#beloved band of idiots

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

The Outpost S04E12 The Betrayer.

[cloudghoul32]

He's stupid looking

I love him

[killedbythegroove]

help why is he like this 😭

courtesy of @prettyinpunk

[ineffable-baker-street]

i would like to talk about crowley racing through the streets to aziraphale's side while blaring 'good old fashioned lover boy' because it is iconic, has so much subtext, and people hardly ever talk about it.

1) the song is literally just them. the whole thing. put it into the context of crowley returning to help aziraphale and it's pretty damn obvious what the subtext there is.

2) but, my main point. when crowley is driving back to help aziraphale, the primary lyric we hear is "i learned my passion from the good old fashioned school of loverboys." right after that lyric (after a bit of instrumental) would come the line "dining at the ritz, we'll meet at nine." but we never hear that. the scene cuts away just before that line plays, and then when it cuts back we're onto "driving back inside of my saloon." the way these three lyrics are laid out, and the fact that we don't hear "dining at the ritz," completely mirrors the sequence of events at the end of episode 6. crowley instigated an act of great passion between them, and if everything had gone to plan they would've then gone to the ritz, but of course that never happens. and then he has to drive back to where he normally parks his car while he's living in it. if they had gone to the ritz, and if crowley had heard the next lyric, then they would've driven back to aziraphale's shop together, and the song would've continued into "take me back to yours that will be fine." the song reflects the presence and the absence of events, which is so much attention to detail and it takes effort to even notice that, let alone to do it.

3) finally, i'm just going to list some other lyrics for you to realise just how ineffable husband's coded this song is.

- i'd like for you and i to go romancing (to alpha centauri perhaps???)

- say the word, your wish is my command

- when i'm not with you, think of you always

- when i'm not with you, think of me always

- take me back to yours that will be fine

that's everything notable but the entire song is so them it hurts

[rightintheghoulies]

MERRY SHITSCRAM EVERYBODY!!!

To all my current moots, past moots, and logged off moots 🖤🫶🤗🤘🫴

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

every day I care less about Taylor Swift actually sorry to say

[spacestation-l7]

“American Idiots”

Have I ever told y’all how much I love Green Day? Bet y’all weren’t expecting a Green Day fanart!

Decided to let my Green Day brainrot take over for the next few days so here’s the main three!

+ Grey background + Ref image

[hpdfag]

if u have me added on discord and see me looping hope is so far away. noooooo u dont

[saphic-with-t]

When joking about how ridiculous it is that Fabian is popular I don’t think people realize how insanely cool the bad kids are in universe. As viewers we see their cool moments but we also see them being dorks and lame idiots. Think about their in universe reputations and how you would react to hearing about them if you lived in the same world as them.

There is a group of six people who saved the world 3 different times before they even entered their junior year of high school.

One of them never showed up to any of their classes until their third year and still passed. She is a rockstar and arch devil of rebellion who owns a recording studio in hell where she plays the bass.

One dude threw the greatest party the entire high school has ever seen, is captain of the sports team, and killed the school’s evil principal without facing any punishment.

One performed a motorcycle kick-flip that was doing a jump off of a mansion’s roof into a pool of flaming tartar sauce. Said kick-flip student has created a god, killed that god, brought herself back from the dead, and resurrected a completely different god.

One of the girls is the chosen oracle of all elves and punched her dad so hard he instantly died. Also if you dig deep enough into the political history books it turns out she caused there to be a feud (bordering on full war) between her home nation and the nation she currently lives in.

The quietest kid of the bunch is a super genius who invented a solar lasso that captured and contained an eldritch horror into his van, took 4 years of high school all at once and passed all of them, is currently acing his arcane mechanics and physical Ed studies, and is the second hand man on the school sports team. He also is the drummer for the arch devil’s band and launched a fully working satellite into space before he even started studying arcane mechanics.

Finally the “dork” of their group is an arcane consultant of heaven, became a P.I. after freshman year, is currently in every extra-curricular school club, and is beloved by seemingly all of his underclassmen. Also after he found out that the dragon his party was fighting ate his dad he fucking ATE IT to avenge him.

Obviously we know the truth behind all of these things and the actual way these six dorks act, but think how insanely sick they all sound in universe.

[ruledbyhoodoo]

Here, have a rare instance of Matt being the sanest out of everyone:

reblog with your favorite muse picture!!

[starsjulia]

falling for an athlete // leah williamson

a/n : decided to write something fluffy for a change, also this is set way in the future

warnings : none!!

———————

The dinner table was a war zone of cutlery and sarcasm, typical for a Williamson household meal. Ellie, your beloved daughter, sat cross-legged on her chair with a plate of half-eaten pasta in front of her, was giving her best mate Liv a look the kind of look that screamed, “I swear, if you ask one more question, I’ll disown you.”

But Liv, bless her, clearly couldn’t read the signs. “So, like,” she started innocently, eyes flicking between you and Leah, “how did you two meet?”

Ellie’s head snapped toward her friend, a fork clattering against her plate. “No. Liv, no. You’ve bloody done it now.”

Leah, sat across the table with a smug grin and one socked foot propped on the chair leg, looked like she’d been waiting for this moment all night. “Finally! Someone wants to hear a proper love story.”

Ellie groaned so loud it could’ve woken the neighbours. “It’s not a love story. It’s a tragedy for me.”

You, sitting beside Leah, chuckled and reached under the table to squeeze her thigh. “Do you want to start, or shall I?”

