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appocalipse · 2 months

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never mine ✧ eddie munson

bartender!eddie x fem!reader • old friends to lovers • chapter 01 • 3.5k words

ೃ ✦ ✧ ∗ ❥ ҉

Summary: After everything that had happened with Vecna and the Upside Down, Eddie Munson left Hawkins as soon as you and the rest of your friends managed to clear his name. And you understood why Eddie and his uncle had made that decision. Truly, you did; Eddie's innocence had been proven, yes, but Hawkins was a small town and some people would always turn up their noses at them. It didn't mean you didn't miss Eddie, or think about him over the course of the next decade. Somehow, in your heart, you always felt that one day you would meet him again. The last place you thought that would happen, though, was at a bar — that Eddie, now in his early thirties, owns in New York.

ೃ ✦ ✧ ∗ ❥ ҉

It isn't the type of bar you usually frequent.

For starters, it's tucked away on a relatively quiet street in Brooklyn instead of being one of those swanky, pop-up bars you've gotten used to seeing all over Manhattan since moving here from Boston last year. Also, it's more rustic than sleek, more dark than trendy, its exterior walls adorned with faded red bricks, its small windows lined with black frames. It seems almost like an anachronism among the new construction that has been sprouting up all over this part of the neighborhood.

But even before you get close enough to see what the sign reads, something about this little place feels oddly familiar. In some intangible way, it reminds you of a time you left behind when you moved here: your years spent growing up in a sleepy Indiana town named Hawkins.

And maybe it's just because it's clearly about to rain — the air wet and misty, as though a storm is coming — but right now, for reasons you can't explain, you feel compelled to enter.

So you take a deep breath, open the heavy wooden door and step inside.

The inside is as rustic as the outside, with one long bar stretching across most of the space, booths running along the adjacent walls, and several tables scattered in the center beneath the glow of dim, gold lights. A jukebox quietly plays 'In Bloom' by Nirvana at the back. And just like outside, everything feels achingly familiar, a wave of nostalgia you don't quite understand crashing into you so intensely that you have to grip one of the barstools tightly to steady yourself.

"One sec, doll. Be right with ya!"

He's not really looking at you when he says those words. He's got his back turned, hands busy preparing a drink at the far end of the bar, head just barely visible as he hunches over to scoop ice cubes from the metal container beside him. You can't see much from where you're standing — he's wearing a denim jacket rolled up to his elbows, hair pulled up into a messy bun at the top of his head — but there's something about his voice, sweet yet gravelly, something about what little you can see of his face that makes your breath catch in your throat.

And then he straightens up, turns around. And you both freeze, staring at each other.

Eddie Munson.

It's impossible. But it's him; the same Eddie who sold you weed a couple times your senior year of high school. The same Eddie you grew to call a friend before he left Hawkins without even saying goodbye. The same Eddie whose name still leaves a dull ache in your chest if you think about it too long.

Ten years later, and he's somehow more handsome than ever, all grown up. His hair is a little shorter, curlier than you remember. He's wearing dark-wash jeans and a navy Henley beneath his scuffed leather jacket. That playful expression you once found so adorable is now made even more endearing by a small scar across one eyebrow. And those eyes — a warm brown, expressive as always — are locked onto yours as his lips part, slightly agape.

"Y/N?"

Your heart pounds in your ears when you nod. It's hard to tell what emotion lies behind his gaze, but after a few seconds of staring at you like this, he slowly places the drink he was preparing down on the bar countertop and all but runs toward you, a giant grin lighting up his face.

He nearly knocks you off your feet with the force of his hug, pulling you tight against him.

But you're not complaining.

You cling to him just as tightly, your cheek pressed against his chest. The scent of cedar and tobacco mixed with something else — something unmistakably Eddie — overwhelms your senses as he picks you up a few inches off the ground and spins you around with an excited laugh, making you wrap both arms around his neck for stability.

"Jesus Christ," he exclaims, setting you down before gently taking hold of your shoulders. "I can't believe it's really you."

For the briefest moment, it almost feels as though you've gone back in time, returned to 1986 — the year everything changed forever — right after defeating Vecna for good and before Eddie moved away with his uncle, Wayne, just days before you followed suit to leave for college.

And it seems impossible — ridiculous, really — that you should both be standing here, in this bar in New York of all places, years and years later. So you just stand there blinking, speechless, trying to make sense of it all with the most stunned smile plastered across your face.

"I—"

"What's going on out here?" someone yells from the other side of the room. "For fuck's sake, Ed, if you're gonna flirt with another customer, do it a little more quietly."

At that, Eddie drops his hands from your shoulders and turns toward the woman speaking, more amused than you've ever seen him. He playfully sticks his tongue out at her before giving you a wink.

"Sorry about that," he chuckles.

The woman leans forward a little bit, squinting as though she can't quite believe what she sees. Then a smile stretches across her face, too. "Wait, aren't you–"

"Yes," Eddie interrupts. "It's her, Dottie."

The woman — Dottie — seems to be in her 50s, with shoulder-length blond hair streaked with gray and a sleeve of colorful tattoos on one arm. When she strides toward you, she's wearing an easy smile that crinkles the corners of her green eyes, extending her hand to you over the bar.

"Hey there. I'm Dorothea, but everyone calls me Dottie. You must be the girl that Eddie—"

Eddie quickly steps in between you. "We were just catching up, actually," he explains. "Do you mind giving us a few minutes to ourselves? Great, thank you."

He doesn't give her time to respond; Eddie kisses the back of Dottie's hand and grins, then wraps his fingers around your wrist as he drags you behind the bar, through a set of double doors leading to a stairwell.

"Mind the step, sweetheart, it's a little steep," he cautions, keeping a tight grip on you as you both ascend the stairs.

And maybe it's because you're just getting over a breakup, but your stomach flutters from the nickname, from the way his thumb draws gentle circles into your skin.

This isn't the first time he's called you sweetheart. You don't know why it affects you differently now.

"Where are we going?"

He doesn't answer until the two of you reach the top of the stairs, at which point he drops his hand from your wrist and faces you.

"Well, here we are!" he announces, stretching out his arms and turning in a full circle. "Home, sweet home."

You blink as you look around, realizing you're standing inside an apartment — presumably Eddie's — whose open floor plan means you can see straight into the kitchen and living room.

"I can't believe you live here," you mumble, more to yourself than anything else.

A large black sofa sits opposite the TV, a coffee table littered with beer bottles, candles and an ashtray between them. There's a little dining room table for four beside the couch, across from the galley kitchen where the counters are covered with dirty dishes. But despite the mess, everything still feels very... cozy, somehow. Welcoming.

Eddie chuckles, reaching behind himself to loosen the hair tie at the base of his skull. A few tendrils fall loose across his forehead as he tousles his hair, then combs his fingers through it. You feel something twist in your abdomen, your breath hitching in your throat.

Fuck, you think. That's distracting.

"Yeah, me either sometimes," he says with a shrug. "But it's got a roof, a bathroom and a bed. It used to be Dottie's, but now that she and Wayne are married, she decided to move in with him instead."

"Your uncle got married?"

Eddie nods, and the expression that settles in his features softens as he talks about his uncle.

"They met at the bar. Got hitched a few years ago, have a little place not far from here. It's cute, really. Like a little love story for old folks or something. But yeah, this place is all mine now. Not bad, huh?"

Your heart aches a little hearing this — not because you're sad that his uncle found love (you do feel happy for him), but because you hadn't realized how much you've missed in the last decade, how much of Eddie's life you weren't around for.

Still, you smile.

"Not bad at all," you agree.

