#how did scott pull all those woman

[z5mbiegrlz]

i say the most basic things on letterboxd i swear 😔

[manicandobsessive]

Baby I’m Yours | L.H.

Summary: He’ll be yours until the end of time.

Warnings: Cursing, fluff, so much fucking fluff, pet names, fem!reader, lovesick lo

WC: 2.2k

AN: Here’s a little something for valentine’s day ✌️☺️

Never in Logan’s long, long life did he imagine this day. He felt undeserving, like he was living some other man’s life. As he looked in the floor length mirror, tugging and adjusting at his tie- a method of distraction, he imagined your pretty face when you walked down that aisle. He imagined the smile you’d give him when he inevitably gave you the same lovestruck grin in return. Crazy how the mere thought of you made him all the more calm. His girl, clearing his mind even from across the hallway, without knowing. He’s sure if anyone found out how often he thought of you or simply melted at the idea of how you look at him he would be endlessly teased by the other X-men. Though it wasn’t hard to see, he never tried to hide how soft he was for you. Even when you weren’t dating, he’d always treated you gently and with the same kindness you treated him with. You were the first person in a long time to make him feel alive, like he’d been doing more than just surviving. And it was easy to tell.

He’d heard the way Kitty and Rogue whispered when he would carry you home from a night out. When he’d bring you water and advil. The way he’d gently set you on the couch, kissing your forehead and kneeling to take off your heels like it was second nature. He never once had to question his next move with you, it all came naturally. One step after the other. Pieces of a puzzle falling together.

He allowed Scott and Hank to tease him for falling for your every move. Heeding your every request without so much as a batting an eyelash. He’d do anything for you, and he made damn sure everyone was aware of it. He let them tease him, anything to see that smile on your face. You were proud to have him, proud to be his girl. It was absurd to him, the way you wore his love like a medal of honor. But to you it was quite the opposite. Asking why he chose you when he could easily have any woman he wanted. In those moments of insecurity, he’d furrow his brows in genuine confusion and ask why you would ever think that. You were the single most important thing in his life, everything else be damned. He wouldn’t have you wondering whether you were enough or not.

Which is why he was so eager to put a ring on your finger. And in those moments of insecurity, all he had to do was say: “Look at your hand, baby.” You’d look down at the simple engagement ring banding your finger and flush. All while the smile returned to both of your faces and he’d pull you in for a soft kiss that said everything he couldn’t. But he always made sure to tell you he loves you and only you, no one else was it for him in the way you were.

He didn’t even notice Scott standing in the doorway while he reminisced on some of the best moments of his relationship. The man watched him with a proud smile, something that Logan wasn’t on the receiving end of often. But Scott was like a brother you never had, and having his approval was something that he didn’t necessarily want to beg for but something he knew he had to have before he moved forward with you. Anyone important to you was important to him. In the same sense that anyone you disliked, he disliked as well without question. He cleared his throat and looked at Scott through the mirror.

“Summers.”

He greeted cordially, if you could call it that. It was awkward not being on bad terms with him, but he tried for you always. Even if it killed him to not insult the man at every turn. It was too easy.

“I’m proud of you, Logan.”

Which took him completely off guard.

Him and Scott were on decent terms, but this was another level. Logan expected he’d feel uncomfortable with the sentiment, but he didn’t have any emotion of the sort. He was prideful he’d won over the acceptance of one of the closest people to you. Scott was protective in a brotherly way, he always had been. Logan, being Logan, was protective in every way possible, and Scott approved of it. Logan could get possessive, but in the harder moments Scott was there to help him reel it in. And while reluctant, Logan was grateful to have a support system like that. Someone to reassure him when you didn’t have the chance to.

There was no hesitance in Scott’s mind. Logan was the man for you. His love for you shone bright and bold, never wavering. Not once did Logan make him wonder if he was enough for you. While he was weary at the beginning, knowing Logan only to be the man who was gruff and closed off, he saw him open up. He saw the way Logan’s posture relaxed with you, the way a small smile graced his face. He’d never forget the day Logan asked him if he could have your hand in marriage. While it wasn’t Scott’s position to have the final say, he knew that getting his approval would mean the world to you. As he did with your other friends at the mansion.

Logan grunted in thanks, messing with his hair some more in the mirror and adjusting his suit for the 15th time. Scott noticed his fidgeting, it wasn’t hard to, and stepped in the room closing the door.

“Not getting cold feet are you, Howlett?” He asked, more-so in a joking demeanor. He sat himself on the couch off to the side of the suite. And while he was obviously teasing, he knew Logan wouldn’t bail, Logan took the accusation a little too seriously.

“You kiddin’ me, Summers? I’d be a fuckin’ idiot to.” He huffed, rolling his eyes in irritation. When he caught a glimpse of the man smirking at him he couldn’t help the pull of his lips into a small smile. He laughed at himself, there was no shot of him being less than happy on a day like today.

“Jus’, wanna make sure I’m good enough for her.”

Scott nodded in understanding, a feeling most men got on a day like today. Logan looked back over at him as he spoke..

“I know we don’t necessarily talk to each other this way, but I see the way that girl looks at you Logan. She acts like you gave her the moon and the stars. She hasn’t ever felt like this for anyone, it’s clear to all of us. She loves you.”

He reassured, making Logan take a deep breath and nod along.

“And, I love her. I love her with all of me.” He stated, like it was a habit. Never would it go unnoticed how much he had fallen for you. The fact that he was marrying you was proof enough for everyone else, but to him, he felt that if he didn’t spend every waking moment making sure you knew how much he really loved you- how much you’d changed his life- there was no point in living.

“I know you do, Logan.”

~

You never thought you’d make it here, let alone so easily as well. Relationships, for the most part, weren’t ever your strong suit. Having been someone who was focused on the here and now, you never paid much mind to the future or any planning ahead of the next day. You had dreams, goals and whatnot, but marriage was never one of them. You knew either way you’d be fine, married or not.

So when Logan showed up it was the definition of sweeping you off of your feet. Your knight in shining armor. Your man. And you loved every fucking minute of it. Being able to say you had tied down the renowned Wolverine. Telling people he proposed to you? It was something to be proud of. Though, when it came to Logan that was never what you really focused on.

You allowed him to open up to you just as he had allowed the opposite. You were two people who had drifted so far from the picture-perfect idea of a love story, yet everyone around you aspired to have a love like yours. A man who would do anything- who would flip the world upside down- for his woman and vice versa. You saw each other as equals, eye-to-eye.

You’d known about Logan’s past endeavors, to say the least. He was the type of guy any woman- or man- would want with a single look. His attitude, surprisingly, contributed to it as well. People liked a challenge, Logan was just that.

Your friends warned you, telling you he was a player. Someone who wanted one thing and one thing alone. Which is why you seemed uninterested, despite the nagging feelings of desperately wanting to know him in any and all ways. You were turned off by the idea, but it didn’t change your opinion of him negatively. You simply had no interest in pursuing any relationship, and you weren’t about to be another notch on his belt either.

That’s why you asked if he was joking the first time he asked you out.

He never let you live it down.

~

“Hey doll, can I talk to ya?”

You closed your eyes, breathing in ever so slightly before turning to face the only person who would dare call you that.

“Hm? What’s up?”

You feigned casualty, even though your rapid pulse spoke for you.

“Listen, I uh- I dunno how to go about this.”

Logan scratched the back of his neck, cursing himself for acting like an awkward teenager. He had game, so why couldn’t he speak to you without feeling this way?

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk he found himself drawn to. This was the moment all the tension over the last year had boiled down to. All the playful gestures and lingering glances. The heat between the two of you when you stood a little too close to be friendly. He knew it had to be the moment.

“Can I take ya out? Sometime, y’know. Like- a date.”

“Like a date?” You teased, smiling at his bashful face that was reserved only for your eyes. The way he gazed at you was something to cherish, and the minute you noticed it- lightyears after everyone else already had- you were a goner.

“Just- fuck darlin’, I suck at this.” He huffed, irritated with himself. Irritated that he couldn’t function properly standing feet away from you.

“You’re not joking right?” You asked, seeing almost offense flash over his face. You immediately felt guilty.

“Not that- not that I want you to be joking. I just, I know you don’t do this type of thing. And Scott’s been teasing me and I don’t want you to think you have to because-”

“You think I’ve ever done somethin’ I didn’t want to, doll?” It was his turn to tease. You blushed and looked away for a moment before meeting his eyes again.

“No.” You murmured out.

He smiled.

The rest was ancient history.

~

The time had come, you were fully ready. Logan was anxious to see you since it’d been almost a day without having you by his side. (You told him it was bad luck even after his unwavering protest) and he missed the hell out of you. You the same for him.

He stood at the end of the long aisle the girls had set up. Admiring the way they had all put in so much effort to make this your picture perfect wedding. Logan was just happy he was finally getting to call you his wife. He didn’t care if you would’ve gotten married in sweatpants under a bridge.

He tugged on his tie one last time, clearing his throat as the music started, a love song that you’d shown him on one of your first drives together. It was a cover of an older song he’d loved back in the 60s. He smiled at the first few chords, knowing it by heart from the way you’d always hummed the song or played it for him.

He thought he would’ve been able to hold it together.

That was until he saw you.

You stepped into view, your figure illuminated by the golden light of the sun like an angel. His angel. And your smile, your bright beaming smile that stopped the world. He was done for.

Logan wasn’t an emotional man by any means, he’d been through actual hell and back. He had nothing to cry for anymore, and somehow you made that all fade away.

He never thought he’d be able to cry of happiness, yet here he was. Silent tears streaming down his cheeks as he watched the love of his life stride towards him in all her beauty.

As you reached him, you wiped off his face with your soft hands. Kissing his cheek and smiling, saying a quiet “Hi, Lo.” before you took your position across from him. He was rendered speechless, having never seen something so breathtaking.

In that very minute he had confirmed what he knew all along, he was yours and you were his.

Until eternity.

[the-queen-of-hell-666]

Summer Days

Kinktober 2024 - Day 20

Pairing: Young!Logan Howlett (X1) x Professor!Mutant!Fem!Reader

Kink: Edging

Word Count: 1700+

Summary: Logan hasn't made the first move, so you decide to.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex, vaginal sex, voyeurism, marking, creampie, multiple positions, slight d/s dynamics, edging), fluff, saps in love, soft!Logan, confindent!reader

a/n: This one got away from me because I didn't have a plan going into it, but I hope it all makes sense! I hope you enjoy it!

Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Logan couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, you invaded his every sense, everywhere he went in the mansion, he saw you, smelled you, heard your voice. You were driving him crazy. You had helped Ororo and Scott rescue him and Rogue from Sabertooth and since then, he couldn’t keep his eyes to himself. You were a professor, a very put together woman. Your hair always pulled up in a tidy hair do, always wearing professional clothes, the first time he saw you half asleep and in your pajamas was when Charles had their Sunday breakfasts. It was your only day to sleep in and you didn’t feel like getting all put together. He knew he was in love when he watched you eat your breakfast with Rogue and Ororo, a big smile on your face as you laughed through a bite of toast at something Rogue had said, and he was screwed.

In the middle of summer, the New York heat was getting to everyone. Logan was in his white beater and ripped jeans, small beads of sweat rolling down his neck as he took a walk around the campus. He stumbled upon you, doing yoga by the pond, you were in skin tight biker shorts, a white flowy tank top, and he could see your rainbow sports bra through the light fabric. Your hair was tied up in a tight bun as you stretched on your X-Men branded yoga mat. You had a radio next to you, playing classic rock as you moved into your next position. Logan thought he had died and this was his heaven, you looked like a goddess in the midday sun, sweat dripping down your neck and in between your breasts. 

You looked up and locked eyes with Logan and you gave him a bright smile, brighter than the sun itself in his opinion. “Hey, Logan! How are you?” You asked as you sat in a butterfly position, stretching out your hips.

Logan thanked that the heat had his cheeks already flushing so you couldn’t see him blush, “M’good. Just taking a walk.” He grunted and gave you a small grin. 

You smiled wider and stood up and dusted off your thighs, “Wanna join me? I can go grab another mat?” You offered with a gesture of your hand to the cart over by the basketball court. 

He shook his head, “Nah. If I try any of those poses, I’ll hurt myself.” He chuckled and you giggled softly at the thought and nodded. 

“Okay, well I’ll be out here again tomorrow if you wanna give it a try. Right now, a shower and a glass of wine are calling my name.” You smiled and picked up your mat, bending down in front of Logan and he had to keep himself from drooling. You rolled up the mat and patted Logan on the shoulder, “I’ll see you later, Lo.” You said before you walked away, setting the mat on the dirty cart for cleaning before making your way to your room. 

Your room was in the same hall as Logan’s and you two shared a bathroom. You weren’t stupid, you saw the looks Logan gave you, how his nostrils flared when you walked past, how his fists clenched if you did anything relatively sexual, you liked the game but you were getting tired of it. You stepped into the bathroom and noticed that the door to his room was slightly ajar and you got a naughty thought and decided to leave it open. You turned on the water and let it heat up while you undressed and stepped into the water. You let out a soft sigh as the water cascaded down your body, making your muscles loosen and your body relax. 

A few minutes into your shower, you heard Logan’s room door open then shut as he walked into his bathroom. You smirked softly as you heard him walk to the bathroom door but stop before the threshold, he saw you. You heard his soft gasp and gulp as he peered into the bathroom. You bit your lip and grabbed your body wash and your loofah. You squirted a bit onto the sponge and started lathering your bare body, making sure to linger on your ass and breasts, knowing that Logan was watching. You giggled to yourself before washing the soap off and you turned off the water once free of suds. You heard Logan’s footsteps retreat and you stepped out of the shower and grabbed your towel from the hook and you dried yourself off. You wrapped it around your body and walked to the door that led to Logan’s room and you knocked softly on the door. You heard a muffled reply and you nudged the door open to see Logan smoking a cigar by the open window and you smirked and bit your lip. 

“You know Charles doesn’t like you smoking in the house.” You fake pouted and you sauntered over to him, making gulp audibly. You took the cigar from him and took a puff of your own and let the smoke willow out of your mouth. “But then again, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” You shrugged before you slammed your lips against his. 

His eyes went wide before he leaned into it and his large hands tangled in your hair and tugged you closer. You moaned softly at the slight pain of his fingers tugging on your hair. You slid into his lap, letting the towel fall away but then you were very aware of being next to an open window. You pulled away and he whined as you did so, “Lo, take me away from the window. I only want you to see me, not the whole courtyard.” You huffed softly and he chuckled softly and nodded before scooping you up without hesitation. 

He carried you to the bed and laid you out on the sheets, your bare body completely revealed to his hungry eyes. “Fuck, you are beautiful. So pretty.” He groaned as his large hands grazed over your mounds and down your body to your core and down your thighs. 

“Mm, I knew you were watching me.” You purred as he spread your thighs for him, revealing your dripping cunt to his eyes. He looked up at your face with hesitation written across his face, “Don’t, mm, worry. I enjoyed it.” You smirked and reached down to take his hands into your palms and pulled one up to your breasts and the other to your cunt. “Made me feel all sorts of turned on.” 

