#grunge will never die

[jarofalicesgrunge]

Compilation of 90s Grunge Unplugged!!!

[pleasantglitterflower]

Legends will never die (JOE BURROW x COBAIN! READER)

TW: mentions of death, suicide, drugs

I was at Joe's parents' house for lunch to celebrate the birthday of Dan, one of my boyfriend's older brothers. It's been great to be here, I love his family, they've always welcomed me very well, but this happy family moment awakens strong triggers in me and a desire to experience something I didn't have. Seeing Joe talking so animatedly with his father, his brothers and his grandfather, at a certain point my father-in-law hugs him from the side, my eyes instantly water. 

   I quickly excuse myself from the environment I was in, talking to my mother-in-law and my sisters-in-law, and go to the bathroom, where I quickly start crying. Why didn't I have a structured family? Why isn't my father here with me? Why do these shitty drugs and depression exist in this shitty world and affect good people?

  I didn't even see time pass when I heard loud knocks on the door. 

- Baby, open the door - Joe shouts from the other side

I come back to reality and open the door. As soon as Joe sees my swollen eyes, he runs over and hugs me.

- What happened my love? Since the journey you've been quieter and more thoughtful, I didn't say anything before because I knew you'd make up some excuse, but I know you're not well

- Joe, it's not for nothing, you know that I love your family and how you have a great connection, especially with your father, and when I saw you two hugging in the backyard, it was inevitable not to think about my father - I look down embarrassed 

- Hey, look at me - he lifts my chin - You don't need to fake your feelings my dear, I know how difficult it is for you to talk about him, especially since this year it will be 30 years since he died, but know that he is very proud of you wherever he is and that, although his life here on Earth was short, his legacy is eternal.

- It's been very difficult Joe, very difficult indeed. People are putting a lot of expectations on my performance at the tribute, I don't know if I'll want to participate.

- Baby, everything will be fine, you'll do well, I see how much you've dedicated yourself to making a perfect presentation, don't worry - Joe kisses me on the forehead and hugs me tightly

     - Joe, I don't know what I would do without you, I love you so much

- I love you the most Janis - then we kissed.

     In a week's time, the tribute show to my father will take place, in celebration of his 30 years of legacy in music. 30 years ago, Kurt Donald Cobain, my father, left this world grayer, with a legion of fans all over the world in mourning and despair, and an entire family torn apart. I was born on October 27, 1993, six months before his death, and the height of his period of self-destruction due to drugs and depression. Dad fought his demons for years, it wasn't just during that period, and the sudden fame only made these inner demons increasingly present in his life.

  Me and Frances, my older sister, were very exposed to all the scandals caused by our parents, even at our young age, when mom said in an interview that she used heroin when she was pregnant with Frances, she and dad ended up losing custody. However, they managed to recover after promising to undergo rehabilitation. Mom managed to kick her heroin addiction, but unfortunately dad couldn't. When Mom found out she was pregnant with me, Dad was apparently determined to change and be a responsible father to Frances and me, but inside, his demons were screaming more and more, and throughout 1993, Dad tried to commit suicide several times, in addition to intense heroin abuse, until on April 5, 1994, he reached his limit, he could no longer bear to live with that internal anguish that had affected him since he was a teenager.

Even with all the fame, recognition, money and the millions of fans he gained all over the world, Dad couldn't be happy, even though he married the woman he loved and became the father of two daughters that he loved so much, Dad couldn't. he could exorcise his pain within himself, he could no longer stand living in a world in which he could not fit in, a selfish world, full of falsehoods is very cruel. Every year that passes, when I always pick up the farewell letter he wrote, it chills my soul, his anguish was visible in his writing.

  “I had a lot, a lot, and I'm grateful for that, but since I was seven years old I started to hate all humans in general. Just because it seems so easy to relate and empathize. Just because I love and feel for everyone so much, I guess. Thank you from the bottom of my sick, burning stomach for your letters and your concern over the years. I really am an erratic and sad baby! I no longer have passion, so remember, it's better to burn out than to slowly fade away¹. Peace, Love, Empathy.

Kurt Cobain

Frances, Janis and Courtney, I will be at your altar. Please go ahead, Courtney, for Frances and Janis. For their lives, they will be much happier without me.

I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU”

It was very difficult for me to accept that my father took his life on his own and that he preferred not to live any longer to be present for me and Frances, but as the years went by and listening to the stories from my mother, Dave, my godfather, , and other people who lived with Dad, I came to the conclusion that he had already given up on life a long time ago and tried to cut it short several times, but it was on that April 5, 1994 that his limit ended, and then he gave a shoots himself with a shotgun. If it hadn't been on that date, it would have been the next day, the following week, my father couldn't bear to live any longer.

   Dave has always been like a father figure to me, he was always by my side for everything I needed and was one of my main encouragers to pursue a career in music, because according to him, I had the same genius to express as my father. feelings in the form of songs. During my adolescence I composed several songs and recorded some demos, but only my family knew about it. I never thought about pursuing a singing career, I wrote according to my imagination and as a hobby, I always wanted to pass on my knowledge to other people, so I studied music in New York, and started teaching music to children in public schools, until I was transferred to a school in Cincinnatti, which is where I met Joe. My class went to do a musical performance at an event for his foundation, and he came to congratulate me on my work, I was super flattered and we became friends, and it didn't take long for us to admit our feelings and he asked me to be his girlfriend in a beautiful sunset  in California.

Joe was always very loving and affectionate with me, and always helped me in moments of vulnerability when I cried in his lap when talking about my father. I've always admired his relationship with his father, how football is a factor that keeps their connection very strong, and I wondered what it would be like for my dad and me talking about music, what he would think of today's music scene, if he Would you be proud of me? 

    When Dave said that my participation would be very important in the tribute to my father, Joe was also one of my main supporters, for him I needed to face my negative feelings and show the world my musical talent, which according to Joe is undeniable that my talent It's genetic. After thinking very calmly, I decided to accept the idea and began to rehearse exhaustively, as Dad deserved perfection.

April 5, 2024- Kurt Cobain Tribute, Seattle 

The big day arrived, if I said I slept calmly I'd be lying, I couldn't stop being nervous for a minute. As the stadium got closer, I felt my stomach drop, while Joe was next to me holding my hand. When we saw it, there were millions and millions of people with Nirvana shirts, with shirts with my father's face, with posters with loving words for him, there were children, teenagers, adults, elderly people, Seattle became small. It's incredible how even 30 years after his death, Kurt Cobain still had a loyal legion of fans, and over the years he gained new fans, many who weren't born at the time of Nirvana's heyday and who had Kurt as an inspiration.

  The tribute line-up was the envy of any other festival, as it had Pearl Jam, Metallica, Guns n Roses, Iron Maiden, Green Day, and the main attraction, Nirvana himself, but this time it would be Janis who would represent Kurt in the vocals. Janis rehearsed nonstop with Dave and Krist, it would be the first time at a festival that Nirvana would make an official performance again since Kurt's death, but this time with Janis paying tribute to her father. Dave Grohl and Krist Novoselic always play the songs of the band that made them famous when they get together, but only at intimate shows, so the performance at the tribute would be the band's official return.

Nirvana would headline the event, and it was the most anticipated performance, as Kurt Cobain's daughter would be singing with the remaining members of the band and paying tribute to Kurt.

  The performance was about to start, and Janis was breathing very deeply in her dressing room, until she heard a knock on the door. 

   -Come on

The door opens, revealing the figures of Joe, Courtney and Frances.

