered it was making you feel. “I just…I don’t know where to even start…I guess I should start with I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Dan, I’ve never regretted anything more in my life. I ran from you instead of talking. I’ve been a shitty girlfriend, and that wasn’t fair. I’m just so sorry for all of it…and I miss you. I miss you so badly that I don’t know why I thought ending things would fix my hurting. I messed everything up so much, and I wish more that anything that I wouldn’t have…wouldn’t have…have left…”

You broke off the end of your rant unwillingly as sobs took over and you couldn’t keep going. You felt pathetic, and you were sure that’s what he was thinking too. Here you were, having driven all the way to Nashville, groveling and crying in his living room. He had to think you were a crazy ass mess. 

In the midst of your mental spiral, you felt the seat dip down next to you. Warm, strong arms wrapped around you and pulled you close. Danny didn’t say anything for a while. He just held you against his chest and let you cry, which you honestly needed. 

“I miss you too.” He murmured into your hair.

You pulled back enough to look up at him. “You do?”

His own eyes were a little watery, but he seemed to be doing a better job of holding it in than you were. “I do. So much, honey.”

“Do you think we could try again? I know I need to work on a lot of things with myself, but I promise I will be better. I won’t shut down and I’ll make a better effort at communicating. I won’t take it for granted. I love you so much Dan, you’re my home and I can’t lose that.” You met his eyes, hoping and praying that you had a chance. 

In answer, he leaned forward and kissed you. It had been entirely too long since he’d pressed his lips to yours, and you felt yourself melt into him. 

He broke away, just for a second. “I love you too. I know I travel a lot, but it only feels like coming home when it’s you I get to come back to.”

You felt a great relief sweep through you and a fresh wave of tears began to trickle down your cheeks. This man was your whole world and you intended on spending the rest of your life making sure he knew that. 

“Hey, don’t do that. It breaks my heart when you cry.” He swiped some tears away with a brush of his thumb. 

“They’re good tears. Not like the psycho begging tears from earlier.” You added with a shaky chuckle. 

He chuckled softly with you before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I don’t think those were ‘psycho tears’.”

“Really? I drove all the way here to ask for you to take me back, that doesn’t seem crazy to you?” You laughed, snuggling into his side.

He seemed to hold you closer too. “Love makes you do crazy things sometimes, I guess. But honestly, no, I don’t think it was crazy.”

“Why not?”

He nodded towards the front door. “See that bag? I packed that right before you got here. I have a plane ticket to go see you for a flight that leaves in an hour.”

Before you started to cry again, you leaned up and kissed him again. It brought you some comfort to know for sure, even though you already knew deep down, that you’d always come back to one another. 

#danny wagner x reader #greta van fleet #fanfic #x y/n #danny wagner #imagines #josh kiszka #jake kiszka #sam kiskza #danny gvf #danny wagner angst #danny wagner blurb #danny wagner gvf #danny wagner imagine #danny wagner x you #danny wagner x y/n

[thedawningofthehour]

I really hope you are doing well.

Maybe sealed is not the right word, more like bottled, I think Donnie could have awakened his mystical abilities if he really tried. I don't see ninpo as the source of his power if not as an enhancer, in the sense that turtles have their abilities and what ninpo does is enhance them, almost like super saiyan, but with extra benefits, like creating weapons. Donnie has his own powers, but I think it has been established that mystic is pretty much conected to the soul which still contains the connection to his family, which is what Draxum's spell is there to suppress, after the incident with the mercenaries I was under the impression that even if Donnie manages to tap into his mystic abilities these would end up damaging him like a pipe with too much pressure.

To be honest, before finishing book 2, you said book 3 would be the shortest, which led me and others to assume you meant it would be the shortest in the series, THEN you said it would be shorter than book 2, which didn't contradict our earlier idea, I'm trying to find the posts, but Tumblr post search will be danm. Not to mention that every time I mentioned it you said nothing!!! .... 30 chapters.... * Goes to cry in a corner *

I have a theory that a lot of people find that when a fic is going to be pretty angsty these wait until it's complete to read it, rip off the band-aid in one go and all that, at least that's what I usually do, and I would do it with this fic if it weren't for the fact that I wouldn't be able to log in to the blog afterwards to avoid spoilers!

And I like your posts.

I checked my bank balance and it turns out I have more money than I thought so the urge to die isn't quite so immediate.

The reason the power spike hurt him so badly was because he overextended himself. He had no framework to put his ability into, no sense of how much he could control or even the presence of mind to know he needed to. In canon he knew roughly what was happening and had his brothers around to help him regulate, plus he knew he had to go rescue his dads afterwards and would need his energy. Here, he had no thought other than 'keep these creeps away.' The possibility of what he was feeling welling up being his own mystic powers didn't occur to him because Gale was pretty certain he didn't have any powers. And, you know, he'd been tased and shit.

But it is true that his powers are stronger when he's with his family, and even though he sees Cass as such it really is not the same. Under normal circumstances Draxum's expertise would actually be very helpful in developing his powers-but Draxum joined them in canon, so they had access to his help there too.

All that said, Draxum isn't too terribly bothered by this. He wanted Donnie for his brain, not for Hamato family magic or any potential mystical ability. He started training Gale is the mystics because he was legitimately curious what he could do, (plus it's deffo not healthy to suppress your powers if you do have them-one of the reasons Bella lived with her uncle on and off throughout her childhood) but he really has no plans to utilize his abilities. Galois is more useful to him in the lab than on the battlefield, and any potential combat use would have to be pretty fucking spectacular to justify the risk of that brain being damaged. (plus, you know, that's his son now)

I'm going to be honest, I hate it when people do that. And I don't get it. I'm disappointed when I come onto a fic that's already been completed; half the fun of fandom is interacting with creators and other readers and going absolutely mental for weeks at a time. You're missing out on the experience when you just hop on at the end.

And it just feels very entitled to me? Like, fanworks are made to be interacted with. There are exceptions, of course, but in general the people who wait until a fic is finished aren't interacting with the story as it was meant to, if at all. Like, if I hadn't gotten any interaction with doth, I would have dropped it. It took quite a while for it to pick up any meaningful interaction at all, and honestly the only reason I stuck it out that long was because I had a bunch of the story already written. If I had been writing one or two chapters at a time back then, I would have gotten discouraged and quit. If everyone waited until the end to bother reading, then they wouldn't have any completed longfics to read. Fanfiction isn't paid, we have no incentive to keep going if we're just screaming into the void.

Sorry, that came out really angry. I'm not saying people have to interaction with every fanwork they come across; god knows I don't comment on everything I read. (I am trying to be better about this though) I just had a bad experience with people not reading the tags/author's notes on doth and thinking it was completed and then bitching at me for 'tricking' them into reading an unfinished fic. Honestly, it's kind of degrading to work on something for months, (a year and a half at this point) and then have people want to consume it all at once and then leave. Like bro. You're gonna get indigestion.

#doth asks

[sloelimbs]

You know those Reddit stories where someone asks their partner for an open relationship. Wether it was coerced or the person was on board from the start. But then it backfired on the one who asked when the gf finds someone better on their end or is getting more action? You should make a long one shot for repertoire but make it hellcheer😂

Jason says this’ll be fun. He says all his friends do this, that it just spices things up, that their wives love it, that it makes their marriages stronger. Chrissy isn’t sure, but taking the wedding ring off feels like shedding a hundred pounds. Jason does the same, and they go into her bedside drawer in their separate boxes. At first, she doesn’t like the idea of it. She doesn’t like the thought of having to… find someone else, when he’s out at the club trying to get with other girls.

Normally on nights alone she bathes for hours, binge watches true crime on Netflix with pretzels and rosé wine, scrolls endlessly through Twitter, and occasionally drinks a little too much and starts setting herself up on Tinder. She never gets as far as uploading her photo. She deletes the app before she goes to bed in the guest room. It’s a good thing that she never looks at her bio sober.

