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metalhoops · 1 year

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The place was Chicago. The year was 1990.

It was early enough into the year that the term ‘1990′ still sounded space aged. It’d been the 80s for as long as Eddie cared to remember. It was late enough in the year that everyone kept telling him winter was over. Nevertheless, he wore the leather jacket he’d ‘borrowed’ from his ex-boyfriend. Spring in Chicago was worse than a million L.A. winters.

Eddie hated California on principle, but his record label was in Burbank. Despite the band being one of the biggest rising stars in the metal scene, he didn’t have room to get cocky. He’d spent the break between tours last year with his aforementioned ex-boyfriend in his New York apartment.

The place had been small enough that smoking with the windows open felt like a hotbox session. There was one window in the apartment. It was in the bathroom and only opened an inch if you could get it to open at all. It wasn’t the rockstar life he’d fantasised about back in high school, but he was getting by.

So how the hell did he end up in Chicago? He was getting there.

As the filmmaker he’d slept with in Toronto had told him, opening in media res was the best way to hold an audience's attention. Was that what Eddie was doing? Trying to retell the shitshow of his life back to himself? Trying to make sense of it all, make it climax to something meaningful? Maybe.

Eddie had gotten into the habit of keeping a journal, mostly for lyrics. The band was meant to be recording their third full-length studio album in a matter of months and Eddie only had three songs that were worth anything. To make matters worse, the other two had been concept albums.

Corroded Coffin’s first and sophomore albums had been different enough that the band hadn’t been boxed into anything. Yes, they were a metal band, but they got their fair share of punks, goths and even a handful of yuppies that’d shown up to their gigs in the past. Hell, their opening act had been a grunge band. It sounded pretentious as fuck, but Eddie wasn’t afraid to transcend genres. The metal scene was changing. They had to learn to change with it.

The nail in his goddamn Corroded Coffin was that the band were known for their concept albums. Their first album Knightmare was a D&D-inspired thrash, metal album. Think Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow, with a few more homoerotic undertones. Their next album, Dream Dimension was more sci-fi leaning. It told the story of an unnamed group of kids who’d stumbled into another dimension. It was a little more glam metal. Some of the B-sides like ‘My Year’ and ‘Lakeside Interlude’ had been downright shoegaze. One magazine had likened the story to Dream Warriors, which Eddie thought was fitting.

It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t have ideas for the next album. That was the problem. Eddie did have an idea. He just couldn’t write the damn thing. It was meant to be his magnum opus, the third album that’d stand on its own but also interconnect with the other two.

He’d call it Daydream. It followed the story of a white-collar guy living the perfect nuclear family life, complete with a white picket fence and a Malibu Barbie, dream house. The thing was, the dude was miserable. He’d spend all his free time daydreaming about adventure and forgotten realms.

The kicker was halfway through the album the listener would realise the guy was the titular knight from Knightmare. His perfect suburban life was turned upside down when his kid disappeared à la portal to another dimension. It’d be perfect. All Eddie had to do is write it, and that was the damn thing. He couldn’t.

All his albums were about something. There was always a meaning beneath the meaning. Knightmare? Easy, that was about escapism. Dream Dimension? It was about growing up too fast. Daydream? That was more complicated.

Daydream was why Eddie needed to write in his journal. It was why he needed to remember that the year was 1990 and that he was in Chicago.

The thing was, Eddie didn’t remember writing Dream Dimension. There was a 1988 sized hole in his memory between their first and second US tours. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what caused it. In their early days, they were practically paid in 8 Balls and party favours. Eddie always had an addictive personality and getting into anything stronger than weed had been a bad idea.

It wasn’t until his bandmates had an intervention that he’d been able to see the forest through the trees. Realising there was a whole chunk of his life he’d missed out on was petrifying. So, Eddie kept a journal.

He’d been sober for almost a year. He was practically fucking straight-edge without all the pretentiousness that came with it, but he knew one slip-up was enough to send him spiralling. That was how he ended up in Chicago.

It was the last show of their Dream Dimension tour, and they were in Chicago. Eddie was always lively on stage. Gareth had abandoned one of his drumsticks during a solo only for Eddie to run across the stage, slip and bite the dust with his ankle going one way and the rest of him going another.

He’d woken up in a hospital with a lump on his ankle the size of a baseball and the uncomfortably familiar feeling of being high off his face on painkillers.

To answer the question, Daydream was about getting older. It was about being okay with getting older. It was about doing it your own way. Back in the thick of it all, it’d looked like Eddie wasn’t going to make it to thirty. He was trying to be okay with the idea that he might.

Last year, Jeff got married to a nice girl who’d been their costume designer for their first music video. It’d shaken him in a way he didn’t know how to explain. He was in his mid-twenties, yet suddenly he felt old. Wayne had retired and with Eddie’s help brought a Winnebago. He was probably fishing in Nebraska right now.

See, the thing about the titular character in Daydream, was that he’d conformed to what life was supposed to be. By the end of the album, he’d have left that life behind for another, one of action and adventure, because Eddie could never understand why Dorothy wanted to leave Oz for fucking Kansas. Fuck Kansas, on principal.

Something about the album wasn’t clicking. Knightmare was leaving his boring life but ultimately, he was alone. Was that what getting older was all about? Being okay with being alone? When you were gay in 1990, it might be.

After the tour ended he hadn’t wanted to go back to his apartment in Burbank. He hated it there. He’d entertained the idea of heading back to New York but it was depressing. It reminded him of Jack, and how so many of their friends weren’t around anymore.

When all was said and done, he and Gareth decided to stay in Chicago. He never said it out loud, but Eddie was sure his friend had stuck around to keep an eye on him.

Sometimes, Eddie just wanted someone to come home to. Maybe that was why he’d had a string of shit boyfriends. If you weren’t picky, people would walk all over you.

Jack had been the one that’d made Eddie swear off dating. It wasn’t worth the trouble. He’d rather die alone. His name wasn’t even Jack, it was Corey, but everyone called him Jack. Short for Jacket. Eddie wished he was joking. That should’ve been the first red flag.

The thing about Corey was he always wore the same goddamn custom-made, leather jacket, all year round. He’d liked having sex in front of his full-length mirror with Eddie always on his knees, which should’ve been at least a yellow flag. He never liked anything gentle. Corey liked the idea of having a rockstar boyfriend more than he actually liked Eddie or monogamy. That was why when Eddie left, he took his jacket.

He didn’t know why he was still wearing it, but he was. He pulled it on as he hobbled in his moon boot across the street from his and Gareth’s rented apartment to the record store. He hadn’t gone outside in a week, and he was about to start climbing up the goddamn walls. He just needed to go somewhere, and Eddie loved record stores, especially little indie ones.

Once inside, Eddie noticed the place was practically empty save for the guy behind the counter. They had an eclectic mix of records and zines lining the shelves. Eddie was glad the place was quiet. He didn’t have to worry about being spotted. It wasn’t like they were The Beatles. They could go places but in a big enough crowd, he was sure to turn a few heads. Some days, Eddie just wanted to disappear.

They had Corroded Coffin records on the display shelf and a couple of magazines with his band's name on the cover, which made pride swell in Eddie’s chest, but he wasn’t here for stroking his ego. He wanted to know what other people were doing and get back in touch with the scene.

He was busy sifting through the bargain bin when he felt someone slide in beside him. He cringed, almost expecting it to be some over-enthused metal head with a pen and a Corroded Coffin tee shirt, but it was just the dude behind the counter.

“Sorry, can I squeeze past?” the guy mumbled, a crate of records awkwardly tucked beneath his shoulder.

Eddie did his best to make himself small, his dumbass ankle making a simple task seem like an effort. He didn’t miss the way the man’s free hand brushed over his side as he passed, as though trying to assure Eddie stayed stable.

“Place sure is quiet,” Eddie observed glancing over at the man.

His jeans were fitted, tight in all the right places. He’d rolled up the cuffs of his shirt to reveal more of his bicep than Eddie deemed necessary and god his hair. There was something about his hair. Something about him seemed familiar. Eddie really hoped they hadn’t hooked up once. That’d be awkward as hell.

“Yeah, we usually close around five,” The man replied putting an album on the shelf.

It was almost six. Shit.

Eddie hated when people did that. They treated him differently because his name was in the papers. Everyone wanted something from him, and they thought doing favours was a good way to win him over. It wasn’t. The guy could clearly see something shift in Eddie.

“It’s no big deal. I have to stay an hour late to replace the stock, plus my roommate has a girl over, so I’d rather be here,” The boy laughed, shooting a look at Eddie over his shoulder, a stray strand of his perfect goddamn hair falling in his face.

The boy paused, teeth worrying away at his lower lip, his hand falling to his hip as his eyes searched Eddie's face.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asked.

And there it was. Sometimes people did that. They played dumb about who he was before making a big goddamn deal out of it. Eddie suddenly wanted to crawl back to his apartment and spend another month in isolation.

The boy snapped his fingers in triumph.

“Munson,” He practically shouted and holy fucking shit, that wasn’t what Eddie expected.

No one knew his last name, not his real one. Everyone changed their names when they got famous. He’d gone for something simple, Eddie Emerson, it had some alliteration, just like Corroded Coffin. It wasn’t too far from his real name but not even the die-hards knew him as Munson.

Then Eddie remembered.

This guy was Steve goddamn Harrington. He didn’t remember many people from high school, but he remembered Steve.

“Harrington,” Eddie breathed in disbelief. To his surprise, Steve screwed up his nose.

“Unfortunately,” He admitted and stuck out a hand expectantly. Eddie leaned down and clasped Steve’s hand. From what he remembered of Steve, the guy had never been this friendly.

“Nice to re-meet you I guess. I’d like to think I’ve changed a little in over five years.” He had, Eddie didn’t know how to explain how he knew, he just did. It was something about the way the boy held himself.

“What brings you to Chicago?” He asked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that one of Eddie’s records was sitting on the shelf beside him. Honestly, it was a breath of fresh air to find someone who didn’t know who he was. He could keep the charade up a little bit longer.

“Oh you know, work stuff,” Eddie answered vaguely, toying with his hair.

That was something he did when he was flirting and holy shit, he needed to squash that right goddamn now. He wasn’t looking to date anybody, and he remembered Steve being very straight in high school. He needed to save himself from another heartbreak.

“You live in Chicago now?” Eddie asked. The‘ because you didn’t seem like the type to ever leave’ was implied.

“Yeah. Rob, my roommate, she practically dragged me here. We’ve been attached at the hip since I graduated. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else I wanted to be,” Steve answered.

A little detail about the statement screamed for Eddie’s attention.

“The same roommate that has a girl over?” He pressed and watch Steve fold his arms over his chest, all huffy indignation locked and loaded, begging for Eddie to choose his next words wisely.

“The same,” he confirmed. Now that Eddie knew, he noticed they were selling a couple of queer zines. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Steve might just be progressive.

“I thought you were meant to be the lady's man, Steve,” Eddie tried hoping that was enough to make Steve’s defences fall. To his surprise, Steve snorted and shook his head.

“Like I said, lots changed since high school. My luck in the dating department couldn’t be worse,” he admitted as he returned to stacking the shelves.

Eddie watched the planes of his back move beneath his shirt, wanting to push himself against him, to feel what it was like for Steve to move beneath him.

He really needed to get a hold of himself.

“Couldn’t be worse than my luck,” Eddie rebutted offhandedly.

Steve shook his head and shot Eddie another glance over his shoulder. He inhaled deeply as though preparing to tell a long story. Eddie leaned against the shelf to show Steve he was all ears.

“Last month, I went on a date with a girl and she asked me if she could call me by her ex-boyfriend’s name,” Steve began.

Eddie screwed up his nose in response.

“Worse still, I was so shocked she’d asked, I just agreed to it.” It was Eddie’s turn to snort.

“Stevie, you didn’t.”

Stevie. Goddamn Stevie. Don’t do this to yourself, Munson. Pet names are one step away from a full-blown crush.

“I did. Do I look like a ‘Juan’ to you?” Steve asked honestly. The question had Eddie doubled over in stitches.

“Alright, alright. That’s pretty bad, but that’s one bad date,” Eddie reasoned.