Leah grinned, her accent getting sharper as her excitement grew. “Oh, I’ll start. Can’t trust you to tell it properly, you’ll skip all the best bits.”

Ellie leaned back in her chair dramatically, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. “I’m leaving home. I can’t do this anymore.”

“behave,” Leah teased, before turning to Liv with an exaggerated seriousness. “Right, so picture this I was twenty-four, still a baby, but obviously very fit—”

Ellie interrupted with a glare. “Oh my God, stop talking.”

Leah ignored her. “I’d just finished a match, and me and the girls went to the pub. And then in walks her.” Leah nodded toward you, her grin softening into something fond. “Leather jacket, perfect hair, like something out of a film. I actually choked on me pint when I saw her.”

Liv gasped, clearly entertained. “You choked?”

“Full-on coughing fit,” Leah confirmed proudly. “Nearly sprayed it everywhere. My mates were in stitches.”

You jumped in, smirking. “She looked like a right idiot. Bright red, coughing like she’d swallowed a fly.”

“Yeah, well,” Leah countered, shooting you a playful glare, “it was your fault for looking like a sexy lead singer of an indie band. I panicked.”

Ellie muttered, “I’m living with children,” as she slouched further into her chair.

“So,” Leah continued, ignoring her daughter entirely, “I worked up the courage, walked over, and said, ‘Alright, love, can I buy you a drink?’”

“And I said, ‘No, I’m alright, thanks,’” you added, grinning.

Liv’s mouth fell open as she looked at you. “You rejected her?!”

“Too right I did,” you said proudly. “I wasn’t about to fall for some cocky athlete with a cheeky grin.”

Ellie jabbed her fork toward you. “You failed miserably, though, didn’t you?”

Leah grinned like a Cheshire cat. “She did. But she held out for a bit hard to get, y’know? Proper challenge. I had to step up me game.”

“Oh, step up is a stretch,” you teased, narrowing your eyes. “She nearly died of embarrassment.”

Liv’s eyes widened again, practically vibrating in her seat. “Wait, what happened?”

Leah groaned, burying her face in her hands for a moment. “This is where it gets slightly less smooth.”

You smirked, looking far too proud of yourself. “So Leah decided she’d pull some grand romantic gesture, very dramatic, very her. She found out which café I went to every morning for my coffee and pastry. I walked in one day, and the girl behind the counter hands me this bag.”

Leah muttered, already cringing. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Written on the bag,” you said, glancing at Liv with a gleeful smile, “in massive block letters, was: ‘FREE PASTRY BECAUSE I THINK YOU’RE FIT—LEAH W.’”

Liv choked on her laughter, clutching her stomach. “No! You didn’t!”

“She did,” you confirmed, grinning as you leaned back. “I nearly died laughing. She’d paid for the whole thing up front, too. Couldn’t even take the croissant back when I refused it.”

Leah groaned again, though there was still a fond smile on her face. “The worst part? I wrote the note with one of those thick black permanent markers Thought it looked bold. Turns out it just looked like a five-year-old wrote it.”

Ellie was curled up in her chair, face buried in her hoodie, muttering, “I can’t believe I’m related to you.”

“I did try and make up for it,” Leah added quickly, looking at you like you’d hung the moon. “I bought her another coffee the next day. And, y’know, didn’t write anything embarrassing on it.”

“Very impressive recovery,” you teased. “But you still looked like a nervous wreck when you handed it over.”

Leah shrugged, unbothered. “Because I was. And I still managed to win you over, didn’t I?”

Liv, still laughing, wiped at her eyes. “That’s actually the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. I get why you tried so hard, she’s fit.”

Ellie’s head shot up in absolute horror. “Liv! That’s my mum! You can’t say that!”

“What?” Liv replied innocently. “I’m just saying…look at her!”

Ellie covered her face with both hands. “I’m never eating dinner here again. This is trauma.”

Leah laughed, grinning mischievously as she leaned closer to you. “She’s still fit now, though, isn’t she?”

“Leah,” you warned, though you were smiling.

“I mean, look at her,” Leah continued, purposefully loud and dramatic. “I married the fittest woman in England.”

Ellie flung a napkin across the table at her. “Stop. You’re both disgusting.”

Leah just grinned, pressing a loud, exaggerated kiss to your cheek. “Jealous, El?”

Ellie groaned. “I’m moving out. This is unbearable.”

——————

Later that night, you were curled up in bed with Leah, the house finally quiet. Leah lay on her side, her arm draped lazily across your waist as she looked at you with that soft, adoring smile, he one that always made your heart flutter, even after all these years.

“You know,” she said softly, her voice thick with her accent, “I reckon Liv’s got a little crush on you.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Oh, does she?”

“Mm-hmm,” Leah murmured, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on your hip. “Can’t blame her, really. I’d still try and win you over with pastries if I met you now.”

You laughed quietly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Still got a crush on me, have you?”

Leah’s smile turned impossibly soft as she leaned in to press a kiss to your lips. “Always, love. I’m still completely gone for you.”

You kissed her back, lingering for a moment before pulling away just enough to whisper, “Good. Because I’m still completely gone for you, too.”

Leah grinned, pressing her forehead to yours. “Worth every dodgy croissant and marker pen note.”

You laughed again, tangling your fingers in her hair. “You’re lucky I found you so endearing.”

“I know,” she replied, grinning as she kissed you once more. “But don’t tell Ellie. She’ll never let me live it down.”

And as Leah pulled you closer, her arm tightening around you, you couldn’t help but smile. Even after all these years, her love still felt as sweet—and as chaotic—as that first pastry.