It takes about six months for her to gather the courage to actually put her face out there, at three in the morning, two bottles down and crying on the bathroom floor because she hasn’t seen her husband in two days. She doesn’t even know where Jason is. He’s turned his phone off and… it’s lonely. It’s really fucking lonely. Chrissy keeps her eyes closed, as she always does, and swipes at random because it doesn’t fucking matter who’s on the other end of the connection, she just wants someone to see her.

Don’t really know what I’m looking for on here. In an ‘open relationship’. Married. Miserable.

She’s pathetic, but, well. She’ll take what she can get, because that’s what Jason’s doing, right?

Eddie M. has sent you a message!

[Maybe it’s not my place to say but if you’re not vibing with the open part maybe you should skip to the part where you divorce the ungrateful sucker.]

[Sorry if that was out of line, I just hate to see a beautiful girl so sad.]

Chrissy dries her eyes, and just sends him her number. She’s going to delete the app before bed, anyway. As nice as Eddie M. looks, he’s made of the same stuff as her husband. Maybe he’s less clean cut, maybe between the long dark hair and huge dark eyes and that wolffish smile she feels a flutter in her stomach and between her thighs that she hasn’t felt since her honeymoon, but still.

<<I’m gonna go ahead and assume that was an invitation to text you. It’s Eddie! You doing okay?>> But it’s not enough. It doesn’t make the pit of loneliness and longing close up, so she highlights the number and hits call instead.

It becomes a routine. Jason disappears after supper without kissing her and she takes her phone upstairs to the hot tub to strip and call Eddie. He lives in Chicago, hundreds of miles away, full time job leading his band to greatness but he still finds time to text her throughout the day. She doesn’t go a morning without a greeting, she doesn’t go to sleep without him murmuring softly over the distance. Chrissy doesn’t just delete the app, she deletes the profile altogether and can’t stop smiling when Eddie sends her a screen recording of him doing the same.

<<It’s you and me, Princess, if that’s what you want. How’s Jason Cucker going?>>

<<Dead to me tbh.>>

It’s another two months before Eddie calls her from the airport. He’s waiting for her, and all she has to do now is leave the note and the divorce papers where they’ll be found. It doesn’t sting as much as she thought it would. She supposes any hurt would be soothed by the knowledge that you’re going to the arms of someone so beyond beloved that they’ve changed your life without ever even touching you. She doesn’t look back when she’s in the cab, and she doesn’t consider her options while she rolls her case through security, and she’s not nervous when she spots him where he promised he’d be. Standing outside Starbucks with an enormous bouquet of flowers (they won’t be allowed on the plane, she doesn’t think, but the thought itself? She melts) and an even bigger smile, holding up her order without asking her if that’s what she wanted.

It just feels like going home when she goes to him and presses her face into his chest.

#hellcheer #chrissy x eddie #eddie x chrissy #Jason is also here #(derogatory) #eddissy #always taking requests #thank you my love this was a CHALLENGE to figure out! #emen-98

[reidscanehand]

you’re the northern star

Inspired by this song by Dom Fera Pairing: Rockstar!Remus Lupin x fem!Reader (Modern AU) Category: Hurt/Comfort/Fluff TW: implied alcohol/drug use (really just overdoing it on Remus’ part)

Well, this is different, innit? I was rewatching the Taylor Swift Miss Americana documentary and I got an idea about a rockstar not sure of what to do with himself. Also, this is a really fucking stunning song that I’ve loved and wanted to use for a while. The other lyrics Y/N sings are another Dom Fera song called “Midnights in October”. 

Three rum and cokes and a couple beers in Some lucky drunk stood up, heavy with where he’d been And he held onto someone, and he sung out compelled “You’re why I was right to trust myself”

~~~

Being a rockstar was everything Remus ever dreamed of. The Marauders had kicked off when the boys had all finished school together. Peter had quickly left before they really took off  - unsurprising, really, but no less saddening - quickly replaced, though, by Frank Longbottom, who was, in fact, a better player anyway. With Frank on keyboards, Remus on bass, James on drums, and Sirius on guitar and vocals, the band really began to gel for the first time. Remus and Sirius wrote all the music and lyrics - mostly Remus, really. He could play piano, guitar, and bass, making it easier for him to arrange everything, but Sirius did his fair share. The addition of Frank seemed to symbolize a new beginning for everything, really. 

That and James and Lily finally getting together. If James wasn’t so head over heels for the girl, Remus could’ve sworn he’d asked her out just for her connections. 

With Lily installed as their manager, The Marauders started to play bigger venues, their songs started getting more streams, and, suddenly, they were releasing EPs, then an album released to stunning reviews and an enthusiastic and ever growing fan base. They were invited on Graham Norton, then played a UK tour, then a US tour, performing on Jimmy Fallon, and Saturday Night Live. Then the Grammys came - Album of the Year, Record of the Year, Best New Artist, and Best Rock Album, all in one fell swoop. 

And Remus suddenly realized that that was all he’d ever wanted. All he’d ever wanted...and now that he had it, what was he to do? He didn’t really know. He suddenly felt embarrassed and uncomfortable. He couldn’t write, he couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t do much of anything. He played with the group, but even Sirius got on him for how bummed out he sounded while singing backing vocals. He didn’t feel like he could talk to his bandmates. He started drinking...aggressively, really. When he couldn’t sleep, he would drink to knock himself out, sometimes popping pills to help in the endeavor. Then he’d take pills to wake up, take pills to energize himself to do a show. He knew it was bad, but he felt just numb. 

It was an unspoken problem with his bandmates. They knew something was wrong, especially Sirius, who was so furious with him after their last writing session - a session to which Remus arrived late and hungover - that he didn’t speak to him for almost a week unless he absolutely had to. This last leg of the US tour couldn’t be over quick enough in Remus’ opinion. Tensions were high and maybe...maybe he just needed a break? He wasn’t sure. Their Reno, Nevada shows had been sold out and with the weekend over, they’d leave the next morning for Los Angeles. Dropping his stuff at the bus and then going to his hotel room to pick up his wallet, he left the hotel without telling anyone, doubting they’d miss him. James and Lily were...canoodling in their room, Frank was facetiming back home with his girlfriend, Alice, and Sirius was seducing whatever groupie he’d brought back that evening. Remus had tried the groupie route, hoping that feeling something would bring him back to earth, but it just made him feel even more numb, really. 

So, he took off. Their hotel was near enough to a bar that he walked over pretty quickly. It was some local place, he didn’t pay the name too much mind, settling at the bar and hoping no one recognized him. It was pretty dark, anyway. There was a little group playing popular music covers on a small stage in one corner, but it wasn’t too busy. Remus asked for a rum and coke, heavy on the rum. The bartender seemed to get the message and Remus quickly chugged back a couple of drinks, asking for a third when the band caught his attention.

“This is a less popular song,” a young woman says while pulling a stool up to the mic, “but it’s one of my favorites. I hope you like it.” The opening chords of the song caught his attention. He watched, transfixed, as the young woman began to sing.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh. There’s a story I tell, really just to myself. Like a prayer I sing to empty shores, so how’s it sound just like yours? How’s it sound just like yours?” she sang wistfully, her pretty voice lilting around the lyrics. 

Remus hoped he wasn’t drunkenly imagining things...because he’d written this song. It was one of the first songs released by The Marauders back before...before anything, really. Before they’d turned to rock, even. It was one of the songs he’d recorded with Sirius when it was just the two of them. He’d recorded all the parts in his closet at university, sitting cross-legged on the floor to fit in there with his various instruments, and mixing the parts on his computer instead of writing a paper for his intro to philosophy course. 

“There’s a spirit over midnights in October and it sings to you and only you. So, how did I hear it too? How did I hear it too?” She continues to play on ukelele as the rest of the band comes in on piano, bass, and drum, but Remus remains focused on the young woman. Her eyes are closed, but she’s smiling to herself as she sings. She looks so...peaceful. He can’t believe it’s his song that’s made her so...so happy, so wistful. The fans loved the music, sure, but Remus hadn’t seen someone love someting he’d created like this before. He sips his drink slowly, methodically. He doesn’t want to get drunk for the first time in ages. He wants to speak to this beautiful girl. He wants to tell her...he doesn’t know, but he needs to be more put together to talk to her. 

“And if we try to say what we need we could be okay. We clearly believe in believing, baby, we’ll try slow, we’ll try slow. There’s a spirit over midnights in October and it sings to you, only you and now I’m singing too. And now I’m singing too. And now I’m singing too.” She finishes the song and there’s a small round of applause, led mostly by Remus. The guitarist steps up to the mic and thanks everyone, announcing the end of the set for the band. The group gets offstage and Remus tries not to seem creepy as the young woman crosses to bar, leaning over it and ordering a Jameson on the rocks. 

“I’ll get it,” he hears himself say. She turns to see him and her eyes widen. 

“Oh my God, you’re...you’re Remus Lupin,” she almost whispers.

“Yeah,” he shrugs unsure of what to say. He’s still not used to the fans. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem the type to freak out. In fact she looks almost embarrassed.

“I promise I had no idea you were here,” she says quietly, “I would never have played that if I’d known-”

“I loved it,” he cuts her off. “You have a beautiful voice.”

“Um,” she looks surprised, “thank you. I really...um, I’m not really a singer or-”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he teases. The bartender hands her her drinks and she seems to remember where they are. 

“What’s your name?” he asks. 

“Y/N,” she answers shyly. She looks down at her drink and opens her mouth, quickly closing it again, unsure of what to say. Remus feels the most sober he’s felt in ages. There’s something about this girl that’s warming him. He can feel his heart beating and it’s the most he’s felt in ages. 

“Well, Y/N,” he smiles, scooting over and sitting next to her. “Tell me more about yourself.”

“I...what?” Y/N looks at him quizzically. “Don’t you have a show or...groupies to...or something?”

“I don’t have anything to do,” he teases, “except talk to the pretty lady that sang one of my oldest and most favorite songs in a random bar in Reno. So how’s about you tell me everything about yourself, hm?”

She looks at him, head tilting slightly, “Can I get you a drink?”

“A water,” he answers quietly. Her eyes glance for the briefest second at the three empty glasses next to him, but she doesn’t ask any questions. She orders him a water and scoots closer. 

“So, my name is Y/N Y/L/N.”

