streamafterlaughter

[streamafterlaughter]

got really into it after i finished this so a new one will be out soon!!! i go back to school in a few weeks so im gonna try getting as much out before that but the goal is maybe ten more chapters!!!!

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter XXV: Breathing In Your Dust

masterlist | playlist | prev | pins | read on ao3 | read bee's diary (promise i have more coming soon!!)

songs for this chapter: thin air by citizen, you by born without bones, i wanna be yours by arctic monkeys

chapter tags: misunderstandings, rumors, angst, hurt/comfort, self esteem issues mentioned, swearing, etc. kinda sorta proofread sorry if u catch me editing this after posting it lol | fic tags: Angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | REMINDER: THIS FIC IS RATED EXPLICIT. 18+ mdni.

a/n: love a good miscommunication trope u cant stop me!!!!!!! Anyway last chapter did not make the noise i wanted it to but thats okay im retaliating with more angst :3 

taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality @munsonburn3r @justalotoffanfiction @bl0ssomanddie @eddiesgirl1944 @longlivedelusion @aliensfeltmyjoy @kissmyacdc

--

The diner is bustling with the lunch rush as you and Robin follow Missy to the corner booth in the back. 

“The usual for you, ladies?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Robin beams, and Missy nods before shuffling back toward the kitchen. “So,” your best friend turns to you, clasping her hands together on the wooden table. “Start talkin’.”

You sigh deeply, dramatically. “Can we at least get our food first?”

“Nope!” She gestures for you to talk. “Not if you don’t want me to make a scene.”

“Fine! Shit. I had a date.” 

She blinks at you expectantly. You say nothing. 

“You’re a liar!” She points a finger at you.

“No I’m not!”

“Bee, you are the most cautious person I know. You text me when you’re going grocery shopping! Last night, no one knew where you were. Steve hadn’t heard from you, Chris is fuckin’ useless. No one could even get in touch with Eddie.” You say a silent thank you to the universe for that one. “I was worried fuckin’ sick!”

You have to say something quickly. “It wasn’t a blind date.” Not a lie. 

“You mean… It’s someone we, like, know?”

You nod. You have to be very, very careful here. 

“I’m sure you can figure out my next question.”

“And I’m sure you can understand that I will not be answering it.” Robin opens her mouth to argue when Missy returns with two plates stacked full with the works: sausage links, two eggs over easy, chocolate chip silver dollar pancakes, wheat toast slices with a pad of butter. 

“Anything else for you ladies?” She asks sweetly. 

You’re about to ask her how she’s been, how the grandkids are, when Robin snaps. “No! We’re great, thanks Missy!” When the woman retreats back into the kitchen, Robin returns her attention to you. 

“Who is it?”

“Robin.”

“I have a guess.”

“I’m sure you do. I am not confirming nor denying any of your theories.”

“This must be someone you’re embarrassed about. Someone… so not your type.”

You want to tell her that’s not it, but you fight the instinct. You’re not embarrassed by Eddie, not in the slightest. You’re just not sure you can handle the told-you-so’s from everyone just yet. 

“Oh my god, Bee. I totally know who it is!” You gulp. “It’s Carver! Oh, that’s so awesome.” Her words drip with sarcasm. Robin throws her head back, cackling maniacally. 

You think about correcting her. You could end this horrible speculation right now, but you don’t. You can’t risk it, Robin’s a fantastic interrogator. 

She stops laughing suddenly. “What about Eddie?”

Shit. “What about him?”

“This is gonna, like, break his heart.” 

You give your best look of disbelief. “He’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, when pigs fuckin’ fly, Bee.”

“Okay, so… don’t tell him? He doesn’t need to know.” You’re digging a very deep hole now, but you can’t seem to shut your mouth. “It’s not, like, a serious thing. Just something to do I guess.”

Robin scrunches her face in disgust. “Been that dry lately, huh?”

“Ew, don’t say it like that.”

She bursts into giggles, and you can’t help but laugh with her. 

“Seriously,” You say between huffs, “Don’t tell him. If it comes to it, I will.”

“So you admit that boy’s in love with you? Finally?”

You shrug. “He’s always had good taste. Enough about that, though. What have you been up to lately?”

Robin shrugs, stuffing another bite of pancake into her mouth. “Honestly? Not much. Well, I’m up for a promotion at the shop.”

“Oh? That’s not nothing!”

“Eh, I dunno if I want more responsibility. They want me to be a shift manager, give me keys and shit.”

“You want more money though, no?”

“That is a very, very good point.”

“I make a lot of those.”

—

You try not to think anything of it when Eddie doesn’t text you for the entire day. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you’ve seen him, he’s giving you space. 

But you don’t want space, not from Eddie. You have the night off, but both of your friends are at work until at least ten-thirty, and you feel weird about texting Eddie first.

Is it my turn to ask him out? Your nerves start to chew at your brain. He took me to lunch, it’s my turn to ask him out. I think that’s how it works, right?

You text Steve.

> if he took me on a first date, would it be my turn to plan something?

stevie: Not necessarily. You went on a date?

> rob didn’t already blurt that out?

stevie: … She totally did.

stevie: Sorry.

> it’s fine. anyway, what do u mean not necessarily? stevie: Well, it depends. The date was what, last night? > well, i left last night… the actual date was the day before. stevie: You slept with him already?! stevie: Who are you and what have you done to my best friend? > NO!! we didn’t… well. stevie: ?!?!?!?! > we didnt go like all the way stevie: Did you… yknow > did I what stevie: Go… Downtown? > *i* did not stevie: DID HE?!?! > … stevie: Oh, Bee stevie: The ball is entirely in your court stevie: Actually, scratch that. Ball’s in the end zone. Touchdown, field goal, whatever.  > steve. in layman’s terms, please stevie: Short answer, yes. It is your turn.  > whats the long answer? stevie: He’s probably already planning your honeymoon with a first date like that.  > because…?

stevie: I say this as a lover boy myself, no way I’d let a girl sleep over on a first date if it were just a fling. After a couple times sure, but a stranger? Sleeping in my house? > what if he’s not a stranger stevie: Excuse me? > rob didn’t tell u? stevie: I thought she was joking!! You’re fucking dating Carver?! > oh my god IT’S NOT CARVER!!! stevie: But it IS someone we know?? > yes. stevie: And you’re not gonna tell us? > not right now. stevie:  WHY NOT!!!

You groan, locking your phone before tossing it onto your bed. Instead of texting Eddie, you do anything but that. Chris is out, so you have the house to yourself. You take advantage of the alone time, first thoroughly vacuuming the entire apartment. You bring your laundry down to the shared machines in the basement, and run the full dishwasher before scrubbing your pan from breakfast in the sink.

Once your living area is sparkling, you move to your bedroom. Even now, after living in this apartment for a year, there are still boxes to be unpacked. You get to work, connecting your phone to your bluetooth speaker, and sitting cross legged on your carpeted floor with your brother’s old pocket knife. 

The first box is labeled Bee’s Bedroom, written in your mother’s elegant handwriting. It’s a box reused from when you packed for college, the cardboard ripped in places from being opened the first time. You slice through the packing tape, pulling back the flaps to reveal the contents of your life, packed neatly within the cardboard walls. You pull out your books, a couple photo albums, and the old leather bound journal you’d kept throughout college. It’s practically split in half, pages worn with age, and you decide against opening it. College was a difficult time for you, and you’re pretty sure those pages have the only documentation of the horrible times you’d had in those four years. Instead, you open your phone again, clicking on your message thread with Eddie, staring at the last exchange you’d had while the cursor blinks at you, tauntingly. At the bottom of the box is an old photo, one you’d taken with your mother’s polaroid camera, a picture of you and Eddie at Lover’s Lake in high school. You smile, picking the photo out from the box, and decide to place it in your vanity mirror before picking your phone back up to text him.

> hey.

But he doesn’t respond. You sigh, locking your phone and tossing it aside.

“Why the long face?” Chris leans against the kitchen counter across from you. “You’ve been mopey all day.”

“It’s nothing.” 

“Eddie go quiet?”

You look up at him. “So what if he did? I really don’t need you giving me shit about that right now.”

“I wasn’t gonna! I just know how he is. Want me to text him?”

“Wouldn’t that reveal that you, y'know, know about us?”

“Not if I don’t tell him. You forget, Bee, I’m a fantastic liar.” It’s true, you’ve never seen someone lie as convincingly as your brother, but something in the back of your brain is warning you not to take him up on the offer.

“No, it’s alright. It’s only been a day. No big.”

“Okay, whatever. You wanna watch a movie?”

You nod, following him to the couch.

— eddie: fuckin’ carver? eddie: of all people?

The messages come in the middle of the night, two days after you’d told Robin that lie. This is the first time you’re hearing from him. 

> i had to tell her something! how did you even find out? eddie: steve has a big mouth. eddie: but i get it, i guess eddie: i just thought eddie: never mind. night, bee [eddie has Notifications turned off]

You frown, staring at the messages. It’s not that big of a deal, is it? Lying about seeing Jason to save you the drama that will come with telling your friends you’d been seeing Eddie, if you can even call it that? 

> you thought what?

But Eddie doesn’t answer, so you plug your phone into its charger, and try to go back to sleep. 

–

It’s been about a week, and you feel the stone in your stomach. Everything feels heavier, slower, desaturated. You have to work tonight. It’s Tuesday, and it will be the first time you see Eddie in person since your night together.

“Chris!” You call out to your brother, but he doesn’t respond. You throw your blanket from your body, rolling over to get up and make yourself presentable. You decide on your favorite pair of jeans, a light wash with a high waist, hemmed perfectly to land at your ankles. They make your butt look fantastic, and you bloom with confidence when you slide them on. You pair the pants with a black, form fitting t-shirt with HIDEOUT printed across the front, and HEAD BARTENDER on the back, both written in a font reminiscent of American traditional tattoos. Originally, your mom had forced the staff to wear branded shirts “to identify employees” but had given up on that rule over the years. The shirt is cute, though, and you’ve kept it in your work clothing rotation. 

Eddie still hasn’t texted you back, and the stone gets bigger. You can feel it in your throat, your chest, your toes. A desperate, silent plea for him to talk to you. Truthfully, you don’t understand why he’s so upset. He knows you aren’t ready to tell your friends about him, so why does the lie even matter? He knows the truth, shouldn’t that be enough?

> see you tonight?

You stare at the thread of messages and try to figure out what went wrong. He seemed a little extra upset about Carver, and you don’t blame him. Jason had been Eddie’s arch nemesis in high school. Even when he’d been behind two grades, he’d been the textbook definition of a high school jock: Decked out in green and gold every day, letterman jacket draped over his girlfriend’s shoulders, clean cut, blonde hair, perfect teeth. You’d never been even slightly attracted to him then, and you have no idea what he’s like now. You know he hasn’t left town, he still frequents the bar on weekends, but you don’t make a point to say hello. He was awful to Eddie, but he’d never bothered you, or even noticed your existence. 

Your phone buzzes in your hand.

eddie: yeah. it’s tuesday. 

It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing at all. 

–

The band is already setting up when you arrive at work.

“Bee! You’re late!”

“I know, I’m sorry!” You call to Kev, who’s dripping sweat as he shakes another cocktail for a customer. “Had some stuff I had to take care of!” You don’t explain, weaving your way through the small groups of drunk patrons to find your mother in the back office.

“Hi, baby!” She calls as you swipe your punch card. “You alright? You’re never this late.”

You sigh, dropping your bag on the desk beside your mom before falling into the chair. 

“I feel like shit.”

She pouts, turning away from the computer to better look at you. “Tell Mama what’s goin’ on.”

You shake your head, the feeling of defeat still eating at you. “I think I fucked up. You can’t tell anyone though, not even Chris.”

Your mom nods. “I won’t.”

“I went on a date last week. He hasn’t talked to me since, and it’s been agonizing. I’ve never felt like this about a fuckin’ boy before.”