[fuctacles]

a boy worth fighting getting trampled for

"trampled" for @corrodedcoffinfest BF event | T | 856 | Corroded King (implied and open for interpretation) | no cw | Black Friday, banter, open relationship, polycule-ish, appreciating Steve Harrington moment, canon-ish universe | Ao3

"Was it worth it?"

"Yes!" Gareth and Jeff nod in unison.

"No," whines Eddie, thumbing at the rip in his beloved t-shirt. 

"Eh..." Doug makes a so-so motion with his palm.

Steve sighs. When they asked him for extra muscle on Black Friday, he should have expected an outcome like this. The whole band is brandishing various injuries from being trampled by other shoppers, the worst of which was Gareth's allegedly sprained ankle. He wasn't fussing about it only because a. his mother was a nurse and would look at it as soon as she was back, and b. he kind of deserved it. 

"Well, show me the loot, then," Steve says with a raised eyebrow, crossing his arms. The only thing he's seen so far was a shiny new amp he had the misfortune of carrying from the store to his car. 

Eddie digs through his pockets to brandish about half a dozen tapes, none with a cover Steve would recognize. He seems proud of his haul but sours under the unimpressed stare he gets. 

"I got a few vinyls for my folks," Doug shows off his findings, and Eddie scoffs loudly when he gets an approving smile from Steve.

"That's nice," he says. 

Gareth redeems himself by showing a gift for his sister, while Jeff bought probably two dozen string packs for his guitar. 

"Okay, these aren't actually as stupid as I thought," Steve admits reluctantly, sitting on a stack of tires. "Except for you," he points at Eddie. "You have a shitload of tapes already."

Eddie huffs, now him being the one to cross his arms. 

"Sorry, we're not showing what we got for you."

The rest of the guys start shushing him immediately, Jeff even going as far as throwing a string pack at his head. Eddie maturely flips them the bird. 

"You got me stuff?" Steve asks in surprise. 

"Duh," Gareth scoffs, and Jeff flicks him in the ear for it. "Ow! What was that for?!"

"Be nice, idiot," Jeff chastises him. 

With a roll of his eyes, Gareth turns to Steve. 

"You're basically a part of the band, we figured it would be nice," he shrugs. 

"But I'm not—"

Doug interrupts him before he can go further with his usual protests.

"You do a lot of the heavy lifting, you co-wrote two songs, and consistently charm venue managers into giving us gigs," he lists off on his fingers. "You're basically like Corroded Coffin's manager, so shut up."

"Yeah, you also give the best blowjobs," Eddie grins, because he loves to ruin a moment, and immediately shields his head from any missiles Jeff might throw his way. But the guy only hums in agreement. 

"That's true," he nods, making Steve flush pink. 

"Well, uh... thanks, I guess," he smiles, a little taken aback. "Waiting til Christmas might kill me, though," he admits with a chuckle. He's always been that kid who looked through all the nooks and crannies of the house to find the gifts early, too curious to sit around and wait. 

The band exchanges thoughtful looks among themselves; they nod and they shrug.

"I guess you can pick one," Jeff decides for all of them. 

Steve's eyes widen. 

"You all got me something?!"

"We couldn't agree on one thing," Doug sighs like it's a topic of a tiring debate. Which, knowing them, might have been.

Steve hums thoughtfully, looking over each of the boys as if his mind wasn't already made. He points his finger, feeling childishly powerful.

"Eddie. You gotta redeem yourself, man."

Eddie rolls his eyes but doesn't protest. He bends over the back of the couch to reach for his backpack, and Doug immediately grabs onto his back pocket with a sigh, so he doesn't topple over and add to his injuries. Once Eddie falls back on the cushions with a huff and fixes his hair, he pulls out a familiar packaging. 

Steve looks unimpressed. 

"If this is your way of redeeming yourself—"

But after brandishing a can of Farrah Fawcett hair spray, Eddie keeps pulling out more hair products, shampoos, and conditioners that are always sold out whenever Steve tries looking for them.

"Okay, fine. Consider yourself redeemed," he says reluctantly, and Eddie beams at him. He stands up to walk up to him and kisses him softly on the lips before squeezing in to sit between him and Doug. 

"See? Every time!" Gareth throws a hand towards them "He weasels himself out of anything!" 

"It's the dimples, I'm telling you." Jeff shakes his head in disappointment.

Steve, his arm already slung over Eddie, motions for Gareth.

"Well, come over and I'll kiss you too. What? You sprained your ankle and can't walk? Aw, what a shame."

Gareth hisses at him and shows him the finger, which Steve mirrors while making kissy faces. Eddie just preens under his embrace, content like the cat that got the cream. 

"Next year just please plan it better. Wear protective gear and stock the fucking first aid kit."

"You wear a fucking—"

Gareth is interrupted by Jeff's arm putting him into a headlock. 

"We will," he agrees for him. 

regulars: @blasvemous @wheneverfeasible @phantomcat94

[total-dxmure]

ೃ࿔ CHERRY FLAVORED →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER ONE

pairing: mega fan!ellie williams x rock star!reader

summary: your guitarist was carted off to rehab after just one month into your recent tour. fuck. there’s only one thing you can do, and that’s hire a replacement. your band thinks it’s going to be nearly impossible to find someone that is on the same level of talent as your “beloved” guitarist. you don’t have high hopes that anyone can nail the songs quite like he did either, if you’re being brutally honest. enter ellie- she’s a mega fan. the girl knows every lyric and note like the back of her hand. . . and everything about you, which isn’t creepy at all. her apparent obsession with you is something that you and your tour manager can overlook if it means carrying on with the rest of the tour. forced proximity with a stalker-level fan . . . what’s the worst thing that could happen?

warnings: smut in next chapter, talk of substance abuse, the reader is a tease and a bit of a bitch but it’s hot i promise, ellie is obsessed with reader to an unhealthy degree.