“Dude, I wasn’t finished. The girl before that realised she was a lesbian, while on a date with me. Which is like... the third time that’s happened,” Steve admitted.

Eddie’s hand had betrayed him and returned to toy with a strand of his hair. He hid behind it as he tried to mask a laugh. This guy did have shit luck.

“You’re a lesbian magnet,” Eddie reasoned watching as Steve hid behind his hands.

“And the time before that, I thought I was getting somewhere with a guy. We’d been on three dates before he told me he had a wife.”

Steve made the next confession a little quieter than the others, a little more reserved. Eddie felt the hairs on his arm stand on end. Steve had changed since high school.

“Once I hooked up with a guy who’d only give me head if I sang to him while he did it,” Eddie admitted, feeling the need to get Steve off the defensive and add to the pity party. He watched the boy’s features shift.

“Oh wow, that’s bad. You should’ve pretended to be tone-deaf,” Steve reasoned, once more proving he had no idea what Eddie did for a living.

“See I was torn between that and singing La Cucaracha at the top of my lungs.” Steve snorted, honest to god snorted.

The two lapsed into silence but it was a comfortable one. Steve smoothed down his hair five times within the space of a minute before taking a deep breath.

Eddie knew what was coming. He wasn’t dumb, but a part of him would always be trapped back in high school. It kept screaming there was no way a popular kid like Steve would talk to a loser like him. He thought he’d buried that part of himself, yet here it was, rising from the dead.

“Do you want to get a drink?”

And there it was. Eddie didn’t mean to cringe, but Steve caught it, his hands stuffed themselves into the too-tight back pockets of his jeans.

“Or not,” He muttered averting his gaze.

“No. It’s not that. I... I don’t drink.”

There you go Gareth. He was responsible enough to look after himself.

“I could do dinner though,” Eddie tried to throw Steve a bone.

Eddie waited for Steve to throw up one of the red flags he’d gotten used to seeing with all the men he’d dated or hooked up with. Eddie would say he didn’t drink, and they’d give him a funny look or mutter something about him being a killjoy.

“There’s a place that does a wicked deep-dish pizza not far from here. You said you weren’t from Chicago, right? You’ve gotta have the pizza, it’s a rite of passage,” Steve ploughed on.

“Sure,” He muttered trying not to look as surprised as he felt.

He watched Steve buzz around the record store, shutting up shop and then extending a hand shyly to Eddie. Right, his stupid goddamn leg. At least it gave him an excuse to get up close and personal with Steve in the street and not draw too much attention.

The two made the short walk to the pizzeria at a plodding pace, talking about nothing in particular.

“What happened to your leg?” Steve asked as they slid into the booth.

“Slid on a drumstick and took a nosedive off a stage,” Eddie admitted. He wasn’t going to outright lie to Steve.

“Ouch,” Steve mumbled, passing the menu over to Eddie.

“So, you still do band stuff? I remember that high school talent show,” Steve noted, and Eddie cringed, letting his head drop to the table.

“I really wish you didn’t,” He chuckled before confirming,

“Yeah, I still do band stuff,” as he raised his head and chanced a glance at Steve.

“Cool,” was all he said before they shifted the subject.

They were swapping stories about best friends, roommates, shared high-school trauma and generally flirting when a figure approached their booth. It was a kid, who couldn’t be older than fifteen with a shaved head and a battle jacket. He reminded Eddie of himself at that age. He knew what was coming.

“You’re Eddie Emerson, right? From Corroded Coffin,” the kid asked, his hands shaking. He watched as a furrow appeared on Steve’s brow before his jaw dropped. So Steve wasn’t totally clueless.

“One and only. You want me to sign something for you?” Eddie asked, having gone through this song and dance a million times before. He tried to be nice, after all, it was a kid, but sometimes he got tired of always having to be on.

To make matters worse it happened in front of Steve. Something about people coming up to him always sat wrong with other guys he’d been with. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or ego that did it, but he knew if he ran into a fan on a date, the rest of the night typically went sideways.

He signed the back of a napkin as he listened to the kid rattle off praise for their music. He talked about his favourite songs and lyrics. Eddie wished he knew what to say, wished he knew how to take a compliment but he didn’t. To his surprise, he heard Steve speak.

“Hey, did you make this?” Steve asked indicating the kid's battle jacket, forcing him to come up for air.

“Yeah, all on my own.”

The kid blinked and ran his hand over a couple of the hand-sewn patches. Steve obviously knew nothing about the scene because if you didn’t make your own jacket people would call you a poser. It was a nice shout though because he watched the kid light up.

“Even the safety pins?” Steve asked curiously.

Eddie watched as the kid launched into a story of every little pin and stitch in the jacket, turning his attention away from Eddie, and giving him space to catch his breath. It was nice. He felt like Steve had seen him.

After another few minutes, the kid’s dad came to collect him and Eddie felt his body sag against the diner booth.

“You get that all the time?” Steve asked, his foot nudging Eddie’s under the table.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” He grumbled scrubbing his face. Steve nudged his foot again, giving him a goofy grin.

“At least he liked your stuff,” He proposed.

“I’m guessing it’s not your thing,” Eddie reasoned. He wasn’t one for stereotypes, but he really didn’t look like the typical Corroded Coffin fan.

“I’m not too picky when it comes to music. I just listen to top forty stuff.” Eddie shot him a disbelieving look.

“Dude you work in a record store,” he laughed and Steve shrugged.

“Among other things. I just got the job to hang out with Robin. She works there too. She only took the job to try and peddle her girlfriend Nancy’s zines. Sometimes I write the sports section because Nancy, Robin and Jonathan don’t know anything about sports.” Eddie rested his head in the palm of his hand, listening attentively.

“Wait, is that the same Nancy that you dated back in high school?” He asked, trying to sound scandalised, glad to have a break from the rock star bullshit.

“Like you said, lesbian magnet,” Steve grumbled, mirroring Eddie’s gesture, resting his head in his hand.

“What are you actually doing in town?” Steve asked, more curious than nosy.

“Trying to run away from writing our third album,” Eddie spoke.

It’d been the first time he admitted it out loud. He didn’t talk about his music until he thought it was worth something, but Steve was a good listener. To Eddie’s surprise, he found himself spilling his guts to Steve. He told him all about the third album, about the goddamn symbolism, and the way things just weren’t clicking.

“Why don’t you give him a reason to stay?” Steve asked when Eddie finished his monologue, as though it was the simplest solution in the world.

“I mean, Dorothy doesn’t go back to Kansas because she doesn’t like Oz, she misses home. She misses her family. You want your knight guy to stay in fantasy land? Give him someone to stay for,” Steve proposed, and it was like the final puzzle piece sliding into place. It was brilliant.

“Stevie, I could kiss you,” Eddie spoke.

“Is that a promise?” Steve asked with a cheeky grin.

“Let’s get out of here and find out.”

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foxes-that-run · 5 months

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2017 Haylor Timeline

Timeline Tag, or years 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023 and 2024.

3 January - Taylor "based in London" (end of Cornelia St period)

5 January - date of Harry’s leak “lately” recorded. Anniversary of clear blue water/rain on window posts which may be their last break up anniversary. He was pictured in London

13 January - Taylor was in LA papped at the the gym in LA. The scenario she told secret session fans she wrote DWOHT

21 January - Harry goes to LA

22 January Joe in Paris

28 January - Harry in LA

1 February - Harry's Rose Ring maybe at his birthday in Malibu 1 February 2017. Taylor posts a video of her and Gigi singing along to "I Don't wanna live forever" for the first time on the radio, which ‘happens’ to be on Harry's birthday.

youtube

5 March - Rose Ring seen clearly at Studio in London.

15 March - Harry at JFK

Late March. Behind Album performances likely recorded at Abbey Road, they appear in the documentary in May and Harry was holding Ben’s daughter who looks about 3-4 months. Harry’s hair is also shorter than it was 5 March, a similar cut April 21.

4 April- Taylor recording Rep in Nashville 'to avoid paparazzi'‘. Joe in London

7 April - Sign of the Times released

18 April - Harry’s rolling stone interview where he leaves the table over her name and tips his hat and ex because it’s all for them

21 April - Harry on Graham Norton, performs sign of the times and writes Spanish girl that later leaks backstage.

26 April - Harry in Paris for nrj

29 April - Harry is papped wearing the same St Laurent shirt Calvin copied for the Ole music video, on the date Taylor later identified in High Infidelity.

8 May - harry driving in London using phone behind wheel wearing packers hat with Tess ward

9 May - Harry today show with the pink suit when he performs Stockholm. Xander and Jeff there. Harry dating Tess Ward

11 May Tess ward posts a photo of Harry’s kitchen with his cap in and is never seen again

12 May - Harry styles debut released, behind the album released just after. Cute Nick Grimshaw interview with 2 ghosts question

15 May - behind the album released, includes parts of performances.

16 May - Joe and Taylor rumored dating. Harry went on Carpool Karaoke

17 May - Tess ward wore a shirt Harry wore in an interview

19 May - Harry at troubadour ONO. James, Jeff and Xander there carpool karaoke, Harry sang IKYWT in broadcast not you tube.

youtube

20 May - Haylor anniversary. Debut one night gig, Stevie Nicks comes, Harry emotional on stage in Landslide with Stevie Nicks. Harry lists LA house, reported on the 22nd, sold in 2019.

5 June - first Joe mention in blinds

15 June - Harry follows Camille on IG, fans abuse her.

20 June - HS stepdad passed away :( H Tess BUA

July - Harry NY in bar with Xander

4 July - Karlie Kloss posts a photo with Kendall in Paris, the internet realises KK is out

14 July - End Game written. Kendall came to Harry's show.

21 July - Harry and Camille seen together, Nick mentions her and she is in the background of a fan photo.

19 July - Dunkirk released

27 August - LAWYMMD video, Karlie not on junior jewels shirt, Kendall tea time reenactment, Katy car crash and she eats a lobster in a cage.

28 August - Taylor deletes instagram

31 August HS releases two ghosts re riding from BTA performances

3 September - Taylor at Abigail's wedding Martha's vineyard.

Sept 2017 – 14 July 2018 - Harry Styles Live on Tour

September - Watermelon Sugar written

20 September - Harry LA, Greek Theater, wears same custom Gucci suit as Kiwi Music Video, with roses. Shania Twain comes and posts a photo of them together. Plays 'Still the One' on Kazoo in Grammy Museum interview. Taylor at Cara's London for month

27 September - Harry released Two Ghosts and Girl Crush as a Spotify Single recorded in Metropolis London, and photos of him recording it. Two days before he performed it in Nashville

28 September - Harry wears red in the Radio City music hall, NY plays Story of My Life in full and has an aborted heart kiss.

29 September - Taylor releases Spotify playlist of 70 songs. Anniversary of Harry’s “we don’t need no piece of paper tweet” and Harry’s another man mixtape. Song 7 is Boys, 20 is Liam Gallagher "for what's worth", followed by "miss you". 27 is We don't deserve love, Niall Horan is at 37 "Too much to ask", it also features Ariana Grande, Kesha, Kings of Leon, Bon Iver, 57 is Perfect by Ed Sheeran, the same name as the 1D song. It ends with #70 'She's casual' about a guy falling in love with a fling.

14 October - Phoenix - During Meet me in the Hallway (1:39). After “I walked the streets all day” before “running with the thieves”. This was Harry's last US show

October - Liam said he saw Harry at the Bowery Hotel

25 October - Harry performs in Paris, he cries on 'even my phone misses your call' twice in FTDT (1:53 and again 3:30). Taylor was in Nashville for Rep Secret Sessions.

8 November - kiwi video released with Taylor looking kid

11 November - Taylor in NYC

10 November - Reputation released end game radio single on 14th

13 November - blind item that This Is What You Came For was about Harry

17 November - the HS behind the album performances released, first seen in BTA

28 November - Harry performs VS Show, Taylor cancels. New Years Day released as a single 27 November.

10 December - Taylor performs then watches Ed's show with Joe at Jingle Bell Ball London

12 December - Taylor and Joe in NYC

Continue in 2018

#haylor #Youtube #haylor timeline #2017

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madrigaljail · 11 months

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Modern Celebrity AU Headcanons

Because I'm writing a thing for it and it's on my mind.