Eddie's returning grin is more hesitant this time. As if he wants to say more, but he's unsure of how.

"I missed you," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Because you had; so much more than you ever knew was possible. Even when you'd only grown close to him for a few weeks before he moved away, he had managed to make such an impression on you that his absence became a wound you couldn't quite heal, no matter how many years passed.

So for the longest time, you told yourself that he'd probably forgotten all about you anyway, since he never tried to contact you after he left. It was easier that way, somehow. Better than waiting for something that would never happen.

"Me too," Eddie breathes, voice so quiet you might have imagined it. "Me too, sweetheart."

For a second, you can't breathe.

When you do, you inhale his scent, a hint of weed and tobacco mixed with cedar. His cologne, then, you suppose. And there's something entirely new, too, something that belongs uniquely to him.

You stare at Eddie, trying to find the right words, but all you can manage to utter is:

"Really?"

His eyebrows knit together in confusion. Maybe concern, too.

"What? Why do you seem surprised?"

"No, I just–" you trail off, thinking. "I dunno. I guess I just...figured you wouldn't even remember me after so long. It's been...what? Ten years?"

"You thought I didn't remember you?" he asks incredulously, and those deep brown eyes widen a fraction.

You bite your lip, sheepish. "I don't know. Maybe. A little bit," you confess, looking away.

Eddie exhales a half-chuckle.

"Sweetheart, you're — Jesus — you're not exactly easy to forget," he utters softly, almost like he hopes you won't hear.

You can't help but laugh at this, although your cheeks immediately warm up, burning like fire. "Says you."

There's something almost bashful in the way Eddie smiles, his gaze cast downward as he reaches for a strand of hair and curls it around one finger.

"Don't you wanna sit down?" he asks. "I'll get you something to drink. Any preference?"

"Whatever you're having is fine," you reply, still a little overwhelmed by everything that's happening as he gestures for you to take a seat on his sofa.

"Alrighty. Just wait here. One sec."

As you make yourself comfortable on the black leather, you notice several framed photographs atop the mantle of the fireplace. Most of the pictures depict Eddie with people you've never met — a tall, handsome black man, a blond guy, a girl with short, spiky hair and a tattooed arm — but the one you can't look away from is a smaller frame with a picture of you, Dustin and the rest of your friends squeezed tightly together, the sun setting behind you.

It was taken after you beat Vecna in 1986. Before Eddie moved. Before you did, too. Everyone in the picture looks dirty and exhausted, but there's also an air of celebration hanging over all of you that you can clearly see just by the wide, gleeful smiles stretching across your faces.

"It's a real shame you ever doubted it, by the way."

Eddie's voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you turn around to find him already halfway to the couch. He's holding two beers in his hands.

"I wasn't—I didn't mean to pry or anything," you explain, your heart beating a little faster.

He shrugs as he hands you one of the beers and takes a seat beside you, close enough for you to feel his thigh press against yours.

"Nah, it's okay," he assures, his gaze traveling to the picture you were examining a few seconds ago. "That's a good memory."

You nod in agreement as you bring the bottle to your lips. It's cool and refreshing against your tongue, but not as calming as you need it to be.

"I'm sorry for just barging in here, by the way. I don't actually know why I came in the first place, I just... felt like something was pulling me in," you tell him.

And it's true; that strange sense of familiarity that tugged you forward earlier today has started to fade, now replaced by a comforting warmth that feels like coming home.

Eddie snorts a laugh before taking a swig of his beer.

"Sorry, I'm just making it weirder and weirder, aren't I?" you groan, leaning forward to place your beer on the coffee table.

Eddie sets his down, too.

"No, you're not, sweetheart," he soothes, taking one of your hands in his and rubbing a calloused thumb over your knuckles. "Why would you think that?"

You can't look at him when you answer.

"I don't know, I just... I spent years wondering about what happened to you after you left Hawkins, and then I randomly show up here, and now we're just sitting on your couch like we haven't spent ten years apart? It feels insane."

There's something unreadable in the way he's looking at you, then.

"You look really pretty, by the way," Eddie says.

Your heart is thumping so loudly you worry he can hear it.

"Oh yeah?" you tease with a grin, desperate to hide the fact that you can feel yourself blush all the way up to the tips of your ears. "Prettier than when we were twenty-one?"

The grin he flashes you is bright and lopsided, playful.

"Way, way prettier, actually," he drawls.

Your brain seems to malfunction after this, his words playing on a loop, over and over and over again inside your head. And all you can do is return his smile, feeling a pleasant heat pool in your belly that has nothing to do with alcohol. "Eddie Munson, are you flirting with me?"

He laughs at this — a genuine, low chuckle.

"Depends. Is it working?"

Yes, you think.

"Not at all."

"Liar," he smirks before raising the hand he's still holding and pressing a kiss to its back. "Then yes, I am."

Your breath catches in your throat, a thrill running down your spine as Eddie holds your gaze with a small smile. But then it fades, replaced by something more serious as he absentmindedly traces a pattern onto your palm with his fingertip.

"Can I ask you something?"

You nod. He lets go of your hand.

"If you're here, does that mean you're also living in New York?" he asks, eyes filled with a cautious hope as he stares at you. "Or did you just happen to be passing through on vacation?"

"I moved here a year ago," you tell him, biting your bottom lip. "I can't believe you're really here. What are the chances, right?"

It feels like some kind of cosmic joke. And while you never quite stopped hoping that you and Eddie might meet again someday, you didn't expect it to happen like this. In a bar. In New York.

Ten years later.

"Fate works in mysterious ways, huh?"

"You sound like an old man."

He chuckles at your teasing tone before bending forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him.

"I just—this is gonna sound totally lame, but..."

Eddie trails off, chewing on his lower lip as he searches your eyes.

"Go ahead," you urge gently.

He runs a hand through his hair, pushing a few strands away from his face as he takes a deep breath.

"When I left Hawkins, I felt like a fucking idiot because I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to you. Not really, I mean. And I—shit, I really wanted to. More than anything. So... the reason why I left without saying anything was because I was scared that if I saw you one last time, I'd lose my nerve and not leave at all. And...I know, I know it's dumb, because we had only known each other for a couple of weeks, but—"

"It's not dumb," you assure him. "Not to me, at least."

It's one thing knowing someone for a long period of time and losing them. But when you grow attached to someone so quickly, so suddenly — like you did with Eddie — it leaves an emptiness behind. Something you can't quite fill, nor begin to explain to anyone else without feeling as though you're speaking nonsense.

"It's not?"

"No. Not at all."

And you wonder if he can see the vulnerability in your eyes when you reach forward and brush your fingertips over his. It's all you dare to do, all the courage you can muster, but he responds by uncurling his own and sliding them between your palms. His hand feels warm, smooth. Cold where the silver of his rings touches your skin.

"I never forgot you, you know? And I—" he stops, and you watch him swallow hard. "Shit. Sorry. You're gonna think I'm a creep."

"Try me."

The smile on his face is shy and endearing, his cheeks flushed pink when he admits: "Sometimes I have this...dream."

You cock your head to one side, curious. "What about?"

"About you."

Eddie glances down at his hand in yours, studying it for a moment like it's the most interesting thing in the room.

"Mostly about that night you saved me. You know, from the bats."

"I didn't save you," you protest. "I just...I got lucky."

He scoffs, shakes his head like that's the most preposterous thing he's ever heard.

"Sweetheart, I was half dead when you showed up. If it wasn't for you, I would be completely dead right now."

You glance at Eddie's side, where you remember him having an angry, festering wound when you found him. You wonder if the scar is still there, if it bothers him.