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

It was the kind of love that tortured poets mused over. Ribs straining against a heavy heart. 

Ellie had deluded herself, as any love drunk person does, that she wouldn’t dissolve into a puddle on the floor if she were to meet you. She could keep her cool- downplay the crushing significance you held in her life. Your voice was constantly ringing in her ears. She could see your face in perfect clarity any time she closed her eyes. Pictures like snapshots played out behind her eyelids, and yet you always felt a million miles away for her. You were a perfect performer, situated on your sky-high pedestal, always out of her puny reach. 

Because Ellie, as much as she despised this fact and dreamed of greatness, was a nobody. She grew up in a tiny town of no noteworthiness, her adolescent years spent dreaming about the planets and playing guitar with Joel. By all accounts Ellie was normal, while you were certainly not. Still, she liked to tell herself that she’d somehow manage to make herself worthy of your affections if she were ever to be blessed with them. 

Finding herself in a situation like this seemed like an impossibility. She was partially convinced that she was daydreaming, having concocted some elaborate fantasy just to feed the insatiable ache. She was starved for you with no way to feed herself. 

All it had taken was a single audition tape. One. Single. Tape. Ellie was staring, wide eyed, at Gene fuckin’ Murray. 

The blood rushed from her head, hands breaking out instantaneously into a clammy sweat. She couldn’t think, couldn’t function at the realization that she was staring at one of the people that she had worshiped for years. Gene’s talent had been praised by the likes of Lars Ulrich and Danny Carey. He wasn’t popular just for his looks but for his undeniable talent. 

And he was staring straight at Ellie, arms crossed over his toned chest as he waited expectantly. She felt like an idiot. Should she be playing? If so, what did they want her to play? Surely one of their songs. She’d glossed past the fact that she was a megafan, instead making it sound like she was just looking for a successful band to join. She was talented. No, Ellie was really talented. 

She wasn’t just a technical player, but excelled at making her own rules. She enjoyed the creative freedom that playing the guitar granted, and felt as though the world needed more Jimi’s and Van Halen’s. Ellie excelled at thinking outside of the box. 

She wasn’t very successful when it came to women, but had no problem making her guitar scream and cry for her. 

She wasn’t very successful when it came to women, but had no problem making her guitar scream and cry for her. 

She wasn’t very successful when it came to women, but had no problem making her guitar scream and cry for her. 

So she took a deep breath and tried to steady her heart, once again stepping up to the mic. If there was one thing that all of your bandmates had in common, it was the attitude. She’d watched hundreds of interviews, had studied all of their movements and mannerisms. . .she understood you down to a science. 

“So do you want me to play or what?” Ellie spoke into the mic, gripping the neck of the guitar in the hopes that it might act as an anchor. She was scared that she might float away. 

The manager’s eyebrows twitched at her sudden change in attitude but he didn’t say anything, merely turned to look at Gene. For a second everyone just stared at her, like a bug under a microscope. After what felt like five minutes but was really just five seconds, Gene broke out into a grin, motioning to her with a flick of his wrist. He wasn’t confident in her, Ellie could tell. 

She had a sweet face, she knew that. Big green eyes and freckles- she was unsuspecting. People were usually shocked to find out that she had wrestled competitively in high school and had no problem putting a man three times her size on his ass. People expected very little from her, and perhaps that was part of Ellie’s real charm. 

“What song?” She was staring at Gene now, gripping her guitar pick between two sweat-slick fingers. 

“What ‘bout ‘Sometime Soon’? Know that one?” His tone was teasing. Condescending. 

The song was fast paced. It was supposed to be played loud and hard- one of your angrier songs. Ellie knew that you had been the one to write this one, meaning it was one of her favorites. The notes weren’t beginner friendly, but it wasn’t exactly hard for her. 

It was more style, less technical ability- which meant that Ellie would have no problem making this song her bitch. 

It was obvious that Gene was the one meant to judge her. The manager was just that- a manager. They needed an actual musician to listen in. So she took a deep breath and readied herself. . . 

and then the sound of your singing voice blasted into the booth. Drums, bass- she was meant to play with you. 

She almost missed her que, eyes widening in nervousness. She thought that she’d be playing all by her lonesome. She thought wrong it would seem. They’d started her off right in the middle of the song. Probably to throw her off. She jumped in, fingers sliding along the frets to shape out the correct notes. She tucked her guitar pick against the palm of her hand with her thumb, using the pads of her fingers to tap the strings. Faster. Faster. Faster. She didn’t look up from her guitar to look at the men’s reactions to her playing. Instead she just pretended she was standing in the living room of her apartment, hellbent on getting another noise complaint from the bitchy nextdoor neighbor. 

Her calloused fingers pinched the strings, satisfied with the way the guitar whined over the speakers. The guitar solo in this song was meant to be impressive- and it was, she had to give it to Leon. A lot of it was just bullshitting though. He’d admitted that he came up with the solo in the actual sound booth off of the top of his head while they were recording the song. 

