#nearly a punk rock girl band

[killmelastband]

lyrics: if i die i won’t be missed / i’m a twenty-six year old analyst / this feels like a dead-end job / when will i get off the clock? / i’m sorry, sir, to disappoint / i’ll send you my death plans via powerpoint / ‘cause fuck, no corporate diversity / until photo time, then certainly / you’ll never see me at an office social event! / no desire for all your awful intents! / got better things to do than listen to your shit! / to get through this, there’s no amount of grit / break my spine to keep me in place / that’s the price of the corporate race / got too much time to contemplate / my loans, my life, my low pay rate / this suit and tie is suffocating / my supervisors are berating / i follow what those fuckers say / my own free will is stripped away / eighty hour work week / where’s the time to shit or sleep? / excel spreadsheets are my life / can’t get home to see my wife / i’m losing my motivation / i really need a vacation / even then, i’d be on call / slam my head against the wall / break my spine to keep me in place / that’s the price of the corporate race / got too much time to contemplate / my loans, my life, my low pay rate / only continuing ‘cause i’m spiteful / stuck in the classic two-week cycle / thirteen days, i wanna quit / then hey, payday, wash the sorrow away / i’m so funny, i’m at HR on the daily / they keep questioning my general safety / got too much time to contemplate / my loans, my life, my low pay rate / break my spine to keep me in place / that’s the price to stay in the corporate race.

#song about being a depressed and repressed consulting analyst who hates his job!!!! #(inspired by a real guy one of us knows. his name is mo) #anyway this ep has been out for a hot minute. but im disappointed with the lack of tumblr outreach we have done. so i’m here to change that #one post at a time i’m incorporating tumblr into the world of kill me last. wish me the best of luck #nearly a punk rock girl band #ode to mo #kill me last #original song #punk inspired #midwest emo #minnesotan punk #art punk #trumpet #guitar #drums #bass #arthur on vocals #anyway this is also available to stream on spotify amazon apple music etc!! it’s just a lot more accessible to use soundcloud where it can #actually play within the tumblr dashboard. search us else wherever else you prefer to listen to music though and we should be there #our post #scheduled for new years morning from two days prior!!

[sugar-coat-it]

hi belle! what do you think body piercer is like as a bf 👉👈

also would you do an alphabet or something for him? lowkey dying for more content for him

Hiii!! <3 

Omgggg wait wait let me tell you some details

He’s very much into punk rock (Fugazi, Rage Against The Machine, etc.) and lives in his band tees. Much like the back room of the parlor, a lot of his stuff is covered in stickers for his fav bands. So I think he’d really like to introduce his girl to his music if she’s willing to try it out, it would mean a lot to him!

Whenever he picks her up, he’s always blasting music LOUD so she knows when he arrives 

Big fan of CDs. You can bet your ass that he’s burning CDs for her for all sorts of things. Songs that remind him of her, songs he wants to fuck her to. Some of them are stupid too, like “Good Shit” scrawled in black Sharpie on a disc. Sometimes he’ll scribble little drawings on there too. His handwriting is shit and she loves it.

Also music related, he's an amazing concert bf, always making sure she can see and no one is getting too close to her. He'd be SO PROUD if she went to a punk rock show with him

Now… if she ever did say she was interested in getting another piercing of any kind, he is begging her to let him do it for her (for free, with princess treatment). He’s very much like “fuck yeah, do it” whenever she brings up a tatt or piercing of any kind

Quietly cuddling, he’s tracing her features with his finger, he comes to the bridge of her nose and he’s suddenly like “You have a good nose for a septum piercing” and she’s like “???”

He remembers everything about her, and he makes a point to, even if he has to write sticky note reminders to himself sometimes (ADHD brain as hell)

This man SMOKES. My god his marijuana tolerance level is ungodly. If his girlie is into it too, it would be the joy of his life to roll spliffs for her.

Big fan of getting baked with her, putting on music, and then going off about the album’s impact on the music world because he knows she likes listening to him talk, and none of his boys let him ramble on nearly as much

The late-night diner visits after hotboxing his car go CRAZY (side note, don’t ask me why, but I feel like he has a rubber duck on his dashboard)

One time after a smoke session they built a fort in his room and made out for close to an hour, all giggly and hazy

I think he’d like to let his girl paint his nails. He prefers black, but he wouldn’t mind painting his nails the same shade as girlie’s so they can match

He also let her braid his mohawk once… lol

Tea had sent me an idea about this, but he’d absolutely buy her engraved jewelry. Like… barbells with hearts that have little M’s engraved on them??? Holy shit 

Also, from a discussion with B, HE GOES SO FERAL WHEN SHE GOES BRALESS AND HE CAN SEE HER PIERCINGS THROUGH HER TOP

He keeps a Polaroid picture of her both in his wallet and at the desk in the shop 

If anyone asks about it he’s like “THAT’S THE LIGHT OF MY FUCKING LIFE”

Veeery possessive. Not to a toxic point, but she is his, and he makes sure that everyone is aware in his own little ways 

He likes to be touching her almost all the time. Whether it’s an arm lazily slung around her shoulders or lacing their pinkie fingers together

Really likes love bites. One time he left hickeys in the shape of a heart on her collarbone 

Y’all remember that hip pouch thing he wore during the 2020 era? That but it’s filled with his girl’s things like her lipstick or her wallet so she doesn’t have to carry them

Teenage boy humor. Hella “that’s what she said” jokes

He forgets stuff at her place constantly. She’s starting to wonder if it’s on purpose at this point. Maybe it’s his own way of feeling like a more permanent part of her life

Finding his jewelry on her dresser, his lighter on her coffee table, a hoodie hung by the door

Sometimes he’ll leave his keys and come running back into her place just to end up messily kissing her against the wall

Overall, I think he probably looks a little intimidating to people because he has a mohawk and wears chains and platform boots but he’s such a sweetheart oh my god anon. He just loves her so so so much, and he’s so gentle with her. I love him. So much. That’s my baby.

And as for an alphabet, maybe! I’d be happy to if that’s something you guys would want to see

#WAHHH #my mohawked pride and joy #body piercer!matty #asks #matty healy x reader

[ctitan98official]

Anonymous: Got an idea🧠 re8 ladies react to a heavy gothic punk style, rockstar wannabe y/n,,like I'm talking the leather, the studded spike belt/choker thingy, probably some gothic dress with those netted gloves here,,and ofc,,the extreme heavily stylized full face makeup🤯 also they probably have a more "party animal/aggressive" personality,,not mean or anything but they would definitely speak in yelling🗣️

Damn. You’re describing me in high school perfectly XD Let’s get into it!

Alcina:

Rock music? In her castle? It’s more likely than she thinks.

Alcina would never admit it, but she’s starting to develop a taste for punk. It’s so… Rebellious. It’s downright scandalous for an aristocrat like her to want to listen to such music (At least in her opinion).

While you may be a little rough around the edges (And loud), She wouldn’t change a single thing about you. She loves you for who you are.

Also, those tight black jeans you like to wear make her hot and bothered. She’s never seen clothes like this before, so it’s quite a shock to her when she first sees you in them…

Sometimes Alcina will surprise you by painting her nails black instead of their signature blood red. A non-verbal way for her to say “I love you”.

It looks really good on her and you beg her to do it more often.

Donna:

Donna was high-key afraid of you when she first so you in the village.

You were so… Confident and outgoing. Two things that, frankly, scare the shit out of her.

However, when you approached and asked if you could take her out on a date… Something about you presence made her feel… Protected. You had a kind smile and underneath all of the tough clothing and big personality, she could see you had a big heart.

Angie and you love to mosh together. Some of the other dolls want to join in, but Donna discourages it. She doesn’t want them learning bad habits… It’s a little too late for Angie, though, so she lets the two of you do your thing.

When you introduced Donna to the band… “The Donnas” She nearly lost her mind. She thought it was so cool. “Well, it is a badass name, cara mia,” She said with a shrug.

You busted out laughing.

Miranda:

Rock music… Hair gel… Black nail polish… Mm-mm. Not for her.

It’s almost like you two are polar opposites. But, maybe that’s why your relationship works so well. You balance each other.

She likes calm and peaceful music (Especially while she works). Screaming and angsty lyrics just sound like needless noise to her and it drives her crazy.

She also has to tell you to lower your voice because you tend to yell a lot without realizing it. “Draga mea, I’m standing right in front of you. There’s no need to shout,” She tuts and places a gentle kiss on your lips.

You blush and tell her you’re sorry.

Sometimes, you like to mess with her and while she’s reading or otherwise distracted, you suddenly blare a really loud song and scare the shit out of her.

You also spend the night on the couch.

Bela:

She is 100% drawn to you when you first meet. A badass rocker? She swoons, I’m convinced.

You’re just her type. A rugged, good-looking exterior with a heart of gold on the inside. Honestly, she’s more in love with your personality than anything, but you being hot is definitely a plus.

You play music for her and serenade her. For her, it’s just about the most romantic thing you could do… Even if you are singing angsty, gritty songs.

Bela is not keen on copying your style when she dresses, but it’s mostly because she doesn’t want to upset Alcina.

I think she secretly really wants to try out that “Alt girl” Aesthetic. However, she’ll leave that to you for now. She’s content to just admire you.

Cassandra:

She’s also drawn to you when you first meet. She’s never met anyone like you before and she finds you absolutely thrilling.

She loves to look at all of the different accessories you have. Your studded belts fascinate her… Maybe because they look like they could hurt somebody if they got too close to you. “That’ll keep those hussy maids away from you!” She cackles.

You sweat at how serious she looks.

If I’m being honest? I think Cass has a mad leather kink. Just seeing you in those tight leather pants… Does something to her.

She is instant putty in your hands when you sing to her. She enjoys all the gory violent lyrics tumbling out of your mouth.

Daniela:

While Dani is definitely a fan of cutesy things… She can’t deny that your brooding looks turn her on.

When you introduce her to your favorite bands, they quickly become her favorites as well.

I think she would generally be more of a fan of the pop-punk spectrum of rock, however, she might also enjoy some of the harder bands like Iron Maiden or Metallica.

Dani loves showing you off. She clings to your arm as you two take walks and feels so safe with big, bad you by her side.

You’re loud, but so is she. Sometimes you both sound like you’re literally screeching at each other but it’s only because you’re either really happy or excited.

You two are a match made in heaven. You get each other.

Masterlist

#re8 #re8 village #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x y/n #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x y/n #cassandra dimitrescu #re8 shitpost #y/n is stupid #re8 incorrect quotes #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #mother miranda #mother miranda x reader #donna beneviento x reader #bela dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #daniela dimitrescu x reader

[insideliascrazyhead]

White Rascal Headcanons

Rocky

-not just protective but crazily possessive

-can´t cook and normally lives off takeout

-reads those old,lonely woman,romatic novels

-has all the laundry hacks to keep all that sutff white,tells nobody

„Do it for the woman!“,Rocky,Honey, I thought they´re gonna jump over that railing and choke you out

-dissects his oreo cookies before eating them,cookie,then the cream and then the other remaining cookie

-sings loudly and horrible under the shower

-knows how to dance tango and salsa

-makes phenominal cocktails but forgets that not everyone handles liquor as good as he does so they´re damn strong

-never bleaches his own hair in fear it falls out.being bold is one of his greatest fears

-always act in the heat of the moment

-every hole that get´s punched into the wall in Club Heaven by an angry man get´s framed and titles „Fragile Masculinity“

-after kicking out Aizawa,Bito,Enari and Shimura he did kinda miss them in the end especially after Kizzy told him,they went to get the Rude Boys to help them fight (also Tetsu Instagram stalks them)

Koo

-sarcastic king

-brings out the craziest stories

-biggest crush on our dear Rocky

-as Aizawa,Bito,Enari and Shimura always wear eyeliner he calls them the panda crew

-is a great cook

-likes to do crosswords but instead of the right answers he takes insults

-loves to read crimis and thriller,always knows who the killer is, that creeps the shit out of Kizzy

-does nailart and skincare

-can speak 4 langueges

-curses like a sailor and knows how to curse in 7

-loves to travel

-don´t speak to him before his 2nd cup of coffee or death to everyone and then himself

Kizzy

-bites until your bloody

-stabs as a warning

-has a taxedermy squirrel called Nibbles

-is acttually friends with Aizawa,Bito,Enari and Shimura

-finds their crazyness entertaining as fuck and has a betting pool running with Kaito and Koo on everything

-not jealous at all,just possessive

-has a lot of those romantic nicknames for Kaito in private

-hopelessly romantic

-will absolutly throat punch someone just because she feels like it

-loves horror movies and normally laughs during them

-in her emo phase

Kaito

-stress baker

-will bring Kizzy little trinkets that remind him of her and she collects them

-cool as a cucumber on the outside but a squirrel in traffic on the inside

-had a stressball once to deal with that and ended up stabbing it

-hates horror movies but watches them for Kizzy,so that he isn´t uncomfortable Kizzy just starts shit talking the killers until he laughs

-total sweetheart

-has a cat called cupcake

-loves parfumes

-Aizawa,Bito,Enari and Shimura are Housen´s former Four Heavenly Kings and how Odajima teached Monji in X cross,those four did it with Odajima,Shidaken, Jinkawa and Sawamura,they regulary check up on Housen

Aizawa

-heavily codepentedt on each other,live together too.It´s chaos.

-when Kizzy once visited and saw all that she turned to Kaito and said in a sad tone,I think kicking them out was a mistake,they´re gonna acidentally kill themselfes.

-a feral murder gremlin on the run

-nearly got killed by Rocky once for saying I don´t like woman. Rocky overheard it and kept hitting him with his cane,angrily calling him a misogynist,Aizawa took the cane and hit back telling him he´s not a misogynist.He´s gay and called Rocky an old bitter man.Guess who cleaned the bathrooms from then on in Club Heaven

-killing is his first solution whenever there´s an issue

-their punk band got famous,not teenage girls scream their lungs bloody and faint famous,but sex,drugs and rock n roll famous

-pyromaniac,loves explosives

-has at least 3 different kinda weapons on him at all times,sleeps with a knife under his pillow

-sleeps with tv on and a horror movie running

-loves to shoot the others with a nerf gun,got boring now it´s a paintball gun instead

-memory of a goldfish

-they´re all so sick off the color white that their flat looks like a rainbow vomited.Kinda like a secondhand shop for weird shit.A leg lamp,a random mannequin torso with clows mask over it,Bito´s pink baseball bat,leopard rug,a chair that looks like a colorful hand etc.

Bito

-dramatic as fuck (when wrecking Itokan this is the man searching fucking backround music),probably could give Jamuo a run for money

-they´re all crazy and put Yasu-Kiyo to shame

-i once dreamt he´s Shidaken´s older brother.Now they´re related

-also got Shidaken´s kink for crazy people

-sleeps with a pink baseball bat next to his bed and it´s called his toothfairy

-creative.He paints,normally while blasting punk loud enough to make ears bleed

-bought a tattoo gun now those dumbasses tattoo each other

-invented beerflakes: Fruitloops and beer,normally topped with candy

-he and Shimura got a sugar mommy each after getting kicked out to earn some cash

-the four of them once got arrested for prostitution during their White Rascal times,funnily enough they didn´t do it

-bisexual and polyamorous

Enari

-accidental pyromaniac,accidental fire everywhere,for example while cooking.