"Maybe," you concede, and his smile returns. "So you dream about that?"

"Among other things. Yeah."

Your heart hammers in your chest as you consider what those other things might be, his gaze intense upon you as you nervously wet your bottom lip with your tongue.

"Other things?" you repeat.

"Other things," he confirms. "I might tell you about 'em sometime if you play your cards right, though."

"Oh, right," you muse, pulling your hands away from his with a soft chuckle. "This is you flirting, isn't it?"

"So what if it is?" he asks, grinning as he leans back on the couch cushion.

You don't miss the way he looks at you, the same way he used to in high school whenever he was trying to get under your skin, to rile you up. And it seems that — even after all these years, with you all grown up, both of you in your early thirties — he hasn't lost his touch.

"So what if it is," you echo.

Eddie raises both eyebrows, smirking. "Guess you're gonna have to come back sometime if you wanna find out. You know, just to be sure."

"I—" you hesitate, realizing you hadn't considered the possibility of leaving before, too caught up in the whirlwind of seeing him again after so long. "Shit, yeah, I should...I should go, I've kept you long enough as it is. I should let you get back to work—"

You move to stand up, but a gentle hand on your arm stops you.

"Wait," he pleads, voice soft. "Do you...have anywhere you gotta be? Anywhere you need to rush off to?"

"Um—" you look down at the floorboards, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "Just my bed? It's getting late. Well, not really, but...it will be soon?"

The tension slowly eases from Eddie's body as he relaxes, his expression becoming playful.

"Are you asking or telling?" he teases.

You sigh.

"I don't wanna intrude."

"You're not. At all," Eddie says firmly, his words a promise. "Besides, you still have a lot to catch me up on. So you can tell me all about whatever boring day job you landed now that you're living the big apple life, and I'll tell you about my band, which has a gig tomorrow, by the way, so you're definitely coming to see it."

"Wow, you're bossy now," you point out.

His eyes gleam as they hold yours, and when he speaks, his voice is husky, full of mischief.

"You have no idea, sweetheart."

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wzrd-wheezes · 2 months

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The Wolf's Arms: Part One. Marauders x Reader

This is a purely self indulgent fic about two things that I love. The marauders and the pub. This will probably turn into a series of fics that don’t really link because I have so many ideas for it. It’s not set in a particular time period, mainly like 70’s ish but there might be some modern things sprinkled in along the way just for shits and giggles. Sorry if that’s annoying but I love creating my own time period so I can have things exactly the way I want them haha. Please let me know if this fic is hard to understand as I know there will be a lot of references to UK culture things along the way (not in this part I dont think) – feel free to drop me an ask if there’s anything you don’t understand/want me to explain. This is a platonic!marauders x reader fic

Friday night pub nights had become a monthly occurrence for them now. It was any excuse really. Sad? Pub. Celebrating? Pub. Hungry? Pub. Traumatic life event? Pub. The four of them had become regulars now. Every time sitting at the same table in the back. The landlord often joked with them that the pub would go under if they ever stopped coming.

It had taken them a while to choose a pub. Their pub. It was a meticulous process that they all took very seriously. They had spent countless nights doing pub crawls throughout the city, trying to find which pub suited them best. Best beer on tap, best prices, within walking distance so they could stumble back home.

“That one’s my favourite so far.” Remus decided one night as they left the third pub on their pub crawl.

Sirius barked out a laugh, slinging an arm around Remus’s shoulders. Partly in mock affection, partly to steady himself after the few drinks he’d had. “You’re only saying that because it’s got the cheapest pints so far.”

“You’re easily swayed, Moony.” James shook his head at him, leading the group to the next pub along the street. Just as they rounded the corner onto the next dimly lit street, Y/N interjected.

“Speaking of sway, did anyone else notice the shady bloke in the corner?” a grimace contoured her features, “I swear he was selling meat from his jacket.”

“Hah! The infamous Hog’s Head Meat Man!” James exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face. “Sure, he’s a dodgy one, but he’ll give you a good deal on some bacon if you’re brave enough to ask.”

“Yeah. I don’t really fancy eating some blokes pocket meat, thanks though.” Sirius scrunched up his face in disgust, “Where to next?”

Undeterred from the last shady establishment, they pressed on, venturing into a number of different pubs, until finally, they stumbled upon one that felt like home. It was tucked down a narrow alleyway, easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention.

The inside was dimly lit from the mounted wall lights, casting soft shadows against the exposed brick. The air was thick with the smell of cigarette smoke and spilt beer – a scent which sounds disgusting but made the four of them nudge each other and grin as they stepped inside. The actual bar spanned about half the length of the room, polished mahogany adorned with rows of brass taps, their labels worn and faded with age.

Mismatched tables and chairs filled the space, ranging from rickety wooden stools to worn, plush armchairs. Each table, although being scratched from rigorous cleaning, still had the infamous sticky sheen to it that all pub goers will be familiar with. Much to their delight an old jukebox stood proudly in the corner of the room, Remus immediately fumbled in his pocket for some change.

“Typical Moony. Straight to the jukebox instead of straight to the bar.” James teased as he leaned over the bar to survey the selection of beers on tap. Remus, who had already begun to select songs, looked up momentarily only to flip the bird at James.

While James got the round in, it was left up to Y/N and Sirius to decide what table the group would settle on. After a quick once-over of the pub, they decided on a table in the corner, nestled beneath a dimly lit lampshade, and much to Remus’s delight, only a few steps away from the jukebox. With a nod of agreement, they made their way over to claim their spot.

Precariously trying to carry four pints in only two hands, James returned a moment later, putting the glasses down on the table with a soft thud, some of the liquid sloshing over the edge.

“Cheers, you lot.” Remus exclaimed, raising his glass. The group, a few pints deep and sporting glassy eyes and wide smiles, joined in, clinking their glasses together.

“What’s the verdict on this place?” Sirius asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Well-” Remus started.

“Ah, ah, hold it right there.” Y/N interjected, “After your last ‘gem’ turned out to be the Hog’s Head, I think we should put your pub-picking privileges on probation.” she punctuated her remark with a playful jab to Remus’s ribs.

“Hey! It had character!” Remus feigned offense, “and besides, it’s not my fault that they had a creative idea of what hygiene is.”

“Creative? I’m pretty sure that I saw two rats shagging in the corner.” Sirius retorted, earning a round of laughter from the group.

“Alright, alright.” Remus conceded, holding his hands up, “the Hog’s Head was a bit of a shitter, but this pub’s a winner, yeah?”

“Agreed,” James chimed in, raising his glass once again, “To new beginnings and hopefully less questionable pubs!”

“To less questionable pubs!” the others chorused, once again knocking their glasses together before taking a large swig of their drinks.

“I feel like we should have toasted this pub. Just because I’ve decided that this is the best one.” Y/N said, looking around thoughtfully, “Although, I didn’t actually get a look at the sign before we came in, so I couldn’t actually tell you what it’s called.”

“The Wolf’s Arms!” a voice called out from the other side of the room. They all snapped their heads round, curiosity piqued, and their eyes fell on a lone man seated at the bar. His cheeks were flushed from the booze, and a cigarette dangled from his lips.

“To The Wolf’s Arms!” they echoed, toasting for the third time that night.

#marauders x reader #platonic marauders #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #platonic marauders x reader #marauders fanfic #marauders fic #marauders era

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fearforthestorm · 1 year

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https://www.minecraft.net/en-us/article/minecraft-snapshot-23w07a

[ALT]

once again, it's snapshot day!! 23w07a is a big one, adding the sniffer, as well as the recently announced cherry blossom grove and archaeology!