He groaned as his finger stroked through your wet folds, “So warm and wet. All for me, bub?” He asked with a smirk teasing his lips. 

You let out a moan and nodded as his middle finger circled your bud softly. “Of course. All for you.” You hummed and you grinded your hips down against his hand. His other hand groped and squeezed your breast in his large palm. You let yourself enjoy his teasing and toying of your body before you slid your legs around his waist and flipped you two over. Logan let out a small huff of surprise and you giggled and leaned up to kiss him passionately. His hands gripped your hips tight and pulled you down to grind against his jean clad bulge. 

“You’re making a mess, bub.” He groaned as the spot on his jeans grew dark with your arousal. You bit your lip before reaching down and stripping off his shirt before moving down to his jeans, as your lips attached themselves to his neck. He groaned as you bit and sucked on his salty skin, and he helped you take off his jeans and boxers in one movement. You bit your lip as his hard and leaking cock sprung up to hit his taut stomach. 

“You’re so fucking big, Lo.” You purred as you wrapped your hand around his shaft, your small hand making his cock look huge, you couldn’t even wrap your hand all the way around the base. 

He gave you a cocky smirk, “You’ll give me a complex.” He remarked and you rolled your eyes. 

“You already have one.” You giggled and you kissed him passionately and his hands moved down to lift you up enough so you could sink down on his cock. You let out a shaky moan as he filled you up completely, your clit nuzzled against the coarse hair at the base of his cock. You panted and moaned against his lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “F-fuck, ah, Logan. You’re so big. M’so full.” You whined and he leaned down to kiss and suck on your sensitive neck, making pleasure course through your veins. You felt your cunt pulse and clench as your hips started moving up and down on his cock, your thighs shaking with each movement. Logan gripped your hips and helped you up and down on his cock slowly, him grunting as your walls squeezed his sensitive shaft. 

You could feel the knot already tightening with each thrust and Logan knew it, “Not yet, bub. Wanna cum with you, but not ready for this to end.” He smirked as he rolled you two over with you on your side and him behind you and he hiked your leg over his arm as he slipped his cock back into you. You moaned at the new position which made his cock feel bigger than it was. 

“M’close, Lo. You feel so good.” You whimpered as you felt yourself being pushed to the edge but then Logan slowed down, taking you back from the edge. You whined and you turned your head to nuzzle into his neck and bite and suck on his tan skin, “Please, please.” You moaned with each thrust. 

He grunted and groaned as his eyes squeezed shut, trying to keep himself from cumming, not wanting this to end too quickly and his hands squeezed any expanse of skin he could get to. “Just a little longer. Want to savor this. Don’t want this to end.” He grunted and small tears welled in your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure that coursed through you. You didn’t want this to end anyway, you wanted Logan forever.

[call-me-casual]

Idea I had based on part of the chorus of “I bet on losing dogs” and managed to throw out in like an hour.

Expect a TOS variation eventually

They first met at home, in the quiet as his dear Lucy rested.

It wasn’t their first time being in the same space obviously - Jeff had been like a limpet on his wife in the time proceeding and following his son’s birth - but the time between then and now had been a whirlwind of people and things to do and every piece of advice under the sun being tossed their way. He hadn’t really had the moment to meet his son.

Scott Carpenter Tracy was a small thing, apparently nothing concerning to the medical professionals who knew way more about it all the he did, but it still amazed Jeff just how small this being was. This other human, his flesh and blood. Lucy and he had made him and he was alive. His Scott wasn’t just a concept and an image on a screen. He was a person.

The comments had all been the same; “He looks so much like his father!”. It was true, his newborn son sported his old man’s brown hair, and Jeff thought he could see a few of his facial features taking form in the little one’s own face. But Jeff knew immediately that this boy was not his clone. There was a softness to him that wasn’t just because he was so young. Scott looked like Jeff, but Lucy was there in the little details. ‘The things that matter’, his mother had always said. Those dimples were all the kid’s own though, and he knew it was just a matter of time before they became a weapon like the world had never seen.

Jeff let the chair rock ever so slightly, his feet doing the work to keep it gentle for the delicate bundle in his arms. Lucy had gone to bed - on his own insistence, poor woman was utterly spent - almost two hours ago, and yet Jeff had never once been able to take his eyes off of the baby. His baby. Scott, his son.

And then eyes stared back. They blinked clumsily, slowly, learning to adjust behind already long lashes. At first, all he could see were the pupils blown wide… and then blue. Jeff’s own eyes had been blue - Lee joked the sun was bleaching them grey slowly - but this…

It was the most beautiful blue he’d ever seen in his life. Like if one were to stand outside on the clearest, sunniest day, and set their eyes on the pale, almost turquoise horizon, then slowly look up until they met the deeper blue of that endless abyss above. All of that, in those eyes. His boy had the sky and all its endless possibilities in just his gaze. The world at those tiny little fingertips.

And they stared at him. They looked for him. Those eyes could look anywhere, for anyone, but Scott chose him. Jeff almost felt as if the air had been stolen from his lungs, and he didn’t care. Not when those eyes focused everything they had on him.

They squinted as that little face scrunched up. Scott sneezed, his nose no doubt tickled by the dusty desert air coming in through the window, then blinked in pure bewilderment. Jeff couldn’t do anything but laugh, the rumbling chuckle coming out before he could stop it. Scott stared backed up at him and, perhaps recognising the sound Jeff made as good, didn’t cry. Instead, his dimpled cheeks creased with the beginnings of a gummy little smile.

“Gesundheit.” Jeff couldn’t help it. He felt a jaw-aching smile that reached ear to ear as he stared down at his son. Scott gurgled.

“That’s right!” Jeff nodded, “I’m your daddy, Scotty. And you’re my baby…”

.

.

.

Blue eyes stared up at him, and they held no spark. Jeff tried to pull Scott’s lanky frame onto his lap, even if his knees were still protesting that he’d made them bend so much.

“Scott! Scott! Stay awake, son, stay awake!” Maybe eight years ago, Jeff would have been good at this. Would have kept his cool. But that was then and he was out of practice on the whole “stay calm in an emergency” thing when it was one of his kids involved.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Scott had been on call nearby, just something minor. Jeff had managed to handle a board meeting on his own for the first time since returning. He just wanted to drop in on the eldest brother once the rescue was over, see how he was. Now they had half a building on top of them and his boy was bleeding-

His boy.

The words felt foreign. But why? His sons were his boys, and Scott was his son. His eldest son, in fact. Why did it feel so strange to refer to Scott in such a way then?

Jeff’s brow furrowed. He tried to recall everything he knew about what Scott was like:

He was fearless, decisive, intelligent, kind, a natural leader. He was International Rescue’s first responder, the pilot of Thunderbird One. He had spent the last eight years as CEO of Tracy Industries in Jeff’s place, been an excellent big brother to the rest of the boys…

All of that, yes, but what about Scott? What was Scott’s favourite hobby? What was his favourite show? Music? Hell, drink? What had been his favourite childhood toy? Jeff thought he could remember that one, but maybe he had it confused with Virgil or John. But he had no answers to the rest. It was like trying to guess for a stranger.

How could he know nothing about his own son?

His son.

Scott Carpenter Tracy was his son. He was his flesh and blood. And yet Jeff knew nothing about the young man who lay in his lap, the side of his face sticky and red. No no no, pull it together, old man! Run through it again.

First responder. CEO in his stead. Commander in his stead. Older brother. Looked after his brothers when Jeff had been lost to space. Looked after them before that too, even before they’d lost Lucy…

He was always looking after people. Looking after people who weren’t himself.

And now Scott’s big blue eyes stared blankly in his arms, dull and still. There was so much dust in the air, he should be sneezing.

“…my baby…”

Two words, that was all it took. Jeff threw his arms out, scrambling to pull his baby up into his arms like he could still fit entirely within his hold. When was the last time he’d held him like this? He couldn’t remember doing so after what, John? Gordon at a stretch?

“My baby…”

Jeff thought back to those years when he’d pulled his act together. He’d done so much to make it up to all his boys. All his boys except…

God damn it… god damn it!

“My baby! My baby boy! I’m so sorry, Scotty, I’m so sorry!” Jeff cried, cradling the limp form in his arms. How had he never realised? How had he forgotten about his baby? His little boy grew up too fast. And it was all his fault. He’d lost his baby forever.

“SCOTTY!”

“Dad! Dad! Respond!” John’s voice on that secret little comm - Brains had only gotten better at covert tech in these last years - didn’t bring Jeff back to full calm, but it held him from going over the edge of hysteria.

“J-John?” Ouch. His voice croaked so bad. Was it hoarse? It felt hoarse.

“We detected the quake. Virgil’s on his way, just sit tight and keep Scott’s head elevated.”

Scott. His Scotty. Oh, his poor little boy!

“But John! He needs help now, his head-“

“I’ve got the status from his uniform. Unconscious with a head wound, but it looks to be mostly superficial. His helmet took most of the impact.” The redhead was so calm, so assured. Had Jeff been able to do that once? But even then, there was a tremor to John’s words. “If he hadn’t been wearing it…”

“I know…” Jeff inhaled, “Johnny, it’s been a while… what do I do?

“…Keep him warm, keep his head elevated but not too much. If he wakes up and tries to move, don’t let him. There could be something the uniform’s sensors haven’t picked up and we can’t risk it being made worse. Have you-“

“I found the trauma kit in his baldric. I got the bleeding to stop and wrapped his head best I could, but there’s still blood all down his face… my poor boy…”

“He…” John audibly swallowed. Why, Jeff didn’t know or care. “He’ll be okay. Just hold tight until Virgil can dig you both out, okay?”

“FAB.”

Jeff Tracy stared down at his son, unable to take his eyes away from those pools of sky blue, even if they were dull and half closed. Had his Scotty always looked so small?

He let his fingers run through that brown hair, let his gaze slowly trail across features not so different from his own, but holding the softness of his Lucy. And those dimples, a weapon unlike any the world had ever seen.

He cradled his baby, rocked him ever so gently, and let an old hum slowly creep from his throat and begin a melody he remembered from his own youth.

“My baby,

My baby,

You’re my baby,

Say it to me…”

[rottweiler1]

❝𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧' 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝.❞

pairing: 141 x male!reader and maybe some los vaqueros + others

summary: the 141 needed a helping hand to protect the world, only 4 wasn't enough. they decided for a interesting 5th member. and seemingly, the 141's other allies were also intrigued.

word count: 582 (promise next ones longer!!)

cw: violence, normal cod gore, angst, poorly translated scottish from google

A/N: this is my first fanfic series so i will make a master list soon enough for this series. this series might only have maybe 10 parts i presume? either way, i hope you'll enjoy this series!! -rottweiler

1/?

part 1 -part 2 - part 3

❝FUCKING IFRINN.❞

After the mission of 141 was half bad and good, they did stop a army of terrorists to infiltrate the city of london but all of them got hurt. Soap was groaning as the medical nurse taking out the gun wound on his shoulder, a pulling it back sent a louder groan from the scott. And maybe he yelled 'fucking hell' in scott. Gaz had 3rd degree burn on his fingers from the bomb getting heated up, close to exploding the hell out of the city. Ghost got some teeth knocked off while fighting off the terrorists, his gun was kicked away from his grip so he had to do hand to hand combat. Price had an ankle sprain from running too fast for his teammates, slipping over with a crack to be heard. Possibly a grade 1.

❝ Captain, we'll never get close to the terrorists. the man gave us false intel.❞ Gaz said, interrupting the silence (apart from soap groaning..) that was made in the medical room. He was bandaging his fingers around, making some whines by the burn still affecting him. Price huffed out his cigar while had some bandaged over his ankle, glancing at the man with the cap. The captain groaned and pinched down his nose bridge, rubbing it from the headache he was on. The mission was still a undergo..

Ghost laid back against the chair that creaked under his large weight, balaclava over his face but with only above his nose. He had a ice pack in his mouth, some bruises on the sides of his cheeks, making him groan a bit from the cold hitching in his mouth. The captain himself got up before saying. ❝ Look, i will talk with Laswell from this. you all get some rest. ❞ All 3 nodded before resting down by the infirmary, The captain walked down the hall, the noise of his boots with his hat having a few holes, made him fucking angry to damage his hat. The captain opened the door to Laswell's office, The woman in her maybe 40's glanced up at the man with a frown. She has heard about the calls of the mission, staring at Price's damaged hat she then said. ❝I know your here to talk to me about the mission to London.❞

Price sat down and sighed out loudly, glaring at the table. ❝ I'm very much aware of that, Laswell. Those fuckin' assholes injured all my boys, including me. And my Fucking Hat.❞ Price said with rage, cold stoned eyes stare at Laswell's, Laswell then stared at Price in raged denial, The man thought it was an easy mission, but its been awhile since the mission was this vile. Laswell then said. ❝ I told you John, those terrorists were not like the other ones you've encountered.❞

Price stared at Laswell before slamming his fist on the table. ❝ SHOULD'VE TOLD ME THAT THEY HAD THEIR FUCKIN' HANDS ON A RPG AND BOXES FULL OF EM' BOMBS. THOSE PEOPLE WERE ON FUCKING STAKE.❞ Laswell stared at him, silent. ❝ I don't fucking mind if it was 6 or 7 people dead. BUT BUILDINGS SIDE BY SIDE WAS FUCKING GONE. IN SHAMBLES.❞ Price yelled as he was fed up, Standing up as he gripped his fist that was on the table, sitting back down slowly as he was disappointed in himself. How could he let that happen?

Laswell spoke up. ❝ Price, we can still try. The army might not be dead but you still saved people. ❞ Laswell then glanced over at the file drawers, she then got up before walking over to the drawers and opened them, taking out some files, at least 25 files. She placed them down on the wooden dark brown surface, sitting back down on her office chair and said: ❝ I think we need an add-on to the taskforce. ❞ Price glanced at her. raising a brow. ❝ An add on.. ❞ Price repeated once under his breath.. looking down at the files.

Price took the files and sighed, Laswell was right. These 4 man missions weren't always easy. and by that, getting hurt lots but a 5th hand doesn't sound like a bad idea. ❝ These are the newest recruits that past selection. Take your time, John.❞ Price then stumbled across a file, building up a smirk on his face.. This one was a big powerhouse.

file;

(Y/N) (L/N).

AGE; (A/N. age number)

COUNTRY; (C/N.)

CALLSIGN; Dino.

That's all price needed to know. ❝ Are you interested in Dino? ❞ Laswell asked before crossing her arms, staring at the man viewing the file with a smile. ❝ I've heard of him.❞ Dino was usually an add on or a solo, Making price saying. ❝ I'll take Dino into the team.❞ Laswell stared before nodding, Dino was a professional sniper.. With his large height and muscular frame, maybe he would be good use. Laswell then said. ❝ I'll call them in tommorow if your free enough.❞ Price happily nodded, getting his hands on such powerhouse.. rumors were the Dino was taller then a door.. The reason they called him Dino was because of those slit pupils of his.. his unbearable scratching, once ripped someone's ear off.