-A literal kitchen hazard

-can sleep literally anywhere,this man slept on a speaker at Club Heaven while it blasted music once

-the most chaotic one

-shower toughts only,no sense just vibes

-get´s up early every morning and not even any coffee like a animal

-loves to prank and humiliate his friends

-constantly snacking,always hungry

-always mismatched socks

-loves anime

-all four of them use those 4 in 1 showergel,shampoo and motoroil thingys,even dishsoap when they´re out of the first one

Shimura

-would twerk to orchestra music

-probably sniffs paint

-no regard of personal safety in daily life;raw cookie dough?fuck yeah!Red light?So what?What else?Wait till it´s green?

-funnily enough academically the smartest

-loves to read philosophical shit and drama

-faints at the sight of needles

-thinks hotsauce won´t freeze cause it´s hot

-can drink like a fucking tank

-can poledance,the dancers at Club Heaven showed him and Bito how

-is into hot rich milfs so the sugar mommy thing was right up his alley

-King of what we call in the country I´m from,the „Brother,trust me“mix.That´s a random mixxed cocktail,that normally contains at least 90 % of the glass filled with different kinda hard liquor and normally your friends don´t really hesitate to drink that,so everyone get´s the nastiest hangover

#high and low #white rascals #rocky #kizzy #kaito #koo #aizawa #bito #enari #shimura #high and low headcanons

[hilarychuff]

josie and the pussycats in my asoiaf au graphic series

Sansa dreams big. She can’t help it. She always has, always lets her romantic imagination run away with her. Whether it’s about a boy or about her band, she can be single-minded in her focus, pouring her all into a song and hustling to perform it in front of as many people as she can get to let her. It’s always been who she is, always been what she’s done, but it’s so much better now that she’s got the rest of The Direwolves. Growing up, she and Arya hadn’t always seen eye to eye on things (OK, that was pretty much the understatement of the century, they’d practically never seen eye to eye on anything), but these days things are different. Time and common enemies and shared heartbreaks have brought them together, a fierce and unwavering loyalty forged between them in the few years since their dad died. After nearly a decade of being one of the things that came between them, music finally bonded them together, too, and Sansa has discovered that she likes being part of a girl group more than she’d ever enjoyed being a singer-songwriter on her own. Plus, Arya’s taste for angry alt and punk rock complements Sansa’s pop sensibilities just fine these days instead of clashing with them, and it’s been fun and freeing to let her sister show her how to shake off her good girl image and just get mad. She’d already started dreaming of them touring, traveling the world together, playing sold out shows in all kinds of countries, and so it had only felt right when Robb decided it was his responsibility to be their manager. Who else would do a better job of fighting for them, after all? Do the heavy lifting of calling venues and booking gigs and negotiating fees? She hadn’t expected him to insist that his girlfriend join their group — she hadn’t expected him to have a girlfriend at all, but it seemed in the same moment Robb determined he needed a new career, he’d also decided he was ready for his first serious relationship. Sansa and Arya had only barely met Jeyne Westerling before Robb had informed them she would become the third part of their trio, but now she was as good as their sister, too. She was incredible at the drums, a blast to watch on stage, and she was always able to help them just have fun when they performed, always able to keep the peace when the sisters occasionally still butted heads. Plus, she’s the best at delivering subtle little digs at Theon’s expense, innocuous little one liners he can never quite decide are mocking instead of earnest. Still, making it big is taking… well, a little longer than Sansa had hoped. She’s happy to put in the work, however much it takes, but it’s getting hard to feel grateful for bowling alley gigs that cost them almost as much as they make. And while Sansa learned to stop blindly idolizing Margaery Tyrell years ago, it still stings to hear her and her cousins mock their music, their outfits, the furry ears and tails Sansa and Jeyne spent hours hand-crafting for their shows. So even though it feels too good to be true when Petyr Baelish appears out of nowhere to offer them a record deal, Sansa can’t help but jump at the opportunity. She wants it, after all. She wants to be the next big thing, wants to be able to play her music for the world, and Mr. Baelish says he can make that happen if they just move fast. He has to find the next Du Rocher after the band made up of blond Lannister heartthrobs disappeared in that tragic plane crash, and if it’s not going to be The Direwolves, he’s going to find someone else. So when Mr. Baelish tells them he’s got a limo waiting for them just as soon as they sign their contract, all they really ask is, “Where’s the pen?” It helps that he lets them bring everyone along with them. It’s not just her and Arya and Jeyne, it’s also Robb as their amateur manager and Theon as his fake assistant and Jon as her pretend guitar tech, all of them on a private jet as Mr. Baelish flies them out to New York City. If she’s honest with herself, Sansa has to admit that Jon is the most exciting addition. She’s been crushing on him for — god, it feels like forever now, but she’s not sure he’s ever seen her as anything other than his best friend’s little sister. Even if he had, his self-image always used to be way too low for him to even think about asking anyone out. Romance had been entirely off the table as he focused on music of his own. Sansa’s been determined to change that this past year, though, dedicated to building his confidence back up, and now if she could just get him to see her in a new light, she’s sure he’ll finally realize that they’re supposed to be together. Heading out to the big city, standing center stage seems like the perfect way to do that. She’ll happily put up with Theon tagging along if that means Jon gets to come with them, too. (Arya, however, is less forgiving. “You know what? I still don’t understand why you’re here,” she tells him point blank. “I’m here because I’m the only one who could pull off Missi Pyle’s skunk stripe from the movie,” he quips back.) Only, things start to get a little weird as soon as their flight touches down. Suddenly, their music alone isn’t enough, and the three of them are undergoing various makeovers big and small. They’ve got a whole new wardrobe picked out for them, clothing assigned not just for video shoots and performances but for parties, too. Their songs are all run through some fancy technology so the Megasound 8000 can make them perfectly produced, and Petyr’s even insisted on changing their name. They’re not The Direwolves anymore. Now, they’re Sansa and the Direwolves, and that’s how they’re being introduced to the industry at record company president Cersei’s palatial apartment.   Petyr says it’s what they have to do if they want to be successful, though, and given that he already got their first single to the top of the charts, made their faces so well-known that Sansa and Jon couldn’t even sneak off to the aquarium without getting mobbed, Sansa figures he knows what he’s talking about. Hell, even Margaery and her cousins had shown up at their hotel door, insisting that they’d been converted into Sansa and the Direwolves’ biggest fans. Plus, it’s not that big of a deal. She is the lead singer of the band, isn’t she? She’s the one who writes all of the songs. She was the only one taking it seriously in the first place, dreaming of something bigger than bowling alleys back home in Winterfell. If Arya and Jeyne aren’t on board, if they can’t see that this is the only way forward, that’s their problem, because they’re the ones glomming onto her talent and her success in the first place. And then she literally stumbles onto the realization that something isn’t just weird — something is wrong. When she trips, falls, and smashes her CD player while strutting around the city, Sansa discovers that Mr. Baelish — Cersei — has been putting hidden messages in the demos the label’s been giving her. They’ve been driving Sansa and her bandmates apart, setting the stage for her to go solo, trying to brainwash her into being the perfect little performer while limiting their liabilities down to just one person. When she drags Robb and Theon with her to the studio to investigate further, she discovers it’s even bigger than that. They’re not just trying to brainwash her. They’re trying to brainwash everyone, using The Direwolves’ music to do it, all so they can sell clothing and makeup and music and sodas and sneakers and anything else they can possibly think of. Sansa knows she can’t go through with the big stadium concert they have planned for her, knows she has to put a stop to Petyr and Cersei’s plans — but when it turns out they’re not just trying to kick Arya and Jeyne out of the band, they’re holding them hostage to ensure Sansa’s cooperation, things get a lot more complicated. Somehow, she’s going to have to save them, get them to forgive her, take down a major record label and expose Cersei for the power-hungry criminal she is. She can’t do it alone, though. Thankfully, she won’t have to. At the last minute, Du Rocher reveals they didn’t die in that plane crash. They may be a little worse for wear after they managed to land the plan in the middle of a Dornish heavy rock concert, all but one of them bundled up in near full-body casts, but little Tommen had been the one left mostly untouched (“And I thank the seven everyday that my sister taught me the words to ‘Enter, Red Viper,’” he’d told them), and he’s been trying to warn Sansa and her sisters all along. With the distraction Du Rocher’s appearance provides, Sansa manages to free Arya and Jeyne, and together they’re able to take on the record execs, smash the Megasound 8000, and even get Cersei and Petyr arrested thanks to another surprise appearance from the United States government, one so impressive it prompts Robb to consider joining the army. In the end, there’s nothing left for Sansa and Arya and Jeyne to do but take the stage, pick up their instruments, and find out if any of it can ever actually be real. If people might actually like them, their music, what they have to say. And maybe, just maybe, Sansa can get the guy, too.

ft. sansa as josie, arya as valerie, jeyne westerling as melody, jon as alan m., robb as alexander, theon as alexandra, littlefinger as wyatt, cersei as fiona, and the lannister boys as du jour

#sansa stark #arya stark #stark sisters #jeyne westerling #stark family #asoiaf #robb stark #jon snow #jonsa #jonsa au #sansa stark au #asoiaf au #got #my graphics #my au graphics #asoiaf josie and the pussycats au #asoiaf au series #btw if you're wondering if there's more du rocher lore #ya obviously there is #also concept the megasound like #cersei is the most jerkin' girl in the world! #everybody loves cersei! #she's got the best hair and the most awesome clothes! #this is one of my favorite movies just in case you were wondering #i've been thinking about this au for literal years #ever since i saw that sophie picture tbh and was like #josie and the pussycats aquarium scene #josie and the pussycats spoilers #just in case lmao idk #josie and the pussycats

[revelisms]

Silco, Sevika and Jinx Headcanons (music ver 🎵)

Since my playlists are running rampant (and they're largely how I get a sense for writing character voices/actions/etc.), I thought it'd be fun to share a few HC tidbits via some tunes :-)

Silco — aka the Bloodshark, the Eye, Mr. Crime Boss himself; the man, the myth, the slippery bastard. Also clocking in with nearly 8+ hours worth of songs for this sack of bones...I am...side-eyeing myself. Anyway.

Foundation — Sunlit Grave, Saint Mesa

This basically kickstarted the playlist earworm, for him. At a high-level, this is the song I think of anytime I write him: it's dark, eerie, regal, persevering. I always get an image of someone sinking beneath the depths at the beginning, and clawing out of a deathly cage/prowling to a bloody pinnacle by the end. The lyrics themselves also capture a flavor of his character, as a dead man speaking to someone (potentially his killer and/or lover) who knew him before; who must choose to let go of their knowledge of who that dead man used to be. He is gone, irreparably changed, and he's not coming back—and he'll drag a kingdom to its knees, by the end. (Maybe it's what landed him in that grave, in the first place.)

Inner Voice — The Wondersmith and His Sons, Astronautalis

This gives a sense of past and present: a glimpse into the hard-cracked persona he'd built in the mines (which I associate with folksongs, especially of an English or Gaelic nature), twisted up into the sly, scheming charisma he harnessed as co-founder of the Lanes. For me, the song paints a potential tale of childhood (the lyrics tell of a family of swindlers, from which the narrator is the cleverest son) and a foreboding hint into the future (too much grease can break down a machine; for all their success, a brutal end is eminent). It also just feels like him—it's growly, arrogant, and jovial; drawling in some moments, and spit-fired in others.

On The Record — Time & Place, Queens of the Stone Age

In terms of what he'd actually listen to (of which I think he'd have a extensive range, to the point of his tastes skewing past eclectic into downright bizarre), this would fit easily between a swath of blaring industrial rock, crooning big band classics, jazz, folk-tunes, experimental funk, r&b, etc. It's got that flavor of 80s post-punk vocals that would be a staple in his sets, with a snappy flare in the instrumentals (something he'd nod his head or tap his pen to)—and, funnily enough, has a slight echo to Snakes (Vi's and Jayce's fightsong), which...oddly fits, given I see him and Vi as actually very similar, at their cores.

Sevika — aka the Lioness, the Teeth, "step on me and I'll thank you for it" Miss King. She's badassery in a gilded package, baby—but there's a tender spot under it all, if you squint.

Foundation — Little Girl Gone, CHINCHILLA

Another song that kickstarted the playlist earworm. This is a baseball bat to the gut with prowess, swagger and Try That Again energy—and the transition of the whisper to the drop just hhh. Gets me every time. This song is the battle anthem from a woman who's earned her armor (fittingly, working under a gangster)—test her patience, and she'll be wearing red on her sleeve; dare to cross her in a fight, and she'll drink you down like liquor. I can visualize a snappy two-punch brawl every time I hear this.

Inner Voice — Milk, BONES UK

Dipping into that tenderness here, with a stark note of ceaseless ambition, we've got this song—a reflection, a demand, a love letter, a hunger. There's so many layers folded into this: the desires of a self-made life to be everything and more their host yearns for it to be, even if, underneath it all, what they truly yearn for is belonging. This feels like a young, angry, cropped-hair and bloody-fisted Sevika fighting down the world—and an older self looking fondly, if a touch melancholically, back on it all.

On The Record — Know Better, Janelle Monáe

Put her on the aux, and she'll have the dancefloor congealing into a neon haze of sweat and glitter. The mix of the sax and the bassline here just thrums with her energy, to me: self-assured, watchful, slow-smirking. It's often the kind of tracks she reaches for, especially for a crowd; she's got a bold streak in her, and it doesn't take much to stir it to full display (come here now, stranger; gimme that sense of danger).

Jinx — aka the Loose Cannon, the Bombshell, everyone's favorite lil' gremlin. I tend to interpret her character in distinct "phases"—i.e., Powder, Jinx, and Jinx post-shimmer. These also factor into what I musically associate with her; each piece of her character feels very distinct.

Foundation — BLOODMONEY, Poppy

This is like...the Jinx song, to me. It's about distrust, sacrifice, self-identity, denial, rage, all wrapped up in a spiteful bow of religious allegories—a flash-cycle of whose opinion she worships, at any given moment (when nobody is watching, what do you believe?). It's also just a sensory meal with the sound design, and could even match up with soundbites of her voice so easily.

Inner Voice — Crimson, Skott

Take a stroll into Powder building Jinx's persona from the ashes. This is a haunting, beautiful song, with an undercurrent of something fight-eager, spiteful, and hopeful brewing beneath the surface. In the wake of tragedy, there's still a thread of strength; someone picking up the pieces while trying to find a path back to their own mind. I almost hear this as an apology and declaration of war, in turns, from Jinx to Vi.

On The Record — BOOM, Cassyette.

You know this little metalhead is listening to any splitzy mechanical tracks she can get her hands on (fuels the inventor muse, y'know?)—and I think she'd love this. I mean, c'mon. It's a song about explosions, told through a narrator saying how slipping into different mental spaces feels like a bomb waiting to blow. I could see her jamming to this on loop in her workshop while tinkering with a new flare gun. (Also, as a close runner up, I associate anything Djerv with her, given they were the artist for Get Jinxed—she'd probably have things like (We Don't) Hang No More always on the gramophone, singing to it word for word.)

#arcane #arcane headcanon #silco arcane #sevika arcane #jinx arcane #crime family shenanigans #music headcanons #i just love these three #they're going to ruin my spotify stats this year

[waywardrose-archive]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY | 8

stranger things | eddie munson x reader | rated e | 8.9k

spotify playlist | for @punk-in-docs​​​​

fem/witchy/goth!reader, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?