“Was it Eddie?”

“Mom!”

“What?”

“Why does everyone think it’s Eddie?”

She gives you this look, one asking if you really want her to answer that. You just nod. 

“Bee, honey, you’ve been smitten with that boy since middle school, whether you wanna admit it or not. You two used to be attached at the hip, together every second of almost every day until Chris stole him out from under you. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that you two have reconnected. And I see the way he looks at you. He wears his heart on his sleeve and anyone with a brain can see it beats for you.” You feel the prickle of tears behind your eyes as she speaks, and you quickly blink them away. “So, how’d you fuck it up? Did you forget to tell him you feel the same way?”

“Who says I do?”

“You’re good at a lot of things, but lying has never been one of them.” She chides, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Am I on the right track?”

You shrug, exhaling a shaky breath. “I don’t even know what happened. I guess it could be because I haven’t told Steve and Robin yet. I told them I had a date with Carver.” Your mom scrunches her nose in disgust. “As a joke! But I don’t think they figured that part out. The information got back to Eddie. I think he’s upset I didn’t just tell them it was him I had a date with.”

“Or he thinks you really are dating Jason?”

You look at your mom, eyes widen. “You think he thinks that little of me? That I’d date the guy that tormented him in high school?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, babe. He did get held back twice, I don’t think he’s the sharpest tool in the shed.” 

“Mom!”

She snickers, and you can’t help giggling with her. “I know, I’m sorry! But seriously, just talk to him. I’m sure you’ll find it’s all just a big misunderstanding.”

You nod, swiping a stray tear from your cheek. “Thanks, Mama.”

She gets up, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Of course, my love. Now, let’s get out there and make some money.”

–

“Thank you everyone for comin’ out tonight. Just like every Tuesday, we have a special treat. Please give a warm Hideout welcome to Corroded Coffin!” You step away from the mic, gesturing to the stage behind you before sneaking behind the curtain and down the stairs. The band makes their entrance without flair, walking to their spots as the stage lights dim and the small crowd cheers. 

When Eddie approaches the mic in the front, you can’t help but stare. He’s dressed in a white muscle tank, with the arm holes ripped open wide, exposing each side of his torso. His eyes are lined with black, smudged despite the fact that he hasn’t broken a sweat yet. His pants are shredded black jeans, hugging his legs a little too tightly. His hair is extra unruly, like he purposefully messed it up before taking the stage. You don’t realize you’re staring until Steve nudges your shoulder with his. 

“Oh you two are so hooking up.”

“What?!” You whip around to look at your friend. “No, we’re not.”

“Right, and Robin’s not a lesbian.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Huh?” “Oh, I thought we were saying things that are very obviously not true.” He smiles at you and you backhand his arm, turning back to the stage. “I won’t tell anyone. You might wanna talk to him, though.”

“Okay, let’s humor this line of thinking for a second. Why do I wanna talk to him?”

“Well, I did. He’s not… doing well.”

You look up at Steve to read his face. Even in the low light, you can see the worry in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I may have told him you’re with Carver.”

“Why in the fuck would you do that?!” You remember the texts he’d sent you. You’d thought he’d been upset you didn’t tell them the truth, but he’d believed the lie too. “Because I thought he deserved to know! Truthfully, I figured he’d lie and say he knew, or he’d pretend to be okay. Bee, he broke down. I told him I was joking but he wouldn’t listen to me. I’m so sorry, I know I shouldn’t have said anything. I was hoping he’d just laugh and tell me the truth, but he… he definitely thought I was serious.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut as you process this information. That’s why he’s not texting you. He genuinely, truly thinks that little of you. You feel the stone in your throat again as you look at him onstage. He’s focused on his instrument, shredding it with his tongue poking out the side of his mouth, brow furrowed in concentration. 

“You are dating him, then?” Steve eventually asks, voice cautious in case you’re still too pissed at him to answer.

“Well, I don’t think I am anymore. But yeah. It was him.” You feel your heart crack when you use the past tense. “And I fucked it up.”

“Hey,” Steve turns your body to face him. “You didn’t fuck anything up. I probably did, but that’s something I can, and will, fix. Don’t worry about it, I got you.” He looks so apologetic, so sincere. 

“Okay. You better, or I’m revoking your free drink privileges.”

Steve nods frantically. “Aye, aye.”

–

You ring the last call bell, earning a collective groan from your customers. 

“Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.” You move back to the bar to take the last line of drink orders before you close for the night.

Imagine your surprise when the next person up is none other than Jason Carver. 

“Bee!” He greets you cheerfully, clearly already very drunk. “Wow, haven’t seen ya in ages, you look good!”

You laugh nervously, hoping Eddie is nowhere close enough to see you two interacting. “Hi, Jason. How’s it goin’?”

“Pretty good! Just got engaged, actually!”

Oh, good Christ. “That’s so nice to hear! What can I get ya to drink?”

“I’ll get a vodka soda for me, and a dirty martini for the lady over there.” He points back to the booth he’d been in, where a pretty blonde girl sits waiting for him. You nod, punching his order into the computer before running his card and closing out his tab. “Be right up.” Your smile is purely customer service, and it fades as soon as he walks to the other end of the bar. 

The next person to approach you makes your chest tighten.

“Hey.”

His eyeliner is practically gone, the remainder smudged beneath his eyes. His hair sticks to his skin that shines with sweat. He’s wearing a frown that makes your heart ache, but you try to play the whole thing off casually.

“Hi.”

“Can I get a Coors?”

No nicknames, no teasing, no flirty smile. Eddie is completely stoic, like he’s encased in marble. You nod, comping his order like you always do before turning to grab a glass from the dish rack. You hear your heart thumping wildly in your ears as you pour his drink, desperate for him to say anything. When he doesn’t, you have to fill the silence.

“Great show tonight.”

“Thanks.” He gives you what you think is supposed to be a smile, but his lips are pressed too tightly together. When you hand him his drink, he adds, “I talked to Steve.”

Your heartbeat gets louder. “Oh?”

“Turns out I’m a moron.”

You let a loud laugh slip from your throat. “Sorry, what?”

“You’re not dating Jason.”

“I am not dating Jason.”

“I thought you were.” He hangs his head, looking at you with puppy dog eyes through his wild bangs.

“I figured that part out.” You smirk at him. “I can’t believe you think so little of me.”

“Of course I don’t! It just… made sense to me. He’s handsome, athletic, with a fancy job.” He lists these things like they’re of any importance to you.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“You really are a moron.” You say it without malice, and you watch the way his face shifts, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “But I should have just told them the truth in the first place. I’m sorry.”

Eddie shakes his head, moving to the side so the next patron can place their order. “You have nothing to be sorry about, I get it. You’d told me you didn’t want them to know. The lie just felt too real, I think.”

You finish punching the customer’s order into the computer before turning to the counter to make it. “Well, it’s not. Jason’s actually here with his fiancee tonight.” You gesture to the far booth, where Carver still sits with the blonde lady, holding her hand across the table. “And he’s balding. At twenty-three.” You snicker before looking back at Eddie, who’s taken a seat at the bar stool across from you. 

“So you only want me for my luscious locks, huh?”

You giggle, reaching across the counter to twirl a lock of his hair around your finger. “Obviously.”

“You doin’ anything after work?” He asks into his glass, taking another swig.

“Nope, just gotta shower the smell of vodka off my skin. You got something in mind?”

“Meet me outside when you’re out.” He leans across the table, beckoning you closer. When you lean in, he places a soft, quick kiss on your cheek, and you feel your cheeks burn. He gulps down the last of his drink before placing it on the counter between you. You can only wave as he gets up to leave. 

–

It feels like years have passed, but you’re finally released from the bar at 2AM. The cold air of night hits you hard as you step out of the Hideout’s double doors, followed quickly by the smell of Camels. Against the brick, Eddie leans as he takes another drag, blowing smoke into the darkness.

“Those’ll kill ya, y’know.” You quip, making your way to where he stands.

Eddie shrugs. “So I’ve heard.” He offers the pack out to you, and you pluck one from the cardboard, bringing it to your lips. Instead of pulling out his lighter, Eddie brings the end of his own lit cigarette to yours as you inhale. He doesn’t say anything for a bit, but the silence isn’t awkward, not something that needs to be filled. You feel at ease, after a week of wondering if you’d ever get to speak to him again.

Finally, as he stubs out his cigarette against the concrete, he turns to you. “What are we doing?”

It’s not the question you’re expecting. “What do you mean?”

“Like, this,” He gestures between your bodies. “What is this?”

You don’t actually know the answer to that. “What do you want this to be?”

Eddie shakes his head, sighing. ���It’s not up to me.”

“It is, though, at least fifty percent. It takes two to tango, or whatever.” You’re trying to lighten the conversation, but to no avail.

“I don’t want to freak you out.”

“There’s nothing you could say that would freak me out at this point, Ed.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Try me?”

He pauses, as if trying to gather the courage to give you an answer. “I wanna be yours.” The words feel thick in your ears, and you roll them around in your head as he keeps talking. “I mean, I am. Entirely. But I need you to know that. Whenever you’re ready, if you ever are. If you ever want me, I’m here. I’ll drop everything. Whatever I have to do to prove it, I will.” You know he’s still a little drunk, but he sounds determined, like you won’t believe him. “You don’t need to decide right now, but I need you to know how I feel. It has always been you, Bee. You’ll always be my girl.”

Instead of responding, you flick the rest of your cigarette onto the ground, quickly putting it out with your foot before you move closer. You lean against the brick wall, your shoulder brushing against his own. He turns to look down at you, and you give him the brightest smile you can muster. 

“I already have my answer, though.”

His own smile widens, eyes crinkling. “Yeah?”

You nod, and Eddie moves to press you further into the wall, standing in front of you with an arm on either side of your head. His face is so close to yours, you’re sure he can hear your shallow breathing. “I’m all yours, Eds.”

He closes the gap, lips finding yours easily. The smoke on his breath fills your senses as you kiss him, slow and deliberate, as if trying to prove your promise to him. You wrap your arms around his neck, and his move to latch onto your waist. You don’t even care that you’re in public, that bar patrons are still lingering on the sidewalk, probably staring at the couple macking on each other by the door. In your head, though, it’s just you and Eddie. Nothing outside of your bubble matters. Your hands travel into his hair, desperately pulling him further into you, as if you’re not already connected. 

“Come home with me?” He asks, breathless when he finally breaks the kiss. “You can shower there, if you want.”

“Okay, yeah. You okay to drive?”

“I actually, uh, got dropped off here. I was already pretty drunk.”

You nod. “Good thing I brought my car. C’mon.” You hold out your hand, and he takes it, following you to the parking lot, a huge grin plastered on his face.

[streamafterlaughter]

the chances of hayley williams dropping an entire new album on a locked website with no warning on a monday are low but never zero

[streamafterlaughter]

Cry Baby

Eddie Munson x gn!reader

2K words - +18 ONLY

Angst, unrequited feelings

A/N: I thought this was uploaded here already, but apparently not.

---

“Do you have it?” Your hand is deep in your handbag brushing around the dirt and tobacco dust. It’s in here somewhere, you remember dropping it in your bag before rushing out of your front door. The sound of the horn from the old rust bucket of a van loud enough to wake the neighbors, and he wasn’t going to let up until your ass was sitting firmly in the passenger seat.

“Just – fuck – give me a second,” he’s so annoying sometimes, too eager. You’re anxious to get moving, too, but you’re not willing to risk life and limb. Without even moonlight filtering in, the woods were pitch black this time of night. You let your frustration out in the form of a dig, “I have it, Eddie, can you just back the fuck off for a minute. Christ, why couldn’t you bring your own flashlight?”

His frustrated groan just puts you more on edge. It’s been like this with him lately. What used to be simple fun has felt like a chore. You know why. It’s because of her, but that’s not his fault. He’s allowed to have a girlfriend. You’re allowed to feel sad about it. You’re not allowed to take those feelings out on one of your best friends. He’s not a mind reader, and you’ve never given him a hint of a reason to believe the two of you could be anything more than what you are.