~~~

He said Keep me up, keep me out late Keep me close, I need your faith Keep right where you are ‘Cause I followed this far Like I’m sure that you’re the Northern Star I’m sure that you’re the Northern Star

~~~

“I need a ticket for tomorrow’s show, please,” Remus asks suddenly, not quite expecting the silence that follows. He looks up and sees everyone on the bus staring at him. “What?”

“For tomorrow?” Lily questions, clearly trying not to sound surprised.

“Yes, please,” Remus replies. 

“Who the hell do you know in LA?” Sirius asks far more aggressively than Lily.

“She’s not from LA,” Remus answers. “But she couldn’t get a ticket to the Reno shows, so I invited her to the LA one.”

“So there’s a she?” James teases, wiggling his eyebrows. Lily elbows him gently and then pulls her iPad over to her from the box it rests in on the bus. She opens it and clicks a few things. 

“VIP, I’d imagine?” she asks without looking at him.

“If you can, that’d be cool,” Remus tries to sound nonchalant. Lily nods and continues typing. 

“And what’s the name of this she?” Frank heckles, glancing at Sirius and James.

“None of your business,” Remus replies, trying to hide his smile.

“I will actually need her name,” Lily corrects.

“You can’t just put it under my name?” Remus almost whines.

“Not if you want her in the VIP area,” Lily looks at him mock accusingly. “And from the sounds of things, I assume you do.”

“Y/N,” he tells her, sighing exasperatedly. “Y/N Y/L/N.” He looks back down at his notebook, scrawling down a few ideas he’d had in his head since last night. He and Y/N had talked until the bar closed, then sat outside talking about everything and nothing until he’d had to leave for the bus. The couch shifts as Sirius plops down next to him.

“You writing?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Maybe,” Remus shrugs, not looking at him. He can feel Sirius staring at him, but sees him nod out of the corner of his eye.

“You hungover?” Sirius asks quietly. 

“No,” Remus clears his throat, finally looking up at his friend. “I’m, um...thinking of taking a break from drinking for a bit, actually.”

“Cool,” Sirius nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “Pills, too?” Remus nods and Sirius practically beams, clapping him on the shoulder and nodding. He stands, heading back to his bunk before turning around, now facing everyone, a shit-eating grin on his face, “So, will you be dedicating every song to Y/N, or...”

Remus throws a pillow at him and pretends to be annoyed, but can’t ignore the genuine joy edging its way back into his numbed heart.

~~~

Three hours in to a three minute call Some gambler wondered if she’d just won it all And she laughed when he asked if his head seemed alright Singing, “I’ve seen the bright side my whole lovely life”

~~~

“How’s the writing going?” she asks, taking a sip of water from her Stanley cup that’s just off camera. Remus leans back against his headboard and groans in response. He’s thrilled when she giggles and he looks back at the screen to catch her smile. 

“It can’t be that bad,” Y/N teases.

“It’s not, actually,” Remus replies. “Album’s due to the label in about two months and we’ve finalized all but two songs in terms of lyrics. So that’s two left to record? Not too shabby since it took us so long to write the damn thing.”

“That’s amazing. More songs about...oh, what’s that new one I loved? Um...the one about Aperol?”

“’Spritz’ was more Sirius’ baby than mine, I’ll have you know,” Remus explains, “but I’ll tell him you like it, he’ll rub that in my face for ages.”

“Maybe he’ll hate me less for distracting his bassist,” she quips. 

“No one hates you, darling,” Remus assures her. “If anything they’re just happy I’m smiling again.” It’s getting dark outside his window and he leans over to turn his lamp on. 

“I’m sorry,” Y/N says suddenly. “I shouldn’t be keeping you up. I know the time difference is-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he cuts her off, sitting up straighter, “I wouldn’t answer if I didn’t want to talk, love.”

“I know, but we were just going to say goodnight and then-”

“We both know,” he tilts his head teasingly, staring at her through the webcam, “that we weren’t going to just say goodnight.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes but smiles, “There are better ways of telling me I talk too much.”

“I’d love it if you could talk to me all day long,” Remus assures her. “And you know that.”

“I’d like that, too,” Y/N whispers, smiling gently at him through the webcam. 

“Really?” Remus asks, sitting up slightly. 

“Yeah, there’s all this stuff that I want to tell you throughout the day...and I’d text you, but then I feel dumb for texting you-”

“You can text me whenever, you know that,” he reminds her. She giggles and his heart soars. 

“I’ll keep that in mind when you finally get annoyed of me sending you pictures of my morning smoothies,” she teases. 

“Smoothie time? Babe, I’d be heartbroken if I missed it!” She laughs and he uses the warm feeling in his chest to talk about what he’s wanted to for a few weeks now. “But...but what if...what if you were able to talk to me all day?”

She freezes, eyes growing wide, “What do you mean?”

“I know that we...I know we haven’t been together all that long,” he begins. “But, I would...I’d really like it if you’d be my girlfriend. And I’d...I’d love it if you’d come here and just be with me. You can still pursue your music here...I know that you’re...”

“I’d do it,” Y/N replies quietly. 

Remus’ heart does that thing that it’s done since the moment he saw her. It feels like it’s expanding in his chest. 

“Really?” 

“How soon do you want me there, lover boy?”