The next day, Dino was then called in by Laswell, walking through the hall with whispers from other soldiers, stepping aside for the giant to walk through. Dino then got in the office with a grunt, the doors were a bit small for him to stand straight and walk to. ❝ Hello.. Are you Laswell. ❞ Laswell turned around as Price stared at the giant in disbelief.. that motherfucker was a whole building. Laswell then said. ❝ Yes, i am Laswell. I've decided to pair you up into a taskforce as a 5th member. You recall the phone call? ❞ Dino then nodded before turning his eyes to the man who stared at him. ❝ This is your captain, Captain price. ❞

Price stood there.. he then got to reality before reaching out his hand and cleared his throat, talking in a calm manner. ❝ Nice to meet' ya, Dino.❞ Dino shook the captains hand being bigger then his, Price then grunted quietly from the heavy shake. He took his hand away, so did price. ❝ John price will escort you to your other teammates, Your mission will be coming up in the 20th.❞ Laswell explained as Dino nodded again, following price down the hall. He got quite the looks from the soldiers, a shocked expression.

Price then looked at Dino with a grin, opening the door to the meeting room that price has assigned his teammates to wait in. Dino got through the door frame before getting looks. ❝Who.. the fuck? ❞ Gaz stared in disbelief. ❝ O shit, is e togalach fucking slàn a tha sin! ❞ (oh shit thats a whole fucking building!) Soap yelled in shock. Ghost had no words.. the man was taller then him, The ghost huntsman itself.. had a dinosaur as a teammate.

Dino stared.. his appearance was his military gear and with the yellow spikes on his back that were sharp to resemble a dinosaur sort of looking spike. Making him look stoned and sharp-minded. Price then spoke up.

❝ You boys fuckin' behave cause hes your new teammate, Dino. ❞

[christinesficrecs]

hello chrissy poo! please save me and recommend me some accidental baby acquisition fics. thank youuu

Accidental babies are my favorite! 🩷

I Know Where Babies Come From, Derek by DiscontentedWinter | 51.9K | Mature

Stiles finds a baby on the porch.

It looks exactly like him.

Well, this is awkward.

Foxglove Eyes by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle | 47.8K | Explicit

Stiles didn't know how long the woman had him collared and working for her. (See forcing him to be a magical slave.) But he knows when he finally gets the collar free, it's the same night the compound is raided by wolves. Somehow, he ends up with them, and, in the process, becomes the adoptive father to a baby werewolf that seems to hate everyone else. Oh, well, worse things have happened.

You And Me (Baby Makes Three) by clotpolesonly | 5.4K

Pulling out his phone, Stiles said, “I’m sure dad’ll be thrilled to be woken up at two in the morning for an off the books amber alert, but he’ll suck it up.”

He’d only taken a few steps away before Derek said his name. Stiles turned back to see one of those little grabbing hands reaching out for him. Her eyes were brown, apparently, when they weren’t glowing, and they were wide and wet and looking up at him beseechingly from Derek’s arms, and Stiles couldn’t walk away from that.

“Oh, jeez.”

He was so screwed.

He’s Not Mine by Sunnee | 68.5K | Explicit

Derek comes home to find an abandoned werebaby on his front porch and Stiles volunteers to help him out. Surprisingly, that is just the beginning of his problems.

Bundle of Accidental Joy by tearsandholdme | 69.9K | Mature

Stiles is just trying to live a simple life. Have a job, pay his rent, and survive enough to eat his next meal. But then he's fired from his job, watches a mother abandon her baby, tries to stop her and picks the baby up, and now everyone thinks the baby is his. Even his very handsome and moody boss, Derek Hale, who forces the responsibility onto him at the cost of keeping his job or else.

Reasonable to Assume by  Saucery | 32,476 | dropbox link

“You’re a werewolf! He’s a werebaby! How can you not know what to do with him?”

Didn’t See That Coming by  knittersrevolt | 83,838

Stiles leaves Beacon Hills in the dust after he catches his husband cheating on him.

He finds his way to New York where he starts working for the Hale House Nursery, accidentally adopts a werewolf baby (through no fault of his own thank-you-very-much), and somehow starts training to be an Exorcist Emissary. So, in general, life was going good.

Then he hears that demons have found their way into his hometown. Can he face his inner demons and go back to save the day?

The Littlest Alpha by  triedunture | 52.5K | dropbox

Derek and Stiles have taken out the Alpha Pack and pretty much saved the world. Okay, the town. Okay, their remaining friends. But the Alphas left something behind: a baby. And this baby is an Alpha too. Derek is determined to take care of the abandoned child, and Stiles is stuck going along for the ride.

But Stiles doesn’t expect the ride to include seeing another side of Derek, or to find another way to say “family.”

The One Where They Adopt a Selkie by mikkimouse | 7.7K

“That’s a kid,” Stiles said.

Derek growled. “It’s a selkie.”

“It’s a selkie kid,” Stiles pointed out, because really, they did not need to be arguing semantics right now. “Do selkies just go around leaving their kids sleeping in caves on the beach?”

Everything With You by ElStark | 9.2K | Explicit

“What’s going on?” Derek asked.

Scott shook his head, “You need to see.”

“Would you stop with the fucking mystery and just tell us already?” Stiles snapped at him.

“We found a baby,” Scott relented, starting to half jog towards the opposite line of trees they had been standing in front of.

3 Idiots and a Baby by WithMyTeeth (Ylith) | 42.1K | Explicit

One little abandoned Were-baby changes everything.

What to expect when you aren’t expecting by MemeKon | 16.9K

The baby is warm and small and she’s all wrinkled and frowny, bow lips somewhat pursed and pouty. Stiles’ palms feel cold and sweaty against the blanket enfolding her as he holds her tight to his chest.

“What do you mean she turned up out of nowhere?” Derek asks, frowning at him, hand twitching above the baby’s head, as if he wasn’t sure touching her wouldn’t make her disintegrate into nothingness. Stiles rolls his eyes at him and bounces on the balls of his feet when the baby squirms.

[isfjmel-phleg]

April 2025 Books

Once a Castle by Sarah Arthur

I found this one less effective than the first book. That one had some pacing issues, but this one had them more significantly. I had a hard time keeping track of all the characters, and I found the intentional similarities to the Narnia books to be too similar. Which is not to say that I disliked the book, but I think it would have been more effective with a more narrowly focused plot, tighter pacing, and more room to find its own voice.

(The problem with a lot of current Christian fantasy books is that there is a tendency to try too hard to be Lewis and/or Tolkien and adhere to the conventions of their fantasies. But what made Lewis and Tolkien great was their distinctive and fresh voices, so the best homage a currrent writer could pay these authors would be to hone their own unique approach to fantasy.)

Seagarden by Michelle A. Barry

Sequel to Moongarden, which is a loose scifi retelling of The Secret Garden. I thought I'd give the rest of the series a try, but after this one, I think I'm done. The characterization was weak and generic, and the character that I found the most interesting was underdeveloped and had an arc that came out of nowhere and thus was not especially believable.

The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion Vol. 8 by Beth Brower

I honestly wasn't expecting a lot out of this one--for no specific reason--but then it pulled some emotional punches that really hit hard. And it took a more thoughtful angle with a ship that I've never been convinced of, which I did appreciate.

Shards of Honor by Lois McMaster Bujold

I really don't know what to make of this series so far, the worldbuilding is definitely a lot to wrap my brain around, but the characterization does intrigue me, and I'm planning to try further installments.

(This is not a general recommendation; there's some very sensitive content in this book, particularly a scene of attempted SA which is quite intense. Definitely for older audiences.)

Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card (reread)

Okay, the military stuff does nothing for me and I wasn't grasping it any better than I did when I first read this a decade ago, but the whole child soldier thing had a horrific hold on me, and those themes in the end hit hard.

The Hunger Games and Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins (reread)

I will be rereading the rest of the series later and rewatching the movies. The experience is definitely different after having read the recent prequel.

Turtle in Paradise by Jennifer L. Holm

From my library's children's section, one of several I ran across while hunting down the YA books among our juvenile collection last month and set aside out of curiosity. This is one of those slice-of-life, nothing-much-happens types of children's books, but I didn't find it an especially effective representative of the genre.

Up a Road Slowly by Irene Hunt

Another set-aside one from our collection. This felt less like a children's book and more like an adult's memoir of childhood. I would have liked it better if it had not had such weird takes on romance (things like "a woman isn't complete until she has loved a man" what on earth???)

Kira-Kira by Cynthia Kadohata

Kadohata was a keynote speaker at the convention I went to back in March. I enjoyed hearing her talk about her family and childhood and how they affected what she writes about, and when I realized she wrote middle-grade, I decided to buy some of her books and try them out. I liked this one a lot. The prose was lovely, the characterization thoughtful, and the sister relationship touching. Some very sad things happen, which I wouldn't have cared for in a book when I was younger, but as an adult, I think it was handled poignantly.

Weedflower by Cynthia Kadohata

Not as emotionally moving as the above title, but the characterization is excellent and the depiction of what it was like to be Japanese-American during WWII (the protagonist and her family are sent to internment camps) is poignant.

Bloody Jack by L. A. Meyer

I picked up a copy of this one because my former boss had recommended it. Intially I enjoyed it, but as the story progressed, it devolved into boy-craziness and some content that really pushed the bounds of middle-grade and made me uncomfortable (attempted SA of a minor, young teenage heroine having to be the one to keep her teenage boyfriend's lust at bay to avoid unfortunate consequence for herself, that sort of thing). I don't feel compelled to continue this series.

Second Fiddle: Or How to Tell a Blackbird from a Sausage by Siobhán Parkinson

Another one set aside from our shelves. I think the most memorable thing about this one was the young protagonist's very distinctive voice.

Good Morning, Miss Dove by Frances Gray Patton

I gave this to my mom as a birthday present because she had seen the film adaptation and was curious about the book. When I came to visit last month, she wanted me to read it too, so I do. I liked it better than I expected to.

The Complete Tales by Beatrix Potter (reread)

Reread on a whim. These stories hold up so well.

A Taste of Blackberries by Doris Buchanan Smith

Another one set aside from our shelves. It caught my eye because blackberries in the title. A slight but effective depiction of how a young boy deals with the death of a close friend.

The Secret Diary of Lizzie Bennet by Bernie Su and Kate Rorick

I had a random hankering to rewatch the web series recently, so I picked up this book, which I acquired from a booksale quite a while ago and had never gotten around to, to read in conjunction with it. It added some things to the narrative that I would have preferred not to know, but also elaborated on other things that did enrich the narrative, like Lizzie's relationship with her father.

The House on Pendleton Block by Ann Waldron

Another one set aside from our shelves. I enjoy a good middle-grade Moved Into A Mysterious Old House story, but this one wasn't overly memorable.

No comics this month, unless you count inflicting several issues of The Ray 1994 and Damage on my sister (reading out loud!) because I am So Much Fun To Be Around :P

[eddiesghxst]

ALL I WANTED

part one | part two | part three

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x rockstar!reader

summary: your band, Daughters of Vampira, and Corroded Coffin hate each other and are struggling to keep a clean image in the media; so, in an attempt to solve the issue, your managers try to come up with a solution.

contains: enemies to lovers trope, alcohol consumption, smoking, cheating (reader is cheated on by her fiancé), themes of misogyny/sexism, and eddie being a dick <3

word count: 12.9k

| Daughters of Vampira setlist | Corroded Coffin setlist |

-story masterlist- | -main masterlist-

You were a musician. A rockstar. On your way to being one of the greats. Your band, Daughters of Vampira, was a small, feminist rock band out of Hawkins, Indiana. You created this band with your friends, Robin, Nancy, and Max, an outlet the four of you used to sing and write your little hearts out. You hit it big when you all moved to Los Angeles, playing at some lame bar when a producer walked up to you after the show, saying she wanted to see more, handing you a business card. 

Then boom. 

Everything was up from there. You got signed onto a record deal– played shows, signed autographs, walked carpets, and did interviews. Your wallet was a bottomless pit. En route to being wed, you got engaged to your production assistant turned bassist, and all was well— until about five minutes ago.

You came home from a day at the studio with your band, crafting a new song, playing with guitar riffs, and imagining lyrics. This track was going to be big; a song about your love for your fiance, a tale of how magnetic and beautiful every second was and will be.

You unlocked the door to your shared apartment, kicking off your sneakers, when you noticed a pair of red heels, which is weird because you hate heels. Maybe they were your friend Angie’s shoes; she knows where you hide your spare key and sometimes sneaks in when you’re not home. Furrowing a brow, you cautiously set your bag and keys down, looking around you for any more clues— her bag or her keys, anything. Your socked feet softly pad across your cold, wooden floors as you walk into the apartment's threshold, glancing into the kitchen. Nothing. You turned to the living room, unknowingly holding your breath—still nothing. Suspicion itches in your mind as you take in the space around you. You turn the corner to your bedroom and see the door left ajar. 

You almost think nothing of it; you wouldn’t be mad at Angie taking a nap in your room; she’s your childhood best friend, but then you hear it— the two voices. The first voice is your fiance, Scott, and the second is an unknown woman.

They’re laughing. They’re whispering about something you can’t hear either because they’re either speaking too quietly or your sudden rage is filling out the space in your ears; you’re not sure which it is. You quickly glance back towards the door, eyeing the heels for the second time— your heart drops.

It was Angie. Those were her heels; you helped her pick them out, for fucks sake. You storm up to the door and swing it open without a second thought, and your eyes widen at the sight before you. You had so badly wished your mind was playing some sick trick on you, and you were just hearing things. You were wrong.

Your fiance and childhood best friend, Angie, are sprawled out in your white-sheeted bed, heads laid on your pillows tousled, under your roof— and both incredibly naked. 

Despite the anger, your eyes quickly fill with tears, salty pools of resentment and betrayal threatening to spill over. Scott sees you in the doorway and scrambles out of bed, hastily grabbing a pair of boxers to pull over his bare hips. You can hear him sputtering out excuses, apologies, and reasons through the fog— so many words that sound like nothing but white noise to you. 

He stumbles his way over to you, hands reaching out to grasp you and raising in surrender when you yank away from him. You can hardly think; a cloudy moment where you feel as if the floor has been wiped from below you and you’re free-falling in some shitty excuse of a dream. 

“Sweetheart, please just listen–” He didn’t get to finish his sentence; the palm of your hand cracked down against his cheek to stop whatever bullshit excuse was coming. Angie shrieked, jumping out of bed, still with no clothes on, as she hurried to his side, an obvious two-against-one— that’s clarified when she shoots you a pointed look, fire building up in her eyes— and you can’t believe the audacity. 

Scott looks back at you, cheek red with the sting of your rage as he points a finger at you, “Don’t you dare fucking touch her,” he scolds as if you were a child, warning you to leave the cookie jar alone. You scoff, your mouth falling agape as you laugh humorlessly. “Me? Touch her?” You point to the naked girl. Your neck heats in fury as you shake your head, “That is rich, Scott.” 

