#No Substance Mixtape

[inyourfacex]

Walter The Producer - Since September / No Substance Mixtape

#Walter the producer #Since September #No Substance Mixtape #music #youtube #iyf

[keresnotceres]

TF 141: General Headcanons

[sfw] cw: substance use, mention of injury

some of these are so stupid i’m sorry

Has never taken a nap in his life. Literally never. If he says he’s “going to take a nap” no he’s not. He’s going to lay in his bed and talk shit about people to himself.

Is not allowed to watch any war movie whatsoever. Will either complain about how inaccurate the warfare or death scenes are or will pass the fuck out. Head tilted back on the couch, arms crossed, legs spread. Neck pain for DAYS.

Prefers handheld consoles like the DS or Gameboy to any home consoles. Likes to feel that it’s his and if anyone wants to take it away from him, they’ll have to pry it from his strong ass grip.

SPEAKING OF. If you hand him like anything to hold onto he will have the tightest fucking grip on it. Bro it’s not gonna run away from you!!! Be gentle!!!

Casual smoker. Picked up the habit from being around Price too much and now he likes to smoke away stress with a cigarette or two.

Constantly hits his head getting out of cars. Literally cannot catch a break due to underestimating how tall he is compared to any vehicle.

Finds it very difficult to smile, even if he’s happy. Showing emotion in general is really hard for him, usually will only do it around people he trusts the most. Showing emotion to someone makes him feel vulnerable and weak, the complete opposite of how he presents himself.

Finds comfort in making tiny wood trinkets. Likes the motions of carving and having complete control over the little statue. Usually makes them when he’s on leave so that he doesn’t have to go out and that he isn’t distracted on base. He often gives carvings as gifts to his teammates/loved ones.

Shows affection through smaller, less noticeable gesture. Remembers small details about yourself or stories you tell; likes to bring you small trinkets he’s made that resemble things you’ve mentioned you like. Will talk to you about your interests, like what books or movies you like, and will have in depth conversations about your favorite parts of them.

Cracks his knuckles like way too much for it to be normal. He’s gotta have joint pain, because god damn the entire team hears it throughout the day. Just woke up? Cracking his knuckles. Doing paperwork? Cracking his knuckles. Does it on purpose to tick off Soap sometimes.

Absolutely LOVES making playlists/mixtapes for his friends. If you ask him to compile a list of songs that reminds him of you it will be in your hands in less than a day.

Is the friend that you go to when you don’t know what you need, but it’s something. You wanna go out and drink? He’s down. You just want to hang out at home and watch something? Get cozy! You need to gossip about someone? Fuck yeah.

Was probably the kid in school that everybody knew of but nobody was like good friends with. Like everybody liked him, he was cool, but he just didn’t like anyone else.

The only person in the 141 who can somewhat dance. Can he bust a life-altering move if the dance floor? Not really, but he definitely can do a few basic moves and can actually get with the rhythm. Prefers to listen to music than dance to it.

Probably called Price ‘Dad’ accidentally when talking to his civilian friends and had to backtrack so hard he almost choked on a saltine cracker.

Mastered the art of looking like he’s paying attention when he’s really not. Useful when it comes to the boring ass stories some of the COs go off on tangents about.

Terrific at word games, especially Scrabble. Catch him with only vowels and he will be making words you didn’t even know existed. However, he’s not the greatest at Monopoly. He thinks he’s going to win when he doesn’t buy much first round but ends up going bankrupt after having to pay everyone for their properties.

Will not let you live any embarrassing moment down. Never. He is no man’s peace. You tripped over nothing? He’ll remind you of it for the next four days. You misspelled a word in a message or on paper? He’s repeating it until he forgets it. You opened a cabinet and proceeded to whack yourself in the face with the door? He’ll be laughing at the image in his head for WEEKS.

Can braid like a motherfucker. You have no idea how he learned how to braid, but holy shit he’s good at it. Literally just loves playing with your hair regardless of length. The feeling of twirling little pieces between his fingers his just really calming to him.

Was absolutely a Pokémon kid. Has an obnoxious card collection at his parents’ house that he constantly sorts through whenever he goes to visit them. Can and will show off pictures of the rarer, expensive cards he has to anyone who understands.

Likes people-watching because he likes to make up random stories about everyone who walks by. The woman talking aggressively on the phone? Her fiancé is trying to get her to sign a prenup.

Can only cry if he’s watching a really sad scene from a movie or show. Marley and Me had his ass sobbing in the theater.

Likes babysitting his nieces/nephews whenever he’s on leave. He likes having some sense of normalcy and the feeling of having a family of his own, even if they’re just his siblings’ kids.

In his flat, he sleeps with like six blankets year-round. Even in the midst of a heatwave he’s got all six just piled on top of him, sweating his damn ass off.

Likes picking up random bullet casings he finds when on missions. Like a crow.

Hates the beach with a fiery passion. No, he doesn’t wanna go get sand in every crevice of his skin and article of clothing. He also doesn’t want to feel that weird mixture of sticky and smooth for an uncertain amount of time after getting out of the ocean.

Will NEVER be caught lacking when it comes to working out on leave. Rises with the sun and hauls ass to the gym so that he can keep those tasty biceps looking good. Has Ghost’s leg day routine memorized due to being subjected to it for so long.

Likes to be close to you no matter what. Eating? Sat right next to you, eating his own meal. Debriefing? Standing halfway behind you. On a mission? Standing right next to you, gun in hand, just a hair away from physical connection.

Loves going shopping, especially when it’s with you. Will pick out the most obnoxious shirts, put them to his body, and ask “would this look good on me?” Gives constructive criticism on anything you pick out, uses it to comment on how good he thinks you look lmfao.

Almost burned his house down after burning a candle and is now afraid of ever lighting a candle ever again. No, he doesn’t care if it smells good. Do not light that damn thing in his house!!

Had a lighter collection when he was younger, but somehow managed to lose all of them except the most boring, plain white one. Has never bought any other color of lighter since.

Is not allowed to recommend movies because it will either be a boring war movie, a really old movie, or a really old and boring war movie. His music taste is somewhat better than his movie taste.

Can hold his damn liquor but refuses to get involved in drinking games because he doesn’t want to partake in “alcohol poisoning the game.”

Has the dad sneeze. It could be nice and silent and then all of a sudden there’s just an ungodly noise coming from Price’s general area. It encompasses the entire room. It strikes fear into new recruits. It’s not until Soap says ‘bless you’ that anyone realizes it was even a sneeze.

Has gotten drunk in his office with Laswell on more than one occasion and ends up talking about dumb shit he’s done in the past. Gaz walked into Price’s office to scrounge up a pen and instead left with the knowledge that Price split his head open when he was 15 after riding his bike straight into a wall.

Calls you names like “Love” or “Dear” by reflex. You don’t even have to be together for it to happen, it just slips out of his mouth. He apologizes more often than not until you tell him that you’re okay with it.

Literal heater. Exudes heat like no other. Oh, you’re cold? Stand next to him for like five minutes and you’ll be warm in no time. 9 times out of 10 his hands are warmer than yours.

Isn’t really into soccer/football but will always watch a game if it’s on. Is always stood up, hands on his hips, watching intensely and making weird noises at every move made on the field.

Is like, astronomically good at cooking but only when it comes to basic foods. Makes an absolute banger grilled cheese but dear god don’t let him attempt any sort of casserole. His fettuccine alfredo? Fantastic. His steaks? Phenomenal. Any baked goods however… Good luck.

Owns a shirt that just says “Father.” and will wear it out occasionally when he’s on leave. Has never told anyone about this shirt, he doesn’t even know why he has it.

#cod headcanons #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #john price x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader

[skyeet-the-writer]

The One with George Stephanopoulos

this chapter made me want pizza and alcohol okay bye chandler bing x female!reader summary: its been a few months since you moved to the city and you're settling in pretty well with your new group of friends word count: ~4.5k warnings: mentions of black mold, alcohol, a little snooping, but its harmless fun <previous next>

"What would you guys do if you were omnipotent?" you ask suddenly during a quiet afternoon in the cafe.

"Probably make myself immortal," Monica says, looking up from her crossword. "And be able to time-travel, I've always wanted to do that as a kid."

"Ooh, time travel would be sick," you say. "I'd want to immediately know how to play the bass."

"Oh, that's good, that's good." Rachel smiles, handing you your latte.

"What about you, Phoebe?" you ask the woman sitting on the floor.

"I would want, um, world peace. No more hunger. Good things for the rainforest." She grins before quickly adding, "Oh, and bigger boobs!"

"Well, see, you took mine," Ross says. You giggle, holding your warm mug and leaning back into the couch next to Chandler, who quickly removes his arm from behind the couch. "Chandler, what about you?"

Chandler shrugs. "If I were omnipotent for a day, I'd make myself omnipotent forever."

You scoff and roll your eyes. "Lame."

Rachel also tches. "See, there's always that one guy. 'If I had a wish, I'd wish for three more wishes.'"

You laugh again and turn as the door opens. Joey walks in and you hit him with your burning question. "Joey! Joey, what would you do if you were omnipotent for a day?"

He blinks at your question and answers, "Probably kill myself."

Your eyes widen and you breathe out a laugh. "Sorry?"

"Hey," he starts as he takes a seat beside Ross. "If little Joey's dead, then I've got no reason to live."

You shake your head and take a sip of your drink.

"Uh, Joey." Ross's first mistake was to try and help. "Omnipotent."

Joey's eyes widen and in the most sympathetic voice you've ever heard him use, he says, "You are?"

You choke on your drink, laughing into your mug and almost spilling coffee on yourself. Chandler places a hand on your back while Phoebe hands you a napkin, taking your drink from you. You laugh again, wiping your face, and look at Joey.

"Dude, you're so funny. Do you know that?"

Joey smiles and shrugs. "People say that I am."

You clear your throat and lean back in your seat again. Chandler has an arm across the back of the couch again, but this time he doesn't move it, something everyone but you catches on to.

His arm doesn't move for the next thirty minutes either. Eventually, you notice but think nothing of it. Ross does it with Phoebe and there's certainly nothing there. Your newfound friend group talks about nothing and everything at once as the afternoon grows later. After a while, you glance at your watch and realize you need to head out, even though you don't want to.

With a groan, you sit up. "I've got to head out."

"Why?" Monica wonders.

You sniff and start to get your things together in your tote bag. "My window is leaking in my bathroom and kitchen, so my super is going to check it out. Also, there's this weird substance on my windowsills that looks like dirt, but I swear to god if it's black mold I'm going to kill someone."

"Well, good luck," Chandler says, watching you take out your walkman and put the headphones around your neck.

"I'll be back in an hour or so," you tell them and start your mixtape. "See you guys later."

And then you head out. Chandler watches you through the window--which isn't creepy because it's so big. He watches you take out your lighter and light a cigarette before walking on your way. For someone who moved to the city a few months ago, you already seem very much at home.

The second the door closes, Joey moves to sit by Chandler and says, "Chan. If you don't ask her out, I'm going to."

"Yeah, why haven't you asked her yet?" Monica asks. "With the way your arm was behind her for an hour, someone would assume you guys are dating."

Chandler scoffs and shrugs, feeling his neck heat up. "I--I don't know. I think she's too cool for me."

"She's too cool for all of us," Ross says.

"I think she's into you." Phoebe pokes his leg and smiles. "She's always around you."

"Yeah, because I was the first person she met here and she's my friend."

"So? I think you'd have a shot." Phoebe tells him. "Her aura is brighter around you."

Chandler isn't sure what that means, but he shrugs anyway. "I--I don't know. I really think she's cool, I don't want to mess this friendship up."

His friends nod in understanding but Joey asks, "So, does this mean I can ask her on a date?"

"No!" he blurts out, perhaps too loudly because someone at a neighboring table turns to glare at him for a moment.

"Woah, okay, man." Joey holds his hands up in surrender. "I know now to mess with your girl."

Heat rushes to Chandler's cheeks and he huffs, feeling very uncomfortable. "Whatever."

~*~

An hour and a half later, you return to the coffee shop pissed out of your mind. You angrily open the door and let it slam shut behind you. Monica, Phoebe, and Ross are still here and all look at you when you approach. You're frowning, something they've never seen you do before, and your head looks like it's about to explode.

"Woah, what's up?" Monica asks as you dramatically sit between Ross and Phoebe. "You look pissed."

"Because I am," you snap, shedding your jacket. "There's black fucking mold in my apartment."

"Oh, gross!"

"No, it gets better," you add, looking between your friends while your heart thumps rapidly in your throat. "It's not just my apartment. It's the entire goddamn floor."

"Oh no!"

"That's awful."

Phoebe puts her arm around you and you lean into your side, feeling yourself calm down quickly as her scent of patchouli envelops you. "I asked how long it would take them to fix it, but the super said I had to move out for a week."

"For a week?" Monica asks.

You nod. "Yeah. I hate to ask, but could I maybe stay with you and Rachel? I'll chip in with food and stuff."

Monica smiles and says, "Yeah, of course. Phoebe was actually going to be spending the night too, we can have a girls' night."

"Oh, that's fun!" Phoebe exclaims, smiling.

You grin and feel your anger slip away. You're lucky to have these people as your friends. "Thanks."

~*~

Later that night, you're making drinks with Phoebe and Monica while dressed in your pajamas. You went to your apartment to pack your things and you're glad you did your laundry yesterday.

Rachel is out with her friends and you want to assume they're nice, but they give you snooty rich-girl vibes. Plus their screaming only made you more angry than you were before, but now that you've taken two shots of rum, you feel a little better.

You fire up the blender again on your famous Tiki Death Punch--which is really just a strawberry and pineapple daiquiri--while Phoebe gets the glasses out and the door opens.

"Hey, Rach," Monica greets, finishing up the cookie dough. "How was it with your friends?"

And then, in unison, you, Phoebe, and Monica scream, mocking what Rachel and her friends did. You giggle and take off the lid to analyze your work before unplugging the blender and moving toward the glasses. But when you look back up, Rachel does not look amused and you hiss through your teeth. "Anyway, you want some Tiki Death Punch?"

"What's that?" Rachel asks, sounding exhausted.

You finish pouring the third glass and answer, "Well, it's rum and--"

Rachel doesn't even let you finish before she's taken the pitcher from your hands and is sticking a straw through the liquid.

You blink at your empty hands. "Okay."

"We thought that Phoebe was staying over and Y/N is staying here for the week, we'd have kinda like a slumber party thing. We've got trashy magazines, we've got cookie dough, we got Twister."

"I brought Monopoly and Balderdash," you add, glancing at the phone as it rings.

"And I brought Operation," Phoebe says, walking towards Rachel, who looks miserable. "But, um, I lost the tweezers so we can't operate. But we can prep the guy!"

You smile at her enthusiasm.

With the phone in her hand, Monica walks towards Rachel and says, "Uh, Rach, it's the Visa card people."

She groans and rolls her eyes. "Oh, God, ask them what they want."

"Could you please tell me what this is in reference to?" Monica asks into the phone before lowering it down and addressing Rachel. "Um, they say there's been some unusual activity on your account."

"But I haven't used my card in weeks," Rachel says, sounding even more exasperated now.

"That is the unusual activity." Rachel stands and pinches the bridge of her nose as Monica adds, "Look, they just want to see if you're okay."

"They want to know if I'm okay? Okay, they want to know if I'm okay. Okay, let's see." Slowly, you take a sip each time she says okay. "Well, let's see, the FICA guys took all my money. Everyone I know is either getting married or getting pregnant or getting promoted and I'm getting coffee. And it's not even for me! So if that sounds like I'm okay, okay, then you can tell them I'm okay. Okay?"

You swallow your last sip and see that half of your drink is gone.

Monica slowly licks her lips and lifts the phone to her ear. "Uh, Rachel has left the building. Can you call back?"

"Alright, come on!" With her voice breaking and tears in her eyes, Rachel unfurls the game mat and says, "Let's play Twister."

"Oh, Rachel!" You walk over to her and lead her to the couch as she wipes her tears. "Come on, babe, it's okay, you're fine."

"No, I'm not!" she exclaims, sniffling. "Everyone I know is being more productive than I am."

Monica sits on the other side of her and rubs her arm. "Oh, come on. You should feel great about yourself. You're doing this amazing and independent thing!"