“Ha! There it is!” The flashlight, a tiny penlight your grandpa bought for your graduation, was hiding behind a tube of lip gloss in the bottom corner of your bag. “You ready to go find some ghosts, Ed, or are you too scared?”

“Oh, fuck off,” he’s already out of the van, swinging the door shut. He’s extra amped up because, despite his protests, he’s terrified. When you asked him to join you, he couldn’t say no, he couldn’t risk your mocking. But he hates this shit. Why bother looking for trouble when it finds him either way. And he happens to believe in ghosts.

“We don’t have to do this together, I can come back alone tomorrow night.” He knows this, and he knows he’s not going to let you tromp around in these woods by yourself to look for the old stone bridge. He also knows that he’s not going to miss a single second he gets to spend with you before you leave him.

“If you don’t get your ass out of that van, I’ll assume you’re the one that’s chickenshit. Let’s go!” It was his idea for both of you to dress in all black. Not exactly a far cry from the norm for either of you, but you felt a little ridiculous wearing your brother’s oversized black sweatshirt. All of yours have some sort of logo, and Eddie insisted you’d both be picked up for trespassing if the cops could see you. You’re waiting for the perfect moment to point out that his bright white knees are showing through the holes in his faded black jeans.

You consider your bag and decide it has to stay. You grab your smokes, your lighter, your pepper spray, and the baggie with a couple of pre rolled joints before hopping out of the van. He’s already got a cigarette lit, his hands move agitatedly from like he’s trying to shake out his nerves. It’s enough to make you feel a little guilty.

“Let’s go, Ed. The sooner we get out there, the sooner I’ll smoke you out to calm your ass down.” You lead the way, setting a quick gait. Eddie is on your heels, and you know from experience, he’ll be that way through the entire trek. A little less than a mile, but in the dark it will feel longer.

Normally, Laura would come out on an adventure like this. Your best friend for years, and Eddie’s new girlfriend. The three of you do, or did, everything together. Until a little more than a month ago when you walked in on them making out on Eddie’s bed. The pain, you masked as disgust that night, has turned sour. A bitter taste on the tip of your tongue that twists your words and makes them a little harsher than they should be. To Eddie and Laura. Your two most important people.

So, Laura passed, telling Eddie the two of you need some alone time. She really just can’t be around you right now, because she knows how you feel about Eddie. And it’s killing both of you. It’s too hard to be with them together, pretending that it doesn’t hurt. You want them to be happy, and that’s what they are. Perfect and happy. You’ll be gone in a week, anyway.

“Jesus, Eddie,” you hiss out when his chest connects to your back for the third time, “why don’t you just go wait in the van or whatever?” Your tone is mean and biting. You immediately regret it.

“What’s your problem? When did you get so fucking mean?” The fear is gone, replaced with anger. You’ve known this was coming for a while now, but hoped you could leave for school before the shit hit the fan with him. “You’ve been nothing but a grade A bitch to me lately,” he lets out a mean little laugh before adding, “not just to me, to Laura too.”

It’s like a slap in the face. Eddie has never gotten involved in anything between you and Laura. Never taken sides when the two of you fight. You feel like the ground under your feet has lost its firmness. Like it might break open and swallow you up. He’s right, but it hurts.

“Yeah, well, your girlfriend can take of herself, Ed, or did you fucking forget that now that you spend your weekend balls deep in her cunt?” The tip of the finger you have pushed into his chest is white with the effort. You want to hit him, you want to cry, you want to say something so cruel he’ll never want to speak to you again. “This is so fucking stupid, why are you even out here with me? You should be with your little plaything?”

“You know,” he slaps your hand away from him, “Laura said she thinks you’re jealous, and that’s why you’ve been acting like this.”

“Oh, did she come to that conclusion when she had your dick down her throat?” You hate yourself for it, but it’s been the only thing you’ve been able to think about. The two of them together in all of the ways you’ve been wanting him. You are jealous, and you can’t deny it. You can’t lie to Eddie. It’s pointless. He can always tell.

“I can’t do this, let’s fucking forget it. Please.” Even in the pitch dark of the woods, you can see his big stupid eyes shining at you. “Let’s go find your ghosts. C’mon.”

This is what he’s good at. Diffusing the bomb inside of you just as it’s about to explode. You always have that rage sitting close to the surface. He’s known you long enough to know you’ll do anything – anything – to push him away when you’re feeling hurt. He won’t let that happen when your time left together is so short.

So, you spin your body around. It’s easier when you don’t have your eyes on his face. It’s the face you’ve seen every day for the last 3 years. It’s the face you think about when you fall asleep at night. It’s the face you see in your dreams. It’s killing you.

The fear must be back, because Eddie’s thick fingers are gripping your bicep like his life depends on it. The light of the flashlight bounces across the leaf covered path, and you catch sight of what you’ve been looking for. A stone foundation, and the stone bridge beyond it.

Beer cans are littered around, a testament to the spot’s popularity. Someone had a fire there recently, you can see the remains of burned logs just off the path. It’s not technically a historic spot, but the rumors persist. The witch’s house and the bridge where she left her baby to die. So the legend goes. It’s bullshit, of course.

“You ok back there, tough guy?” Somehow, the grip on your arm is tighter, and Eddie is practically climbing your back with how close he is. A warm feeling of fondness spreads through you at the feeling. He wears his leather armor, but he’s so soft underneath. The only time he went to a haunted house with you, he made you lead him through it while he walked with his eyes closed. He screamed every time anyone brushed up next to him.

“I’m fine,” his voice is quiet and shaky, “can we please do whatever it is you want to do and get out of here? We can go get a six pack and watch a movie or something.”

“I don’t want to do anything. I just want to smoke a little and see if we see anything.” You shrug his hand off your arm and head to the bridge. The trees open up enough here for the moonlight to shine down creating an eerie atmosphere that contributes to the area’s reputation.

You’re laughing while you watch Eddie’s panicky jog to catch up with you. You’re holding up a joint in triumph and wiggling it at him like an owner offering a treat to their dog for doing a trick.

“You know, I sold this to you, I could smoke my own stash at home.” He grumbles to you, but still accepts your offering. The flash of flame from his lighter makes his face glow. He’s so pretty, all of the time, and it breaks your heart to see. But you push that shit back down as he hands the joint back to you.

You take the joint and grab his hand. His calloused fingers cupping your hand back while you lead him to a spot in the middle of the bridge and sit. You pat the ground next to you in invitation, and he accepts that offering as well. You let your head rest on his shoulder, a thing you’ve done countless times before, but the first time since that night you saw him with Laura.

You watch a cloud pass across the moon, it’s nearly full and you feel so glad to see it like this with him. It almost feels right. It almost feels like you could angle your head up to look at him, but you won’t do that. It feels wrong when the only thing you want is for him to look back and see what you’ve been hiding from him.

“You know,” it’s been quiet for a while, and of course Eddie’s the first one to break, “if I had known –“ you reach your hand up to cover his mouth before he can say anything else.

“Don’t do that,” you whisper out, barely loud enough for him to hear, “just don’t.”

He doesn’t. He lets you have this, let’s you be with him in this spot. Forgetting for a few minutes that when you leave it, he’ll find her. He’ll kiss her, he’ll tell her he missed her. He should do those things, because they’re right and true.

“I’m gonna miss you so fucking much.” His kiss to the top of your head is what finally does it. The dam broken, tears spill down your cheeks. “This is a lot nicer than I thought it would be. Thank you.”

[streamafterlaughter]

HAYLEY WILLIAMS Ego Death At A Bachelorette Party (Official Video)

[streamafterlaughter]

Always the writer, never the reader.

[streamafterlaughter]

Blabbermouth

johnny storm x fem!reader content warnings: none! all fluff! summary: on a mission, Johnny gets sprayed with something that makes him way too honest. you try to keep him quiet, but he blurts out all the things he’s been holding back, especially how long he’s been in love with you. wc: 2k

masterlist.

It was supposed to be a standard sweep.

Alien bunker. Low threat. Weird tech, strange symbols, and enough glowing crystals to make Reed’s voice crack with excitement. Johnny had been bored from the start—hovering in the back of the group, tossing a ball of flame between his fingers while Ben kicked open doors and Sue cleared the path.

“I could be on a beach right now,” Johnny muttered, singeing the edge of a scorched blueprint with his pinky. “I deserve to be on a beach.”

“You got terrible sunburn last time,” Sue reminded him without looking back.

“It was a controlled burn.”

The air in the corridor felt stale, like something hadn’t breathed in there for centuries. They moved cautiously through the underground chamber, scanning for trip wires or pressure plates. Nothing. Just strange writing etched into the walls, humming with quiet energy.

That was the first sign something was off.

The second?

The pod.

It sat in the corner of the room. Dull silver, cracked slightly open, leaking a strange violet mist that curled and floated like it had a mind of its own.

Johnny, naturally, poked it.

“Johnny.” Ben snapped, too late.

The mist shot upward in a perfect puff—like a firework in reverse—right into Johnny’s face.

He blinked. Coughed once. Waved the smoke away.

“What the hell was that?” Sue asked, backing up with her arm half-raised for a shield.

“I’m fine,” Johnny said, squinting. “That was barely a breath. Not even spicy. Smelled kind of like lavender.”

Reed was already scanning him with some handheld monitor, muttering calculations under his breath.

Johnny grinned. “Relax, I’m fine. I feel great, actually.”

Then he looked at Sue and said, completely deadpan:

“By the way, your meatloaf sucks.”

A beat of silence.

“Excuse me?” she said, affronted.

“I’ve been pretending for years. I’m sorry. It’s bad. It’s like sadness in a pan.”

And that was when Reed declared the mission over.

The Baxter Building lobby smelled like smoke.

Not the scary kind. No alarms, no shouting, no flaming holes in the ceiling. Just a lingering warmth in the air, like someone had lit a match and forgot to put it out. You looked up from your notebook as the elevator doors slid open and the Fantastic Four filed in, one by one.

Reed had a sample tube in his hand. Sue was wiping green goo off her shoulder with a sigh. Ben was muttering something about “next time, I swear I’m bringing a flamethrower.”

And Johnny…

Johnny was beaming.

“Hey, guys!” he said way too brightly, his eyes going wide when he spotted you. “Look who it is! It’s the prettiest person in the tri-state area. No, the planet. Actually, the universe. Easy.”

You blinked. “Johnny?”

He marched right up to you with zero hesitation and zero regard for personal space.

“Hi,” he said, grin full blast, cheeks flushed. “You look amazing. I love that shirt on you. And your hair? Perfect. Is that a new lipstick? It’s making me go crazy. In a good way.”

“…Are you okay?”

“Me? Never better,” he said, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Got sprayed with a weird puff of alien gas in a tunnel, but I feel fantastic. And also, I’ve been thinking about how your laugh sounds like windchimes, and how it makes my chest all floaty and-”

“Johnny,” Reed interrupted from across the room, brows furrowed behind his glasses. “I need you to sit down.”

“I am sitting down,” Johnny replied.

“You’re standing.”

“Well, emotionally I’m sitting. Emotionally I am in a beanbag chair. Staring at-” he turned back to you, “a literal work of art.”

Sue groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Reed, tell me he didn’t breathe that stuff in.”

“He did,” Reed said grimly. “And based on his current behavior, I’m hypothesizing a psychochemical compound similar to a truth serum. But stronger. Less filtered. More impulsive.”

“Sweet,” Ben said. “So he’s just gonna be running his mouth until it wears off?”

“Correct.”

“Oh, this is gonna be good.”

You turned back to Johnny, whose attention hadn’t wavered once. He looked like a golden retriever that had just discovered affection. His smile was stupid. His eyes were shining. His hair was a little windblown and he had a small scratch on his cheek, but he looked annoyingly good.