Weird weird?

He shrugged. He liked weird.

In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: This chapter’s got everything: fantasy sharing, insecurities, intimacy, horrible parents, Capri-Sun, and smut! 🖤 Check the #em tagd tag ⬇️ for previous chapters! Please comment (or critique), like, and reblog. I truly do appreciate any and all interaction. I promise I don’t bite — unless you want me to.

-

8

Eddie sat across from you in another diner for second breakfast. The sun blasted through the thin cafe curtains to warm your side. He’d said little during packing or check-out. Your gaze kept snagging on his. He’d present a quirk of his lips. You’d grin and go back to whatever you were doing.

He appeared to be mulling over something. You doubted he regretted having sex. You certainly didn’t, even though you felt deliciously used. Maybe because you felt deliciously used.

When the waitress took your order, you opted for coffee — just like Eddie. She returned with an insulated carafe, mugs, and creamers.

With a gentlemanly flourish, Eddie said, “Milady, may I pour you a cup of our finest bean juice?”

You smiled.

“Why, good sir, I’d be delighted.”

He left enough space at the top of the mug for cream and sugar. As you seasoned, he poured for himself. You watched his nimble fingers as he went about seasoning his coffee. Your gut tightened as you remembered those fingers had made you come, those hands had cupped your breasts. You watched his lips as he swallowed. You had kissed those lips. You had sucked a faint hickey on that neck.

Before he could catch you staring, you sipped at your coffee. You met his gaze over the rim, though. Light reflected off the table, causing his eyes to turn mahogany. You’d seen those eyes dark and hazy with desire.

You wondered if he had the same thoughts as you. Did he keep picturing you under him? Had he memorized your sounds? The way his come looked on your skin?

His stomach gurgled, which made you both laugh.

“Guess pop and chips don’t last long,” he said, hand over his stomach.

“We burned a lot of calories this morning.”

He gave you a devious smirk.

“We did.”

You found his leg under the table and crossed your ankles around it. He pressed his calf to yours as he drank his coffee.

.

You were nearly at the Indiana border when he lowered the music to half-ask:

“This is going to sound stupid, but that wasn’t your first time.”

You laughed — short, but loud. “No, obviously.”

“Then I gotta ask: Is it always like that?”

“Like what?”

“Intense? Hot?”

From anyone else, you’d think that flattery. From Eddie, it felt genuine. It was still flattering, of course. You liked the thought of rocking his world.

“Could ask you the same,” you said as you took off your sunglasses since the sky was becoming more overcast the farther east you drove.

He adjusted his position in his seat, putting an elbow on the windowsill. He’d also blocked the view of his crotch with a lifted knee. You changed your grip on the steering wheel as tension rose.

“For the record, no,” he said. “I’m not, uh— I’m not the most experienced guy.”

“I’m not the most experienced girl.”

“So, you’re saying we lucked out back there?”

“Or maybe we lived up to each other’s expectations?”

“You had expectations?”

“I told you I’ve fantasized about you.”

“What do you, you know, fantasize about?”

There had been so many in the past few weeks. From rough to tender. Sometimes it wasn’t even about sex. Sometimes you thought of sitting with him and talking. Just talking. Maybe holding hands. Those scenarios didn’t turn you on, per se. They were a comfort, especially after the nightmares of red lightning and cold soot and chittering of unseen predators. Nightmares where vines wrapped around your limbs until you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Nightmares of mental vivisection. Nightmares as warnings.

You couldn’t tell him that. There was nothing he could do about them. Only you could face those dreams, because they had a message you alone could decipher.

But dreams had meaning, and he’d had dreams about you.

You asked, “What about those dreams I supposedly invaded?”

“No suppose about it. You had.”

“Had. Past tense.”

“And will again. Believe me, this entire trip is gonna haunt me.”

You wouldn’t forget this trip for a long time, either — maybe ever. However, the way he said it had a touch of grief.

“You make it sound so... grim?”

“Look, we’re going back to Hawkins...”

“‘There is no real going back,’” you said, quoting Tolkien. “‘Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same.’”

You glanced at him again to see his fist pressed to his mouth.

He finished the passage:

“‘I am wounded with knife, sting, tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?’”

You sighed. “Do you want to go back to how it was? Like we’d never done it?”

“Hell no.”

“Then why are you talking like things won’t be different in Hawkins? We’re different now.”

He was silent for too long. You looked at him once more. He stared out the windshield, face blank. You steeled yourself for his excuses to rationalize rejection, fishing a Djarum from the fresh pack and sticking it between your lips. He pushed in the car’s cigarette lighter for you.

Softly, he said, “It’s not that I don’t want it to be different, but I’m trying to be a realist here.”

“Oh, so you’re the only one with that capability in this car?”

“No, what I’m saying is the reality of being together in front of the whole school isn’t good. For you.”

You shot him a glare.

“The fuck?”

“No, hear me out. In Chicago, we’re just people. There’s no baggage. There is baggage — capital-b baggage — in Hawkins.”

The cigarette lighter popped, ready. You snatched it from the dash before he could and lit your cigarette.

“I get it. People are dicks—” You shoved the lighter in its holder. “—And you’re being one right now,” you said, cracked the window, and exhaled.

“I am trying to protect you.”

“By pushing me away?!” Your fists strained around the steering wheel. “Dammit, Eddie, don’t you get it? I want you! I want to get to know you and talk about stuff. And watch stupid TV.” You waved a hand in the air. “And, okay, have sex when we can. I...” You took a long drag from the cigarette to keep from crying. “I don’t care if the whole school knows about us, alright? We know about us.”

He crossed his arms.

“I’m not pushing you away.”

“Sure sounds like it.”

“It’s hard to forget a lifetime of bullshit.”

“I’m not asking you to forget it,” you said as you ashed the cigarette through the open window.

“I know, okay, I know.”

He retrieved a Djarum. You offered yours to light his. He took it with a ‘thanks,’ pressed the cherry to the unlit cigarette, and handed it back.

You said, “I know you’re an outcast. I pay attention at school, you know? I’m not deaf or blind.”

“Or stupid.”

“Neither are you.”

You smoked and navigated the interstate off-ramp and tried to think of something to soothe both your ruffled feathers. Evidently, he had been thinking the same thing, because he grumbled:

“I guess nothing has to change.”

“Right? You have lunch with your friends. We go to O’Donnell’s class. We hang out after school—”

“That’ll be different.”

“That bad?”

“No.”

“Cool,” you said. “And sometimes I go to The Hideout to watch you play. That’s it.”

“When would you want to... you know?”

“Whenever we can?” You shrugged and ground your spent cigarette in the ashtray. “My parents have date nights. What about your uncle?”

“He works second or third shift.”

“See? We’ll be together when we can.”

“But you get where I’m coming from, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” You looked to see his expression had softened. “I know you want to protect me, but I’m not one of your little sheep. I appreciate it, but you don’t have to.” You held out your hand, which he took. “I’m not new at being a weirdo.”

You threw him a wry grin.

He deposited the butt of his cigarette in his empty soda can, leaned closer, and brought your hand to his lips for a kiss.

You smiled at him.

“So, you told me about a dream,” you said and wet your lips. “The one where O’Donnell is Samwise. What about another?”

“Shit, I... I don’t really remember. That one stood out.”

He was blushing and too still, which most likely meant he was lying.

You gently withdrew your hand, saying, “Tell me about the latest one.”

After a beat, he said, “You know those dreams that are jarring? Like a bunch of snapshots pieced together? It was like that.”

“Scary or sexy? Or both?”

“Sexy. Deeeefinitely sexy.”

“Okay, and...?”

“I woke up— Shit.” He rubbed his face. “I was so hard.”

You bit your lip as heat spread through your body. You pictured him like that: in his dark, messy room, waking with a gasp, his cock throbbing and oozing.

“What did you do?” you asked.

“I jacked off.”

His ‘duh’ was silent, but undoubtably there.

Despite the brief retort, you grinned.

“To what? What did you imagine?”

“Fuck, baby.” He put a hand between his legs. “You, okay? I thought of you.”

“Was I naked?”

He hummed. “Naked, your ass bouncing against me.”

“I was riding you?”

“No, bent over. I held your forearms and fucked you from behind. Shit, I...” His breathing deepened. “I got my dick in so deep, and you squeezed around me, moaning for it. And I pushed you down. Your ass in the air for me.” He covered his eyes. “I spanked it, too.”

“I’d let you do that,” you said as your cunt pulsed.

“Yeah? You into that?”

“With you, yeah.”

“Yeah, holy shit, we can do that. I came in you, too. Watched it drip out of your little pussy.”

You whispered, “Fuck.”

You squirmed in your seat, underwear stuck to your now-wet slit. That had been more than you thought you’d hear. You could see it, too, almost feel it: his pelvis slapping the underside of your ass, his cock ramming deep, his strong hands on your arms, then at the center of your back, then cracking against your upturned ass.

“I shouldn’t have told you that,” he said. “But I really can’t say no to you.”

You met his eyes, his gaze dark and hungry. You must’ve looked the same, because he cursed.

“Come home with me,” you said and forced your attention to the road.

“Wha—”

“Come home with me. My parents won’t be back until tomorrow night.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

You frowned. Most guys would’ve jumped at the chance to have sex again. Did he think that wasn’t on the table? Because that was very much on the table. If he told you to pull over and get in the backseat, you would. There hadn’t been another car on this stretch of road in nearly ten minutes.

Perhaps he had deliveries to make. It was Saturday night, after all.

“Only if you want to, of course,” you said, giving him an open look. “I get it if you’ve got plans or whatever. I can take you home.”

Ahead, leaden clouds gathered. A storm was settling in. If he were to make deliveries tonight, he would get soaked...

-

Eddie hoped it wasn’t obvious he couldn’t take his eyes off you. It probably was, though. You had a glow. Your eyes shone in the midday light, lips still puffy. There might be prettier girls out there, but they couldn’t compare to your radiance.

No one had kissed him like you kissed him. You made him feel like his thoughts had been put in a blender. He felt invincible yet defenseless, accepted yet under scrutiny, but most of all treasured.

He didn’t know if that was normal. His parents hadn’t seemed to treasure each other. He thought Wayne loved him. He loved Wayne. His flock looked to him for guidance. His bandmates treated him as an equal. None of that compared to what he felt for you.

He didn’t know if he liked it, honestly. It disrupted everything. You’d occupied his thoughts before this. Now, he feared, you would dominate them.

Then what would happen when you discovered he was trailer trash?

You’d feel sorry for him, that’s what. Oh, poor Eddie living in a one-bedroom trailer with his uncle.

Fuck that. Fuck pity. And fuck fearing heartbreak.

Fear was the mindkiller.

The look you gave him begged him not to hide even as you rolled back your offer of another night together. He didn’t know how long you’d think that. It didn’t matter, either. That wasn’t up to him, however much he wished it were. You weren’t a character in a campaign.

“No, no plans,” he said as he scrubbed damp palms on his thighs.

“Oh, okay, well... I can still take you home.”

The first heavy drop of rain pinged on the roof.

“Wayne can pick me up from the park.”

“Eddie, it’s starting to rain.”

He knew that. He could see the freckled pavement and how dark clouds obscured the sun.

You turned on the headlights, saying, “It’s no big deal.”

Big deal or not, he’d look like a crazy person if he insisted you leave him at the park. In the middle of a storm. With no ride waiting for him.

He had to be strategic here.

“No, let’s go to your house,” he said. “I’ll give Wayne a call when we get in.”

You nodded.

“If that’s what you want.” You gave him a sweet smile. “I just want to spend more time with you.”

Jesus Christ, he couldn’t deny you. Not when you said adorable shit like that. Not when you were the first person to say anything like that to him. Not when the possibility of having you all to himself was available.

He cleared his throat, wishing he had more to drink.

“I wanna spend time with you, too.”

You looked at him again, your gaze so warm. That alone made whatever would happen in the future worth it.

Twenty minutes later, you drove past the Hawkins welcome sign. The storm let loose shortly thereafter. Instead of continuing east, you turned into the older section of Loch Nora, where brick houses sat back from the road and the utility lines were buried. Eddie’s spidey senses started tingling. He tried to recall ever having driven through this part of the neighborhood and found a vague sense of familiarity.

Richie Riches liked their nose candy, after all.

The wipers sloshed across the windshield. Beyond the windows, rain melted the light and blurred architecture. It didn’t change his awareness of how out of his element he was.

He wondered how he hadn’t noticed you were a rich girl. He’d been mindless to the Munson Doctrine, because ladies — especially pretty, smart, funny, rich girls — shit, he was screwed — like you were out of his league. It all made sense, too: moving from New York, the expensive cigarettes, your gently used car — which had probably been a parent’s — and your lack of a part-time job. You’d offered to buy drinks for his bandmates at The Hideout. You’d paid for the motel room, gas, and snacks. You hadn’t even blinked at prices or told him to put food back at the convenience store.

You turned onto a circular driveway. Ivy climbed the side of a sprawling red-brick house. An old oak grew nearby, its golden leaves scattered over the manicured grass. Eddie tried not to gawk at the three-car garage tucked to the side as you hit the door-opener remote.

The garage could accommodate his entire trailer.

There were two open bays, and you pulled in next to a glossy maroon sedan.

“Well, this is me,” you said, and turned off the car.

As nonchalantly as he could, he said, “Nice.”

“If you want, you can call your uncle.” You pointed to the interior door. “Phone’s in the kitchen next to the fridge.”

“No, I’ll help.”

“Oh, cool, thanks. I need to check the mail. I’ll be right back.”

He nodded and began gathering the food wrappers and empty drinks into a plastic bag. You left the driver’s door open before dashing to the mailbox. He shook the car’s ashtray into the bag, looked at the tidy garage, and cursed. He was so out of his element, beyond the edges of the map.

Here be dragons.

Here be the loaded.

Who were about as dangerous as dragons.

He hadn’t realized he’d stilled until you returned and closed the garage door. To act normal, he continued gathering until there was nothing more to gather. He shouldered his duffle and carried the plastic bag, following you into the house—

Which smelled of citrus and laundry detergent. The tile floor gleamed under the kitchen lights. Everything was so clean and proper and spacious. Floofy valences capped the windows. Paneled appliances blended with the cabinetry. The refrigerator had a built-in icemaker.

Your voice pulled him from touching the lever for ice.

“What?” he asked.

“Are you thirsty?” you asked — again.

“No, I’m good.” He glanced around, looking for the trashcan. “Need to throw this away,” he said as he swung the plastic bag.

“Yeah, of course!”

You took it to the sink cabinet, where you pulled out an under-counter trashcan. He watched your ass, but averted his gaze before you turned to him. The blinking 02 of the phone’s answering machine caught his attention.

He thumbed at it, and asked, “You want to check those?”

With a sigh, you dropped your bags on the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“I guess I better.”

The first message was from your mother, dated yesterday at 4:18 PM. She reported they’d arrived without a hitch. With excitement growing in her voice, she said they were having dinner with Jerry Springer. However, she was concerned you weren’t home and gave the phone number and address of the hotel. The second message was from a telemarketer.

You grinned.

“She gave me all that before they left. I’ll talk to her after you call your uncle.” You bit your lip as you looked around. “Do you want to get settled first?”

“Up to you, milady.”