But she just rolls her eyes and asks, "Monica, what is so amazing? I gave up, like, everything! And for what?"

"You are just like Jack!" Phoebe exclaims from her spot on the table.

Looking at her, you squint. "Pheebs, I'm a little tipsy, but what are you talking about?"

"Jack from 'Jack and the Beanstalk'," she answers like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "See, he gave up something, but then he got those magic beans. And then he woke up and there was this--this big plant outside of his window full of possibilities and stuff. And he lived in a village and you live in the village."

Rachel holds up a hand to stop her. "Okay, but, Pheebs, Pheebs. Jack gave up a cow. I gave up an orthodontist. Okay? I--I know I didn't love him, but--"

"Oh, see, Jack did love the cow."

You sigh and take another long sip of your drink.

"But, see, it was a plan," Rachel continues. "You know? It was clear. Everything was figured out and now everything's just kinda like..."

She flails her hands around, searching for the word, and you suggest, "Floopy?"

"Yeah."

You put your hands back on her arm and say, "I've been there."

"Really?" she asks, looking at you.

You nod. "Yeah, I'm there right now. I mean, I want to be a famous screenwriter and probably a director. But I live in a shitty apartment with black mold and I work as a hostess." You laugh at yourself and continue. "I live, like, three thousand kilometers away from home in a whole new country. I was supposed to go to school for nursing because my mom and my dad are both doctors, but I changed my major halfway through and moved here." You smile at her and rub up and down her arm. "And I'm happy I did because I met you guys. And, sure, I kind of hate my job and I don't have any time to write and I pour oil down my drains to fuck with my landlord. But I'm doing my own thing, doing what I like. Not what everyone else is doing. Does that make sense?"

Rachel shrugs, but then she nods.

Monica puts a hand on her shoulder. "Yeah. I mean, you've just gotta figure at some point it's all gonna come together, and it's just gonna be...un-floopy."

But then Rachel sighs and says, "Okay, but, Monica, what if--what if it doesn't come together?"

Monica rocks back and forth, searching for an answer, before quietly saying, "Pheebs?"

Phoebe puts her drink down and starts, "Well, 'cause you just like...I don't like this question. Y/N?"

You think about this question every night in bed, but you don't have an answer. And so you look around, muttering things under your breath so the heat will be off you.

"Okay, see, see you guys? What if we don't get magic beans? I mean, what if all we've got are...beans?"

Yeah, that's a thought that crosses your mind in the middle of the night too. And so you loudly slurp up the rest of your drink and pick up the pitcher. "I need more rum."

~*~

An hour and two pitchers of Tiki Death Punch later, you're all sitting in various positions in the living room. Phoebe is lying on the floor with her head on the ottoman and her hair over her face. Monica is eating cookie dough right out of the bowl with the wooden spoon. Rachel is lying across the couch with her legs in your lap. You're on your third drink and you're not even sure you can finish that. God, you're depressed, you really should get in touch with a pharmacist to get back on Prozac, but that's a hassle with the American healthcare system. Why can't it just be free like the rest of the world?

Rachel, who is changed into much comfier clothes, sighs and says, "I'm sorry, guys, I didn't mean to bring you down."

"No, you were right," Monica says, smushing the dough. "I don't have a plan!"

There's a knock at the door and that's the first time you've felt happy in forty-five minutes. "Thank Christ, food."

Rachel gets up to get the pizza and Monica says, "Phoebe?"

"Huh?" She flips her ponytail out from her face.

"Do you have a plan?"

She scoffs and says, "I don't even have a pla'."

Rachel swings the door open and a young teenage kid is standing there with pizzas. "Hi. One mushroom, green pepper, and onion?"

You almost burst into tears right then and there.

Rachel sighs. "No, no, no that's not what we ordered! We ordered a fat-free crust with extra cheese!" She also sounds like she's about to cry and lifts her fingers to her temple.

"Wait, you're not G. Stephanopoulos?"

"No."

"Oh, man, my dad's gonna kill me!"

Suddenly, Monica jumps across your legs and you almost piss yourself. Slowly, you and Phoebe follow as she asks the teenager, "Did you say G. Stephanopoulos?"

He nods. "Yeah, yeah, this one goes across the street. I must've given him yours. Oh, bonehead, bonehead." To be honest, him hitting himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand does make you smile a little.

"Wait, was this a--a small Mediterranean guy with curiously intelligent good looks?"

The kid nods. "Yeah, sounds about right."

"Was he wearing a stunning blue suit?"

"A--and a power tie?" Phoebe adds.

The kid shakes his head. "Nah, pretty much just a towel."

Monica's mouth drops and she leans on Phoebe for support like she's swooning. "Oh, god."

"So do you guys want me to take this back?" the poor kid asks.

"What? Are you nuts?" Monica seizes the pizza from his hand. "We've got George Stephanopoulos' pizza!"

While Rachel pays the kid, Monica rushes to the window and grabs the binoculars.

"Who is George Stephanopoulos?" you ask Phoebe.

But before she can answer, Monica shouts out, "I see pizza!"

Phoebe runs over to look, but you and Rachel stay by the pizza. You open it and almost start to salivate. You haven't eaten since lunch and you've been craving pizza all week.

"Who are we spying on?" Rachel wonders.

"You know the White House Advisor? Clinton's campaign guy, uh, the one with the great hair, sexy smile, and really cute butt?"

You laugh at her description and eat a piece of bell pepper. "No, but I wish I did."

Rachel nods. "Oh, yeah, the little guy! Oh, I love him!"

Together, you each take a piece of pizza and walk over to the window as Phoebe says, "Ooh, wait, I see a woman."

"Oh, please tell me it's his mother," Monica says.

You squint to try to see where she's looking, but it's too dark for you to see much.

And then Phoebe says, "It's definitely not his mother."

"Oh no."

"Oh, wait, she walking across the floor. She's walking, she's walking, she's going for the pizza." Angrily, Phoebe shouts out, "Hey, that's not for you, bitch!" Quickly, she covers her mouth and the four of you giggle. Rachel hands Monica her piece of pizza and you bite into your own.

Yeah, you don't need Prozac anymore, not if you have pizza and the girls.

~*~

A little while later, you're all out on the balcony. You're full of pizza and alcohol, but you're drinking water now. It's cold outside and there's a blanket over the metal chair you're sitting on and you're wearing the red sweatshirt Chandler gave to you a couple of weeks ago when you said you were cold. You forgot to give it back and maybe if you wear it you'll remember.

Monica comes back in with another pitcher of Death Punch and by now you're sure you've used up all your rum. But it's okay because you're having fun spying on his American politician with your friends.

"Are the lights still out?" Monica asks, climbing through the window.

"Yeah," Rachel says, binoculars still glued to her eyes.

"Well, maybe they're napping."

You scoff, straw halfway in your mouth. "Please, they're having sex, Mon."

"Shut up!" Monica and Phoebe shout at the same time.

You laugh, leaning your head back.

Everyone gets their drinks and sits back down when Rachel asks, "So what do you think George is like?"

"I think he's shy," Monica answers.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. I think you have to draw him out. And then...when you do, he's a preppy animal."

You all giggle and you feel like a schoolgirl again. You swat at her while she laughs and you laugh and so do Phoebe and Rachel.

Another half-hour later, you're all laughing and telling each other lies that you've told other people.

"Okay, okay I got one," Monica says and looks at Phoebe. "Do you remember that vegetarian pâté that I made that you loved so much?"

The vegetarian nods.

Monica snickers. "Well, unless goose is a vegetable!"

You and Rachel laugh while Phoebe screws her face up in disgust.

"Okay, fine, fine. Now I don't feel so bad about sleeping with Jason Hurley."

You sip on your water, having no idea who that is, but enjoying the way Monica's eyes widen. "What? You slept with Jason?"

"You were already broken up."

"How long?"

Phoebe shrugs. "Just a couple hours."

You laugh while Monica rolls her eyes.

Giggling, Rachel sits up. "Okay, okay, I got one." But since the pillow is leaning on the side of the wall, when she sits up, it falls to the balcony below. You smile as she continues. "Anyway. The Valentine Tommy Rollerson left in your locker was really from me!"

Monica looks at her friend. "Excuse me?"

Rachel returns to her original position. "Oh, hello? Like he was really gonna send you one." Monica rolls her eyes and Rachel adds, "She was a big girl."

You gasp and laugh.

"Well, at least big girls don't pee their pants in the seventh grade," she retaliates, leaning toward you and Phoebe.

Rachel gasps, "I was laughing! You made me laugh!"

As the two girls argue, movement catches your eye and you look across the street to where George lives and gasp, standing up. "Look, there he is!"

"Where?"

You blink, pointing at his huge windows. "Right where we've been looking all night."

Together, the four of you watch this man stand only clad in a towel. If you were sober, you'd feel bad.

"Oh, he's so cute," Rachel says.

"George, baby, drop the towel!" Monica exclaims.

In unison, you all chant "Drop the towel" and you're pretty sure he can hear you. Because then he does. And you gasp and all say, "Wow."

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look away, giggling. "Okay, I don't know if Clinton is a good president, but I'll vote for him if that's his campaign manager."

The girls giggle and go back to their seats before you all can be arrested for spying.

"I have a question, Y/N," Rachel says, hopping back up on the ledge.

"What's up?"

"Are you interested in anyone right now?"

You raise a brow at the sudden question. "Well, now I'm interested in George Stephanopoulos."

Rachel rolls her eyes but smiles. "I can understand that."

Shrugging, you stir your water with your straw. "I mean, not really. I moved here a few months ago. I've been trying to figure my way around the city, I guess I haven't had much time to look at anyone like that."

"Then why are you wearing Chandler's sweatshirt?" Phoebe asks, smiling as she takes a sip of her drink.

You look down at the piece of fabric and rub it between your fingers. It's soft and thick and it reminds you of him. "He lent it to me the other week. I just...forgot to give it back."

"Okay," Phoebe says with a breathy laugh like she doesn't believe you.

You look at your friends and see that they all have the same expression--they suspect something. "W--what? No, it's not like that!"

"We didn't say anything," Monica assures you.

"You didn't have to." You take another gulp of your drink and feel some heat creep up your cheeks. "I don't know. He's my friend and I think he's cute, but I'm not looking for a relationship right now, you know?"

"Yeah, I do," Rachel agrees and you hear the truth in her voice. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," you tell them. "I mean. Chandler is funny and he's really sweet, but, like, mentally I'm not ready." Something dawns on you and you grab Monica's arm with wide eyes. "Does he have a thing for me?"

"No," she answers easily. "No, have you met Chandler? He's the most socially awkward person I've met."

Slowly, you nod, staring down at your drink. "Okay, okay. Cool. 'Cause I don't want to make things awkward." And then you're quiet, still staring at your drink, before you put it on the small, dingy table and stand up. "I'm going to use the bathroom."

"Are you okay?" Phoebe asks as you wobble over to the window.

"Yeah," you answer, slowly folding yourself to go through it. Your vision is swimming a little. "I'm just drunk."

"We all are," Rachel says and watches as you go back into the apartment. When the door closes, she leans close to her friends and says, "No one tell Chandler."

Monica places a hand on her heart. "No, for sure. She's totally justified, though, I wouldn't want to date someone directly after moving to another country."

Phoebe nods. "Besides, Chandler is a big boy, he can figure out his own feelings." But then she adds after a moment, "Well, maybe not, but that's his problem."

Rachel and Monica chuckle and go back to spying on Stephanopoulos.

~*~

Later, the boys come back from their hockey game. Before you can ask who won, you see Ross wearing a brace over his nose. Chandler tells you that he was hit in the face with a puck and ended up having to go to the emergency room for a broken nose.

But Ross seems in happier spirits than he was before and that you're grateful for.

Eventually, Phoebe, Joey, Monica, and Rachel are playing a game of Twister while Ross flicks the spinner. You're making some more drinks with the remaining rum for the boys to have, figuring they need it after their night.

"What's the legal drinking age in Canada?" Chandler asks, watching you pour the last of your rum into the blender before placing the empty bottle to the side.

"Eighteen," you answer, measuring the sugar with your heart. "Well, actually, it's eighteen in Manitoba, Québec, and Alberta. Everywhere else it's nineteen."

Chandler breathes out a laugh. "It's twenty-one here."

"Can't men be drafted into war when they're eighteen?"

He nods. "Yeah. It's messed up."

You hum and fire the blender up, keeping an elbow on it and closing your eyes. You've had a long day. You're still mad about your apartment and having to squat at Monica and Rachel's for a week. You know they don't mind, but you still feel bad. You'll cook them dinner a few times, that'll be nice. You would clean, but Monica is very particular about it so you figure it's best to leave it be.

Opening your eyes again, you turn the blender off and serve it up, giving one to Chandler first. You clink your glass of water with his and giggle as he smiles. You both take a sip at the same time when Chandler suddenly takes your wrist and holds your arm up.

"This sweatshirt is familiar," he says, teasing evident in his tone.

You smile and shrug. "Some guy gave it to me."

"Is that guy going to get it back?"

You shrug again. "Eventually."

Chandler tilts his head then and says, "You keep it."

"What?" you ask in disbelief. "No, Chandler, it's yours."

He shrugs, resisting the extremely strong urge to run his hand up and down your arm. "It looks better on you."

You scoff. "It does not."

He nods, smiling. "It does." His eyes trail up your figure before landing on your face. "It makes your eyes pop."

"It makes my eyes pop?"

"Yeah."

Smiling just a little, you pull the sleeves over your hands. "Thank you, Chan."

And as you walk away to give Ross his drink, Chandler breathes. He's not entirely sure how he feels about you. You're hot, you're cool, but you're also his friend. And he just basically said your eyes are pretty.

He takes a long drink of your concoction, something called Tiki Death Punch, and pours himself some more. As if that will do anything to calm his nerves. Nothing can calm his nerves when he's with you.

#x reader #chandler bing #chandler bing x reader #canadian reader #ross geller #rachel green #joey tribbiani #monica geller #phoebe buffay #don't be fooled #this is a slow burn

[miss-celestial-being]

Drift Away

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request | masterlist

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𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: eddie munson x fem/gn!reader

𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: a stranger dms you about the love of your life

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: mentions of suicide, heavy mentions of death, mentions of cutting, depressed!eddie, reader thinks its their fault

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 919 (basically a blurb)

𝑎𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠: please please please read the warnings. based on this instagram reel.

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Laughter rings throughout the house. Love fills your heart as you watch your little girls play with their dolls--likely plotting the end of the world together. You take a sip from your mug as your phone lights up.

Instagram Notification

You hold up your phone in front of your face to unlock it, frowning at the direct message request.

hello are you y/n y/l/n that lives in the town hawkins?

You quickly send back a message.

Hello Could I ask why?

They reply within seconds.

do you know someone called eddie munson?

The name nearly makes your breath hitch.

Yes. He was an old friend of mine. I'm talking ages ago.

Not technically a lie, you think to yourself.

i found a mixtape made by him and i would like to share it with you

You look up at the girls and smile sadly, imagining what could've been as you type out your response.

That would be great!Eddie was my High School lover. I haven't heard that name in years!

i will send the mixtape now

The three dots pop up again, then fall, and then, after another several minutes, they send an audio message. You look again at those girls, who look so much like Eddie you'd think he was their father. You look down at the dimmed screen in your hand and only now realize how long you were staring dazedly at your daughters. You tap the screen before it goes completely dark and stand up, walk to the comfort of your bedroom, and close the door.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself, putting in your earbuds before you press play. You listen to the calming melody, so far from what you remember Eddie's music to sound like that you almost think the person who messaged you was pulling your leg. However, as the lyrics start, and you hear that gravelly voice of the man you never stopped loving, you feel a sense of gratitude to the stranger for letting you hear this after all these years.

"I think of you all the time, now that you're gone." He sings, and a lump begins to form in your throat, your vision suddenly going blurry. You think back to all the memories you made with the love of your life, think of the happy and the sad, the bitter and the sweet, and everything in between. With Eddie, there was no bad. not even during arguments.