The triplets' matching tattoos were Julieta's idea; they got them when Bruno moved back to New York after the accident.

Casita is exactly like Casita, maybe a little bigger, and is located between Malibu and Santa Monica. Pedro and Alma built it not long after their wedding, and Alma is convinced it's alive and/or haunted by Pedro. It was damaged slightly in the Northridge Quake not long after Los Trillozos broke up.

They don't have their gifts but they KINDA do? Like, following Julieta's recipes is guaranteed comfort food, the weather tends to reflect Pepa's moods, Bruno gets deja vu a lot (and may or may not have prophetic dreams), Isabela has a green thumb, Dolores has perfect pitch and echoic memory, Luisa's as big and buff as canon and a natural athlete, Camilo...see below, and Antonio bonds easily with animals. Oh, and Mirabel is fashion.

Camilo's a VERY good actor; their big breakthrough role was a Tatiana Maslany/Orphan Black-style one actor with lots of roles situation and they killed it. They can morph their voice and mannerisms in uncanny ways, almost like a shapesifter!

Bruno has a tricky relationship with his elder nieces because he was at his worst while they were growing up, and eventually they were old enough to figure out why he did what he did. When he came home after the accident it took a while for them to trust him, but things do get better.

Meanwhile Camilo and Mirabel and later Antonio took to him right away, and their acceptance helped him a lot in his recovery.

Felix was a session musician who worked with Pepa on her first solo album, "[insert storm-related title here]", and fell in love with her. They had a whirlwind (lol) romance culminating in a destination wedding in Puerto Rico. Some jackass whose name rhymes with Schmuno went on a bender and missed his flight. The delayed ceremony took place as a hurricane came ashore.

Agustin is a lawyer. IDK how h and Juli met but they eloped. It was amazing.

Luisa is a Olympian (living the dream!). Do no ask me her sport I go back and forth. Probably some kind of track and field.

Bruno is on record stating that, if a movie is made about his life, Lin-Manuel Miranda is not allowed to play him.

Asks open, feel free to request elaboration or ask about other aspects of this 'verse.

#encanto hedcanons #my writing #modern celebrity AU #a perfect constellation

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carolmunson · 2 years

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bad blood (part one) (stella's version)

(A CROSS OVER FOR THE AGES FEATURING @ROLLERGIRLWORLD ’S BOXER!STEVE AND LIBRARIAN!READER) (18+) (ROCKSTAR!EDDIE X ACTRESS!READER)

TENSIONS ARE HIGH WHEN YOU FINALLY RUN INTO STEVE AGAIN AFTER HE MADE YOU CRY IN HIS KITCHEN IN MALIBU – CALLING OUT YOU AND EDDIE’S BAD BEHAVIOR. THE TRAINING FOR YOUR NEW OSCAR BAIT MOVIE IS ON THE LINE, BUT WILL THINGS GO TO BLOWS BEFORE YOU EVEN LEARN HOW TO THROW A JAB? WHY IS EVERYONE SO ON EDGE?

Do they know something you don’t? READ FROM LIBRARIAN!READER’S PERSPECTIVE HERE.

warnings and such: smut implications/almost smut, fingering/teasing, name calling, drug mention, swearing, blood mention, intense toxic behavior from a one steve harrington, angst, crying, some kissing, not really ‘ignoring’ per se – but feeling ignored by partner (also: photo above does not imply that that’s my HC for stella – i don’t use descriptors outside of clothing, just was a cool lady boxer pic) lastly, i don’t use 'Y/N’ in fics, filler name is stella rink, argue with the wall. and super lastly, if you’re under 18, don’t read my content.

“Oh no, I think they took a different exit,” you said with a frown, looking out of the back window of Eddie’s black Jeep Cherokee. Your assistant and manager had been following you from the hotel to the gym, but neither of them knew Toronto very well – to be fair, neither did Eddie. He had one eye on the road and the other on a map propped up on his knee, jaw tight and his grip on the wheel with his ringed hand even tighter. His tongue stuck out on the corner of his lip while he tried to concentrate.

“Baby, I’m not saying this in a mean way, but please stop talking,” he pleaded, “Let me just figure this out.”

The heavy churn of Judas Priest’s Painkiller album was screaming through the sound system, making your anxiety even higher. Ed told you it would be good ‘pump up’ music before you went in for your first training session, but it couldn’t have made you more overwhelmed. You sat back down in the passenger’s seat, watching the road and the piles of snow building up on the meridians of the highway. You’d never boxed before, you barely did your own stunts – and hey, neither would anyone else whose legs were insured for forty million dollars. The training was for a movie – your first big drama, absolute Oscar bait – where an about-to-be pro, female boxer is down on their luck and stuck in a man’s world. If you had just erased the boxer part, you might as well have been playing yourself. Quick witted, snarky, tough, self reliant and self sufficient, all listed in the character description – Eddie laughed when he read it, “All it’s missing is your loud mouth and then it’s just you on a Monday morning.” Since you had just wrapped a few episodes of a new mini-series in Canada, and the movie would be filming here, it made sense to get you right into training here, too. You’d been so preoccupied with filming that you just okayed everything your manager said about getting this set-up through your assistant. “It’ll be the best boxer working in Toronto, you’re gonna be in great hands! Well…gloves? I guess?” she said over the phone. You nodded to your assistant while your manager’s voice droned on through the speaker, trying to focus on getting your hair and makeup done, learning your lines, and a PA coming in to check on you every five seconds. Before you knew it, you and Eddie were on a private jet from Montreal to Toronto with only two days to spare before you got to the gym.

It hit you the night before that you had to do something you weren’t one hundred percent confident you’d know how to do. Sure you were coordinated: you could dance, you could swim, you could figure skate, you could play baseball – could you box? Sure you were tough, you were quick, you were angry – but – could you box? You tossed and turned in bed for an hour before Eddie sat up and turned the side table light on. “Okay, lay it on me,” he said, the sheets shifting down to show off his chest while he pushed up to lean against the pillows, “What’s wrong, sweet thing?” You huffed and turned towards him, pouting, “What if I’m bad and the studio decides it’s not worth it and they recast me?”

He laughed, “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.They’d never recast you, you’re a perfect fit.”

“Can you just listen?” you whined, “Indulge in my bad mood with me.”

“Sweet thing, I’m never gonna indulge in your bad mood with you,” he said, taking his hand closer to you and plopping it on your head, “Especially when your bad mood is telling my baby all that bullshit. Why do you think you’re not gonna be good?”

“I don’t know, I’m not like – I’m not a boxer. I’m not a fighter like that,” you shrugged.

“That’s what you’re being trained for. So you can look like a boxer and act like a boxer,” he explained, “If you already knew, the studio wouldn’t spend the money on a coach for you. They know you don’t know. That’s the whole point.”

“I don’t like not knowing,” you sulked, “What if I look stupid?”

“You never look stupid,” his brows knitted, you were rarely this down on yourself, “What’s gettin’ into you tonight? You’re so pouty.”

“Just nervous,” you whispered.

“You know what helps me when I’m nervous?” he asks with a little grin, using the hand he plopped on your head to put your hair out of your eyes.

“Yeah, you smoke weed,” you replied matter of factly.

“The other thing,” he said, catching your eyes.

“Oh. Fucking?” you guessed, you knew that look.

“C’mon,” he said, tugging his pants off under the sheets and kicking them down to the edge of the mattress, “Come get on top of me angel, show me how tough you are.” You groaned and turned to the other side, hearing him sink into the covers through the crinkle of the sheets. Ed’s body is suddenly warm against your back, his fingers trailing your thigh to catch the silk of your little powder blue nightie and shoving it up to your waist. You giggled when his lips found your ear, nipping at the lobe. Your back involuntarily arches, pushing your ass against him when his hot breath fans against your neck.

“Don’t wanna show me how tough you are? You want it to be a surprise?” he asked, his fingers snaking over the swell of your hip. He tucked a knee between yours to keep your legs propped open, the same hand on your hip making its way between your thighs. Your body gets hot at his touch, the way he talks in your ear, the confidence he has to know when and how you want it without having to tell him.

“Want me to tucker you out, instead?” he asked, two fingers slowly circling over your clit. You could feel the spongy, swollen tip of his cock already trying to probe you from behind.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, your hand reaching for his wrist while pleasure builds between your legs.

“Lemme get you relaxed first, baby,” his voice got deep and gravely, your hips slowly grinding in time with his fingers. Eddie grinned at your silent consent, your little breaths picking up while he touched you. He fucked you hard that night, slamming you into the mattress with your legs in the air, getting you to scream out all of your anxieties into the pent house suite walls. You slept better than you had in weeks, but the wake up wrapped up in each other’s arms was sweeter than the kisses he gave you the night before.

“Looks like we’re here, princess,” Eddie said, pulling the Jeep into the parking lot. A couple of cars were already there and you silently cursed yourself for not getting there earlier. The sound of a sports car pulling in behind you was a happy reminder that your assistant and your manager made it unscathed.

You popped open the door, hopping down from the seat in your silvery white moon boots. A knee length white (FAUX – don’t throw any red paint) fur coat protected you from the bitter cold of Canada. You tugged on some matching mittens, closing the door behind you and meeting Eddie at the trunk while he pulled out your bags, slinging them over his shoulder. You both couldn’t look more different. You in your winter wonderland best, ear muffs and accessories all in the same bright white – you matched the bitter snow filled sky. Then there was Eddie, swallowed up by a heavy duty leather jacket covered in studs, black shredded sweater underneath. His tight black jeans tucked into black socks, tucked into steel toe combat boots. No gloves, no scarf, nothing to cover his ears – his teeth chattered but he didn’t complain.

With the bags on his back, he looked you over, cooing at the sight of you, “My little snow angel, look at you.”

You blushed, “Stooppp! I’m supposed to go in there and kick ass. I can’t be a little snow angel.”

“Shouldnt’a dressed so cute then,” he shrugged, leaving a kiss on your cheek and putting your mittened hand in his. Your assistant, Tiffany, and your manager, Simone crunched towards you in the snow.

“How ya feelin’, Stell?” Simone asked, “You look nervous.”

“I’m a little nervous,” you confessed, your lip quirking.

“Nothing to be nervous about, we go in, we train, we schedule the next training, we leave – done!” she assured you, her coffee colored nails shining while she talked with her hands, “You’re gonna crush it, you always do.”

Simone’s words were always comforting and straight to the point, it’s why she’s been your manager for as long as she has. Normally, she’d never come to something like this, she has other clients, but she knew it would be something you’d want extra support for. It didn’t exactly mean this wasn’t a working trip for her though, because as soon as she finished her sentence, one of her cell phones rang in her oversized purse.

“Simone Mueller speaking,” her voice was cavalier, but her work ethic was anything but. If there was anything you wanted in Hollywood, you wanted Simone Mueller on your team for it. You, Eddie, and Tiffany followed behind her into the gym, the heat of the building soothing your nerves almost instantly. You felt Eddie give your hand a squeeze, kissing it over the mittens.

“You got this, baby. Gonna be so great,” his award winning smile, dimples and all, made you want to take him to the locker room like you did with the boys in high school. When you stopped at the doorway you looked to the far end to see someone familiar. Little feet that could use some Vivienne Westwood platforms attached to a little woman looking at the banners on the ceiling, oh - OH!

“Libby!” you call out, waving at her. The sight of her calms you more than the heat of the gym, a friend, someone safe. Someone who knew you outside of being a movie star. But the comfort faded as her boyfriend came into view next to her – if Libby was here, it meant your coach was Steve.

You never forgot that look he gave you from behind his glasses, the last words he said to you back in September of last year. He had been right the whole time, Eddie would get caught using again five months later and ruin everything. Your jaw clenched when you thought about how satisfied he was when Eddie called him up to get back in the ring when you separated in February. Your heart sank to know that he was right again, you took him back. You fulfilled his stupid fucking kitchen counter prophecy.