~~~

Three weeks away from a year since the score And the reckless thieves reckoned they could get even more They ain’t casing out weddings, nah those are too big a sight They’re just looking at dresses and rings that she likes

~~~

It’s warm in the Ed Sullivan Theatre, but Stephen Colbert is easily the nicest host Remus has ever had the pleasure to meet. Despite the fact that he agreed to letting them present the new song instead of playing the lead single, Remus is still nervous. 

“Three more weeks, dude,” Sirius whispers to him. 

“Yeah, I know. How’s James holding up? Ready to get married?” Remus jokes, leaning back so James can hear him, whispering even though they’re on a commercial break. 

James isn’t annoyed, though, he grins hugely, “Never been more ready, boys.”

“No, not that, I mean, yeah, but, you and your girl,” Sirius corrects. “One year, right?”

Remus beams himself, “Yeah, just about three weeks. Our anniversary’s, like, two days after the wedding.”

“You, um...you thinking about it?” Sirius hedges, passing side glances with Frank and James. 

“About what?” Remus asks with faux innocence. 

“Come off it,” Frank groans, rolling his eyes. He and Alice got married during their last break, just before the release of this new album, timing it perfectly before the madness kicked back up again. 

“You guys gonna be copying everything from me and Lily’s wedding?” James teases. The boys laugh, but Remus just smiles. He glances around and spots you talking to Lily, probably going over your set list. You’ll be opening for The Marauders in most cities during this next tour. You’re a bit more indie pop than The Marauders, but the boys genuinely wouldn’t have it any other way. And the fans will likely love how you close with one of Sirius’ and Remus’ oldest songs, bringing the boys onstage with a tune of their own. 

Seeing that you’re distracted, he turns back to his band, his oldest friends and whispers conspiratorially, “No...no, but, um...I mean, I’ve had the ring for about six months now.” 

All three men turn and face him, eyes widening, jaws dropping.

“Dude-”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

“Six months?!?!?”

“Chill,” Remus whisper yells. “I’m gonna ask when we go to Paris after the tour’s over.” 

“That’s so romantic!” Frank whispers, turning away as a cameraman signals for them. James smiles and sends him a thumbs up.

Sirius stares at him for a moment longer and smiles. He mouthes, “Happy for you, dude” as Colbert introduces them.

“Back stateside for their new tour, the British rock band The Marauders is with us tonight. Originally they were going to perform the newest lead single from their new album, which Rolling Stone has called, ‘a near perfect sophomore album’, but their bassist, Mr. Remus Lupin, emailed about a week ago and asked if he could perform a bonus track. This is a bit different, isn’t it, Remus?”

Mr. Colbert looks to the band and a camera zeroes in on Remus, a kind PA holding a mic up to him. 

“Yeah, it’s not...not really a rock song, I guess,” he grins as the audience titters. 

“It’s called ‘Northern Star’,” Colbert says, smiling widely at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Remus nods. 

“When we started writing, Sirius and I, we had a lot of songs that sounded like this. And it took someone very special,” Remus finds Y/N’s eyes and his smile deepens, “to remind me how wonderful it felt to write like this again.”

“Well, please take it away,” Colbert finishes. 

Remus nods and looks down at the piano, pulling the attached mic closer to his face as silence falls over the audience. He can feel Y/N staring at him, not expecting this at all. 

“Three rum and cokes and a couple beers in Some lucky drunk stood up, heavy with where he'd been And he held onto someone, and he sung out, compelled ‘You're why I was right to trust myself’

He said Keep me up, keep me out late Keep me close, I need your faith Keep right where you are Cause I followed this far Like I'm sure that you're the Northern Star I’m sure that you’re the Northern Star

Three hours into a three-minute call Some gambler wondered if she'd just won it all And she laughed when he asked if his head seemed alright Singing, "I've seen the bright sides my whole lovely life"

She said Talk me up and talk me down Talk too long, I'll stick around Talk me into following you somewhere far Like I'm sure you're the Northern Star I'm sure you're the Northern Star

La la la

Three weeks away from a year since the score And the reckless thieves reckoned they could get even more They ain't casing out weddings, nah those are too big a sight They're just looking at dresses and rings that she likes

They said Keep me up, keep me out late Keep me close, I need your faith Keep right where you are Cause I followed this far Like I'm sure that you're the Northern Star Oh, I'm sure you're the Northern Star I'm sure And I'm sure that you're the Northern Star.”

Remus hits the last chords staring at Y/N, hearing his friends playing his beautiful song all around him, and knowing that he’s happier than he ever thought he could be. Rockstar be damned, this is what he’d always wanted. 

~~~

A/N: This is different, but I hope you liked it! 

Didn’t include my taglist because it’s been so long, plus this is a different fandom! Love you all xx 

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin #remus lupin x fem!reader #rockstar!remus #rockstar!marauders #marauders #marauders fanfiction #sirius black #james potter #frank longbottom #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin angst #remus lupin song fic #marauders modern au #lily potter #alice longbottom #james potter x lily evans #lily evans #frank and alice longbottom

[gerardpilled]

literally stop being an mcr fan then! why can you forgive gerard but not lynz? everyone will pretend they support the idea of allowing someone to learn and grow and change but then they'll see a woman and go oh no not her she's irredeemable like? the double standards are ridiculous

It’s so crazy… I’ve seen countless people say that she needs to explicitly apologize for her actions and yeah I guess that would be nice. I just think it's a more complicated and nuanced situation than it might seem. Her apologizing for being in msi and participating in complicit racism would implement a lot of people and make them guilty by association. It would imply everyone including the sound guys who worked shows would then be connected to "having worked for a racist band" and could seriously complicate relationships - both working and not.

Also, I sometimes really don't understand why this is a discussion worthy of so much time other than reflecting on the atmosphere that allowed such a band to rise within the scene? (I think there's a real meaningful conversation to be had about the excusing of racism from a lot of people within the alt music scene even today.)The band hasn’t toured since 2014? Acts like Marilyn Manson - who among all his other crimes also used racial slurs as shock value - is actively touring. And for the double standards - Frank fucking toured with msi in 2013 like why not cancel him for that LOL!!! Or god forbid, Gerard for working with Jimmy Urine in 2018.

Even forgiving Gerard for saying he’s Japanese while dogpiling Lindsey for saying she’s partially Indian when she doesn’t even know her birth dad is wild to me. The tweets are very similar to each other - and neither of them have apologized? I've seen people start excusing Gerard's tweet, extrapolating info like "he must have taken a DNA test" well, there's no proof of that, and why not extend that benefit of the doubt to Lindsey? Like yes, she shouldn’t have said it but Gerard shouldn’t have either! I also just can't help but think there are more important issues oh my god!!! I've seen people - both Indian and East Asian alike - express discomfort with both Lindsey's and Gerard's actions, and I completely understand that! I just only ever see Lindsey's held to such irredeemable levels, and that's usually by white people who I personally feel are overstepping their role. I just can't help but think some white people do not have meaningful, real life, conversations with the demographics they are supposedly advocating for.

I am definitely not the person to absolve her of her sins or excuse anything she’s done and people she’s hurt, but do people (and I mean primarily other white people who - from my experience - are mainly the ones posting hate about her) realize she has probably been the most clear and explicit about her anti-racist learning curve? Out of anyone even remotely connected to mcr, she has posted and done more direct funding and outreach for Black organizations than anyone. Yes, that’s Twitter activism and doesn’t exactly amount to much in the grand scheme of things, but if people who hate her judge her off of her internet footprint, why not use the same to realize maybe she has learned?

I recently tried to see if she had acknowledged any of her faults publicly- and to my shock - she has!

I’m not saying this is the best response to every thing but I also never saw this mentioned ever before.

I truly think some of the worst stuff she’s done is publicly support Jimmy Urine after the allegations came out but again everyone who just spreads that as a fact completely misses the context of her ex friend spreading unhinged rumors about her for like a year before those allegations came out. Jessicka Adams accused Gerard of sexual misconduct and started claiming that Lindsey was in cahoots with a man who accused Jessicka of sleeping with him when he was underage. Truly unhinged stuff.