"I've been doin' all kinds of drugs to get you out of my mind." a silent tear falls and you cover your mouth to hide in your sobs. You remember this. You remember all the pain he was going through, all while playing it off so you wouldn't see just how much he was hurting. You remember the final fight you had, the one that ended it all. You remember the way he cut you off from his life after you got mad at him for keeping it all bottled up. You know you shouldn't have, that you should've been more understanding, you know it then too, but you were fed up. You were done seeing him hurt, not only from the pains life put him through but from his own pocket knife and the substances he put in his body.

“'Cause I noticed you don't like me no more and it breaks my heart." You want to go back in time; to tell him he's wrong, that you love him with all your heart and just want to see him get better. But you know that you can't, that it's too late, that you'll never be able to hold him again.

"So I'll just drift away and disappear for a while." At that you finally fall to the floor, your body shaking in time with your cries of pain and grief. You can hear the door open and three sets of feet walking into the room. You can feel the large arms that hold you every night wrap around your wilting frame, the smaller ones cuddling into your sides. But none of this does anything to mend the shattered, trapped heart; none of this brings Eddie back.

An hour passes before you notice the mixtape stopped playing that beautiful, sad voice; before you notice the last message the stranger sent.

do you know how i could contact him? i thought i would share it with him as well

Your fingers tremble, tears filling your eyes again.

I'm sorry but Eddie passed away over a decade ago now. He struggled with his mental health severely.

You close your eyes the moment you press send, letting your phone slip from your hands as you let your tears flow. Eddie's smile flashes through your mind; his laugh plays in your ears; you can almost feel the long, messy curls that draped over his face; you can nearly smell the cologne that he only bothered to put on when you came over; you can taste the salty kisses you shared after you caught him in the bathroom with his knife.

You hate yourself every day for letting him shut you out. You want to scream at the world for taking him from you. You're mad at yourself for not being happy with your current life; for not loving your husband completely; for letting your heart belong to the ghost of your past that still haunts you inside. But most of all, you hate that this was all your fault.

#boredbeeswrite #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson x gn reader #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x plus!size!reader #eddie munson x plus size!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader angst #plus size women #plus size reader #angst

[xbunnysbrainx]

Catch me, Cradle me

Eddie Munson x Female!reader

summary: with his name cleared and a high-school diploma under his belt, eddie grapples with the lingering effects of the upside down on his life, psyche and body. his way of coping may be doing more harm than good, but he’s not entirely ready to change that… until he meets you

¡¡drug/substance abuse!!

this exists thanks to this beautiful request

It started out with smoking a little more weed than usual. Then a little turned into a lot. And then when that hadn’t been enough to chase away the horrors left to haunt him after his harrowing brush with death, Eddie turned to something stronger. Seeking solace in powders and pills.

“You can talk to us, Eddie.”

He had been doing a good job at hiding the evidence of his new crutch. To others, he seemed as though he had been quietened and matured by the harsh reality of the last year or so of his life. In truth though, Eddie had lost himself entirely. Spending almost every waking hour high and still tormented by the sickening reel of bones breaking and bats screeching constantly cycling through his mind.

“If anyone can understand you, it’s us.”

To dodge any growing suspicion from his friends and Uncle Wayne, Eddie would slip into a facade of his pre-Upside Down self whenever the situation called for it, wearing his own personality like a mask, and it had been working well until recently… but some things were harder to hide.

“You’re not alone in this.”

Periods of complete withdrawal and isolation, a rocky short-term memory, questionably sized pupils, slow reflexes, trembling hands and extreme skittishness. A more fiery-than-necessary-temper.

“You don’t have to pretend to be okay-”

“I am okay.” Eddie gripes, facing his genuinely concerned friends with all mean and sharp edges, standoffish as he shrinks himself further into the couch, busying himself with the loose threads in his jeans as he tries not to meet any of the worried eyes currently surrounding him.

He’s trying even harder not to look up at the patched hole in the ceiling of his trailer. Leading to nowhere now, but still an ever-present and probably permanent reminder of the hell he had been through. Much like the scars that littered his skin.

“You’re not, Eddie. You’re acting different.” Dustin Henderson. He had been the whistleblower.

A week ago, he’d opened the glove compartment in Eddie’s van in search of a mixtape and found an arsenal of substances instead. A few months ago, Eddie could have gotten away with it, but he wasn’t dealing anymore and now, he was the victim of an ambush in his own home.

“I’m not acting different.” Eddie grumbles, defensive and closed off, ringed fingers pausing in the midst of their fidgeting when something thwacks against the side of the trailer from outside. A bird? Possibly. Some kid’s stray football? Even more likely. But rationalisation doesn’t save Eddie from the sickening churn of anxiety that swirls around in the pit of his stomach and swells up into the centre of his chest. Suffocating and inescapable.

He blinks and he sees them. Swarming him, closing in on him, hopelessly outnumbering him by the hundreds. Shrieking and slinking their slimy tails around his limbs and throat, sinking their monstrous teeth into his flesh to steal gory and greedy chunks of his muscle-

“We know that you’re using, Eddie!” Robin blurts, and her inability to dance around tense subjects is his saving grace. He tries to push the gruesome recollection to the back of his mind, adjusting in his seat as he forces out an exasperated kind of laugh, finally lifting his gaze to the party gathered around him. He can see the wood patching up the ceiling in his peripheral. It makes him feel sick.

“Using?” Eddie hides himself behind his metaphorical mask, lips curling into an imitation of that roguish grin of his-it doesn’t quite reach his eyes these days-shielding himself with falsified amusement as he feeds his friends another bold faced lie,

“It’s weed. I’m smoking weed, man. All of you came here to bust my ass over that?” Eddie laughs humourlessly and shifts in his seat again, hand lifting to toy with his hair and scratch at his cheek, hoping his friends won’t notice the shake in his fingertips or the jittery bounce of his leg.

“We know it’s more than just weed, Eddie. Dustin told us what he saw.” Nancy’s voice is as serious as her tone, and when everyone else wordlessly agrees, nodding and searing the surface of Eddie’s skin with their worried-pitying-gazes, Eddie wishes for the floor to open up and swallow him. Or maybe for the ceiling to crack open once more so that god-awful place can consume him, like it was supposed to.

It had been a little over a year since Eddie had woken up handcuffed to a hospital bed in indescribable agony with a very difficult road to recovery ahead of him.

A little over a year since Eddie had risked his life to save the same people that made him the primary target of their man hunt.

A little over a year since Chrissy Cunningham had crumpled to the floor of his trailer, shattering the foundations of the life he knew, catapulting him into a waking nightmare that still hadn’t ended.

Since then, Eddie had been pulling away from everyone and everything that he loved, and sure, he felt bad about it, but he felt worse about the pills he had stuffed into his picked in a moments panic when his monster fighting friend group had knocked at his front door unannounced. He wished he had swallowed them before this intervention.

The mediation continues among the group and Eddie can hear his friends, but he’s no longer listening.

Because yes, they’d fallen prey to the atrocities of the twisted dimension lurking below their once sleepy hometown long before he had, and yes, that undoubtedly left a mark on all of them, but they got to return to their normal lives after the storm had cleared and the dust had settled. Eddie was still living in the fallout.

He rarely ever slept through a full night anymore and the muscles and tendons underneath his scars ached and burned on the daily. He constantly suffered through serious panic inducing flashbacks and sometimes he swore he was going crazy, hearing the voice of a certain cheerleader over his shoulder, seeing her form in the corner of his eye, bloody eyed and bent out of shape. He couldn’t stand the dark or the smell of burning or loud noises and Christ, he couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror anymore. He couldn’t stand the sight of himself, scarred and skittish and usually bleary-eyed.

He went from being the town’s relatively-harmless-weirdo to a killer cultist overnight. Name cleared or not, Eddie’s life had been destroyed.

Staying high was the only way Eddie could feel any semblance of normality. the numbness he found in pills and potions being the closest he could get to feeling peace and calm.

That, he knew his friends wouldn’t understand.

* * *

Eddie can’t remember what exactly he’s looking for, but he’s absolutely certain that he didn’t come here to stand unmoving and empty-eyed in the soap and detergent isle for nearly fifteen minutes.

The too-bright fluorescent lights above his head paired with the quiet buzz of gaudy pop music crackling through a radio somewhere in the store are starting to pinch at his already soured mood. He blames his fuzzy, sensitive mind on the intervention he’d had to deal with this morning and not the pills he’d stomached as soon as it was over.

“Hey, can I help you with anything?” Eddie almost leaps out of his skin at the sound of your voice and the gentle brush of your fingertips against his arm-a little too close to the jagged scars hiding underneath the sleeve of his shirt-causing him to jerk and flinch away from you like a man on fire and when his wild brown eyes whip around to meet yours, you jump away just as fast, one arm raised in surrender, the other cradling an array of boxed fabric softeners.

“Jesus Christ!” He’s closed in on himself and tilted away from you with palms flat against his racing chest, his shoulders curled up defensively, one of his feet lifted ever so slightly from the floor. His heart is beating so hard against his ribcage that it feels as though it’ll shatter the bone.

“Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t- you’ve been standing here for ages. I didn’t mean to scare you.” You laugh in between your words, soft and sweet and friendly, and Eddie has to take a glance up and down the isle to make sure that it’s actually him that you’re addressing.

“It’s uh-shit. It’s fine.” He huffs out an awkward breath of laughter and settles, rubbing the pads of his fingers into his eyelids, pinching the bridge of his nose as he laughs again but this time it’s a little colder. Cruel, mean and aimed at himself.

What exactly had he been expecting when he turned around? Certainly not some girl dressed in a horribly tacky and entirely unthreatening convenience store uniform.

You smile at him, all gentle and apologetic, and when you crouch down in front of him to offload the boxes in your arms onto the lower shelves, he thinks that you look vaguely familiar.

“Eddie, right?” You ask as you pull the older stock to the front so that it sells first before you wedge the new boxes in the back and when you shoot your gaze over your shoulder to look at him, he drops his own eyes to the toes of his boots. Messy curls curtaining his face and hiding the pink and silvery skin scarring his left cheek.

He grimaces and assumes that you recognise him from the news. The boy who killed his peers with a sinister kind of violence, the cultist, Satans vessel (as some had called him). The devil on earth. Eddie the freak Munson. The Munson Murders-

“Yep.” He swallows and shoves his hands into his pockets as deep as they’ll go,

“In the flesh, unfortunately.” He mumbles that last part under his breath, smiling tight-lipped and sarcastic, working hard to avoid your eyes as you rise to your feet and twirl on your toes to face him.

He’s bracing himself for something brutal. A cruel comment, a prying question that’ll yank everything bad right to the surface despite his pill-stewed mind, leaving him feeling raw and wounded and hurt. But it doesn’t come.

“We did a project together for our-my senior year. For English, we had to choose an author.” Your recollection and complete lack of hostility garners his full attention, and he finally meets your gaze again. You don’t miss the way that he subtly conceals the left side of his face by lifting his hand to twirl his hair around his fingers, pulling the strands across his mouth as he squints at you and blinks slow.

“Yeah?” He cocks his head to the side, takes a quick glance at the name tag on your vest in an attempt to jog his own memory but when he comes up blank he finds himself cursing the beloved pills that have started to settle into his bloodstream and mellow him out.

Because you are the first person outside of his friends and his Uncle that has treated him like a human in months, and he can’t remember you at all.

“Yeah. You insisted on Tolkien.” You grin at him and lean back against the shelves behind you with your hands tucked behind your back, relaxed and actually interested in speaking to him, and it feels weird for Eddie.

Eddie who still bares the brunt of spiteful gazes and cruel words every time he steps outside. Eddie who sometimes suffers the wrath of even crueler fists belonging to old high school peers and strangers alike.

“I did?” He tilts his chin down, brows quirking up skeptically until finally he gets a brief flash of a memory,

“Oh shit, I did! We got an A, right?” He smiles. It’s small and fleeting, but it’s there and it’s the first that he hasn’t forced in a long time.

“Uh huh, and that was all you, Munson. All I did was make the project look pretty.” You beam at him, but then your boss is calling your name from another isle, yelling about misplaced price signs and the potential for angry customers, and your kind attention is stolen away from Eddie.

“Duty calls.” You step away from the shelf and pivot on the ball of your foot to walk backwards, and the smile that you give him is so sweet. Warm honey and sweet gooey caramel. Eddie tries to ignore the sudden flutter of his heart as he watches your departure.

“Right…” His dark brows knit together, the corner of his lips quirking into a little half-grin, an expression of amusement and bewilderment.

The old Eddie would’ve taken the opportunity to make some smart-ass joke to further crack the ice between you, an attempt to melt acquaintance into the beginning’s of friendship… but Eddie now isn’t really interested in running the risk of making any more friends who’ll feel obligated to worry about him, so he lets the conversation die there and turns his sights away as you slip out of the isle.

* * *

Eddie, with all of his sleepless nights and terrifying flashbacks, doesn’t find himself thinking much of your interaction until he sees you again almost a week later with your positions reversed.

He’s working, nimble fingers flipping through shelved records to re-organise them into alphabetical order when he hears the door chime behind him, signalling the arrival of a customer.

He should be looking over his shoulder and greeting whoever just came in like he was hired to do but he doesn’t. He remains entirely immersed in his work… at least until he hears a theatrical gasp and the soft thump of your converse as you pad across the carpeted floor towards him.

“Eddie fucking Munson. Do not tell me you’ve been working right across the street from me this whole time.” You appear at his side, hands on your hips with a glowing smile brightening your features and Eddie thinks-just for a second-that you look happy to see him.

He cracks out a sleepy laugh, dopey from the joint he had smoked in record time just before his shift started to wash down the powder-breakfast he’d had at four in the morning after waking with his scars burning and his throat raw from screaming in his sleep.

“Uh, I’ve been here for like, four months. Give or take.” He shrugs and keeps himself busy, movements slow and just a touch sluggish as he pulls a record from the shelf, slotting it into its rightful home further down the stand.

You stay where you are and take a quick moment just to observe him. Eddie was different. He was loud and rambunctious in school. A charming and admirable kind of self confident. Something about him was much quieter now. Crushed, maybe.

You didn’t know much about what had happened to him. Just that he’d been wrongfully accused of some really gruesome murders (you never believed the rumours), and that he went missing for a handful of days only to resurface in the hospital half-dead. It was understandable that he had changed.

“Four months ago?” You ask and Eddie nods, once and slow as he hums a little uh huh. He’s got his hair pulled back today, pretty curls haphazardly thrown into a ponytail with a few stray strands falling around his face to frame his features.

With his left side to you, you can see the scar that starts on his cheek and pinkens the curve of his jaw, fading out as it carries on down the side of his throat. He doesn’t meet your eyes, but you know you’ve been caught staring when he turns his head just enough to hide himself and obstruct your view.

“I guess I should’ve assumed that you’d end up here, actually.” You continue the conversation, hoping to get a glimpse of the Munson boy that had laughed so loud in the midst of working on your English project that you’d had to clamp your hand over his mouth in the middle of the library to save the two of you from being kicked out.

“Why?” Eddie answers you sharp and fast, suddenly seeming much more alert and awake than he had moments before. He assumes that you’re making a snide comment. A low dig aimed at the well-known fact that he had struggled to land a job in this town with his reputation of social-pariah-turned-alleged-murderer. His previously sleepy stare and stance is now rigid and guarded.

“Uh, are you serious right now?” You meet his justifiable defensiveness with a tone that’s playful and lighthearted and poor Eddie, who’s grown so used to nasty words beings pummelled into him, looks at you as if you’ve grown a second head.

“I… yes?” His answer sounds like a question. You laugh and his tension starts to fizzle into nothing.

“I distinctly remember you being music obsessed. Of course you’d want to work in a record store. You were in a band, right? You guys used to play at the Hideout. What was it again?” You pause your rambling to search for the name that’s already sitting on the tip of your tongue. Eddie opens his mouth to answer, but you beat him to it.

“Corroded Coffin!” You practically burst at the seams, all bright and beaming as you grin wide at him and Eddie Munson is unfamiliar with the warm and fuzzy feeling that settles itself into the hollow of his chest.

He blames it on the weed, and not on the fact that you’re looking at him as if he were the same Eddie that marched across cafeteria tables with so much to say, the same Eddie that argued with teachers over trivial things just for the hell of it, the same Eddie that terrorised the hallways with his bright, bold and electrifying personality, entirely unafraid to be who he was. Unashamed to be taking up space. The same Eddie he was before he was crushed underneath the weight of the hate that this town had for him coupled with the trauma of battling monsters from another fucking dimension.