  - My love how are you? - Joe questions

- Too nervous, what if I get out of tune? What if I lose my voice? I don't want to disappoint the fans, but especially I don't want to disappoint Dad, no- Courtney interrupts her youngest daughter

- Janis, you will be perfect my daughter, your father is already very proud of you, wherever he is, at this moment he is very happy with the woman you have become - the eldest speaks with her voice choked with emotion

- That's right sister, everyone knows your potential and how hard you work to keep our father's legacy alive to this day, you're going to get on that stage and show those bastards who's boss - Frances shouts excitedly, making the presents laugh 

- My mother-in-law and sister-in-law are absolutely right, you're going to rock my dear - Joe gives me a quick peck

One of the producers enters the dressing room and announces that it is time to go on stage. The tribute to Kurt Cobain is being broadcast online, YouTube went down at certain times due to the large number of hits, and at the time of Janis' performance with Nirvana, 1.5 billion and a half people were online and waiting of the show.

     The band was announced and first came Krist, Dave, and then Janis Cobain, sending the audience into a frenzy. She looked at all the people present in that stadium, quickly looked at the VIP box that had Joe, Courtney, Frances, her in-laws and her brothers-in-law with their wives. Joe was smiling brightly at her full of pride.

  - Good evening - the audience shouts - We are here to celebrate the 30 years of legacy of our dear Kurt Cobain, known as my dear father. Daddy, wherever you are, know that you continue to be very loved and that I'm very proud to be your daughter- I say looking at the sky excitedly- and today I'm going to do my best to give you a great show, LET'S GO MOTHERFUCKERS- I yelled 

The show was perfect, Dave and Krist gave me a lot of support and security, and I felt more and more free. I didn't stop feeling emotional during the most emotional songs, but the important thing is that I had managed to honor my father in the way he deserves. After the show, Joe came running over to hug me.

- I knew you would put on an amazing show love, I'm so happy for you

- Joe, if it weren't for you, maybe I wouldn't be here now, thank you so much for always being with me my love, I love you - I kiss him

And in the depths of the sky, Kurt Donald Cobain smiles, very happy for the happiness of his beloved daughter and very satisfied with the honor, he knew that his daughter was very talented, it was no wonder that she is a Cobain.

[moodboard-d]

[edwardsissyhandsthtdanceslikeabb]

i genuinely love seeing the direction kpop is going, namely the emergence of more weirdcore, grungy concepts, like for example even tho ive's accendio doesn't really fit a darker theme it still adheres to the trend of paranormal elements a lot of groups have been inspired by and in light of the rejuvenation y2k gave kpop i love to see them expanding the landscape like this :D

[spilledink66]

i’m doomed

[invld-ip]

bathroom selfie from girls night out

[noonesingslikeyouanymore]

True legends never die. 💔

[thankenstein13]

Dont mind me im ranting in the tags

[ceoofsammonroe]

Wake the Dead - Sam Monroe Smut

Summary: You meet Sam during his shift at the local video store on a search for something to make you feel alive and decide to drag him to the old cemetery.

Warnings: sexual acts in an open grave, mentions of murder, talk of the dead, handjob (Sam receiving), public sex, fingering (reader receiving), defiling a gravesite, smoking, reader is kinda “manic-pixie-dreamgirl” coded my bad.

Masterlist

Sam Monroe hated his job.

Well, okay, maybe it wasn’t the worst in the world. He could’ve been made to wear a ridiculous uniform and flip burgers at the local diner down the street. Still, he wasn’t exactly thrilled to be restocking the same ten family movies all day every day.

Nobody ever came into the video store for anything interesting. It was always middle-aged moms with their whiny children, asking him where some shit Disney film was located while giving him disapproving glares.

Sure, maybe he always had vulgar music blaring through the speakers while some gory slasher played on the television, but what did they expect? He’d drive a stake through his own eye before he’d be forced to listen to some nonsensical bullshit about princesses and happily ever after.

The new Deftones record was his current pick, the music filling the silence of the vacant store as he leaned against the counter and sorted through the returns.

The excruciating sound of the bell above the door chimed through the grunge rock, making Sam cringe and curse underneath his breath. He didn’t even bother turning around as he mumbled, “We’re closing in five minutes.”

“Guess I’d better get to looking quickly, then,” you said, shrugging and smiling to yourself at the grumpy store clerk. You could only see the back of him, but he piqued your interest.

The sound of your melodic voice made Sam’s ears perk up and he finally turned around. His eyes widened a bit at the sight of you, not expecting to see someone his age. Especially not someone so pretty.

Your eyes traveled over the length of him as he turned to face you. He was cute — in that “I’m a total punk” kind of way.

Sam’s throat felt scratchy as he swallowed, his tongue fiddling with his labret piercing. He quickly turned down the music, giving you a sheepish half-smile.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably as a flush creeped up his neck and said, “Yeah, I guess so. I can help you search for something. We have a pretty big selection, though, so you might have to narrow it down a bit.”

His eyes scanned the length of you, hoping against hope that you wouldn’t ask him for the romance section or something equally as disgusting. He knew you’d never been in this store before, at least not when he’d been working. He definitely would’ve remembered you.

“I’m looking for a good scare,” you said, hooking your thumbs through your belt loops as you grinned at him. “Something to really get your pulse racing, ya know?”

Sam’s eyes lit up with excitement as he beamed at you. You were hot and into horror? He nearly came in his pants right then and there.

“Well, the horror section is right over there,” he said, pointing over to the corner. “You like found footage? I’d recommend that if you wanna get a decent scare. Unscripted, unedited, pretty terrifying.”

“Ah, so you’re a Blair Witch kinda guy, huh?” you asked, your lips quirking up in amusement. “Good to know.”

Sam’s grin grew as he nodded and said, “The Blair Witch Project was groundbreaking for its genre. It really had the entire population convinced that they were watching these kids die right in front of their eyes.” He leaned forward against the counter, trying to play it cool as he added, “I’m Sam, by the way. Sam Monroe.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam Monroe,” you grinned, repeating his full name.

You couldn’t help but notice the soft blush on his face that brought out the bright blue of his eyes. The color nearly matched the vibrant streak in his black hair. He had the whole look going for him — the eyeshadow, the painted nails, the clunky rings.

Sam felt flustered under your gaze, shifting nervously as he asked, “So, you got a favorite horror flick, or is this your first time diving into the abyss?”

You smirked and said, “Ironically, considering your whole ‘what’s your favorite scary movie’ question, I’m a sucker for a good slasher. Scream, to be exact.”

“Scream, huh? Classic. You’ve got good taste,” he said, raising an impressed brow. He pushed off the counter, walking around to stand next to you. “Let me show you some of my favorites, then.” He walked toward the horror section, gesturing for you to follow. “You’ve got your classics like Nightmare on Elm Street and Halloween. Oh, but one of my favorites would have to be Saw. There’s something about the torture and games that just gets me.”

Sam’s hands gestured wildly as he spoke, his excitement evident in his eyes. His heart raced, both from his love of horror and from being so close to you. He searched one of the shelves before deftly flicking one of the cases out and holding it up for you.

“The original Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” he said, presenting it to you. “This one’s something else. Give it a watch. It’ll make your skin crawl.”

You stuffed your hands in your back pockets, shrugging coyly as you stepped closer to him.

“I saw the 25th Anniversary in theaters,” you smirked, beaming proudly.

Sam’s eyes widened and he whistled, impressed.

“Damn, you’re a true horror fan,” he nodded.

He nervously licked his dry lips, trying to think of something to say next.

“So, what do you think? Are you gonna pick up any of these tonight, or should I recommend something else?” Sam asked, his eyes searching your face as he hoped to find interest in his suggestions.

You leaned closer toward him, glancing down at his lips before grinning and reaching around him to grab a movie from the shelf.

Sam’s breath hitched, his eyes flickering down to your lips before following your gaze to the movie you pulled.