The man was a god. He deserved “guitarist of the year” two years in a row. Ellie had the Los Angeles native beat though. Where he had grown up in the constant presence of “the greats”, Ellie had grown up in a constant state of boredom. She’d been playing the guitar since she was fourteen. Every day she’d sit down for hours and practice until her fingers bled. . . literally. She had thousands of hours on Leon, and she knew that with certainty. 

Ellie moved the guitar up and down gently with her fret hand, prolonging the last note so that it cried the way she wanted it to. The muscles in her arms were sore from how hard she had been tensing during the song. She’d been a lot more mechanical about it than she was used to, but she had something to prove. 

After a second she looked up from her guitar to gauge everyone’s reactions. The manager had dropped his cold and indifferent demeanor, instead flashing her a small smile. It bolstered her, gave her the strength to turn and look at Gene. 

He still had his arms crossed over his chest, and for a second Ellie was sure that he would tell her that she sucked. She widened her stance, shuffling her feet so that she was in a more defensive position. His heated gaze made her feel as though she needed to protect herself from whatever mental anguish he was about to put her through. 

“I thought she was kick ass,” Gene finally spoke up, giving Ellie a small thumbs up. Her face lit up into a wide smile before she could school her reaction into one of indifference. “What do you think? You’re the one that calls all the shots.” He spoke behind him, looking down at someone that had been hidden on the couch all along. 

Ellie squinted her eyes, taking a step closer to the glass to see if there was another businessman she’d somehow overlooked. 

She saw your hair before she saw anything else. It was freshly dyed, different than the last she’d seen you in all of the recent tabloid photos. You were clad in leather- pants so tight that they looked like a second skin. Your top was just as restrictive, breasts spilling out from the top, midriff revealed to show off the small silver piercing you had decorating your belly button. 

You were Hecate in the flesh- dark, sinister, mysterious and capable of anything. Ellie didn’t think that it would be possible, but you were even prettier in person. The sight of you sent a shock through her system, and for a second she felt her knees quiver, as if she could no longer hold up the weight of her own body. Her insides turned to mush; white, hot mush. 

The Stendhal syndrome: Ellie had been brought to the very precipice of existence by sight alone. She was so overcome by your mere existence that she felt her eyes begin to well up with tears. Body trembling, eyes locked on to your face and nothing else- it felt like she might faint. She remembered reading about the syndrome once before in an art history class she took in college. 

“Absorbed in the contemplation of sublime beauty. . . I reached the point where one encounters celestial sensations.” 

The urge to flee was just as great as the urge to get her hands on you was. She was thankful for the wide stance she was currently in, because if her legs had been any closer together then she was positive she would have lost her balance and fallen over. 

You were right there in front of her. You’d been right in front of her the entire time, she’d just been so focused on Gene that she hadn’t even seen you in her panic. She stumbled forward, her sneakered foot catching the jack for the amp. She slapped her hands over her ears as a blood curdling screech began blaring over the speakers. 

Ellie could have died. In fact. . . she just might. She dropped her guitar roughly on the ground as she raced over towards the amp, fingers shaking as she turned the knob to the volume.

The booth, once again, was silent. Silent enough to hear a pin drop. Slowly she turned, grimacing when she noticed the looks on everyone’s faces. She’d embarrassed herself and ruined her chance. Even worse was the fact that she’d humiliated herself in front of you. 

She had somehow deluded herself into believing that the two of you were soulmates over the years. She’d compared your birth charts, life numbers- had taken multiple celebrity compatibility tests. All signs pointed to a resounding yes. The two of you were star crossed lovers, cursed to never know one another. She had told herself that if she were ever to bump into you in person that she’d be able to keep her cool. Ellie was certain that she could pretend that she didn’t know who you are- could downplay the significance that you held  

Her ignorance was laughable. She’d been so overcome by your mere presence that she’d stumbled on air while standing completely still. You were standing up straight now, and even from her spot behind the thick glass she could tell how much taller you were than her. You had to be wearing heels or platforms, because according to Google you were- 

“You know how many auditions we’ve listened to today?” You had grappled the mic from the tech and were now hunched over his soundboard, the lights from all of the buttons and knobs casting strange, beautiful shadows over your face. Your eyeliner was dark and smoked out around your eyes, and in that moment Ellie wondered if you were an angel or a demon. “Twelve. Twelve fuckin’ people have walked into that booth today. Every single one of them has been absolute shit. So bad, in fact, that I’ve wanted to blow my fuckin’ brains out in this buildings tiny, piss-stained bathroom.” 

Ellie blanched, lips losing their pink color as the blood drained from her face. She was about to pass out. Her vision was already starting to tunnel. She grabbed onto one of the microphone stands to hold herself up, trying to keep her expression hard and unreadable. People often told her that she had “dead eyes”, and she could only pray that her face wasn’t giving her crushing grief away. It felt like someone had just died; like she had just died. Actually, she would have rather you just go ahead and stab her then tell her she sucked. You were her idol, her dream girl, her everything. 

And you were telling her that you’d rather blow your fucking brains out then listen to her play. How was she supposed to recover from this? She’d heard the saying “don’t meet your heroes” a thousand times, but this? She’d rather you just be a bitch to her. Actually, Ellie would probably like that. This was the worst thing she could have ever heard. Her nose twitched as tears began pooling in her eyes. She blinked a few times, praying that you couldn’t tell in the nearly pitch black room you were standing in. 

“But this?” You turned towards your manager and pointed passionately at Ellie. “This is music.” 