No pitying stare, no hateful gaze. You looked at him like he was just Eddie. You talked to him like you were already friends, and he was trying not to acknowledge that he liked it.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s us. I mean- it was. I don’t play with them much anymore. Or uh- at all, really.” He shrugs and tries not to linger too much on that thought. The last time he had performed, it was for the army of bats that had very nearly killed him. His new and twisted reputation had lost the band their Tuesday slot at the Hideout and made it near impossible for them to find a new gig, so Eddie had taken a step back.

Music had always been an outlet for him, especially performing. A way for him to disconnect or express whatever he was trying to work through. So that had been devastating for him.

“That’s a shame. You were really something with that guitar, Munson.” You tell him, noticing the subtle but sad little frown that melts onto his features after he speaks, hoping your own words will soften the sharp edges of whatever he’s thinking. It works, a bit.

“Thanks…” He smiles and its sheepish and shy, a little sliver of the Eddie you remember. You latch onto it and try to pry a little more of him out,

“So, any recommendations for me? I know you’ve got good taste.” You make a point of pulling a pop-hits album from the shelf, flipping the sleeve over in your hands to feign interest in the track list until Eddie suddenly closes the space between the two of you in three long paces.

He’s clumsy and overestimates his steps, the heat of his chest meeting your shoulder as he gets closer than intended, but you don’t mind and he doesn’t pull away as he whips the album from your grasp, settling it back into it’s previous place on the shelf.

“Absolutely not that. Come on, I’ll hook you up with the good shit.” He ticks his chin in a gesture for you to follow him. Chasing after the sliver of the boy you knew peeking through the cracks in his guarded persona, you indulge him and follow him around the store, allowing him to pile your arms high with a Munson-approved collection.

After that, and despite Eddie’s internal insistence on not forming any new friendships or relationships, the two of you start to encounter each other on a near daily basis and your newfound acquaintance blossoms fast.

Exchanging quick greetings in the streets before and after coinciding shifts spirals into stopping for banter-fuelled conversations that leave the two of you late for work more times than either one of you care to admit.

Those conversations blur into visiting each other during working hours, sneaking across the street in search of one another during your lunch breaks to smack-talk customers that you have in common or to laugh about old high school gossip.

And that turns into Eddie making an appearance on his days off with the excuse of needing another pack of cigarettes only for him to end up hot on your heels for hours, talking about everything and anything just so he can spend time in your company. Sneaking around your grumpy boss, pulling you into the alleyway behind the store to share a cigarette with you and steal your attention all for himself.

And you do the same, showing up at the record store more than once to claim that you’ve already grown tired of whatever new album Eddie has shown you, just so you can watch his pretty eyes and face light up at the prospect of getting to share more of what he enjoys with you. Helping him organise the records, lingering for much longer than you need to after he gives you a new one to listen to so that you can talk to him for just a little bit longer.

Somewhere along the way, Eddie realises that he feels good around you, and it has nothing to do with his usually-drug-altered system. He feels like himself around you and it’s a really really nice feeling.

And somewhere along the way, you and Eddie become friends, and it’s everything.

It’s actively seeking one another out outside of work to spend the evenings in one another’s bedrooms, talking aimlessly and sharing mixtapes, blasting them so loud that you can feel the music in your chests. It’s movie nights and meeting for breakfast the next morning because the entire night before just wasn’t enough time together.

It’s sunset drives in Eddie’s van and parking high on a hill, the warm weight of Eddie’s head in your lap after you climb onto the roof together to watch as the stars fill the sky. It’s Eddie always falling asleep on your shoulder in the middle of reading to you in the most silly voices you have ever heard, or it’s him wiping out on the couch for the night because he feels comfortable and safe when he’s with you.

It’s you meeting Wayne and starting to bring hot, homemade dinners to the trailer for him and Eddie to enjoy for a change. It’s Eddie finally picking up his guitar again, playing it for you and for himself, reconnecting with something that he loves so much without it feeling tainted by that terrible, terrible place.

It’s confiding in each other and sharing sweet and heavy things about your pasts with one another. Gentle childhood memories and laughably embarrassing moments trailing into whispers of rough fathers and lost mothers, the struggle to feel as though you fit somewhere and the struggle with nasty bullies in school.

It’s Eddie, with all his initial resistance to a new friendship and all his lack of interest in a relationship realising that he cares about you.

He cares about you, and maybe, it’s a lot more than a friend should.

* * *

Months pass and you have your growing suspicions about the Munson boy. You weren’t entirely in the dark, you were aware that he smoked weed from time to time-you’d known since high school, he had essentially been the local dealer, after all-but something was off.

Occasional foggy headed-ness and a sort of spaced out detachment that seemed like something more. Days where he’d been more easily agitated, his patience worn thin before it was even tested, and sometimes he’d avoid your gaze like it was his job, refusing to make eye contact no matter how hard you tried. As if he were hiding his eyes from you.

You’d even caught him knocking back a pair of pills that he’d excused as headache tablets once or twice-and he had been very convincing-but the feeling of uneasy concern that settled into your gut made you feel uncertain of his explanation.

You’d also tried a few times to ask about his past, about his vicious fear of the dark and how he had gotten his brutal scars-which you’d only caught small glimpses of-but Eddie shut down every time at the first inkling of inquiry about him and the last year of his life, and you didn’t like pushing him so much.

He was terrified of you seeing more. Terrified he’d tell you about monsters and super-powers and how much all of it had broken him. He was terrified you would go running for the hills

One night though, some time after 1am, you wake to the shrill sound of the telephone ringing from the hallway.

You’re confused at first and half-convinced that you’re dreaming but it keeps ringing as you prop yourself up onto your elbows, so you untangle your limbs from the heat of your blankets to stagger out of your bedroom.

Rubbing your eyes to shake your sleep-blurred vision, you pad down the hallway and grab clumsily at the receiver on the wall, fumbling for a moment before you steady your grip and hold the telephone to your ear.

“…Hello?” You speak quietly even though there’s nobody else in your house to worry about waking. There’s a sharp intake of breath from the other side and a watery hiccup, but no other response.

“Hello? Who’s there?” You try again, relying on the wall to hold the weight of your drowsy frame as your head lulls back tiredly, your eyes falling shut and your mouth stretching into a yawn and then-

A broken blubber of your name and a sad little sniffle choked out through a throat tightened by tears.

It’s Eddie.

You’re wide awake now.

“Hey. Hi. I’m here. What’s wrong?” You ask, heart swelling painfully at the sound of your friend’s sorrow as your pulse quickens with worry.

“It won’t work. It’s not working. I can’t-I can’t-” He speaks rushed and breathless. He’s hyperventilating, and you’re already stretching the phone cord as far as it’ll go as you make a beeline for the pair of converse that you’d kicked off by the front door as soon as you’d gotten home from your shift earlier.

“Slow down, Eddie. Can’t what?” You speak soft and calm for his sake despite the panicked pace of your heart as you pin the receiver between your shoulder and ear to stuff your feet into your shoes.

The most that you get from him is a sound of pitiful distress and frustration, something between a sob and a whine that catches on his short and unsteady breaths.

“Eds, talk to me.” You plead with him as you snag your car keys from their spot by the entrance, the metal clanking against the porcelain of the bowl they were settled in.

“I-I hear them. I al-always hear them, a-and I see her and- and- god it won’t stop- I don’t know how to make it stop.” He speaks through his teeth and hiccups again as he struggles through his words.

Again, you and Eddie haven’t spoken much about what happened to him a year ago, but you’re positive that this has something to do with it.

“Hey hey, Wayne’s working right? Are you on your own, Eddie?” You ask, half-jogging back across the hallway.

You already know the answer, but you want to keep him focused enough to talk to you as you stretch the cord in the other direction, hoping it’ll extend far enough for you to reach your bedroom.

“Mhm,” He hums, small and sad and it absolutely breaks your heart.

“Yes you’re on your own?” You push for gentle clarification and curse under your breath when the handset only reaches as far as the doorway. Screw it. It wasn’t that cold out. You’d survive if you left the house in your pyjamas.

“Uh huh.” He croaks, voice cracking on his tears in the same moment that you whirl around on your heel to hi-tail it down the hallway once more.

“Okay. Eddie?” You pause by the phone mount,

“I’m on the way, alright? I have to hang up but I’ll be there soon, honey, just- hang on, okay?” You wait for his devastating and breathless response of okay before you end the call and sprint for the front door with your keys in-hand and your heart in your throat.

When you get to Eddie’s trailer, you’re both relieved and worried to find his front door unlocked. You hear him before you see him, sharp breaths and quiet shaky sniffles, and you have to peer around the side of the door to find him.

The sight of him is devastating.

He’s curled up smaller than you’ve ever seen him with his knees tucked into his body and his eyes shut tight. His cheeks are wet with tears that you can see even in the dark and he’s still got the handset of the phone clutched tight in his fist. He’s no longer hyperventilating like he was on the phone, most of his initial panic having subsided, but there’s still an unsteady rise and fall to his chest.

“Eddie?” You whisper and he startles, flinching back as his head whips up to look at you with wide and frightened eyes but as soon as he realises that it’s only you, he wilts against the wall and chokes on a cry of relief.

You’re in front of him in seconds, shutting the door to drop to your haunches as you reach for the phone in his hand and the second that your fingertips brush his, his lower lip wobbles and he’s fighting back sobs all over again.

“It-it didn’t- s’not working. I just- I can’t get it out of my head. Any of it. It won’t stop- I can’t take it anymore. I’m so tired.” He tells you through his teeth, shaky, frantic and strained as he closes his eyes tight and scrunches his face up in what looks like frustration, winding up to bang his head against the wall behind him, but you slip your empty hand around the back of his skull to catch him before he makes contact.

“Shhh shhh. Okay, Eds. Let’s get you up off the floor before we talk, hmm?” You’re still cradling his head as you reach above him to hang up the receiver, leaning into him to make the stretch and suddenly he needs you much closer.

He melts forward to press his forehead to your shoulder in the same moment that he parts his legs and reaches for your hips with ice cold fingers, pulling you to your knees between his thighs as he snakes his arms around your waist to crush you into his chest, and your heart all but shatters as he sniffles into the crook of your neck and squeezes you like you’re all that he’s got.

“I wasn’t-” His voice cracks and he hugs you even tighter, swallowing his words with his tears as he clings to you like a lifeline.

His head is spinning and his heart is pounding and he’s afraid to look at the ceiling-just in case it’s split wide open and glowing-but he realises that he’s even more afraid of you finally getting a glimpse of him underneath the cracks in his carefully crafted facade.

He’s afraid of how much he cares for you now and how much it’s going to hurt him when you look at him with the same kind of pity and disappointment that his friends and Uncle do, but his blood is laced with the pills he’d swallowed before he called you and he can’t seem to quiet himself,

“I wasn’t supposed to make it. I wasn’t-I’m not-I shouldn’t have made it-” He stumbles over his words and hiccups into the junction of your shoulder and when your hands move to cradle his face in your palms, he resists and refuses to lift his head.

“Eddie-” You try but he’s stubborn and he can feel a heavy confession sitting on the tip of his tongue, one he’d been avoiding ever since he’d cut that rope and doomed himself.

“I didn’t want to make it.” His voice is the smallest that you’ve ever heard it and with the gentle encouragement of your thumbs swiping across his cheeks, he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours.

It’s dark in the trailer but you’re close enough to see the redness of his eyes, the unnatural dilation of his pupils. Eddie recognises the look of full realisation on your face as the pieces fall into place in your mind-those definitely hadn’t been headache tablets-and he finds himself wishing for the ground to swallow him whole yet again.

“I’m sorry. Shit- I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying, man. Fuck-” He starts but then your lips are on his forehead, pressing a plush and lingering kiss between his dark brows that silences him.

“Eddie.” You whisper with your lips still pressed to his skin, thumbing over his brow, his cheekbone, the corner of his lips, the curve of his jaw, ghosting over the scarring on the left side of his face with so much care and softness that Eddie feels as though he’s been split in half,

“I’m glad you made it.” You don’t know the details of what happened to Eddie in 86’, but you pour every ounce of sincerity into your words and you mean what you say.

He makes a small and devastatingly sad sound, a choked up little whimper as his heart turns to putty in the hollow of his chest and his eyes well up all over again, and when you look at him with nothing but warm concern and loving tenderness-and not an ounce of pity or disappointment-he breaks.

He can’t stop the new flood of tears that bursts out of him, and it doesn’t help him at all when you back up just enough to be able to peel him up from the floor, allowing him to cling to you as much as he needs to as you lead him down the small and narrow hallway to his bedroom with the sweetest,

“Let’s go lay down, baby”

He’s a blubbering mess of heartbreaking thank you’s and i’m sorry’s as you kick off your barely laced shoes to climb onto the mattress with him, choosing to ignore the mess of pills and baggie’s on full display in the open drawer of his bedside table. That was a conversation for the morning. Or for whenever Eddie was ready.

Instead, you lay on your back and coax him into your gentle hold, allowing him to rest his head on your chest and drop his weight on top of you. His arms slip around you as he settles himself between your thighs and he all but melts when your fingers find their way into his hair to scratch soothingly at his scalp, comforting him and grounding him and just holding him as he empties the weight from his shoulders in the form of tears that wet your sleep shirt and tear your heart in two.

He falls asleep like that and he makes it to the morning with no nightmares, no petrifying memories and no burning scars. When he wakes, he’s still in your embrace and your arms are draped loosely around his shoulders, cradling him and caring for him even in your slumber.

He blinks himself awake as the night before comes back to him and when he moves carefully from the comfort of your coddling to sit at the edge of the bed, his sleepy gaze immediately finds it’s way to his bedside table, eyeballing his safety blanket of pills, plants and powders.

He reaches for the drawer, fingertips brushing it’s lip before he pauses to take a look over his shoulder at your sleeping form. He admires the sliver of sunlight that peeks through his window, or rather how it falls over you features, all soft and warm.

He admires you, and he thinks about you too. He thinks about your smile and your laugh and your intelligence. He thinks about everything you like and everything you dislike and he thinks about how much he likes you and how much he’d like for you to stay.

He thinks of the way you make him feel. Strong, unbroken. Safe and happy.

Himself.

He realises that he really really wants to make you feel the same way, and he also realises that he can’t do that if he’s only half here.

Eddie shuts the drawer and decides that he’ll try actual food for breakfast this morning instead of getting high.

For now though, he sinks back into the bed beside you and melts back into your arms with his heart a thousand times lighter than it had been the night before, because for the first time since he woke up in the hospital a year ago, Eddie feels hopeful.

Eddie realises that he doesn’t have to keep suffering. He realises that he’s still just as strong as he was before and he decides that he deserves to get better.

He also decides that he was silly before, to act as though he wasn’t even remotely interested in a relationship, because now he fully intends on keeping you in his life.

He’ll do whatever it takes to hold onto the warm, lovely, beautiful sunshine that is you, even if that means facing the demons he had spent a year running from.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things x fem!reader #stranger things fic #stranger things x y/n #stranger things #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x female reader #request #eddie munson request #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #st4 #stranger things x reader #eddie munson oneshot

[holdoncallfailed]

tbh the nicki minaj stuff is really bumming me out OBVIOUSLY it was her choice to marry a rapist and die on that hill while lashing out at every other woman in the business but it’s still depressing to see how the cycle of fame/body dysmorphia/substance abuse/internalized misogyny plays out yet again in someone who was ultimately extremely talented and really did change the game on so many levels. like imo nicki was still making genius-tier stuff through her queen era (barbie dreams hello) but when she re-released her mixtape and then named the latest album pink friday 2 (lmao) it became so obvious that she really doesn't have anything new to bring to the table and instead of letting her legacy speak for itself she just had to keep being an incredibly nasty person and in doing so spoil all her past accomplishments and ruin any remaining goodwill non-barbz had for her. at the very least someone needs to take her phone away. put that shit on airplane mode or something please

#i genuinely think she is not well. but also i don't think she deserves defending cos of her pos husband and brother #text

[lowkeyrobin]

Hii, can you write some dating headcanons of Stevie? Nobody writes about him 😭

hello, and yes! ik on my masterlist/characters I write for I have it as platonic only but most of these could be read as platonic if you're older, I kept the more romantic ones at the bottom if that's cool so yeah 👍 I kept him & ruben as such bx I'm a little too old for them and I see them as like babies compared to me so yeah 💀 but I got you dw lol

STEVIE ; dating/platonic headcanons

warnings ; language, talk of familial abuse & neglect, alcohol, substances, use of f-slur (I can say it guys PLEASE)

masterlist

protecting him on the streets is a must

he's newer to this skating shit and "running around with thugs"

if he can't go home for whatever reason, he's got a home at your place or on the couch at motorz

ray locks you guys in and you're good for the night, he just can't give you the keys cause he doesn't wanna get fired

he vents to you whenever he needs to

at a point he gets all "wannabe hard boy" and shoves you away while he becomes a fucking hard-core alcoholic

"Dude, what the fuck did I do to deserve being shoved away?"