You held up a copy of Creep, waving it back and forth.

“Found footage, right?” you winked, turning around to walk back to the counter.

“Found footage, exactly,” he croaked out, releasing a shaky breath. “Good choice.”

He quickly followed after you, going back around the counter to ring you up. His fingers fumbled clumsily on the keyboard as he said, “Your total comes out to $4.50.” He took the money and handed you the bag with the movie inside. “If, uh, if you ever need more recommendations or anything, just let me know. I’ll be around.” He licked his lips, giving you a small smile as he added, “It was nice meeting you.”

You took the bag from him, letting your fingers brush against his as you did. You nodded with a smile and said, “You, too, Sam Monroe.”

You turned around and began walking toward the door, but you stopped short. You shifted back toward him, gazing at him curiously.

You cocked your head and asked, “You wanna get out of here?”

Sam’s eyes widened as his throat went dry. He nodded, vehemently, and said, “Uh, yeah. Sure.” He glanced up at the clock, grinning sheepishly. “We’re technically closed now, anyways.” His grin grew as he stepped away from the counter. “Just give me a second to lock everything up.”

You nodded and walked outside, leaning against the hood of his car as you lit a cigarette. You took a drag and exhaled the smoke into the air, leaning your head back with a sigh.

Sam quickly locked up, the bell above the door jingling as he stepped outside. He caught the sight of you sitting on the hood of his car, cigarette in hand, and thought he must be dreaming.

He walked over, his gaze drawn to your lips as he asked, “You smoke?”

You opened your eyes, gazing up at him as you blew a puff of smoke in his direction.

“No,” you grinned, bringing the cigarette back to your lips to take another drag.

Sam’s lips curved into a grin and he raised a brow as he said, “Liar.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing your face as he took the cigarette from your lips. He brought it to his mouth, taking a long drag before exhaling and handing it back.

“So, what do you want to do?” Sam asked, moving to lean on the hood next to you. “I know a few bars that are still open.”

“Bars are boring, Sam Monroe,” you groaned, dramatically, throwing your head back. You inhaled the smoke again, releasing it in a sigh as you looked up at the full moon. “Why do you think I showed up here tonight?”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head in confusion as he answered, “Because you wanted to rent a horror movie?”

He took another drag from the cigarette, his curious gaze never leaving your face.

“That’s just the surface of it,” you told him, turning your head to face him. “I wanted something that could make me feel alive. I wanted to feel a spike of adrenaline, to get my pulse racing. A horror movie is a quick, easy fix — but a night of spontaneity with a stranger? That’s the ultimate risk to take.”

Sam’s heart thudded in his chest, his mind racing as he stammered, “Y-you want to take a risk with me?” He swallowed, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers. “Where do you want to go?”

His eyes searched yours, trying to gauge your intentions, but the excitement bubbling within him was undeniable.

You grinned, taking the cigarette back from him and drawing in one final breath before putting it out with your foot against the pavement.

“C’mon, Sam Monroe,” you said, grabbing his keys out of his hand and walking to the driver’s side of his car. “I know just the place.”

Sam blinked in a daze as he watched you get into his car. He walked, dumbfounded, to the passenger seat, climbing in as he gazed at you.

“Lead the way,” he said, shrugging as he shook his head with a small laugh.

You flicked on the radio as you pulled out of the parking lot, a low grungy melody playing through the speakers.

“Tell me, Sam Monroe,” you began, reaching over to play with the rings on his fingers, “why do you like horror movies?”

Sam’s breath hitched and he glanced down at his hand. Your fingers felt soft against his skin and he cleared his throat as he glanced back up at the road.

“Horror movies are about more than just gore and jump scares. They’re about the human condition. They’re about fear itself, a primal state, and there’s something so raw and real about that.” He looked over at you a smile tugging at his lips. “The adrenaline, the suspense, the sense of danger…it’s all just an escape for me. A way to feel something real when everything else around me feels so fake.”

“Spoken like a tried and true broody punk,” you grinned, glancing over at him. “I get it, though. Sometimes you’ll do anything just to feel something.”

“I guess so,” he shrugged. “It’s better than feeling nothing, right?” He leaned back in his seat, watching the passing streetlights. “So, what about you? What gets your heart racing?”

“Picking up random strangers from sketchy video stores, obviously,” you joked, trailing your fingers up and down his arm.

Sam smiled, looking away as a blush tinged his cheeks.

“This place you’re taking me to,” he said, glancing back at you, “is it a secret or can I know where we’re going?”

“See for yourself,” you smirked, pulling off the road and parking the car. You turned the lights off and got out, walking around to where Sam stood by the passenger side. “C’mon, this way.”

You grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers through his as you led him through a small trail in the woods. As you walked through the clearing, a grin pulled at your lips at the sight of an old, dark cemetery.

Sam followed, his heart pounding as his eyes darted around the darkness. He swallowed thickly, squeezing your hand a little tighter as he stared up at the rusted gates, warily.

“A cemetery?” Sam questioned, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a deep breath before steeling himself and nodding. “Alright. I’ve never been one to turn down a dare.”

“That’s the spirit,” you grinned, tugging him further inside. You winked at him, pulling him closer to you as you whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from the scary ghosts.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Sam smirked, feeling his heart stutter as he was pulled into you. “So, what do we do in a place like this?”

His eyes took in the graves, the headstones, the darkness encompassing you. He couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine as he leaned closer to you, seeking comfort.

You pulled out a small flashlight and turned it on, shining it on the headstones. You saw one that called to you and you drug him towards it, reading the engravings.

Sam followed, his eyes drawn to the flashlight beam. When you stopped at the grave, he crouched down to get a better look.

Mary Hester

1934-1976

“What do you think her story was?” you asked Sam, nudging his shoulder.

“Who knows?” Sam shrugged. “Maybe she was a victim of murder. Or maybe she was the killer,” he mused, a grin playing at his lips. He glanced up at you and asked, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you smirked, leaning forward to dust off the stone. “There’s no way that death is just a done deal, especially if you had unresolved dealings left on earth.”

Sam nodded, listening as he picked at some moss stuck in the writing.

“Besides,” you sighed, staring at the engraving, “if my entire life was reduced to a tiny dash between dates, I’d haunt the shit out of this world, too.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said, standing up and brushing off his jeans. “I guess we’ll never know until we reach the other side, huh?”

You laughed and shook your head, pulling him off to venture further through the old graves.

As you walked through the cemetery, occasionally stopping to check out the headstones, you kept spouting off different theories and stories of these lives past lived.

Your eyes widened as you saw a fresh pile of dirt near an open hole, and you pulled Sam toward it.

“Holy shit,” you gaped, looking down at the six-foot rectangular hole in the ground. “It’s a freshly dug grave.”

“That’s…that’s morbid,” Sam shivered, leaning closer as his curiosity got the best of him. “Do you think it’s for a new burial?” His grip tightened on your hand and he glanced around, his eyes flickering between the trees and the graves. “We should probably get out of here.”

“What’s wrong? Scared?” you teased, inching closer toward the grave. You shined your flashlight down into it, seeing nothing but dirt. “Relax, there’s nothing in it.”

“I’m not scared,” he scoffed, though his voice shook as he spoke. “I just don’t wanna get caught trespassing.”

He stepped closer, his eyes following yours as you shined the light into the grave. When he saw it was empty, he let out a sigh of relief and loosened his grip on your hand.

“Let’s go before someone sees us,” Sam said, tugging on your arm.

“Live a little, Sam Monroe,” you laughed, squeezing his hand playfully. “We’re not gonna get caught—”

You stopped mid-sentence, seeing the lights on a police car slowly patrolling the cemetery.