“C’mon, I’m on the third floor,” you said as you plucked your bags from the island.

“Your tower.”

With a laugh, you asked, “Ah, but am I a wizard or a spider?”

“Well, neither’s as hot as you, so there a third option?”

You hummed as you turned off the kitchen light. “You tell me.”

Only your silhouette was discernible in the gray murk, as though you were made of shadow. There was something mysterious and alluring about that. It made him want to reach into the darkness to feel what reached back. Rain drummed against the windows, tapping a persistent rhythm and softening the edges of the silence.

“Siren,” he said. “Definitely a siren.”

You blew a laugh through your nose as you stepped closer. “What does that make you?”

He thought, A sucker, a sailor, yours, ensnared.

He said, “I’ll get back to you about that.”

“Please do.”

You were now near enough to touch, so he did. He cupped your cheek, his thumb skirting the corner of your mouth. Your lips parted, and he couldn’t stop himself from caressing the curve of your bottom lip. Your beautiful eyes gleamed like glass.

He couldn’t believe you let him touch.

You leaned in and tilted your face to his. Your overnight bag nudged his leg, setting off a chain-reaction of memories. He’d kissed you in public. He’d shared a high with you. He’d lain next to you in a foreign bed. He’d chased you, caught you, and carried you back to that same bed — where you’d clawed at him and moaned his name and came on his dick.

He could have that again.

He met you midway, kissing you once, twice. He tasted smoky clove and soda on your tongue, smelled the rain in your hair. It was addictive. He wanted more. He dropped his duffle to snake an arm around your waist and pull you even closer. You swayed against him before dropping your bags. Your hand slid under his jacket, pushing away his previous uncertainty.

After a long, heady moment, you broke the kiss with a sigh. Your hand remained on his back while the other held the side of his neck.

Voice low, you said, “Let’s go upstairs.”

Staying just as low, he said, “Yeah, call your parents, and I’ll call my uncle.”

“And then...”

You shrugged.

“And then,” he agreed.

He didn’t know what then, but he wanted to find out. He grabbed his duffle and your overnight bag from the floor, which you thanked him for. You led the way through the shadowy house to the grand staircase in the foyer. With your back turned, he let himself finally gawk.

Outside the kitchen, the floors were dark hardwood with lighter area rugs to define the spaces. The living room had a big-screen TV tucked into a corner with a velvet modular sofa oriented towards it. In the dining room, an honest-to-God crystal chandelier hung above the large table.

The second floor was as cushy with thick carpet and tasteful art. Not a family photo to be found. You pointed out your bathroom before opening the door next to it and flicking a switch at the foot of the stairs beyond. Golden light brightened the white stairwell.

He climbed the stairs behind you as the automatic door closer fizzed the door shut. He’d half-expected your bedroom walls to be some dark, moody color, yet they were white. However, posters covered most of the white, much like his own—

Though your room smelled better than his.

You clicked on the lamp by your big bed and on the dresser across the room before setting your purse on the desk under the wide window. His eye caught on the stereo cabinet between the dresser and double bookcase. He itched to peruse your vinyl and tape collection. You must’ve seen it on his face, because you smiled and gave him free rein.

“You sure?” he asked, dropping the bags near the bed.

“Yeah, go for it,” you said. “I’ll call my mom while you shop.”

He checked the time on the bedside clock. It was early afternoon despite it looking almost night outside. Wayne wouldn’t be awake for another hour.

“Cool.”

He crouched in front of the cabinet as you slipped off your jacket and sat at the desk, where a phone waited at the corner. He concentrated on the music in front of him while you talked on the phone. There was Bowie, classic Zeppelin and Rolling Stones, Deep Purple, INXS, Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Cure, Cocteau Twins, Depeche Mode, Sisters of Mercy (of course), Bauhaus, Metallica, Dio, and a bunch of indie goth bands.

Your voice sharpened, catching his attention.

“I told you I forgot to check the messages when I got home from school,” you said.

A male voice snapped through the phone. Obviously, your father.

“I stopped by the convenience store after school.”

Your father replied, though Eddie couldn’t make out the words.

“No, I wasn’t being irresponsible.” You rested your forehead in your hand. “I just didn’t check the mess—”

Your father interrupted, his voice getting sterner.

“Apologize to Mom for me, plea—” You took a deep breath as he interrupted again. “No, I didn’t—”

Your father said something to make you shoot to your feet, chair scraping across the floor.

Eddie straightened and took a step to you.

“I didn’t sigh,” you said. “I breathed. I do that sometimes, like—”

Your father’s voice became louder as he cut you off, ending the scathing reprimand with a ‘young lady.’ A panicked feminine voice said something in the background.

You were quiet for a beat.

Your voice was thick as you said, “I’m sorry. I was stupid and didn’t take you or Mom into account. I apologize, sir. Sincerely. It won’t happen again.”

Your father grumbled, sounding appeased.

“I’ll see you tomorrow— Yes, sir.” You nodded. “Good night, sir.” You slammed the phone’s handset on its base. “Asshole.”

“You okay?” he asked, which he belatedly realized was dumb.

Of course, you weren’t okay.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, ducking your head. “Call your uncle, if you want.”

You darted around him, too quick to stop, and rushed down the stairs to leave him gaping like a fish.

As the door shut, he didn’t know if he should follow. Maybe you needed a minute to yourself. When things were rough for him, he preferred to handle the aftermath alone. It gave him privacy to get his shit together.

He picked up the phone’s handset to call Wayne, which should give you enough time.

Instead of a dial tone, there was a garbled, muddy babble. It wasn’t words, per se. It was rhythmic, like a busy signal, but also an echo of language. Or a backwards phrase repeated.

“What the hell?”

He hung up and tried again, yet the babble remained. He pressed the hook switch a few times, though it didn’t solve the problem. Unplugging and re-plugging the phone didn’t help, either.

With a huff, he slung his jacket over the desk chair and went to the second floor to find you. A wedge of light from your open bathroom door illuminated the landing. You whined a curse and banged a small bottle against the side of the faucet.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said gently and reached for the bottle. “Let me.”

“Fucking childproof caps.” You stilled as your chin wobbled. You looked at the ceiling with watery eyes. “My head is killing me.”

He withdrew the bottle from your limp hand. It was a nonprescription painkiller. He lined up the triangle notches on the cap and bottle and popped it open.

“I should’ve taken something when we first got in.”

“You’ve had a headache this whole time?” he asked and shook three pills into his palm.

You croaked a ‘yeah’ and took the pills, putting them on your tongue and swallowing them with a mouthful of tap water.

At a loss for words, he put the bottle aside and pulled you into a hug. You rested your hot cheek on him and looped your arms around his middle. Your chest shuddered with sharp inhales. He rubbed your back, wondering why he hadn’t noticed you weren’t feeling well earlier.

Probably because he’d been too in his head about his insecurities and the possibility of future disasters.

“Dads are dicks,” you said once your breathing calmed.

He grunted in agreement. “Tell me about it.”

“He’s so concerned about me embarrassing him — embarrassing him more. Or doing something, I don’t know, just for me?”

Your father sounded like a controlling asshat.

“You’re not embarrassing. You’re the coolest person I know.”

Voice small, you asked, “Really?”

“Absolutely.”

You gave him an affectionate squeeze that he returned.

He said, “You missed a phone call. It happens all the time.”

“Yeah.”

“I can sleep through the phone ringing.”

“You’ve never missed my calls.”

“Of course not. I have a sixth sense about these things.”

You snorted. “Naturally.”

“Naturally.” He swayed you a little. “Uh, speaking of: your phone’s acting up.”

“Acting up?”

“Yeah, dial tone’s weird.”

“Huh.” You loosened your hold, yet kept your face tilted down. “It’s a new phone. Maybe I broke it.”

“I can use the kitchen phone,” he said.

“No!” You hugged him again, though your fingers now dug into his back. “No, it’s okay. I’ll fix it or replace it. Then you call your uncle while I get us something to drink.”

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and kissed your forehead.

“Hey, whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You sighed, sounding content. Tension drained from his neck and shoulders. He didn’t like you upset or in pain.

“Okay, phone,” you said despite not moving.

“Gonna have to let go of me first.”

You made a disgruntled sound before sliding your hands away. Your fingertips found his skin between his waistband and the hem of his shirt. Goosebumps rose at your easy caress. His gut tightened, too.

He leaned back to get his hands on your jaw and eased your head up for a kiss. Conscious of your headache, he stayed gentle. He brushed his lips across yours, nudged your cute nose with his. You grinned against his mouth. He opened his eyes to see your face relaxed.

Sounding dreamy, you whispered, “Thank you.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Yes, you have.” You looked into his eyes as you pulled away. “You have.”

“Then you’re welcome,” he said, grinning.

With a smile — a tired smile, he noted — you took his hand to walk him out of the bathroom, turning off the light as you went. He trailed after you and felt like a puppy. Granted, if he had a tail, it would be wagging.

Once in your room, you crawled under your desk to mess with the phone wall jack. You muttered to yourself, but he didn’t catch the words. He sat at the foot of your bed and stared at your upturned ass. It was a nice ass. He’d like to touch it again — maybe when you felt better.

You shuffled from under the desk and lifted the phone’s headset. The regular dial tone droned from the speaker.

“There,” you said and got to your feet.

“Wow.”

“You sound surprised. Like a girl can’t fix things.”

He held up his hands.

“No, that’s not—”

“Did you think I couldn’t handle it?” you asked, your eyes sparkling with humor as you approached.

At your teasing manner, he spread his knees and urged you close by the hips.

“Oh, baby, I know you can handle a lot.”

You bit your lip, looking pleased, and smoothed his hair from his face. He let out a deep breath, letting his eyes go half-mast. You yawned suddenly and covered your mouth, then wiped at an eye. It smudged your eyeliner a little, yet it hardly mattered. You were perfect and sweet.

“Sorry,” you said as you suppressed another yawn.

He turned his head to bury his own yawn in his shoulder.

“Want to take a nap?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Get in bed, then. I think I can figure out where you keep the drinks.”

“Call your uncle.”

“I will, sweetheart.”

He backed you up, stood, and gave you a quick kiss. You made a satisfied sound before kissing him again.

His heart couldn’t take this. It absolutely couldn’t. You were so adorable when sleepy. And he wanted to make you feel good any way you needed, any way you’d let him. He’d make you tea, fetch you extra blankets, rub your back, fork over his whole damn stash. Fucking anything. Anything.

He left you perched on the bed with the assurance he’d be right back. He made a pit stop in the bathroom to pee and wash his hands. In the kitchen, he found Capri-Suns in the fridge and grabbed a couple.

By the time he returned, you’d turned off most of the bedroom lights and were sitting in bed. He dumped the Capri-Suns on your nightstand save for one, stabbed the straw into the pouch, and gave it to you.

You thanked him and snuggled into the pillows.

He snatched a Capri-Sun for himself and turned away before he did something ill-advised, like kiss you too hard or propose marriage or worm between the sheets and yank your underwear off and eat you out until you cried. Maybe all three.

Instead, he drank his juice while calling Wayne, who sounded as if he’d been awake for a while. Wayne didn’t seem surprised when Eddie said he was at yours and would stay the night. Wayne asked for your number in case of an emergency. He recited it from memory.

Wayne reminded him to use protection.

He sputtered and averted his face as heat crawled up his neck.

He then cleared his throat before saying, “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“Good. No mini-Munsons just yet.”

“No, not yet.”

“Alright, kiddo, keep that thinkin’ cap on, and I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

“‘Kay.”

Wayne ended the call, and he placed the phone’s handset on its cradle.

“Your uncle sounds nice,” you said.

“He’s a good guy.” He sat at the desk to slip off his boots. “Took me in when no one else would.”

“Their loss.”

He looked at you, finding you curled on your side and watching him.

“That’s what he said.”

You gave him a wry grin.

He remembered ‘two idiots, one thought,’ and grinned.

After stuffing his socks into a boot, he stood to undo his belt and unclasp his wallet chain. He lay his wallet on your desk and piled his jewelry on top, feeling your gaze the entire time. He draped his belt over the chair, turned off the last light, and came around the bed.

As he lifted the blanket, you rolled onto your back and asked:

“Aren’t you going to take off your jeans?”

“Do you want me to take them off?”

“I want you to be comfortable.”

With a shrug, he said, “I’m comfortable.”

“Eddie... I’ve seen your legs before.”

“And a whole lot more.”

“Yeah, so take them off and get in here.”

“Yes, milady.”

He left his jeans in a heap on the floor and slid under the blanket. It was already warm and smelled like you: your soap and shampoo, your perfume and musk, your laundry detergent, and that dark headshop scent. The sheets were soft as only fine cotton could be. The pillows were fluffy like his hadn’t been in years. He hardly needed to adjust anything.

You asked, “Comfy?”

“Almost.”

Your brows pinched.

“Almost?”

“Back to me,” he said. “If that’s cool.”

You gave a little nod, the corners of your mouth curling up, and faced away. He closed the short distance to mould himself against your back; a hand on your hip with his other arm crooked under his pillow. You stiffened, yet didn’t protest.

“This okay?” he whispered.

“Mm-hm.”

Little by little, you relaxed and adjusted your legs. He matched your even breathing until his eyelids became heavy.

He’d never held someone. He’d been to sleepovers and slept next to friends, but this was different. Last night he’d stayed close, but hadn’t held you — though he’d yearned to. He hadn’t wanted to spook you, as if you’d realize who he was, remember what you’d done with him, and flee in disgust.

But this? This felt right. You were warm and soft against his front. You fit him.

.

A crash of thunder jolted him awake. He lifted his head to look around. The room was still dim from the storm. You weren’t in bed, which he didn’t approve of. You stood in front of the dresser, hanging a necklace on the jewelry stand.

You met his gaze in the mirror.

“Hi, honey.”

He wiped at his face with a groan.

“Hey,” he said, voice scratchy. “What time is it?”

You glanced at the nightstand and reported it was 5:32.

He grunted and flopped onto his back. “How long you been awake?”

“Maybe ten minutes?”

You wore a new pair of pajama pants under the t-shirt you’d napped in. They were cute. You were cute. He wanted to wrap his arms around you.

“Come back to bed,” he said as he scratched his stomach through his shirt.

“I need to finish unpacking.”

He rose onto his elbows as thunder rumbled.

“Did you mean come back to bed?”

“No,” you laughed.

He drew out an ‘I don’t know’ and knee-walked to the foot of the bed.

You spun to face him, eyes glinting with mischief.

“I need to unpack, sir.”

“That sounded a lot like ‘take me to bed.’”

He planted one foot on the floor and rose from the bed.

“Those don’t even have the same amount of words,” you said.

“I guess I have a bad ear for that.”

“Somehow I doubt it.”

As he prowled to you, he asked, “You calling me a liar?”

“No, I think you knock your own talents when it suits you.”

“Oh, ouch, sweetheart,” he said, and put his hands on your hips to back you against the dresser. “You wound me.”

You attempted to hide your smirk and asked, “Should I kiss it better?” while bracing your hands on the dresser.

Though he’d been sleeping next to you, he hadn’t gotten to touch you enough. He pushed himself against you, making you arch. Your breasts pressed against him.

“Later.”

His dick grew heavy, and he bent to kiss your covered chest. He worked his way up until he reached your neck.

You softly groaned with a tilt of your head.