"Go away! Don't you ever fucking listen? Shut the fuck up! You're just like my mom!"

damn okay moody ass bitch

you stay up at night thinking about how you thought you were grateful for the whole 'fuckshit wrecking the car' thing because it changed both him, ruben, and fuckshit (and their relationships) for the better

for a while he forces you to just let him watch you skate and stuff because he's super unmotivated too and doesn't wanna spiral like before

but in time, he warms back up to it

he's the one borrowing your clothes tbh

the only thing you ever touch of his are hats that you steal to tease him

you put stickers on his forehead 24/7

romantic stuff below!

putting random braids in his hair for no reason in private

he's scared he'll be called a fag or smthn but yk he won't

he just has a touchy partner , it's normal lol

your relationship is purely wholesome, yall r like 13 so chill

nothing happened between him n estee either bc wtf was that scene jonah

you hand him a mixtape before you leave to go home titled "for stevie <3" and when I tell you he crumbled when he accepted that he was finally learning that he could trust you and let you in

like his family issues always had him fucked up but Ray was like "Dude that's not pussy shit??? they really like you, man"

he just sat there for a moment like "omg holy shit this isn't just some fake shit that'll last a month tops they actually give a shit"

he listens to it when he's skating alone and shit

always reminds to kiss from a rose or wonderwall

he learns a lot from you and takes it to heart, like he learns to just be a normal, functioning person in society and how to behave and act and shit

like he hasn't had anyone to rlly be there to correct his mistakes or beat his ass til you LMAO

like he learns actual life skills and shit from you like how to write checks and and how long to boil noodles it's honestly sad

mostly the hug-you-from-behind kinda guy bc he's still learning how to show his love and shit

gives you puppy dog eyes without even knowing it

he's just so mesmerized by you sometimes

idk this is all I got

#lowkeyrobin #mid90s x reader #mid90s #stevie x reader #stevie mid90s #sunny suljic #dating headcanons #mid90s oneshot #mid90s imagine #90s #skater

[foreverdolly]

summary: your love life has been tragic to say the least, so after a rather public breakup you decide that you're done with bad boys. elvis is the lead singer of a well known and well loved metal band. he lives a hard and fast lifestyle and wouldn't dream of ever apologizing for it. the one thing that nobody would ever expect from a rough-around-the-edges kinda guy like elvis is the fact that the man is a hopeless romantic. and he's got his sights set on you. elvis presley was precisely the kind of person you were trying to avoid. you couldn't let him weasel his way into your life. . . . right?

pairings: 90s!rockstar elvis x playboy bunny!reader

status: in progress

warnings: this series contains heavily descriptive smut, cursing, mild violence as well as controlled substance usage. please read the notes at the top of every chapter before reading. this is intended for mature readers only.

word count: 11.1k

chapter index:

chapter one ⋆ after a heavily documented breakup you decide that bad boys are out and good guys are in. fate must have it out for you though because trouble personified has set his sights on you. elvis is unwilling to let you slip through his fingers, regardless of your hesitance to give him a chance. despite the fact that the man might be a bit rough around the edges, he appears to have a heart of gold. giving him a chance would be a mistake though…right?

chapter two ⋆ telling the musician about your work trip to cancún might have been a mistake. elvis’s middle name is “spontaneous” aaron, afterall. he’s convinced that you are the one for him and is more than willing to prove it.

chapter three ⋆ coming soon

chapter four ⋆ coming soon

playlist:

elvis made you a mixtape! i think you should give it a listen.

moodboard:

give this a look to set the mood and help you with visuals! make sure to check the board after every update.

#foreverdolly #masterlist #elvis presley #elvis #be my lover series #be my lover #elvis fandom #elvis fic #elvis presley fic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x reader #reader insert #elvis 2022 #elvis movie

[highly-important]

I recently got into this 4 year old They Might Be Giants song, “The Communists Have the Music.”  Music video directed by David Cowles and Jeremy Galante with art by David Plunkert.

Linnel:

On the one hand, Fran Lebowitz memorably said of Communism vs. Fascism that one was too dull and the other too exciting. However, our song takes its cue from somebody (I can’t remember who) in our high school, who once compared two bands (I wish I could remember which bands) by declaring that one had the power but the other had the tunes. This enduring metaphor seems to apply to any pair of things we can think of. 

I see a lot of people who are interpreting this very literally: that it is about someone who is interested in communism not for rational reasons, but because they’re interested in the aesthetics. I don’t think this is supported by the song.

TMBG have been making music for 30 years. Music is really important to them, I don’t think they would use it to reference something they think is unsubstantive. Music is culture, music is creative and expressive, music uses literary devices frequently. Fascism is more concerned with top-down control and uses stifling  techniques on its subjects. Communism is about bottom-up control where the people are allowed to be expressive. The song focuses on music because the singer is concerned with art, human spirit, and humanity in general. A literal approach to the song is that the singer is only interested in aesthetics but doesn’t understand the substance. Taking a creatively-minded approach opens up the song to embrace it as an anthem in favor of communism and left-leaning politics.

I think some of the major themes are art vs propaganda, humanity, dehumanization, paranoia, listening, watching, identity, and of  course, politics. It is about finding meaning and connection in a landscape that is trying to divide us, make us scared or angry, and dehumanize ourselves.

 I think the song itself is intentionally using symbolism and leaving its message up for interpretation because of this type of backlash to these types of messages.

The music video itself is a satire of American Red Scare politics.The scare is still going today- we still can’t listen to songs or study the period without a fear of it.

Right away they dragged me to the Committee To explain my un-American activity They're gonna see they made a mistake If they'd only let me play my mixtape

No matter the singer’s intent, the Committee refuses to listen to the music, refusing to hear the message.

But, the music video is packed with people listening, only they’re listening in secret. This is a direct spoof on cold-war espionage and paranoia that led to US intelligence listening to its own citizens.

The music video draws a metaphoric comparison between spying and recording/listening to music.

Some of the listening devices are references to real-world spying devices and animal experimentation done by the CIA. A 70s CIA operation code-named Tacana explored using pigeons with tiny cameras to take photos. The CIA also tried using migratory birds to place sensors to test for chemical weapons. There was also an incredibly cruel operation called Acoustic Kitty which involved putting listening devices inside cats.

Animals are meant to be connected to nature, but the bulldog, pigeon, and cat have been turned into Frankenstein cyborgs. These technological monsters come about from the misapplication of technical knowledge and an excess of power. It is dehumanizing.

Another major theme in the video is political propaganda and the idea of watching. “The Committee” are just angry watching eyes, swarming like predators. The politicians watched on TV are disingenuous puppeteers putting on a political show. The propaganda is an endless progression of war machines and calls for violence.

“The fascists have the outfits.” A reference to Hugo Boss, who contributed to the fashions of the Nazi regime. I think that the singer is suggesting these other movements have style but no substance. The various forms of propaganda may be more enticing, but they lack humanity.

We watch propaganda, but we experience art. The act of listening is a transformative experience that connects us with our humanity. While the propaganda being pushed promotes war, hatred, and paranoia, the two spies  who have been listening to each other in secret find love and human connection.  The politicians seek to divide everyone, but the wall between these two has come down.

“I hear a melody and just as suddenly I know who I’m supposed to be.”

The fascist system is heirarchal, and the red scare paranoia is ultimately self-destructive as the animal spies all turn on each other. Perhaps it happened because they are all listening to the communist music, which explains why they are also dragged away to the Committee.

At the end, the singer himself is trapped in a television, which I believe is symbolic of a type of political reprogramming. His identity is now lost, and he’s only able to regurgitate propaganda.

The Internationale performed by Billy Bragg, which the singer calls his “backing track.”  The international ideal unites the human race.

#They Might Be Giants #TMBG #the communists have the music #Youtube

[yanderes-galore]

i gotchu boo, how about a romantic Yandere Rick with a s/o that adores his grandson morty? like ADORES him to the point where they become a parental figure to him, and rick gets all jealous over it and acts like a child (even tho it's his grandson 💀💀)

I love you for the Rick and Morty request 💜 Idk if you wanted this as a Short or a Concept so I just did my default. Again, vague what Rick it is but you can assume main Rick (C-137). Good food 👌

Yandere! Rick Sanchez jealous about Morty

Concept/Reaction

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Jealousy, Manipulation, Clingy behavior, Forced relationship, Implied intimate thoughts, Implied drugs/alcohol, Gaslighting.

- This is actually feels really in character for him to me.

- Rick seems like the type to get upset when the person he adores doesn't listen to him and also doesn't pay attention to him.

- Especially in this situation.

- Let's be honest, most of the time, Rick is horrible to Morty.

- Morty probably likes the fact you don't treat him like human garbage or yell names at him.

- Which means you'll be seeing Morty more often even when Rick wants to see you... alone.

- This means Rick is not only upset because you get along so much better with Morty, but Morty even sides with you all the time which means less time to pull him on adventures.

- Yeah, Rick is going to pitch a fit.

- It's great you get along with Morty as it goes along with Rick's future plans with you...

- But the plan was not to have Morty pull you further from him.

- He's envious when he sees you with Morty.

- Morty looks so happy with you and you're smiling when you do anything with him.

- It's like he's being left out of the bond between you.

- Expect while you're chatting with Morty, listening to how his day went, Rick bursts in to draw attention to himself.

- "I was really struggling with this today..."

- "Oh?"

- "HEYYY, (Y/N), got this reallyyy cool thing to show you, away from Morty, in the garage- Just us two, y'know?"

- "What?"

- "Rick, what's going on?"

- "None of your business, Morty. Anyways, (Y/N) let's go."

- It's petty and childish but Rick would have a little bit of a grudge against Morty.

- All the while Rick is trying to get you to pay attention to him more.

- He wants more private time, more outings, more you.

- For once, he doesn't want to be around Morty.

- Something you found suspicious as he's usually always around Morty, for reasons both good and bad.

- "Rick, you usually always bring Morty with you, why is it just us?"

- "Look, what if I just don't want him around for once? Also, isn't it obvious? Think about it. WHY would I want you and me to be alone?"

- "... Rick-"

- "Do I need to play a mixtape in this ship that's filled with songs that talk about what I want with you or do you get it?"

- "No... no, I get it-"

- "Great, that makes things easier."

- One way or another Rick is going to get his point across.

- He's tired of waiting for you to understand the signs.

- You and him can both take care of Morty if you agree to date him.

- Trust him, it'll be fun.

- He knows how to have a good time, guaranteed.

- With him, you can forget all your worries.

- You can forget Morty telling you about Rick's obvious red flags.

- He's loaded with all sorts of substances to make you see stars.

- Plus, think of how Morty will feel!

- You seem to like him a lot, anyways.

- Won't he be happier if you made Rick happy?

- He may even be more lenient on Morty if you accept.

- Yes, you heard that right, Rick would also use how you feel about Morty against you.

- What Morty says about red flags is true, it's already obvious when Rick coaxes you into a relationship with him.

- In fact, Morty may even feel a bit bad that Rick roped you into this.

- He's somewhat happy he sees you more often, even if it is for a horrible reason-

- Now Rick doesn't need to worry about being jealous over anyone.

- If you push him he'll just rush things and force you into a relationship faster.

- To keep away the inevitable a bit longer, give him attention once in awhile.

- You'll atleast have a bit more time before you have to deal with Rick's stronger affections that way.

#yandere rick and morty #yandere rick sanchez

[sataniquepanique]

Hate Me.

Summary: Your cousin Gareth asks you to be Corroded Coffin's new manager, but you and Eddie can't seem to get along.

Genre: enemies to lovers, smut, angst

Warnings: Smut 18+ ONLY, slight dom/sub situation, unprotected sex, hair pulling, drinking, smoking.

Pairing: Eddie Munson X F/reader

Word Count: 6.1k

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

Tuesday nights at The Hideout were fucking lame. The only people that came to the bar on a weeknight were drunks and degenerates, not the ideal crowd for talent scouts. Gareth and the rest of Corroded Coffin had made a deal with the owners of the place about a year ago, and they were able to play every Tuesday night as long as they were done by 10.

Recently the band had been getting a little restless, and they started talking about branching out and securing better paying gigs. But between school, band practice, and Hellfire Club the guys didn’t have much time to devote to promotion, and honestly they didn’t even know where to start. 

The new school year had begun a few weeks ago, and fall was already underway, painting Hawkins in a warm amber glow. Gareth and the rest of the guys sat on a table outside of Hawkins High, trying to think of some sort of strategy for finding better opportunities for the band. After the 5th dead-end idea, Jeff put his head down on the table and groaned, “This is fucking pointless…”. 

Eddie was quiet and stared at the sky while smoking a cigarette and trying to blow smoke rings into the air. Something clicked in Gareth’s head and his eyes shot over to Eddie, “Wait. Guys. I think I have an idea.” 

Jeff raised his head and met Gareth’s gaze. 

“Ok, hear me out. My cousin just graduated college in May, and has some sort of degree in communications or management or something…” 

“— are they even interested in managing a band?” Eddie interrupted, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah? I don’t see why not? We have the same taste in music and always talk about Corroded Coffin and how it’s going.”

The four of them sit in silence for a few beats, mulling it over. 

“Fuck it, let’s try it…” Eddie threw his cigarette on the ground and stood up from the table, 

“…bring them with you to The Hideout on Tuesday.”

——

The Hideout is gross. The old wooden floor is wet with some mixture of substances causing your Doc Martens to keep sticking when you walk, and it reeks of stale beer and cigarettes. 

“I can’t believe I agreed to do this,” you think as the bartender hands you a beer in a scuffed up glass. The stage setup is in the corner of the bar, with a few hightop tables scattered around. You take a seat towards the back so that you could observe the entire production without getting in the way, not that there was a huge crowd or anything, this place is fucking dead. 

By 8:00 a few more locals had come in, and filled in some more of the tables near the stage. This made you feel better, as you had begun to get secondhand embarrassment thinking of your cousin’s band playing to an empty club. Gareth walks out and starts setting up his drums, followed by the rest of the band. The two of you were always close growing up even though he is a few years younger than you, and you only lived a few towns over so you spent a lot of time together. Once you had gone away to college though you didn’t see him as much, but still managed to mail him mixtapes of new bands you had discovered when you were in Indianapolis. Job prospects had been slim to none since you had graduated a few months ago. Everyone seemed to want to hire someone with experience, of which you had little, so when Gareth called offering for you to manage Corroded Coffin you jumped at the chance to beef up your resume. They weren’t paying you much, basically just gas money to get to gigs, but you didn’t mind as long as you got the experience. 

Finally, after 20 minutes of set up, Gareth takes his place behind the drum kit and they start playing. No intro, no hello, just metal. You’d never met the other guys in Corroded Coffin before, only hearing stories from your cousin about their D&D conquests and Hideout gigs. Their music wasn’t bad actually, which somewhat surprises you, and makes you a little more confident about your decision to help out. Scanning the bar, it doesn’t seem like anyone else was particularly invested in the live band. Most of the patrons look like regulars, who were already pretty fucked up and oblivious. 

You tap the toe of your boot against the table stand, watching the boys thrash around on stage. The tall one with the guitar catches your attention. Dark curls bouncing as he nods along to the rhythm, plucking wildly at the strings. He moves closer towards your side of the stage, and you can’t help but stare at his hands. How quick and efficient they are, gliding over each string, the rings on his fingers shining under the hazy lights. You wonder what else those fingers could do.  