You step back, eyeing both of them and ignoring the lump in your throat as you speak, “So, how long has this been going on?” They stare at you like they’re fucking clueless, and it ticks you off to no end, “In my own fucking bed? With my best friend?” Your tears are hot as they begin streaming down your cheeks, and the harsh swipe of your wrist to wipe them away stings, but you refuse to let them see you cry. Your mind is cluttered with questions, but they come out like bullets, firing round after round. 

Angie takes to answering you, saying your name to halt your questions, “We– we’re in love, and… and he doesn’t..” She looks to Scott for guidance, her eyes pleading for him to help her. Your fingers shake in anger.

“I want to call the wedding off,” Scott says, looking you in the eyes while he and your best friend link fingers. They look fucking stupid, standing there naked and feigning unity– you almost want to laugh. You scoff again, folding your arms over your chest like that would hide your pain from them, despite the evident ghost of tears still clinging to your skin. 

You glance around the room, around at the life you had planned for yourself, for him. Pictures of your engagement day, the closet you two shared, the fucking bed you shared, the life the two of you shared. More tears fall, and you don’t bother brushing them away this time. You nod, defeated.  “Yeah, that’s– yeah, we can… we can do that.” You wipe at your tears, fingers shaking with agony as you swallow the words. 

Your ex-fiance reaches out for your arm, and you back away, like he’s contagious– like his touch carries the heat of the sun. “Don’t touch me,” you snarled, watery gaze boring into his brown eyes. 

“The wedding’s off, so… Take your shit and,” you look at your childhood best friend— your ex-childhood best friend, and your heart aches. This fucking hurts. Your teeth dig into your lower lip as you dismissively wave your hand towards the clothes strewn across the floor, “And take her shit and get the fuck out.” You turn to leave but stop when Scott speaks, “I can’t just do that; I–” He stutters at the stab of your glare, “I need to call a truck so I can carry everything.” 

You laugh, tilting your head, “Nah, don’t worry, I can help you with that.”

You pace to your apartment window, swinging it open and ignoring the confused voices behind you when you start picking up various items. Scott’s eyes widen as he watches you storm over to the window, a heap of his things in your arms. He scrambles to you, yelling as you toss his stuff out the window. He’s looking out the window, watching them fall, “Get. The. Fuck. Out.” You shriek after every item you throw: his computer, acoustic guitar, books on Logistics, and How To Save Money Like A Businessman. 

You flutter about the room, shaking Angie off when she tries to grab you, ignoring her when she falls to the floor in a heap of naked limbs. You pick up a pricey statue that was Scott’s, ignoring his protests, courteously tossing it out the window to join his items. 

You storm out of the room, glancing around for any of Scott’s stuff. Yes, this was your apartment, but you were working on sharing it— sharing it with him. Your fiance. Ex-fiance. You skirt out to the living room, the two lovebirds hot on your tail and begging you to stop. You walk over to the balcony doors, pushing them open and ignoring the sound of the doors cracking against the wall, some picture frames falling to the floor. 

Pictures of you and him. 

You pick them up and toss them over the balcony, looking around for any other fallen pieces. You thoroughly sweep your apartment— as thoroughly as you can through your tears of rage, gathering jackets, shirts, and shoes and carelessly tossing them over the balcony. You ignore them as they hastily put on their clothes, brushing past them to pace to the door.

Your gaze is hot and heavy on Angie’s heels. Those shiny, blood-red, smooth pumps. They oozed sex appeal and smirked at you, asking, daring, challenging you. Angie scrambles to you, yelling for you to put them down, yelling that they were Jimmy Choos, that they were expensive— like you would care. 

You shrug her off as you walk back to the balcony, hanging them over the ledge and turning to gaze at her as she watches with tears brimming. Pathetic. You look into her eyes and drop them— one by one, “Fetch,” you whisper hoarsely.

Angie begins to cry, turning and running to Scott, who points an accusatory finger at you, “You’re a fucking crazy bitch. You couldn’t just end things like a civilized human fucking being?” He exclaims, “You are fucking insane!” He grits out, holding Angie by the waist. “I’ll be back tomorrow, and you better have my shit,” he says scathingly.

When they both have an appropriate amount of clothes on— Angie settling for one of his oversized shirts and panties, him with sweats— Scott hastily searches for his keys. You watch them both, numb and unmoving, and it feels like your body is vibrating in a storm of emotions. Scott finds his keys and wallet, yanking Angie by the hand and hauling her out the door, but not before he shoots you a glare— a look that tells you it’s over. Completely done with no room for redemption— you don’t care either way.

The door slams shut, and silence fills the space. You stand there for what seems like eons, basking in the fizzling heat of your emotions before shuffling towards your bag near the door and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. You search for your lighter, growing irritated when it seems to be missing. You toss your bag to the floor with a curse and walk to the gas stove, turning the knob until a rim of flames arises. You slip the cigarette between your snot-slick lips, ducking your head towards the stove top and watching the cancerous stick catch fire. 

You stand upright, inhaling and puffing out the smoke. You grab your flip phone, shuffling towards the balcony for fresh air while you make a call, but to your dismay, a crowd is gathered below your building, watching and taking pictures. At closer glance, you realize these people are none other than paparazzi— the very bane of your existence. They’re already recording; you can hear them chattering about what they suspect is happening, making up stories for the cameras and soon-to-come tabloids. 

Then, to make matters worse, Scott and Angie skirt out from the building entrance and start picking some items up, the paparazzi asking various intruding questions. Scott has enough grace and respect for you to deny a comment, opting for catching a taxi with Angie instead. With a roll of your eyes, you walk back into your apartment and busy yourself doing a shitty job clearing the mess you’d made. However, like clockwork, your phone rings.

You know it’s Miss Sinclair; well, Erica, as she always corrects you. Your music manager, a firecracker, that one, but overall a good friend on your side. 

You answer, taking a drag from the cigarette as you step onto your terrace again, breathing out a cloud of smoke. “What?” You ask snappily into the phone, glancing down at the crowd of people taking pictures of you. Assholes.

”What? What do you mean, what?” Erica hisses through the speaker. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Tiger?” A nickname she has for you that originated from God knows where. “Yeah, like… what’s up?” You play dumb, smiling sarcastically and waving innocently to the cameras below you.

“Why the hell do I have people blowing my line asking me why you’re tossing shit onto the streets of Los Angeles like it’s a goddamn Goodwill?” She impatiently asks.

You shrug, even though she can’t see you, “Dunno. See you tomorrow at the studio.” You pull the phone away from your ear, hearing her shriek and yell at you, commanding you not to hang up. You slap the flip phone closed, ending the call; her words cut off. You take another drag of the cigarette before flicking the bud off the balcony at the intruders, watching them back away to glare at you, yelling a few curses. You flip them two middle fingers in response before turning to walk back into your apartment, closing the doors behind you. 

You’re going to write a song. A kickass song.

“And then I threw all his shit out the fucking window,” you chuckle, retelling the story to your drinking companion, Robin Buckley, the drummer of your band. She smirks and downs another shot of vodka, “Yeah.. you uh,” she grimaces and smacks her lips at the bitter drink, “you created quite the stir earlier today,” She points at you and winks, picking up her forgotten glass of whiskey beside her and holding it out to you, in cheers. 

You sigh and smile, and inevitably you clink your whiskey-filled glass against hers as she says, “To shitty men and new beginnings— preferably with women,” she winks again, laughing along with you as you lighten up from her joke. You down the rest of your drink and put your glass down, sucking your teeth before rolling your lips inward as you stare thoughtlessly, the whiskey leaving burning kisses in your throat. 

The loud, underground celebrity-only bar drowns out behind you. What were you going to do? You had so much planned with Scott, an entire fucking wedding, a home, maybe even kids. And as if that’s not enough, you wrote an entire song about him. You were almost finished with it, so close to recording it and putting it out, maybe with tour dates to match. 

Now it's gone. Dead and buried. 

A whole song, written in 4 weeks, about your love, the love of your life, your supposed forever person, and he threw it all away. You knew love wasn’t easy. It never was, especially not after your rise to fame. It was hard to find time for date nights, for sex, for just seeing each other and talking. But you would’ve never imagined this to be how it ended.

You can’t help but feel as though this might have been your fault. Some small, pessimistic, mean part of you nagging that you could’ve prevented this if you had just changed. You tried to make time for Scott, you really did, but you got caught up in the music— the music for him. You worked tirelessly at it. For Scott to hear this song and immediately know it’s about him. You wanted it to be a wedding gift, maybe, to play it at your wedding for everyone to hear your love. You had never been so soft in a song, so open and disgustingly lovesick, and you wasted it all on him. Maybe it was your fault; perhaps it was for the better—

“Hey, you okay?” Robin cuts through your thoughts, “You went a little quiet there,” she smiles softly, playfully nudging her shoulder against yours. “Yeah,” you nod, “I-I’m good. Great.” You nod along with your words, trying fiercely to believe them.

You were not good, nor were you great. You were, to put it nicely, fucking wrecked. You were humiliated. How could anyone be okay after something like this? It was bad enough he cheated in the first place but with your best friend? You lost two of your closest people within the blink of an eye. It hurts more that they got each other while you got nothing but ghosts and memories. Scott was there for everything, your first real concert, the after-parties, the carpets. He was there for all of it. And he won’t be there anymore, and that hurts.

You shrug, laughing nervously and rubbing the bridge of your nose in distress, “I just can’t help but think that— that maybe this–” You motion your hands uselessly. Robin quickly interrupts you before you can finish your thought, “No. Do not go there. Are you insane? This,” she motions lazily over your figure, copying you, “was not your fault.” She shakes her head, sincerity laced within her voice and gaze. “Believe me when I say that— I would tell you if you were a crazy bitch, trust.” She smiles and nudges you again with her shoulder, pulling a laugh from you. 

You sigh, rotating your neck to stretch it out, rolling your shoulders, “So, like, what’s up with you?” You ask to lighten the mood, leaning on the bar counter with your elbows. It works because she laughs and nods, looking down at the glasses of whiskey as the bartender wordlessly fills them back up. She traces her finger around the rim of it, still nodding, “I-I’ve been good, you know,” she glances at you and shyly looks away when you begin to smirk, “Just sorta.. Hangin’ out, I guess. Shootin’ the shit,” she shrugs, and you laugh. “Yeah, so when did you guys hook up?” You say over your glass rim innocently, laughing even harder when the girl turns red in the face and sputters over her drink. 

“We did not hook up!” She exclaims, wiping the drink from her lips. “Me and Nance,” she shakes her head, “we just… We, like, hung out, you know?” She shrugged. You mockingly raise an eyebrow as she keeps talking, “And like smoked a bit and maybe drank and then like, there was a movie involved, and then she kissed me and—” You interrupt her rambling with a wave of your hand, “Alright, no more details. You totally hooked up,” you laugh, and she blushes harder, laughing and shaking her head, “Definitely did not.” she scoffs.

“You definitely did.” You challenge.

“Did not.” She shoots back.

“Did.”

She groans and shakes you, “If I pay for your tab, will you shut up?” she offers. You pretend to think dramatically for a moment before giving in and nodding, laughing when she slams a one hundred dollar bill on the counter and gets up, picking her leather jacket from behind her chair. “God, you are so annoying,” she complains, shucking her coat over her Daughters of Vampira band t-shirt. 

You get up, shrugging your leather jacket on and snickering, “Nah, you love me,” you teasingly say, shoving at her shoulder. She smirks and shakes her head, heading for the exit, “Yeah, you wish,” She pushes the door open and steps outside into the chilly Los Angeles night, immediately shoving her hands into her pockets. 

You opt for taking the damaged, smashed pack of cigarettes out of your pocket and pulling a matching lighter out. The lighter has a siren with long, blonde locks and a green, shimmery mermaid tail. You pull out a cigarette and stick it between your lips, igniting the flame and holding it up to the end of the cigarette. You bask in the warmth emanating from the flame, a soft heat kissing your nose. You pull the lighter away and puff, blowing the tobacco back out.

“Man, all I wanted was a peaceful drink, and I got verbally berated instead,” Robin jokes.  You laugh, blowing smoke in her face before stopping, looking ahead. You freeze, and not because of the air; the cogs in your brain start moving, fired up with the fuel of alcohol and the lightheaded buzz of nicotine. You still your movements, looking at your friend, “What did you say?” you ask slowly, pulling your gaze from the busy car-filled street. 

Her face heats up, eyes widening and hands flying from her pockets to raise in defense, “No, I mean, like— I was kidding. I wasn’t being serious—” you interrupt her by waving your hand hastily that was holding a cigarette, before looking at it and tossing it carelessly to the side. You aimlessly shake your hands at her, “No, what did you just say?” You stare into her eyes, watching as she tries to connect the dots. 

She raises her eyebrows in confusion, shrugging before saying slowly, “All I wanted—” You stop her, snapping and pointing, walking away and walking back, obviously pacing. “Yes! Yes— that. It’s perfect.” You stop pacing for a second, standing with your hands on your hips. Robin laughs nervously, fiddling with her zipper jacket, “Uh, what is happening right now? Am I in trouble?” she jokes anxiously, but you ignore her. 

You were thinking. Thinking hard. 

All I wanted. All you wanted? All I wanted. 

You repeat it to her, mumbling the words, gaze still focused on the ground, “All I wanted.” You say, pulling your eyes back up to hers. “Uh.. yeah– All I wanted…was a drink,” she parrots back, nodding dumbly, placating you like a small child doing a math equation. 

You smile mischievously, “Robin, you’re a fucking genius!” You all but shriek, earning some glances from the sidewalk. You pay no attention to them, but Robin does, grabbing your shoulder and pushing you into a walk, looking around her to not draw attention to the both of you, but it’s difficult when you’re wildly smiling and humming out a guitar tempo. 

“Dude, what are you talking about?” She stresses, “Please tell me what’s happening; I have no idea what is socially acceptable to say right now,” she explains nervously, hand moving to grasp at your elbow, keeping you in motion. “Robin, we have to go to the studio right now,” you beg, looking her in her eyes, your gaze shining in inspiration. “What? No, what? Why?” She steps in front of you and halts your walking, “What is happening?” she pleads, leaning forward and pressing her palms together in a praying motion— silently asking you to please elaborate. You move past her, still walking, still thinking. 

Robin jogs to catch up to you, “Tell me what you’re thinking, please,” she begs. You look at her and smirk, “I have an idea for a song,” you conclude. Upon hearing this, Robin smiles like the fucking Cheshire cat.

“Hit me, Tiger.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh when his friend tells him what happened. He pauses for a moment, staring at Scott and waiting for him to say it was just a joke, but he never does, and Eddie nearly dies of laughter, the rest of the band along with him.

“Holy shit,” Eddie gasps between laughter. Gareth snorts, raising his eyebrow in shock as he speaks, “She threw your shit out the window?” 

Scott rolls his eyes, flipping the brown-haired boy off, sipping his beer, and leaning back into the red leather couch. Eddie shakes his head as he swivels around in his chair to mess with the studio soundboard, “That’s what you get when you fuck crazy bitches, man,” Eddie laughs, glancing up to watch Jeff mess around with chords in the sound booth. He listens as he speaks, “I mean, sure, she was hot,” He shrugs, reaching over for his box of cigarettes, “Insane tits or whatever, but at what cost?” He snorts. 