If I was Lindsey and my ex-friend was doing that, purposefully targeting people close to me, I also might immediately assume she was behind those against the lead singer of my old band! She should NOT have voiced her suspicions publicly, and I do think that was wrong, but it’s not like she doubled down on it since? I know a lot of people would like to think they would act differently if they were in her shoes, but really think about it! If allegations that arose online came out against a man you called a friend - who you let watch your daughter - would you immediately publicly turn against him? She should have apologized when it became clear the allegations were not unfounded, but even when the news first broke she was liking tweets which better explained her mindset. Also last I heard, they are no longer friends at all.

Again with the double standards though. I've seen no noise around Mikey’s wife publicly defending wife abuser Johnny Depp (a person she does not even know) when he won his trial? Or the fact that Gerard was also very good friend with Jimmy and most likely shares a similar opinion as his wife?

I've also seen people say things like "well she should have known because of all the signs" I think this a dangerous oversimplification. What about the band No Devotion? Everyone loves them here. They formed after their old lead singer was exposed as rapist with multiple situations of him sleeping with young girls on tour. Why didn't those guys know about it?

I also just feel like using this case a justification to hate her alongside stuff like "she made a mikey hate blog!!" (she didn't) just feels so wrong to me. It’s like people are happy this happened to a woman because it gives justification to hate Lindsey. I see no attempts to support this Jane Doe with tweets of support or some kind of fundraiser. It's always just rooted in hatred of another woman.

[bullet-prooflove]

MyGirl!Series Part Two: Helpless: Remy Scott x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @whateversomethingbruh @@a-noni-love

Companion piece to Marks & Too Much, Too Soon

It’s bad, really bad. Remy realises that the moment he sees Jubal pacing up and down the length of the waiting room, twanging the hair elastic on his wrist like the damn things a lifeline. He knows your A.S.A.C has had issues with alcohol in the past, that he uses this technique as coping mechanism and right now it’s a glaring red flag that something has gone terribly wrong.

“Jubal.” He snaps, his voice rough as he steps over the threshold. “What are we doing here?”

“I’m sorry.” Jubal says, rubbing his palm over the back of his neck as he turns his attention to Remy. “I didn’t realise the two of you were together. If I had I would have called right away.”

“We’ve been seeing each other a couple of months.” Remy tells Jubal crossing his arms over his chest. “We were supposed to be having dinner tonight, but she didn’t show and now I know why.”

“Has she told you anything about the case she’s been working on?” Jubal asks quietly as he guides Remy towards a secluded set of seating in the corner of the room.

Remy shakes his head as he sits down.

“I’ve been in Arkansas for most of the week chasing down a fugitive.” He tells Jubal. “We haven’t really been able to connect.”

What he doesn’t say is that the two of you hooked up last night. That he’d called you when he’d gotten in from Arkansas and you had shown up dressed in that pretty little lace thing that he liked. He’d spent the night showing you exactly how much he missed you before you’d disappeared from his bed this morning. There had been no talking involved, at least not about cases.

“We’ve been looking into a religious group out in Long Island, we suspected them of trafficking women. Ani was able to go undercover and make contact with the founder. He took a liking to her; we just didn’t realise how much of a liking until things took a turn.” Jubal snaps the elastic band against his wrist.

Remy can tell he’s reliving the experience, that on some level Jubal feels responsible for what happened. Remy doesn’t begrudge him that, he knows how quickly things can turn in the field, how something you thought was one thing can quickly become another.

“She was assaulted.” Jubal tells him, his lips pursing together grimly. “He slipped a roofie into her tea. We managed to get there before it went too far but it was close…”

The air rushes out of Remy’s lungs and for a second it feels like the floor caves in because the thought of you in that position…

So fucking helpless, unable to move or comprehend what’s happening to you. Christ it makes him want to murder the man who did it.

“He didn’t…”

He can’t bring himself to say the words, but Jubal catches his drift.

“No.” Jubal says, his hands clasped in front of him. “There was some unwanted touching, but it didn’t get much further. We were on the scene within minutes.”

Unwanted touching, he knows what that means. He’s just grateful your team got there before it managed to progress otherwise they’d be clearing the fucker’s brains off the walls of his cell.

“They’re keeping her overnight because of the Rohypnol.” Jubal tells him, his finger toying with the elastic band on his wrist. “They said that she should be released sometime tomorrow.”

“Can I see her?” Remy asks the other man, his palms running over one another. “I just need to see for myself that she’s ok.”

“She’s in Room 208.” Jubal tells him, tilting his head to the corridor nearby. “The Doc said she may be in and out for a while.”

Remy nods his understanding before raising to his feet. His hand comes to clasp Jubal’s shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself for this.” He tells the other man.

Jubal shakes his head.

“I should have seen it.” Jubal says bitterly.

“This isn’t on you; it isn’t on anyone except the bastard who hurt her.” Remy says fiercely. “She’s safe and you caught him, that’s the important thing.”

“Yea.” Jubal says, running his hand through his hair. “Yea, I know you’re right.”

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#remy scott #remy scott x reader #remy scott x you #fbi most wanted

[monstersinthecosmos]

September 27, 1973

When he crashes into the hard doorframe of the bar bathroom, he tells himself he’s good for the night, he’s had enough, he’ll take a leak and then go finish his bowl of peanuts or whatever the fuck they gave him, and that’ll be that. The blunt pain lights up his left side—not enough to hurt, not really, too drunk for that—just enough that his body knows he’s still here. And that’s interesting. That’s interesting.

He rubs at his shoulder as he staggers to the urinal. And he can hear all the commands in his head, narrating every move, even though he hears it a moment late. Zip, yeah, got it, have to piss so bad, shouldn’t have have drank so much on the plane, but—and then shaking off, putting himself back, flushing. He blinks once, twice. Harder to clear his vision, because it’s bright in here, brighter than it had been in the bar. He can’t feel his face and he stares at the gush of water, unable to process it until it’s over.

But no, no. It’s fine. And he’s… somewhere. A bar. It’s across from the hotel. There was a safe in the room, he locked up the tapes. Came for a drink. Got it. Got it.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it—being somewhere. He knows he’s been this drunk before, but he’s never been this lost before. The most tragic part is that this is about to happen over and over, for years, and he doesn’t know it yet. Bars are all the same—he can find his way from his drink to the bathroom, and he’ll find his way to the next round—but he can’t remember what country he’s in. Picked some flight off the board when he got to the airport this morning and thrust Armand’s wad of cash at the ticket agent. Slept through half the flight and drank for the rest. Can’t remember.

He staggers as he reaches for the bathroom door, and the handle doubles in his vision, and he turns in a panic to look for his bag, the tapes. Just the ugly bathroom, though, somehow grimy despite how empty it is. And he thinks he remembers a safe in the hotel room. He unpacked the tapes and lined them up in the safe. Yes, yes. And the key is in his wallet. It’s okay.

A minute ago he thought he’d had enough. But music pulses against him as he steps back into the comforting dimness of the bar, and he breathes the slow lungful of stale secondhand smoke, and he thinks another won’t hurt. He wants to finish his peanuts or whatever it was. Pretzels? Or potato chips, maybe. He’s not sure. But another drink for that, and he likes the song that’s playing from the jukebox, he remembers it from his other life.

The barstool wobbles as he sits back down. It was pretzels. His lips are numb as he shoves a handful into his mouth, then waves the bartender back over. Mumbling with his mouth full—wouldn’t his mother be ashamed—even though he’s not sure what language they speak here. Waving his empty glass is universal, though. What had he drank the first time? He can’t remember how he ordered. 

There are clues around the bar, surely. Maybe a drink special on a chalkboard, or flyers for local bands. Daniel’s eyes sweep across the space but everything is a blur. There are letters, and he sees them, but nothing really connects in his head. It’s another language. All of it is another language.

Some people are laughing over to the side, and he glances towards them. Hovering around the jukebox and he wonders if they’re teasing each other. It’s sort of a depressing song, actually. He remembers it from before, remembers how it had given him a bad feeling the first time he heard it. Probably not great for a night out with friends.