You were his now — with no one to interrupt. Your skin was his to taste — and he did. He kissed the salt from your skin, trailed his teeth down the cord of muscle at the side of your neck.

You fisted his hair and brought his mouth to yours. Your lips smeared across his, your tongue peeked out, tasting of Capri-Sun’s fruit punch. He could devour you whole like this. His hips copied the back and forth of the kiss. God, his dick felt strained and hot between his legs.

You began to slide onto the dresser top, but he stopped you.

“Don’t,” he said. “Turn around.”

Barely giving you enough room, you turned in his hold, rubbing against his front. His gut tightened. He caged you in with his arms and nosed around your hair to kiss your neck again. You smelled so good, like sleep and spice.

He looked at the mirror to see you biting your lip and watching him. He straightened, keeping his front to your back. His erection snugged into the cleft of your ass.

You rested against him, looking more alluring than he’d ever seen you.

He murmured a ‘fuck’ and slid his hands up your sides, catching your flimsy t-shirt as he went.

“You wearing a bra, baby?”

You shook your head, making him curse lowly.

He ran his hands over the satiny skin of your stomach. Your nipples poked underneath your shirt. He stared at their reflection, remembering the feel of your tits in his hands and against his face, the way your nipples jabbed at his palms. He needed to refresh his memory, needed to brand the feel of your flesh in his hands.

When he cupped your tits, you inhaled. He stroked your warm skin with gentle fingertips, kneaded the supple weight of your breasts, then grazed his thumbs over your peaked nipples. Your ribs undulated gracefully with your breathing; so alive and all his.

You arched into his touch, putting your hands on his forearms. He squeezed your nipples and rolled them just a little. You moaned and ground your ass against him.

He ground back, moving counter to you. The inside of his boxers rubbed at his length. Precome made the thin cotton stick to the tip of his dick.

“Eddie...” you whined as you canted your ass.

“How’s the headache?”

“Gone.”

Before he could reply, you nudged him to the side and spun to face him. You steadied his head by the jaw to kiss him hard. It was like you wanted to eat his soul. You kissed him with tongue and teeth and spit. He held onto your bare back, because his knees trembled. He hoped you couldn’t tell. Your lips were perfect. Your skin was warm and soft. He wouldn’t mind if this was all you two did for the rest of the night.

Your hands left his jaw, and you broke the kiss to say, “Want you.”

His gut tightened again.

“Where?” he asked as he swept his hands down to your ass.

You pulled up at his shirt until he had to lift his arms. You tugged the shirt off and dropped it to the floor.

Cooler air cleared his head, but then you ran your hands over his shoulders and into his hair. He kissed you, feeling breathless and buzzing, vibrating like a tuning fork. Your parted lips lured him closer — that siren status confirmed.

You touched him from neck to chest to stomach to the waistband of his underwear. The moment dilated as anticipation increased. He wanted to roll his hips to get you to touch his cock.

Instead, you went to your knees.

He slapped a hand on the dresser to steady himself. Because holy shit. No one had ever— But you were— And, holy shit, he was going to come so fast.

“Okay?” you asked, as if you didn’t look like a wet dream.

He nodded numbly.

You kissed above his bellybutton, nuzzled his stomach, caressed his hips and sides. He lurched forward when you squeezed his ass. His cock bumped your chest, sending a ripple of sensation down to his toes. You palmed him through his boxers to make his knees tremble anew. He thrust into your hand and bit his lip. The muffled touch was enough to weaken him further.

You crooked your fingers under his boxers’ waistband to ease them down his thighs. His erection flopped out, almost hitting you in the cheek like some gangly appendage. He whispered an apology, but you replied it was okay. You called him honey, and he had to swallow a groan.

With gentle hands, you helped him step out of his boxers. Then he was naked save for his sole necklace. You purred and ran your hands up his thighs. He got harder, which seemed impossible, and the room heated — or he was so hot, he couldn’t feel it anymore. Your touch practically seared him.

You moved in to lick the precome now dribbling down the length of his cock. He put a hand on your shoulder to balance himself. It was a shock how good it felt: the velvety texture of your tongue and the tease of your breath ghosting over his dick.

You then steadied his cock with fingers around the base and wrapped your mouth around the tip. He moaned at the heat, the way you burned him with muggy, hot suction. You tongued at the crown as you twisted your head. Your spit-wet lips clasped around his girth. The head of his cock slid along the hard roof of your mouth to the soft palate at the back.

If he thrust, you’d gag and sputter. He didn’t want you retching. He didn’t want you to stop.

He rocked with you, and that had you moaning. He kept tight control of his movements, only nudging the same place of your soft palate.

“This what you want?” he asked. “Want me to fill your pretty mouth?”

He’d fantasized about doing it, too. He imagined how your cheeks would hollow as you sucked, how you’d hold his driving hips, how you’d take every inch of him.

You hummed an affirmative before fisting the base of his cock. He rolled his pelvis forward as you closed your eyes. Your smothered groan reverberated through him, making it difficult to keep it slow and easy.

Shit, he loved the way his cock pumped into your mouth again and again. Saliva drenched your chin. Your hand on his hip pulled him forward, urging him to thrust faster despite his intentions. You sucked and lapped, getting him all slick.

“You’re gonna make me come...”

You moaned an agreement.

He stilled his hips and gripped the nape of your neck.

“Shit, wanna fuck you.”

Because he did. He wanted inside your sweet pussy once more. He couldn’t get enough.

You moaned again and met his gaze. He couldn’t stop from shifting his hips, teasing you both. You whined around his dick, and he nearly forgot his earlier desire.

“So good to me.”

You sucked harder and pushed your tongue on the underside of his dick. It made his eyes roll back. It was so perfect, so good, he could lose himself and spill down your throat.

But, no... No—

He pulled your head away with a gasp, back hunched. Your mouth remained open, a thin string of spittle connected your bottom lip with this cock. Beyond that, the neckline of your t-shirt sat askew on your heaving chest. He wanted to shove himself in your hot mouth until your nose met his stomach, or to fuck your tits — or your tight pussy.

Shit, whatever.

He wanted you so bad.

As he caught his breath, you flicked your tongue out to taste him one more time.

He inhaled through his nose.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked.

You licked your swollen lips with a nod. Your eyes were huge and glassy, drunk on him. He pulled you up as he bent to meet in the middle for a sloppy kiss. The spit and precome on his dick smeared across his stomach. He wiped at the saliva on your chin and fed it back to you.

“So sweet, baby.”

You mewled around his fingers in reply.

He hoisted you to your feet and kissed your talented lips. You stumbled a bit against him, knees obviously numb and stiff, and held onto his shoulders. He shushed you, wrapped an arm around your waist, and cradled your warm cheek.

“I got you,” he said.

You nodded, saying, “Take me to bed.”

He grinned, which you returned.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said, and walked you backwards to the bed.

Once there, he turned you around, urged you up, and told you to bend. Your pajama pants hid your ass and thighs, but your t-shirt slid up your back to expose the feminine curve of your torso. He swept his hand down your spine. You lowered your chest to the bed, your ass jutted out to graze his cock. He took hold of your hips and ground himself against you.

“Eddie...”

He grabbed the globes of your ass to knead them. You hummed and wiggled. Then he gave one cheek a grazing smack. You gasped as your flesh jiggled.

“Like that, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Do it again.”

And he did.

You groaned softly and shimmied to encourage him to continue. However, he didn’t want to get distracted. He felt the heat between your legs and needed more. He pulled your pants and underwear to your knees, then kissed the small of your back.

With a shaky, needful voice, you said, “Please, don’t make me wait.”

“My lady’s wish is my command.”

You breathed a laugh.

He smoothed his hands up your thighs to frame your ass. He could eat you up, you looked so delicious. Your skin was so fine. He kissed one cheek, then the other.

You made a small, desperate sound. In response, he nosed at the crease where your leg met ass. He breathed in the heady scent of your arousal and musk. It had his pelvis flexing, cock twitching.

You arched to push against his face. He spread your tender pussy to see it all flushed and wet.

“Sucking my cock got you so worked up.”

You froze.

He said, “God, that’s fucking hot,” and dragged his tongue between the glistening folds of your pussy.

You moaned.

He licked up to the little furl of your asshole. Your breath hitched. He did it over and over, licking all your holes. You ground against his mouth, trying to get more. He angled your hips, tucked his face between your legs, and swirled his tongue around the petite bud of your clit.

You gasped a few ‘please’s and his name, but he didn’t want to stop. He sucked on your clit, its hood. You spread your legs as far as your pants would allow and tried to ride his face.

“Eddie, c’mon! Please—!”

You muffled the rest in the mattress.

He pulled away, and you moaned with disappointment.

“What was that?” he asked before swallowing the salty-sweet taste of you.

“Please, I...”

“Whatever you want.”

“Please fuck me.”

He cursed loudly as a surge of pleasure raced down his spine. He clenched every muscle below his bellybutton to keep from coming right there. Resting his forehead on your ass, he breathed through the near miss.

When the surge abated, he scrambled for a condom. He told you to hang on as he tore through his duffle to find the condom box. In the meantime, you snuck a hand between your legs to play with your clit.

He almost came again at the sight.

At this rate, he was skittering into two-pump-chump territory.

Holy shit, don’t think of pumping.

He found a condom, ripped it open, and rolled it on — all the while thinking of roadkill and long division and the dirty dishes he’d left in the sink. He then took hold of your pants and underwear, tugging at them and sending you forward.

You meeped, yet squirmed to help undress from the waist down.

He tossed the clothes away, crawled over your prone body, and settled above you. With his dick nestled right against your sopping pussy, he rocked his hips. He couldn’t help himself — especially not when you rocked back. You were slick and hot and so ready.

He mouthed at your neck. The bite of your sweat added to the intoxicating taste of you on his tongue.

He realized then your rocking had a purpose: you were attempting to catch the tip of his dick. You made a tiny distressed sound as you continued to fail.

He shushed you. “I got you.”

“Want you.”

“Me too, baby.”

He reached between your bodies to angle his cock just right. You tilted your hips at the same time. It felt like wild magic to push inside you with one long stroke. Your cunt was tight and silky hot around him. He let his head fall forward with a groan. You quivered under him as though on the verge of orgasm.

He kissed and nibbled his way up your neck until reaching your ear. He sucked on the lobe and kissed the corner of your jaw.

“Eddie...”

“You ready?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Talk to me, baby.” He kissed your neck. “Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me. I want it.” Your cunt squeezed around him, and he couldn’t tell if it was voluntary. “Take me, make me come.”

His stomach swooped. Your words spurred him on. He drew out just enough before letting the full weight of his lower half drop. You panted a ‘yes’ and braced. He set a punishing pace, fucking you in earnest. The clutch of your cunt had him losing himself to the rhythm. He didn’t care, not minding to drown in you.

You buried your face in the mattress, muting your growing moans. He needed to hear you, though. He gripped your neck and tilted your head back. You tensed with a startled gasp and clawed at the bedding.

He’d felt you tense like that before and knew what it meant.

“Gonna come, baby?” he asked.

“Don’t stop!”

He ignored the burn in his muscles as he hammered his cock deep. You struggled under him, breath ragged, ass grinding. Then you let out a sharp cry. You shook against him, shrieking curses as your cunt quivered and gushed around him.

With a growl, he cupped your jaw to keep your head against his shoulder. He pistoned his hips faster and harder. You rasped out a stunned, drawn-out ‘fuck’ as your orgasm continued to unravel. Your scalding, drenched cunt milked him until it started to be too much.

He couldn’t catch his breath as every muscle locked up. Ecstasy simmered at the base of his spine, growing hotter with each clap of his hips meeting yours. It was a staccato beat to his groans. Then it all boiled over. He gritted his teeth and threw back his head as climax poured out of him. He felt scalded from the inside out.

All that remained was his singed heart beating out the syllables of your name.

He sagged on his elbows and lay his damp face on your rucked t-shirt. There were probably things he needed to say or do now, but he couldn’t remember them. He didn’t think he could form words between his harsh breathing.

Your soothing fingers touched his cheek, his temple. He turned his head to kiss them.

When his erection started flagging, he held the condom and pulled out slowly. You gave a wordless protest, yet didn’t stop him from rolling onto his back beside you. He should tie off the condom and dispose of it. He knew that. However, he didn’t want to look away.

In the mottled light from the window, your skin shone with sweat, your hair was in disarray — no doubt like his — and your eyeliner was a mess.

With no small amount of pride, he privately admitted he enjoyed being the cause of that.

You met his eyes and smiled lazily as rain pelted the glass.

He took your limp hand and pulled it. You grumbled, but scooted closer to rest against his side.

“Goddamn,” he said. “Thanks for that.”

You laughed, “You’re welcome,” and put an arm around his middle.

“Want to order a pizza?”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #em tagd #waywardrose writes

[frodothefair]

Expats. [Ch 1/?]

An Elijah Wood real person fanfiction.

Pairing: Elijah Wood x OC (Marina) Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with Elijah Wood, no offense or defamation is meant, and Marina is not real. Tags: @konjugaltdien @konartiste @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @bumblingbriars @invisiblewashboard Summary: Elijah Wood gets romantically involved with a fan, and to escape some unexpected Hollywood drama, the two of them move to Ukraine, the country where she was born, and where she lived as a child. A/n: I went a little nuts. That is all. This could turn into a longfic... or into a post I delete the next morning. A scorpion bowl of the mind may have been involved.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that every fan dreams of being with their idol, and it is a truth equally well-acknowledged that it hardly ever happens.

And yet, for nearly ten years, Marina Kotchoubey (1) was living that reality. 

As far as biographies went, Marina’s was perfectly ordinary, except for the fact that at nine years old she had moved to LA from Ukraine. She was also fairly unremarkable, as far as Ukranian girls went – for she had dark-blonde hair and vaguely pretty features, she had grown tall and lean in middle-school, she had done ballet, and she excelled at school – for nothing short of A’s was accepted by her mother, herself a tall and lean academe, who had also done ballet.

In fact, the only feature that distinguished Marina from her mother was that Marina, in spite of every maternal reproach, could not help but slouch.

But that aside, she was quiet, and she loved music and movies.

She had seen Lord of the Rings when she was a junior in high school, on a Tuesday night when the movie tickets were cheap, and she had fallen deeply and hopelessly in love with a man who had the face of an angel and bitten-down, stubby fingernails.

When she was a freshman at UCLA, she had begged, borrowed and stolen to get a ticket to the Lord of the Rings Oscars Party, an event geared toward fans. It was the year that that The Return of the King had swept the awards, and Marina, quite inebriated, found herself being admitted by the imperious bouncer, and entering the large, dimly lit venue, wearing an outfit cobbled from bits and pieces from her friends’ closets, and somehow – she had no idea how – she ended up speaking to the man whose likeness had decorated her notebooks for years, and was the screensaver on her computer.

And when Marina was inebriated, she had a habit of fancying herself a poet, and saying terrifyingly stupid, regrettable things.

At first, she lost no time in confessing that she had watched The Ice Storm no less than thirty times to soften the horrors of the college application process. Then, she gave a treatise on why she thought Elijah’s character in that film had autism. (2)

And then, at some point, they spoke of the Gypsy punk-rock band Gogol Bordello, and how Elijah was fascinated by their music even though he could not understand a word, and his plans to film Everything is Illuminated in Ukraine. Marina (of course) had shared that she was Ukrainian, and Elijah commented politely on her having no accent – as everyone did – and then she told him that if he happened to be Kyiv, he should go to her favorite restaurant – the one she always frequented with her father whenever she was back – and that the fish in that restaurant tasted like it had leapt right out of the river, high on life because it survived cancer.