Scott shrugs, downing the rest of his beer and tossing the bottle into the small trash bin near the soundboard. 

“I mean, the sex was definitely good, but she just— I dunno, man,” he shakes his head and dismissively waves his hand, “She’s too much of a firecracker. Angie is way more docile,” he concludes. He snickers as he thinks it over, “Easier to deal with,” he smirks, reaching down to the floor to pick up another beer. Gareth snickers and Eddie grimaces with a shake of his head; he then smirks as he slides a cigarette between his lips, “Nah, the firecrackers are the fun ones, man.” he speaks around the paper as he lights the cancerous stick, sucking and blowing out the smoke. “So, what now?” Gareth asks, taking a swig of his drink as he looks at Scott. 

Scott shrugs, opening the glass bottle of beer and sipping it, “Yeah, y’know… no wedding, I’m with Angie, whatever,” he says, and Eddie chuckles, glancing over his shoulder for a moment, “Yeah, I get it,” he nods, taking another drag off his cigarette, lost in his thoughts. You’re a crazy bitch, but you fuck so good… A lightbulb goes off in his head. 

“Wait, guys,” he swivels around in his chair to face Gareth and Scott. The two boys look up at him as Eddie speaks, “We’ve all had crazy girlfriends, right?” His gaze bounces between the boys as he puffs on the cigarette before standing up and pushing the bud of it into Gareth’s bottle, much to his dismay. He ignores Gareth’s complaints, ignoring the boys laughing at him, pacing the room, mind swirling to the sound of Jeff’s guitar. 

Through the fog of chords and lyrics, Eddie continues speaking, “All of our ex-girlfriends— and ex-fiances,” he blindly points to Scott as he paces, ignoring when Scott scoffs, “are crazy bitches,” he points out, looking back at the group. “I mean, I can’t remember the last time I had a normal fucking girlfriend,” he snickers. The boys look at Eddie as if they’re concerned, confusion written across their faces that Eddie could care less to ease, “This is fucking inspiration, boys! Let’s write this shit down,” He leans on the soundboard, “Let’s expose this chick,” He snickers.

He walks into the sound booth and grabs his guitar from the stand, pulling the strap over his neck as he nods toward Jeff, “Keep playing that,” he orders. Despite his masked confusion, Jeff continues to play the riff he’d been tweaking. Eddie steps up to the mic in the middle of the sound booth, reaching for the headphones to slip them over his head, leaving one ear uncovered. He gestures to Gareth through the glass, motioning for him to tag along.

Gareth puts his beer down and walks in, glancing at Eddie in confusion, “You gonna tell us what we’re playing or?” He sits behind his drums as Eddie tweaks the strings on his guitar. “Just follow along, man.” Eddie distractedly mumbles. Gareth and Jeff glance at one another— Eddie often has moments like this, and they have yet to get used to it. Gareth shrugs, picking up his deeply mangled drumsticks and tapping a beat to Jeff’s strings.

Eddie mumbles to himself, fingers ghosting chords over the frets as he nods his head to the beat. He picks up with Gareth and Jeff’s sound, shredding along to create a fuller sound, the images of the music he’d composed in his mind coming to life just below his fingertips. Scott watches from outside the sound booth, standing up to lean over the soundboard. He watches, intrigued, as they play together, wordlessly tweaking until they all compliment each other. Scott reaches over with a smirk and hits the record button just in time for Eddie to chime in on the mic, finally spitting out the lyrics they’d all be waiting to hear.

And it’s fucking good. 

“Alllriiight!”

It’s raunchy, unhinged, and all things dirty. On top of that, it’s a massive fuck you to Scott’s ex, and Scott can’t keep the grin off his face as he adds the bass to the track, snickering at the words Eddie sings. They work on the song all day, throwing in new verses and tweaks until they feel satisfied for the time being. They sit outside the sound booth and nurse a round of beers as they play the song, listening to what they have so far, grinning and nodding along to the beat, laughing at the absurdity of the lyrics.

“Hey, you’re a crazy bitch, but you fuck so good, I’m on top of it.”

“It’s good… as much as I hate to say it, it’s good.” Scott laughs, rolling his eyes when the boys cheer. Sitting on the swivel chair in front of the soundboard, Eddie reaches out and nudges Scott's foot with his own, “You might get a few slashed tires when she hears this, you know.” He snickers over the rim of his beer bottle.

Scott laughs and shrugs, “Can’t be any worse than what she’s already done.” He jokes. The boys all laugh, watching Jeff as he raises his beer in the gesture of a toast, “To crazy bitches.” The boys all raise their beers in unity, parroting back, “To crazy bitches!” They clink their drinks and laugh, taking sips.

“You’re crazy, but I like the way you fuck me.”

“Think of me when you’re out, when you’re out there,

I’ll beg you nice from my knees.

And when the world treats you way too fairly,

Well, it’s a shame, I’m a dream,”

Your voice filters through the speakers, thick studio headphones skewed on your head as you fiddle with the soundboard knobs and buttons. You sigh and push the headphones to rest around your neck, rubbing your hands tiredly over your face. You take a glance at the clock— 4:34 AM. Goddamn. You had truly been here all night. After your night out with Robin, drinking your feelings away, and your quick epiphany moment, you guys caught a taxi straight here and got to business. That was at 10:46 PM. 

Poor Robin, you put the girl through the wringer. Making her drum out new beats, forcing her to pluck out a bass riff to the best of her abilities. The rest of your band was, without a doubt, asleep, and you didn’t want to bother them with your antics. And, of course, you all were close, but it was just different with you and Robin. You guys could be together for hours and never tire of one another. You just clicked. 

Maybe it was also the fact that you didn’t want to face whatever awkward encounter was bound to happen between Robin and Nancy, opting to wait until the morning to see them face one another. Robin was fully asleep underneath the sound booth, using both of your jackets as a pillow. Her fingers are wrapped around the beer she’d been drinking; hand cuddled up to her face. You pull out your cigarettes from your pocket, pulling one stick out and sliding it between your lips. You light it up and puff on the cigarette, glancing at Robin beneath the table before reaching down and carefully snagging her beer. You take a quick swig, quietly listening to the song. 

“All I wanted was you,

All I wanted was you.”

The guitar that comes in right after is powerful. It’s beautiful; it showcases your anger, your betrayal, your heart that still aches. This was supposed to be a love song for Scott, but after tweaking a few lyrics, it quickly became a song laced with hatred and resentment— a piece of heartbreak and anguish you’re still clearly sorting through. But that’s all that love is, right? Just two people fighting and slashing at each other until one inevitably gives in and waves a white flag? 

You down the rest of your stolen beer, still taking drags of the cigarette and blowing it back out. It wasn’t unusual for you to be the only one here at ungodly hours of the night, but it was one of the first times you were here with your friend and bandmate. Knowing she was here for you after such a chaotic, hectic day, supporting you even at unreasonable hours, was nice.

You replay the lyrics repeatedly, playing with the weak bass Robin was barely able to play. You should go home; you know you should, given how late it is and the dryness that begins to seep through your eyes, but you hate the feeling that runs through your bones when you think about what used to be your and Scott’s home. You don’t want to go home. Home is where everything ended. Home is no longer home— not after what happened. Home is where you’ll go to relieve the day over and over again until you get tired enough to pass out. 

And then it hits you; lyrics, more heartache hits you. The song was initially titled The Only Exception, but the words changed after playing around for several hours. You stuff the cigarette bud in the beer bottle, letting it fizzle out as you get up from your swivel chair to try and find a notebook— a notepad, napkins, or something, but you only find a pen. Frustrated with your lack of writing materials, you look at your surroundings hungrily before your eyes land on Robin’s bare arm. 

You pace back to the soundboard and reach underneath to yank on Robin’s arm, waking her up for a split second. You ignore Robin’s grumbly and slurred “What the fuck?” and proceed with your task as she inevitably falls back asleep. You yank the pen cap off with your teeth and begin jotting down lyrics on Robin’s pale, freckled, tattooed arm. 

“I think I’ll pace my apartment a few times,

And fall asleep on the couch. 

Wake up early to black-and-white reruns,

That escape from my mouth.”

Scott and your favorite thing to do was watch old 1950s classic films. You guys watched them so much, watched so many of them, over and over again, that you could quote them to one another. Tears begin to well up in your eyes as you write these lyrics down, some falling on Robin’s arm and smudging the ink. You curse and press your palm to the running ink to dry whatever can be salvaged from your sloppy work. You drop her arm to the ground and hear her briefly groan as you pace back into the sound booth, picking up your black guitar from the stand and pulling the strap over your upper body. 

You move your headphones around your neck to sit over your ears, waiting for your next move. You start strumming out a guitar riff, basking in the glory of the echoing sounds and its full, tough ring. You push your lips to the microphone and begin mumbling, playing with more lyrics in your head before you sing.

“I could follow you to the beginning,

Just to relive the start.

And maybe then, we’d remember to slow down.

At all of our favorite parts.”

The tears are freefalling now; the dark eyeliner you’d spent the past hours smudging leaves roads of sorrow against your skin. You and Scott were together for seven magical months. Yeah, it was quick— pathetic in a different light, but you’d been mindlessly in love. And fuck, would it have been a mistake if you did end up marrying him. He was a production assistant and a bassist with no new lines of work coming, opting to freeload off his friend’s band, Corroded Coffin, playing with them at shows whenever they needed him. 

And it’s working for him so far— until it doesn’t. As much as you hate to admit, Scott is talented. He’s good with his instrument and has a good ear for sound, but despite his talent, he has no real drive— no actual want to succeed and be at the top of the music pyramid with you. As you continue to play with the guitar, you stop for a second to wipe your eyes, thoroughly smudging your makeup now and probably making you look insane. 

Scott had good moments, though. When it was good, it was good— spontaneous nights out, making out in alleyways like lovesick teenagers, and every second feeling like a movie until the credits rolled— but when it was bad, it was really fucking bad. Fights, stupid arguments, bickering, breaking expensive items, and threatening to leave each other until he makes it up to you with mediocre sex and breakfast in bed the next day. You loved him, you did, and you believe he loved you too, but you just can’t pinpoint where it all went wrong. 

You stop strumming the guitar and huff waterily, setting the guitar back on the stand and ripping your headphones off your head before tossing them to the ground. You sit on a metal, foldable chair beside you and lean forward to push your head into your hands. 

You really blew the fuck up on him. Did you overreact? Did you honestly act like a crazy bitch? Fuck, maybe you should apologize. 

You can hear Robin in the back of your head, nagging and begging you to stop thinking self-destructive thoughts like this, telling you you’re insane for even thinking of apologizing, but you just can’t help it. You venture down the deep, dark, but welcoming rabbit hole of psycho-analyzing every romantic relationship you’ve ever had. None of your relationships have lasted— the ones in high school, obviously, but you’ve been out of that shit hole for years now, yet you’re still playing the never-ending game of kiss and tell.

Life in Hawkins was a weird, dull one. All the boys you brought home never shared the same interests as you and certainly did not like that you had a mind of your own. They didn’t like the clothes you wore, or the makeup you did, or the music you listened to. They thought you and the rest of the band were stupid and wasting your lives trying to be something big with the weird sound you carried. Nothing about you or the people you hung out with fit the cookie-cutter shape of Hawkins, and you learned that the hard way. 

You were more of a dirty secret for boys in your school. Nobody wanted to express their love or attraction to you openly, but they sure as hell did so behind closed doors. Your first boyfriend, Brady, was a star on the wrestling team; he didn’t mind showing you off much because nobody had the guts to talk shit about him— too scared to get sucker punched. Brady lasted a few months before you eventually cut ties with each other. 

There were a few others after Brady, all meeting the same dead end you’re so familiar with. Although there was one guy— Eddie Munson— people believed you would be perfect for each other. You liked the same music, dressed relatively the same, and had shitty high school bands nobody wanted to listen to. Logistically, it was a perfect match; the only problem was Eddie Munson is an asshole. 

Scum of the earth, piece of shit, grade-A asshole.

Scott was friends with him, and on occasion, you would sometimes cross paths at parties or hangouts with mutual friends; and every single run-in you’ve had with the man left you with a splitting migraine and an itching impulse to smash his head through a window. He’s awful; he doesn’t respect you or any woman for that matter, he acts like he’s a living god, and he and his shitty band won (stole) that fucking music contest in Hawkins back in ‘87, and you’ll never forget it. That’s how you met him, and your guys’ race to the top hasn’t let up since.

And now that you think of it, it’s not surprising that Eddie and Scott get along so well— they’re both sexist assholes. 

You’re milling in your thoughts for what seems like hours, tears dried and itching against your skin. You’re not sure how long you sit in the sound booth, but before you know it, Robin’s hoarse voice is cracking through the speakers of the sound booth, “As much as I think you’re a musical genius and love the way you work in mysterious ways, it’s extremely late, and we both need to catch some sleep before tomorrow.”

Your face twists in confusion, “Tomorrow? What’s special about tomorrow?” You ask, your voice cracking. Robin shifts on her feet, brows furrowing at your confusion, “We’re meeting with the record label. Remember we’re playing them our new album?”

Fuck. You completely forgot about that, and all of those songs, except for maybe three, are based around your stupid ex-fiance that just dumped you for your best friend. You sigh, dropping your head in your hands and running your palms over your face. You let out a long groan into your hands, not even hearing Robin opening the door to the sound booth and walking up to you. Her chilled fingers wrap around your wrists to pull your hands away from your face. Her blue eyes are tired and full of love and warmth as she squats before you to gaze at you, “Talk to me.”

Tears brim your eyes at her soft voice, and you wince— you really wish you could stop fucking crying. You rub at your teary eyes and shake your head, “It’s just—” you sigh and blearily blink down at Robin, “they’re all about him, Rob.” You frown.

Robin patiently waits for you to find the words, comfortingly squeezing your tear-dampened fingers. “Every song on the album is about him and I… I really don’t wanna spend an entire tour singing about him.” You softly speak, avoiding her gaze.

The brown-haired girl shuffles closer to you, ducking into your gaze and shrugging, “That’s okay,” she shakes her head, “We can scrap it. I mean, the label might be a little pissed, but just… play them what we did tonight, and I guarantee you they’ll extend our time.”

You furrow your brows and shake your head, “What? No. Robin, the song’s not finished—” “We don’t get another chance with this, Tiger. We either play them what we did tonight or give them the album.”

And you know Robin is right; she does not want to give you an ultimatum, but it’s the inevitable truth. You can either play the song and hope it’s the best thing the label has ever heard, or you suck it up and play them the album full of bittersweet words that leave a sticky residue clogging your throat.

You look at Robin, her patient and tired gaze locked on your face. You chew on the inside of your cheek, thinking it over for a moment— and it could work. The new song you’d just recorded is insane— nothing you’ve ever done before and, without a doubt, has a groundbreaking sound. It could work.

Max and Nancy are going to kill you tomorrow.