Sniffer:

The Sniffer is a passive friendly mob and cannot be tamed or trained

New plant added - the torchflower, which is planted on farmland and can be crafted into dye or used to breed sniffers.

Cherry Grove biome:

Generates in mountains, like the meadow biome!

Adds the cherry wood set, saplings, leaves, and "pink petals" (the cherry blossom carpet block).

Archaeology:

The new brush, a craftable tool, is used to extract pottery shards from suspicious sand!

Pottery shards can only be found by brushing suspicious sand and can be crafted into a decorated pot! One brick can be used in place of one pottery shard in crafting a decorated pot, and pots can be broken to get the shards back.

Other changes:

Jukeboxes can now interact with hoppers and droppers!

Horse breeding has been updated to no longer bias speed, jump height, and health towards the average!

for the full technical breakdown and not just my layman's summary, the official minecraft.net article is linked above! (and, hey, sorry to self promo but I'll probably load up a snapshot world and stream on it tonight, if you feel like dropping by my youtube!)

#.lyr #mc #minecraft #minecraft 1.20 #minecraft snapshot #snapshot 23w07a #if my dedicated posts about the snapshots are gonna put me in notes hell the least i can do is plug my channel lmao

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spookypatches · 11 months

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tagged by @3dfangs >:))) one song for each letter in my username YIPPEE

S- Safe Trips | OTE, Steven Ellis

P- Pathetic | Blame Candy

O- One Time, Pt. 3 | Satellite High

O- Out of Vogue | Fever Dolls

K- Keep This Place Beautiful | Brick + Mortar

Y- You Always Want to Bomb the Middle East on the Weekend | Cheekface

P- Personal | Stars

A- Adulthood | Jukebox the Ghost

T- This Comes From Inside | The Living Tombstone

C- Calico Kid | Humor Us

H- Hate Yourself | TV Girl

E- Ease Up Kid - Demo | Hippo Campus

S- Shuffle | Bombay Bicycle Club

TAGGING UHHH... if you want to ! totally voluntary <3

@crispyclouddragon @corey-beepington @arcademoss @raypen @spatterats @the-pipisroomroom @charrfie @roarasaurus

#woaow...i dont need to tag here >:)

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apogueprincess · 2 years

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My Forever Is You - Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader - Part One

Hey y’all! I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I am for the beginning of this series. For reference, this takes place roughly two years after TGM, however all of the flashbacks you’ll be reading throughout the series take place during the time of the movie with the majority of the cast throughout.

If you feel like anything was left out or unexplained in this first part (there’s a lot) don’t worry, it’s all going to come together as this story comes along. There’s going to be at least one or two flashbacks per part that will deepen the characters and the storyline so don’t worry! Here goes!

EDIT: I added in a song right before a really important part of the story hits. Please listen to it as you read and take in the lyrics which I’ll link here if you want to read them (but not before the scene hits!) it brought tears to my eyes with how perfect and emotional it is. Enjoy!

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Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: Swearing, sad moments, mentions of danger and lots of fluff and pent up emotion!

A violent shiver ran through your body as you fought with the beer keg in the walk-in at The Hard Deck. The damn nozzle wouldn’t cooperate with the hook up on the new keg and the Budweiser had already been out for the last five minutes. “You good in there hun?” You heard Penny’s muffled distant voice from the other side of the door. “Yeah Pen I’ve almost got it!” You yelled in exasperation. Hands red and raw from a combination of the cold and the sheer force it was taking to attach the damn thing.

Three months you’d been back to work here and every time it was a packed weekend night like tonight, you managed to have a fight with this thing. All of a sudden the threads for the new connection loosened and it finally popped and screwed into place. “Thank fucking God!” You exclaimed. Tapping away the few beads of sweat from your forehead that had formed in your battle with the keg, despite the almost freezing temperatures of the walk-in. The flow of beer started back up as you heard the hiss of the line feeding through to the tap once more.

You were about to retrieve the towel you had previously thrown over a shelf, and return to your work behind the bar when your ears pricked up. Frozen in place, your heart sank through your stomach and you felt your blood run cold. The music blaring from the jukebox had cut out and the hollering from the patrons in the bar had grown. “No no no no,” you shook your head as your voice wavered, praying to everything holy that this wasn’t what you thought it was.

Those first four chords rang out of the piano, and in a matter of seconds you were cursing yourself for ever coming back to your hometown. Leaning over you clutched the round metal rim of the keg so hard your knuckles turned white. The loosely curled ponytail falling from behind your shoulders and coming to rest against your right cheek.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain”

“Yeah you do.” Your brain taunted you silently.

“Too much love drives a man insane”

“Fuck it,” you muttered to yourself. Standing up and yanking your freezing wet towel from its spot on the shelf, you stormed back into the bar, slipped behind the bar top and attempted to get back to work. However, Penny greeted you with your clock out slip, and traded your towel with a bottle of beer. Looking up at her with a bewildered expression, she just grinned knowingly back at you. As her eyes left yours, you followed her gaze to the corner of the bar you were desperately hoping to avoid.

And there he was in all of his beautifully tanned glory, Rooster.

Just like the night you met here two and a half years ago. The feeling of deja vu hitting you like a ton of bricks. The aviators, the unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, the mustache, the spitting image of Goose. His voice rang out clear as day as a chorus of others joined in with him.

You scanned the room and the faces surrounding the piano. Almost expecting to see Phoenix, Hangman, Bob, Payback and the rest of the crew just like you used to. But much to your expected dismay, there were none of the familiar faces you longed to see.

Except for Rooster.

“Come on baby, you drive me crazy,

Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!”

You turned back to Penny and just shook your head, not knowing what to say. You felt rattled. She must have read your mind because she put her hand on your shoulder and looked into your eyes. “I clocked you out the moment I watched him walk through that door. This,” she gestured towards the beer bottle in your hand, “is for the nerves. You know what I think about the two of you and I know you don’t like it but you need to talk to him love bug.”

“I don’t know Pen.” You sighed deeply, clutching the bottle for dear life as you took a swig. The bubbles hitting your tongue and traveling to the back of your throat. Your reluctant gaze landing on the man that made your heart ache. “I don’t think he has anything to say to me after everything that happened.” “Something tells me you’re wrong.” Penny said with a surprising amount of certainty threaded through her words. “Now put that stunning smile I know you can wear back on that equally beautiful face of yours, and go sit at your table.”

To your amazement, despite the ever growing number of people in the bar, your and Rooster’s favorite table was empty. “You don’t need me? It’s busy and I don’t want to leave you short handed. Simon hasn’t been working here for very long and he has a tendency to find himself in the weeds.” You asked, searching for a “get out of jail free” card.

You didn’t think you could face Rooster.

“Baby,” Penny almost begged you, “I wouldn’t have clocked you out if that was the case. Go, sit, now.” Her eyebrow raised as she grabbed both of your shoulders, turned you around and nudged you out from behind the bar. Five strides later and you found yourself perched on the stool, setting your beer bottle down with a clink.

Taking your ponytail down and fixing your hair to lay around your shoulders, you finally just let your eyes rest on him. The song was reaching its last chorus and you were hoping that he wouldn’t notice you at your table. Staring at him with more emotions bubbling within you than you even knew existed.

But of course just like there always had been, the invisible magnets that seemed to lie within each of your eyes drew to each other once again. He caught your gaze in his from over the brim of those damn aviators, just as the last line was sung.

“Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!”