He likes it, though. He shuts his eyes as the bartender slides the new glass to him, tilting his head towards the sound. It’s a breakup song, Daniel thinks. At least, he listened to it after his last breakup. Over and over for a few days, while the guilt ate him alive.

Actually, his only breakup.

His eyes open, and he stares down at the glass in his hand. Can’t feel his face. Stomach churns for a moment and he thinks maybe he shouldn’t keep drinking. 

Maybe it doesn’t count as breaking up. She was more upset about it than he was. He can still see her face in his mind—standing in his dorm room doorway last Christmas Eve, eyes glistening with hurt that he didn’t get her a present. 

No love lost. Just that he felt like a dick about it. 

“Letters I’ve written, never meaning to send,” the jukebox croons, and Daniel throws half his drink back.

What as her name, anyway?

Well. Whatever.

He downs another handful of pretzels, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Holds the sticky edge of the bar for balance as he stands, and takes his drink with him as he heads towards the jukebox, himself, wondering if he’ll be able to read anymore, if he’ll remember what the songs are. 

And he knows he didn’t need another drink. The nausea creeps up as he moves, as he feels the liquid sloshing inside his guts, cold jolt as he weaves between all the humans. Feels like the room spins with every step he takes. Not just the booze, but the realization again that he doesn’t know where he is. He could be anywhere on the globe, and he can imagine it. Just some fucking rock, spinning in space, and…

Armand is out there somewhere.

He stops short, his sneaker squeaking on the ground, slicing through the sound of the music.

Someone behind him bumps into him. His drink splashes onto the person ahead of him. The visual information rolls through, not quite catching, as he wonders how Armand even found him before. He sees the annoyance on the man’s face, in real time, ahead of him, sees his mouth moving. Hears the words, but not the language, just enough to hear how sharp they are. Demanding something. Asking him things. Daniel’s been around enough irate drunk people, in enough bars. He’ll remember flashes of this later and think the guy probably asked what the fuck his problem is. 

But he’s just thinking about Armand. About that dank little room, underground where he could hear running water.

He can picture Armand in that room. Daniel sees it in his mind, imagines Armand cross-legged on the damp concrete, his face serene as he sends out the tendrils of his mind. Reaching out and out, listening for him. Scanning the whole world until…

I found you.

The neck wound throbs. And Daniel imagines the clipped auburn hair, the shining fingernails. Perfectly sterile like a corpse, ready for the viewing.

And the flash of pain sends him spiraling. 

Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe it’s like detective work. 

He imagines Armand’s fingertips grazing across Daniel’s car in the long term parking, and imagines his soft voice asking questions at the check-in desk. Wonders how many people he had to talk to, how many minds to read, how many clues he followed. Hopping from city to city. And how hard would it be, asking after Daniel. How many nervous, dysfunctional messes had these folks met this week?

For a moment he’s weightless. And he sees white, and then the angry face again, and then the ceiling light. 

“Yes, I love you,” the music says, swelling all around him, blanketing him so thickly that he doesn’t feel anything as he crashes to the floor. “Oh, how I love you. Oh how I love you.”

And someone is shouting, and his glass flew from his hand, and he hears it smash. Maybe a shard nicked his cheekbone, or maybe it was the ice. And maybe he hit his head on the floor, and if he tries to get up he’ll puke.

Other people shouting, too. Someone kicks him. His face was numb a moment ago but now his mouth is hot. He feels his heartbeat in his bottom lip. 

If Armand could see him now…

He cups around the neck wound. Hadn’t he fallen like this when Louis attacked him? Louis had dropped him to the ground. And Armand had…

It’s still faint. His fingernails find the edges of the scabs, as if the memory would be clearer if he could peel them back. Armand had knocked him to the ground. Armand had straddled him. The weight had pushed all the air from Daniel’s lungs. There was a bird’s next under the bed.

The bartender leans over him. Someone else. Some girl. The angry face is gone.

These ones are just annoyed with him. Trying to help him up, but he’s dead weight. Unable to help them. Someone grabs him by the lapel, and a hand curls around his forearm, and his stomach lurches as they drag him upright, but he swallows it back. Doesn’t puke into the sea of faces. 

None of them really seem concerned. More annoyed than anything, and chirping at him in a foreign tongue. And he gets it, again. Been around enough drunk assholes. No one wants a sloppy mess, it kills the mood. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and all the colors around them are sludge as he finds his footing. Steady hand on his arm as he sways there, waiting for everything to settle. And everyone’s staring. Jukebox flashing pink in the corner of his eye. 

And he should… right. Right. 

Hotel is across the street, he thinks he remembers. 

He pokes his fingers into his jaw, his skin numb, breathing heavy as he stares a the whole picture of the room around him. All the faces, and the sickly orange light. All the cloying human energy pressing around him, so that he thinks he can’t breathe.

And his bag…

No, it’s at the hotel. At the hotel.

He should drink water, but the bartender looks too annoyed with him. 

Bottom lip burns, and he tastes the thin salty river of his own blood. It stings when he touches it, and for a moment he swears he sees Armand in the crowd.

“Wait,” he says. He reaches to hold the person next to him, fingers stiff as he clamps around their shoulder. Unknown language swirling through him. Asking questions. He blinks hard, trying to clear his vision, but maybe he imagined it. He just sees the guy who hit him, rolling his eyes as he lights a cigarette. 

Okay. Okay.

That’s fine.

He shakes his head. Pushes his hair away from his eyes. Tries to act normal as he slips away from all of their concern, focusing hard to walk normal as he heads to the door. 

And out into the rain. Had he known it was raining? He can’t remember. He doesn’t think it was raining when he got here, but he doesn’t remember coming in at all.

The streets are shiny with it. He likes the sound of the cars rolling through puddles, the fuzzy way it splashes into the wheel wells. He likes how it feels on his face when he steps out from under the bar’s awning.

Maybe it’s unsafe out here, in the dark. But he had too much to drink, and…

It’s okay.

He’s down the block before he realizes he’s moving, the buildings a blur. Doesn’t remember deciding to walk, not sure where he’s going. Teeth chattering as the chill of the rain cuts through.

Stomach sloshing again as he stops short. And then he’s sitting, before he can decide to. Not sure why. Landing too hard on the curb, so that it reverberates through his swollen lip. And his sneakers get wet in the gutter as he takes a minute. 

Someone rushes by, swerves around him, running across the street, holding their jacket over their head. And someone else, calmer, who has an umbrella. He wonders how big the storm is, how far Armand is. If he has an umbrella. 

The scabs are softer now, as the rainwater rolls over his skin. And he would flinch as his nail gets a hold, like he does every other time, but it feels too far away. It flakes under his thumbnail and he feels the smear of it, the mess, sticky beneath the cold rain. 

He can’t remember if he’s ever been in a fight.

His fingertips trace gently across the beating pulse in his neck, thick and clumsy and swelling beneath the wound. The source of all of it, and he tries to picture the way the blood sloshes through his body, the way he feels the booze sloshing his belly. The rhythm of it spreads out, and out. In the creeping stomach ache, in his temples, in his busted lip.

Maybe not quite a fight, but he remembers one of the nuns in his school breaking a ruler over his forearm when he was seven. The way it had splintered, the way the pain pulsed like this.

And his professor, spanking him, as he ground his hardon onto the man’s thigh. Steady throbbing that he imagines in stripes of red. 

Armand’s teeth in his throat. And the hunger afterwards. The way the blackness hurt his eyes. How he thought he could see his heartbeat in the nothingness.

It skips up.

He presses a palm to the rough concrete of the curb, maybe like it’s time to get up. Go inside, get dry, but he just sees light, and color, watching the slow streak of it as his weight collapses, as he folds in on himself. And someone else stepping over him, their umbrella blocking out the streetlight for the briefest second as they pass. 