You nod your head, “Okay,” you breathe. Robin’s lips slowly stretch into a smile, “I’m gonna play it for them.” You nod. Robin shoots up to her feet with a cheer.

“Perfect! Now wipe those tears, and let's get the fuck out of here.”

You and Robin look like hell. You’re sporting heavy undereye bags with dark circles, while Robin opted to cover her evident lack of sleep with a pair of dark shades. Nancy and Max look concerned when they see you both sitting in the lobby of your label’s building. Nancy, of course, chastised you for your lateness while Max just snickered in the corner. Max suddenly makes a face as she speaks, “Why do you guys look like you’ve been hit by a bus?”

Robin tiredly groans, shifting in her seat with a yawn, “Stayed at the studio late.” She mumbles. Nancy’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, “Why? I thought we had everything ready for today.” She points out, obviously concerned. Nothing would ever get done if you didn’t have Nancy in the band. Now that you look at her, she has a manila folder in her hands, most likely stuffed with questions, comments, concerns, budgets, and more. She was more like Erica’s assistant than your bass player. But fuck, could her skilled fingers pluck out a riff.

You suck in a breath through your teeth, glancing over at Robin, who seems to be now passed out behind her glasses, offering you no help. You scoff. Of course. You mentally punch Robin in the face. You fidget with the rings on your fingers as you begin to explain. “So, basically,” you start, “I came home yesterday and found Scott and Angie fucking in my bed, so I threw their shit out the window and then called Robin,” you barely pay attention to Nancy and Max’s widening eyes as you spew out the events of yesterday. You knew they already knew, probably from Erica or the fucking tabloids. Hell, the whole fucking world knew, but they acted like this was their first time hearing about it. 

You ramble on about the events, telling them about you finding inspiration and dragging Robin to the studio, drunk, only to decide to scrap the album you’d all been working on for the past few months. 

That last bit of information didn’t go so well, however. 

“You what?”

You wince at Max’s sneering tone, glancing at Nancy to try and get a read on her expressionless face. “Please tell me you’re joking,” Max says, voice teetering on the precipice of panic. You wish Robin would wake the fuck up. “I… I know I’m really taking a leap of faith here, but I need you guys to trust me on this,” you plead, gaze hopefully bouncing between the two women, “Please.”

Max folds her arms across her chest, tongue rolling against the inside of her cheek before she shakes her head, “I swear if this fucks us over, you’ll never hear the end of it from me.” She breaks, and you’re just thankful she agrees to follow your and Robin’s plan. She turns around and walks over to plop into the seat on the other side of the lobby, glancing at you before speaking, “Sorry about Scott, by the way…” she mumbles. “Maybe it’s a good thing; I never liked all those love songs anyways…” She smiles apologetically, and you huff out a chuckle.

Nancy nudges her foot against your leather boot, “You were out of his league anyway. He was dumber than a rock.” She adds to Max’s apology. You snicker and thank them for their condolences. Nancy sits on the chair next to Max and sighs heavily, “Did you tell Erica about the change?” she asks, already flipping through her folder. You pretended you didn’t hear the question, which was not a good idea. 

The two girls begin to panic at your eerie silence. Nancy’s face falls, and Robin fucking snores, “You did tell Erica, right?” She presses. Your silence says enough.

Max groans, leaning forward to sink her head into the palm of her hands, “We’re so fucked.”

And when the time comes, you’re not exactly sure what the label is thinking. All the board members wear the same unwavering expression as they listen to All I Wanted. You glance at Nancy and Max, who are both visibly shaken with nerves; Max’s leg bouncing at an ungodly rate beneath the table, and Nancy’s poor fingers picked to shreds. Robin, who’s now awake, is busying herself with doodling random sketches on the napkin in front of her, and you’re— well, you’re hardly breathing. 

Erica looks thoroughly pissed; you don’t doubt she’d thought about strangling you the second you announced you were scraping the album. You could tell she was itching to make some phone calls as her stone-hard gaze stayed on you throughout the whole listening session. You pretended you didn’t notice her.

When the demo ends, a thick silence settles over the room, and you lean forward, pressing pause on the track to prevent the CD from repeating. You awkwardly scratch the side of your neck, “I-It’s not done; I’m still working on it, but um—” You glance at the table of faces and gulp. You haven’t been this nervous in longer than you can remember. “I know it can be something. Something big.”

James, the CEO of the record label, clears his throat and leans forward, pressing his elbows onto the thick wooden table. A burning cigarette hangs between his fingers as he points to the middle of the table where the CD player sits, “This is about Scott, yes?”

All eyes are on you, and you have no choice but to nod yes. James takes a drag of his cigarette, eyebrows furrowing as he silently thinks. You glance at your friends, a wave of nerves washing through your body at the anticipation. “What happened yesterday can never happen again. You almost ruined your image. Almost.” He finally speaks, his stern gaze locked in on you. You almost want to shrink in your seat, feeling like a child being scolded in the principal's office as he continues to speak. “You're a good talent, but if you don't know how to act like a grown woman, you won’t have a place here.” 

You scoff and open your mouth, a smart response on the tip of your tongue, until Robin harshly kicks the heel of her leather boot into your ankle. You hiss in pain, sucking on your teeth to poorly conceal it. You relent and nod your head, “I understand.”

James nods and flicks the ashes of his cigarette into the ashtray beside him, leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh, “Now,” his lips split into a smug grin, a grin that tells you that you won, “Get this track finished by the end of the week. I want it on air by Monday morning.”

Monday morning, Eddie is hauling ass down I-405, without a doubt breaking many traffic laws he could care less about, given he’s late to his studio session with the band. When is he not late? He’s got a cigarette hanging from his lips and the smell of last night's alcohol on his clothes. As he meticulously swerves and weaves in and out of LA traffic, he jams his finger to turn his radio on, flipping through static, noise, ads, shitty pop music, and landing on a seemingly decent Rock station. 

He takes his cigarette out of his mouth and puffs the rest before tossing it out of the open window. His hair tousles from the wind, and he bats the curly strands away whenever they fly into his view. His ringed fingers grip the steering wheel, swerving out of the way of a truck before honking and throwing up a middle finger. What he misses during that exchange is the introduction of the song.

“Next up is a new hit single named All I Wanted by Daughters of Vampira! Daughters of Vampira will be going on tour soon; stay tuned for details!”

Then, the music starts when he finally starts to slow down after narrowly missing the truck.

“Think of me when you’re out, when you’re out there,

I’ll beg you nice from my knees.

And when the world treats you way too fairly,

Well, it’s a shame, I’m a dream.”

Your voice filters through his car stereo, unbeknownst to Eddie, and he glances down at his music console. He slowly turns the volume dial up, intrigued by the sound and wanting to know where it’s leading. When the ferocious guitar shred comes in, his face twists in approval, turning the volume even louder as he bobs his head to the tune. Whoever’s band this was, is fucking good. It’s not every day you hear a good Rock song sung by a woman, he thinks.

“All I wanted was you, oh,

All I wanted was you, oh!”

Eddie’s not sure why it takes him so long to realize the voice playing through his speakers is none other than the lead singer of that stupid fucking feminazi band Daughters of Vampira. He nearly chokes when he realizes it’s your voice, turning the volume up to max and listening to the words.

It’s… sad. The lyrics are like the gut-wrenching heartbreak you see in movies, aching and drenched with the grief of a love that was supposed to be great. And your voice is so fucking raw, so angry, and filled with pain that it brings Eddie to a stand-still, the skin on his arms raising in tiny bumps at the sheer emotion. Eddie almost forgets he’s in his car until he hears the car behind him honking, the man behind the wheel yelling at him to go now that the traffic light has turned green. He doesn’t move an inch, afraid he’ll miss a beat of this slice of heartache.

The song ends, and Eddie turns off his radio, choosing to spend the rest of his ride in silence as the gnawing feeling of guilt settles in his gut. By the sound of it, Scott really did a fucking number on you— tore your heart out, chewed it up, spit it out, and stepped on it like a spider on a sidewalk— and Eddie knows what that feels like; he’s had his heart broken before so he knows what it feels like to be so angry at the love you had for a person. It’s a shitty feeling.

So, Eddie’s not sure why he decides to be an asshole and tell the boys about your new song, but he does. The second he enters the studio, he tells Gareth to turn on the radio.

“...Why?” Gareth questions with a tone of suspicion. Eddie brushes his question off and walks to lean over the desk, turning the radio on and beginning to switch through the stations. “Uh, Eddie… we’ve got some work to do, man, we don’t have time for—” “Shh, just give me a second,” Eddie snaps. 

“It’s gotta be playing somewhere.” Eddie mumbles, eyebrows furrowed, ringed finger going overtime on the dial, abruptly stopping when he finally hears it. “This is it! This is it; just listen.” Eddie turns the volume up and stands up to his full height, hands on his hips, and chews on his lip as they silently listen to the song.

Jeff is the first to speak through the sound of drums and intense chords, “Why are we listening to this?” Eddie waves him off, telling him just to wait— just wait until the verse.

“I think I’ll pace my apartment a few times,

And fall asleep on the couch. 

Wake up early to black-and-white reruns,

That escape from my mouth.”

Scott’s eyes widen, striding over to Eddie’s side and gazing at the boombox in shock, “No fuckin’ way.” He breathes. Eddie looks at Scott as he reaches over to increase the volume. Gareth twirls his drumstick between his knuckles and deeply sighs as he leans back in his chair and kicks his feet up onto the soundboard, “Dude, no offense, but why are we listening to this shit?” He asks. Scott turns to the boys and points back to the radio, “That’s my fucking bitch ex singing about me.”

Jeff and Gareth’s eyes widen, both boys leaning forward in their seats to listen to the lyrics. Scott curses and reaches over to shut the radio off, letting a thick silence fall over the room. Jeff is the first to break and nervously laugh, and Eddie grins, Gareth falling into a fit of laughter behind Jeff’s. “Why the fuck are you guys laughing?” Scott sneers.

Eddie chuckles, reaching out to rest his hands on Scott’s shoulders and turn him to face each other, “You don’t get it, man,” Eddie begins. Scott’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and Eddie smiles mischievously, “This is the perfect time to drop Crazy Bitch.”

You nearly blow a gasket when you first hear Corroded Coffin’s new song. Nancy did quite a good job of bringing you down to somewhat of a levelheaded state and getting you to understand that killing Scott or slashing his tires wouldn’t be the wisest of decisions to make. You still aren’t convinced.

You try your best to ignore the song, switching the radio to a different station whenever it plays, but it seems like that fucking track follows you wherever you go. A week after the song's release, you’re walking down the street with Robin, browsing the stores that catch your eye and chatting about whatever comes to mind.

You hardly notice the crowd gathered outside the store you are in until Robin points it out, nudging your side and nodding towards the window, “Looks like we’ve got company today.” she mumbles. You curse, shelving the shirt you’d been looking at as you grumble to Robin, “Seriously, how the fuck did they find us?”

You suppose the rest of your day out won’t last much longer, so you and Robin decide to make your way home, stepping out into the crowd and shoving through a sea of flashing bulbs. 

Over time, you’ve mustered up the strength to ignore the questions paparazzi throw at you; questions about who you’re dating, your sexuality, your political beliefs— questions of generally no substance or anything to do with your music. You’ve become numb to the reality of your life being plastered on tabloids and riddled with lies; it doesn’t really hurt you anymore. 

However, you’re still a human being, and you have moments where you crack, and today seems to be one of those moments when a man yells out, “You were seen dumping your ex-fiance Scott's items into the street! So is the song true? Did you and Eddie Munson have an affair? Is that why you and Scott broke up?” 

Robin tenses, glancing at you and silently pleading for you to just keep walking. Ignore, ignore, ignore.

You glare but smile at the man, flashing your white, shark-like teeth, “If you wanna know so bad, why don’t you ask Scott and Angie yourself?” You sneer. 

A few of the men snicker, one whistling and commenting about you being feisty, but you ignore it and continue as you and Robin finally reach your car, “And for the record, I wouldn’t touch that asshole with a ten-inch pole. His dick is small.” You grin sarcastically, opening your car door and getting in without another word. You hear the crowd erupt in more questions outside your car, some scribbling stuff down on their notepads and some laughing.

You groan in annoyance, buckling yourself in and starting the car as Robin settles in the passenger seat. You don’t miss the chance to flip the mob of men off when you drive off, leaving them behind with screeching tires. It’s silent until Robin chuckles, and you glance at her, “What’s so funny?”

Robin shrugs and shakes her head, “Nothing,” she says, “Just that Erica’s gonna murder you.” You roll your eyes and slide a pair of shades on. “When is she not wanting to murder me?” 

The media erupted after your comment about womanizer and rockstar Eddie Munson. Many fans came to your aid, voicing the truth of the breakup and defending you and your band. In contrast, many other fans— Corroded Coffin’s cult of assholes— came to Eddie’s defense, stating that he was only doing charity work to get your name in the papers. That you were fucking your way to the top of the music industry and much, much more deeply misogynistic statements. 

You didn’t care for any of it. You, your friends, your family, and your band knew what actually happened. The best part is that Scott knew the truth, and he was a shit fucking liar. He couldn’t cover up what happened if his life depended on it. It made you think of how he could lie about the affair for as long as he did. You don’t dwell on that thought for too long, growing tired of digging deeper into the pit of despair Scott had so happily tossed you into.

At the end of the day, your image is in shambles, and if your image is fucked, then so is the bands. Daughters of Vampira wasn’t booking anything; shows, meet-and-greets, autograph signings— nothing. Even though All I Wanted was an enormous hit and ended up in the charts, people couldn’t get over the fact that you, the lead singer, tend to be explosive. You would’ve felt bad about this if Eddie’s image hadn’t suffered the same fate. 

Eddie and his band immediately stopped booking shows after their song Crazy Bitch. Of course, it was a big success, but only because the drama fueled it. Young women stopped throwing themselves at the band and instead opted for screaming, “Woman haters!” and “Sexist pigs!” at them whenever they were out. It had been fucking rough, and it only got worse after Eddie commented to the paparazzi while he was out on a coffee run in the streets of Los Angeles.

“How the fuck do they always find me?” Eddie grumbles to himself, putting on a fake smile for the group.

Eddie was rocking a pair of shades, thinking of ways to quickly escape the mob, when a young boy approached him from the crowd. He had a Corroded Coffin shirt on with a photograph of Eddie clenched to his chest as he kindly asked for an autograph. 

“Sure, kid,” Eddie crouches down to the boy’s height and gently takes the photograph and Sharpie, "who am I signing it for?” He smiles softly at the boy, “For Thomas, sir!” The boy politely says, his eyes shining in excitement. “Thomas, sick name, man.” Eddie compliments, yanking the cap off with his teeth. He signs his name with a Let’s fuckin’ ROCK! in the corner, putting the lid back and handing the photo back to the boy. 

He smiles when the boy squeals in excitement and offers him a fist bump before standing up to his full height. “Thank you, Mr. Munson!” Eddie snickers and nods, “‘Course, but hey, don’t call me Munson; call me Ed,” He smirks, and the kid laughs. “Mr. Muns– Ed, I have a question for you,” the kid shyly asks. 