Your smile falters when she doesn’t respond, getting tugged away by Steve to have a hushed and heated conversation with his manager. You guessed he was as surprised as you were, because when Simone said ‘best boxer working in Toronto,’ you thought it meant someone from Canada. Not a boxer that just so happened to be working in Toronto the same time as you.

“Let’s go change, they’re almost done setting up,” Simone said, beckoning you over with her hand, “You gotta talk to Tim, too.”

“Let me just get my bearings, Simone, I’ll be right over to the locker room. I promise!” you say, but she picked up a call halfway through your sentence.

“Want me to talk to Simone about getting you out of here? You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. Not with that fucking asshole,” Eddie assured, his hand rubbing your back while guiding you to the other side of the gym. Unbeknownst to you, Eddie’s heart was pounding at the sight of both of them, a cold sweat pooling on the back of his neck.

“No baby, it’s – it’s okay,” you assured, shrugging your coat off. Tiffany ran up unannounced, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her to take your things and hang them up in the locker room.

“Thanks Tiff,” you beamed, “Can you get me a tea? If they have that here? Coffee’s fine if not.”

“You want a coffee, Ed?” Tiff asked over her shoulder. Eddie shook his head no, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep anything down if he tried. He didn’t dislike Tiffany, but something about how willing she was to do things for you made him feel like he was a little useless. Sure, he was there for general spousal support’ but he was perfectly good at getting you coffee or tea or putting your coat away.

“Surprised they even got back together,” Eddie muttered, watching you pull your hair back and out of your face. You made a face, brows contorting.

“They broke up?” you asked, “Where’d you hear that?”

Eddie stuttered for a second, his cheeks turning pink, “Uh, oh, in like, some magazine. It was a while ago.”

Eddie didn’t read magazines that reported break ups, especially ones that might report on a guy he hates. He only read Heavy Metal, Kerrang!, and Metal Hammer – every now and then Rolling Stone. Though, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been trying to find stories about you in Teen Beat and Seventeen when you were separated.

His hand found your waist, stealing a kiss from you, “You wanna go? I can still show you how to box.”

“You weren’t my favorite coach for that, baby,” you laughed, returning his kiss with one of your own, “But thank you so much for the offer.”

When you knew you were getting the role, Eddie brought you right down to the home gym to show you the ropes. He was good at so many things, but teaching you how to box just absolutely wasn’t one of them. Eddie was always getting frustrated that you were getting frustrated, giving vague instructions like:

‘Okay move your arm like this!’

‘Like what?’

‘Just like, punch, baby. Just throw a punch – no, no not like that.’

‘Okay like how?’

‘We’re doing hooks baby, not jabs. You have to put your weight into it, turn your body a little – not all the way, honey. Jesus Christ, we’re gonna be here all night.’

Needless to say, the session ended with you grinding on top of him in the sauna and you both figured that would be a better workout program than whatever you were doing before. You make your way over to meet with Mikey and Big by the ring – Eddie trailing behind you protectively, a straightness in his posture you weren’t used to seeing.

“Hi, I’m Stella! We all met briefly back in September of last year, and I think I’ve seen you all at a couple parties at our place. It’s nice to see you again and, you know, officially meet you,” you put your hand out, getting hand shakes all around, “This is so exciting! I really appreciate you all taking the time to be a part of this project – I know Steve’s got a busy schedule.” It was like Steve never sent you home crying. You’d been acting for a long time. What’s another performance for the audience? The men shared their niceties, Mikey’s stare lingering a little too long for Eddie’s liking.

“Haven’t seen ya since the beginning of March, kid. Where’ve you been?” Big asked, big smile on his face, giving Ed a little shove on the shoulder, “You’re gettin’ fuckin’ ripped dude. You wanna come fight for Mikey? We can put you on the roster.”

Eddie blushed, he always liked Big from when he used to work out with Steve at the Malibu gym, “Nah, nah, it’s just for the ladies, y’know? Well, for this lady.”

“Picked you a winner there, huh?” Big smirked at your eye roll.

“I always do,” Eddie joked back. You let the boys talk more, seeing Steve approaching the group with a face only concrete could love. He sneaks the mitts out of Big’s arms, not making eye contact with Eddie at all. There’s a rigidness to his face, he’s mad, he’s fuming – this wasn’t surprising. “Bet he’s pumped to the fuckin’ brim with roids,” Eddie huffed one night when he got angry again over the whole ordeal, “Probably why he’s such an asshole to his girl, all the fuckin’ roid rage.”

“Hey, Harrington,” you smiled, taking a few steps over to him. You see his jaw tense and eyes darken, you know he hates the informality – so you really lay it on thick. You clapped him on the shoulder, slinking your arms across your chest after, “Long time, no see Steve.”

“Can’t say that bothered me,” his tone was low, his stare sparking with that same glint in his eye from when he used his words like knives to your throat. You havin’ fun, angel? You havin’ fun, angel? You havin’ fun, angel? You havin’ fun, angel? You havin’ fun, angel?

“And still so charming,” you say flatly, a sparkling smile still plastered on your face, a media training laugh pouring out of your mouth. You knew the gym owner had to be here somewhere and you’d be damned if the The Sun got a report that you were a bitch to Steve fucking Harrington and his little woman. You peer over his shoulder and see the woman in question, a nervous looking Libby sitting over by the side of the ring.

“Where’s Lib —oh! Libby!” you call out, hurrying over to her, almost skittering on your moon boots. Just a moment to feel okay, just a little girl chat was all you needed to get through the next few hours.

“Oh, h-hi, St-Stella.” She looks terrified and you can feel Steve’s harsh glare on your back. Something felt wrong, but you shook it off. Maybe they got in a fight after you left last year, maybe things got worse for her. That’s what you feared the most, that before she knew it, Libby would have lost all of herself in Steve. "I was trying to come and say hi, but they were trying to corral me off to change. It’s been so long, we have to catch up!” you urge, but Libby doesn’t respond. She takes a step back and knocks over one of the chairs, a commotion causing the guys to look up and for you to protectively reach your hand out to help.

“Y-yeah, it’s um —wow, yeah —uh…I forgot my book,” she mumbles, getting up. She could barely look at you. Your heart starts to race. Did Steve tell her that you both couldn’t hang out anymore? Just because you said he might lose her?

“Oh, okay–” you start meekly, realizing you might’ve gotten Libby in trouble. Your smile falls a little, suddenly self conscious.

“—yeah, I’ll be right back!” she says before running all the way to the gym’s office and shutting the door behind her.

“Stella! Gym clothes, let’s go!” Simone calls out, walking over to you, her waist length micro box braids swinging behind her. Her knee high black leather boots clicking loud on the concrete floor, her long floor length Calvin Klein trench floating behind her. Simone never asks for something more than twice, so you hurry your way towards the locker room matching her stride.

“I sent Tiffany to get coffee for everyone,” she muttered, “We’re not using a coffee pot from 1982 that’s never been washed in a gym’s back room.”

You nodded, slinking off to the locker room and seeing Eddie making himself comfortable on the other side of the ring. He looked a little jittery, his knee bouncing anxiously, fiddling with the guitar pick on his chain.

Eddie’s demeanor perked up when he saw you emerge from the locker room in your Everlast shorts, sparkling white. Shorter than men’s boxer shorts, but flowy enough to move around in – you of course still had a reputation to uphold. Your sports bra, obviously a sensible top, clung to your body; suddenly feeling too hot and tight at the sight of Steve menacingly standing in the corner of the ring, his eye following you and flitting to Eddie. You swallowed hard, climbing into the ring, Big hopping in to tape up your hands and give you a little pep talk. Steve crossed his arms, leaning against the posts with the mitts on each hand. When the gloves were on, a little heavy and awkward, Big hopped out to collect his coffee from a chatty Tiffany who came back with the goods.

“I don’t like to wait,” Steve said, approaching you with slow steps in the center of the ring.

“That’s too bad. I don’t like to be rushed,” you hissed back, “I’m the star, here, so.”

He clicked his tongue, “How’d I know you’d bring that little attitude with you.”

“Oh wow, brighter than he looks, folks,” you say, your smile still stuck on your face.

“Comin’ in the ring dressed like boxer barbie and I’m not bright?” he retorts, “You come here to work or t’show off?”

“Well if I knew you’d be here, I probably wouldn’t have come at all,” you glare back.

“Alright, alright, enough – you wanna know how to box? Let me show you how to box. You know how to stand?”

“I’m standing right now,” you said, gloves on your hips. He laughs, an evil snicker, and he wants you to know he’s laughing at you.

“Oh you’re real hopeless, huh?” he said, a smirk curling onto his face, “That’s not a boxing stance, princess. You do any research at all? You watch a match? Or did they send you in here with nothin’ in that barbie doll head?”

Your cheeks burned, this is exactly what you were afraid of – being made to feel stupid. He takes the mitts off and tosses them to his feet, his rough taped hands finding contact with your shoulders.

“You left handed or right handed?” he asked, “D’you know the difference?”

“Left handed,” you responded, shaking off his comment.

“Okay, left shoulder always leading towards me, right at my chest,” he explains, “Feet diagonal apart, back heel up.”

You do as he says, his rough hands adjusting your shoulders position, reaching at your forearms.

“Gloves up, shoulders up, chin down,” he said, “Gotta be blocking your face. You know, the shit fuckin’ Munson doesn’t know how to do? Wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t catch on either.” His head flicks a little toward Eddie and you grit your teeth. You get into position, the gloves feel awkward and heavy, but you don’t want to show it – he already knows you’re out of your element.

“You’re punching straight out, just straight ahead,” Steve instructed, bending down to pick up the mitts and slipping them back on.

You lunge your arm forward in a sharp line but it barely makes a ‘smack’ against the mitt on Steve’s left hand. He laughs, shoving them off and leaving them by his feet again.

“Awful,” he says with a smile, coming over to the side of you, “Real fuckin’ awful.”

“Well you know all about being awful, Harrington, so, you’d know,” you huff. He stops, you can feel his eyes on you, he swallows while he grabs your left forearm. Steve sends your arm forward to mimic your previous movement.

“Where’s the power coming from when you throw a punch like this?” he asked, moving your arm back and forth.

“My…fist?”

“Oh my God, Stell. You’re serious?” Steve’s voice is teetering on exasperated and pure rage, dropping your arm back by your side. He runs a hand over his face and then through his hair – but you know, your ignorance could be fun for him. Steve gets behind you, his chest close to your back, the uncomfortable scratch of his wrapped hands reaching around either side of you to cage you in. He’s got your arms up, like he’s using you as a boxing puppet – you can smell the mix of his sweat and cologne and it immediately sends you back to their kitchen in Malibu. His harsh glare, his smile when you started to cry.

“So when you put the glove forward,” he says, slowly maneuvering your arm forward with his hand from behind you, “You’re using your whole upper body behind it, twisting at the waist. Puttin’ all the weight on that front foot. Feel how you twist when I do it for you?”

“Oh, yeah,” you reply, “That makes sense.” It’s the first time you can really gauge how strong he actually is – his soft touches feel heavy. He could kill you if he really wanted. Behind you, Steve catches Eddie’s eye whose arms are crossed in a chair at the side of the ring. His dark brown eyes shining and angry, his cheeks tinged pink, a vein in his neck pulsing while he watches Steve get closer to you. He instinctively goes to chew on the skin of his thumb, a nervous habit he’d had since he was a kid.

Steve’s eyes stay trained on Eddie while he guides you again, jumping when his hand falls to your hip, his voice booming in your ear – loud enough for the spectator to hear it, “That feels better, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I can tell where the weight’s supposed to come from now,” you respond, but Steve isn’t listening. He’s just relishing in whatever emotional turmoil he might’ve put your fiance in. Steve’s hands skitter off you and he picks up the mitts again, slipping them on and getting in front of you.

“One, two me,” he said. You throw a jab with your left hand and quickly another with your right.

“Again,” he said, “Keep your arms up, you can’t drop ‘em.”

You go again, but it’s still not enough.

“You keep droppin’ your shoulders, pick your fuckin’ shoulders up,” he hisses.

You tighten your upper body, tucking your chin, a tight one two smacking into the mitts.