“Shit,” you cursed, smiling amusedly. “Spoke too soon, I guess. Hurry, let’s hide.”

You pulled him toward the vacant grave, crouching down before jumping into the hole.

Sam’s eyes widened, his heart racing wildly as he looked between the grave and the police car. He held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he jumped into the grave after you. You turned off the flashlight, bathing the two of you in darkness as you pulled him close to hide.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered. “I can’t believe we just did that. Do you think they’ll search the graves?”

“Not a chance,” you laughed, breathlessly, as you felt your adrenaline pumping. You placed your hand on his chest, grinning as you said, “You feel that? Feel how your heart is racing? It’s crazy. The irony of feeling so alive while standing in an open grave.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of exhilarating,” Sam breathed, his bright eyes never leaving yours. “Now what? Do we wait for the coast to be clear, or do we climb out and hope they don’t see us?”

You gazed up at him, biting your lip as you studied his face in the pale blue moonlight. You tugged on his arm, pulling him closer until his body was pressed against yours.

“Tell me, Sam Monroe,” you said, your voice low and playful. “Have you ever kissed someone in a cemetery?”

“Uh, can’t say I have,” he said, swallowing thickly as he released a shaky breath. His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips as he added, “I guess there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“Right you are, Sam Monroe,” you grinned, gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him down to you.

You pressed your lips against his in a steady, sure kiss, letting one hand trail up to the back of his head.

Sam’s lips met yours eagerly, his heart pounding in his chest. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer to him as the kiss deepened.

He moaned against your lips, the taste of you intoxicating him. He broke the kiss, his breath coming out in heavy pants.

“I think we should climb out of here,” he whispered. “We could get caught down here.”

“That’s half the fun,” you smirked, pushing him back against the wall of dirt and kissing him again.

You moved your hands underneath his shirt, feeling the taught skin of his abdomen as you sucked his bottom lip into your mouth.

Sam groaned, his lips parting as his mind grew hazy with lust. He didn’t protest any further, his body arching into your touch as he kissed you, hungrily.

You moved your hands up to his chest, kissing across his jaw. You nipped at his earlobe before trailing open-mouth kisses down his neck.

“What do you say, Sam Monroe?” you breathed, trailing your tongue along his pulse point. “Wanna defile a grave?”

Sam’s breath hitched and he bit his lip, gripping your hips tighter. He tilted his head back as you kissed his neck, breathing out a soft moan.

“I…I’ll defile a grave for you,” he nodded, swallowing thickly.

His body was trembling with adrenaline and desire. He wanted nothing more than for you to keep touching him, the fear of being caught a distant thought.

“Good,” you grinned, leaning forward to kiss him again.

You let your tongue push past his lips, exploring his mouth as a soft moan sounded from your throat. You pulled him away from the wall of dirt, turning the two of you around so that you were the one pressed against it.

Sam’s moan echoed your own as his hand roamed over your body, his tongue tangling with yours. He stumbled back, allowing you to turn the both of you around, his body following your lead.

“Kinda poetic, isn’t it?” you panted, breaking the kiss to look up at him. “Performing a ritual of fertilization in the place where the dead will be laid to rest?”

“I’m all for some poetic justice tonight,” he breathed, leaning in to claim your lips again.

You could feel your heart pumping as you kissed him, fueling that need for something to make you feel alive.

You bit down on his bottom lip, soothing it with your tongue as you slid your hand down over his jeans to cup his erection.

Sam gasped against your lips, a needy groan sounding from his throat as he pressed his hips into your hand.

You reached down and undid the button of his jeans, lowering the zipper and pushing the material down his thighs. You pulled him out of his boxers, slowly stroking him as you grinned at his impressive size.

Sam whimpered as he felt your soft hand wrap around him, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“Oh…” he moaned, dragging his teeth over his piercing as he looked at you with hooded eyes. “I need you.”

“Yeah?” you breathed, squeezing your fist around him as you stroked him faster. You swiped your thumb across his sensitive tip to gather the precum that had beaded there, causing him to hiss.

Sam’s hips bucked into your touch, his body trembling with desire. He gripped your hair, his head spinning with pleasure as he whispered, “Fuck, yes. Please.”

You used your free hand to guide his fingers to the button of your jeans, smirking at him as you continued to touch him. You leaned forward and kissed his neck again, sucking a sensitive spot until it left a deep purple mark against his pale skin.

His fingers fumbled with your jeans as you sucked on his neck, a groan escaping his lips as he tried to undress you.

“Touch me, Sam,” you panted, squeezing him tighter as you let your tongue trail up his neck, stopping to kiss the spot just beneath his ear.

“Anything for you,” he breathed, reaching his hand inside of your underwear to touch you. He moaned as his fingers made contact with your slick folds, brushing his lips against your ear as he whispered, “You’re so wet, fuck.”

You let out a soft moan into his ear, arching into his touch as he teased you. You grabbed his face and turned him back to you, kissing him with fervor as you stroked him.

“I guess cemeteries really do it for me,” you joked, laughing into the kiss.

“Mm, definitely,” he groaned, his hips bucking into your fist.

His fingers slid inside of you as his thumb stroked your clit, his free hand grabbing your leg and hiking it around his waist.

You whimpered, quietly, against his lips — his fingers striking all of the right chords. You used one hand to tug on his hair while the other moved faster over his length.

Sam moaned loudly, his breath hitching as his hips stuttered.

“Shh,” you grinned, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eyes. “You’ll wake the dead.”

“I don’t care about the dead right now,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss your neck as he curled his fingers inside of you.

You tilted your head back, moaning as you rocked your hips against his fingers. You held his head as you stroked him, twisting your fist over his tip each time.

Sam’s eyes rolled back as he moved his fingers faster, repeatedly brushing against that perfect spot inside of you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck as he whispered, “I’m close. I’m so fucking close.”

“Me too,” you whimpered, feeling that knot tightening in the pit of your stomach. The adrenaline was coursing through your veins, your heart racing as you chased the edge together. “Come with me. Let’s make these souls roll in their graves.”

“Fuck, yes, I’m right there,” he panted, moaning against you as he neared the precipice. He flicked his thumb in fast circles against your clit, his voice breaking off into a string of whimpers as his hips bucked. “I’m gonna…fuck.”

You pulled his head back, looking into his eyes as the band finally snapped. You clenched around his fingers just as his release spurted out of him and onto your hand. He voiced a strangled moan as he came, working you through your own high as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

You both milked every last drop from each other, your bodies sagging together as you came down.

Sam leaned against you, panting heavily as he rested his forehead against yours. You leaned back against the wall of dirt, grinning lazily as you said, “Well, that was a much better method of getting my heart racing.”

He trailed small kisses up your neck before kissing your lips softly as he whispered, “I’m glad I could make your heart race.”

You smirked up at him, bringing your hand up to your mouth to lick his release off of it. He watched with lust-blown eyes, biting his lip. You grabbed his hand, pulling his fingers out of you and bringing them up to your lips as well. You opened your mouth, sucking around them and moaning at the taste.

You pulled him into another kiss, letting him taste your combined flavor on your tongue. He groaned into your mouth, pulling you close to him.

You broke the kiss, glancing up out of the grave.

“I think the cops are gone now,” you giggled, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Good,” he grinned, laughing softly. “Let’s get out of here.”

He gave you a boost before climbing out as well, the both of you brushing the dirt off and adjusting your clothes. You walked back through the trail in the woods hand in hand, strolling peacefully in the moonlight.

When you got back to his car, you tossed him his keys back with a grin and got into the passenger side. He laced his fingers with yours as he drove back toward the video store, occasionally bringing the back of your hand up to his lips.

“This has got to be the strangest night I’ve ever had,” he laughed, softly.