Eddie’s heart implodes at the cuteness of this little shithead and chuckles as he responds, “Shoot, kid, I’m all ears,” Eddie ignores the flashes from the cameras, taking photos of this pure and innocent moment. He ignores the coos from the women, from the kid’s parents, all of it, just zoned in on this small child meeting his hero. Him.

“Ed, is it true that you hate girls?”

And just like that, the moment is over.

Eddie turns red in the face and forces a harsh but nervous laugh. The crowd closes in upon hearing the exchange and begins asking a multitude of questions. The parents snag their son away and start expressing profuse apologies that Eddie waves off. “Nah, nah, the kid’s fine. But uh, to answer your question, no, that isn’t true, Tommy boy,” he says, looking at the child standing beside his mother’s legs. He takes out a pack of smokes and opens it, sliding a cigarette between his lips as he adds, “I am a really big fan of girls,” he flashes a dazzling smile around the stick and does finger guns at the small kid before he turns and begins to walk away. 

He’s forgotten all about his coffee, and now all he wants is to get the fuck outta there. 

He lights the cigarette up and ignores the crowd of paparazzi following him, cameras still in motion. He rolls his eyes, body buzzing in annoyance from the kid's question and the crowd. He continues walking the street as more questions and fans approach him. As Eddie signs a woman’s photograph, a cigarette hanging from his lips, an interviewer comments with a camera already zoned in and recording Eddie’s face. No doubt this will be on MTV tonight. No doubt he won’t hear the end of it from Dustin and Steve.

“Eddie, did you hear what the frontwoman of Daughters of Vampira has said about you? Can we get a response?” He shoves the mic into Eddie’s face.

Eddie’s lips break into a grin, but he doesn’t look up from the autograph he’s signing. “Yeah… yeah, I heard, and y’know what? She can come find out herself if it’s small or not,” He looks up and smirks right at the camera, “Have a nice day.” He smiles tightly at the interviewer and hastily flags down a taxi, hopping in and yelling at the driver to step on it. He watches as the crowd grows smaller and smaller with distance, his heart thundering in his chest. He takes deep breaths to slow his pulse down, to stop thinking of you. 

It never seems to slow as his mind can��t move on from you or that damn song.

Both the managers of Corroded Coffin and Daughters of Vampira are pushed to the limit with you and Eddie. Dustin Henderson and Steve Harrington are co-managers of Corroded Coffin, mainly because Steve has the money and Dustin has the brains to man the operation. All Steve really does is cut the checks and warn the team when to cut back on the extracurriculars. 

Erica, Steve, and Dustin are all from Hawkins and are quite familiar with each other due to living in a small town where everyone knows everybody. They, along with all members of Corroded Coffin and Daughters of Vampira, all sort of grew up with one another in the 80s and have always been on this whimsical journey together. As the years went by, you all drifted, more so because of the competition, but aside from the band, the managers stayed relatively civil with one another. Erica, Steve, and Dustin stayed in touch because sometimes they couldn’t handle the two bands, which is why Erica summoned the two boys to a bar in downtown LA.

Erica Sinclair is seemingly always tested by you and has no idea where to go or what her next move should be. She has times when she feels like a single mother dealing with an angsty teen, and when those moments teeter on disastrous, she makes calls— the call.

“I mean, I have just had it up to here,” Erica moves her hand up in the air to emphasize her annoyance, “with these girls, I mean, my god!” She shakes her head as she sips her red wine, the two boys nodding from across from her. “Trust me,” Steve scoffs, “we get it.” 

Dustin nods, taking a sip of his Shirley Temple and smacking his lips before adding, “We’re in the same boat too— with Eddie,” Dustin starts, drinking his Shirley Temple out of a bendy straw. 

“Yeah, he’s always been a pain in the ass, ever since high school,” Steve continues, sharing a look with Dustin, who tiredly nods, “But it has never been this bad. Normally we can get a hold on him running his mouth, but it’s just been…” Steve falters and trails off, struggling to grasp the words to explain Eddie’s childlike behavior. Erica nods, “I know what you mean,” She makes a face and holds her wine glass out to cheer with them. Dustin clinks his Shirley Temple, and Steve clinks his beer, them all taking a sip.

“Both band’s images are terrible. It won’t be long till we’re losing more money,” Steve grumbles, taking another swig of his beer. “I think we should just lock them all in a room together till they get along,” Erica jokes, earning a chortle from Steve and a cackle from Dustin. They all sigh in unison, a comfortable silence falling over them. 

Suddenly, Dustin sits up straight, aggressively snapping his fingers before pointing to Erica.

Steve jumps and makes a face at Dustin, grumbling about how annoying Dustin’s theatrics are. Erica rolls her eyes, already used to the boy’s antics. “Well? Are you gonna tell us about your nerdy little lightbulb moment or keep making a scene?” She sneers over her wine glass rim, taking a sip. Dustin looks back from Steve’s annoyed face to Erica’s tired one, basking in the dramatics.

“Why don’t we do just that?” He finally says.

Steve and Erica share a look. Typically, Dustin has these moments, and Steve and Erica have to entertain them, but Erica thinks Henderson might be onto something. Steve scoffs and leans back in his chair, “I doubt they’d last a week locked in a house before one kills the other.” Steve mumbles, clearly missing Dustin’s case in point.

Erica, however, knows just where Dustin’s mind has gone— to the motherland of brilliant-fucking-idea. Erica puts her glass down and leans her elbows on the table, resting her chin on the backs of her folded hands. “When you say just that, you mean…?” She looks at the boy quizzically, praying he means what she thinks he means. Steve puts his hand on the back of Dustin’s chair and leans forward, “I’m not really picking up on this guys,” He uses his other hand to lazily gesture. Dustin ignores Steve and nods slowly, “Oh hell yeah, I mean that.” He says, smirking mischievously. Erica and Dustin share a grin, a playful gleam in their eyes. Steve groans on the side in annoyance.

“Let’s book a fuckin’ tour bus, boys,” Erica concludes, and Dustin erupts in cheers, the two of them clinking their drinks. Steve finally understands, and his eyes widen, “Oh! Holy shit, that’s fucking genius.”

Erica laughs and finishes off the last of her wine. “Tiger is gonna kill me.” She smirks and shakes her head, sighing. Dustin and Steve share a look and chuckle a little bit, “Her reaction won’t be as bad as Munson’s. He’s gonna fuckin’ lose it.” Dustin says, slurping on his straw.

A few weeks pass before Erica, Steve, and Dustin manage to rally both bands in a conference room. The tension in the room is almost unbearable. For the most part, the band members seem more interested in knowing why they’ve been summoned together— the real tension is at the end of the table, where you and Eddie sit across from each other. Eddie wears a snickering grin to go along with his darkened shades, and you— well, if looks could kill, everybody in this room would be six feet under and crossing into the afterlife. 

You’re pissed. Annoyed that you’re being forced to breathe the same air as that fuckface Eddie Munson, and Eddie could not be more pleased with himself. Eddie gazes at each of the girls across from him; Max, who’s glaring at your managers and bouncing her knee in evident impatience, Nancy, who couldn’t look more uninterested if she tried; and Robin, who seems more intrigued with the wood paneling of the wall to look at anything else. He makes the mistake of looking at you, earning him a nicely silver-wrapped middle finger which he winks at.

“If you two are done acting like children down there, we’d like to get this meeting started,” Erica announces from her seat at the head of the table. All eyes turn to her, and she sarcastically smiles, opening her mouth to begin speaking until you cut her off, “Whatever fucking bullshit you three have planned, I won’t be a part of it. Not with this asshole.” You gesture to the curly-haired boy across from you.

Gareth and Jeff snicker, and you glare at them, ignoring Robin’s elbow jabbing into your side. “It’s funny that you think you have a choice, Tiger,” Erica says, tilting her head with a grin. You begin to bounce your leg impatiently, jaw clenching as the ticking time bomb in your mind begins to speed up. 

Dustin clears his throat and stands up, gathering everyone's attention as he clasps his hands. “Let’s cut straight to the chase,” he begins, “Your music careers are fucked.”

Jeff breathily laughs to the side, and Erica glares at him, quickly diminishing his obvious amusement. “Somehow, the seven of you have managed to obliterate your band's image in less than a month,” Dustin points out, picking up a stack of magazines before him and walking calmly about the room. He tosses a magazine out into the middle of the table, “Misogynists,” another magazine, “Anti-feminist,” another magazine, “Chauvinists,” another magazine— the final one, “Woman-haters.”

You all look at the magazines silently until you mumble, “Sounds about right,” causing Eddie to scoff and roll his eyes beneath his shades. “What? You’re mad the media is finally realizing how full of shit you all are?” You prod with a tilt of your head. “At least nobody’s saying I should be sent to a fucking ward.”

Your eyes narrow, and you begin to form a response, but Erica rises from her seat loudly, startling the room as her loud voice booms through the space, “The media is tearing both of you to shreds,” she leans forward to press her palms against the cool wooden table, heated gaze darting between you and Eddie.

“Both of your bands aren’t booking gigs, and you're losing money faster than you earn it,” she points out, watching as you all cower from the truth. She waves a manicured finger between both sides of the table, “This stupid little fucking back and forth you’ve created either ends here or on the road.”

Robin’s face twists in confusion, a raspy voice speaking up for the first time, “On the road?”

Steve turns to her and grins, “Yes. On the road. Together.”

Gareth leans forward in his chair, confused as he speaks, “What, like a retreat type deal?” He questions. Dustin slaps a paper down in front of him, “No. Tour. Nine months, ninety-two shows.”

Gareth doesn’t get much time to take in the information on the paper before Eddie snatches it out of his hands, shades pushed up into his hair as he leans in to gape at it. A list of tour dates, an ongoing and never-ending fucking list.

“You’re not serious.” He says. Steve chuckles at the end of the table, nodding his head, “As serious as a heart attack.”

You’re next to snatch the paper away for a gander, ignoring the rest of the room as everyone erupts in a fit of protest. You stand with your back to the table as you gaze through each date, your neck heating up with anger as your fingers crease the paper. You turn around, face twisted in rage, wrinkling the paper in your shaking fist as you storm up to where Erica stands, waiting for you to say your piece with an unwavering impression.

You hold the crinkled paper up as you stand before her, “You’ve lost your fucking mind if you think I’m doing shows with these pieces of shits.” You sneer, tossing the paper onto the table. Erica raises an eyebrow, looking at you as if you’ve gone off the deep end. The room enters a thick silence at your outburst, all eyes on the standoff between you and Erica. “Call the tour off, or I’m out.”

“What?” Robin leans forward to gaze at you, eyes widened in shock at your words, “You’re not leaving the band, Y/N, you— you can’t.”

You ignore Robin and step closer to Erica, eyes burning into her gaze as you speak, and Erica has never seen you this angry in all her years of knowing you. “Call it off.”

Erica will let you believe you have the upper hand for your peace of mind, but when it comes down to reality, you both know you don’t stand a chance against her force of nature. Erica is calm and uncannily patient as she speaks to you, “You’re at a dead-end street, Tiger,” she starts, “You either make a way, or you go back to Hawkins with your tail between your legs like everyone expected.” 

Erica sits back in her chair, not even bothering to look at you as she busies herself with the paperwork before her when she adds, “You make the call.”

You glare down at her, throat closing in anger and betrayal. You don’t say another word as you storm out, leaving the room with a booming echo of the heavy glass door slamming shut. Erica sighs, settling back in her chair and gazing at the rest of the band members, who are all silently fuming in anger. “Now, does anyone else have something to say or something of substance to add, or are we done here?” Eddie rises from his seat with clear annoyance, “This is bullshit,” the force of his movement sends his chair back to the wall as he walks out of the room, just as angrily as you had previously done.

The remaining band members sit in silence, avoiding each other's gaze, and Steve breathily laughs, “Well, Dustin, you were wrong,” he teases, smirking when Dustin and Erica turn to him. “Eddie took that pretty well.”

The band members glance at the managers, and Dustin sighs as he leans back in his chair, twisting his mouth in thought and tapping his pen against the table.

“This is gonna be more work than I thought.”

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a/n: AHHH, YOU'VE MADE IT TO THE END!!! WE HOPE YOU LIKED THIS AND LOVE THEM SO FAR; more to come sooonnnn <3

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teeny taglist: @tommyvelvet @oeuryale

[scribbles97]

Artemis ~ Chapter 15

Read Chapter 14 Here TW: Post Natal Depression

It was her favourite time of year, the lights in the street bright and bold, the music loud and jolly, the presents under the tree a surprise for Christmas morning. 

Yet, she couldn’t face it. Not the music or the decorations, or the wrapping of presents. 

Jeff had called her out on it, not unkindly, understandably concerned after the drama of Virgil’s birth and the weeks that had followed. He had gone with her to the doctors appointment, held her hand through the blood tests, had driven her to the therapists office and waited outside for the hour she had been in there. 

He had been everything she had needed and more, had held her when the tears had come for no reason, and had told her a thousand times over what a great job she was doing. 

Her therapist had assured her that it was early days and that time was all she needed. 

When it came to herself, Lucy had never been a patient woman. 

Sally had let herself in the house after picking Scott up from school as she had been doing for the last four months. Jeff was out with John at another appointment, which had left her with her newest baby for some much needed quiet time. 

“Momma?” Scott had whispered as he had cracked open the nursery door, “Is he asleep?”

“Yeah.” She whispered in return, “You can come and see.”

Unlike his two brothers before him, Virgil slept through most things, something that had added to her stress after his tumultuous start in life. 

“Did he grow again?” Scott frowned as he leant over the arm of the rocking chair, “When did he get so big?”

She laughed softly, “You think so?”

“Yeah!” Scott whisper-shouted, “He used to be, like, this big.”

The gesture he made with his hands was absolutely smaller than Virgil ever had been, but he still made a good point. 

“It’s all that sleep.” Sally murmured softly from the door, “Helps him grow big and strong.”

Scott grinned as he followed Lucy across to the cot, watching carefully as she set him down inside. 

“If I read quietly, can I sit in here with him?” He asked, turning his wide blue eyes on his mother. 

She hadn’t been the only one affected by the baby’s extended stay in hospital. 

“Sure thing,” she ran a hand through his hair, “just remember to come down when I call you for dinner, okay?”

His grin didn’t falter as he pulled a book from the shelf and sat down on the rug by the cot. 

Calmed slightly by her eldest supervising his new youngest brother, she followed Sally down to the kitchen and set about unpacking Scott’s lunchbox. 

“How are you?” Sally asked, taking a perch against the table, as Lucy pulled the dishwasher open and started stacking the pots from lunch.

Fine, was an automatic response that she knew her family didn’t want to hear. The actual answer was a lot harder to articulate to someone's face. Jeff had assured her that her mother-in-law had experienced the same issues though, that she understood what she was feeling even if she couldn’t put it into so many words. 

“I have three kids aged five and under.” She sighed, pausing as she set a glass on the counter top, “And I love all three of them, but I just don’t feel like I’m enough for them, and right now nothing anyone says or does is changing that.”