“I am so sorry,” you whispered, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “You probably don’t feel like yourself right now.”

“I feel great,” he replied. “Your hand is soft. Did you know that? Have I told you that before?”

“Johnny-”

“And I love that perfume. It’s not too much. It’s, like, subtle but deadly. I would let it kill me.”

“Okay-”

“I’m in love with you, by the way.”

Silence.

Your mouth dropped open.

Sue choked on her coffee.

Ben muttered, “Aw, hell.”

Johnny blinked. “Oh. Should I not have said that?”

The words just…hung there.

Like a balloon popped in the middle of a silent room. Time slowed. You felt your ears go hot, your heart skip. Johnny stood there, blinking at you like he didn’t just say that, like he hadn’t just detonated the emotional equivalent of a nuclear bomb in the middle of the Baxter Building.

“Okay,” you said, voice tight. “Okay. So you’re, uh. You’re drugged. That’s cool. That’s fine. Everything’s cool-”

“I’m not drugged,” Johnny said proudly. “I’m just finally free.”

Sue set down her coffee with a loud clunk. “Johnny, shut up.”

“I won’t!” he declared, like he was giving a toast. “I have been in love with her for, like, six months- maybe more, who’s counting, not me, except that I definitely wrote it in my notebook at one poin=t”

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

“And I didn’t say anything because I thought, hey, you’re normal, right? And I’m me. Human torch. Fire boy. Disaster man. I figured if I told you, you’d run for the hills or laugh or worse. But I think about you all the time.”

“Johnny-”

“Like, all the time. Like, embarrassing amounts. Like I have quotes you’ve said stuck in my head like song lyrics.”

"Johnny can you-"

“I memorized the way you say my name,” Johnny added, eyes wide, honest to God sincere. “You say it different than everyone else. It’s like…softer. Like you’re letting me be someone else when you say it.”

You wanted to disappear.

No. You wanted to melt into the floor.

Or maybe fly into the sun.

But instead you stood there, frozen, while Johnny kept going, still not done.

“One time I flew over your apartment window to make sure you got home okay after that dinner with that guy you didn’t like. And I pretended it was a patrol run, but really I just wanted to make sure your lights turned on. And I saw them. And I smiled for, like, an hour.”

“Oh my God,” Sue muttered into her hands.

“Also!” he added brightly. “I have a collection of vinyls in a box labelled ‘If She Ever Lets Me Kiss Her’ and I will be playing it in full if that moment ever comes."

Ben was red in the face now, shaking with laughter. Reed just looked concerned.

You finally grabbed Johnny’s arm and pulled him into the hallway with a rushed, “I just need to talk to him, excuse us.."

Once the door clicked shut behind you, Johnny looked up at you with a dreamy smile.

“You’re holding my arm,” he said, like it was the best part of his whole day.

You stared at him. “Johnny.”

“Yes?”

“You are not in your right mind.”

“I’m in love.”

“No, you’re chemically compromised.”

He grinned wider. “Wow. That’s my favorite way someone’s ever said that.”

You ran a hand down your face, trying not to laugh. Trying not to feel the way your heart was pounding.

“You can’t just…say all that to me,” you whispered. “You can’t say things like that and not mean them.”

Johnny paused.

The smile softened. For the first time all afternoon, he looked a little serious. A little still.

“I do mean them,” he said quietly. “Every single word.”

You stared.

He wasn’t grinning now. He wasn’t performing. He was just looking at you like you were the only real thing in the room. No sparks. No flash.

Honest.

Open.

Yours, if you wanted.

“But,” he added, blinking slow. “If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I can…walk that back. Just, like, tell me, and I’ll make myself forget. Or I’ll pretend this never happened. I’ll do whatever you want. Just…don’t stop being in my life. I need you. Even if I don’t get to have you.”

You didn’t realize you’d moved until your hand was on his face, fingers cradling his jaw, thumb brushing the side of his cheek.

He leaned into it instantly, heat curling off his skin like instinct.

“You didn’t even ask if I feel the same,” you said softly.

“Do you?”

You nodded. Barely.

He didn’t say anything.

He just kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t fiery.

It was warm. Solid. Real.

He tasted like cinnamon gum and something a little electric. He sighed into it like it was the one thing he’d been holding his breath for all this time.

When you pulled back, he looked dazed.

“You taste like strawberry chapstick,” he whispered. “I knew it.”

You laughed, breathless, forehead pressed to his.

“What happens when the serum wears off?”

“I panic. Sue makes fun of me. Reed writes a report. I pretend I don’t remember any of this.”

“And then?”

He looked at you again.

“Then I kiss you again,” he said. “But on purpose this time.”

By the time Johnny woke up the next morning, the serum had long worn off, and the crippling realization of everything he’d said had kicked in.

He lay on his back in his bed, arm over his face, replaying it all in horror:

“I think about kissing you, like, constantly.” “I flew past your window to make sure you were safe.”

He groaned. Out loud. Into the void. Into his pillow.

“Oh my god.”

There was a knock at the door.

He flinched. “Go away.”

The door opened anyway.

“Morning, lover boy,” Ben said, way too cheerfully.

“I said go away.”

“Too bad. I brought company.”

Sue followed behind, sipping her coffee. “How’s our little truth bomb?”

Johnny rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. “Dead. Gone. I’m quitting the team.”

“Aw, come on,” Ben said. “You were adorable. Real rom-com material.”

“Kill me.”

“I didn’t know your middle name was ‘romance’” Sue added.

“I swear to God-”

“And Reed says he’s almost done charting your ‘emotional spike timeline,’” Ben said. “Apparently you got more honest every time she smiled at you.”

“I will burn this entire building down.”

A soft knock interrupted his growing spiral of despair.

You stepped into the doorway, holding two mugs of coffee. One of them had little flame doodles on the side. Johnny peeked over his pillow, eyes wide like a scared cat.

You gave him a slow smile. “You, uh…remember yesterday?”

He groaned. Again. “Please say it was all a dream.”

“Nope.”

You walked over and handed him the flame mug.

“But it was a very good dream for me.”

His ears turned red. Bright red. Like the serum had activated all over again.

You sat gently beside him on the edge of the bed.

“I liked hearing the things you said,” you added. “Even if they were…sudden. And chaotic. And a little concerning.”

“So…you’re not never speaking to me again?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t hate me?”

“Definitely not.”

You leaned in, brushed your hand across his cheek, and kissed the corner of his mouth, warm and quick and real.

“I kind of want to hear more of the truth,” you murmured. “This time without the alien chemicals.”

His eyes widened. “You do?”

“Only if you promise to show me that collection of records.”

Johnny grinned, wide and stunned, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

“I’ll even throw in choreography,” he said. “But I’m warning you—it’s a lot of finger guns and dramatic pointing.”

“Perfect.”

And for the first time in twenty-four hours, Johnny Storm thought:

"Yeah. That wasn���t so bad after all."

[streamafterlaughter]

soundtrack to disaster hit 2k on ao3 that is fucking WILD

thank you guys for reading, whether its here or there. i am so grateful for u all

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter XXV: Breathing In Your Dust

masterlist | playlist | prev | pins | read on ao3 | read bee's diary (promise i have more coming soon!!)

songs for this chapter: thin air by citizen, you by born without bones, i wanna be yours by arctic monkeys

chapter tags: misunderstandings, rumors, angst, hurt/comfort, self esteem issues mentioned, swearing, etc. kinda sorta proofread sorry if u catch me editing this after posting it lol | fic tags: Angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | REMINDER: THIS FIC IS RATED EXPLICIT. 18+ mdni.

a/n: love a good miscommunication trope u cant stop me!!!!!!! Anyway last chapter did not make the noise i wanted it to but thats okay im retaliating with more angst :3 

taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality @munsonburn3r @justalotoffanfiction @bl0ssomanddie @eddiesgirl1944 @longlivedelusion @aliensfeltmyjoy @kissmyacdc

--

The diner is bustling with the lunch rush as you and Robin follow Missy to the corner booth in the back. 

“The usual for you, ladies?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Robin beams, and Missy nods before shuffling back toward the kitchen. “So,” your best friend turns to you, clasping her hands together on the wooden table. “Start talkin’.”

You sigh deeply, dramatically. “Can we at least get our food first?”

“Nope!” She gestures for you to talk. “Not if you don’t want me to make a scene.”

“Fine! Shit. I had a date.” 

She blinks at you expectantly. You say nothing. 

“You’re a liar!” She points a finger at you.

“No I’m not!”

“Bee, you are the most cautious person I know. You text me when you’re going grocery shopping! Last night, no one knew where you were. Steve hadn’t heard from you, Chris is fuckin’ useless. No one could even get in touch with Eddie.” You say a silent thank you to the universe for that one. “I was worried fuckin’ sick!”

You have to say something quickly. “It wasn’t a blind date.” Not a lie. 

“You mean… It’s someone we, like, know?”

You nod. You have to be very, very careful here. 

“I’m sure you can figure out my next question.”

“And I’m sure you can understand that I will not be answering it.” Robin opens her mouth to argue when Missy returns with two plates stacked full with the works: sausage links, two eggs over easy, chocolate chip silver dollar pancakes, wheat toast slices with a pad of butter. 

“Anything else for you ladies?” She asks sweetly. 

You’re about to ask her how she’s been, how the grandkids are, when Robin snaps. “No! We’re great, thanks Missy!” When the woman retreats back into the kitchen, Robin returns her attention to you. 

“Who is it?”

“Robin.”

“I have a guess.”

“I’m sure you do. I am not confirming nor denying any of your theories.”

“This must be someone you’re embarrassed about. Someone… so not your type.”

You want to tell her that’s not it, but you fight the instinct. You’re not embarrassed by Eddie, not in the slightest. You’re just not sure you can handle the told-you-so’s from everyone just yet. 

“Oh my god, Bee. I totally know who it is!” You gulp. “It’s Carver! Oh, that’s so awesome.” Her words drip with sarcasm. Robin throws her head back, cackling maniacally. 

You think about correcting her. You could end this horrible speculation right now, but you don’t. You can’t risk it, Robin’s a fantastic interrogator. 

She stops laughing suddenly. “What about Eddie?”

Shit. “What about him?”

“This is gonna, like, break his heart.” 

You give your best look of disbelief. “He���ll be fine.”

“Yeah, when pigs fuckin’ fly, Bee.”

“Okay, so… don’t tell him? He doesn’t need to know.” You’re digging a very deep hole now, but you can’t seem to shut your mouth. “It’s not, like, a serious thing. Just something to do I guess.”

Robin scrunches her face in disgust. “Been that dry lately, huh?”

“Ew, don’t say it like that.”

She bursts into giggles, and you can’t help but laugh with her. 

“Seriously,” You say between huffs, “Don’t tell him. If it comes to it, I will.”

“So you admit that boy’s in love with you? Finally?”

You shrug. “He’s always had good taste. Enough about that, though. What have you been up to lately?”

Robin shrugs, stuffing another bite of pancake into her mouth. “Honestly? Not much. Well, I’m up for a promotion at the shop.”

“Oh? That’s not nothing!”

“Eh, I dunno if I want more responsibility. They want me to be a shift manager, give me keys and shit.”

“You want more money though, no?”

“That is a very, very good point.”

“I make a lot of those.”

—

You try not to think anything of it when Eddie doesn’t text you for the entire day. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you’ve seen him, he’s giving you space. 

But you don’t want space, not from Eddie. You have the night off, but both of your friends are at work until at least ten-thirty, and you feel weird about texting Eddie first.

Is it my turn to ask him out? Your nerves start to chew at your brain. He took me to lunch, it’s my turn to ask him out. I think that’s how it works, right?

You text Steve.

> if he took me on a first date, would it be my turn to plan something?

stevie: Not necessarily. You went on a date?

> rob didn’t already blurt that out?

stevie: … She totally did.

stevie: Sorry.