“You’ll never forget it, though, will you?” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

Sam shook his head, smiling as he said, “Never.”

He pulled back into the parking lot of the store, dimly lit by the flickering sign. He parked the car, turning toward you with a tender look.

You leaned forward and softly whispered, “Thanks for making me feel alive, Sam Monroe.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he felt your lips press against his.

“Anytime,” he whispered. “Can I get your name—?”

He opened his eyes, but you were no longer there. He glanced around, frantically, trying to see where you could’ve gone.

It was only then that he realized that his car had been the only one in the parking lot the entire night.

[aeolianblues]

‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014!

It’s not tumblr-core and it’s not Lana Del Ray or 2013 AM, it’s not #girl interrupted, it’s not Ethel Cain (she literally is an artist of our time, what are you on about.)

It was 2001 with the Strokes on the cover of the NME every 2 weeks, it was cabaret night and English poetry with the Libertines in 2002, it’s those red and blue military jackets, it was the fucking grease in Julian Casablancas’ hair, it’s ’cocaine was the banker’s drug’ quoth Alex Kapranos, it was Don't Go Back To Dalston and the heroin, it was red and black horizontal striped tops and tight black shirts as evening wear, it was Russell Lissak’s mop top and a full page interview with London hairdressers in the NME in 2005, it was Jack and Meg’s saturated red and white dresses, it was glued glitter on the cover of Santigold’s first album, it was the sleaze and the sex of CSS’s music, it was ‘cold light, hot night’, it was the anti-Bush and anti-war stances of the bands at the time, it was America by Razorlight, it was Popworld on telly and Simon Amstel being a little shit to musicians, it was Karen O defying death on stage nightly, it was throwing up in shitty nightclubs on god knows what drugs, it was the fucking danger knowing this could all collapse any second—and rightly, it should. It was the godawful egos at DFA, it was knowing that while you were lucky to be seeing these bands live, you’d fucking hate them if you had to spend even a minute in their individual company. It was Amy Winehouse telling the world to get the fuck out of her business, it was Leslie Feist and Peaches sharing a dilapidated flat above a sex shop in Toronto.

It was horrible camera flash and red-eye editing softwares and putting your feet by the warm, spinning fans of your computer while it whirred away and downloaded your albums in *checks* 46 more minutes. It was horrible, it was dirty, it was gritty, we all hated it and thought the 90s were the last time music was good and that nothing good had happened since 1997. It was garishly bright clothes we were all embarrassed of by 2011, it was multiple layers and leggings and asking your mum to cut the itchy tag on the back of your low rise jeans only for her to snip your back. It was bell bottoms at the start of the decade. It being thankful that by 2017, no one would dream of wearing low rises anymore, please please, please let them never come back.

It was faux nostalgic of the past itself. It was ‘please make sure baby you’ve got some colours in there’ in your clothes. It was moral panic over emos. It was wanting to escape into a better past that you could see was visibly impoverished in the present. It was watching your favourite programmes become less and less relevant on air. It was watching MTV decisively die a horrible death. It was watching important venues and nightclubs get bulldozed. It was watching the last regular broadcast of Top Of The Pops in 2006. It was seeing how the 2009 financial crisis most definitely put a stop to independent music in the western world for a decade, it was watching the rise of bedroom DIY and electronic music. It was seeing the phrase ‘SoundCloud rapper’ being coined. It was the rise of Disney pop. It was counter-culture Justin Bieber hatred. It was the MS paint meme of those tumblr girls thoroughly unimpressed by the guy.

It was not using the words ‘indie sleaze’ at all, in fact. That’s a retconned word. It was garage rock revival. It was ‘post-grunge’. We didn’t care what it was called, we hated it all the same. It was a lead into a decade of despair and nihilism, it was the last hurrah for the music industry before it splintered into a thousand little online ecosystems, it was the last time we had physical community and any shared pop cultural moments. It was Live8 2005. It was the same as it is now, and it was a time that’ll never happen again, for better and for worse.

But one thing is for sure: it was decisively dead by 2014. Santi and Karen O’s 2012 collab was its last hurrah and it was dead by Comedown Machine by the Strokes (2013). It has nothing to do with 2014.

[dadsbongos]

dunmeshi character music-preferences!!! cuz i was thinking about it in the car

Laios - video game osts and beep-boop types. jams to a lot of spellcasting and napcast

Falin - nu metal, rock, and grunge, probably a poser juggalo too. though she’s not picky (it scares marcille)

Marcille - piano-heavy instrumentals OR bouncy pop like chappelle roan depending on her mood, and sometimes hot freaks

Chilchuck - his secret goon is dubstep (he’ll never put it on in front of people he’d rather die), but honestly could break it down to anything

Senshi - prefers podcasts but won’t fight anybody on what they decide to put on

Izutsumi - hyperpop and the cbat-likes, started ironically and now it's serious

Kabru - does not listen to music by himself. he will pretend he does, but he doesn’t

Rin - also doesn’t prefer music when by herself, but doesn’t lie about it like a freak (if anything she’ll play. like. lofi or elevator music lmao)

Mickbell - shitpost music like yung gravy or ur pretty. also can see him being a bbno$ kid

Thistle - totally goth. hear me out: twin tribes, lebanon hangover, sisters of mercy, bauhaus. combination hypnotic vocals and dance-able chords and/or guitar breakdowns

Mithrun - literally listens to everything he does not give a fuck. as long as it doesn’t actively deafen him. maybe prefers midwest emo but noooot by much

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

They really put Travis through the wringer on this show, like put yourself in his shoes for a moment. You’re a teenage boy who’s dragged along by his shitty, neglectful father to a soccer tournament you really don’t even want to be at. The plane crashes on the way there and you have to watch your father’s bloody, mangled corpse fall from a tree.

Now you’re stranded in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of teenage girls, a one-legged gay guy who’s slowly going insane, and your little brother who you now have to take care of. You lash out because you’re deeply grieving and traumatized and don’t know how to show it because your brain is filled with 90s era gender roles. Now you have to dig up your father’s corpse to get a ring for Javi to make it up to him. Then you start a thing with a pretty grunge girl but you’re too insecure and not ready and don’t know how to express that because, once again, 90s gender roles.

Then you go to a party in the woods, get drugged with shrooms, lose your virginity, and get sexually assaulted by like 10 girls who proceed to hunt you down, tie you to a tree, and try to kill you. Then your brother gets lost in the crossfire and you’re trying to find him all while still feeling the guilt of cheating on the girl you love and the shame of what all of those girls did to you. You spend months looking for your brother in the snow and you know he’s probably dead but you can’t bear the thought that you were supposed to protect him and failed so you live in denial. Then your girl fakes Javi’s death, you begin to properly grieve, and you cannibalize the girl you lost your virginity to all in the same day.

Then, just as you’re coming to terms with Javi’s death he comes back but he’s all fucked up and won’t talk to you and you realize your girl lied to you so now you’re more alone than ever. Now you’re all starving so you do a card draw to see who you’re all going to eat next but the girl you love draws the card and you try to save her by sending your brother out there to help her. She lives but your brother dies instead (and you know he would have lived if you hadn’t sent him out there) and you sob over his body until the girls take him away to cut him up. Then you have to eat your brother to survive. And the girl you love who let your little brother die in her place is being crowned queen and you’re going to have a lifelong, complicated, drug-filled, resentful relationship with her. When you’re rescued, you’re going to have to return home and tell your mother that her husband and son are dead but you can never tell her, or anyone, what really happened.

I’m going to cut him some slack, guys.