Everyone cheered and clapped and a small smile did manage to creep up your face. It even reached your eyes just a little. You glanced back down to your lap for just a second before your eyes flirted back up to Rooster. Heart pounding, every possible outcome of this moment running through your head at a mile a minute. He was just like you had left him. Handsome, warm, full of life and joy. You felt your heart twist with pain and guilt for what felt like the millionth time since that day, yet this was different.

He was right in front of you for the first time in a year and a half. And somehow, simultaneously it felt like yesterday and also a lifetime ago since you walked down the front porch, and into your car for what you thought was the last time.

The caramel haired pilot shook a couple of hands and exchanged some words with someone he seemed familiar with. Probably another pilot from the looks of him, and laughed at something he had whispered in his ear. God you had missed hearing that laugh so much, the way it filled up the entire room.

He took the last swig of the beer he had resting atop the piano and removed himself from it. Your heart sunk when he walked away from where you were sitting and headed straight to the bar. “Shit,” you thought, “he wants absolutely nothing to do with you, you idiot.” Suddenly you found yourself fiddling with the label on your bottle and figuring out a way to sneak past him and Penny and make your escape without being seen again. You could get your purse back from behind the bar in the morning.

The voice in your head was interrupted by the deep husky one you had fallen in love with.

“Hey Babydoll.”

Time stood still and the chatter of the bar to you became silent, as you looked into the eyes of the man that still had his fist clenched so tightly around your heart.

“Hey Rooster”

“A part of me thought I’d never see you in this place again.”

“That makes two of us,” you smiled up at him. “Why? Because you would never be back or because I wouldn’t?” He questioned, returning your smile. “Both,” you answered with honesty. He looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place, which was surprising considering you had come to read him like a book during the year you had spent together.

“Step outside with me?” He held his hand out for you to take. You almost hesitated, not knowing what lay ahead once you were alone together. Nevertheless you obliged, taking his hand in yours and retrieving your beer from the table in the other.

His hand felt so strong compared to yours as he led you through the crowd of drunken patrons and towards the back deck. It was something you’d almost forgotten, just how strong he was, both in body and spirit. He let go of your grasp to open the patio door for you, letting you walk through ahead of him. The perfect San Diego breeze greeted you as you stepped out of the bar and onto the empty patio. A welcome change from the stuffy atmosphere inside. The rolling waves were the only sounds out here, aside from the creaking of the wooden deck beneath your shoes and the hum coming from the inside the bar.

He followed you right to the table at the edge of the deck and took a seat on the bench beside you, still maintaining a comfortable distance. Rooster turned to face you as you set your bottle down onto the uneven tabletop. “So what brings you back to North Island?” He asked, his question sounding genuine.

“I don’t know to be perfectly honest,” you replied with a quiet laugh. “It just seems like whenever I don’t know where to go, I end up here.” You saw him nod his head out of the corner of your eye, trying not to stare as he sat so closely to you. “I guess it’s just home to me. Despite how many other places I’ve called home in my life, this is always the one place I run back to. It’s always familiar, unchanging.”

“No kiddin’. It sucks you back in despite your best efforts to escape it doesn’t it?” He agreed, referring to himself as well as you. “It really does,” you replied, finally looking back up at him. How his eyes still appeared to be filled with such fondness for you after all that the two of you had been through really shocked you.

“As a matter of fact, it looks like I’m staying this time,” he declared. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he quickly pulled up a listing for a house and set it on the table for you to see. Your breath hitched as your eyes landed on the picture in front of you. “SOLD” it read in bright red letters. The house on the beach you had always dreamed of. Every time you had passed by it on your sunset walks together you had fantasized about living there one day.

You had imagined filling the hanging flowerpots on the porch with violets, your mom’s favorite flowers. Painting the picket fence white and building a porch swing for the two of you to enjoy after long days at work. He bought it? Why? He was never home. Always working, on a mission, or deployed overseas on a carrier in the middle of god knows where.

That’s why you had ended it. That’s why you walked away from the man you had poured every piece of your heart and soul into. The man that made you the happiest you had ever been. The most free you had ever felt, the most excited for a future you had ever dreamed of, and the most loved you’d ever been, but you walked away and left it all behind.

{a year and a half ago}

Hot tears poured down your cheeks as you stood in the kitchen and sobbed into Rooster’s chest. His arms pulling you so close you could barely move. “I can’t do it Bradley. I can’t handle my heart breaking every time you have to leave. I can’t handle not knowing if you’re going to come home to me after these missions and then eventually deployments like this one. I promised myself I wouldn’t be my mother. Raising a family completely on her own because her soldier never came back through those doors again. The pain I’ve watched my mom carry with her for the last 20 years is something I don’t think I’ll ever be strong enough to bear. I’m sorry Bradley. I’m so sorry.”

You pulled away from his embrace. Your body was shaking, and you were in so much pain you swear your bones were aching. The look on his face plunged the knife in your gut even deeper. His cheeks were red and soaked with tears as he looked down at you. Face twisted in pain and heartbreak at the words that had just left your mouth.

Your anniversary wasn’t supposed to be spent like this. The entire year you had spent together wasn’t supposed to come crumbling down at your feet tonight. But when he told you he was leaving and he didn’t know when he was coming back, you broke. All of the worry and pain and dread you had been feeling ever since his first mission right after you first met, just came boiling over. It was then that you knew you couldn’t handle an indefinite amount of time of not knowing if he was alive or dead.

“I love you Bradley Bradshaw, more than you’ll ever know,” you choked out. Pulling yourself up to kiss his cheek, the salty taste of his tears hit your lips as you gasped for air. You turned around, grabbed your keys and purse off of the kitchen counter, and walked towards the door. “Please don’t hate me,” you pleaded, as he stood there watching you leave.

He looked so handsome in his suit. His jacket was still resting on the arm of the couch where he had left it after you returned home from your nice dinner. Your red dress and heels had taken his breath away when you showed up on the porch earlier that evening.

Now it was that same porch you were crossing as you turned to look back at him one last time. “I could never hate you” were the only five words he could muster through the tears and the wavering in his deep voice.

And just like that he watched you walk out of his life. Little did you know that the ring that had been burning a hole in his back pocket all night had just lost all hope of the promise that he was about to make to you. His heart shattered right along with yours that day and you both knew you’d never put them back together without each other.

{present day}

Your eyes met Rooster’s as he searched your face for a hint at what you were feeling. Not sure what to say, you just stared up at him. “I bought it.” He said proudly, with a touch of hesitancy in his voice. “I never stopped thinking about what that house could’ve been for us, even after you left.” He looked down at his lap with a sad smile. “So when I got back and Top Gun called me and asked if I wanted to become one of their new instructors, I took it.” You sat there quietly in shock still, attempting to process the information he was sharing with you.

“No more deployments, no more waiting for assignments for missions that I may never return from. Just the daily risk of being up in the air as always and nothing more.” He chuckled. “Not to say it’s out of the question in case of emergencies but, I’ll be the one in Mav’s seat now. I’ll be home.”

He brought his eyes back up to meet yours as you finally found your words again. “Please never compare yourself to Pete again or you may just give me a heart attack,” you laughed. Finally feeling like some of the ice between you had broken as you both laughed together for a moment.

“Okay fair, fair. But you know what I mean. I’ll be home at night, not gone for days, weeks, months at a time. Settling down.” He smiled. You were so happy for him. Though a part of you ached, wishing this could have been the case a year and a half ago.

“I just don’t want to do it alone, you know?” He added with another sad smile. “A man like you won’t have any trouble finding a beautiful woman to settle down with, and fill that beautiful house with beautiful babies, Rooster. You’re everything a woman could ever want.” You reassured him, tears about to brim your eyes at the thought of another woman having his heart one day.