“Start over, it’s not clean enough,” he says from behind the mitts, “You need it cleaner.”

You catch Libby taking her seat back by the ring, hoping that with her back around, Steve will be a little nicer.

“I literally just started boxing today, what do you mean I need it cleaner?”

“Start over. If you wanna whine about it, I’ll send you home,” he shrugs.

You keep pulling ‘one, twos’ and he’s moving around the ring while you try to keep up. There’s not one kind word that leaves his mouth, no words of encouragement, nothing. Just his dead eyes and every critique he can think of.

“Stop, stop,” he says, ripping the mitts off.

“This,” he says, performing a punch, “Is a fucking jab. What the fuck are you doing?”

“What you just showed me, if I’m doing it wrong it’s because you showed it to me the wrong way,” you heaved, gloved hands on your hips. You were glistening with sweat, trying to catch your breath.

“No, I showed you the right way. Don’t get smart with me,” he said, hands on his hips to match your posture, “You wanna play a professional boxer, right? So what’cha gettin’ lax for? A pro would never look that sloppy, no matter how tired they are. Fuckin’ commit, Rink.”

“I’m not getting lax, Steve,” your voice toddled on the line of whiny.

“You know what I think?” he asked, his arms crossing over his chest.

“I’m surprised to hear you do,” you snapped, “Could’ve fooled me.”

He shook his head, running his hand through his hair, his step toward you made him close enough that you’d have to look up at him when he spoke.

“I think,” he said, his eyes scanning yours, his wolfish smile curling up into his cheeks, “You need to learn a thing or two about gettin’ some discipline.”

Steve scared you, the way your cousin did when he was living with your family to go to military school. He was ‘going through a tough time’ when you were a teen. Unhinged and unpredictable – the same flash of devilish confidence bursting behind their eyes. You can hear the clinking of Eddie’s leather jacket and the stomp of his boots walking around the ring, but you’re too frozen in fear and the desperate need to keep your cool to toss your gaze over to him. But god damn do you wish he’d give you a little cheer from the sidelines.

“Looks like you still got Libby pretty educated in it, Harrington,” you muttered darkly, getting back into your stance. His jaw is tight, his eyes flitting to Eddie sitting down next to his girlfriend, but he doesn’t falter in his malice for you.

He snickers, “Anyone ever teach you to shut that mouth, Rink? You know what happens to boxers who talk too much?”

“What?” you ask, tossing a hard one-two into his mitts. He peers over the top of them to make direct eye contact with you.

“They fuckin’ lose.”

“Pfft, okay,” you bristle at his words, your cheeks getting splotchy from feeling overwhelmed and inadequate. You didn’t have the energy to fight with him anymore. Your next to punches are weak, they barely make contact with the mitts. He doesn’t let you forget it.

“What is it?” he mocks, his face matching his hatred, “You not havin’ fun, angel?”

You let a breath push hard out of your nose, tears pricking in your eyes – you were so over this. Over Steve’s shitty attitude, over the gloves being too heavy, over the fluorescent lights. You already felt weird over Libby not talking to you and now Eddie wasn’t coming to your rescue either – just indulging in his stupid fucking crush. You’re so preoccupied with your annoyance at this whole ordeal that you don’t catch Eddie and Steve’s quiet stare down. You don’t catch Steve’s satisfied smirk while Eddie makes it back to his seat. All you feel is lonely in the center of the ring.

“Alright, everyone, great work! We’re gonna break for forty, you can put your lunch orders in with Tiffany.” Tim’s voice booms through the gym and shakes you back to yourself. You hear the mitts smack hard against the floor of the ring as Steve makes his way over to Libby. You flinch at the way he grabs Libby from her chair and drags her into the office, it feels like watching an after school special on abusive relationships and you’re the bystander who doesn’t know how to ask for help. Big helps you take your gloves off, tying the laces together and throwing them around his shoulders and he puts two big hands on your own.

“You’re givin’ ‘im hell, kid,” he smiled, “You’re doin’ great.”

Your smile weakly back at him, following him out of the ring toward the locker room. Eddie meets your stride and can immediately tell something’s wrong, reaching for your hand and lacing fingers with you while you walk past the office door.

The stale, humid air hits you but it’s not as stifling as it was to be out in that ring with King Steve. You sit on the bench, leaning up against the wall shared with the office, Eddie squatting down between your knees. He lets his hands spread over each of your thighs, hot to the touch from your quads keeping you in your boxer stance, his thumbs rubbing comfortingly over your skin. He sees your face scrunch and your lower lip start to tremble, a tear twinkling in the white light as it falls to your shorts.

“Oh, honey, no, it’s okay,” he says, “Don’t cry, it’s okay.”

“He’s just – he’s such an asshole,” you shake your head, wiping the streak of tears away as they come, “He’s so fucking mean.”

“It’s the roids, babe, I’m telling you,” he jokes, “His balls gotta be raisins by now.”

You snort at the joke and a real smile floods your face for the first time since you woke up this morning. You wipe your eyes again, hearing Eddie shift to get close to you. You feel his hand snake under your jaw before your eyes meet his, his kiss is gentle and sweet.

“There’s my pretty girl,” he coos. The door opens and Simone peaks her head in, wincing at the stagnant air.

“Stella, your lunch is here if you – Oh, sorry,” she says, seeing your tear stained face, “Everything okay?”

“We’re okay,” Eddie answers for you, “We’re probably gonna eat in the Jeep, Simone. She needs a little break.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine,” she says, “It’s on the edge of the ring, when you’re ready to pick it up. Tiff put your names on it.” She disappears as soon as she arrives, her cell phone ring echoing in the hallway, her clipped steps fading away.

“Just take a deep breath ba–” Eddie starts, but is soon interrupted.

A soft grunt sneaks its way from behind the cinderblock wall, the sound of skin slapping together, and you lean forward to turn your face toward it. Eddie looks up too, sitting next to you on the bench.

“No,” you blush, looking over at Eddie, “They can’t be. With everyone here?”

Eddie shifts his weight on the bench, his cheeks tingeing pink again while he becomes entranced with the bitten hangnail on his thumb. His voice is soft and low while he speaks, still looking down, “He’s a fuckin’ animal, so…”

Eddie watches you stand up and go to the locker with your name on it, scrawled on a white board. You unhinge it, swinging it open to find all of your effects neatly inside. The scent of your perfume sneaking out from where it lingered on your coat. You pull it out and give it a shake.

“I don’t even wanna change,” you sigh, “If I change, I’ll just wanna leave. I suck at this.”

Eddie frowns at the defeat in your voice, you sound so small and hurt. His chest heaves with guilt, it’s clear only three of the four of you know why today has actually been so shitty. Why Steve has been taking his anger out on you. Why Libby is avoiding you like the plague. He wished you demanded to leave, he wished you use your America’s Sweetheart powers for evil just one time. That way you could both get out of this.

He lets out a sigh, “Baby, you don’t suck. Don’t say that.”

“How would you even know? You haven’t been paying attention,” you don’t mean for your voice to be snippy, but the fire in your chest reblooms as you remember him going to sit with Libby. Walking around the gym while Steve degraded you and made you feel stupid.

“Too busy entertaining your school yard crush to even cheer for me,” you say while tossing your coat on the bench. You know it’s childish, but you’re desperate to feel an ounce of power, a shred of the upper hand for just three seconds.

Before he can respond, you’re interrupted again.

“Say it or I stop,” Steve’s voice is ragged and demanding from behind the cinderblock wall, it’s much clearer than the grunting from before. It’s like they’re right up against the other side. You take a moment to really listen – heavy breathing, the sound of slick skin against skin.

”—speak up,“ Steve’s voice rings again, rough and mocking like he was in the ring. You shiver at the sound of it, disappointment flooding your chest when you realize Libby was in too deep if he let her talk to her like that.

"Thank you, daddy!” Libby’s high pitched moan leaked through the wall. Oh. They definitely weren’t fighting.

“You win, I guess,” you say. Eddie blanched at the sound of Libby’s squealing through the wall, sputtering at your words.

“What d’ya mean, I win?” he asks, swallowing hard.

“Didn’t you say a long time ago that she probably calls him daddy in bed?” you laughed a little, “Looks like that’s confirmed.”

Eddie doesn’t laugh, he looks upset and uncomfortable which is unlike him – especially after a sex joke. You go back into your locker and grab your purse, rummaging through it to find your travel size Chloe Narcisse to reapply. The scent is dominated by daffodils with a bite of tropical citrus, violet and sandalwood, something to brighten whatever awful mood you were settling into. The scent hits Eddie and his mouth waters, having felt lucky to have bought it for you that spring. He knew that something about it would wear deliciously on you, but then again, he thought everything about you was delicious. He gets up to meet you, putting your purse back in your locker and shutting it.

“You like that one?” he asks, taking the small bottle delicately out of your hands and putting it in his jacket pocket, “I’ll buy you another before we leave.”

“You don’t have to buy it for me,” you smile, a little ‘oh!’ leaving you as you feel his lips against your neck. The small scratch of his five o’clock shadow against your skin sends a jolt through your body.

“Why not?” he asks in your ear, “I like to spoil you.” His hands are shaky as he keeps kissing your neck and jaw, grabbing at your waist. At this point, Eddie was desperate for a distraction from anything happening in that office.

“Ed stop,” you whine as he hands go to the band of your shorts, “Not here. You’re not like him.”

“Sorry,” he said, lifting his head up from your neck to lean his forehead against yours, “Just wanted to cheer you up a little.”

You hear Tiffany’s voice chirp outside the door, probably to Libby and Steve coming out of the office. You sigh, wanting to run out and pull her into the locker room and lock the door. Leave the boys to their own devices while you yell some sense into her and tell her how much you missed her. It was nice having a friend like her – why did Steve have to ruin it for everyone?

“You know what would cheer me up?” you ask, reaching for your coat. Eddie takes it out of your hands and holds it open behind you, helping you shrug it on.

“What?” he said, getting to the front of you to adjust the collar.

“Judas Priest, as loud as it can go in the Jeep,” you sniffled, the tears from before leaving a crunch of salty cast on your face.

“I love that,” he laughs. He takes your hand while you walk out of the locker room to the gym. It’s quiet when you see everyone and you’re sure they know you were crying so you keep your eyes down to your shoes, squeaking on the concrete floor. You hear Eddie pick up the salads meant for you both from the edge of the ring and you catch the bottom half of Libby sitting on top of Steve’s lap. Your teeth grind in annoyance that she can’t even have her own place to sit, like she’s a fucking trophy he has to parade around – but you don’t say anything. Before you know it, the biting cold is back to whipping your face and the beep of Eddie unlocking the Jeep sends you back to the present with him. His face is colder than the weather outside.

You both hop into the truck at the same time, Eddie shoving the keys into the ignition to crank the heat in the now freezing car. He passes you a plastic bowl of salad, takes it back, and passes you a different one with his name scrawled on it - medium rare skirt steak sitting on top of leaves of spinach.

“They got you breaded chicken instead of grilled, so just have mine,” he said flatly. You know he didn’t mean it like that, but it sounded like he was bored of making things work for you.

“Thanks, honey,” you say. You watch him open the salad bowl and pour a packet of dressing on it, his face flush. He just nods, but doesn’t look at you – suddenly the car feels too hot and you shrug off your coat – your salad sitting abandoned on the dash while you toss the coat in the back seat.

Eddie turns the music up while you open up the utensils packet, Metal Meltdown screaming through the sound system and he can’t help but air guitar the opening riffs to himself. You giggle and he finally tosses a glance at you, warm and cozy like the brown of his eyes.

“Are you okay?” you ask, you can see some hurt behind his gaze, like he wanted to tell you something. He’s quiet for a moment, still looking at you. Eddie’s lips part to speak but he second guesses himself, looking down at the now dressing drenched salad on his lap. He takes a breath in through his nose and out again. Eddie holds his hand out, always an indicator that he wants yours, and you oblige – he pulls your fingertips to his lips to kiss them before starting to speak again.

“I don’t want you training with him,” he says, “I’m gonna talk to Simone about finding you someone else.”

“I’m perfectly fine to talk to Simone, Ed,” you assure, “You don’t have to do that for me. I can negotiate my own stuff.”