[salmonight]

Fred Weasley x Hermione Granger x George Weasley Fic recs

(Mainly Fremione tho)

Fred & Hermione & George

Escapism: Hermione parents die when she is little and she gets placed with her abusive uncle. One day she runs off to find her own adventure and meets the twins in the woods. They instantly become besties. Adorable thing.

fun will be made if it is fun that is craved: Ex prankster Hermione plans a prank to deal with umibitch at the same time as a gift for the twins for the valentine's secret gift exchange

Fred/Hermione/George

Banned Books: Harry and Ron get mione banned from the library for two weeks and she is pissed. The twins cant miss out on the fun of helping her spirit a bunch of books away from the library and getting revenge on those two

Fred/Hermione

All One World: I rly adore the characterizations in this fic. Enterily Fred pov. He got insecurities about everyone thinking him stupid and that he can only ever be a comic relife. He also hates how they always talk as if he and George are one person, not different people no matter how similiar. Hermione wears his rule abiding rigid front as a defensive mask. She got more then one and theyre so perfect even Fred in the know sometimes forgets thats what theyre are. She is also sarcastic and witty and very caring and observant. She never fails to identify him right or know the right thing to put him at ease and he does the same for her pulling her out of her flunks.

Band Tees (You're Fucked.): Very bittersweet it literally made me fucking cry by the end. Fred had loved Hermione since the yule ball and he is the only one who knows about her love of grunge punk. They both share their love of punk music. It's just theirs.

Methods: Fred starts a playful flirty banter that Hermione decides to indulge him with joining in. Thats the first time she startles him. She is deadpan and sarcastic and all for teasing him and startling him. They keep up a fluid flirty banter no heed for the audience

A Charming Fairy Godprince: After Ron's mess up before the Yule ball Fred & George takes it into their own hands to cheer Hermione up and be her magical godfathers like Cinderella's. They rewamp her dress and enlist Ginny for her hair. Of course it cant go without over the top very obvious flirting (on Fred's part) and various compliments.

By the Common Room Fire: Fred is sick but still with the usual drama and flair lays across Hermione's lap and demans head scratches like a cat.

Destiny and Chicken: Hermione is sick so Fred brings her soup, tea and potions.

Exploding Potions and Accidental Revelations: Amortia explodes over Hermione in potions class so she smells like what everyone is attracted to. Fred commits social suicide by announcing she smelled the same as usual before knowing what is going on.

Favourite Weasley: The twins invite Hermione out to the Quidditch match. Who's her favorite Weasley? Wrong answers only.

It Looks Better On Me: The twins accidentally soak Hermione and it’s laundry day so Fred throws his jumper at her to wear. Then Fred is sick so he ain’t playing but out to watch the match so Hermione pulls her hat over his head. Later when he is better he flaunt it around so Hermione decides to steal another of his stuff in retaliation. It sparks an all out war.

While You Were Gone: Ron and Harry leave cuz they need a break after the war leaving mione behind which brakes her and the twins take it into their own hands. They basically adopt her as their third. Its rly fluffy and wholesome, warm and fricking hilarious . It also gonna make u wanna murder Ron and Harry :)

A Small Change: Fred got such a good grades in OWLs they thought he cheated but he didn', he is panicked about doing so well and wanna actually try in school so he writes to Hermione and she helps him. They become rly good friends from then and start to exchange letters and meet up a few times. Theyre rly wholesome and his anxiety about school and his family's reaction is just so real

don't you know you've got the best of me?: Hermione meets the twins and their friend group on the train and they meet again at the sorting. She ends up talking with the twins a few more times and they end up adopting her into their friend group. She aint rly that close with Harry and Ron and she befriended them much later. Most of her friends are all of the twins' year. She is the closest with Fred and theyre best friends, he is also very protective and possessive of her.

Whole New Meaning to "Mooning" Over Someone: When you throw something during the full moon your soulmate 'catches' i. Aka a frustrated Hermione throws her book during the full moon which consequently smashes into a poor sleeping Fred's face.

i wanted to see you again, so please be gentle: Soulmates and modern au with under caffeinated disaster Hermione bulldozing over the interaction not even realizing she met her soulmate. Absolutely hilarious first liner.

Straight Into My Arms: Every year since he was five fred asked for his soulmate from santa till one day they literally fell out of the sky and landed in their arms

George/Hermione

Fancy a night in?: Post-war. George finds any excuse to go over to Hermione's and make her smile.

To be updated...

[innerfare]

Random Kid Headcanons 

Summary: A random collection of Sir Crocodile headcanons

CW: None // SFW

———

Jams to music in his workshop. Most of the time, it’s metal. Likes pop music; would rather die than admit it. Sometimes, being on the Victoria Punk feels like being in a musical. Drums with his eating utensils at meal times. Has diverted course because he heard about a rock concert on a different island than the one his crew was initially headed for. 

Pretty messy, TBH. Always has clothes strewn around his room, can never tell which ones are clean and which ones are dirty. Everything he owns has some sort of oil, grease, or lipstick stain on it. Also has lots of holes in his clothes, claims it’s grunge but really he’s just too lazy to mend them or doesn’t feel like buying replacements. 

Drinks milk, orange juice, etc. straight out of the carton and puts it back in the fridge. Also dips his grimy hands into chip and trail mix bags. And if he’s cutting bread for a sandwich, he’ll do it directly on the counter; brushes his crumbs on the floor after. 

Has used a steel scouring pad to get dried blood and oil off his skin before, and regularly uses dish soap to wash his hair. Thinks dishwasher soap and dish soap are the same thing, and that they’re the same thing as hand soap. Doesn’t know what fabric softener is. (If you decide to date this man, you will definitely have your work cut out for you; he’s a stray and it shows in his daily habits.) 

That being said, he’s very picky about cosmetics. He only uses a certain shade of eyeliner, a certain brand of lipstick, and always uses a top coat when he paints his nails. He doesn’t, however, use makeup remover, meaning he usually wakes up with raccoon eyes. 

Literally so dramatic, probably has a smoke machine somewhere on the Victoria Punk. 

Has a notorious temper (as if we don’t already know). Snaps over small things. Blames others for moving his stuff because he can never keep track of anything, only to find he was the one who did it. Will never admit to being wrong. The temper can be confusing, too, because he often shows affection by making fun of people and even punching them (granted they’re strong enough to take a friendly punch). If he yells at you, he hates you, but also, if he yells at you, he loves you- oh, and he refuses to elaborate. 

Uses his devil fruit powers to give members of his crew free piercings. Pierced Killer’s nipples after he (Killer) lost a bet. Has considered piercing his own nipples, thinks it would look sick. 

Once accidentally drank oil instead of coffee when he was working in his workshop one night because he confused the canister for his coffee mug. 

Drinks his coffee black, and not in a performative “I’m a man so I hate cream and sugar” kind of way. Genuinely enjoys his coffee black and bitter, the stronger the better. 

Has the sort of mechanical brain that just has to fix things. If someone mentions a hinge is squeaking, a piece of something broke off, etc., he’s dealing with it almost immediately. Will lose track of time trying to repair things, once without realizing spent four hours trying to fix a can opener that Killer said needed to be thrown away. Has definitely taken things apart before to figure out how they work and then not put them back together because he got distracted (has undiagnosed ADHD for sure). 

Smokes, but only ever late at night and when he’s alone. They’re his contemplative cigarettes, a little something to take the edge off and keep his hands occupied while the gears in his brain are turning. I.e., treats his late night cigarettes as a fidget spinner. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[storiesbyrhi]

Part Three: I used to think that was true about everything

Eddie Munson x Reader Series Masterlist 2923 Words

If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.

Warnings: canon typical violence, references to sexual assault, swearing, drug and alcohol use, sexual references, child neglect, death/grief, references to organised crime

Night, October 29, 1995

Eddie sat at your vanity. The ceiling of the apartment leaked, rendering anything left behind rotted and ruined; it didn’t stop him looking for pieces of you. He avoided his reflection’s gaze, instead looked at the tragedy mask hooked over the mirror.