She did not remember much after that, but she could not shake how awkward she felt. Why on earth did I just tell Elijah Wood to eat cancerous fish? And, Why must I be so cloying and so zealous? He’ll think I’m one of those deranged stalkers! And she remembered thinking that she had taken up far too much of his time – for it was his night, after all. But the complimentary drinks had been deceptively sweet, and blush-colored, and little plastic scorpions and crabs lay across the bottoms of the glasses… And she was drunk, far too drunk to remember how to end a conversation.

And so it was, in a few minutes’ time, that Billy Boyd appeared at Elijah’s elbow, his smile going not to Marina, but through her, and with remarkable tact, he had intoned that there was someone he thought her idol should meet. And she knew, right then and there, that she had overcrowded her welcome, in a sense, and she gave a small, frozen half-smile as he said his good evenings and was gone. And then she felt awful, and rued every word after “Hello,” and every drink after the first. So she stood in line and got herself another. And in a corner, feeling nonsensical and overdressed, she ruminated.

She had ruined his night so much that he had needed a friend to spirit him away. And that – that made her feel like Gollum. In the corner, in her borrowed dress and borrowed heels, she began to weep. But the weeping turned into a senseless, foolish laughter – until Billy Boyd, who had all but air-lifted Elijah away from her, tapped her on the shoulder from behind. 

She cursed the screen-printed cocktail napkin for refusing to absorb her tears, but courtesy demanded that she turn around, so she did. And Billy, whose face and shoulders looked older than they had done when he was Pippin, said very little – though his eyes were kind. He only handed her a small white napkin, folded diagonally, like a triangle, and said, puzzlingly, “Elijah wanted me to give this to you.”

Bumbling thanks was all she could give in reply, and Billy Boyd bid her good evening, turned on his heel, and melted into the crowded night.

Feeling poorly and baffled, she stood like a statue for a long time before opening the napkin. Inside it were ten digits and a couple of dashes. A phone number.

She did not believe it was real. The scorpion bowl drinks were full of alcohol and fiction.

For a week, she agonized over whether to open the napkin again. The necklace, heels, dress and perfume all returned to their rightful owners, the only things she had left of the Awards party were her creased ticket of admission (General Admission: Admit One) and the triangular napkin. They sat like orphans on the painted-over radiator.

She was certain that if she opened it again, she would call. And she was certain that if she called, she would find that it was not his number, but some anonymous digits, or the rejection hotline, or the police.

But in the end, she called. Of course she did. And it did turn out to be his number, and they met in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant in Venice Beach that very same weekend, drank Last Words served by an unscrupulous bartender who checked neither of their IDs, and talked for hours. He then took her home to her college apartment in his modest BMW 3-series – modest for a movie star, anyway, and there were crumbs all over the interior – and they continued to meet, frequenting live concerts, and arthouse movie matinees with five other people in the audience, and karaoke bars in Japan and Korea-town.

Elijah was surprisingly easy to be with – as unassuming, kind, and humble as his public image suggested, and far quirkier and more cheerfully irreverent than any camera could capture. Before long, they had all but invented their own language – a bubbly vernacular of cockeyed misquotations, and twisted references that only they understood (3). By her 23rd birthday, he had proposed, and they married quietly, wearing their rings on their right hands in the Ukrainian way so that nobody would guess. (4)

In the years that followed, Elijah made film after film, became a DJ, and started a record label and a production company, while Marina had gone to law school and joined a firm, her angular student awkwardness blossoming into a chic, sublime femininity. They lived in Venice Beach, and tried to keep a quiet existence – and for the most part, they succeeded. 

But in the end, it was as true a statement on Earth as it was in Middle-earth: the hearts of men, and women, were easily corrupted. 

Kotchoubey is a noble family name that originated in Ukraine. After the revolution of 1917, however, few of its members remained in the Soviet Union. The fictional Marina’s ancestors were among the ones who stayed behind and did not flee, as she herself is a Ukrainian immigrant who came to the US in the early 90’s. 

Based on the fact that yours truly has watched The Oxford Murders repeatedly for the last month. I watch it at least three times a week, on weekdays, as I eat and relax.

Mr. Nisile and I have such a language. So thick is it that military code-breakers would pull out their hair.

In parts of Eastern Europe, wedding rings are worn on the right hand, while in Western Europe and the US, they are worn on the left. In real life, Elijah is also often seen wearing a plain silver band on his right hand, though I doubt he was ever secretly married to a Ukrainian beauty.

Bonus: What do you think Elijah calls Marina in private? Answer: Mari.  ;)

#elijah wood #real person fanfiction #fanfiction #lotr #lord of the rings #writing #fanfic #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings fanfiction

[mywifeleftme]

364: Various Artists // Israfel

Israfel Various Artists 1997, Ape

A 1997 vinyl benefit compilation of mostly Middle American grindcore / powerviolence / emo acts, assembled in an edition of about 1000 by Bloomington-based DIY label Ape Records (active 1995 to 2002), in handmade sleeve with a recent release catalogue, a substantial zine, and a few priceless gag inserts (incl. YOUR HARDCORE SELL OUT DECODER RING). I’m not an aficionado of any of the genres Israfel covers by any means, but you’d have to be a real head to know most of these: in terms of notoriety, the Locust (who contribute a 47 second blast of lo-fi outrage) are basically Led Zeppelin compared to the rest of the acts, most of whom topped out with a couple of EPs and compilation appearances.

Of course, hearing music that would otherwise be basically lost to time is the appeal of taking a flyer on a comp like this. One of my favourite tracks is “Untitled” by Roanoke, VA’s the Weak Link Breaks, supposedly the first thing the band ever wrote (and, judging from their discography, nearly the last too). It begins with a very, very quiet spacy-Fugazi-style amble (the vocal harmonies couldn’t be more Ian and Guy) that explodes into a brief screamo-style D-beat section, and then some big heaving riffs that make me want to exaggeratedly lift and stomp my feet like a giant trying to keep his balance. I also dig Murfreesboro, TN’s Serotonin, an emo / post-hardcore act with a steely '80s shred band guitar tone who play like they want people in the pit to twirl around ecstatically instead of slam dancing. A lot of the other nasty yowling cat speedballs on Israfel don’t really catch my ear, but that’s okay—I’m weirdly proud of them 27 years after the fact for being themselves and getting out whatever they needed to get out through this violence.

The package’s tone is all over the place. The zine opens with a haunting description of the compilation’s beneficiaries, the family of a pair of little girls with spinal muscular atrophy (a common birth defect) whose condition worsened until they perished, leaving their parents distraught and financially ruined—and the 21-year-old compiler racked with guilt that he didn’t somehow do more to help. From there, it whips through his heterodox thoughts about the hardcore scene (despicably self-absorbed; unresponsive to requests from label operators); the state of emo (too abstract); the best way to bring about change (working within the capitalist system); rape (it’s bad; consent is black and white; can we stop litigating this in the scene?); calling the cops (fine to do); disrespecting the American flag (played out; tacky); and drinking/drug use (“when did self-destruction become rebellion?”). After he finishes up, each band (that got their artwork in on time anyway) gets a page to talk about themselves. This section is full of old school punk zine/leaflet treasures, with designs that mimic motel newspaper ads, postcards, messy handwritten perzines, and Xeroxed 7” grindcore sleeves.

It's funny reading his scornful words about pseudo-rebellious drunkards stumbling toward “the day when punk rock is shelved for an 8 hour workday, Budweiser, and television” and then finding his LinkedIn, where he describes himself as “driving omnichannel excellence” and as “whimsical (after coffee).” You wouldn’t believe it from the splenetic angst of the Israfel zine, but the guy seems like he turned out happy and normal, with a few kids and a successful career. I wonder how the 21-year-old would see the 48-year-old, if he’d call him a sell-out or feel relieved that things worked out; if the 48-year-old would pity his former self, or feel ashamed about losing his edge. More one-time zinesters and hardcore kids end up looking square from a distance than you’d think (I certainly do if you catch me during the workday), because you usually stop hearing about them when they drop out of the scene. For most, the quiet part of life is the larger portion by far. It’s your choice whether to embrace that, mourn it, or seek your own alternative. But if Israfel reminds us of nothing else, it’s the importance of having a good scream at least once in your life.

364/365

#the locust #ape records #the panoply academy #architects of the new christ rebellion #criswell #harriet the spy #thenceforward #locust #inept #the weak link breaks #serotonin #old hearts club #twenty seven hours #eurich #the judas iscariot #reversal of man #screamo #post hardcore #d beat #grindcore #sasscore #zines #diy #selling out #'90s music #music review #vinyl record #emocore

[the-dirt-eater]

maybe I make a pinned post. as a treat. this blog is a mess. it’s got everything i love in it, so it’s not specific to anything. welcome to the train wreck etc

call me dirt! she/her, genderqueer-ish lesbian. deemed autistic via peer review. (not diagnosed bc that shits mad expensive. but my therapist says that I am ‘very likely’ autistic so.) I’m a menace and I sometimes bully people as a love language. please please tell me if something I say is too far for you and I’ll try to be more careful <3

use my ask box for anything! but especially music recs and fun facts :D

I’m 21 so minors… be cautious? I’m not always gonna be pg. curate your internet experience to your needs.

TERFs, SWERFs, ace/aro exclusionists, pro-lifers, anti-palestine, anti- sex ed, anti- critical race theory, or any other flavor of bigot not allowed. i’ll stomp you into a paste :)

also I will block accounts that look like bots. if u follow me and don’t have any activity on ur acc imma block u. i’ll usually give people a day to like put a profile pic up but if you don’t you’re gone. <3

i’m not always good at tagging. my bad

more specific stuff about me past the cut :3

super into plants and bugs and mushrooms and music. can crochet and learning to knit. I rarely do art but I’m slowly learning to be better at that too.

specifically currently interested in:

• punk/rock/indie music

• tarantulas

• jumping spiders

• isopods

• cockroaches

• california native plants

• terrariums

• minecraft

• cats :3

• pet web games (horse isle 2, star stable, recently got into flight rising)

also interested in (but less knowledgeable about):

• internet culture and history

• queer culture and history

• freshwater aquariums, including

- fishkeeping (bettas, comet goldfish, koi, various small tropical fish)

- shrimpkeeping!!!!

- aquascaping/aquatic plants

- low maintenance systems (no filter etc)

• video games and streaming

I watch way more youtube than is probably healthy so there’s that too.

omg I nearly forgot fandoms!!

currently obsessed with fall out boy and twenty one pilots. also into:

• hannibal

• good omens

• our flag means death

• heartstopper

• young royals

• community

• doctor who

• some minecraft/gaming youtubers and streamers (ranboo, tommyinnit, nihachu, grian, technoblade. ik he’s gone but still)

• hermitcraft but i’m not up to date ever

• unus annus (rip)

• dan and phil

• watcher entertainment/buzzfeed unsolved

• wings of fire

• percy jackson

probs more that i’m forgetting

music I like is. a bunch of genres tbh. indie, folk, punk, rock, some pop, video game music, some classic 2000s-2010s emo bands. very specific flavors of country-adjacent stuff. some psychedelic rock. more that i can’t think of. I have some halfway decent spotify playlists :P and here's my last.fm page

some bands/artists i like:

fall out boy

twenty one pilots

paramore

the crane wives

hayley kiyoko

los campesinos

the oh hellos

chloe moriondo

chappell roan

STRFKR

miracle musical

wallows

jack stauber

sir chloe

hozier

girl in red

jackie hayes

yea that’s me :) enjoy your stay here. drink water etc. bye!

last edited 2/23/2024

#common tags: #dirt speaks #music #art #save for later #other tags: #about me #pinned post

[northwest-cryptid]

oh mann. squeaking of music. you got any artists with slow relaxy type music you like? and what's your favorite instrument? and what are your top 3 video game ost's? ...three questions at once, the terrible tripler... but as a beast who loves music, i am always ravenous for music opinions...

Not gonna lie this is kind of a hard ask not only because it's a lot to answer about a topic I tend not to talk about much but because I don't really know artists so much as I know songs, and to top it all off I don't really do "top" stuff, or "favorite" stuff; it's hard for me to pick or rank a lot of the things I like, I use the term "one of my favorite" or "among the best of" when I talk about things I really like because more often than not I'd say that about ANYTHING I really like, I don't really have a favorite artist or a top OST or anything.

Most of my music consumption is random, I'll listen to playlists on youtube or soundcloud or bandcamp and such. A lot of the time an artist is less of a concern to me because majority of my experience has been that they have one song I really like, followed by about 12 more in the album that are kinda just okay but lack the style that I enjoyed so much.

That being said I'll do my best to answer since I do enjoy getting asks and you actually took the time to send me this so I will respect that by taking the time to answer it :D

Let's start with the chill relaxing stuff!

As far as Artists go if you don't mind some more kinda weird tones in your relaxing music I think Monster Rally is a great artist.

A few core examples of their vibe can be heard in Lovely You:

as well as one I really enjoy, Color Sky:

They have a very unique sound in my opinion and I have a lot of interest in this kind of music since it hits a weird spot for me somewhere between acoustic jam session and weird vaporwave-y daydream music.

Almost all their music is between 1 and 2 minutes and contains these short loops and layered instrumentals with occasional lyrical influences. It's pretty fun and keeps my ADHD at bay with no song being too long.

For something a little more pop-ish I also enjoy TV Girl though I don't know if their music counts entirely as "Relaxed" since it can be a little faster. I've listened to them for years, a lot of their music reminds me a lot of my time in an indie band. They play a lot of the "soft punk sad boy" type music I'd see a lot in the indie scene. I often find myself singing or humming along to these whenever I'm cleaning the house or cooking dinner.

A few tracks I like a lot are Birds Don't Sing:

Lovers Rock:

and The Blonde:

Though to be honest I like a good bit of TV Girl's music so I'm trying to not list entire albums here lol. I try not to get hipster about it because for whatever reason it became oddly popular as of the last couple of years and I heard someone refer to it as "weirdcore" once and nearly died on the spot. I don't even dislike Weirdcore I just have a lot of thoughts on the idea of what the hell a genre is at this point.

Important note I am also 100% the sort of person who chills out and relaxes to Happy Hardcore and Eurobeat. So please consider the fact that my idea of relaxed varies wildly from like lounge jazz to club hardcore depending on the day. (There's literally a song that came out 7 years ago called Chillcore and it summarizes my thoughts on the subject perfectly I'd have been 21 when that song came out and I still occasionally hear it and go "yea" to this day.)

As far as favorite instrument goes I'm very partial to drums, drums of any kind. I think they're overlooked so much but then I'm bias because I'm a drummer so like of course I love drums. Any song that makes good use of drums is okay in my book. I will never forget how hard I cringed when the Bassist in my band once said "Bass is more important than Drums any day of the week, I mean literally who has ever heard of a drum solo?" I just sat there like "dude why are we even in the same band if you don't value my contribution" though she was something else in terms of like... superiority complexes. Regardless!

I may not have a top 3 Video Game OSTs since there's so many good ones out there and so many good options depending on your mood, but I will list a ton of good ones depending on the kind of mood you're in.