Breath left her lungs in a loud, audible whooshing sound, like a balloon deflating. Her shoulders relaxed, the hand that was white knuckling the mic stand falling limp at her side. No, you didn’t hate her. You liked her. 

You liked her. 

Everyone had their vices. Leon’s had, apparently, been copious amounts of prescription drugs- often consumed simultaneously. You were used to getting what you wanted. You drank whenever you wanted to, fucked just about anyone that peaked your interest and got away with your usual rotten antics and bitchy behavior. You lived the lifestyle that you’d always dreamt of, even when you were a little kid. 

You enjoyed putting on shows. You were flamboyant, loud, and weren’t afraid of expressing yourself. Teachers often described you as a “free thinker” back in your elementary school days. You dressed yourself for school each morning, each outfit louder and more daring than the next. You were an artist, and like most artists you had some inner demons that you fought against. You still fought tooth and nail, even to this day. 

Finally though, after what felt like a thousand years of waiting and biding your time, you had the life you had always yearned for. 

You sold out arenas, appeared on the front page of just about every magazine imaginable, and had celebrities clamoring over themselves to be your “best friend” of the week. Things were good. 

But also a bit empty. 

The friends that you’d made in your youth only used your name for bragging rights. Your parents had stopped showing up to concerts years ago, instead choosing to listen about your successes through their shitty television shows. Life felt a bit hollow.

Exciting. . . just different than you had always been used to. 

“Come play with us.” One of the women whined from her spot on your plush hotel mattress. The bombshell blonde was already stripped down to her underwear, her eyes glazed over from whatever overpriced alcohol she’d already taken from the suite's bar, at your expense no doubt. 

Your manager was used to the up-charges on the company card. He would probably be relieved in the morning when he found out that you didn’t break anything. There was still time for that, of course. It was only one in the morning, which meant you had nine more hours to get fucked up and wreck the cushy room. 

“I’m not feeling up to it right now.” You said simply, already disinterested in the two women you had invited to bed with you tonight. You were holding a beer bottle loosely between two of your fingers, swishing the remainder of the room temperature alcohol absentmindedly.

You weren’t much of an “observer” when it came to sex, more of a very active participant. Still, all you could do was sit back in one of the comfortable lounge chairs, muscles tense after a long show. You weren’t exactly sure why you’d invited the women back to the hotel. They were both attractive and had come onto you at the same time. It was obvious what they had been insinuating, and who were you to deny two beautiful women? The first thing that had popped into your head being “a threesome might make me happy”.

Except now you were bored out of your skull and would much rather be sleeping right now than watch two ditzy girls clumsily fondle each other’s fake breasts. 

“Please? I want you to fuck me so bad-” There was a knock at the door, causing both girls to go silent for a second. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaustion threatening to swallow you up whole. If it was your manager here to yell at you for “accidentally” breaking an amp at tonight's show you were going to scream. It was too late for that bullshit. Still, you saw this excuse as a blessing. 

“Hear that, ladies? Looks like we’ve gotta pack it up. Thanks for showing me a good time.” You stood up from the seat with a small groan, placing your beer bottle onto the counter clumsily. The glass clattered, almost spilling all over the shag carpet. 

The two girls groaned, obviously frustrated that they hadn’t successfully gotten you into bed with them. You weren’t sure what was wrong with you lately. If this had happened a few months ago then. . . well, you would have fucked them- no questions asked. Were you maturing out of your “wild and crazy” phase? No, you didn’t think so. 

You bent down, scooping up a discarded bra so that you could toss it onto the bed. Fabric rustled behind you as they began to quickly sort themselves out, hoping to beat you to the door. 

“Who is it?” You called out in a sing-song voice, deciding that if your manager was already angry enough to show up in front of your door at one in the morning then you might as well have a little fun with it. 

There was no reply on the other side of the door, causing you to scoff. He was giving you the silent treatment. You reached out for the door handle, only to have your shirt yanked on by one of the women. You could hear the seams ripping against the weight of her, her eyes wide with desperation. 

“Please let me show you a good time. I promise I’m good- I swear.” There was a fear of rejection there, you could tell. 

You felt a bit guilty and were quick to lean in to press a kiss on her cheek. “Baby, you’re gorgeous. I’m sure you would have been wonderful- but I’m tired. That’s all, okay? It’s nothing personal.” 

And with that you opened the door. The air from the hallway was brisk, causing goosebumps to instantly break out on your bare arms and legs. You were expecting the balding, bespectacled Barry to be standing on the other side of the door, all in a huff about “expenses” and “damages to the venue”. Blah, blah, blah. 

Instead it was Ellie. A very broken looking Ellie. 

The girls were quick to straighten out their outfits, their attention now turned towards the guitarist. Groupies like this didn’t care who they slept with, just so long as they were getting it in with someone that was in the band. 

“You’re Emma. . . right? The new guitarist? You were so great tonight. I mean- Leon was always a bit of a poser anyway. You’re killing it.” One of the girls started, moving to stand next to you in the doorway. 

You weren’t sure why, but you felt angry. Genuinely angry. Were you jealous of Ellie? No, because you were sure they would still rather fuck you than her. You’d been their first choice, afterall. Maybe you felt the need to shelter Ellie a bit? Yeah, that had to be it. She was still learning the ropes, and the last thing she needed was to be sexually harassed in a hotel hallway.

“. . . -lie” She was mumbling under her breath, eyes locked on the expensive carpet beneath her ratty old sneakers. 

She had changed out of her stage clothes and put on jeans and a t-shirt. Her hair looked wet too, meaning she’d already taken a shower. She smelled earthy- Alpine, even. 