He couldn’t remember where it had come from, only that you would try to sneak up on each other, screaming BOO! with the mask on. Eventually, you’d grown so accustomed to the thing that its miserable face didn’t make either of you feel much.

Eddie clenched his jaw.

He remembered crawling across you on the couch in the mask. You’d laughed and kissed him through it.

He remembered curling up in your arms in bed. You’d say, “I love you,” and he’d make you say it again and again. You hugged him so hard his ribs hurt.

He remembered you standing in front of the stove, a pot on fire, and you failing to put it out. Eddie had come jumping through the room, throwing a towel over it. He’d looked at you and you’d just grinned. “Restaurant,” he’d said on a breath out, pulling you into him.

He remembered standing across the room from you, you noticing him and asking what was wrong. “Nothing’s wrong. I just wanna look at you,” he told you with a grin.

Eddie looked away from the mask. He pulled open the top drawer of the vanity. Waterlogged journals and entirely drowned photos. He could make out the shape of you in them and it made him ache. Beneath those, a bridal catalogue.

The night he proposed. The way you said yes like you’d been waiting your whole life to answer.

Your wedding dress. White and fluffy and not as Robert Smith chic as he’d expected. So, so beautiful nonetheless.

He remembered reciting creepy nursery rhymes in creepier voices at you, “Down with the lambs, up with the lark. Run to bed children, before it gets dark.” He’d chase you around the apartment while you screamed in delight.

All the time spent silently working on your own things. Eddie would write music or plan his next D&D campaign while you worked on puzzles, complaining whenever there was a piece missing.

He remembered fights with cans of whipped cream. Shared showers to wash it out.

Belts unbuckled and beds unmade. 

Eddie slammed the drawer shut, the mirror shattering with the force. He looked up at his splintered reflection. The tragedy mask a haunting echo of his own face. If that is what life wanted for him, he’d give it one hell of a show.

It wasn’t the first time Eddie had painted his face. Though grunge was taking over most of the bars he grew up in, Eddie was a metalhead through and through. The black and white was stark, unnerving, and unhinged.

He found dry clothes in the wardrobe, behind a couple rows of motheaten band shirts and your favourite outfits. Nothing smelt like you anymore. He couldn’t feel you in any of it.

Eddie walked to the window, the empty space framed by glittering glass and snapped wood. He looked out onto the city. The fires had started a day before Devil’s Night even began.

The knife thrower, Eddie thought. Andy. He’d be first. A show of strength to begin the campaign.

“Here’s to Devil’s Night… My favourite holiday,” Neil Hargrove said.

The men shot down cheap liquor and dared each other to swallow a bullet. They took turns, letting the metal sit on their tongues, then gulped it down like it was a miracle drug that would turn them into something more than men.

Other people in The Pit watched, half impressed with the commitment to show, half terrified of what they’d do next. Brenner’s men were untouchable live wires, prone to fits of rage and acts of cruelty. They were just as likely to pull their guns on each other as they were to erupt into their signature unison chanting.

Susan Mayfield shook as she walked over to the table, steadying herself not to spill a drop of their drinks. It didn’t matter that she shared a bed with Neil. They all scared her.

Eventually, when they got sick of each other’s faces, they stumbled out the bar and into the night. Their crimes would not end, but their individual brands of sickness necessitated time alone.

Andy had loaded his pockets with stolen shit throughout the day. He walked to the pawn store three blocks down from the bar.

Gideon, who had a good thing going with Brenner and therefore wasn’t afraid of his men, snorted at Andy. “What’s this? This got blood on it, Tin Tin?” He offered a couple hundred. “Take it or leave it.”

Begrudgingly, Andy took it, mouthing off and slamming doors as he left.

Outside on the street, the crow watched.

Through the bird’s eyes, Eddie followed Andy. He ran across rooftops, faster than humanly possible. The spaces between buildings collapsed for him. If all those assholes from high school gym class could see him now.

In an alleyway lighting a cigarette stood Andy.

Eddie tumbled from the rooftop, landing with a manic kind of laughter that said abandon all hope. He stalked towards Andy.

Andy watched Eddie’s figure come from the darkness. “What the fuck you painted up for?” he sneered. “Halloween ain’t till Tuesday.”

Eddie kept coming towards him, and Andy buzzed with excitement. Violence! He opened his jacket, pulling out a knife. Eddie lunged and the men fought. It was easy for Eddie. He didn’t lose his breath. When he took a punch, he recovered immediately. Andy, a mere mortal man, grew incensed.

“I’ll kill you!” he roared, slashing his blade through the air.

It was a one-sided fight that began to end when Andy dropped his knife. Eddie grabbed him, yelling, “Murderer!”

Andy snorted. “What?! I didn’t murder nobody, man. I don’t even fucking know you. What d’you want?!”

“I want you to tell me a story,” Eddie replied, voice low and gravelly. “A man and a woman in a loft, a year ago. I’m sure you’ll remember. You killed them,”

“Yeah, yeah. Some dude. Some bitch. Whatever.”

He’d remembered so quickly, so easily. Like it meant nothing. Eddie threw another punch, Andy’s head bouncing off the brick wall behind him.

“Her name was…” But Eddie couldn’t do it. Couldn’t say your name out loud. “You cut her. You raped her,”

“Yeah? Sure, yeah. You know what? She loved it!”

Eddie froze, the callousness catching him off guard. Andy took the opportunity and headbutted him. Andy stood, grabbed at whatever he could, hand finding a metal pipe in the trash piled up in the alleyway. He started to beat Eddie with it.

“Murder?! Let me tell you about murder, man. It’s easy! It’s fun! You’re gonna learn aaaaaallll about it!” He pulled two knives from somewhere within his coat. “I’d like you to meet some buddies of mine… And we… We never miss.”

The crow shuffled, waiting from its position on a fire escape.

Andy threw the first knife; Eddie was already up, easily ducking it. He came marching forward. Andy threw another. Eddie blocked, grinning at Andy.

“Try harder. Try again!” he mocked.

Andy screamed, throwing a third knife – his last. Eddie clapped his palms around the blade, catching it midair. He redirected it back, piercing Andy’s shoulder.

Eddie walked to him casually, reaching into Andy’s jacket to find more weapons. “So, Andy. Which is it? Murderer or victim?” Andy was trapped. “We’re not all murderers, you know. But, victims?” he posed. “Aren’t we all?”

The crow took flight as Andy’s eyes closed.

Neil pushed his way through the dancing teens. He didn’t understand why Brenner bothered with this place. Why he let bands like that – what is it? metal? grunge? who fucking knows – play at the club. “What is the fuckin’ world coming to,” he muttered to himself. “Get the fuck out my way!”

He jogged up the back staircase, arriving on the second floor mezzanine. Grange, Brenner’s right hand man, stood stoic and vigilant.

“Hey, did you hear? Arcade Games fell down. It went BOOM! How ‘bout that,” Neil boasted.

“Gather your soldiers. You’re on for tomorrow night,”

“Is the man in?”

“He’s taking a meeting,” Grange replied.

Hopper watched as Andy’s body was lugged into a coroner’s van. He had six knives sticking out of his chest.

“So, who’s this sack of shit?” Callahan asked.

“That’s Tin Tin. One of T-Bird’s little helpers. I think you can rule out accidental death,”

“Don’t any of your street demons have real grown up names?”

“Could be a turf hit… but it doesn’t look like your usual gang crap,” Hopper thought out loud.

“And… what do you call that?”

Hopper and Callahan looked over to the closest building, its bricks graffitied in blood, the outline of a bird clear.