> it’s fine. anyway, what do u mean not necessarily? stevie: Well, it depends. The date was what, last night? > well, i left last night… the actual date was the day before. stevie: You slept with him already?! stevie: Who are you and what have you done to my best friend? > NO!! we didn’t… well. stevie: ?!?!?!?! > we didnt go like all the way stevie: Did you… yknow > did I what stevie: Go… Downtown? > *i* did not stevie: DID HE?!?! > … stevie: Oh, Bee stevie: The ball is entirely in your court stevie: Actually, scratch that. Ball’s in the end zone. Touchdown, field goal, whatever.  > steve. in layman’s terms, please stevie: Short answer, yes. It is your turn.  > whats the long answer? stevie: He’s probably already planning your honeymoon with a first date like that.  > because…?

stevie: I say this as a lover boy myself, no way I’d let a girl sleep over on a first date if it were just a fling. After a couple times sure, but a stranger? Sleeping in my house? > what if he’s not a stranger stevie: Excuse me? > rob didn’t tell u? stevie: I thought she was joking!! You’re fucking dating Carver?! > oh my god IT’S NOT CARVER!!! stevie: But it IS someone we know?? > yes. stevie: And you’re not gonna tell us? > not right now. stevie:  WHY NOT!!!

You groan, locking your phone before tossing it onto your bed. Instead of texting Eddie, you do anything but that. Chris is out, so you have the house to yourself. You take advantage of the alone time, first thoroughly vacuuming the entire apartment. You bring your laundry down to the shared machines in the basement, and run the full dishwasher before scrubbing your pan from breakfast in the sink.

Once your living area is sparkling, you move to your bedroom. Even now, after living in this apartment for a year, there are still boxes to be unpacked. You get to work, connecting your phone to your bluetooth speaker, and sitting cross legged on your carpeted floor with your brother’s old pocket knife. 

The first box is labeled Bee’s Bedroom, written in your mother’s elegant handwriting. It’s a box reused from when you packed for college, the cardboard ripped in places from being opened the first time. You slice through the packing tape, pulling back the flaps to reveal the contents of your life, packed neatly within the cardboard walls. You pull out your books, a couple photo albums, and the old leather bound journal you’d kept throughout college. It’s practically split in half, pages worn with age, and you decide against opening it. College was a difficult time for you, and you’re pretty sure those pages have the only documentation of the horrible times you’d had in those four years. Instead, you open your phone again, clicking on your message thread with Eddie, staring at the last exchange you’d had while the cursor blinks at you, tauntingly. At the bottom of the box is an old photo, one you’d taken with your mother’s polaroid camera, a picture of you and Eddie at Lover’s Lake in high school. You smile, picking the photo out from the box, and decide to place it in your vanity mirror before picking your phone back up to text him.

> hey.

But he doesn’t respond. You sigh, locking your phone and tossing it aside.

“Why the long face?” Chris leans against the kitchen counter across from you. “You’ve been mopey all day.”

“It’s nothing.” 

“Eddie go quiet?”

You look up at him. “So what if he did? I really don’t need you giving me shit about that right now.”

“I wasn’t gonna! I just know how he is. Want me to text him?”

“Wouldn’t that reveal that you, y'know, know about us?”

“Not if I don’t tell him. You forget, Bee, I’m a fantastic liar.” It’s true, you’ve never seen someone lie as convincingly as your brother, but something in the back of your brain is warning you not to take him up on the offer.

“No, it’s alright. It’s only been a day. No big.”

“Okay, whatever. You wanna watch a movie?”

You nod, following him to the couch.

— eddie: fuckin’ carver? eddie: of all people?

The messages come in the middle of the night, two days after you’d told Robin that lie. This is the first time you’re hearing from him. 

> i had to tell her something! how did you even find out? eddie: steve has a big mouth. eddie: but i get it, i guess eddie: i just thought eddie: never mind. night, bee [eddie has Notifications turned off]

You frown, staring at the messages. It’s not that big of a deal, is it? Lying about seeing Jason to save you the drama that will come with telling your friends you’d been seeing Eddie, if you can even call it that? 

> you thought what?

But Eddie doesn’t answer, so you plug your phone into its charger, and try to go back to sleep. 

–

It’s been about a week, and you feel the stone in your stomach. Everything feels heavier, slower, desaturated. You have to work tonight. It’s Tuesday, and it will be the first time you see Eddie in person since your night together.

“Chris!” You call out to your brother, but he doesn’t respond. You throw your blanket from your body, rolling over to get up and make yourself presentable. You decide on your favorite pair of jeans, a light wash with a high waist, hemmed perfectly to land at your ankles. They make your butt look fantastic, and you bloom with confidence when you slide them on. You pair the pants with a black, form fitting t-shirt with HIDEOUT printed across the front, and HEAD BARTENDER on the back, both written in a font reminiscent of American traditional tattoos. Originally, your mom had forced the staff to wear branded shirts “to identify employees” but had given up on that rule over the years. The shirt is cute, though, and you’ve kept it in your work clothing rotation. 

Eddie still hasn’t texted you back, and the stone gets bigger. You can feel it in your throat, your chest, your toes. A desperate, silent plea for him to talk to you. Truthfully, you don’t understand why he’s so upset. He knows you aren’t ready to tell your friends about him, so why does the lie even matter? He knows the truth, shouldn’t that be enough?

> see you tonight?

You stare at the thread of messages and try to figure out what went wrong. He seemed a little extra upset about Carver, and you don’t blame him. Jason had been Eddie’s arch nemesis in high school. Even when he’d been behind two grades, he’d been the textbook definition of a high school jock: Decked out in green and gold every day, letterman jacket draped over his girlfriend’s shoulders, clean cut, blonde hair, perfect teeth. You’d never been even slightly attracted to him then, and you have no idea what he’s like now. You know he hasn’t left town, he still frequents the bar on weekends, but you don’t make a point to say hello. He was awful to Eddie, but he’d never bothered you, or even noticed your existence. 

Your phone buzzes in your hand.

eddie: yeah. it’s tuesday. 

It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing at all. 

–

The band is already setting up when you arrive at work.

“Bee! You’re late!”

“I know, I’m sorry!” You call to Kev, who’s dripping sweat as he shakes another cocktail for a customer. “Had some stuff I had to take care of!” You don’t explain, weaving your way through the small groups of drunk patrons to find your mother in the back office.

“Hi, baby!” She calls as you swipe your punch card. “You alright? You’re never this late.”

You sigh, dropping your bag on the desk beside your mom before falling into the chair. 

“I feel like shit.”

She pouts, turning away from the computer to better look at you. “Tell Mama what’s goin’ on.”

You shake your head, the feeling of defeat still eating at you. “I think I fucked up. You can’t tell anyone though, not even Chris.”

Your mom nods. “I won’t.”

“I went on a date last week. He hasn’t talked to me since, and it’s been agonizing. I’ve never felt like this about a fuckin’ boy before.”

“Was it Eddie?”

“Mom!”

“What?”

“Why does everyone think it’s Eddie?”

She gives you this look, one asking if you really want her to answer that. You just nod. 

“Bee, honey, you’ve been smitten with that boy since middle school, whether you wanna admit it or not. You two used to be attached at the hip, together every second of almost every day until Chris stole him out from under you. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that you two have reconnected. And I see the way he looks at you. He wears his heart on his sleeve and anyone with a brain can see it beats for you.” You feel the prickle of tears behind your eyes as she speaks, and you quickly blink them away. “So, how’d you fuck it up? Did you forget to tell him you feel the same way?”

“Who says I do?”

“You’re good at a lot of things, but lying has never been one of them.” She chides, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Am I on the right track?”

You shrug, exhaling a shaky breath. “I don’t even know what happened. I guess it could be because I haven’t told Steve and Robin yet. I told them I had a date with Carver.” Your mom scrunches her nose in disgust. “As a joke! But I don’t think they figured that part out. The information got back to Eddie. I think he’s upset I didn’t just tell them it was him I had a date with.”

“Or he thinks you really are dating Jason?”

You look at your mom, eyes widen. “You think he thinks that little of me? That I’d date the guy that tormented him in high school?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, babe. He did get held back twice, I don’t think he’s the sharpest tool in the shed.” 

“Mom!”

She snickers, and you can’t help giggling with her. “I know, I’m sorry! But seriously, just talk to him. I’m sure you’ll find it’s all just a big misunderstanding.”

You nod, swiping a stray tear from your cheek. “Thanks, Mama.”

She gets up, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Of course, my love. Now, let’s get out there and make some money.”

–

“Thank you everyone for comin’ out tonight. Just like every Tuesday, we have a special treat. Please give a warm Hideout welcome to Corroded Coffin!” You step away from the mic, gesturing to the stage behind you before sneaking behind the curtain and down the stairs. The band makes their entrance without flair, walking to their spots as the stage lights dim and the small crowd cheers. 

When Eddie approaches the mic in the front, you can’t help but stare. He’s dressed in a white muscle tank, with the arm holes ripped open wide, exposing each side of his torso. His eyes are lined with black, smudged despite the fact that he hasn’t broken a sweat yet. His pants are shredded black jeans, hugging his legs a little too tightly. His hair is extra unruly, like he purposefully messed it up before taking the stage. You don’t realize you’re staring until Steve nudges your shoulder with his. 

“Oh you two are so hooking up.”

“What?!” You whip around to look at your friend. “No, we’re not.”

“Right, and Robin’s not a lesbian.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Huh?” “Oh, I thought we were saying things that are very obviously not true.” He smiles at you and you backhand his arm, turning back to the stage. “I won’t tell anyone. You might wanna talk to him, though.”

“Okay, let’s humor this line of thinking for a second. Why do I wanna talk to him?”

“Well, I did. He’s not… doing well.”

You look up at Steve to read his face. Even in the low light, you can see the worry in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I may have told him you’re with Carver.”

“Why in the fuck would you do that?!” You remember the texts he’d sent you. You’d thought he’d been upset you didn’t tell them the truth, but he’d believed the lie too. “Because I thought he deserved to know! Truthfully, I figured he’d lie and say he knew, or he’d pretend to be okay. Bee, he broke down. I told him I was joking but he wouldn’t listen to me. I’m so sorry, I know I shouldn’t have said anything. I was hoping he’d just laugh and tell me the truth, but he… he definitely thought I was serious.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut as you process this information. That’s why he’s not texting you. He genuinely, truly thinks that little of you. You feel the stone in your throat again as you look at him onstage. He’s focused on his instrument, shredding it with his tongue poking out the side of his mouth, brow furrowed in concentration. 

“You are dating him, then?” Steve eventually asks, voice cautious in case you’re still too pissed at him to answer.

“Well, I don’t think I am anymore. But yeah. It was him.” You feel your heart crack when you use the past tense. “And I fucked it up.”

“Hey,” Steve turns your body to face him. “You didn’t fuck anything up. I probably did, but that’s something I can, and will, fix. Don’t worry about it, I got you.” He looks so apologetic, so sincere. 

“Okay. You better, or I’m revoking your free drink privileges.”

Steve nods frantically. “Aye, aye.”

–

You ring the last call bell, earning a collective groan from your customers. 

“Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.” You move back to the bar to take the last line of drink orders before you close for the night.

Imagine your surprise when the next person up is none other than Jason Carver. 

“Bee!” He greets you cheerfully, clearly already very drunk. “Wow, haven’t seen ya in ages, you look good!”

You laugh nervously, hoping Eddie is nowhere close enough to see you two interacting. “Hi, Jason. How’s it goin’?”

“Pretty good! Just got engaged, actually!”

Oh, good Christ. “That’s so nice to hear! What can I get ya to drink?”

“I’ll get a vodka soda for me, and a dirty martini for the lady over there.” He points back to the booth he’d been in, where a pretty blonde girl sits waiting for him. You nod, punching his order into the computer before running his card and closing out his tab. “Be right up.” Your smile is purely customer service, and it fades as soon as he walks to the other end of the bar. 