“I don’t like him, Stell,” he continued, his words clipped and bordering angry, “I – fuck – like, all I can see when I look at him is you crying in that kitchen. I don’t like how he makes you feel – the way he talks to you. I don’t fuckin’ like him.”

“You’ve established that,” you say, stabbing at the skirt steak with a fork in your free hand.

“I just want you to have a good experience going into this. This movie’s gonna be a big deal,” he says, “You’re a big deal. You should have the best of the best.”

“Unfortunately for us,” you say, ripping a piece of steak off a bigger piece with your teeth, “Steve is the best of the best.” Butter and steak juice run down your chin, but Eddie catches it with a napkin before it drips to your white sports bra.

“Cut it, baby, don’t eat it like that, you’re wearing white,” he said, shaking his head. You show him the plastic knife in the utensil pouch and he rolls his eyes. He takes his pocket knife out from his jacket, not to be confused with his switchblade, and pulls the salad bowl out of your lap to get the steak into bite size pieces, stealing a few for himself.

“Hey! That’s mine,” you tease.

“Technically it’s mine,” he says, stealing a final piece before handing the salad back to you. He watches you eat, the same gnawing look he had before lingering behind his eyes. He studied you, the way you breath, the way your head bobs to the music that was vibrating the seats.

“I’m gonna get this taken care of for you,” he said, “You’re not working with him after today. You’re not even gonna see him after today.”

You laugh, “You’re funny.”

“You think I can’t make sure of that?” he challenged, crossing his arms.

“We have two of the same endorsement deals, we’re going to have to be around each other again at some point,” you explain, “He’d obviously be invited to the premiere – it’s a boxing movie. He’s America’s favorite boxer right now.”

“You haven’t run into him in a year and some change,” he retorted, “I think I’ll be able to keep that a theme in your life.”

“You sound like him when you talk like that,” you say to your food, “Plus, you never wanna see Libby again? I like her, I wanna see her again.”

I never want to see her again in my life, he thinks to himself. His mind falls back to the last time he saw her, like it had been all day. Hips rolling against his while propped up on the sink, the way his fingertips sunk into her thighs, how she tasted like liquor and bad decisions. He was barely lucid when he called her up there, but he knew, and that’s what made it worse. Stealing glances all day put a stake in his heart, and the way she shook when he approached her – he was about ready to put Steve in jail.

“Hm,” is all he replies, reaching over to your almost finished salad and stealing another piece of steak before you shut the bowl over his hand.

“Enough,” you laugh while he slides his hand out and you close the bowl. You pass him the plastic and he collects all the leftovers in a bag to bring back into the gym to toss out.

“You wanna go back inside, or do you wanna get out of here?” he asks, hand on the keys keeping the car on.

“We have to go back inside, the studio is paying for this. Tim would be pissed if we just dipped out,” you explain, sulking. Eddie lets out a sigh that turns into an exasperated ‘urgh!’, and snatches your coat from the backseat for you to put on. He hops out and jogs to the other side of the car to get your door, helping you step down into the snow.

The warmth of the gym envelopes you again but it doesn’t melt away your nerves like last time. You see everyone still gathered in their chairs by the ring, Steve and Libby sharing a kiss that she looks despondent for. You weakly raise a hand to wave but she ignores you, your face burns for what feels like the fiftieth time, in embarrassment.

“Okay, round two!” Simone cheers, while Tiffany comes to collect your coat and Eddie’s leftovers. You sulk a little until you remember where you are and stick on your bright fake smile again. Eddie gives you a not so subtle pat on the ass before heading back to his seat on the side of the ring. He slumps into it moodily, putting one foot up on the corner post, playing with his box of cigarettes before popping one in his mouth.

“Baby, not in here,” you call out while Big helps put your gloves back on. Eddie rolls his eyes and puts the cigarette back in the box, still playing with it in his fingers. He drops the box onto his lap, slipping his jacket off and putting it on the seat next to him, and nestles the box in the leather and studs.

“You got this, kid,” Big says, pulling the ropes up so you can crawl onto the ring, “You’re doin’ amazing. Can’t believe this is your first day in the ring!”

“Oh, stop,” you blush, “I’m okay. I’m trying my best!”

“That was your best?” Steve asks, back in the ring with the mitts under his arms.

“Hey,” Big warns, “Be nice, why don’t ya? Give it a try.” He walks back over to Mikey shaking his head while Mikey takes another call. Simone is chattering away on the opposite end of the ring into her own phone, Tiffany taking notes next to her. No one is really paying attention to the ring aside from Eddie and Libby, opposite ends – coaching you both in their own ways.

“Have a good lunch?” he asks, he speaks like he’s confident that you cried in the locker room after the first round.

“I know you had a good lunch,” your voice is unenthusiastic.

“Mmm,” he smirks while he remembers it, it’s a lewd smirk and it’s unnerving.

“You know, it helps to get your rage out when you gotta deal with two fuckin’ idiots all morning,” he says, putting the mitts up, “One, two me. Get warmed up.”

“Shouldn’t be taking your rage out on her,” you hiss, slamming your gloved fists into the mitts. Steve almost smiles at the impact. You’d take your rage out on her if you knew what she did.

“Whoo! Looks like you left boxer barbie in the car,” he says, taking one of the mitts off and shaking his hand, “Done cryin’ to your boyfriend about how mean I am? Ready to put in the real work?”

He slipped the mitt back on, back at the ready for you to lay into him. You shoved the gloves back into the mitts, one-two with vigor, but it wasn’t holding up the speed and cleanliness Steve was expecting.

“Arms up, you’d lose your teeth if you were in the ring for real,” he said, “Clean it up, Rink.”

Eddie stands up with his arms crossed, black sweater tight against his body, bulging at the seams when he crosses his arms across his chest. He’s watching Steve with a hard look, rage filling his eyes with every word that comes out of his mouth to you. He knows you can take it, but he doesn’t want you to have to.

You straighten up, hits coming at a steady pace, triceps burning while you keep the jabs as clean as possible. He nods while he moves with you, maybe he was done shitting on you for the day.

When you got to hooks, Big took your gloves off. It would be easier to just learn those basics with your bare fists with nothing extra weighing you down. Steve took his mitts off again, laying them on the top of the post by Eddie. His eyes flitted toward him and then over at Libby, who had turned to walk towards the chairs nearby on the opposite side.

“Hey! Where you goin’, angel?” he asked, his words coming in a little hot.

“I’m just going to sit down, Steve,” she replies, you frown at the sound of her voice.

“Jesus, Steve, what next – you gonna put a leash on her? You don’t need to know where she’s going, she’s obviously staying at the gym,” you glower while he approaches you. He considers your question while he cracks his neck to the left and the right.

“You here to do business?” he asked, standing up in front of you like he had before lunch.

“Yeah,” you said, feeling more confident without the gloves on.

“Why don’t you start by mindin’ your own, hm?” he stared at you down the slope of his nose, you gulp inadvertently.

“Hooks,” he starts, stepping back from you, “Aren’t in the flex of the arm, it’s all about the body. You’re not moving your arm at all.” He shows her the form, but it’s too quick for you to really understand what he means.

“Show me,” he says after demonstrating it again. Even without the gloves, your body moves awkwardly, your arm jutting out at an awkward angle, your elbow nearly hitting him in the face.

“So I tell you that you’re not movin’ your arm at all, so you just move your arm anyway?” he asks, “Were you only half listenin’?”

“Harrington, I don’t have time for this,” you huff, “I’m not your girlfriend, you can’t just keep pushing me around. You’re getting paid to be here.”

His eyes darken when one of his rough, taped, hands finds your forearm again. He gets behind you like before, keeping your right hand up by your face, holding the other one slightly curved out, “Put your shoulders up, and your chin down.”

His voice chills you, “Turn your thumb toward your face or you’re gonna break your wrist.” He lets go of you, and stalks slowly back to your front.

“You’re living on that ball of your back foot, that’s where you’re pulling the weight from,” he explains, “Show me.”

You try again, but it still feels awkward and tight. He runs a hand exasperatedly through his hair – maybe he didn’t really have the temperament to coach. Maybe it wasn’t worth the $400,000 dollar deal for three months of training – especially not with someone this out of whack.

He gets behind you again, but instead of Steve reaching for your arms, which are still in place, he goes to your waist. You jolt when you feel it, stifling a squeal – you’re always so used to Eddie’s calloused fingers and soft grabbing – not the roughness of his wraps and harsh grip. His chest is closer to your back than it was before, you can feel his breath fanning out against the top of your shoulder.

“The power of your hook has nothing to do with your arms,” he says, palms scratching downward, his fingertips at the waistband of your shorts, “And everything to do with the rotation of your hips.”

You nod, your eyes dropping to Eddie who looked so angry he could jump in that ring himself. Not like he really had a leg to stand on, but he knew that at this point Steve was doing this on purpose. He was doing it to remind him that not only was Libby his, but if he wanted – he doesn’t – but if he wanted, he could have you, too.

“You’re gonna twist that front foot like you’re stomping out a cigarette,” he says, his foot tapping your front foot, “So the power is coming from your feet, to your legs, to your hips, then your core.”

“Show me again,” he says, closing the gap between you. His chest is sticky with sweat against your back and your head tilts away from him. You squirm in his grasp and Eddie can tell you’re uncomfortable, his hand reaching for one of the ropes. Eddie clears his throat and you feel Steve’s head raise from behind you – a low, gravely snicker vibrates from his chest.

“Not a lot of fight in him, huh?” he asks.

“Violence isn’t required in my relationship, unlike some other people I know,” you mutter, throwing a practice punch. It isn’t perfect, but it’s much better than your first couple of tries.

“There it is,” Steve says, his hands dropping while he goes to retrieve the mitts at the post by Eddie. He shoots him a satisfied smirk while he puts them on, but with his back to you, you don’t notice. The mitts are lower this time, imitating body shots.

“We’re not even gonna attempt doing different levels of these today, so let’s just pretend you’re hitting your opponents sides,” he says, “Go.”

You try, and they’re shaky at first – it’s different throwing a punch without the gloves. Your hands feel small and weak, you almost feel more stupid without them. Nervous sweat starts dripping down your chest as you follow the mitts, Steve waltzing around the ring quicker than when you were with jabs.

“C’mon, really show me you mean it,” he taunts, “Get angry.”

“I’m not an angry person,” you say, tossing another punch to the right.

“I’d be fuckin’ insane if I had to deal with Munson all the time,” he lets out a dark laugh, “Come on, Rink. Show me – show me how mad you were when you tried to kick ‘im out.”

Bile rises in your throat when he says it and tears prick your eyes. Blood rushes in your ears for a moment, drowning out Eddie’s warning ‘Hey!’ from the sidelines – he’s suddenly so ready to protect you after Steve staked his claim over Libby. You guess you matter to him now. Your cheeks get a little hot while you throw two more hard hooks, the sound ringing through the gym when they make contact with the mitts.

“There we go,” he sneers, “Guess you didn’t forget what I said last September, huh? Hey, hey, keep your shoulders up!”

“It doesn’t matter,” you growl, your knuckles getting red by how hard your punching, even with the wraps, “We’re better now.”

“You sure?” he asks, light on his feet as he gets to the other side of you and you pivot to meet the mitts.

“We’re doing great,” you say, making eye contact with him, “Can’t say the same about you and yours.”

“Of course you’re doing great – shoulders Rink, Christ,” he groans, side stepping and you miss the shot, “You’re doing great, cause you don’t know the truth.”

Your posture stiffens and you stand tall in the ring, staring him down. The words sling out of you like venom, “What the fuck are you talking about? Why are you so interested in my relationship anyway? You and Libby wanna join? We got enough fuckin’ beds in our house. She’d probably be so much fucking happier to be away from you anyway.”

A pin could drop while he heaves breaths out of his nose, that same bull like anger rearing his head. He looks at you through furrowed brows, his lip snarling.

“Yeah, well, Libby already fuckin’ did.”

You hear Libby gasp and watch as her hand claps over her mouth. Eddie’s hand goes to his face, sliding down to his jaw. He mumbles a quiet, ‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ, man,’ to himself, his big eyes already wet with tears.