“And you’re everything I could ever want,” he took you by complete surprise with his words.

And for the first time tonight you used his first name. “Bradley what are you talking about? I walked out on you right before you were about to leave on deployment. When you needed someone to be there for you, I wasn’t there. Why would you want me after all that I’ve put you through?” You asked in bewilderment.

His eyes shined so bright when he answered, “because my forever is you”

————————————————————————

There’s part one!!! Part two will pick up right where this leaves off and we’ll get to see Rooster and Reader grow together again! I’m so excited. Please let me know what you think! I wrote this in one day so I’m hoping to power through the next part asap.

Don’t worry there’ll be plenty of smut and fluff to come! And we’ll find out more about Reader and her past soon. Also I’m considering starting a tag list for those who are interested so let me know if that’s something y’all want!

PART TWO

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insomniamamma · 1 year

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Closing Time: Marcus Pike x F!reader

A/N: This is my first installment in my Year of Kisses themed creation challenge! I was invited to join the fun by @oonajaeadira and @yearofcreation2023! I have never really participated in anything like this so be gentle. This fic plays fast and loose with Marcus Pike canon. I wanted to write for our Perfect Boyfriend without watching seven something seasons of the mentalist. If Marcus is OOC that is entirely on me. Also Sherri is entirely based on a supervisor I had once. I loved that lady to pieces.

Warnings: Angst. Break ups. Language. Alcohol. Some drunken flirting and kisses. Reader has a truly shitty ex.

This is the last place he wants to be. C'mon, Marc it'll be fun, said Danny. You need to get out of this fucking office, said Sherri. You're just gonna sit home and mope otherwise. I'm not going to mope. You're gonna sit home and watch old movies and pine. For that stupid Lisbon woman, or whoever's managed to break your heart lately. Sherri gives him the look. Fine. She means well. Sherri and Danny and Big Bill, they all mean well. They know him well, too well maybe. Marcus's New Years plans involved getting take out and catching up on the Christmas movies he'd neglected. White Christmas. Die Hard. Gremlins. The classics. Fine. I'll go. For a little while.

And now? The jukebox is playing "Hallelujah," John Cale's version. It's just past midnight and the ball dropped on the tv over the bar and people kissed each other and called their friends and Marcus's phone sits like a brick in his pocket, a fossil from when Lisbon would call, from when Dierdre and Sarey would sometimes call. Can't think of a single person he wants to call. He stands arm in arm with his friends who dragged him here, rocking back and forth with them, "hallelujah, hallelujah, Halle-loo-oo-oo-oooh-jah--" And that's when he sees you, hunched at the bar, the only other person in this dive who isn't paired off, who isn't singing along with a bunch of drunks, your face pinched and closed off in the bleary bar mirror, peeking out around plastered on stickers and flyers for long defunct bands. He can tell that you've been crying.

You drink and watch your phone light up with messages. Hey you okay? Did you make it home? U ok? What happened? You don't give a fuck. They can wait until tomorrow to find out if you lived or died or caught an Uber back home. Fuck. Home's not even home anymore technically. Staying the night at my Mom's. He'd texted. We'll figure out the logistics tomorrow. He'd texted. Logistics. Three years and it boils down to fucking logistics. Three years in and he dumps you at 11:50 on New Years Eve. So that's how you find yourself alone in this little pub with a bunch of drunks singing along with the jukebox, but at least it's quieter here. You catch your own reflection in the mirror, face peering over half empty liquor bottles with plastic spouts stuck in them, eyes puffy from crying. You laugh. A low and bitter sound. Who dumps somebody on New Years Eve? "...couldn't've waited twelve more hours," you say, muttering into your half-finished drink, into the black hole at the center of the galaxy, "Couldn't've sucked it up for one more fucking night!" The last bit comes out loud, and you feel eyes on you, hunker down into yourself, into your glass, like a snail pulling into its shell, and then the noise of the bar resumes. He'd rested his hands on his shoulders and peered into your face like he did when he meant kiss you or say something sweet. I'm not in love with you anymore, he'd said, the same tone of voice used for things like hey can you take the garbage out, or hey, we need more dish soap the next time you go to the store. Okay, so maybe bitch-slapping him in the middle of the dance floor in front of all your friends wasn't the best move, but it felt good and right. And now he keeps texting you about his stuff. His clothes and his x-box and you and the girls did a round of tequila shots before and you can't quite figure out how this all happened. Why now? Why tonight? Things were good, weren't they? Or at least not bad, and you watch the ice melt in your drink and feel tricked, bamboozled, and oddly relieved. If he's willing to pull this shit you're better off without him, you think, but deep down you just wish it was all a mistake, that you'd just have someone warm to come home to, even if things weren't great. That maybe the both of you will wake up tomorrow and be like did we really break up last night? That's crazy. But he's texting you about his x-box and his ps 5 and how he really needs it even though you went halfsies on it. Text me one more time and you get nothing. You hit send and turned off your phone. Thank fuck his name's not on the lease. Let him stew. Let them stew. Fuck 'em. You feel someone settle at the bar beside you. "Hey, are you okay?" "What do you think?" It comes out harsh and you regret it instantly. This stranger in this dive on New Years Eve has nothing at all to do with what's happened. You turn to look and you see a tired man with his lips quirked up in a smile that doesn't quite hit his eyes. "Sorry," you say, and shake your head, "I'm not--fuck--this has been a hell of a night. I hope you're not looking for a hookup because I got dumped at ten-till and the last thing--" He laughs, a soft low sound. "A hookup's the last thing I want," he says and holds out his hand, "Come and sit with us. So you're not all by yourself." You eye him skeptically. "Is this some sort of pity thing?" He laughs a little, a soft exhale, "If it is, we can be pitiful together. He glances over at a table of drunks, "I'm only here because they dragged me. I was going to order a pizza and watch Christmas movies-" "It's past Christmas." "I spent Christmas working," he says, "If that's not pitiful I don't know what is." You feel yourself warming to him. "I bet you don't even have a tree up." "I do!" He smiles, and this time it does touch his eyes, frames them in lovely crinkles, and maybe it's better to hang out with a handsome stranger in a bar than sit and drink and brood about how tomorrow you're gonna have to clear your boyfriend's shit out of your place. Ex. Ex boyfriend you have to keep reminding yourself. "It's not a real one, and it's only four feet tall. But it's there!" He offers his hand again. "C'mon," He says, "You don't have to be all alone." Fuck it, you think, down the watery dregs of your whiskey sour and place your hand in his, allow him to draw you from your place at the bar. He is striking, leather jacket across broad shoulders, tight jeans that grip him just right, and eyes so deep and warm a girl could fall right in and drown. "I'm Marcus," he says, and gives your hand a squeeze, but doesn't let go. You tell him your name and he leads you away from the brightness of the bar, back to where the jukebox plays a distorted love song "the curl of your bodies, like two perfect circles entwined see you feel hopeless, and homeless, and lost in the haze of the wine--" back to his table of friends, smiling and laughing, sticky shot glasses and half-filled pints between their hands. Sherri. Danny. Big Bill. Sherri has large blonde hair and gummy blue eyeliner and a cigarette roughed voice. "You seem nice enough, what're you doing with this sad sack of shit?" She jerks her head and Marcus looks like he wants to evaporate and you laugh. "I got dumped--let's see--" you power up your phone just long enough to check the time, lock screen lit with a tangle of missed texts --"47 minutes ago? Guess two sad sacks of shit are gonna find each other, huh?"