Teeth chattering as he feels the wet sidewalk on his elbow, his bicep, soaking his t-shirt. Because—

Armand took his jacket.

He laughs, and it hurts his mouth. And he presses a hand to his face, skin rubbery like it’s someone else’s. Feels for the cut on his cheekbone. 

Go, he thinks. And the ground doesn’t feel that different from the black room. The damp walls, the humidity of his own piss.

The thought should scare him. It should give him energy. He looks over his shoulder, and sees his hotel down the block. Usually the fear is enough for him, and he imagines another version of himself up, and sober in an instant, and locking the doors and finding somewhere safe and warm.

Not anymore, though. 

This feels okay. 

Whatever. 

[previous day] | [next day]

#vamptember 1973 #daniel molloy #stuff i wrote

[3mcwriting]

Regret, Part 4: Fault

Regret Masterlist

Warnings: Language, Steve being a dick

Synopsis: Your boyfriend, Steve Rogers, the lead singer of the internationally famous band "The Avengers" was a fan-favorite. From his chiseled muscles to his movie-star smile to his old-fashioned manners, everyone loved him. But you were okay with that. Because he would never cheat on you. Right? Well...

Taglist: @angelsincident

"Hey, (y/n), wait up!"

"I'm really not in the mood right now," you said, wiping the tears from your eyes.

"I know, love. But I also know what it's like to get your heart broken by a person you never thought would hurt you." His words were raw and empathetic. "How it is when you feel every crack that forms in your heart after someone you have loved for years betrays you."

You looked up at him, hearing the heartbreaking honesty that he spoke with. As your eyes connected, you were left shocked at the vulnerability in his expression.

"What you need to know, that I was never told when it happened to me is: it's not your fault."

And of course you knew that logically...but emotionally, your heart was too stuck on the fact that someone you had loved and trusted for years could throw it all away so easily.

"He is the one who screwed up, not you." Pietro said, words forceful, needing you to see the truth in them. "And you need to understand this because if you don't you'll just continue being unhappy until you no longer blame yourself."

You hated how much you needed to hear him say that. You knew you weren't the person in the wrong but it got hard to convince yourself sometimes when you were the one left all alone. You absolutely fucking hated how you had such bad insecurities because one asshole betrayed you.

"Thank you..." you murmured, searching for his name. "Wait a minute, I still don't know your name."

"It's Pietro, love," he said, and instead of the same confident smirk he always had, it was a genuine smile.

"Thank you, Pietro," you told him, a little scared at the sincerity in your own voice. "I have to go work, but I hope that you make the band."

"Well, how about I give you my number and you can text me when the results come out?" Pietro asked, a little bit of the old confidence back in his voice.

"I feel like if I don't get your number Natasha will give you mine," you muttered, hearing him laugh a little as you walked back to your office.

You walked in, quickly shutting the door then sat down on the desk chair, thankful for the soft cushions as you relaxed. You thought about what Pietro had said, how it wasn't your fault. You knew it was true. But of course you still had that nagging insecurity that you had done something wrong.

You would wonder why a woman you had trusted would hurt you like that. Did you do something wrong? Did you hurt them? What did you do to deserve the betrayal? So many questions suffocating you, thoughts smothering you.

Until yesterday, when Nat dragged you out of bed, forced you into real clothes, not just the sweats and hoodies you had been hiding in all week. And helping you finally have a good time, reminding you that not everyone turns their back on people.

You smiled, even as you felt sadness creep into your mind.

Natasha Romanoff, or as she was known on stage "Black Widow", had been there for you ever since you met her 4 years ago.

She was there when you started dating Steve, when he asked you to be his girlfriend all the way up until your current predicament. And she somehow managed to get you out of the hole you had burrowed into after the breakup.

"Hey, (y/n), can I come in?" A familiar voice called out from the other side of the door.

"Steve, I really don't want to see you and honestly I'm really pissed at you. So ask yourself if it's a good idea to enter my office?" you told him, voice completely emotionless even as anger and sorrow warred with each other in your mind.

"Well I need to talk to you."

#steve rodgers x reader #steve rogers #steve rodgers imagine #mcu x reader #mcu #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #marvel #reader insert #x reader #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff #natasha romanoff

[depressed-sock]

Follow me to the Grave and Rest your heart upon the Altar

Gift for flawsinthevoodoo!

(11547 words) Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox/Darth Maul Characters: CC-1010 | Fox, Darth Maul Additional Tags: Soulmates, ancient sith rituals that accidentlly soulbind you to someone, Enemies to Lovers, Force Shenanigans (Star Wars), escape room in the form of a sith temple, Hurt/Comfort, Uneasy Allies, Crack Treated Seriously, falling in love one trap at a time, Accidental Marriage, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Hopeful Ending

Preview:

Fox doesn’t know why he’d been sent on this mission but he’s absolutely certain it’s because someone somewhere hoped it would end up with him dead. Either from the numerous traps in this Sith temple or the fact that by the end of this nightmare he’d want to off himself. The only benefit he’s been able to find so far has been the short amount of time carved out and spent with Cody and Rex.

Short as it might have been, it’s been good to see his batchmate and the tag along.

Even though that time had the sour note of never enough as they had all been focused at first on planning ahead for this mission and then focusing on just trying to stay alive. They’d almost lost a good chunk of the 212th before they’d split into a smaller team and then they’d almost lost Rex to a trap that tried to take his head off.

It had been growing increasingly dangerous to the point that it was looking like General Kenobi was going to pull them back and out of the temple.

Until all the current bullshit happened at least.

Fox glowers at the Zabrak who lounges across the room from him, whose back is up against the grainy stone wall of the temple room they’re both now stuck in. The Zabrak who’s sneering in disgust at Fox like Fox had anything to do with their current predicament.

Like Fox purposefully dragged the fucker into the blinding light in the center of the other room. When it had been Maul tackling Fox into it. So really all the blame can be put at the Sith’s feet, but since he’s a Sith it’s obviously Fox’s fault. Even though he’d been an innocent bystander who’d shouted the warning about the light activating.

There’s a brief flash in his head of the events. Shouted warnings, Maul tackling Fox and both of them falling backwards into the light as Cody screamed out his name and Rex tried to reach him. Fox had seen General Kenobi’s hand shoot out, felt the tug of something as it tried to pull him away from Maul and the light.

It hadn’t been enough.

Now he was stuck in a room with no visible exits, only the strange writing covering the walls that made his head hurt if he looked at it too long. Stuck with a fucking Sith. Who he can’t even try to kill because, of course, nothing can be simple.

Fox had thought that the light had been an activated trap. He was right about that but it also just so happened to be so much worse than just something trying to kill him. Because Fox’s luck isn’t that fucking good for something to just put him out of his misery. No it had to turn out to be something so much worse.

A fucking ancient Sith marriage ritual that binds two souls together.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Fox asks again as he paces his side of the room because he’s still in the middle of processing the fact that he’s now possibly permanently bound to an enemy of the Republic. Which is really fucking bad considering he’s the fucking Marshal Commander of Coruscant and he has no clue if this connection allows the Sith free access to everything in Fox’s head.

Which considering the bullshit force stories he hears from his other batchmates he really wouldn’t doubt that’s what is happening right now.

Fox can feel a pull in his gut every time he gets too far away. At first a slight tug but the further he paces away to one side of the room the more it hurts. Like it’s a rubber band stretching to it’s limits. He turns on his heel and moves closer to Maul despite not wanting to be anywhere near the man.

Maul bares his teeth before he huffs, “Can you not hear Clone? It means we are bound to suffer or succeed together. Every injury one takes the other bares and we can not bring harm to one another.” It explains the mirror of bruises and cuts that covers the both of them. Why when Fox tried to stab Maul with the knife in his boot he couldn’t force himself to press more than a small red line into the others throat. Why Maul couldn’t bring himself to light the lightsaber that had been pressed to Fox’s belly.