“Wh-what?” you ask, your voice is weak and broken while reality sets in. You can hear the roar of your heartbeat in your throat. It becomes too clear that since you got to the gym, there have been three people here who have known something that you don’t.

#eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie smut #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson rockstar au #boxer!steve #boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #eddie munsn fanfiction #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things au

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lamaisongaga · 2 months

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INSTAGRAM CHIC: LADY GAGA WORKS THE STUDIO IN VINTAGE BLACK SABBATH

Lady Gaga unveiled a series of three photos capturing her creative process while working on her latest album at Shangri-La Studios in Malibu. Take a peek at her attire for this recording session!

Amidst the creative whirlwind of the studio, Gaga stands as a vision of fearless fashion.

Wrapped in the nostalgia of a vintage Black Sabbath 1981 "Mob Rules" tee, she exudes an aura of rock ‘n’ roll history. It’s just one piece in her vast collection of vintage band tees, each garment a cherished artifact in her sartorial journey.

Gaga accessorized her studio look with the Sif Jakobs Jewellery Medio Pianura sterling silver single link earring from the "Capri" collection (€128.52).

Shop:

Sif Jakobs Jewellery "Pianura" Earring (€128.52)

The juxtaposition of the old and the new is a signature move, as evidenced by her choice to pair the vintage tee with the contemporary Nike x Billie Eilish collaboration Air Force 1 Sequoia low suede sneakers with argyle stitching ($172).

Shop.

Nike x Billie Eilish "Air Force 1 Sequoia" Sneakers ($172.00)

#February 2024 #tops #merchandise #Black Sabbath #jewelry #Sif Jakobs Jewellery #sneakers #Nike

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deep-dive · 1 year

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2022

albums: Alex G - God Save the Animals Alex G - We're All Going to the World's Fair Anthony Naples + DJ Python - Air Texture VIII Big Thief - Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe in You Björk - Fossora Bladee & Ecco2k - Crest Broadcast - Maida Vale Sessions Carla dal Forno - Come Around Carly Rae Jepsen - The Loneliest Time Cass McCombs - Heartmind Charli XCX - Crash Daphni - Cherry Dawn Richard & Spencer Zahn - Pigments Hikaru Utada - Bad Mode Huerco S. - Plonk Isabella Lovestory - Amor Hardcore Junior Boys - Waiting Game Kali Malone - Living Torch Malibu - Palaces of Pity Marina Herlop - Pripyat Oren Ambarchi - Shebang Oren Ambarchi, Johan Berthling & Andreas Werliin - Ghosted Organ Tapes - 唱着那无人问津的歌谣 / Chang Zhe Na Wu Ren Wen Jin De Ge Yao Phoenix - Alpha Zulu Physical Therapy - Teardrops on My Garage PPJ - Trindade Rachika Nayar - Heaven Come Crashing Raum - Daughter Sally Shapiro - Sad Cities Sam Prekop - The Sparrow Sam Prekop & John McEntire - Sons Of Shinichi Atobe - Love of Plastic Shygirl - Nymph The Soft Pink Truth - Is It Going to Get Any Deeper Than This? Torus & DJ Lostboi - The Flash Two Shell - Icons The Weeknd - Dawn FM William Basinski & Janek Schaefer - “ . . . On Reflection “

songs: Alex G - JLB's Drawing Bibio - Off Goes the Light Björk - Ancestress (ft. Sindri Eldon) Bladee & Ecco2k - Faust Bladee & Ecco2k - The Flag is Raised Call Super - Swallow Me Carla dal Forno - Side by Side Carly Rae Jepsen - Anxious Carly Rae Jepsen - Talking to Yourself Cass McCombs - Belong to Heaven CFCF - After the After (Bodysync Remix) Charli XCX - Sorry If I Hurt You Charlotte Adigéry & Bolis Pupul - Haha Coco & Clair Clair - Bad Lil Vibe Cole Pulice - City in a City Daphni - Take Two Dawn Richard & Spencer Zahn - Sandstone Demi Lovato - Substance DJ Heartstring - Can't Stop the Night Doss - Look (All Night Mix) Doss - Strawberry (Singin' Club Mix) Double Virgo - Kicked Out by Seven Ecco2k & Bladee - Amygdala Ela Minus & DJ Python - Pájaros En Verano Embaci - Tiniest Whisper Hikaru Utada - Somewhere Near Marseilles Hudson Mohawke - Bicstan Isabella Lovestory - Exibisionista Job - Lore Junior Boys - Thinking About You Calms Me Down Kelela - On the Run Luis - Jack Anderson Malibu - Iliad Marina Herlop - Abans Abans Merely - The Killing Sun Mr Twin Sister - Resort Mura Masa & Erika de Casier - e-motions Objekt - Ballast Oren Ambarchi - I Organ Tapes - Burnout Organ Tapes - heaven can wait Physical Therapy - Chain Reaction PinkPantheress - Boy's a liar PPJ - Dar Um (Lauer Remix) Purelink - Butterfly Jam Rachika Nayar - Gayatri Raum - Walk together Sally Shapiro - Sad City SG Lewis & Tove Lo - Call on Me (SG's Dub Edit) Shinichi Atobe - Love of Plastic 1 Shygirl - Firefly Two Shell - Unrequited Yasmine - Doce Atração Yung Lean - Lips Yves Tumor - God Is a Circle

games: Elden Ring Kirby and the Forgotten Land Monster Hunter Rise: Sunbreak Signalis Sonic Frontiers Squaredle Tactics Ogre: Reborn

film: Aftersun (Charlotte Wells) Ambulance (Michael Bay) Avatar: The Way of Water (James Cameron) Crimes of the Future (David Cronenberg) Decision to Leave (Park Chan-wook) I Thought the World of You (Kurt Walker) Jackass Forever (Jeff Tremaine) Kimi (Steven Soderbergh) Nope (Jordan Peele) Orphan: First Kill (William Brent Bell) Pacifiction (Albert Serra) Sharp Stick (Lena Dunham) Stars at Noon (Claire Denis) Tár (Todd Field) Three Thousand Years of Longing (George Miller)

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audio-luddite · 2 months

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New LPs!

Three albums from Acoustic Sounds came in a really nice big box. Lots of padding. A total of 5 discs. Once I had to pony up the $36 bucks for shipping I thought load up the box. A low three figure purchase.

Double 45 180 of Willie Nelson "Stardust".

A single 33.33 180 of Lori Leiberman "truly".

A double 33.33 180 of "Jazz at the pawn shop".

Where to start. Busy playing them all.

Why do 45 rpm albums not label themselves as such. I know now but could they put on a note or something! That was Stardust.

"Truly" is a nice jazz album of some old classics and new stuff. It is a digital recording on LP endorsed by Mr. Fremer and he is right the sound is excellent. Ms Leiberman is the person who wrote a poem that became "Killing me softly" a hit with Roberta Flack. The men who helped turn it into a song, denied her credit. That song is here with several others. We all know the truth. She is a good singer. and song writer. The backing group are top tier session people.

I need to listen again, but good music. There is some You Tube coverage of the production.

youtube

Next up WN in his 1977 Grammy award winning album "Stardust". American Song book. Recorded in a house in Malibu with a studio truck in the driveway. They set up in the living room with a harmonica player in the bathroom. Great sound. This is the skateboard trick recording two discs, with not a mention anywhere about 45 rpm. That became obvious very soon.

How can I put this, immediate sound, close, realistic, almost intimate. Clarity to die for. Great recording and apparently all 100% analog. Fremer would be pleased. There is lot on this album, and I am tearing through first impressions here. There was a scare as the last cut of the last side made a horrible sound that could have been the death of a tube. Turned out it was a chunk of debris I missed and the stylus went surfing for a bit. cleaned it off and played it again to be sure it was neither the pressing nor the electronics.

Lastly the famous "Jazz at the Pawnshop". It is all it is reputed to be. I have listened on iTunes and guess what, it is better on vinyl. I dislike falling back on golden-ear-speak, but it is palpable. The audience was miked and is clear and well mixed in. The stage had a ORTF pair in front and the drum had its own pair of mikes. So the combo is well mapped out with the drums sounding bigger than if they had only a pair of mikes for everyone. All this is on line in wiki-thing and such. Yes I am rushing through this as I am excited. New stuff to play with.

Oh the timbre of the vibes is truly amazing. Oh now that sax. The Cl60 loves wind. Good stuff.

I am sure to come back later to these and may even do more blah blah on them here or maybe just listen and keep the laptop on the shelf.

Taking one step back I know that I spent some money getting good copies of these albums. I want the music done well and as clear as I can get it. That is the audiophile conceit. It is a kind of vanity. I admit and confess that. Part of my enjoyment is technical quality which the music does not need to justify its existence. But hey why not?

We are still using the AT7V cartridge on the Phase linear 8000 TT with ARC SP-14 and ARC Cl60 and my invisible speakers.

#audiophile #vinyl #cheap audiophile #turntables #audio technica #Youtube

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thepsynok · 1 year

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Album: Africa Speaks Artist: Santana Genre: #LatinRock ℹ️About The Album: The album was produced during a 10-day recording session by Rick Rubin at Rubin's Shangri La Studios in Malibu, during which they recorded 49 songs. Rubin and Carlos Santana used an eight-piece band (which included Santana's wife, Cindy Blackman Santana, on drums). 💭Thoughts: If there are lyrics, I'd like to know what they're saying but nevertheless my ears seek out new sounds, interesting new structures and see the audioscape come to life. This particular album has Santana's signature sounds with a strong flavour of the theme, Africa. The drums, the synchronising indigenous beats to the sound of Santana's guitar or the synth bringing out the cinematic quality of the album. It's a narrative, the structure an audiophile's paradise. Give it a listen and let me know what you think. 🍹Goes Best With : Sangria, Mint dip with a side of chips and your eyes closed while you get ready to groove to the album. Every track is independent and has its own flavour. Well, what are you waiting make a night out of it. Favourite Tracks: 🔥Batonga, 🔥Oye Este Mi Canto, 🔥Blue Skies,🔥Praísos Quemados, 🔥Breaking Down the Door, 🔥Bembele, 🔥Luna Hechicera. Featured Tracks : ✅Bembele, ✅Candombe Cumbele. #MusicReview #Music #Santana #AfricaSpeaks #Muzikco #sangria #mint #chips #KANSASreviews #Musik_Co_ #TasteYourMusic #PsyNok #Psyn0k #FavouriteTracks #Music https://www.instagram.com/p/CmJ1Ei3P3dT/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#latinrock #musicreview #music #santana #africaspeaks #muzikco #sangria #mint #chips #kansasreviews #musik_co_#tasteyourmusic #psynok #psyn0k #favouritetracks

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colbiecaillats · 5 months

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Only You by Colbie Caillat

#colbie caillat #ccaillatedit #colbiecaillatedit #lyrics #lyricsedit #only you #the malibu sessions album #2016 #mine #edits

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mermaidinthecity · 2 years

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Cruisin’ by Colbie Caillat

#colbie caillat #ccaillatedit #colbiecaillatedit #lyrics #lyricsedit #cruisin #the malibu sessions album #mine #edits #colbie lyrics #sadbeautifultragic

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glitterlikegold · 3 years

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— Gypsy Heart by Colbie Caillat

#colbie caillat #ccaillaedit #colbiecaillatedit #lyricsedit #gypsy heart #the malibu sessions album #mine

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nakedmusicscore · 2 years

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They had played together in the past and had worked on each other's solo projects. So, on April 3, 1988, George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Jeff Lynne, Tom Petty, and Roy Orbison got together in Malibu to record an all-star single called "Handle With Care." The session went so well that the group, calling itself the Traveling Wilburys, decided to record an album together. They even did a second one.