To keep with the theme of chill tunes let's start with a banger and one of my favorite game OSTs as to also kind of answer top 3.

VA-11 Hall-A has an amazing OST and I'm going to do the really basic bitch thing of saying you gotta listen to Every Day Is Night:

I used to listen to this a lot whenever I worked my night shift, it gave the title a very literal meaning to me. The synth jazz was the perfect companion for long nights on the job when I needed to chill out and vibe for a bit.

Keeping in line with the relaxed but perhaps a bit more anxiety inducing; I've spoken about it a lot, you know it; you love it, it's Lobotomy Corporation's very own No Warning:

Lob Corps whole OST has some absolutely beautiful tracks, everything from techy synths and chimes to entirely orchestral sweeping performances. I have a soft spot for this game and it's OST, as well as the OST of Library of Ruina, it's sequel, for which I'd like to highlight Malkuth's Battle Theme:

Specifically the third tier emotion level of this song, never before have I heard "battle jazz" done so well, not only is it classy; but it KICKS ASS. There's so much I could say about this game and it's OST in terms of themes and such but I digress, for now we'll move on because I got a lot to go through.

Next up we're looking at a more fantastical setting with Mabinogi's OST, which has a ton of genuinely amazing music, but one I want to highlight is the major main theme of the game which will always give me chills and make me cry a bit from nostalgia. More specifically the version performed by the FILMharmonic Orchestra:

This song means more to me than I can properly explain, there's so much emotion behind it for me as someone who has played this game for half my life, who met my partner through this game; and who's life has no joke been absolutely changed by this game. The OST has always been a part of my life, we even play music from this game while decorating the house for various seasons. The entire OST is so varied and expansive and there's almost always something to fit my mood.

However when I'm looking for something more upbeat, and I need to get my blood pumping I turn to a bit more action oriented music, which is where games like ULTRAKILL absolutely fit the bill. I cannot warn you enough this song is the musical equivalent of shoving shrapnel in your ears, and I mean that in the most admirable way possible.

Heavy techno and metal vibes, you got electric guitar that's basically fighting the synth lead for the spotlight despite the two working in perfect harmony to encapsulate this absolutely disgusting rhythm.

However sometimes I want to be upbeat without the sensory overload which is when I turn to Xenoblade (takes place on Earth) to fill the niche. I've been really vibing to the jazzy upbeat nature of XC3's OST lately, and the game has been pretty fun too :D

Now see this is why I dislike answering all this in one ask, I can only post 10 videos per post. So now I just gotta link things like this:

Xenoblade 3 OST - Brilliant Wings AKA This Jazz Band Is Fighting For Their Life

I'll cut this short since Tumblr is an ass and won't let me keep posting videos, but I cannot stress enough that when it comes to music with me there are no "top 3" OSTs, or favorites. Music is a mood setter, it's a tone; it's a vibe. I gotta listen to the right music at the right time, if I'm not feeling up for it then I won't like it.

To me there's so much out there I love, and to limit myself to a top 3 is hard because it depends entirely on the day. If I'm going through a chill phase then I'm going to favor tracks with more relaxed and chilled out influences, if I've been mowing down hoards of demons in ULTRAKILL for the last 5 days straight you better believe I'm not listening to anything other than like DOOM OST and extremely thrashy techno.

I hope this answer is satisfactory regardless!

[trashboatprince]

Alrighty, here is something for this Reverse Omens au, with Aziraphale, the ex-musician, and Crowley, the plant shop owner, meeting after nearly twenty years since the first time they did. 

On with the fic!

--

It really was one of those wandering thoughts, you know the kind, where you let your mind drift and suddenly you become focused on something when you hadn’t meant to.

For Aziraphale, it had been the idea of his home having some greenery in it. He had read that plants can make a place seem more homey, welcoming, they can even be a stress reducer! If you manage to keep them alive after a month, of course. 

He thought about it for a while, then decided, yes, it was the right thing to do. While he loved his little shop of old objects and books, such things weren’t always so bright and colorful as a flowering plant or something with large, lush leaves. His shop was dusty, mainly shades of brown and tan, and smelled like old paper and something... off.

But it was his home, and had been for about twelve years now. Or, at least, twelve years since he finally came back from the states since his retirement in the music industry.

The shop had been a family business, but Aziraphale hadn’t really wanted to be involved in it when he was younger, more wild, and clearly doing things he shouldn’t be do. He really lived up to his nickname of the ‘Demon Bastard’ back in his youth, a complete change from the man he was now, who looked like he should be living in the mountains and had never once in his life wore studs or practically deep throated a mic on stage.

Which he had when he was very drunk and made a big, BIG mistake.

Aziraphale chuckled at the memory when it came to him as he grabbed for his jacket. There was no evidence in the shop of the days when he was Azrafel, lead singer and guitarist of the band The Fallen Few, a punk-rock band from the late 90s that disbanded in 2003 when... well...

Any evidence of his former persona lived in his flat above the shop, locked behind a door. Not to be forgotten, but mainly to be kept away from nosy people who were looking for the mysterious Azrafel since the break up. Like hell Aziraphale wanted that part of his life to be found, he was over it.

Even if he sometimes found himself writing new songs, or playing his guitar to get a tune out of his head and onto the strings.

He grumbled, grabbed for the cap he liked to wear nowadays, covered in little pins that he knew some would appreciate, and others would be very angry about. He smirked as he looked at the mirror near the door of his shop, seeing his reflection. Golden waves covered with his rude/cool hat, his beard was clean, his eyes were still hazel and blue as always. He looked fine, he was good.

There was a small glint of light near his neck and he looked at the source in the mirror. The little golden cross he wore had slipped out from under his shirt and he touched it. He wasn’t religious, had given that up years ago when his parents had thrown a fit over his interest in more than just girls, same with his love for ‘devil music’. No, the cross belonged to someone else.

To a young fan, the one that got away.

The cross, which had been damaged by what had to be teeth marks, was smoother now, from Aziraphale unconsciously touching it. One day, he’ll return it to the owner, if he can find them again.

But that would have to wait, he wanted some succulents for his shop. He put it back under his shirt and made his way out the door. 

--

There was a shop in Mayfield, a little plant and flower shop that was highly recommended, according to the internet, and all the photos on the shop’s official twitter account (which was the only social media they had), looked really nice. 

But then again, Aziraphale knew next to nothing about plants, so he was just going by how pretty the pictures were. 

He shoved his phone into his pocket and stepped into shop, hearing both a bell above his head, and what sounded like an ABBA song playing from a speaker on a shelf behind the counter. The shop was full of so many plants and flowers, a lot of variety, and Aziraphale felt a little intimidated. Maybe he should have looked up plants online before coming in without much to go off of.

“I’ll be with you in just a tock~!” Came a rather cheerful voice from the open doorway beyond the counter. 

“Take your time.” Aziraphale replied, going to take a look at a display of what looked like jars full of water with... balls of moss in them? What? Is this what the kids were into these days? 

Waterloo came up on the speaker, and he could hear the employee singing along with the lyrics and he nearly laughed, the employee sounded... like he wasn’t even trying to carry a tune.

He heard some movement and he looked over, seeing someone in the ugliest, brightest pink skinny pants he had ever seen walk out into the shop, their torso and face were obscured by a massive bouquet inside a large vase that looked very expensive. They seemed to be struggling and Aziraphale moved quickly.

“Here, let me.” He said, putting his hands on the vase, gently taking it from the employee.

“Oh! T-thank you! Sorry, it’s a really heavy order!” The guy said as Aziraphale turned to place it on the counter, making sure it didn’t topple over. “I shouldn’t gossip, but, like, a really important... person, of a level of government, specifically asked for it for his wife so she wouldn’t be upset about something he did. But you didn’t hear that from me!”

Aziraphale smirked, about to ask for a hint about who it could be, but he felt his breath catch in his throat.

There, standing in those ugly pants and an even more eye-searing yellow top, was them. The fan from the concert.

The owner of the cross.

It’s been, fuck... nearly twenty... twenty-four years? Probably? But how could he ever forget that face? Those red locks, that were much longer now, braided over one shoulder. Fuck, the glasses they were wearing were even the same, red and blue lenses in a cheap, plastic purple frame. They were taller, older, but it was them, that fan that stole Azrafel’s heart.

“Thank you so much for helping me, I wouldn’ve dropped it, and that’d be a disaster. That’s real crystal!” They were saying as they approached the counter, leaning on their folded arms. Aziraphale then noticed a name tag, it read ‘OWNER OF EDEN’S WALL, CROWLEY’.

“Uhh, y-yeah, would’ve sucked.” Aziraphale found himself saying, wanting to slap himself, that sounded terrible.

They, Crowley, blinked at him, biting their lip, almost to hide a smile as they looked down. “Well, we’re both lucky that I had a little help from an angel, eh?”

“Angel?”

Crowley gestured at their head, and it took Aziraphale a moment to realize that they meant his hat, where he knew there was a rainbow pride pin that looked like angel wings. He snorted, smirking. “Oh, please, I’m anythin’ but an angel. Used to be a real devil back in my youth, a fiendish li’l punk. A real bastard, some would say.”

He wondered if Crowley would pick up on his hints, did they remember him too? Or had too much time passed?

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true!” Crowley replied. “You were quite helpful, I don’t think a devil would have done so.”

Ah, yeah, probably didn’t remember him. Fuck. Still though... Aziraphale wasn’t going to let this slip from his fingers, not like before. He grinned, wagging a finger. “Ah, but he would, if he knew he could get something out of it!”

Crowley, gosh, the beautiful angel, glanced up at him, looking confused. “You... want something from me?” He glanced towards the till, but Aziraphale shook his head. 

“No, not in that sense. Think you can help a black-thumbed guy with the brains of a cat with finding the right kind of succulents for his shop?”

Crowley smiled brightly at this and oh, even after so long, Aziraphale felt his heart leap like it did all those years ago when they were alone together backstage.

--

If you guys like this, I might write more. Sorry if it’s a bit wonky, but it’s a basic establishing one-shot, not like I’m writing a fully fleshed out fic.

Maybe.

#john's drabbles #good omens #reverse omens #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses

[sug4rsweet]

THE SECOND COLLAB SINGLE … ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾

“CINDERELLA” is the second collaboration single by Kaori Takahashi, featuring girl group Allume (@flwrbankent !). Released on September 6th, 2013 by Avex Trax, the single was a critical and commercial success. It was a chart-topper and one of Kaori’s biggest hits, selling over 600,000 units in Japan alone and becoming the country’s 6th highest selling single, under Arashi, Exile, AKB48, and Kaori’s own singles “Black Night” and “Pop Diva.” Both Bonbons and Allume’s fanbase adored the song, and not only would it further endear Kaori to the Korean public, but it would also set the precedent for future collaborations between her and Allume.

TRACKLIST !

CINDERELLA (FT. アリューム / ALLUME) ! LEAD SINGLE

BE MY BABY ! B-SIDE

COMMERCIAL PERFORMANCE !

Oh, this single was slaying away!

It cracked over 200,000 sales within a week and was downloaded over 100,000 times, and it debuted atop the Oricon chart immediately. “Cinderella” was probably the most famous single from an artist in Japan because the way it was being played everywhere.

It remained on the Oricon chart well into 2014, and even when it dropped out of the Top 30 sometime in May, it was still charting! Japan loved this damn song!

It also found itself on the Gaon chart! It debuted at a very high No. 2 with over 110,000 sales, but it’s not surprising since Allume is so huge in Korea, and since Korean fans were gradually warming up to Kaori.

The biggest surprise of all, though, was how well “Cinderella” did in the states! It sold a little over 90,000 copies and debuted at No. 18 on the Billboard Hot 100, and the girls were absolutely floored at how close it got to cracking the Top 10. They were surprised that it even got into the Top 20!

Kaori had a pretty decently sized fanbase in the U.S. because J-pop was having a little Renaissance back in 2013, and her unique style and ability to speak English definitely endeared her to Western audiences! So of course “Cinderella” saw some success there!

Allume was a unfortunately niche thing to American audiences, but this got them so much exposure. A win-win!

It remained on the Billboard Hot 100 for about three weeks, and it remained on Gaon for nearly six, and it also charted in countries such as England, France, Australia, and the Philippines, and when I tell you critics were eating this single up, I mean it.

They especially loved how well Kaori and Allume’s voices went together, and they adored how “J-pop” it sounded! Like “Cinderella” really did combine the traditional idol sound with Kaori’s more mature, unconventional, Western pop style very well. By the end of the year, Billboard had listed the song as one of the best J-pop tracks of 2013!

“Cinderella” was truly a smash hit. Like everyone loved it and the collaboration was a match made in heaven!

AWARDS WON !

Best Collaboration Video at the 2013 MTV Japan Video Music Awards 2013 !

Best Hit Song at the 2013 FNS Music Festival !

Top Single Sales of the Year + Download Song of the Year at the 2014 Billboard Japan Music Awards !

Song of the Year by Download at the 2013 Japan Gold Disc Awards !

Best Collaboration + Popularity Award at the 2013 Mnet Asian Music Awards !

Hot Trend Award at the 2013 Melon Music Awards !

STYLING !

Now you know Kaori had to kick it up a notch!

For earlier performances during the Sweet 18 era, the styling was definitely a bit more casual and leaned into 2000s pop punk aesthetics/1970s rock ‘n roll, but here it was gothic and dramatic (with a pop girl touch, of course) all around! Like of course she had to match the song’s concept!

Around this time she got really into visual-kei (bands like L’Arc-en-Ciel and Malice Mizer) and more theatrical aspects, and her stage outfits definitely reflected that.

Lots of thigh high boots, suits that made her look like she hopped straight out of The Phantom of the Opera, lots of rhinestones and sequins and shiny fabrics that emulated seventies glam rock and early 2010s futurism, lots of capes, and Kaori even had on a sequined top hat at one point!

And of course, knowing her, there was inspiration taken from Namie Amuro lol. More specifically, from stage outfits she wore during the 2010s!

Kaori’s makeup remained mostly the same, but there was a lot of matching going on! There were rhinestones used and stars painted onto her face, and her stylists did floating eyeliner on her once! Of course Kaori’s eyebrows were still dyed, and she actually thinned them out for a couple performances.

The styling for “Cinderella” was definitely a precursor to what we would see for her Chinese debut and her tour, though, and the girls ate it up!

ERA HIGHLIGHTS !

Best micro-era ever! Kaori had so much fun!

Right after the single dropped, she wanted to perform on Music Station with Allume, but due to scheduling conflicts, that unfortunately didn’t happen at the time. :( However, it did end up happening shortly before Kaori went on tour!

The choreography was so well done! Most of the time it didn’t feel like “Kaori ft. Allume” because they all danced in a line, especially during the chorus. It almost looked like Kaori was Allume’s seventh member!

The girls had a TV interview together in Japan, and they appeared on Weekly Idol in Korea! Their Weekly Idol episode was hilarious like the way Marisol had to keep translating for her… 😭

There weren’t too many promos for “Cinderella” until the end of the year, but Kaori, Marisol, and Analise were that trio this era!

They were always hanging out and taking pictures and just being cute! One time after the MAMAs they went out for dinner to celebrate, and after one of Allume’s fans spotted them together Twitter went wild!

At the start of November, Kaori teased something at the MAMAs by posting a photo of her holding a card from the ceremony on her Instagram while en route to Korea. At this point everyone knew that she was performing, so of course they were all like “why is she being so cryptic lol.”