The next person to approach you makes your chest tighten.

“Hey.”

His eyeliner is practically gone, the remainder smudged beneath his eyes. His hair sticks to his skin that shines with sweat. He’s wearing a frown that makes your heart ache, but you try to play the whole thing off casually.

“Hi.”

“Can I get a Coors?”

No nicknames, no teasing, no flirty smile. Eddie is completely stoic, like he’s encased in marble. You nod, comping his order like you always do before turning to grab a glass from the dish rack. You hear your heart thumping wildly in your ears as you pour his drink, desperate for him to say anything. When he doesn’t, you have to fill the silence.

“Great show tonight.”

“Thanks.” He gives you what you think is supposed to be a smile, but his lips are pressed too tightly together. When you hand him his drink, he adds, “I talked to Steve.”

Your heartbeat gets louder. “Oh?”

“Turns out I’m a moron.”

You let a loud laugh slip from your throat. “Sorry, what?”

“You’re not dating Jason.”

“I am not dating Jason.”

“I thought you were.” He hangs his head, looking at you with puppy dog eyes through his wild bangs.

“I figured that part out.” You smirk at him. “I can’t believe you think so little of me.”

“Of course I don’t! It just… made sense to me. He’s handsome, athletic, with a fancy job.” He lists these things like they’re of any importance to you.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“You really are a moron.” You say it without malice, and you watch the way his face shifts, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “But I should have just told them the truth in the first place. I’m sorry.”

Eddie shakes his head, moving to the side so the next patron can place their order. “You have nothing to be sorry about, I get it. You’d told me you didn’t want them to know. The lie just felt too real, I think.”

You finish punching the customer’s order into the computer before turning to the counter to make it. “Well, it’s not. Jason’s actually here with his fiancee tonight.” You gesture to the far booth, where Carver still sits with the blonde lady, holding her hand across the table. “And he’s balding. At twenty-three.” You snicker before looking back at Eddie, who’s taken a seat at the bar stool across from you. 

“So you only want me for my luscious locks, huh?”

You giggle, reaching across the counter to twirl a lock of his hair around your finger. “Obviously.”

“You doin’ anything after work?” He asks into his glass, taking another swig.

“Nope, just gotta shower the smell of vodka off my skin. You got something in mind?”

“Meet me outside when you’re out.” He leans across the table, beckoning you closer. When you lean in, he places a soft, quick kiss on your cheek, and you feel your cheeks burn. He gulps down the last of his drink before placing it on the counter between you. You can only wave as he gets up to leave. 

–

It feels like years have passed, but you’re finally released from the bar at 2AM. The cold air of night hits you hard as you step out of the Hideout’s double doors, followed quickly by the smell of Camels. Against the brick, Eddie leans as he takes another drag, blowing smoke into the darkness.

“Those’ll kill ya, y’know.” You quip, making your way to where he stands.

Eddie shrugs. “So I’ve heard.” He offers the pack out to you, and you pluck one from the cardboard, bringing it to your lips. Instead of pulling out his lighter, Eddie brings the end of his own lit cigarette to yours as you inhale. He doesn’t say anything for a bit, but the silence isn’t awkward, not something that needs to be filled. You feel at ease, after a week of wondering if you’d ever get to speak to him again.

Finally, as he stubs out his cigarette against the concrete, he turns to you. “What are we doing?”

It’s not the question you’re expecting. “What do you mean?”

“Like, this,” He gestures between your bodies. “What is this?”

You don’t actually know the answer to that. “What do you want this to be?”

Eddie shakes his head, sighing. “It’s not up to me.”

“It is, though, at least fifty percent. It takes two to tango, or whatever.” You’re trying to lighten the conversation, but to no avail.

“I don’t want to freak you out.”

“There’s nothing you could say that would freak me out at this point, Ed.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Try me?”

He pauses, as if trying to gather the courage to give you an answer. “I wanna be yours.” The words feel thick in your ears, and you roll them around in your head as he keeps talking. “I mean, I am. Entirely. But I need you to know that. Whenever you’re ready, if you ever are. If you ever want me, I’m here. I’ll drop everything. Whatever I have to do to prove it, I will.” You know he’s still a little drunk, but he sounds determined, like you won’t believe him. “You don’t need to decide right now, but I need you to know how I feel. It has always been you, Bee. You’ll always be my girl.”

Instead of responding, you flick the rest of your cigarette onto the ground, quickly putting it out with your foot before you move closer. You lean against the brick wall, your shoulder brushing against his own. He turns to look down at you, and you give him the brightest smile you can muster. 

“I already have my answer, though.”

His own smile widens, eyes crinkling. “Yeah?”

You nod, and Eddie moves to press you further into the wall, standing in front of you with an arm on either side of your head. His face is so close to yours, you’re sure he can hear your shallow breathing. “I’m all yours, Eds.”

He closes the gap, lips finding yours easily. The smoke on his breath fills your senses as you kiss him, slow and deliberate, as if trying to prove your promise to him. You wrap your arms around his neck, and his move to latch onto your waist. You don’t even care that you’re in public, that bar patrons are still lingering on the sidewalk, probably staring at the couple macking on each other by the door. In your head, though, it’s just you and Eddie. Nothing outside of your bubble matters. Your hands travel into his hair, desperately pulling him further into you, as if you’re not already connected. 

“Come home with me?” He asks, breathless when he finally breaks the kiss. “You can shower there, if you want.”

“Okay, yeah. You okay to drive?”

“I actually, uh, got dropped off here. I was already pretty drunk.”

You nod. “Good thing I brought my car. C’mon.” You hold out your hand, and he takes it, following you to the parking lot, a huge grin plastered on his face.

[streamafterlaughter]

nice rack fuck i meant cute tits fuck sorry i meant deliciou- no fuck oops i meant fantastic boobs NO sorry im trying to say awooga oops um i mean-

[streamafterlaughter]

You want to hear real Boston accents and not the fake ones that Ben Affleck and Matt Damon put on? Here ya go.

[streamafterlaughter]

not to be a dirty commie or anything but i don't think any one person should have enough money to solve world hunger and then get to decide not to

[streamafterlaughter]

hayley williams released 17 songs on her website you can only access with a code from buying the new gdy hair shade

and those 17 songs are the most devastating things i have ever listened to in my life

[streamafterlaughter]

I just want to talk about the power of commenting on fics for a minute.

I have my main fandom, but when I read in other fandoms, I don't know many of the writers. So I usually just find fics by looking through the tag I want. And if it's a tag I'm really interested in, I'll read every fic in the tag. And if there's a fic I really liked in there, I'll start reading everything by that writer.

So what this means is I'm sometimes reading fics or writers that don't have tons of hits/kudos/comments on their fics, but I found them through some obscure tag I wanted to read. And so I'll get back some really incredibly sweet replies to my comments.

But then, something even more incredible started happening. I'd be reading WIPs by some of these writers and they'd literally start writing the rest of the fic for me. They started asking me what I hoped to see happen or if I had any requests. And when the fic was finished, one of them said the only reason they kept writing the fic was for me.

Sometimes there can be such a lovely connection between the writer and the reader just because you decided to leave a comment. And sometimes you as the commenting reader can become the lone reason why a fic makes its way into the world for all the other readers who come after you.

[streamafterlaughter]

i recorded an episode of my podcast with one of my favorite musicians and it’s out NOW!!!

youtube | spotify

[streamafterlaughter]

people can never prove they're friends with dustin normally, it's always 'let me jump off a cliff for you dustin,' 'let me throw a car at the evil russians trying to shoot you dustin,' 'let me bike eight miles for you dustin,' 'let me hear your voice from an alternate dimension dustin,' 'let me die in your arms dustin.' leave him ALONE why does he make everyone CRAZY

[streamafterlaughter]

Being in His Life

Ivar the Boneless x Blacksmith/Shield maiden reader she/her pronouns

Fluff/Semi-slowburn

Warnings: blood and murder, kissing, main events of the series ‘Vikings’

Summary: You have always been by Ivar’s side, along with the rest of the Ragnarssons. You were his best friend, his defender, his sense of logic. He needed you. But eventually he had to live without you. Which taught him a lesson, he didn’t want to.

Word count: 5.8k

You’ve been a family friend of the Lothbroks since you were a child. You had been one of the few children in Kattegat to be able to develop a strong friendship with Ragnarssons, and the only one to stay.

Your father was the main blacksmith of Kattegat, he didn’t have any sons, you were his youngest daughter but his only child that showed any interest in his trade. One day he decided to bring you to work, the day he made a delivery to King Ragnar Lothbrok.

You and your father arrived at the longhouse. Your father carried a newly forged sword wrapped in cloth, he carried it to the couple sitting on their thrones. You and your father both kneeled before them, Ragnar unwrapped the sword and inspected it.

“Well done, blacksmith,” Ragnar gestured for you both to stand. “You are a great craftsman. I hope you pass your skill on to the next generation.” He smiled down at you then patted your head.

“She’s looking forward to learning more about the trade and skills,” your father smiled proudly.

“Really?” Ragnar crouched down to your level. “Well, to know how to make the perfect weapons, you need to know how to handle them,” you nodded as you listened. “My boys are out in the woods training right now. Why don’t I bring you to train with them and inspect the weapons?”

You looked up for father’s approval. He nodded. You looked back at Ragnar and agreed.

Ragnar brought you to where his sons were training, he introduced you then left. Hvitserk and Ubbe stopped sparring to stare at you, Sigurd flipped his dagger and rolled his eyes, Ivar sat on a stump holding a bow and arrow. You just waved.

As the three older brothers continued to trade off turns sparring, you walked over to Ivar on his stump. He ignored you as he shot his arrow, he missed by a long shot. He growled in irritation. He got ready to shoot again, but before he could you stood behind him and adjusted his positioning.

“Go ahead,” you encouraged.

He shot. He finally hit the target. Ivar fully turned his head to you and smiled. He decided then and there that you were going to be his friend. You didn’t have a choice.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Ivar got bigger his brothers weren’t able to pull him around in his box anymore. He was stationary again for the most part, having to pull himself everywhere with his arms. He was getting stronger, building muscle in his arms, which he liked. What he didn’t like was that he couldn’t run with the other children, feel the wind in his hair, get his energy out.

Even though you were still young and just starting to learn to hone your skills, you wanted to build something to help Ivar get back to this feeling. You asked your father for his help, showing him your designs. Though they were poorly drawn, he understood the concept. At night, during his usual time off, you and your father would be in the shop working on your project for Ivar.

A few weeks later your father rolls you into the longhouse on a light metal cart. You call out for Ivar in a sing-songy voice as Floki and Ragnar giggle. Ivar and his brothers came out from the back room, you hopped off the cart, presenting it to Ivar. “For you, Prince Ivar,” you rolled it over to him.

He smiled at you. As you held it still he pulled himself into it, taking a seat, “Why?”

“So you can keep up with your brothers when they run,” you smiled down at him.

His brothers started to giggle and look over the cart. Ubbe took the handle, pulling Ivar, “it’s so light. Let’s go try it out for real.” Once Ivar nodded in agreement, Ubbe pulled him in the chart straight out of the longhouse with Hvitserk and Sigurd following. You ran out after them. Queen Asluag yelled out, worried, but none of you heard what she said.

You all ran through the village square, you did your best to keep up while not knocking anyone down. Ubbe ran a full speed while pulling Ivar, Ivar giggled uncontrollably, gripping the sides of the cart. You all eventually stopped when you reached the edge of the woods.

Ivar looked up at you, “Y/N, thank you to you and your father. I love it.” You nodded and smiled. Ivar got to play with his brothers a little longer because of your design, that’s all you wanted.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once he became a teenager the ridicule got so much worse. There was no more sympathy for the small broken child, he was now seen as a disgrace, a curse to his bloodline. People in the village looked at him with disgust, they were scared of his anger. Anger that his very own brother, Sigurd, loved to fuel.