The night passes in a warm blur, you and your newfound friends drinking together and laughing, Sherri's got stories that leave the table wheezing laughter and all through it Marcus is a warm presence at your side, your hands keep finding each other's, his gentle grasp an anchor in this storm of a night. You feel like you've speed-run the stages of grief over your ex. Sherri eyes you over shot glasses that have popped up like mushrooms over the course of the evening. "Listen here," she says, pointing a pink lacquered dagger of a nail in your direction, "Keep the PS5. He paid his half in cash right? Unless you wrote him out a receipt he can't prove shit. His name's not on the lease. Leave whatever you see fit in a cardboard box by the front door and block his number. Wash your hands of him. You don't owe him shit." "Yeah, fuck him," says Danny, and Big Bill comes back from the bar holding too many drinks and Marcus rests a warm palm on your shoulder. "Hey," he says, those big dark eyes full of concern, "You don't think he's gonna try anything do you? You're safe, right?" And your first impulse is to laugh, the only thing your boyfriend, ex-boyfriend is a danger to is game controllers and the fifteen year olds who roast him over discord, but Marcus looks so sincere. "Yeah. He's--I'm not worried." "Can I give you my number? Just in case something happens--" Danny launches in to the worst mob-movie New York accent you've ever heard in your life. "You give Markie here your number, see? One woid and your ex'll be sleepin with the fishes. We'll fit him out for the old cee ment loafers, we'll--" "Jesus, Dan, you sound like the bastard child of Tony Soprano and Rizzo the Rat--" And everyone loses their collective shit. "If I'm Rizzo the Rat, then you're Miss Piggy--" "No way am I Miss Piggy! I'm nowhere near that wound up--" "Bill here is Sweetums." "If I'm Sweetums, Marc's that grouchy Eagle." "No way," you say, "He's Kermit. Tell me I'm wrong." "Hi-ho this is Kermit the frog here with a muppet news flash," and that's it. You are crying into your drink with laughter, and once you can breathe and put words together you tell him-- "You are the last person in the world I would've thought could do Kermit the frog--" And he smiles, a bashful one that pinks his cheeks and turns his face away. "Marcus has many talents," says Sherri, "Don't let him fool you."

"I can see that you are lonesome just like me And it being late, you'd like some company Well, I turn around to look at you, and you look back at me The guy you're with, he's up and split—the chair next to you is free And I hope that you don't fall in love with me--"

The lights are up and Tom Waits plays through the bar. People settle their tabs and head out into the bright night. It's snowing, large flakes that catch and hold the light, street-lights haloed in whirling yellow. "Do you need a ride?" He asks, snow catching in his hair, his hand warm around yours. "I can walk," you say. "I'll walk with you," "How'll you get home?" "Taxi. Uber. I'll manage," he smiles, soft and sad, "Let me get you home safe, okay?" "Okay." Marcus offers his arm like some old time movie character and you loop your arm through his. Snow falls, slow and soft and heavy, and the bars let out all around, spilling people into the streets, closing time everywhere, and people sound happy, buoyed on the promise of a better year, at least for a few days until the shine wears off and it's back to business as usual. Sooner than you want you're at your front step. "This is me," you say, and wish it wasn't, wish for more time in the swirling snow with him, and his hand traces down your arm, his fingers find yours and lace through. "Are you okay?" he asks. "No. But I will be." You surge forward and hug him, wrap your arms around his broad back and snow-dotted jacket, and he grips you in kind, cradles the back of your head in his hand, tucks your face into the warm join of his neck and shoulder, "Thanks for looking out for me." He squeezes you tighter. "It's my pleasure," he says drawing back to look at you, his hands on your shoulders, "And if your ex--" "He won't," you say, "He couldn't even wait till midnight. Couldn't even give me a kiss. I mean, not that I'd want him to now--" Marcus reaches for you, brushes the pad of his thumb over your cheek, the question hanging in his eyes. You nod and he presses his lips to yours, waits for you to kiss back, and then his tongue slides soft between your parted lips, tender, undemanding, your face cradled in his warm, calloused hands. "Come upstairs with me," you say, and you feel him draw back, bright line of hurt in your chest. "I want to," he says, "I want to take you to bed if you'd have me--" "Then why--" "I don't want to push you," he says, "I move fast. I scare people off sometimes. I like you a lot. I don't want to hurt you, okay?" "Okay." That line of hurt resolves itself into a dull ache, "I should get some sleep. Gotta dump Asshole's stuff on the curb bright and early." He leans in kisses your cheek. "See you next year." "See you."

At some point in the deepest ditch of night you turn your phone back on. Peer bleary-eyed at the notifications, unanswered texts. You send a group text to the girls, home safe don't worry about me. You give your ex a time to come get his shit and then block his number. You drift in the dark, and your phone vibrates against your chest.

M: If you don't feel too terrible, I know a place that does breakfast all day. Best blueberry pancakes in town. M: I'd like to see you again.

#marcus pike x f!reader #year of kisses #year of themed creation #yearofcreation2023

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furbearingbrick · 8 months

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youtube

#music #remixes #video game music #i read the title expecting it to be a shitpost but #musicposting #brick's jukebox #castlevania #Youtube

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ladytemeraire · 2 years

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An incomplete list of things I love about the original Lego Star Wars (Complete Saga):

Everything, the entire story, is told in pantomime. There are sound effects and little vocalizations, but no actual dialogue. It's honestly quite charming!

Commander battle droids take two shots to destroy instead of one. When your first attack hits, they make a very distinct "uh oh" noise.

The fact that blaster characters have melee attacks ranging from throwing punches & kicks (most male characters) to bitchslapping the enemy (most female characters) to jumping on your opponent and popping their arms off (Wookies).

The fact that JarJar is utterly useless for anything other than a high jump. Yes, it's annoying that you can't even fight back when playing as him, but it's also kind of hilariously in character.

The embryonic clones in the grow vats on Kamino are represented by a single 1x1 brick.

When Obi-Wan and Yoda go back to the Temple after Order 66 there's all this rubble and broken columns and things to put back together with the Force like it's a ruin from thousands of years ago and then it hits you: it didn't normally look like this. This isn't just the devs making it visually interesting to explore. It looks like it's in ruins because the 501st stormed it and razed everyone inside to the ground. Ow.

After you finish playing through Ep 3, if there's a clone trooper in the room in the cantina hub world, any Jedi present will react to him being in the room by walking around with their lightsabers fired up. They won't outright attack, but they're ready. Just in case.

(What makes this even worse is that if you haven't bought any extra unlocked characters beyond the ones you played in story mode, the only clone trooper in the room is Cody.)

Jedi and high-jump characters are the only ones that can truly double-jump. If you try to double-jump with certain characters like Han or Lando, you won't really get any extra height but you'll do kind of a cool tuck-and-roll forward. (Pre-Jedi Luke also does the tuck-and roll, but he stumbles a bit coming out of it, which is a neat little touch.) You can try it with stormtroopers but they just faceplant.

Ditto for the grappling hooks to swing from one area to another, or jumping off a ledge to a lower area. Luke and Leia do a pretty nifty three-point superhero landing. Han, bless his heart, is nowhere near as suave as he likes to pretend and lands on his face. Stormtroopers land on their butts and actually bounce a little.

At the very end of the Episode V Dagobah level (at least in story mode), you cannot lift the X-wing out of the water if you're playing as Luke even though by this point he has full Force powers. You have to switch over to Yoda to lift it up and complete the level. It's a very neat integration of film story and gameplay.

There are panels where you have to "be" a stormtrooper/Imperial to enter. Most Imps will salute or stand at attention to activate those panels. Darth Vader, on the other hand, will stand there and impatiently tap his foot, because how dare you keep a Sith Lord waiting.