You leaned against the frame, slamming your hand against the doorway to box the two women in, hoping to keep them away from the newbie. They flinched but both seemingly weren’t off put in their newfound pursuit. 

“You’re the most talented guitarist I’ve ever seen live. I mean. . . your solos were incredible.” You hadn’t managed to successfully remember the girl’s names. Just that they were friends with two guys that had worked security for the venue tonight. People often took advantage of connections like that in order to get close to you and your bandmates. It usually worked too. Tonight was different though. Tonight you had a real stick up your ass. 

Ashley? Amber? Sophie? God, you were bad with names.

“. . . -is Ellie.” Your guitarist mumbled again, slowly moving back down the hall in the direction of her suite. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion over her attitude, and you were quick to stumble out of your room and down the hall after her. 

“Wait! Emma, can we get an autograph!” One of the half naked girls called after the two of you, trying desperately to shrug on her shirt to follow after. 

Ellie turned then, eyes narrowed and teeth bared. You’d. . . You’d never seen her like that before. 

“My name is fucking Ellie! Who is Emma? Jesus fuckin’ Christ-” She dug her hand into the back pocket of her jeans, trying desperately to find her keycard. 

The girls gasped at her outburst, jostled by the look of pure evil on her face. Even you were taken aback, not used to this kind of attitude from her. Still, you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t know why she was acting like this. 

Ellie was what some would call a “mega fan”, though that would be putting it lightly. The word “stalker” would be more appropriate. Your manager knew that before he even messaged her for an audition. He’d checked all of her social media sites and scrubbed the internet for anything he could find on her. One thing was made very clear: 

Ellie was obsessed with you. 

For whatever reason she seemed to be keeping it a secret from Gene and Chris. All she fessed up to them was that she enjoyed your music, which was why she’d auditioned in the first place. She’d conveniently left out the dedicated fan blogs and the status of her cult-like following.

You didn’t mind it. Sure, it was a bit creepy. . . but she was talented and you liked her. She could hold her own against Gene and Chris’ constant asshole behavior, and had been receptive to Barry trying to teach her the ropes of the business. It was obvious that she wanted this, even if her motives weren’t exactly purely for the music. You’d let her be as close to you as she wanted if it meant that she’d continue playing the way that she does. The crowd had loved her, and it was only her second show with the band. 

She was a bit shy, but that would pass eventually. You remember your early debut days vividly. You’d been just like her, maybe even a little worse. 

“Hey, stop for a second.” You reached out to grab her wrist, stopping her from fleeing after her outburst. She turned to glare at you, but her eyes softened as she took in your features. 

You could feel her arm trembling in your grasp, so you gently let go. No matter how many times you touched her or spent time with her, she still seemed to get overly nervous in your presence. It was endearing. 

“Aren’t you a bit busy? Don’t let me ruin your fun-” She was being sarcastic. 

“I was done with them by the time you knocked on the door. They aren’t exactly my type. I’m not sure why I even invited them back in the first place.” If you had to guess, you’d probably done it out of habit. You were used to inviting people back to your room or tour bus. 

Ellie didn’t seem pleased by your answer. If anything it seemed to upset her even more. She bristled, reaching back into her pocket for her keycard. What did she want to hear? That you hadn’t touched them? You groaned, wiping an exhausted hand down your face. 

The elevator dinged behind you, meaning the girls had finally taken the hint and were leaving with their tails tucked between their legs. 

“Are you jealous or something?” You asked once the elevator doors were closed. The last thing you needed were the girls trying to sell information to some shitty gossip magazine. 

She froze, eyes going wide and lips going pale. It was almost like she didn’t think that you knew all about her dirty little secret. A part of you wanted to tease her. Really make her squirm. 

“Why would I be jealous? Those girls weren’t exactly my type either.” She was good at playing things off. Ellie was a good liar. 

But you were good at sniffing out the bullshit. It was one of your many talents. 

“Not of me,” You leaned against the wall next to her door, watching with curious eyes as she began fumbling in her pockets for her key. “Of them. Do you wish I had taken you back to my room or something?” You cooed flirtatiously, flashing her one of your most sinister smiles. 

She coughed, turning around so that she could hide her face from you. This nearly had you groaning out loud in disappointment. Was she blushing? Do her freckles look even brighter when her skin gets all pink and hot? 

Nah, it was dangerous to think like this. Band members were always off limits. It was a recipe for disaster. The last thing you needed was another Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham situation on your hands. Your PR team wouldn’t be able to recover. They’d just barely gotten over the “Leon” incident by the skin of their teeth. 

Your old band member having to be tackled by three cops in a hotel lobby was horrible. It made you look sloppy. And sleeping with the brand new edition to the band was definitely sloppy. 

“You’re acting crazy.” Ellie told you, shoving the keycard into the lock so that she could clammer into her room. 

Pushing the boundaries was sort of your thing. You enjoyed being bad, fuck the consequences. Right about now you wanted to kiss Ellie. What would her reaction be? Was she a good kisser? You wanted to know. No- you needed to know. 

“You’re right. I’m talking nonsense, don’t listen to me,” You called after her into the room. “Sweet dreams.” 

And with that you sauntered back to your own room, practically purring in delight over the fact that it had been that easy to get to Ellie like that. You loved pushing the boundaries. . . and now you had a new toy to play with.