“You can’t do anything, Ivar! You are just a lowly cripple,” Sigurd takes a sip of his mead. “Less than human.”

Ivar grinds his teeth together, “Watch your mouth, brother.”

Sigurd chuckled, he was a bit tipsy from the mead. “What could you ever do to me? You can’t even walk.”

“I’m capable of many other things,” Ivar gripped his horn tightly.

“Yes, you are very good at slithering around like a serpent,” Sigurd grinned.

Ivar threw his horn of mead, hitting Sigurd square in the head. “Boys, stop fighting,” Aslaug said in a quiet but irritated tone.

Sigurd stood up, “you’re the reason Ragnar abandoned all of us, Ivar! He knew he was cursed once you were born and his failure in Frankia proved him right! You never should’ve been born!”

Ivar used the chairs to lift himself up, he stalked towards Sigurd while groaning in pain, “you’re going to pay for everything you’ve ever said about me, brother.”

“Ivar, sit down before you get hurt. Sigurd, apologize!” Ubbe started to stand up, but he entered the conflict too late.

Singurd pulled the chair out from underneath Ivar, causing him to fall flat on his face. He screamed out in anger and in pain.

Sigurd stormed out of the longhouse, bumping into you, almost knocking the axes and sword you were carrying out of your arms. When you walked into the longhouse you saw Ivar still on the ground, being comforted by his mother. You rolled your eyes as you handed the weapons to Ubbe and Hvitserk.

You moved to Ivar and knelt down in front of him. Aslaug left his side, he looked up at you, tears in his eyes. You pulled him up by his arms, “let’s get you up.” You lifted him to his feet and placed him in a chair. You placed his food back in front of him, then sat down next to him. His brothers and mother were no longer in the room. “You know I’m going to drag Sigurd back here when you’re calm.”

Ivar scoffed, “for what?”

“You’re brothers, you two have to talk and apologize to each other.”

“I don’t have to apologize for anything,” he shoved his food in his mouth.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” you leaned back in your chair.

Ivar hit his fist against the table, “excuse me? He called me a serpent? How could I owe him an apology?”

“You two have been arguing since you were young children. Over the years it has just escalated. It's going to get to a boiling point soon enough, where neither of you can return from.”

Ivar rolled his eyes and pushed his plate away. He grunted as he got out of his seat and crawled away from you.

A few hours later you went into the woods in search of Sigurd. You found him throwing axes at a tree. You knew he was just stubborn as Ivar so you weren’t going to talk him into talking to Ivar. You crept up behind him and put him in a headlock.

“Argh! Y/N, what are you doing?” He struggled against you.

“You and Ivar are going to have a talk!” You start to drag him while you walk.

“Did he send you?” Sigurd scoffs.

“No, I came on my own accord.”

You drag Sigurd all the way to the longhouse, where Ubbe and Hvitserk are standing over a hog tied Ivar. You threw Sigurd down, Ubbe and Hvitserk tied him up also.

“Now talk. We’re not leaving until you do.” Both Sigurd and Ivar groaned.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd had all been with Margrethe, a beautiful thrall that worked for the family. Ivar believed she was the right of passage to lose his manhood. He wanted her, at least once. He told his brothers, and they came up with the plan. They set Ivar and Margrethe up in a small hut in the outskirts of the village.

You knew nothing of this plan. If you did it wouldn’t have happened. You would’ve brought logical thinking to the situation, and the Ragnarsson couldn’t have that. But you found out about it when you overheard Margrethe.

“No wonder he’s called ‘boneless’,” she giggled with her friends. “He started to tear up. I should’ve been the one crying,” they continued to laugh.

You took out your knife and grabbed her hair. Her friends went silent. You cut off the length of her hair. She gasped. “I know it’s a long shot but maybe less men will want to sleep with you now,” you then hand her your knife and the sheath they kept it on your hip. “Protect yourself. I know it wasn’t your choice to be with him.”

You go up to the Lothbrok’s hunting cabin, opening up the door to Ivar sitting by the fire. “Go away,” he was carving a block of wood.

“Not going to happen,” you sat down on the floor next to him.

He growled in irritation.

“Tell me what happened,” you took the knife and wood out of his hands.

He sighed, “I couldn’t get it up. So I wasn’t man enough to satisfy her.” You rubbed his back as he continued to rant. “I kept trying and trying. I was hurting her. I didn’t want to hurt her! That was the opposite-” his voice cracked. You pulled him into you as tears reached his eyes. “I’ll never be man enough.”

“Ivar, it was your first time. You cannot let it define you. Many men fail their first time, and they don’t have your condition.”

He pulls away, “either way she’s spreading it around. Every woman in Kattegat knows about what happened.”

You take Margrethe’s braid out of your satchel, “she’s done talking for now.” You hand him the braid, he clutches it, “one day her words will fade and you’ll either find a woman that hasn’t heard them or doesn’t care.”

“Do you care?” His icy blue eyes bore into yours.

“Ivar, I’ve been your friend since we were young children. I couldn’t care less,” you smiled warmly at him. And that’s when he cracked. Ivar grabbed the sides of your face and kissed your lips roughly. You gripped his shoulders and pushed him back. “Ivar, you’re upset. You do not care for me in that way. You need to heal from what happened with Margrethe, and using me will not help.”

Ivar sniffled but nodded, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. It will never happen again.”

“It’s alright. Let me bring you back home.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Okay, we wait for Bjorn,” Ubbe leaned up against the fence of the hunting cabin.

“No, we wait for Ivar first,” Sigurd spoke up.

You’ve been standing at the end of the dock since the Saxon ship had been spotted. Ivar and Ragnar were on their way back from England, and you had to inform them of the death of Queen Aslaug and the new rule of Queen Lagertha.

The ship docked, but the only one you recognized was Ivar. You helped him onto the dock, he looked miserable. “Where is Ragnar?” You asked before you two even said ‘hello’.

“Dead. My brothers already know. Odin should’ve visited them as he visited me,” you nodded in understanding and led him to a horse with a cart attached. “Where is my mother? Why has she not come to greet me? She was worried when I left.”

“She is not coming to greet you,” you lifted him and placed him in the cart.

“Why? Is she preparing for Ragnar’s funeral?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you this or if I should wait for your brother’s to,” you looked down at your feet.

He grabbed the collar of your tunic, “you tell me.”

“Asluag is dead. Your mother was killed by Lagertha. She is now the queen of Kattegat,” Ivar let go of your tunic, his face turned into a blank expression. “Your brothers are up at the hunting cabin.”

The entire ride up to the cabin Ivar was completely silent. When he entered the lodge he and brothers argued about what to do about Lagertha. Eventually they acted mostly on impulse and threatened Lagertha. Thankfully Bjorn came home in time. Everyone lowered their weapons and declared a truce. A truce that Ivar did not want to agree to.

The night that Queen Lagertha refused to fight Ivar in single combat he had requested to spend the night in your home. When you were children you’d spend nights in the longhouse with the Ragnarssons, but Ivar only came to your home when he was exceptionally upset.

Once the sun had set, Ivar chugged his mead and crawled into your bed. You sat next to him and he laid his head in your lap, immediately sobbing into your nightgown. All you could do that night was hold him.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Great Heathen Army had been assembled and sailed to England. It was time to fight against the Kingdom of Northumbria. They listened to Ivar’s strategies. He rode his chariot into battle for the first time, feeling like a true viking. Throughout the battle you would hop onto his chariot and use it to cut Saxon warriors down, laughing behind Ivar.

“Why do you use me so?” Ivar chuckles.

“Are you telling me not to be resourceful?”

“No, but a good shieldmaiden doesn’t need to use a cripple for a ride.” You shoved his head as you jumped off his chariot. “That’s what I thought!” He yelled out after you.

After the battle ended the Ragnarssons captured King Aelle and blood eagled him that night. In York the brothers argued about what to do with the Great Heathen Army next, things escalated between Sigurd and Ivar again.

“Ivar, you are crazy,” Sigurd stood up and stalked toward Ivar.

Ivar grabbed an axe, quickly, without thinking, he threw it at Sigurd. It landed in Sigurd’s chest. He fell dead.

You ran to Sigurd’s side, trying to wake him up while keeping blood from pouring out of his wound. You stared up at Ivar, your eyes blown wide, “Ivar, what have you done?!”

Ivar had almost made it up to Ubbe and Hvitserk, he apologized for killing Sigurd, he said his anger got the better of him and Sigurd was just fueling the fire. He had cried into your arms again. The apologies had won his brothers over but not you. You could tell he was starting to slip.

One night he came to you with an idea, metal braces to make him walk. You started right away on the designs. Spent your days and nights forging these braces and a crutch for him, until they were finally done and you were sure they’d fit him perfectly.

Ivar laid down on the walk way as you tightened the braces around his legs. Once he got up to his feet on his own and walked over to his brothers for the first time, he pulled you into a tight embrace. “Now they won’t look down on me,” he kissed your temple.

Ivar was starting to become sole leader of York, he was no longer running things by his brothers. He was becoming arrogant instead of just angry. You didn’t know why but it happened after he freed a young, pretty, blonde thrall that he had asked into his quarters. You didn’t know what she would have to do with any of it.

After the Saxon attack on York and the Viking victory, the Great Heathen Army split again. Ivar sat on a boulder on the shore as Hvitserk stepped off of Ubbe’s ship and walked to Ivar.

“See, no one is with you, Ubbe,” Ivar patted Hvitserk’s back and whispered into his ear, “where is Y/N?”

“There,” Hvitserk pointed out to the ships where you stood stoic.

Ivar clenched his jaw and yelled, “Y/N, what do you think you are doing?!”

“You cannot lead Ivar! I’ve seen that, and I refuse to see you slip further into this madness you’ve created.”

“I am not mad!” He clenched his fists, “you said you were my best friend! You’re supposed to stay with me! By my side! Not Ubbe’s!”

“Goodbye, Ivar,” you and Ubbe waved.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you settled back into Kattegat, Queen Lagertha offered you a position as one of her personal shieldmaidens as well as the blacksmith of her weapons. You accepted. For months you stood by Lagertha’s side and provided weapons to the rest of her shield maidens. You loved your new responsibilities in Kattegat, and respected Lagertha as Queen, more than you ever did Aslaug. Everything was perfect.

Until King Harald’s army approached. Ivar led them, and he saw you fight by Lagertha’s side. To him, you had betrayed him. You had already chosen Ubbe over him, now you were choosing Lagertha even after what she had done to his poor mother. King Harald’s army retreated, they were overpowered by Lagertha’s army and her Sami allies.

Lagertha was outsourcing for allies, so could Ivar. He contacted his Uncle Rollo and gained support from the Frankish army. This battle was bloodier, Ivar made sure of that. Lagertha, Bjorn, Heahmund, Ubbe, and Torvi had fled Kattegat. You were supposed to come with them but Ivar had given multiple men the mission of finding you during the battle. He was not going to let you get away again.

Once Ivar arrived in the longhouse and declared himself to be king of Kattegat, his first order of business was to visit you in the dungeon. You were chained to the wall, sitting down. Your wounds from the battle were still open and oozing blood, you were weak. Ivar limped his way over to you. He ordered his men, “go get healers! I want her alive!” His men ran out in a rush to get the healer.

Ivar leaned over, he grabbed your hair and tilted your head up. Your face was bashed in. He huffed, “what did they do to you?”

You smirked, “you mean the men you sent after me?”

He nodded, “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t want them to hurt you.”You spat in his face. He dropped your head, you laughed manically. Ivar started to pace around the room. He wiped his face, “you never should have left me, Y/N. Because now you’re never going to be able to leave.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’ve been Ivar’s thrall for a few weeks now. He put you to work for him the moment you were fully healed. You were the one to serve him all his meals, he had you stay in the room with him while he ate. You sat at the foot of his throne during meetings, he even put your bed in his chambers. He had to have an eye on you all the time. And to make sure you couldn’t get away, because he knew he couldn’t break your spirit as easily as other thralls, he kept your feet and hands chained at all times.