#nakedmusicscore

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shawnxstyles · 3 years

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every inch of you

DATE: JUNE 24, 2021

summary: while shawn is struggling to write a new song for his album, you’re hesitant to move to the next stage of your relationship.

requested: yes!

prompt 8 & 18: “I like what I see.” / “You like... my fingers?”

words: 2.6k

warning: fluff, SMUT (f-receiving), a little dirty talk, and more fluff!

note: inspired by Lights On- shawn mendes. this is also the song shawn writes in the story! fast revising.

illuminate!shawn x plus size!reader <3

*imagine 2018 shawn writing illuminate*

—

OCTOBER 2018

This album was going to be the death of him and you at this point. You weren’t writing, brainstorming, or doing any of the work. However, watching your boyfriend struggle to find the right words was stressing you out nearly just as much.

“Shawn, take a break. You’re going to make yourself go crazy. You’re making me go crazy!” You shout with a laugh, rubbing the top of his frizzy head. He leans back on the black, leather couch, turning to face you with a weary face.

You can hear the crashing waves of Malibu waters outside of the glass windows. You two were alone on this private beach, reserved for only Shawn and whoever else he wanted. As of right now, it was just the two of you in this peaceful environment.

“Come on,” He stands up randomly, tugging your arm while walking toward the sliding glass door. You let him drag you outside to the cool waters and through the grainy sand. You’re both barefoot as he begins to pick up his pace until you’re jogging. He halts at a large rock that collects the crashes of the water and leans against it. His blue basketball shorts get soggy on the ends from the up splashes. You were wearing one of his button ups and your shorts, but standing behind the rock so you didn’t wet.

You never really wore bathing suits, you didn’t feel like you needed to. Shawn and you have been together for about a year now, so he understood when you told him you were uncomfortable wearing one to Malibu. He always tells you how beautiful you are, despite your height, weight, waist or hip size. These were all the things he knew you were insecure about, and usually your loved ones would tell you to not be insecure and that they love you no matter what. Not Shawn. He always said it in a way that made you really feel loved.

He would simply let you be insecure. He knows that insecurity is a part of life and he doesn’t think you should be, but he’s not just going to tell you to stop. It’s hard to control your mind sometimes and he knows that. He’s always been different to you than anyone else has, and maybe that’s what made you love him so much.

With this, he’s never rushed you into anything either. You’ve never been with him intimately (nothing much more than a heated make out session) because of your self-doubt. You’re not a virgin, you’ve had your fair share of experiences, but he was just too perfect for you. Your experiences were never good and you were honestly afraid of being vulnerable again.

“Come to the water. It feels great,” The air was slightly breezy and the sky was filled with misty clouds. You imagined the water was near freezing because of it, but still tip-toed your way into it. The current splashes up to your shins, and Shawn was right, it did feel great. The water was twinkling in the hidden sunshine and the thin foam cascaded when it got too close to you.

Shawn gently slips his hand between yours and laces them together. His rough fingertips scratched against your knuckles, but it was calm and soothing like the waves before you. You leaned against the rock with him, the small waves shooting up to your shorts every once in a while. He faces you, with a dreamy look dancing in his eye.

“Kiss?” He asks, lips puckered loosely and patiently. You gave a head nod before reaching his lips, giving him a long peck. You attempted to pull away, but he had other plans apparently.

His hands rested on your cheeks and slowly trailed down until they were at your shoulders. He rubs them calmly, pacifying any stress you might have with the pads of his thumb. Your hands trail through his curls, braiding around your fingertips beautifully.

“God,” He pulls his mouth away to speak for a moment. “you’ll be the death of me.”

You quickly snatch his lips again, never getting enough of his words or his taste. You both are captured in a deep trance for one another’s lips and beauty. One of your hands moves from his hair to the nape of his neck, rubbing softly. Without any words, Shawn pulls you toward the small house with a hand wrapped in yours. The water stains freezingly on the bottom half of your legs, making you chilly.

When you enter the house again, he plops himself down heavily on the leather couch, dragging you down with him. You didn’t like to sit on his lap in a make out session, you assumed it made you both uncomfortable. However, your assumptions were wrong because he positioned you snuggly on his muscular thighs.

You felt the heat crawling under your skin and on the back of your neck. Shawn just continued to kiss you lovingly, like nothing was wrong. You silently appreciated this act as your hands began to tug his curls. He groans lowly against you with a beating chest and fast breath. You were absolutely loving this; you felt comfortable and secure, and being in a different environment made you feel even safer. Almost like nobody knew where you were, or maybe even who you were.

The sensual feeling was observationally mutual. His hands were roaming you, caressing you caringly and you were beginning to feel that throbbing between your thighs. Usually when this happens, you just ignore it and take care of it yourself. But maybe you were ready to take that step with him today. You back away from the kiss and Shawn’s eyes open concerningly.

“Should I stop?” He suggests, lowering his hands from your neck to your waist. His head was slightly tilted and he had a little tint of pink in his cheeks. Possibly from the water mixed with the crisp breeze, or the heat between you two.

“No, please don’t. I actually want you to keep going,” You were trying to hint that you wanted to go further with this, even if it was just a little bit for today. You had thought about this far too much, for who knows how long, and now you felt confident enough to do it. You were overly grateful that Shawn never tried to convince or force you to do something you didn’t want to. He was just so kind and sweet. And cute and adorable. And sexy and hot…

“Are you sure? This doesn’t have to go any further than this if you’re uncomfortable—”

“Shawn, I’ve thought about this enough. I’m ready,” You eye him with reassurance, appreciative of his full consent toward you. Your smile was filled with mild anxiety and excitement and he reciprocated with a goofy grin. Though, there was a small glint in your eye that was hinting he should take it slow. Something was telling him.

“How about we just take it slow today? One thing at a time? There is no rush, baby.”

“Okay, I think that’s better anyway,” You were so glad he said something because you both know you wouldn’t have. Which scares Shawn sometimes because he doesn’t really know what you’re thinking or feeling. He wasn’t going to worry about that right now because he’s positive that you’re sure.

“Let’s focus on you right now, pretty girl.”

He wasn’t worried about his erection suffocating in his pants right now, or his strong desire to fuck you for hours until he couldn’t anymore. He was only focused on you, and your peak of pleasure was his only goal right now. Songwriting could most definitely wait.

Shawn lifted you up and rested your head on the armrest of the couch. He crawled over you and kissed your luscious lips once again. Your taste was possibly the sweetest thing he’s ever had; you were like sugar candy in human form, and he was able to eat you raw.

If you let him, of course.

Which you did because you don’t think you’ve ever been so horny in your entire life.

The way he unbuttoned his own shirt off of you was probably one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen in your life. He plucked off each one, staring at you with a smirk, knowing you were dying because of his teasing. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of his hands. The bird across his skin was fueling you up even more because tattoos were definitely a turn on for you. When he finally discarded the shirt, you mentally argued with yourself if you should cover up.

“Don’t even think about it. You’re beautiful. Absolutely stunning,” Some words made his Canadian accent more prominent and that was also pretty hot to you. Your skin boiled in response to his compliments. He knew what you were thinking just because he knows you. That’s why this feels so right to you; because he knows you.

Shawn begins trailing kisses from your cheeks down to your chest, making your breathing become more unsteady. He licks along your collarbone, slightly nibbling at the skin. You breathe out a heavy sigh, as his soft mouth traces your skin. When he finally gets to your breast, you gasp with a pant. You would feel his smirk against you as his hand works the other one. His tongue swirls around and over the nipple, and you’re so sensitive, you could feel every nerve on his tongue. His callus fingers rub roughly against the opposite one, balling the bud until it’s peaked.

“Oh my god,” Your chest was collapsing and rising unsteadily as your hands gripped his hair tightly. You felt him moan against you, which sent a vibration through you. You rolled your hips against nothing, begging for any sort of friction. “please.”

You didn’t even know what you were asking for, but apparently he did. He continued to trail down your abdomen, kissing every bit his lips passed over. He shot you one last look of consent, and you reassured him once again.

“I could just kiss you all day.”

You were about to start verbally begging again if he didn’t do something soon. Shawn yanks down your shorts, leaving you in just a simple pair of underwear. Your core was aching for some relief, the undergarment being a stressful barrier.

“I like what I see,” His smirk is so wide, you almost felt embarrassed. He tried not to waste time, clearly noticing you were anxious for some pleasure. After all, that was his new goal.

His rough index finger runs down your smooth skin, outlining every curve until it reaches the band. You could feel the coldness from his rings, giving you chills. He flicks it against you, causing you to jump a bit. His hands and fingers were arousing you a little too much.

“I’m gonna take these off now, okay?” He speaks softly with his fingers dancing over your waist. You nodded rapidly, waiting for him to just do something to you. Anything at this point. He peels away the undergarment with awe in his eyes. You were biting your lip, trying to keep the useless whimpers at a minimum. Once the underwear is off, you’re completely bare— and you’re completely comfortable with it.

“All wet for me, huh? I did this to you?” Shawn teases through the same, evil smirk, while caressing your inner thighs with his thumbs. You mindlessly open your legs wider, spreading yourself open. His tongue rolls over his bottom lip as his fingers move up to where you need him most. He traces your silky lips with his fingertips, and the first touch felt like a shock of electricity. You gasped when two of his fingers went in between your folds, massaging delicately. Your moans were muffled by your own mouth as your teeth harshly bit down on your tongue.

“More, please,” You begged shamelessly at this point, wanting him to finger you with everything in him.

“More of what? Words, princess,” You thought if he didn’t touch you more soon, his words would get you off first. He taps your clit a few times and you moan a little too loudly. Luckily, you two were alone.

“Fingers! Ah, please, I love your fingers,” You admitted through gritted teeth. Shawn was a little shocked actually. He didn’t know you liked his fingers like that, and it honestly made this all the more hot. Your pleading was a turn on for him, the indirect pleasure going straight down to his strained cock.

“You like… my fingers?” He said less confidently than before, but still seductively. You nodded rapidly, making him groan with your impatience. His fingers went from tapping your clit to sliding between your slick folds. Your breathing was heavy, but your inhales were short in anticipation. Suddenly, he curled two digits right inside of you and you gasped for at least the third time today.

His middle and ring finger were doing wonders on you. He curled them smoothly as he sunk them deeper inside of you. Shawn’s rings made you shiver from the contrast of their coolness and the humidity you’ve created. Your hand was roughly scratching the top of the couch and your head was slammed against the armrest in bliss.

“M-more please,” You begged him in your sweaty state. Your hair was sticking to your forehead now, and the hairs on your skin were rising the closer you got to finishing.

“Since you asked so nicely, princess,” He looked at you devilishly through his eyelashes and inserted his index finger. You haven’t had this much sexual adrenaline in a long time, and you missed it. You’re glad it’s with someone like Shawn, and not like your exes.

“Oh- fuck,” You whined, squeezing your eyes tightly shut. Your pussy was clenching around his digits as your arousal leaked from you. There was a knot forming in your stomach that was ready to unravel any moment now. Your puffy lips were pulsing intensely, while his thumb reached to rub your clit. The pleasure was so overwhelming and you were sensitive now. Before you could even moan it out, he said it for you.

“C‘mon, cum for me, Y/N,” He whispered dirty and sweetly close to your face as his movements increased in speed. Your hand gripped his arm, right over his butterfly tattoo, and that alone sent you over the edge. The coil in your abdomen exploded as you finished all over his hand. He licks his fingers off, full of your cum and arousal.

You are definitely the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

“Shawn,” You start breathlessly. He was really leaving you speechless. Your knees were bent on either side of him as he rubbed you slowly, helping you calm down. “that was amazing.”

“I’m glad. You deserve nothing less,” He leans down to kiss you lovingly, nudging your perspiring nose in the process. He gets up from the couch to get a washcloth for you and you sit up tiredly on the sofa.

“How about a bath, babe?” He shouts as he walks back into the small living room, you nodding sleepily. He cleans you off simply and lazily throws the rag on the coffee table in front of him. He takes a long double-take at his notebook, resting empty and fresh. A pen is squished between the blank pages, full of black ink and inspiration. A small lightbulb, that was once dull, grows brightly in his head.

“I think I have an idea for a song.”

—

Thank you for your patience, and thank you for the request!

#shawnxstyles #thank you for requesting!!#i really like this!#shawnmendesfanfic #shawnmendesfanfiction #fanfiction #anon <3 #requested #shawnmendessmut #shawn mendes smut

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