#swrarepairs2023 #star wars #star wars the clone wars #my writing #fanfiction #commander fox #darth maul #Fox/Maul #sock-writes

[millipede-menace]

The bands back together! And they’re old lol

Art Notes/Rants below ⬇️

⚠️Warning⚠️

it is very long, I got a lot to say apparently lol

❗️They’re all aged up btw! In case you’re all wondering why i’m even redesigning them lol

🐱Chizu Mini Rant: I hate Chizu’s design in the show. Not the clothing more so the body model. I hate that they made her the stereotypical curvy cat girl with a tiny hourglass waist and tiny hands and feet. Really weird proportions, Like we’re going back to the betty boop era but no one else in the show looks like this? (Also, No hate to people who are curvy btw love you) It just doesn’t feel like it belongs in the show. Maybe if she were shorter, it would work better? Idk Also she’s like the only one in a full skin tight suit (like I get animation, but they didn’t even bother giving her implied loose clothes or armor like the other ninjas? Maybe bc she was undercover? but then she should’ve been wearing something closer to the bg character models) It’s like they’re trying to make her sexy but like why?????? for why????

I really liked the concept art of Chizu. She’s got a more sharp/rigid and square silhouette but still some curves (w/o it being weird). She still has tiny hands but her head isn’t the size of a watermelon and her face isn’t super tiny, the proportions are good. She’s all power stanced up lol She looks mean and menacing, someone not to trust or mess with. It’s literally spot on. ✨chef kiss ✨ It’s also probably why they didn’t really go with it, they probably rounded her out to be more appealing for the reveal? or she was hard to animate cause she did have baggier pants idk. Who am I, but a rando with a hard boiled egg for brains.

Art Notes: I took a lot of inspiration from the comics and I did want to keep her iconic red so she was still recognizable & stand out from the neko ninja. I made her a regular black cat! (with the idea of black cats being less likely to be adopted & be strays) (;-;) (I know she was kidnapped but still!! The stray cat vibes!!!) I gave her a more lean and tall figure, kinda like the comics but also to play off of Kistune’s height and it give scrawny stray cat vibes . . . again lol. It’s also a body shape I don’t see a lot in physically strong female characters (or maybe I do and just don’t remember? Idk but she can definitely kick your ass & she’s not here for anybody’s bullshit lol) I gave her the iconic ponytail from the comics along with the comb Kitsune usually wears. I wanted to give her green eyes (bc black cat & red and green) but i just kept them yellow. Maybe i’ll go back and change them. Her outfit is mostly inspired from Karai (bc she’s a ninja from eons ago & the gang is a little more traditional) just (pretend cuz i’m lazy) with traditional Japanese patterns. Chizu definitely got kunais and stars up her sleeves, but bc she doesn’t have to be a ninja anymore, I imagine her more into wearing pretty dresses with patterns and cute things. Stuff she never got to wear/ enjoy as a kid, you know. The show really wants to push her to be a bad ass girl boss who hates everyone and everything and is too cool and edgy for games but idk. I like to think she left the ninja stuff behind her and started living her own life based on exploring things rather than just being the cool ninja with an edgy backstory. I think she uses ninjitsu as a means of self defense but doesn’t like being connected to it b/c of the kidnapping and stuff. (We also see how she doesn’t really care about the tradition of ninjitsu cause during the show, she has no fucking clue what to do with the neko ninja, she just wanted them to stop hurting people and wanted to free the babies lol) Usagi and Kitsune are the ones who indulge her childish side. She wears a lot of red but her favorite color is pink. Kitsune def hypes her up and goes feral when she wears pink.

🦊 Kitsune Mini Rant: I hate Kitsune’s clothes in the show. Idk it just doesn’t look right on her. It’s got no shape it’s got no hiding spots for stolen goods. It’s not Kitsune. I like the concept art fit, it’s really cute. (She looks like a mini tank who will fuck you up in a cute way) but still #1 thing missing. Hiding spots for stolen goods!!! She needs some loose sleeves or flowy clothing like in the comics. (btw: I know it would be harder to animate in the show therefore I accept what they gave her but still!!!)

Art Notes: I’m not too sure about Kitsune’s fit tbh. I’m still workshopping it. She just needs something with loose sleeves! (Like she for sure is stealing shit and putting it up her sleeves, you can’t tell me i’m wrong/ it’s also where she could keep her fans!) I think i’m obsessed with her sleeves cause I imagine her gambling or playing a game of cards with a bunch of dangerous criminals and someone accuses her of cheating and she goes “What?! Me?! No, no. I’m just that good or maybe . . . you’re just that bad-” Then all the stolen cards fall out her sleeves and she just goes -fuck. and it turns into this picture vvv

ANYWAYS!!!! I gave her short hair bc idk, a girls gotta change it up sometime 💅 I actually liked her hair mimicking a fox tail but I feel like she would get bored of it and chop it all off one day. She's definitely the one who cuts and dye’s her hair at 1am then cries about it the next day. She’s got visibly longer ears and sharper face. Kitsune and Usagi wanted to get piercings together cause they’re besties and want to be edgy (she lowkey got it on her left ear to match Chizu) and so they did and Usagi’s Auntie was so PISSED lol. They got chewed out. Her hands and feet should be a little darker but i forgor. Also she’s got dark teal wrappings so it would be hard to tell anyways. I gave her the crop top with buttons from the concept art and the sleeves from the comic. They have the same maple leaf print from her comic too (i’m just lazy) and the cuffs are just lined to mimic the layers she had. She’s got her little pack, she’s also got some more smaller ones on the back (kinda like Leo). She also made a comment about not having money to buy herself shoes so . . . she’s got no shoes lol. It just wrappings under her shin guards. (no shoes just like Leo smh) It helps her be more sneaky tho >:)

Oh and they’re dating but i feel like that’s a given lol. I saw people shipping them at first and it literally went -> *sees ship* Oh they’re shipping the only two main female characters together again- yeah that’s greeeat- *Watches the show* oh. nvm I retract my sarcasm, they’re def gay for each other, thats nice. This is nice -w-

which is pretty funny, cause I think they don't like each other in the comics? (from what I saw in the singles panels I used as a reference at least) Chizu’s legit ready to kill Kitsune lol

Post Note: I totally forgot Chizu chose a bow and arrow as a weapon so now she’s just the stereotypical tall archer . . . i’m gonna go now ;-;

Gen Mini Rant: Holy Moly dudes, he was sooooo hard to draw ;-; I don't hate his design at all, actually it's one I like the most. I just don't like that there's not a lot of contrast on the 3D model and he kind just blends into a purple blob. (for me at least) I defiantly didn't do him justice but that's the best it's gonna get (from me that is.)

Art Notes: Don't look the feet . . . for any of them but mostly Gen lol. I don't really like the purple I chose but every color combo I did just looked bad idk. I can't do color, don't look at me man. Me and purple do not mix. He's still a bounty hunter so I wanted to keep his armor but I wanted him to have a long tail-coat/cape-ish jacket cause he would look cool as hell with one of those >:) (prob not practical but still) I wanted to add elbow and knee pads, but he's a rhino, he can take it. Also how can bad guys hurt him if he's too busy beating them up with his brass knuckles? He's still got his clubs but he likes clanging his fists together. lol His horn grew back! He's also got a goatee and everyone makes fun of him. The gang always threatens to shave it off in his sleep. I took more inspo from the show than the comic cause I don't really know Gen in the comics and what I did find was just miyamoto usagi but purple ;-; (clothes wise)

I wasn’t kidding, I had a lot to say, any survivors?

Feel free to suggest or critic my designs!! :0 Im not a design person and its mostly just for fun, but i looooove hearing people’s takes, especially hot takes >:) i like poking brains, its fun ^^

#samurai rabbit #usagi chronicles #samurai rabbit: the usagi chronicles #i am cringe but i am free #my art #no flirting with the lifeguard #lifeguard au #chizu #kitsune #murakami gennosuke #gen #rottmnt #at least I tried idk #rottmnt redesign #sketch