Ivar dragged you everywhere he went, at least until she showed up again. In some ways you were thankful for Freydis, she took away Ivar’s attention. In other ways you wished she never showed up, she made Ivar believe he was a god. He believed he should be sat with Odin and Thor in the Aesir, all you could do was roll your eyes as you saw everyone else in Kattegat fall for his words. Everyone except for Hvitserk.

When Freydis was almost due to give birth, Hvitserk came to you in the middle of the night. You were no longer sleeping in Ivar’s chambers but in the throne room on furs on the floor. Hvitserk shook you awake.

“Huh?” You sat up, “Hvitserk, what?”

“Shhh,” he started fumbling with your chains. “We’re getting out of here. We don’t belong here since Ivar has gone mad.”

“Took you long enough to come to your senses,” you stood once he undid your chains. He huffed at you as you both snuck out of the longhouse.

In the early morning Hvitserk stuffed you in a cart with livestock for you to hide under. He was stopped at the gates of Kattegat, questioned relentlessly by the guards. The sun was about to fully come above the horizon, and you knew Hvitserk wasn’t going to be able to talk his way out of the walls before Ivar woke. You both jumped onto the ground and swiftly attacked the two guards, killing them before they could even make a sound. You both hid the bodies, opened the gates, and rode to the outskirts of Kattegat. There you met with Ubbe, Bjorn, Torvi and Lagertha. You met them all with tight embraces.

Lagertha put her hands on both sides on your face, “more of your spark is gone.” She moved her hands to hold your raw wrists, “he really did want to keep you, didn’t he?”

You nodded, “he kept me shackled because he knew he couldn’t break me.”

For days you all planned how to fight against Ivar’s defenses, trying to find out ways to get through the walls of Kattegat, neither you nor Hvitserk knew of ways in other than the main gate. But one day a miracle walked into the tent. Freydis.

“There is a secret opening in the wall, in case Ivar ever needed to escape. I will show you and leave it open to let you and your men in for when you’re ready to attack,” you noticed Freydis looked broken when she spoke.

“How do we know we can trust you?” Bjorn questioned her.

“He killed my baby. I cannot trust or love a man like that,” Freydis turned, “also Hvitserk, Ivar had Thora and others burned.” Then she left the tent, leaving a frozen Hvitserk.

You stormed out after her, grabbing her shoulder and turning her around. You shoved her against the tree. “Are you serious? You made him this way, put the thoughts of him being a god in his head. You let those people burn!”

Freydis rolled her eyes, “what is your point?”

You wrapped your hand around her throat, “my point is, you’re a manipulative woman and if Ivar doesn’t kill you when he finds out you betrayed him, because he will find out. I will kill you slowly and painfully. Ivar isn’t the only tyrant of Kattegat that needs to be dealt with.” You let go of her.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t reunite with Ivar until the death of his brother, Bjorn Ironside. Before you stayed in Kattegat doing your best to get Hvitserk sober, but you kept losing that sneaky bastard. When he was banished after killing Lagertha you went back to blacksmithing as your main trade. Only being a shieldmaiden if defense was needed. And it was needed sooner than you thought.

You stood on the front lines as Bjorn weakly raised his sword, his torso full of arrows. As he finally fell dead off his horse and the Rus started to retreat, you charged. You threw down your sword and shield so you could run faster. You hopped onto Ivar’s chariot before he was even able to turn fully around. You grabbed the collar of his tunic and slammed his back into the wall of the chariot.

“You ever come back to Kattegat I will make sure it is the last day you live!” You spat as you yelled in his face.

Ivar nodded silently, frightened. It confused you. There was something different about him. You had expected him to laugh in your face like a mad man. A laugh that would drive you crazy until you eventually snapped and punched out his teeth. But this Ivar looked up at you with eyes full of sorrow, as if he was sorry.

You dropped him, then left the chariot.

Even with your warning Ivar and Hvitserk still came back to Kattegat. They were accepted by King Harald and the people, especially after Ivar purposefully humiliated himself by throwing his crutch and falling over to prove he didn’t think he was a god anymore.

That night you found Ivar and Hvitserk sitting on a platform by the water. Once Hvitserk left and Ivar stood up, you grabbed him from behind and held a knife to his neck. “Hello, Y/N,” he grabbed your arm, pulling the knife out of your hand. “You hesitate too much.” He pulls you to face him.

“Of course I hesitate. You were my best friend for years, I had cared for you since my childhood,” tears started to fill your eyes.

Ivar kept your arms pinned against your chest, “then why did you leave me?” His voice broke.

“You thought you were a god, Ivar. You slipped away.”

He shook you gently in frustration, “I don’t believe that anymore, I don’t know why I ever believed that.”

“Because she poisoned your mind, and you let her.”

“I-I loved Freydis, she was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he let go of your arms. “She was beautiful, she loved me.”

You cupped his cheek, “sweet Ivar, no she didn’t. She was a delusional woman who believed she could use your passion to gain power for herself.”

He leaned into your touch, “I was mad before her.”

“I know, she knew. Why do you think she chose you? It was easier to push you where she wanted you to go.”

He leaned against you, putting his head in the crook of your neck, “why do you see everything so clearly? Even now, after being without her for a year I still think she was the love of my life, no matter how manipulative she was.”

You wrapped your arms around him, “maybe that’s what love is, I wouldn’t know.”

He wrapped one of his arms around the small of your back and pulled you against him, “you deserve to know. You’re the only one that keeps me sane.” He mumbles into your neck, “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I missed the real you, Ivar.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ivar and King Harald’s army were once again in Wessex, England. You came along as a shieldmaiden, you had missed fighting, and living in Kattegat had become too mundane for you. You spent your days with Ivar and Hvitserk, they were bickering and joking like brothers again. You didn’t know what happened over the year they were with the Rus, you didn’t need to know, you were just happy things felt normal again.

Ivar had the idea to cripple the Saxon army with traps. You were assigned to design them, help build and set them up. You were setting a foot trap up when Ivar came to check on you.

“How’s it going?” He stood above you in your crouched position.

“Good. Ahead of schedule. Then everyone can come see where they are and help hide them,” you stood up.

He nodded, “good, good.” He turned to walk back to camp. He didn’t get far until his crutch got caught on a root, he started to fall, his face and whole body were about to get ensnared in multiple spiked traps. But suddenly he wasn’t on the ground, but in your arms. You had ran to him and caught him. He didn’t understand how you were holding him so easily, or how you got to him so fast.

“We’ll clear the roots,” you smiled at him, still not putting him down.

He nodded and looked down, “your foot.”

You looked down to find your foot in a trap, spikes embedded into your calf. “It’s fine. I haven’t felt anything in that leg for a few years.” You threw Ivar over your shoulder and carried him off the field, the trap still attached to your foot.

Back at camp, you were treating your foot, Ivar was sitting with Hvitserk but he was staring at you. Hvitserk smacked Ivar’s arm, “what’s your problem?”

“I used to think I never knew what love felt like?” Ivar continues to stare at you.

“What do you mean?” Hvitserk raised an eyebrow.

“Mother only cared for me because she felt guilty for giving birth to me. You, Ubbe, and Sigurd, teased me my entire childhood, and I tortured you all one way or another as pay back. Freydis made me insane for her own good, and became pregnant by another man. Katja, I don’t know what she wanted, but it wasn’t me.” Ivar sharpens his axe.

“Ivar, why are you telling me this?” Hvitserk whispers.

“I was wrong. Y/N loved me my entire life,” Ivar sighed.

“Yes, I know,” Hvitserk agrees.

Ivar’s head snaps up to face him, “what? You knew?”

“I thought you knew?” Hvitserk gestured at him, “she made you a cart when we were kids, then your leg braces. Whether it’s as friends or more, she has always loved you. She left you because she loves you and she knew she couldn’t help you where you were.”

Ivar huffs, “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

Hvitserk pats his back, “always have been.”

During the first battle Ivar stayed on the platform, the entire time. He watched you. Watched you fight. Watched you move swiftly across the battlefield. He laughed every time you brutally killed a saxon. He was captivated by you.

The camp was lively that night, you danced around the fire with other shieldmaidens. Ivar admired you while he drank mead from a horn. And he kept drinking, and drinking. Eventually you grew tired and sat down next to Ivar.

“You’re beautiful,” Ivar grins widely at you.

“Thank you. Are you drunk?”

He shushed you, “you fight and dance like a true goddess, Y/N.”

You chuckled, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He moved impossibly close to you, wrapped his arms around you and rested his head on your shoulder. “I should’ve married you instead of Freydis. Have a child on the way with you instead of with Katja,” he mumbled.

“Ivar, you cannot say such things,” you looked down at him to find him asleep on your shoulder. You carried him to his bed, next to Hvitserk’s.

Ivar had forgotten about what he said to you, but you didn’t. You lingered near him to see if he’d show any feelings to you while he was sober. Instead you just overheard a conversation between him and Hvitserk.

“Ivar, your eyes are blue,” Hvitserk leaned forward. “You remember what that means, don’t you?”

Ivar’s jaw clenched.

“It means you’re in danger of breaking your bones. Remember what we would say, ‘not today, Ivar. Not today.’ So not today, Ivar,” Hvitserk patted Ivar’s shoulder and walked away.

“I remember,” Ivar whispered.

You sat down, taking the place of Hvitserk. “I need you to be careful today, Ivar.”

Ivar scoffed, “I don’t need your pity.”

“I’m not giving you pity, I just don’t want you to die.”

“If I die in battle I get to go to Valhalla,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Excuse me?” His eyes widened.

“Dying in battle isn’t the only way to get into Valhalla. Those that go are personally chosen by Odin. If you die an old man of natural causes but you are still a legend he would still choose you. And not every Viking that has died in battle over the centuries is in Valhalla, not all of them have enough honor.”

Ivar let out a long sigh, “you were the only one that ever really paid attention to Floki and his teachings of the gods.”

“If you paid more attention you wouldn’t be trying to die in the next battle.”

Ivar smiled warmly at you, “I promise I’ll be careful.”

He didn’t keep that promise. During the last battle Ivar was stabbed in the abdomen, he was bleeding out in Hvitserk’s arms. When the fighting stopped you ran to them and dropped to your knees, covering his wound with your hands. “Put pressure on it, Hvitserk!”

“Y/N, he’s gone,” Hvitserk sobbed.

“No!” You ripped off his armor, then his blood drenched tunic. You saw he was still breathing, you still had time.

Shieldmaidens formed a small shieldwall around you and Hvitserk, other vikings rolled a cart up to you. You took your tunic off and tied it tightly around Ivar’s torso. Multiple men lifted Ivar and Hvitserk into the cart and wheeled them off the battlefield. You were left facing King Alfred.

You kneeled before him, “King Alfred, we surrender. We are retreating from England and will not return. If you send your men to watch our departure we will not attack in any way. I personally apologize for laying siege to your kingdom.”

King Alfred stood above you, “we accept your surrender. I expect to hear word if Ivar the Boneless survives or not.”

You stood and nodded, “of course, your Majesty.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ivar woke up in the bed at the hunting cabin. “Where am I?” You entered the cabin, carrying in firewood. “Y/N?”

You dropped the logs and rushed to his side, “you’re awake.” You cupped his face in your hands.

“I thought I was dead. Why am I not dead?” He wiped away tears that were streaming down your face.

“I couldn't let Ivar the Boneless die yet. You have so much more to do,” you grabbed his hand and kissed his knuckles.

“You saved me? Of course you saved me. You always save me,” he held your chin. “Y/N, I know I’ve told you this before but I need you in my life. I’ve finally realized you’re the only one I have ever truly loved. You’re good for me. You keep me sane. You keep me safe.”

“I’m going to stay with you as long as I can. I’ve always loved you.” Ivar pulled you to him and your lips met in a soft, tender kiss.