Ew, gross. He’s in high school, he’s probably like, Gareth’s age. Knock it off. 

You look up at his face to find his dark eyes staring at you, the tip of his tongue poking out in careful concentration, not just on the notes, but on you.

After 30 minutes, Corroded Coffin announces their final song, and you quickly finish your second beer and head outside where you were supposed to meet Gareth. Around the back of the building, you lean against the cold brick wall and light a cigarette, staring up at the stars. The back door slams open and you see the boys start to trickle out, lugging their equipment with them toward a van parked by the back fence. They walk past, not noticing you under the cover of darkness. Gareth meticulously puts his drums away in the van, and turns around to let the other guys add their equipment as well, when he spots you leaning against the building. You give him a little smile pushing yourself off the wall, and start making your way across the parking lot. He pulls you into a tight hug. 

“DUDE! I didn’t even see you in the bar!” He says, squeezing you as tight as he can. You choke out a laugh. 

“You didn’t see me amongst the throngs of eager fans?” You joke as he let you go. He elbows you playfully and walks you over to the van. 

“Hey guys!” He announces, as the other boys turn around, “This is my cousin. She’s our new manager.” 

You give a little wave, “Hey, my names Y/N. It’s nice to meet you all, Gareth has told me a lot about you.” 

Two of the boys introduce themselves, and seem genuinely happy about your investment in Corroded Coffin. The third one with the curly hair you recognize from earlier, seems apprehensive, and frankly standoffish as he eyes you up from the back of the group. 

“This is your cousin?” He points at you incredulously, looking over at Gareth.

“…is there a problem?” You say, becoming agitated by his attitude.

“No, I was just expecting a dude honestly.” He shrugs, “Do you even know anything about managing a metal band?”

“You must be Eddie Munson.” You piece together the bits that Gareth had told you about him. The attitude, the hair, the tattoos. 

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He gives you a dramatic little gesture of a bow.

“Yeah, we’re gonna knock that sexist bullshit off immediately.” You counter, not appreciating the nickname. 

Eddie’s eyes narrow, “Oh, she’s got a mouth on her…” he says sarcastically while he pulls out a beer from the back of the van, cracking it open using a lighter as leverage. 

“Aren’t you still in high school…?” You quip, furrowing your brows at him and motioning towards the bottle in his hand.

“Technically, yes. But I’ve stuck around for an extra two years to keep these guys company.” He gestures to the rest of the band, giving you a shit-eating grin.

You whip around and stare at your cousin. “Gary, you can’t be fucking serious—“

“—GARY?!” Eddie chokes on his beer mid-sip. 

Gareth blushes, “…my family are the only ones that call me Gary…”

“Sorry, Gareth, is this a fucking joke? I’m not going to manage your band if this 20 year old super-senior is going to treat me like an asshole.” You spit, as you turn you head and glare at Eddie. 

“…I’ll talk to him, I promise…” Gareth whispers as he pulls you away towards your car.

“Bye babe! See you at the next gig!” Eddie calls after you sarcastically, smirking. You spin around and give him the finger as you walk away. 

How was it possible to hate someone this much, after just meeting them moments prior? 

——

A few days had passed since you saw Corroded Coffin perform for the first time. After meeting the band, specifically Eddie, you were now regretting this entire undertaking. Nevertheless, you made a promise to Gareth that you would at least try to help. So here you are, making calls and inquiring about booking the band for some gigs other than The Hideout. You haven’t made much progress, but you did book them for something this Saturday at a bar in the next town over. It was more their scene, catering to metalheads and more alternative music. They also offered to keep them on the books for reoccurring dates if they were any good. Feeling slightly accomplished, you call Gareth to tell him the good news. He lets you know the rest of the guys were over for band practice so you’d be able to tell them all at once if you wanted to stop by. You throw on an old Iron Maiden shirt over your jeans, pull on your boots, and run out the door. 

Pulling up to your cousins house, you see the guys practicing in the garage with the door open. You steel your nerves as you sit in your car, trying to calm yourself so you don’t try and punch Eddie Munson in the fucking jaw. 

Finally you get it together enough to hop out and walk up to the garage, the band stops playing as you sit down on one of the amps. 

“Hey Y/N!” Jeff greets you with a friendly smile, which you greatly appreciate. You smile back, as you cross your legs. 

“I have some good news,” you have the boys undivided attention, except for Eddie who is tuning his guitar and refusing to make eye contact. 

“I booked you guys at The Underground this Saturday. It’s only for one night, but the owner said if you’re good he can keep bringing you back. The pay isn’t great, but it’s way better than what the Hideout was giving you.” 

Jeff leans over the drum set to high five Gareth, and then looks over at Eddie who doesn’t seem phased at all. 

“…are you okay with this?” You trail off, breaking the awkward tension between the two of you.

“Sure. Whatever we need to do to get ourselves out there. Now if you don’t mind, I’d love to keep practicing.” Eddie stares at you with a blank expression. His dark eyes make you shift uncomfortably under their gaze.

What is wrong with you? Why are you letting him get to you? 

“Cool…I, uh…I’ll see you guys on Saturday then? 7pm sharp, please.” You give Gareth a wave as you head back to your car. Sliding into the drivers seat you look through your front window at the garage and see that Eddie is staring at you while playing his guitar. The emotion behind his eyes is bizarre. 

Is that hatred or…lust? No. It’s definitely pure loathing, right? 

You shake your head at the thought of Eddie fucking Munson lusting after you, and pull away towards the direction of your apartment. 

——

Saturday came up quickly. Earlier in the week you had created some flyers promoting the band and hung them around town, dropping some off at the venue to distribute as well. You hope this shit brings in more offers, or at least brings in a better crowd than The Hideout. 

You’re nervous about tonight, so you put on some Motley Crue while you get ready, turning it up loud enough to drown out your intrusive thoughts. Since The Underground was a metal club you don’t want to dress too stuffy, so you decide on a short black slip dress, your Docs and a leather jacket. Throwing caution to the wind, you also do your makeup for once, opting for a simple cat eye and a bright red lip to break up all of the black in your outfit. Sighing in the mirror, you silently pray that Eddie doesn’t start shit tonight and head out to your car. 

You pull up to the club and immediately see that there is nowhere to park, and your heart skips a beat. You circle around back and finally see a spot a few feet away from Eddie’s van. Hopping out, Gareth runs up to you and you can feel the excitement radiating from him. 

“Did you see how many people are here?!” He grabs your hand and drags you over to the van. 

Smiling at the rest of the group, you clap your hands together and put on a serious face. “Okay! Obviously this is a much bigger crowd than you’re used to, but don’t let it freak you out. You guys just need to kill it, and we can make this a regular thing—“

“—Oh is that all?” Eddie mocks you.

“How did you get this many people here?” Jeff deflects, unloading some equipment. 

“I printed some flyers, and I sort of just…put them around anywhere I could.” You shrug, pulling out a flyer from your bag and handing it to Jeff. He stares at it, studying your handiwork, until Eddie reaches over and snatches it from him. 

“Did you make this?” He asks, not looking up from the paper.  

“Yeah…it’s just something I came up with. I figured you guys needed a logo or something, so I used what very little art skills I have, and that’s what I came up with.” You blush, becoming suddenly uneasy by Eddie’s tone.

“We already have a logo. I made it when we first formed the band.” Eddie retorts, looking at you with complete disdain. 

“Dude that logo sucks, it looks like a 5th grader drew it.” Jeff scoffs, “I love this new one, maybe we can make shirts!” He looks at you eagerly. 

Eddie crumples up the flyer and throws it in the back of the van, slamming the door shut. “Lets fucking do this then.” He mumbles as he grabs his guitar case and pushes past you. 

Gareth shoots you a sympathetic look, and you roll your eyes and follow them inside. 

The Underground is packed. Standing room only. You walk in with the guys through the back door, and you watch as Eddie’s eyes widen the second he sees the crowd. He looks back at you for a brief second and you give him a half smile, secretly proud of yourself. 

Corroded Coffin isn’t the only band on the line up for the night, there are a few playing afterwards which honestly probably contributed to the big crowd, but hey, any exposure is good exposure. 

At 7:30, the guys go on stage and you find a spot against one of the support pillars on the side of the room. You watch as they flawlessly perform their entire set, but find yourself focusing on Eddie more than you want to. The kid was natural on stage. He has so much charisma and raw talent that it’s….attractive? 

Jesus Christ, what? 

You shake your head, but you can’t pull your eyes away, watching how his ringed fingers glide over the strings of his guitar, the light sheen of sweat making some of his curls stick to the side of his face. He finds you amongst the crowd and meets your eyes. You can feel heat rush into your face and you quickly look down at the floor. 

Why are you getting so worked up? You hate him. You’re also his manager for fucks sake, you can’t act like this. 

You hate him even more for making you feel this way.

Once their set is over, the boys come barreling off the stage to meet you. All of them smiling so big that it’s infectious. Even Eddie grins at you. 

“You guys were amazing! There’s no way they won’t keep you on the roster.” You beam as you hug Gareth. 

“We honestly couldn’t have done it without your help though,” Jeff claps you on the shoulder. 

You look at Eddie, but he’s already picking up his guitar case and heading out to the van. 

You grab some of Gareth’s drum equipment and help carry it out. 

At the van, Eddie is loading in different gear as you walk up. He turns to see you carrying Gareth’s stuff, and quickly takes it from you. 

“I got it…” he says quietly as you let go. You put your hands in your jacket pockets nervously. 

“Hey uh…” he turns around and looks at you “…thank you. For doing this.” 

Shocked at his sudden sincerity, you nod and give him a smile, “You’re welcome. You guys are good, you deserve to have bigger opportunities.”

He shuts the back of the van, and lights a cigarette. 

The sudden silence between you is uncomfortable, so you pull out your own pack and put one between your mouth. 

“Fuck, I lost my lighter…” you think as you pat down your jacket pockets.

Eddie holds his lighter out and clicks it, steadying the flame so you can lean in and light the cigarette perched between your lips. You inhale, and look up to find Eddie staring at you. Before you can say anything, the rest of the guys walk up and throw some shit in the van.

“Hey, if you guys want you’re more than welcome to come back to my apartment to celebrate. I have some beer, and we can order pizza or something.” You offer, scanning their faces for a response. The guys nod eagerly, except for Eddie who is stone faced and fishing his keys out of his vest pocket. 

“Nah, I’m good.” He says nonchalantly as he turns to walk to the drivers side door.

“Oh come on, man.” Gareth pleads.

“I have other things to do. Better things to do.” He says, but he’s not looking at Gareth, he’s looking at you. You open your mouth to respond, but he’s already in the van starting the engine. You shake your head in disbelief and walk to your car with the rest of the guys in tow. 

“What’s his fucking problem?” You blurt out, 4 beers in. You’re sitting on your couch with Gareth, while the other two boys are on the floor eating pizza. The topic of Eddie has come up, and you were tired of hiding the fact that he was royally pissing you off.

“I’m not sure, he’s not usually like this. He’s normally really goofy and fun.” Jeff says with a mouthful of food. 

“Maybe he has a crush on you,” Gareth bats his eyelashes dramatically in your direction. You mimic a gag and stand up. 

“Y’all are more than welcome to sleepover, but I’m going to bed.” 

In your room, you close the door and fall onto your bed exhausted. Rolling over onto your back you stare at the ceiling and find yourself thinking about Eddie while you doze off.

——

The show at The Underground went so well that the owner calls you the next night to offer Corroded Coffin a spot opening for a band called Devil’s Advocate this Friday. They were a big band in the region, and drew a huge crowd wherever they played. You knew the guys would be ecstatic, so you call Gareth to tell him you were coming over and to have the other guys meet you there. 

Eddie was the last one to arrive to Gareth’s house. The rest of you were waiting in the garage, listening to Black Sabbath when he pulled up. Your eyes are closed while you listen, and you move your fingers aimlessly along with the song. The music was so loud you don’t even hear Eddie walk up and sit across from you. 

“So.” He says loudly, getting your attention. Your eyes shoot open, and you feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment that he had caught you playing air guitar. 

You clear your throat and stand up, mentally shaking off your mortification. 

“I called you all here to let you know I booked you for another gig at The Underground.” 

“Ok…? You couldn’t have just told us this over the phone?” Eddie asks, visibly annoyed. 

“Well, it’s kind of a bigger deal.” You say through clenched teeth, trying to not let him see you sweat. “I booked you to open for Devil’s Advocate this Friday.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open slightly, shocked. He quickly shuts it when Jeff yells “No fucking way!”

You look at Eddie and raise your eyebrows, giving him a look that says fuck you for doubting me. He just continues to stare at you, not with hatred or disdain, but with what you read as awe. 

——

The Devil’s Advocate show was all the guys could talk about for the next week. You pick Gareth up from school on Friday afternoon, and drive him back to your apartment to get ready.   After trying on a bunch of outfits, you settle on some black ripped jeans, a black lace camisole, and checkered flannel. Nice and easy. 

You and Gareth meet the others at The Underground, and help them unload their gear from the back of Eddie’s van. You reach in to grab a guitar case when you feel a large hand grab your wrist to stop you. 

“Don’t touch her.” Eddie mumbles in your ear as he takes ahold of the case and maneuvers it around you. 

“Ok touchy…” you roll your eyes. You feel yourself getting annoyed, so you decide to join Gareth inside the bar. 

The guys were nervous, even Eddie. You could tell by the way he wouldn’t stop fidgeting and spinning his rings. 

“You guys got this. You’re gonna kill it, I know it.” You give them all a sympathetic smile when it’s time to go on, eyes lingering on Eddie for a beat longer than the others. 

Eddie scoffs while he throws the strap of his guitar over his shoulder and takes his place on stage, turning on his charm when he gets to the mic. 

The crowd loves them, cheering after every song. A few people in the front are really into it, pressing themselves against the stage, throwing up devil horns during particularly heavy breakdowns. Clutching a gin and tonic to your chest, you bob your head along to the music. You watch as a girl in the rowdy group at the front of the stage reaches her hand up towards Eddie. He sticks his tongue between his teeth and smiles at her, winking. 

Your body runs cold for a second. 

Are you…are you jealous? 

He’s free to do whatever he wants, and whoever he wants. Why are you getting upset?

You choke your feelings down along with the rest of your drink.

When the guys finish their set, they come downstage to greet you as usual. All of them are riding high from their performance, and hug you, except for Eddie. He exits the stage from the opposite side, and you see him walk to the bar, followed by that girl from earlier. The other three boys start to load their gear into the van, and you decide that enough is enough. You were tired of playing this fucking game. 

You make a beeline through the crowd, over to the bar and push up next to Eddie, who was downing a whisky on the rocks. 

“Tequila please,” you ask the bartender politely, “actually, a double.” 

He slides your drink across the wooden bar and you glance over at Eddie, who is looking at you through his peripheral. 

You lift your glass as a small ‘cheers’, and down your shot in one burning gulp. 

Slamming the glass down, you turn to Eddie, “Why do you fucking hate me.” You put your hand on your hip.

“I don’t fucking hate you…” he grumbles, keeping his eyes staring straight ahead, nursing his drink. 

“You barely acknowledge me, and when you do you’re a total dick. All I’ve been trying to do is help you guys, and I’m always met with complete contempt from you.” You blurt out.

Eddie turns to you, shooting the rest of his drink and sliding the glass away. 

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe you were the one that started all of this? That you were the one that acted like a total bitch, even though I was trying to be nice to you—”

“—you talked down to me when I met you! You doubted my abilities as a manager on the sole basis of my gender—“ 

“—that’s not what happened, don’t put words in my mouth—“

“—and then you called me a bunch of pet names, which infuriated me—“

“—BECAUSE I WAS FUCKING FLIRTING WITH YOU, IDIOT.”

You stop arguing and stare at him wide-eyed. 

“Wh-what?” 