Gideon was counting the cash intake; the days before Devil’s Night were always good for business. Something caught his eye and he looked up, a silhouette of a man at the door.

“Piss off! We’re closed!” Gideon called.

The crow cawed. Eddie knocked on the security gate with three even bang, bang, bangs.

“Go sleep it off somewhere else, dust head! Unless you wanna get mutilated!”  

Eddie ripped back the security gate and walked to the door. Gideon froze when he saw the painted tragedy mask through the glass. Eddie politely knock, knock, knocked.

Before he could do anything, Eddie was smashing his way in, looming over Gideon as the crow swooped, landing on the pawn shop’s counter. Gideon screeched in fright.

“Suddenly I heard a tapping, as if someone gently rapping – rapping at my chamber door,” Eddie recited.

“What-what the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“You heard me rapping, right?” Eddie asked, cocking his head to the side.

“You’re trespassing! You owe me a new door!”

Eddie smiled. “I’m looking for something… An engagement ring,”

“You’re looking for a coroner, shit-for-brains,” Gideon said, pulling a gun and levelling it straight at Eddie. He unclicked the safety, aimed, and shot.

Eddie stumbled back a few steps but didn’t fall. They both watched as the blood quickly rolled back into Eddie’s chest, the wound healing in seconds. Gideon felt his stomach drop and he scrambled, swearing and terrified. Eddie grinned, picking Gideon up and throwing him well behind the counter.

Eddie jumped from the floor to the counter, counter to one of the racks on the ceiling holding pawned guitars and other stolen items. He hung upside down in front of Gideon.

“Mr. Gideon, I do not like your tone. And you’re not paying attention!”

Eddie grabbed Gideon, pulling him back to the counter. He dropped from the ceiling rack and broke the glass countertop, pulling a switchblade out and piercing Gideon’s hand, earning a breathtaking scream from the man.

“A gold engagement ring. It was pawned here a year ago by a customer of yours named Andy,”

“I don’t know a-”

“Tin Tin… He confided in me before he ran out of breath.”

Eddie began to pull boxes off the shelves, going through everything in search of your engagement ring.

Gideon tried to free himself from where he was nailed to the counter.  “What are you doing?!” he cried, unable to pull the blade out.

“Am I getting warmer?!” Eddie yelled back. “I like games, Mr. Gideon. Don’t you know this one?! Am. I. Getting. Warmer?”

“Okay! Okay! I’ll tell you! The rings! They’re in a metal box under the shelf there!”

Eddie moved, finding the box. The world faded away as he sat cross legged on the pawn shop floor, holding the box yet apprehensive to open it, as if it belonged to Pandora herself.

Gideon continued to yell from the front of the shop. “Take them! Take them all! Chew on them! Choke on them! I don’t fucking care!”

Tentatively, Eddie opened the box and flicked through the jewellery. He closed his eyes and pulled ring after ring, feeling nothing. Then, it hit. The emotion washed over him.

You had been out with Max, a shopping trip to buy more grip tape and blank cassettes. When you unlocked the door and entered the apartment, Eddie jumped up from the couch.

“Hi…?” you greeted, suspicious of his mood.

He grinned.

“What did you do?” you asked. You looked around. Gabriel was sleeping peacefully under the coffee table. Nothing looked broken. There were no magic beans bought in place of real food.

“Why do you always ask that?” Eddie laughed, letting you put your bags down before pulling you into him.

“Because you’re you. And you have that weird little smile on your face.”

Eddie laughed again. “I have a surprise for you,”

“Good surprise or bad surprise?”

“Good. Always good for you, my love.”

He was definitely acting strange, but you went with it. “Okay…”

“It’s up in the attic,”

“If this is like the time you-”

“No! I promise! No tricks. It’s good. I promise. It’s good.”

Eddie’s big brown eyes were sincere, so you let him pull the ladder down and direct you up it. Slowly, you climbed, heart beating out of your chest.

You felt the warmth before your eyes settled on all the candles. The entire small space was filled with tealight and cathedral candles. Eddie tried to gauge your reaction from below.

There was something close by, your attention directed to it by a lack of candles between you and it. A small, dark box. A ring box.

You reached out for it. Inside was a golden ring, beautiful and ethereal. Like something the elves from Eddie’s favourite book would wear. Your breath caught in your throat and you took one step down the ladder to look at him.

Eddie said your name. Your eyes welled up with tears.

“I love you. I love you so much,” he started.

Gideon watched as Eddie poured gasoline across the shop.

“You have one chance at living,” Eddie told him as he picked up a shotgun and aimed it at Gideon.

“Take anything you want! Take anything!”

“Thank you,” Eddie replied too gracefully. “Now, you’re gonna tell me where to find the rest of Tin Tin’s little party pals,”

“The Pit! They all hang out at The Pit! All of T-Bird’s little potato heads hang out there! Funboy lives in a room above it!”

Eddie nodded, almost placated. He used the butt of the gun to smash at the remaining in-tact counters. He pulled a tray of rings out from the cabinet and began throwing them at Gideon.

“Each of these? It’s a life… A life you helped destroy.” One after the other, Eddie threw the rings.

Gideon begged for his life.

“I’m not gonna kill you… Your job will be to tell the rest of them that it’s time to roll for initiative… Tell them Eddie Munson sends his regards.”

Eddie poured the remainder of the rings down the barrel of the shotgun, pulled a guitar off the wall, and began to walk out of the shop.

“You walk outta here and they’re gonna erase your sorry ass! You hear me? You’re nothing but street grease!”

“Is that gasoline I smell?” Eddie quipped, looking back over his shoulder with a wicked grin.

Gideon froze again.

The crow followed Eddie onto the street. There were maybe five seconds for Gideon to free himself and run, then the ring-loaded shot set the shop ablaze.

Eddie watched for only a moment before he heard the cop car pull up behind him. He turned and watched Hopper get out, pulling his pistol.

“Police! Don’t move!”

Eddie took a step.

“I said don’t move!”

“I thought the police always said freeze,” Eddie wondered.

“Well, I am the police, and I say don’t move, Snow White. You move, you’re dead.”

Eddie shrugged and slung the guitar over his body. “And I say, I’m dead and I move.” He held his hands up but continued to walk towards Hopper.

“Not one more step. I’m serious.” Hopper removed the safety.

“Then shoot, if you will, Detective Hopper,” Eddie said, bowing before the cop.

“What are you, nuts? Walking into a gun? You high?”

“Not right now. You don’t remember me?”

“What are you talking about?” An eerie feeling was settling over Hopper.

Eddie said your name then. “What about her? Do you remember her?”

Hopper hesitated. “She’s, uh, dead, my friend… I want you to move over to the curb there. Real nice and easy… We’re gonna wait for backup… This is… It’s all getting too friggin’ weird for me.”

Eddie nodded, slowly moved over to the sidewalk and took a seat in the gutter. He looked up at Hopper. “Do you know someone named Hargove? He had a friend who shouldn’t have played with knives…” Eddie motioned to himself, to the coat he was wearing. “Like it?”

Hopper recognised it. Realised it hadn’t been with the body. “You’re… You’re the guy that killed Tin Tin?”

“He was already dead… He died a year ago, the moment he touched her. They’re all dead. They just don’t know it yet.”

With his pistol still on Eddie, Hopper glanced over at Gideon’s shop. Looters had already appeared, taking whatever they could carry. “Get away from there!” he yelled, his sights leaving Eddie a second too long.

When Hopper looked back, Eddie was gone.

“What the… Guy shows up looking like a mime from hell and you lose him out in the open?” Hopper scolded himself.

End Note: Thank you for the support thus far. I love all you little bleeding heart goths. xo Rhi

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