You can also put a helmet on a character to disguise their way past these panels. This becomes hilarious when you see Chewie with a stormtrooper helmet cocked sideways on his head and not even remotely covering his face.

Disguised Han gives the panel a jaunty wave. Disguised Lando gives the panel a dramatic bow. Disguised Luke... stands on his tippy-toes to wave at the panel. Because he's a little short for a stormtrooper.

Speaking of Lando, if you get into melee range he'll happily kick and punch everyone in reach... except Leia. If you try to attack her, he'll stop dead in his tracks and pause to kiss her hand. This is very cute right up until the third time it gets you killed in a firefight because you can't stop it once he starts.

Beach troopers. Just... beach troopers.

Building a jukebox in Jabba's palace or barge to make any nearby Gamorreans start headbanging and playing their axes like guitars to a rock cover of the Imperial March.

A lot of the more serious moments tend to be undercut with comedic moments, because this is a lighthearted Lego game for kids, but Vader's death is played completely straight, and Luke placing a kiss on his forehead is honestly rather touching.

#Star Wars #Lego Star Wars

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7grandmel · 8 months

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Todays rip: 26/09/2023

Every Mob Wants to Rule My World

Season 7 Featured on: SiIvaGunner's Highest Quality Rips: Volume Ruby

Ripped by Madinstance

youtube

Tentative rip name: This player dreamed of ruling the world.

Hey, look - I know I've covered Minecraft a good few times already on this blog, and I'll try not to repeat myself too much. In both my posts on Fell From a High Place (Reprise) and M-O-O-G City, I brought forward a good numbers of reasons as to why Minecraft's soundscape remains so popular and beloved even today. It's nostalgic, it's soothing, it's sad, it's bittersweet...it's a soundtrack that a lot of us hold dear for the times we spent with the game. But "bittersweet" was really the emotion that carried both aforementioned rips to new heights - whilst not entirely void of that feeling, there's also a sort of whimsy present in Every Mob Wants to Rule My World.

Once again, this is a pretty self-explanatory arrangement rip of one song in another song's style, this time of Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears in the style of Cat, one of Minecraft's various pieces Jukebox music. Compared to the music that plays during normal Minecraft play, the jukebox always had a more light-hearted, playful sound to all its music - it was made to be lounged to, after all, to be music you put on to unwind or relax to rather than to explore and take in the sights to. That instrumentation already gives Every Mob Wants to Rule My World a different feel from the two aforementioned rips, only aided by the song arranged. Everybody Wants to Rule the World is a beautiful, healing piece, yet not really one I'd ascribe as either joyful or sad...its always felt more hopeful, than anything - like the sound of a sunrise, if I had to be corny about it. And that vibe matches Cat from Minecraft to a tee - the two tracks harmonize into pure, whimsical bliss.

Its an absolute treat to the ears and incredible material to just zone out to, and shows just how many angles there are to Minecraft content on SiIvaGunner. And yes - there'll certainly be more to come on this blog. We're leaving no brown bricks unturned.

#todays siivagunner #season 7 #siivagunner #siiva #Madinstance #tentative rip name #Youtube #minecraft #minecraft music #minecraft ost #c418 #lena raine #tears for fears #everybody wants to rule the world #Bandcamp

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onejellyfishplease · 6 months

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we makin playlists 👀???

LISTEN OKAY. I KNOW IT'S JERMA. IGNORE HIM DON'T LOOK AT HIM. IT GOES HARD AND IT FITS AND THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS.

this one half for the title alone. idk how well it fits since i don't listen to it as often, but i figure i'd share anyway.

a given for any donnie playlist <3

and uh yeah there's my immediate suggestions 🤞 even if you don't use any i hope you enjoy listening to them :]

immediately adds most of these

(not sure about Weird Science, as much as i love that song, im not sure if it fits the vibe im going for)

Im listening to Catabolic Seed rn, i see if it fits!

#thank you for the suggestions #asks #leo-undrgrnd #snapdonnie #spotify

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donut-entendre · 2 years

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ultimate character exercise whatever is to put two of them in a waffle house at 3 am. why are they there and what are they talking about. I am very confident in this exercise. sorry if you aren't american you won't understand the waffle house at 3 am grind. this is cheating because I came up with this using the blues but literally in two seconds of thinking about it I was like oh my god tex smokes in a waffle house and her and kai make out in a truck afterwards. I had a second thought about sarge taking caboose and I really think you can't go wrong with it

tucker caboose wafflehouse 3 am. Tucker wakes caboose up maybe better but caboose wakes uo tucker is first instinct. Caboose drives and also eats waffles in quarters. Canned mushrooms & orange juice. Could also work as church and caboose or grif and simmons but tucker and caboose feels right? Goes to waffle house at 3 am. Caboose puts syrup on everything. Tucker has to sit funny so caboose doesnt kick him under the table. Tucker actually uses the jukebox? Why is my brain so attached to waffle house at 3 am talks. Is waffle house even popular in the north US. Has tucker ever even been to a waffle house before. Has caboose? You can buy bags of grits that sit on shelves like bricks and i know they sit like that because if you sit at the right booth you'll be right next to them. have either of them ever even had grits. Caboose gets the lone star or whatever its called and eats a monstrosity waffle that has blueberries and chocolate chips and he puts his hashbrowns on it (the hashbrowns have onion and mushroom and cheese and-) and he puts syrup and hot sauce on it and eats it because he is a horrible horrible creature. Tucker steals his burnt bacon (caboose would not have eaten it anyway.) Tucker hates coffee but he finds himself ordering it anyway and it's cheap and burnt and gross but all that just makes it all the stronger of a reminder of the lack of someone there, and he drinks the whole cup and gets some to go so wash can't complain about sleep schedules and why was he even up that late and- ALL STAR MEAL. 7$ for so much food. Caboose would love it. Customizable Mental image of tucker (shortass) smushed against the window or on the edge of the booth chair to avoid caboose legs. Booth too small for cabeese sized legs. Caboose is comedically large appearing in the booth with tucker in front of him Again. It is 3 am. The waffle house is empty except for them and the three employees on night shift. Caboose puts salt in his orange juice and tucker isn't brave enough to try it. Caboose loudly announces he'd like them to be billed together when asked. It is 3 am. Maybe it's raining outside. Maybe not.

i would not write this because it really needs to be tucker and caboose to me for some reason but if church was there with caboose instead he would order food and coffee and only drink the coffee but not on purpose it's just like. I imagine food would not be appealing all that much if you did not actually need to eat it. caboose would want it and church would bitch about it but ultimately surrender the waffles that he has taken a grand 1 bite of. caboose would want to use the jukebox and church would whine about how disgusting restaurant jukeboxes are and GOD they're so expensive dude come on but caboose is already picking songs so why the hell not and he gets caboose to pick a few he likes. what would really happen is church would get woken up at 3 am by caboose asking to go to waffle house and church would be like. no. and roll back over. then caboose picks him up and puts him in the car anyway because that's funny. unwilling participant in dark breakfast. church is the tiredest grumpiest little man in the world in this waffle house at 3 am he could be sleeping right now man (some amount of real annoyance but also it's not that bad. he's a robot it's not like he NEEDS to sleep. look me in the eyes and tell me he would not on some level enjoy getting dragged away to drink coffee and talk) church thinks there's fuckin ghosts there it's FREAKY why did caboose even want to go so bad. and caboose is just like. i wanted waffles

#im obsessed with 3 am waffle house experiences and im not sorry actually you should go there. at three am. 2 am even #nonsense thoughts #rvb

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