“I was fucking flirting with you.” He ran his hand through his hair, “I saw you in the crowd at The Hideout while we were playing, I didn’t know you were Gareth’s cousin and I was completely enamored by you. When he introduced you, I didn’t mean that you couldn’t be our manager because you were a girl, I was just nervous and kept thinking about how bad I wanted to kiss you. And after you opened your mouth and showed me your little attitude problem…” he chuckled, “…I fell completely in love with you. I’ve been trying to distance myself ever since because I knew you didn’t feel the same.”

The bartender came back over and you ordered two more shots. You pass one to Eddie and clink the glasses together, knocking them back at the same time. 

Grimacing as you swallow, you look at Eddie who hasn’t taken his eyes off you. 

“You know that you’re a natural up there right?” Nodding towards the stage. “I see how the girls in the crowd look at you.” You peer over his shoulder to the girl from earlier who is now shooting daggers at you with her eyes.

He laughs, “Yeah I caught you looking during the last show.”

Blushing, you put your hand on Eddie’s arm, nervously playing with a string hanging from his sleeve. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t help it.”

Suddenly, you feel Eddie’s hands grab your face, and he kisses you. The shock makes you pull back slightly, but you quickly melt into him, wrapping your arms around his waist. Time stops, you were no longer in the bar, there was no music playing, no one else was around. Just you and Eddie. All you can feel is your lips moving slowly against his, his hand on your lower back, his body pressed against yours. 

You accidentally let out a small gasp when he pulled away.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it.” He smirks. 

“Y/N! Eddie!” You turn around to see Gareth making his way through the crowd. You both quickly remove your hands from each other and try your best to act normal.

“Hey, are you guys ready?” Gareth asks.

“Yeah, is it cool if I drive Y/N home?” Eddie looks between you and Gareth.

“You can take my car, I’ll come pick it up tomorrow at your house, ok?” You hand Gareth your keys, as he gives you a suspicious look. 

“You guys…are getting along?” He questions.

“Yeah, we just want to go over some details for the next few shows.” You reassure him.

He raises his eyebrows and gives you both an apprehensive wave as he leaves. 

Once your cousin was out of earshot, Eddie leans down and whispers in your ear, “Wanna come back to my place?”

You dig through Eddie’s cassette tapes in the glove compartment while you wait for him to finish loading his shit into the van. You pop in some Dio right as he hops in the drivers seat and starts the engine. You start to sing along, and he looks over at you, eyebrows raised. You smile and drum your fingers on your thighs. Eddie pulls out of the parking lot and reaches over and places his hand on yours, ceasing your drumming and interlocking your fingers with his. 

——

Inside Eddie’s trailer, you walk around the living room, looking at all of the things on the walls, mugs, hats, plaques. 

“Do you live here alone?” You ask as you dust your finger over a mug on a shelf. 

“With my Uncle Wayne, he works nights so he won’t be home until morning.” He watches you move around the room.

You give him an understanding nod and lean against the counter separating the kitchen from the living room. 

He steps closer to you and brings his hand up to run his fingers through your hair. Your eyes close as you lean into his palm.

He pulls your face closer to his and kisses you, deeper than at the bar, eventually becoming hungrier. 

You grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer into you, feeling him press you into the edge of the counter. He reaches down and pulls you up by the back of your thighs, and sits you on the ledge. You wrap your legs around him and grab a fistful of his hair from the back of his head, pulling on it lightly as he moans into your mouth. 

Eddie grinds his hips against you, and you can feel how hard he is through his jeans. 

“Jesus, Eddie…so hard for me already?” You tease, as he trails careful bites down your neck. 

“I’ve been hard for you since the moment I saw you, sweetheart. Literally went home and jerked off to the thought of you that night.” He pulls back to look at you, smirking.

“Oh yeah?” You raise your eyebrows, “What did you think about?” You grip your legs around his waist tighter.

His cheeks flush pink, “Mmm…well…you were riding me, and uh…taking charge…”

“Do you want me to be rough with you, Munson?” You gape at him.

He nods quickly. 

You grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him closer to your face, “use your words, baby.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He breathes.

“That’s better,” you coo, pulling him in and kissing him. “Now, be a good boy and take your pants off.”

Eddie grins as he unbuckles his belt and slides his pants down. You palm his dick through his boxers, eliciting a moan from him as he lets his head fall back, closing his eyes. 

You reach inside and wrap your hands around him, making him shudder and grip the sides counter. You start to stroke him as his eyes roll back into his head. 

“Where do you want me to fuck you, Eds?” You whisper, watching his face. 

“Mmmm…doesn’t matter. Wherever you want…” he mumbles distractedly. 

You grip him forcefully, making his eyes shoot open. “I said, where would you like me to fuck you, Eddie. Make. A. Fucking. Decision.” 

“We can…the couch…” he stumbles over his words.

You loosen your grip and push a stray strand of hair off his forehead with your free hand, “good boy.”

Eddie growls and picks you up, gripping your ass and pulling you on top of him onto the couch. He cradles your face in both of his hands and kisses you feverishly while you shed your flannel onto the floor. Pulling back you peel away your camisole and unclasp your bra, throwing them both behind you. 

Eddie stares at your upper body completely exposed, and reaches up to grab your chest. You smack his hand away, “Did I say you could touch, Munson?” 

“No ma’am…” he mutters. 

You stand up, maintaining unwavering eye contact with him while you strip out of your jeans and underwear, and climbing back onto of him. 

“You don’t get to touch until I say so.”

Eddie nods and grips the couch cushion, while you lean down and kiss him, running your tongue along his lips and into his mouth.

You start to trail little kisses down the side of his neck, and feel him tense up, knowing he’s dying to feel you. 

“You can touch me now Eddie…” you whisper into his ear, biting his earlobe. 

He immediately attaches one hand to your chest while the other snakes around your back to pull your hips down onto him harder. You begin to roll your hips into him, feeling his fingers grip your hip so hard you can already feel bruises starting to form from his rings.

You reach down and begin to stroke him again, urging him to remove his boxers completely, discarding them on the floor next to your bra. Running the head of his cock up and down your folds, you hear him moan in anticipation. 

“Is this what you wanted? Is this what you imagined, when you were jerking off to me, alone in your room?” You sneer at him, slipping his head in and out of your entrance a few times to tease him. 

“Fuck….” He groans.

You tease him for a few more minutes, until his noises become begging, and then you finally sink onto him completely. He lets out a guttural moan that sounds more like a growl, and bucks up into you. 

You quickly shoot your hand up and place it on his throat, squeezing lightly, “We will be having none of that. Not unless I say so. Remember who’s in charge here.” You smile sweetly, while he bites his bottom lip.

You start to rock your hips slowly at first, picking up the pace after a few minutes, gripping onto his shoulders for balance. You set a good pace, but it’s not enough, you crave more, needing him to be closer.

“Eddie…” you groan, digging your nails into his shoulders. 

He picks his head up from the back of the couch and looks at you, running his hands along your back, “yes baby…” he whispers back.

“I want you to fuck me…fuck me like you hate me.”

It was all the permission he needed. 

He grabs you and flips you onto the couch, hooking your leg around his hip for a better angle. Thrusting into you at a ruthless pace, causing you to let out the most feral noise from deep in your throat. He laughs darkly as he clamps his hand over your mouth, “Shut the fuck up, I don’t want the neighbors hearing me fucking some whore.”

He pulls his hand away, only to swipe two of his fingers against your lips. You put them both into your mouth and suck them, causing him to groan and his hips start to stutter. “Fuck me…are you close?”

“Mhm…yes Eddie…” you grab onto his bicep as he fucks you hard and fast, chasing his release.

He buries his face in your neck, and you feel him finish inside of you, whispers of fuck, shit, and Jesus Christ filling your ear as you let go of the knot in your lower stomach and clench around him simultaneously.

Eddie collapses on top of you, careful to not put his full weight onto your body. He kisses your neck, and moves up to your cheek, finishing with one soft kiss on your lips. 

“Hey pretty girl.” He smiles. 

“Hi Eddie,” you giggle back. 

After a few minutes of laying intertwined, Eddie mindlessly tracing patterns down your arm, you both get up and get dressed. 

“So,” you break the silence, zipping up your jeans, “are you gonna be nice to me now?” 

He smiles while pulling his shirt on, “Of course, sweetheart.”

“Ok new rule,” you hold a finger up to him, “you can only call me pet names in private, we can’t have the boys thinking you get special attention, I’m still your manager y’know.”

“So they can’t know that you’re also good at managing this dick?” He says with a serious face.

You hit him in the arm, mouth open in fake offense as he laughs, pulling you in for another kiss.

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson fanfic #eddie munson smut

[c0ffe3bean]

An attempt at making a silly bbieal au

The player (you) is placed in a school house, trapped with the test subjects. WiLl yOu maKe iT oUt aLiVe??

_______________________

Some info of some characters-

The school house is where the test subjects stay- of coouurrseee :)

Test subject #004;

Baldi Baldimore (Blake)-

He acts like regular Baldi but has a few differences like darker skin tone, he looks tired all the time, has a right mechanical arm, and a left mechanical leg, also an eye patch on the right. He seems to like to drink coffee

( He lost his eye, leg and arm after failing to capture the player as punishment. Also placed a tracker on him, and a shock collar just in case if he ever tries to escape or misbehave. ) >:[

He also has a craving for human flesh, seems like the little test worked. Whenever the player gets injured, he can smell the blood from the other side of the school house making it impossible to get away from #004, there is a way to make him snap out of his cannibalistic state; by spraying him with the B-soda, seems to work. I have placed 4 first aid kits around the school house for the player to find, though it'll be impossible to find them without running into the other test subjects.

After the player finds the correct key, #004 will enter an aggressive state chasing the player. B-Soda will not make him snap out of it, but it will slow him down for a few seconds.

Test subject #005;

The Principal of the thing (Chris)-

Like the same as #004 he acts like the regular Principal, also having a few differences. Lighter skin tone, longer hair which is always in a low ponytail, glasses and has baby blue pupils in his eyes. His eyes are black because of a slight malfunction in the lab, though #005 seems to function perfectly fine though he's kinda blind.

(He does his job pretty well, always catching the player whenever they break the rules. Very determined to catch them, he'll never stop following them until he's caught the player. Very impressive )

con is whenever he loses his glasses it makes his job way more harder. His eyes also seem to drip a black liquid substance whenever he's Angry, overwhelmed, or sad.

Test subject #006;

Playtime ( Sarah )-

Also acts like normal playtime, has fluffy hair that are in two pigtails. She has no pupils but can see perfectly fine, very energetic. Though she has a short attention span, she stops chasing the player after losing sight of them. She seems to have grown attached to test subject #004.

Test subject #007;

It's a bully ( Owen )-

He does a pretty good job at blocking the player's path, only moving once the player gives up an item. Test subject #007 seems to like bothering test subject #004. (I have to keep an eye on them, don't want any of them killing each other.)

Test subject #001

Null ( . . . )-

[ Redacted ]

Robot helper;

First Prize-

A robot I've built for fun, nothing much to say.. it does head towards the player at full speed once spotted.

Test subject #008

Arts and crafts-

An entity that chooses to hide itself with a.. sock?- It's docile but will become aggressive if stared at for too long, it will not harm the player though it'll surround them while letting out a loud and deafening static like screech alerting Test subject #004 (Baldi)

The player ( Y/N )-

After entering the school house, there's no going back. If they want to leave they'll have to find the correct key for the exit, there are seven keys scattered throughout the school house. Once finding the correct key, they'll have to run as quick as they could before #004 can catch them. If they don't make it out, they'll be ripped apart by test subject #004.

Note: Still working on the ref sheets for the others. Make sure to check back here daily for any updates.

Useful items:

B-Soda -

It works on most of the test subjects, except for #007.

Scissors-

Can be used on #006, though it'll make her upset. But she'll completely forget about it after 10 seconds.

The mixtape-

Using it will make it hard for #004 to find the player, it only lasts for 20 seconds.

First-aid kit-

If injured (accidentally) by first prize or Arts and crafts, use the first aid kit.

This is a WIP.. more will be added soon

The guy who runs the school house

#bbieal fanart #baldi au #baldis basics #bbieal au #baldi #principal of the thing #bbiealfanart #bbieal #baldi's basics #arts and crafters bbieal #It's a bully #playtime bbieal

[yellowmanula]

It's funny that both of these things showed up for me on the same day :)

A cassette from the local Krakow crew Alembik (an alchemical vessel for pouring substances), which creates dungeon synth

and a mixtape from @bazedjunkiii

Thank You Guys! :)

#2000s #dj #mixtape #cassette #dungeon synth #retro tech #cassette tape #retrowave #80's #90s #music #vintage #tech #80s nostalgia #vaporwave #synthwave aesthetic

[infernalodie]

𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞 (𝐩𝐭.𝟏) || 𝐓𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐜𝐑𝐚𝐞

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘐 𝘢𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘺 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘐𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦?”

Inspo: 6lack - Rent Free 6lack - Seasons Kendrick Lamar - LOVE

Pairing: Tate McRae x Black!Male!reader

Summary: Years of distance and torment. Entire catalogues of your music written with her name boldly in your mind. It all finally led to the moment where you two would eventually come together once more.

Warnings: Fluffy as hell, angsty, and even more fluff

Final Part

Words 2240

When it came to the relationship you and Tate had, it could get complicated at times. Mainly from the massive peaks of fame the both of you had seen in the past few years. Both on the same level, but still so far apart from one another physically and metaphorically. Childhood friends from Canada, yet, that didn’t mean shit in the grand scheme of things. Especially when the both of you were in two different fields of music with you in R&B and her in Pop.

Things just hadn’t been the same since the two of you got the first taste of fame. Tate hadn’t changed a single bit since you first saw her on 17th Avenue during winter. You and your friends had been walking around the city, searching for some memories to hold onto before all of you eventually become adults. And that was when you ran into Tate and her friends. Of course, being the guy you were, you hadn’t refrained from throwing some flirty comments her way. Along with your friends doing the same to hers.

Since then, a friendship had appeared where both of your guys’ love for music were displayed. From your early mixtapes to hers. Exchanging tracks for each other's input on improvements needed. It was a healthy and happy relationship you two had. Then one random night, the both of you had substances influencing your decisions and it ended with you and her in a bed.

That night… It was forever ingrained in your brain. Scribbled in bold black letters with a large red circle around it. The key details never left your mind. You still remember the way her lips felt against yours. The way you felt inside her, the way she called your name in muffled cries from the pillow she bit down on so her parents couldn’t hear. Or her eyes fixated with yours, her body arching and hips rocking as she straddled you. Riding you with so much tenderness that it might as well have been the first time you’d ever experienced tenderness.

But from that night and on, everything seemed to change. She grew distant and you were left with these feelings that hadn’t surfaced until the morning after. Tate got on with her life whilst you were stuck in the past, writing songs about her. Sad, angry, and just downright toxic songs that seemed to match what it had felt over the past few years for you.

Dealing with the feeling that no one could replace. She owned your heart and you just had to live with that fact. You have to live your life wondering if things would be able to go back to the way they used to be. Maybe then, with her around, you may be able to operate normally and not feel like your mind was elsewhere for half the days.

She had property in your mind rent-free and you didn’t know how to kick her out. And it was shown by the fact that you could be messing with a whole different chick and you would go check out Tate’s Instagram or Twitter. Wanting to just have a peek at how her life was going. That action alone was enough for a lot of girls to feel some type of way about it and end things with you.

As both your and Tate’s career’s skyrocketed, it had invited people from both fandoms to search deeper into both of your respected pasts. Which ended with a picture of you Tate surfacing the internet and multiple weighing in on what had happened and if you two stayed in contact. Of course, wanting to keep those wounds covered, you opted to avoid those questions. But with that and the fact that Tate would give simple answers, a lot of her fans suspected you of being a cheater as from your past hookups had come forward to say you’d been stalking her Instagram. So, overall, you weren’t exactly exposed under the best of lights. Leaving you to just stay quiet and put out music when your label requested you to.

Tate on the other hand was having a great time. Sure, you’d seen some of your fans speak their mind on her posts. Not to make your matter worse, you didn’t shut them up. Either way, she seemed happy with a guy she’d been dating for three months. For you to pop up again wouldn’t be the greatest for both of you.

So, tonight, you’d been hoping that you could get away from those thoughts. First show of your tour and you were keen on getting as far away as you could from the thought of Tate as possible. Unfortunately, the chant of “Canceled” to be played wasn’t helping with your wishes.