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[killedbythegroove]

chris: we all have our demons

chris, gesturing to matt and dom: these are mine

[ineffable-baker-street]

i can never listen to the song Bicycle Races with laughing hysterically again. the comedic timing of complete silence into "BICYCLE! BICYCLE!" is so funny i lose it every time

[adventures-in-mangaland]

Even More Dead Boy Detectives Fic Recs

I've discovered some amazing new authors since my last post! And writers I've already recced have published more great stories So here's another fic rec post!

Who? You mean your teammate in the Codependency World Cup? (series) by RoseGanymede95

I couldn't chose! They're all great! Basically a series of Edwin and Charles through the years and on cases pre-show. It scratches that adjusting-to-being-dead/newly-escaped-from-Hell itch and the authors writing is magic! It also fleshes out a really interesting conflict in the payneland dynamic: Charles' drive to protect Edwin at all costs clashing with Edwin's guilt over putting Charles at risk/depriving him of some ideal afterlife. Parts one and four also introduces Constantine/Johanna and part three revolves around an absolutely gut-wrenching temporary break-up. 😢

In Hell I'll Be in Good Company by laylabinx

Charles rescuing Edwin from Hell does not go smoothly. Just. Bucketloads of Trauma for both of them. And for you, the Reader. It's so good though!

your fangs in my neck (like an anchor like a vow) by shadowquill17

Vampire Edwin AU! It's great because it combines the (homo)eroticism of vampiric feeding with Charles' whole bisexual crisis and post-confession Edwin worrying about making Charles uncomfortable. Also Charles is some kind of demigod/immortal agent of divine vengeance which is an AMAZING detail and I desperately want to see some fanart!

The same author's ongoing story to the pain is also excellent though very angsty (cw temporary character death). I'm anxiously waiting for an update!

To Memory Now I Can't Recall by engineering_madonna

This is an amnesia fic and the most recent in an established relationship series. The first two installments feature the boys getting together and navigating their new relationship, so pulling the old 'character A forgets their whole romantic relationship with character B' trope hits especially hard! The whole series is lovely, but I am WEAK for temporary-amnesia.

Lemonade & Sunrises by paraph

A Quiet Place AU! The boys are alive, but they're the only ones. Very bleak but in a way that makes me want more!

1999 au (series) by websters_lieb

The boys figure their shit out in the 90s. Also, Edwin gets to read Maurice and queer theory. The cases in both stories are compelling and the author's writing and characterisation of the boys are excellent.

I also recommend offer me that deathless death which is about the boys' first meeting, Charles' funeral and the birth of the agency.

if I could reach the stars (i'd give them all to you) by ObsessedWithFandom

Charles falls first, Edwin falls harder. This is an AU of the author's excellent Charles' bisexual awakening fic, which I also highly recommend. It has lovely OCs and Charles having a sweet little friendship/romance with the boy he saved in canon, which actually makes his death a whole lot more tragic.

Came up from that lake of fire by ghostinthelibrary

Charles and Edwin get caught escaping Hell and promise to capture a demon-eating ghost called The Deathless in exchange for their freedom. With the added twist that they get to be alive again! An exciting case, high stakes and all the alive-again culture shocks and emotional/interpersonal drama you could ask for.

gig officially gigged by laiqualaurelote

Band AU! It shouldn't work but it does. Which might also be an in-universe review for the band tbh. Idk, I loved Edwin's massive obscure musical instruments and Charles being his unpaid roadie. Peak Found Family Feels.

No Rehearsing It, No Reversing It by DontOffendTheBees

Charles overthinks being in love with Edwin, my beloved. This time with increasingly flimsy pretexts for why they NEED to kiss. Just perfect Idiots in Love, no notes.

The Case of David Bowie's Made up Sexuality by williamvapespeare

The agency attempt to help a living lesbian couple deal with a haunting. Meanwhile, Charles struggles through his bisexual (re)awakening. With bonus past (living) Charles no-homo-ing himself to the nth degree. Pure of heart, dumb of ass, indeed.

The lamps are going out by CasiHuman

Vengeful Spirit Edwin AU! Has some interesting ghost lore and Edwin being convinced his touch is painful to Charles (love that trope!). Also features some of the author's adorable/hilarious fanart at the end.

just frame the halves (and call them brothers) by Anonymous

Crystal stumbles upon the ghost of Edwin's older brother, who hires the agency to free him and his platoon from the battleground they've been haunting. Case fic with interesting details about Edwin's family life and an awkward as hell family reunion.

the case of the very long ferry ride by obsceme

Sex pollen but with skin hunger, so it's more touching turned making out and hand jobs in a bathroom. Interesting use of ghost lore and it's cute and well written.

Form 239, Schedule L by sanctuary_for_all

Charles Rowland's Love Language is Acts of Service: The Fic. So many feels! Plus Afterlife worldbuilding and some quality Night Nurse rep.

don't go sharing your devotions (lay all your love on me) by Hephanna

The boys and Crystal accidentally summon an alternate universe version of Charles. He's very... handsy. Charles being jealous of himself is objectively hilarious and it looks like it could be heading towards throuple territory. Possibly even a foursome, if alternate Edwin figures out parallel universe travel. Which he probably will.

Still a Better Lovestory by Vamillepudding

Hanahaki disease! Charles is on the case but Edwin's being weirdly uncooperative about his own curse. I loved the worldbuilding (there's a whole sisterhood of washerwomen!) and the angst, plus the writing is excellent.

The author has also written Eternal Sunshine, in which Edwin is cursed to feel no love of any kind. It makes for an interesting character study, contrasting cursed Edwin, his public reserve and his actual personality.