We got a video of her and Analise together in a practice room with the rest of Allume… 👀 and then it was radio silence for like 2 days.

But that was all on purpose!

Because after Allume’s performance at the MAMAs, we got a surprise performance of “Cinderella!”

And the stage was so cute, too! It was this huge gothic castle with a bunch of platforms that the girls stood on… definitely one of the best performances in MAMAs history, mhm!

Afterwards Kaori and Allume all went out for dinner again, and we also got a video of her and Marisol being surprised that they heard “Cinderella” in a store 😭

They were all “omg we’re famous!” Like of course you are, this song was all over Asia!

But the best part of this era?

They performed at Kaori’s tour!

The styling for her Seoul concert and specifically for “Cinderella” was insane! All seven of them looked phenomenal, and this performance was arguably better than their one at the MAMAs!

During Kaori’s encore she actually brought Allume back on stage! They were just having a good time up there playing with the confetti and waving goodbye, and Marisol and Kaori gave each other the tightest hugs ever lol.

Shortly after the era ended, though, some of Jinah’s fans started acting… a little strange!

Jinah has a resting bitch face, so when she and Kaori met at the MAMAs 2012 she did look a little mean, but that was just her regular face so all was well! However, since Jinah’s fans are so detached from their own idol, they somehow came to the conclusion that Jinah hated Kaori…?

They were all down Twitter talking about the “beef” she and Jinah had and just making up shit. Like one time Jinah’s fans were like “gotcha!” because a video of her shifting her position by taking a half inch step away from Kaori started spreading… like oh brother!

They were literally in Kaori’s comment section like “Jinah hates you…” she literally responded to one of them by saying “girl shut up” (verbatim!) and Jinah liked her damn Tweet!

Gagged actually!

While Kaori was touring in America, she was asked about the drama in an interview and she went “what drama?” Like she was confused!

She laughed it off and cleared everything up and the whole thing died down shortly after. Like Jinah’s fans were bending over backwards to start something and both of them didn’t give a shit!

Allume loves Kaori, you guys. Don’t worry!

All in all, collab of the year! Aside from… whatever the hell happened with Jinah’s fans, “Cinderella” was an absolutely incredible release! The public loved it, critics loved it, the girls had a great time, and their fans couldn’t wait for more! ♡

#🍬 … KAORI ! #DISCOGRAPHY ! #COLLABS ! #CONNECTIONS ! #fictional idol community #jpop oc #jpop oc soloist #jpop solo artist #jpop idol oc #jpop soloist #fake jpop idol #koc #koc soloist #kpop oc soloist #kpop female soloist #kpop soloist #kpop solo artist #kpop oc #fake kpop idol #fake idol #idol oc soloist #idol soloist #idol oc #fictional idol #fictional idol soloist #fictional idol oc #idolverse #ficnetfairy

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Punk Masterlist

baby i can be your payback (ao3) - crankgameplays luke/ashton N/R, 32k

Summary: Ashtons rich. Lukes not. Ashton hates his parents. Luke doesnt. Ashton uses Luke to get back at his parents. He wasnt supposed to, like, get a crush on him or anything.

coffee shop soundtrack (ao3) - malumqt (bunwuji) michael/calum, luke/ashton N/R, 2k

Summary: "You do know there's a sign outside saying that you're gay and single, yeah?"

aka the one where michael is a shy cutie, calum is a chill dude, lashton is lashtoning, and also calum happens to save michael from dealing with a homophobic person.

Eighteen (ao3) - boomercal luke/ashton E, 56k

Summary: Eighteen-year-old Luke is done putting up with his father and brothers so he takes his father's Corvette and credit card to track down Ashton Irwin. Who graduated a few years ahead of him and has a reputation for smoking, drinking and sleeping around; surely he'll be enough to make his dad meet his demands... right?

good girls (ao3) - no_clue_who michael/calum, michael/luke/calum E, 8k

Summary: “So Miss Perfect, is there another Perfect out there ready for you to get home so they can talk to you about equations? Or make you beg so much you forget about being so smart?” Michael leaned into Luke's space, nearly putting her head on her shoulder. She watched Luke skin flush, "Is there someone? Or are you alone?"

She watched as Calum bit her lip and Luke’s face turned red, “That is none of your business Michael! We aren’t here to learn about my life, we’re here for Calum’s study plans. You aren’t even supposed to be here.”

or Calum is failing her classes, Michael is her girlfriend and they wanna fuck Luke.

How He Moves (ao3) - thesoulsailor michael/luke, calum/ashton E, 30k

Summary: And Luke knew he was staring, he knew, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t pry his eyes away. Because the feeling that spread through Luke's body when he looked at the strange boy was the same he strived for when he danced. The stranger was consummate.

or Luke lives for the ballet, Michael lives for the moment, Ashton is a dance prodigy and Calum will do pretty much anything to win his boyfriend back.

i just know i can't stop thinking of you (ao3) - zialllovessterek luke/ashton T, 3k

Summary: When the cute boy from the coffee shop that Ashton's been ogling for weeks finally notices him, it's like a dream come true.

Or, the one with a wannabe tough guy who's secretly a softy, a coffee shop romance, and lots of blushing.

i just wanna be bad enough for you (ao3) - metallicmoons michael/ashton M, 2k

Summary: just a typical adorable nerd!ashton and punk!michael fic because those are honestly my favourite.

infactuation (ao3) - orphan_account luke/ashton T, 7k

Summary: “If I could give you one thing in life, I would give you the ability to see yourself through my eyes, only then would you realize how special you are to me,” Luke whispers, thumb ghosting over Ashton's damp cheek. Luke presses a light kiss to his forehead and Ashton screws his eyes shut, burying his head into Luke's chest.

Ashton keeps his problems buried, Luke wears his heart on his sleeve.

or the one where Luke is a punk tattoo artist and Ashton likes to think he's better than him.

KawaiiCalPal (ao3) - TheLarryDiaries michael/calum, luke/ashton M, 25k

Summary: Calum is an adorable YouTuber known as KawaiiCalPal. He's most known for his oversized sweaters and matching flower crowns. Also, he's in love with the world famous punk rock band, Swallow the Goldfish. But more accurately, the lead guitarist, Michael Clifford.

Luke, Ashton, and Michael are the three band members of Swallow the Goldfish. They all happen to be jelly beans, Calum's name for his subscribers. It's also quite obvious that Michael believes Calum is his 'soulmate'. It's also remarkable as Calum is very open with his homosexuality, and love for Michael.

It really started when Calum had the opportunity to interview the band for a video.

ღ kindness ღ (ao3) - orphan_account michael/luke T, 5k

Summary: "princess, you're fine, it's fine. c'mon, let's get you all cleaned up."

he may have tattoos and piercings, and his hair may be dry and fried from the constant bleaching, and he be an absolute menace and a horrible person, but he loved his sister with all his heart.

ღ until a certain luke hemmings stole his heart. ღ

milk (ao3) - w4st3d4u michael/luke E, 1k 

Summary: luke is kind of a trademark punk and michael's his soft little boy toy

Mockingbird (ao3) - thesoulsailor michael/luke E, 43k

Summary: Luke is blind, Michael is new and everything after they meet is nothing one of them would've ever expected.

Oil and Water (ao3) - dafeedil michael/calum E, 25k

Summary: Calum’s heart sinks a little bit, and he's not entirely sure why. Maybe it's because he's allowed himself to fall victim to Michael's seduction yet again, or maybe it's because he's disappointed in himself for being so willing to try something that could so easily be dangerous. Or maybe, the most likely of all, it's because he can hear Mali's voice in his head telling him how stupid he's been to have found himself—quite literally—backed against the wall like this, with a boy he barely knows whispering dirty promises into his ear when he doesn't even know the first thing about real relationships.

Or, Calum spends a night with the boy that smells like smoke, and as it always is with bad addictions, he keeps getting sucked right back in.

send your sins all over me (ao3) - orphan_account luke/calum N/R, 5k

Summary: Luke is the smartest kid in school and also the probably the dorkiest, but Calum can't stop thinking about him.

Social Casualty: Malum (ao3) - 5sosquiff michael/calum N/R, 4k

Summary: "N-Now?"

"No." Calum cursed at Michael digging his nails into the door again. Calum wrapped a hand around the base of his angry red cock to stop from cumming his face red and chest heaving from exertion.

"P-Please Daddy." Calum asked politely trying to sound less winy.

"Now."

Sunshine (ao3) - orphan_account luke/ashton, calum/ofc T, 3k

Summary: Ashton and Luke finally reconnect after not seeing each other for four days.

Feelings and doubts ensue.

(punk!luke and flower child!ashton + photographer!luke and baker!ashton)

The punk rock dude and his cute boyfriend (ao3) - azalea_21 michael/ashton N/R, 1k

Summary: Michael's a punk rock bad boy with a reputation and chirpy, overly friendly, cutest senior in their high school, Ashton is his boyfriend.

The Sweetheart and the Punk (ao3) - SuckonLarrysDick michael/luke G, 1k

Summary: "You know, even if my knuckles keep on splitting open, I won't stop punching people that push you around."

"Oh stop it Michael"

Or the one where Michael loves beating dickheads that bully his sweet boyfriend.

Windows to the Soul (ao3) - ashtonism luke/ashton, michael/ashton N/R, 7k (WIP)

Summary: Peeks from over books, timid glances around the corners, slow walks to class. He'd do anything to catch a glimpse at the boy who hide behind sunglasses and dark clothing. He was fascinating, a mysterious, a walking book just wanting to be opened and ashton.. Ashton just waited for the day he'd see the eyes behind those glasses, a look into the life of Luke Hemmings. You know what they say.. You're eyes are a window to your soul.

or

where Ashton is a shy little fuck and the bad boy who hides behind black glasses and smokes in the bathroom catches his attention and suddenly Ashton wants to know everything about him.

You Can Sin Or Spend The Night All Alone (ao3) - onceuponatime michael/luke, minor calum/ashton E, 7k

Summary: "“Uh, Michael this is Luke,” Calum says, gesturing with his free hand between the two men. “And Luke, this is Michael.” “’Lo, Michael,” Luke says, sipping at his warm beer. Michael gives him a dorky little smile-and-wave combo which looks so out of place, considering Michael looks like some 70’s punk band spat him out. Eyebrow piercing and all."

Luke and Michael meet at Ashton's band's show.

#5sosfanfictioncatalogue #5sos fanfic #calum hood #masterlists #punk #punk masterlist #au

[louisupdates]

Review: Louis Tomlinson Braves Texas Heat At ‘Faith In The Future Tour’ In Austin

PETER STAVROS | JULY 8, 2023

[📸 Mariana Garcia]

Louis Tomlinson said “I’m f-ing boiling, honestly I might pass out up here” as he prepared to give his audience, mainly composed of girls and women in their late teens and early 20s, another taste of nostalgia with a second song from his time in One Direction. Despite it being a scorching hot Texas summer night, “Where Do Broken Hearts Go” was screamed, not sung, by the nearly sold out crowd at the Moody Amphitheater in Austin, Texas last night (July 7).

The difference in enthusiasm from the crowd between his solo songs and the ones from his time in the mega group was clear. ‘Night Changes,’ which he gave a brilliant rock twist, had a much better reaction than even his biggest solo single ‘Kill My Mind’ – a clear indication that the longing for a One Direction reunion remains intact.

Not selling his music short, Tomlinson stuck to mainly his own discography. Other than the two aforementioned 1D tracks and a cover of the Arctic Monkeys’ ‘505,’ his 23-song setlist was made up mostly of songs from his recent album Faith In The Future with a few fan-favorites from his debut Walls. The title-track from the latter being a highlight of the night as it showcased his crisp, well-controled vocals. He was never a strong singer when put next to the likes of Harry Styles and Zayn Malik, but Tomlinson’s voice has improved tremendously in comparison to when he first came to prominance on the X-Factor UK in the early 2010s.

Throughout the show, Tomlinson looked uncomfortable – perhaps the heat was getting to him; at one point, sweating profusely, he sat down mid-song to drink some water. Even though he is known to be a very charismatic dude, his stage prescence lacked a bit. The few times he did address the crowd though, his smile awakened and his humble-nice persona was present. “This is the best part of the job,” he said about being on stage in front of his fans who “allow him to make the music he wants to make.”

And sure enough, Tomlinson has strayed away from the mostly pop spectacle that One Direction was. He has leaned more on the Britpop meets punk rock sound while still maintaining his meaningful, personal lyricism. After all, he was known to be the One Direction members most-involved with the songwriting.

Before the show, music from bands like The Killers, Nirvana, and the Pixies rumbled on the speakers. His likeness for that type of music is clear, yet it still seems like he holds back sonically. It could be that he does not want to fully lose the pop-infused anthems that have his fanbase on a stronghold. But deep down, it feels like he wants to lean on the rock moments even more.

Songs like the angsty, euphoric “Out Of My System” and the more catchy “Face The Music” turned up the heat even more. Production-wise the show was impeccable. For a tour mainly hitting amphithetaers and larger theaters here in the United States, there was a lot happening behind the 31 year-old singer: moving set pieces, massive strobe lights, and pyro put a huge contrast on the show against his very casual pants, sneakers, and sleeveless tank outfit. His look manifesting that Louis is all about the music.

This latest outing is a big step up for the singer from Doncaster, England. Tomlinson might not be the biggest star in the world, but his following remains strong and loyal. The spotlight he puts on his real craft, which is the music, is what is most important. He has carved out a special place in music for himself and his live show is solid proof of it.

The Faith In The Future World Tour continues through the end of July with shows in North America before heading to Europe through November.

Show Score:

4/5

[This review is a music blog]

#louis press #louis tomlinson #fitfwt23: austin #7.7.2023

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Mass Teen Fainting

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/JN1mvrK by holographic_charizard "'Thank’s for coming out,' the girl rasps into the mic, her mouth nearly brushing against it as she speaks, 'I’m Dick and we’re Mass Teen Fainting, fucking listen to us or not, I don’t give a shit.” She waves her hand dismissively at the crowd and pushes herself off the mic stand quickly before turning around and getting herself settled behind the drum kit. She adjusts the mic there so that it’s close to her mouth too, before clacking her drumsticks together and counting off, one, two, three, four—" It's 1996, and Jay Todd is the frontman of a punk band making its way through the L.A. punk scene. Obsessed with the idea of 'making it', Jay is tired of her band's lack of commitment, leading her in search of a new drummer. In comes Dick Grayson, drummer and lead singer of the girl-punk group Mass Teen Fainting, and her boyfriend Roy Harper, who barrel their way into her life and somehow make their home there. Words: 3345, Chapters: 1/13, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: Multi Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Roy Harper, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Koriand'r (DCU), Rose Wilson, Barbara Gordon, Slade Wilson Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Roy Harper, Dick Grayson/Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Slade Wilson Additional Tags: Band Fic, Dick Grayson is Not Adopted, Female Dick Grayson, Female Jason Todd, Useless Lesbians, Polyamory, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd are not siblings, No Incest, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Punk Rock, Dick Grayson-centric, Jason Todd-centric, Jason is a music snob, Slade Wilson is Dick Grayson's Parent, Good Parent Slade Wilson read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/JN1mvrK

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the caped crusader #the dark knight #dcu #ao3 #ao3feed