And as you stood on the stage in the SoFi stadium that was packed to the brim, you pursed your lips. Adjusting your earpiece with sweat dripping down your hairline as the end of the show was a lot closer than you thought. Maybe a song or two and then you were done for tonight and then you would be onto the next. As great as this first show was going, the chanting for your toxic track wasn’t appreciated.

The problem you think was the fact that it had been about Tate. It was written and put out there around the time of you getting “canceled” and it didn’t take much for people to put the pieces together. It was the one and only time you spoke about the obvious distance you and Tate have. With that song, you’d taken the role of the bad guy, yet, people still wished to hear the track which surprised you.

Waving your hand, you walked along the stage. “Guys’, we ain’t playing that tonight,” you announced. “I’ve got a track I’ve been sitting on for a while though and you’ll be the first people to hear it. Likely going to be dropping it during this tour.”

Glancing back at the DJ, you motioned for him to start it. The moment the song began to play, the distorted vocals graced your ears. The stage floor shook as the lights faded to a red with you pacing the edge of the stage. Smiling at fans that cheered and screamed your name. A rather surreal experience you had yet to get used to.

“How you livin’?” You sang. “I heard you got more room, no roofs, no ceilings. You needed space to grow, now you have no limits. And I don't even think I been the same since you went missin'. And I was thinkin' "Maybe if I give you time. Maybe time could erase that".”

Going through the pre-chorus, you paced the stage. Spotting a sign saying, “Y/n + Tate = Purpose to life,” you found yourself laughing. You gave the girl a thumbs up as you continued through the song. Holding back your own emotions that had been felt throughout the process of writing this song.

“You live in my mind rent-free,” you sang. “I admit it was my pride that let you leave. I done filled up all my time just to feel empty. How you don't pay me no mind and then still be. In my rent-free?”

Before any more of the song could continue, it stopped. You glanced around in confusion, eyes squinted as you glanced back at your DJ and the crowd. “Someone fuckin’ with my stuff?” You inquired, half-jokingly but also a bit annoyed.

And then you heard an electric guitar and muffled voices in the background. The crowd began to cheer, knowing more than you. You looked back at your DJ, raising your arms in hysterics as he shrugged, a devious smirk on his lips.

“Only think about him on the weekdays and weekends.”

Her voice was as angelic as you last remembered hearing it. And as childish as it looked, you were looking around in eagerness, searching to find the angel that haunted you in your sleepless nights. All that you had seen from her was through interviews and minor movements at events like the Grammys. Left for you to watch her from a distance and edits of the incident to go viral online.

But you found Tate, all of that was put to shame. She wore a pair of black cargo pants with a custom Patriots button-up jersey that had your name on the back. Only a navy blue sports bar wore underneath the jersey. Her long hair flowed beautifully behind her as she moved to the front of the stage. Singing with a smile like nothing was possibly ever wrong with the situation or setting.

The crowd was going insane, but you were still left to stand a few feet from Tate. The mere sight of her this close after all these years has built up to this moment. The moment where you had to fight the feelings you felt towards a girl who might as well have never existed.

None of this felt real and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. Opting to just crouch with a smile of disbelief on your lips as you watched her perform. Watching the way her body moved so effortlessly across the stage. How her voice projected so beautifully out of the speakers and how it seemed to ease each thought in your head.

And then she turned to you and you felt like things were back to the way they should’ve always been. Tate’s smile was big with no other thought in her head besides performing her songs. She looked at you like she would when you would praise her for her songs. Be there with her to just lay there and listen to music. Bond over the similar love for things that the both of you shared. It felt exactly how it used to. Where you were at your happiest. And you were keen on keeping it like that a little while longer until eventually the both of you would get off stage and things would be complicated. Just like how they were when the both of you split.

You continued to watch from the side in a state of shock whilst Tate performed masterfully. Occasionally, her gaze would find yours and her lips would form the largest of smiles you’d ever seen. Like she was finally glad to see you and watching her with your undivided attention. The red spotlights shining on both of you obscuring the looks of astonishment and longing the both of you shared. But never got past both your guys’ fanbases when it came to the drama surrounding the two of you.

When she finished, all you could hear was the crowd screaming in excitement. Just as much as you, they had been waiting for a moment like this. And with a ton of phone filming the moment, they were seeing you crouched down watching Tate. The girl stared right back at you with a slight pant as you ran a hand over your forehead.

Bringing the mic to your lips, you chuckled. “You always loved fucking with my music.”

Tate laughed as she walked over to you and hugged you. Reciprocating the action, you pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. God, the velvet perfume that invaded your senses was addicting. And the way she snuggled into your chest, just like how she used to do, it was like your past was coming to fruition.

Pulling away, but keeping a hand on your side, Tate smiled as she said into the mic, “It’s good to see you.”

“I could say the same,” you laughed. “Are you going to be doing this for the rest of the tour?”

Tate couldn’t even get a word out before the crowd was screaming in agreement. And before you could speak up, hi-hats began playing through the speakers. The familiar slowed drums had you grinning as you wrapped an arm around her shoulder, silently thanking your DJ for being the wingman you didn’t know he’d assigned himself as. Tate stared out at the crowd, not noticing how you stared down at her with a smirk.

“What we could've been,” you sang. “What we should've been. If I wasn't, if I wasn't with somebody If you gotta hide it, what's the point of trying? I ain't just your friend, no, what's the point of lying? Tryna sell a story ain't nobody buyin'.”

With a faint boost of confidence, you softly cupped Tate’s chin. The action had her inhaling sharply, obliging your silent order as she looked up at you, hands finding their way to your sides and balling up a good chunk of your shirt. “Look me in my eyes, don't that feel nice?”

As you sang the rest of your verse on the feature you had with H.E.R., you stared down at Tate. Each line is delivered specifically for her. And each stroke of your thumb across her cheek and over her bottom lip pulled you incredibly closer. Chests pressed together as you felt the warm pants belonging to Tate fan your face. Her eyes flickered down to your lips, leaving you wondering if you weren’t the only one wanting to rekindle a flame that just barely burned in your heart.

But then, the lights faded to black. And you were left to now face the inevitability of what might happen now.

#tate mcrae #tate mcrae imagine #tate mcrae fanfiction #tate mcrae fluff #x black!male!reader #tate mcrae angst #tate mcrae x male!reade #poc reader #tate mcrae x black!male!reader #tate mcrae x black male reader

[undertalebrittle]

A more proper version of the askblog lineup. It doesn't matter if you use the official name (i.e., Underfell Brittle, Underswap Brittle) or the distinctive name (Underfell Bright, Underswap Beam).

---

Content Warning: The Brittle Universes occasionally use sensitive or taboo topics, such as:

Substance abuse, medical malpractice, incest (not between the brothers/cousins and only in one universe), Vendetta, potential cannibalism, death, Vendetta, brainwashing and manipulation, body horror, severed body parts-- have I mentioned Vendetta? Fantasy racism. Guns. [REDACTED] up family dynamics.

---

But don't worry.

No matter what, I'll censor out the [REDACTED] swearing.

Undertale Brittle

Brittle: A husk-like Green Monster (doctor) who specializes in Limb Regeneration and Reattachment. Frequently winds up in strange situations due to his obliviousness. Follows orders from the Hotland Doctorate to the letter and is completely loyal to the crown. Was once a photographer, but hasn't touched a camera in years.

Senze: A standoffish, secretive, older skeleton who fells trees for firewood. He's often mistaken for his long deceased cousin, Sans. He lives outside of Snowdin with his Gaster Blaster dogs, in the Wafer Woods. He sometimes references things that haven't happened. Was married and has a daughter in Waterfall. Wafer coffee addict.

---

Underfell Brittle/ Underfell Bright

Vendetta: A violent military man who despises Humanity for being inferior to Monsters. He holds strength above all, and enjoys tearing people apart. Respects rank and follows orders-- no matter how unpleasant. Collects trophies from those who cross him and enjoys flaunting them. Nigh-invulnerable, he enjoys making others uncomfortable by eating glass and bathing in lava. Living with his brother on the direct order of King Asgore. Blatantly racist and sexist.

Roller: A sensitive mural painter and part-time construction worker. A bit shy, but friendly. Often watches over Vendetta, trying to control whatever damage he does. Collects pressed flowers and is a tortured artist. Unsure of himself.

---

Underswap Brittle/ Underswap Beam

Jabot: An old-fashioned young accountant with a myriad of health problems. Walks everywhere with a cane. Doesn't get along with his older brother and isn't afraid to call him out in public when he does something particularly off-kilter. Has too many allergies to avoid and medicines to take. Deals with chronic pain and only has eight fingers total.

Krill: A wannabe thug who aims to be a famous rapper. He's loud, angry, and determined to be heard. He can't read or write, but his body is remarkably sturdy despite him not knowing how to take care of himself. He smells vaguely like mold and forces people to listen to his mixtapes. Swears in front of children and the elderly. Wears a heavy metal medallion because he thinks it looks cool.

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Fellswap Brittle/ Beeper

Wysteria: A hunter who cares for his older brother and trades furs and meat for goods. He's friendly, willing to talk to anyone with something to talk about. Enjoys good ol' shenanigans and learning about the technologies from alternate universes.

Beeper: A shambling husk of what he could have been. Has been charged with various harassments in the past, and is a repeat offender. Speaks in raspy breaths and has restraints keeping him from thrashing or lashing out and hurting someone or scratching his eyes out. His restraints have tiny speakers that emit a beep every five minutes-- announcing his presence and helping others find him when he wanders off.

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Undertale Brittle Biephasic Terror

Bie: An unnervingly confident urologist who laughs at inappropriate times. The youngest of the Terror Brothers. Won't admit when he's in the wrong, but also doesn't acknowledge the faults of others. His SOUL is permanently under his chin (SOULs are referred to as THE HEART in the Brittleverse). He never takes off his glasses. Afraid of cigarettes.

Phasicor: Gaster, the neurotic, forgotten middle brother who works at a convenience store. His body has oddly stretched out proportions-- his hands reach his calves, and he matches Vendetta's height. He has a daughter and a girlfriend. Afraid of cigarettes.

Teer: The oldest of the Terror Brothers-- works for a shady loan company. Doesn't enjoy the company of others. Presentable, but keeps people at arm's length and doesn't interact much outside of work. Hasn't used a vacation day in years. Mentally rejects the fact that the Brittle Void exists, even when he's standing in it. Afraid of cigarettes, but chain-smokes.

---

Repeat askers are allowed and encouraged, as are objects and food you have drawn.

Don't be put off by the content warnings-- if something particularly off happens, I'll put it under a "Keep Reading" bar with a warning above the cut. And I'll try to put it in the tags, but I'm not familiar with all of the trigger warning terms, so feel free to put it in the replies and I'll stick it in.

...

he he… ✨shenanigans✨…

#undertale #undertale au #undertaleau #ut brittle #au papyrus #au sans #us beam #utb biephasic #uf bright #fs beeper #ask blog

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

(It's more of a drabble than fluff but I thought it would be really cute to write about how Eddie fell in love with you 😭)

Eddie is alone most of the time. Whenever Hellfire is done for the week and his band mates are busy, he does things that are familiar. Instinctual. He re-reads The Hobbit, partially out loud to himself with character's voices, wishing it would become a movie already. He sits on the edge of his bed, strumming away at his acoustic graffittied guitar (his electric is special and only used for shows) playing nothing of substance. He takes a scenic drive with speakers shaking from the weight of his mixtape down backroads he had memorized like the back of his hands, but only when he could spare the gas to do so. Usually, anything to fill the quietness of the space around him was enough. He grew up with his parents in a noisy environment before Wayne took him under his wing. He listened to and played loud music all the time, so one would think the silence is welcome. But it isn't. It just leaves room for uneasy, inky black thoughts to worm their way through the folds and wrinkles of his brain.

This all changes once he meets you.

You guys started talking one rare, rainy afternoon after school. You were standing under the metal awning of the tiny high school soaked through to the bone and shivering, cursing your luck and your ride under your breath. Most everyone else had gone home already and the only people left were part of clubs that wouldn't be done until the early evening. Just when you had been considering walking home in the middle of the storm, your knight in shining leather appeared. Eddie had stayed later after school to talk to a teacher about his grade, maybe offer some extra credit. All of his worries and thoughts came to a screeching halt when you walked up to him. He had seen your face around school before (it was a small town after all) and could put a name to your face, but had never talked to you before. He thought he heard you say something, but the way your pretty lips moved and the sound of the rain assaulting the metal awning pulled him into a trance. Your eyes held a color and a sparkle that made the rain behind you turn to falling diamonds. Your wet hair held fast to a halo of grey-blue light, like you were wearing a crown crafted out of the rain clouds in the sky. He only snapped out of the trance you had unknowingly put him in by your own word, ironically. Shaking his head to clear the fog, he laughed softly. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you could give me a ride?" You had raised your voice a little, above the sound of the rain.

Eddie nearly collapsed on the spot. "Oh! Oh, yeah, um..sure, yeah." He stutters out, putting his stuff on the ground to shrug off his vest-jacket combo. "Um...actually, maybe I'll just walk.." You had commented as you watched him, taking a slow step back from him with a look akin to one of a cautious deer in your eyes. Eddie looked at you innocently for a second and then just laughs softly once again. "Oh, shit, uh, no its okay. You are just wet and you looked cold, so I...thought you could use it more than me." He explains and you laugh nervously as you take it. You slip your arms through and the garment nearly swallow you whole, as it was already slightly big on Eddie himself.

The both of you jog to his van, him covering your head from the rain with his hands the entire time, and sigh in relieve once the doors are closed. He starts up the van and turns the nearly busted heater on while turning the radio down as well. Your damp face lit up completely when you heard what was playing and you quietly started humming along.

"You like Megadeth?" Eddie had asked, a pleasantly incredulous tone to his voice and he could do nothing but watch as you turned your head, giving him a smile that made every work of art look like kindergarten drawings and a giggle that made even his favorite song reduce to nothing more than a cacophony that was alien to him.

"There's a lot more to me than people think. I'm full of surprises, Munson." You say in that voice that makes his brain all fuzzy. Eddie just chuckles and shakes his head in disbelief, starting the drive to your house as per your direction. You guys talked sparingly throughout the drive, but he wasn't bothered by the lack of conversation. It didn't seem that you were either. You looked perfectly happy and content to watch the rain shower the pavement outside and hum along to his music.

When he pulled into the driveway of your little yellow suburban house behind your parents' car, he turned to watch you climb out. Another small 'thank you' passed your velvet lips and you started to shrug off his jacket, but he stopped you. "If you take it off now, how will you get to the door without getting soaked again? You can give it back to me tomorrow." He says with a goofy grin on his lips as he leans on the middle console. You giggle once again and hop out of the car with your school bag pressed tightly to your chest as you run up to your front door. The overhand of the porch shielded you from the rain and you lifted your hand to wave at Eddie as he pulled out of the driveway, setting off towards his quiet little trailer.

For once, he didn't speed down the streets he knew so well or turn the music up to scream-sing along to. It was the quietest drive he had in a long time and he found that he didn't hate it. He sat on his familiar bed and laid back, his wet, curly and unruly hair splayed out beneath him like dark wings sprouting from his temples. He just laid there for a long while, until Wayne came home from the plant in fact, replaying the events in his head. In only a matter of minutes, he had memorized so much about you and had his heart completely hooked on you.

For the first time in his life, Eddie didn't fear the silence, didn't try to chase it away with familiar sounds and routine movements. He simply laid there and let the thoughts rush in because they were no longer the inky black and infectious bad thoughts he was used to. They were no longer tar-like, seeping through every crack in his defenses until the damn burst. These thoughts were now filled with you. Your mouth and coated everything in honey and gold when you spoke, your eyes that seemed to suck the beauty out of everything around you and make them the centerpiece instead. The way the corners of your lips tucked into your cheeks when you smiled.

For the first time in his life, Eddie Munson didn't mind the silence. In fact, he welcomed it now simply because with the silence came you.

(Sorry its so long, but I hope you like it <33)

-🐝

THIS WAS SO SWEET AND SO BEAUTIFUL, THANK YOU FOR SHARING THIS WITH ME 🥺���️

#🐝 anon