Sally’s sigh was sympathetic as she nodded, “Because Virgil came early?”

She frowned at the older woman, knowing that the tears stinging her eyes weren’t far off from making it down her cheeks. 

Whilst she had always been emotional, she hated how easily she cried those days. Just talking about the problem seemed to flip a switch, her brain seemingly having no control over what she wanted to happen versus what did happen. 

“I couldn’t keep him safe.” She whispered as she looked down, “I must have done something different, something wrong.”

Sally stood from her perch, closing the dishwasher and shaking her head as she reached out to Lucy’s hands.

“You did nothing wrong, dear.”

Sally was a doctor, a professional that had never pulled her punches and always told Lucy everything she needed to know in a no-nonsense fashion. The woman knew Lucy, had done since she had been the new teenager in town. Despite not being an obgyn, she had walked her through all three of her pregnancies better than any other doctor she had known. 

“I just want them all safe and well,” she whispered, “and every time I close my eyes I wake up thinking something must have happened to one of them.”

Sally’s sigh was soft as she squeezed Lucy’s hands, “Have you told your therapist this?”

Nodding, she sniffed away the tears, “We’re working on techniques to manage the anxiety, but it’s slow going.”

“These things often are, dear.” Sally nodded, “It took me months to get ahead of it.”

Lucy pulled out two chairs at the table, sinking into one as she swiped at her cheeks to catch any of the stray tears. 

“You did though, get better?”

Sally smiled, taking her hand on the table, “With the help of my family and my friends, I realised something that didn’t happen until years later.”

Lucy tilted her head, unsure of what she was talking about and if she was meant to ask for clarification.

“Yes, it’s a lot right now,” Sally continued, “and I’m not saying this makes it any easier, but I realised that one day that little baby that you fretted over and did your best to protect in every way possible, they’ll pay it back to you. When you get to my age, they’ll be all over their Momma, wanting to spoil you rotten and help you, even when you don’t need it!”

Lucy smiled at the thought, “You mean like Jeff coming to fix your sink last week?”

“Who do you think taught him basic plumbing?” Sally raised an eyebrow. 

Her own laugh startled her as Sally patted her hand gently. 

“What I mean, dear, is that you can do your best to protect them now and rightly so. One day though, you’ll realise that the tables have turned, and whilst they’ll always love you, they won’t need you to protect them any more.”

“That feels like a long way away.”

Sally smiled, looking to the photos on the fridge, “Oh, it is. But for me, every time I felt like I wasn’t enough, or like I hadn’t done my job properly as his mother, I knew that one day he would understand, and somehow, that just made it a little bit easier to cope.”

Continue On Ao3

[80pairsofcrocs]

Avengers Incorrect Quotes || The Office : Safety Training

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masterlist - marvel masterlist

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(hey, current me speaking, i found this gem in my docs from like 2021 and had uploaded it to me old account lmao so im reposting it. also if you havent seen the office this will make absolutely no sense to you)

~~~

This oneshot has no timeline, and The Avengers all get along for the most part. All characters used belong to their rightful owners, except you, my beautiful readers. 

Please note that im not the best writer, so I do like constructive criticism, and welcome it completely. Please note that I am using the script from ‘The Office’ and I don't own that either. Please enjoy <3

Summary : season 5 episode 14 (i think) of ‘The Office’

When theres *** it means they are talking to the camera like an interview***

y/n pov 

***Loki: “Last week I gave a fire safety talk.” He smiles sarcastically. “And nobody paid any attention.” his smile drops. ”It’s my own damn fault for using PowerPoint. PowerPoint is boring. People learn in a lot of different ways, but experience is the best teacher.”*** *lights a cigarette* “Today, smoking is gonna save lives.” {throws cigarette into garbage can filled with paper and lighter fluid}

Loki: {Looking around the office with a smirk, to see if anyone notices the smoke} Does anyone smell anything smoky?

Bucky: Did you bring your jerky in again?

Loki: {clears throat and gives y/n a pointed look across their desks}

y/n: {notices and points towards the smoke coming from under a door} “HoLy- fuck- oh my GoD-”

Natasha: “What– “

Scott: “Whoa, fire! Guys what do we do?!?!”

Loki: “Oh, fire! Oh my goodness! What’s the procedure? What do we do, people?” he says sarcastically 

y/n: “The phones are fucking dead.”

Steve: “language-”

Tony: “NOT NOW STEVE- My gOd-”

Loki: “Oh, how did that happen?” he says looking into the camera

Clint: “It’s out in the hall!”

Loki: he scoffs. “No, we don’t know that. The smoke could be coming through an air duct.”

Steve: “Oh my God! Okay, it happening. Everybody stay calm.”

Loki: “What’s the procedure, everyone? What’s the procedure?”

Steve: completely losing it, “Stay FuCKING calm!”

Loki: “Wait, wait, wait.-”

Steve: :Everyone, jUST FuCKIN’ calm down!”

Loki: No! No, Steve! No! Touch the handle. If it’s hot, there could be a fire in the hallway.

Steve: What does warm mean?

Everyone: {groaning} Oh my God.

Loki: Not a viable option.

y/n: Try a different door.

Loki: Okay, what’s next?

Steve: Don’t run.

Loki: Oh! Here’s a door. Check that one out. How’s the handle?

scott: It– it’s warm.

Loki: Well, uh, another option. {everyone chattering at once}

Tony: Back door.

Loki: Back to our options. Jeez! Ok! settle down everyone. No bunching!

Natasha: Oh! I forgot my purse.

Thor: Leave it woman!

Steve: Get out of the way! Go, go, go!

Loki: Things can be replaced, Natasha! People, human lives, however, can…

Yelena: Ah! My hand! That’s hot!

scott: Aah! This ones hot too!

Steve: Okay, we’re trapped. Everyone for himself.

Loki: Okay, let’s go.

Everyone: [shouting] Out of my way! Let’s go. Get out of my way!

Loki: Calm, please

scott: Get out of the way!

Loki: Have you ever seen a burn victim?

scott: Move it!

Loki: Okay! Procedure, procedure. Exit options. Where do we go folks? Wha– Use a what to cover the mouth?

Bucky: [pulling alpine out of filing drawer] It’s okay. Shh shhh.

Loki: A what? A rag. A damp rag, perhaps. Let’s remember those procedures. What are the options? Okay, that’s the wrong way. We’ve already tried that. Remember your exit points. Exit points people.

Bucky: Yelena.

Loki: What’s next?

Bucky: Yelena!

Yelena: Stay alive! I’m getting help!

Bucky: Pull me up!

Yelena: You’re too heavy!

Bucky: I only weigh 82 pounds! Uh– save Alpine! [throws cat into air duct and she falls out through the other side] Oh!

Loki: How about 911? Anyone? 911. [Steve throws a chair at the window, Clint smashes a chair through the vending machine and begins to grab snacks, everyone is shouting.]

y/n: What do we do?

Loki: Use the surge of fear and adrenaline to sharpen your decision-making.

Tony: Okay, I am not dying here. Come on. [everyone is coughing from the smoke, Loki lights some fire crackers and they start popping]

Bucky: What is that? What is that?

scott: The fire’s shooting at us!

Natasha: What in the name of God is going on?!

scott: Yes! [Loki pulls fire alarm] Yes, ba– Yes, battering ram! Battering ram!

Natasha and Bruce : Ahhhh!!! [Yelenas leg crashes through the ceiling]

scott: Go, go, go, go, go!! [scott and Tony ram the door with the copy machine]

Steve: [throws the projector out the window] Help!! Help!!

Thor: I’m about to die!

Loki: [blowing air horn] Attention everyone! Earths Mightiest Heroes! This has been a test of our emergency preparedness. There is no fire. It was only a simulation.

Tony: What?!

Loki: Fire not real. This was merely a training exercise. [Yelena drops down from the ceiling] So, what have we learned? [Thor falls to the floor] Oh come on. It’s not real Thor. Don’t have a heart attack.

Steve: No, no, no! You will not die! Thor! Thor! You will not die! Thor! Thor! Barack is president! You are on earth now, Thor! I’m gonna give him mouth to mouth.

Tony: No, no, no! Don’t give him mouth to mouth for this!

Steve: He’s going to swallow is tongue.

Tony: No. Steve. Steve.

Steve: Open your mouth. Come on. Don’t swallow it.

Tony: [everyone shouting at once] Steve! Steve!

Steve: Leave me al–

scott: You’re choking him!

Steve: Saving him!

~~~ {later}

Fury: How could you possibly think this is a good idea?

Loki: A lot of ideas were not appreciated in their time.

Steve: Electricity.

Loki: Shampoo.

Fury: You could have burned down the whole building.

Loki: I just want to say for the record, I did not kill anyone. Thor was attacked by his own heart. And he should be released from the hospital and back in the office in a couple days.

Lawyer: Did you shout, “Fire!”, causing a panic?

Loki: Yes I shouted “fire!”. I shouted many things! I also shouted instructions on how to get out of the building, so you can imagine my frustration as safety officer when nobody would heed of what– heeded–

Steve: Hed. Hedded

Loki: When no one hedded–

Steve: Take hedded of.

Loki: N-no one would take hedded of my instructions.

Steve: Heed. Heed.

Loki: So, you–

Steve: Take heed of.

Loki: And, well, I don’t see my co-workers–

Steve: Take heed of.

Loki: Hee-heeding this right now.

Lawyer: Wh–what?

Steve: Okay. [walks to the window, sighs] This city. Loki. We are not mad, we are just disappointed.

Fury: No, we are mad.

Steve: Yes. We are. We are livid. But we are going to let this one slide.

Fury: No, we’re not.

Steve: I am not a mind reader, Nick.

Fury: Look, this is very serious offense. We have cause to fire you.

Steve: Can you shove down? Instead… shove down, please. Instead, what I think we should do is strip of your title as safety officer.

Loki: No.

Steve: And we should take a part of his pay and donate it the charity of your choice. Something that Loki doesn’t like.

Loki: PETA.

Fury: Steve, you have to take responsibility here. One of your employees had a heart attack. He could have died, because of the way that you are allowing your office to run. Do you want that on your conscious?

Steve: Do you?

Fury: Steve?

Steve: You talking to me?

Fury: Yeah.

Steve: What?

~~~

Loki: Well… I guess we papered over that pretty nicely. [chuckles] It always amuses me when corporate thinks they can make some big change with a twenty minute meeting in some fancy high-rise. What’s the matter? You hungry?

Steve: [sighs] No, Loki. I am worried. A man’s life is in my hands.

Loki: Don’t you worry about that. I got it covered. Okay?

Steve: Yeah.

Loki: I am planning a bomb scare that should really get the blood pumping.

Steve: That’s not gonna happen. I’m taking over as safety man.

Loki: What? You?

Steve: Yes.

Loki: Come on.

Steve: I’m a smart guy. I’ll figure it out.

Loki: That’s preposterous.

Steve: No, I will.

Steve: Nobody should have to go to work thinking, “Oh, this is the place that I might die today.” That’s what a hospital is for. An office is for not dying. An office is a place to live life to the fullest, to the max, to… An office is a place where dreams come true.

Steve: Shhh! Don’t excite him. Don’t make him excitable. [whispering] Welcome back, Thor.

Thor: Thank you, Steve.

***Thor: It’s true. Around this office, in the past, I have been a little abrupt with people…

Thor: [flashback] Not maybe. Yes or no.

Thor: [flashback] No way. Uh-uh.

Thor: [flashback] Are you from another planet?

Thor: [flashback] Boy, have you lost your mind? ‘Cause I’ll help you find it.

Thor: [flashback] Did I stutter?

Thor: [flashback] I’m done. Goodbye.***

***Thor: But the doctor said if I can’t find a new way to relate more positively to my surroundings I’m going to die.***

Steve: scott.

scott: [in a British accent] A throne for your highness.

Thor: I’m not sitting in a wheelchair.

Steve: No, no, no. No debate. You are going to sit in that wheelchair until you are back on your feet.

***Thor: I’m going to die.***

CPR trainer: A-B-C. Okay? And hat stands for… airway, breathing and circulation.

Steve: Okay, you know what? That could be a little confusing, because in sales A-B-C means “always be closing.”

Loki: This is a farce. I should be teaching this course.

Steve: Shut it. Shut it.

***Steve: We found ourselves on the less prepared side of things when Thor had his… when his heart went berserk. And I knew exactly what to do, but in a much more real sense I had no idea what to do. So I thought we should have CPR training class and of course you can’t get the practice dummy unless the instructor comes along with it. Red Cross, you know, racket.***

Clint: [giving chest compressions to the practice dummy] I can’t keep doing this forever.

CPR Trainer: It’s been 20 seconds.

Clint: Call it.

CPR Trainer: Would you like to try next?

Loki: Absolutely I would not.

Steve: You know who I really think should go? Thor.

Thor: Oh, I don’t know.

Natasha: That’s not a good idea, Steve.

Steve: Come on.

Natasha: He needs to rest.

Steve: No rest for the sick. We are not always going to be there to coddle your heart back when it disappears to be working. What are you gonna do if you’re by yourself and your heart stops?

Thor: I would die.

Steve: And you’re okay with that?

Thor: I’m okay with the logic of it.

Steve: Uh-uh. No, no, no. Come on. Get up. Let’s do this.

***Thor: Yes. I had a heart attack. I would quit, but I’m too old to find another job and I don’t have enough saved to retire. I feel like I’m working in my own casket.***

Steve: Come on Thor. You’re losing you. You’re losing you. Do it!

Bucky: Steve!

Steve: This is you we’re talking about.

Bucky: Steve.

Steve: Okay, okay. I’ll show them. Here we go. [whispers] Thor. All right.

CPR Trainer: So, assessing the situation. Are they breathing?

Steve: No, Rose. They are not breathing. And they have no arms or legs.

Rose: No, that’s not part of it.

Steve: Where are they? You know what? If we come across somebody with no arms or legs do we bother resuscitating them? I mean, what kind of quality of life do we have there?

Clint: I would want to live with no legs.

Steve: How about no arms? No arms or legs is basically how you exist right now, Clint. You don’t do anything.

Rose: All right, well, lets get back to it. ‘Cause you’re losing him. Okay, too fast. Everyone, we need to pump at a pace of a 100 beats per minute .

Steve: okay, that’s uh, hard to keep track. How many is that per hour?

Tony: How’s that gonna help you?

Steve: I will divide and then count to it.

Tony: Right.

Rose: Okay. Well, a good trick is to pump to the tune of ‘Staying Alive’ by the Bee Gees. Do you know that song?

Steve: Yes, yes I do. I love that song. [clears throat, begins to sing] First I was afraid, I was petrified.

Rose: No, it’s–Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.

Steve: Okay, I got it.

Bruce : [to Rose] You were in the parking lot earlier. That’s how I know you.

Steve: Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive [scott joins in] Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.

Steve: Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah…

scott: Oh you can tell by the way I use my walk I’m a woman’s man, no time to talk. Music loud, women warm, been kicked around since I was born. Oh, it’s alright, it’s okay, [Steve and y/n join in] you can look the other way. Loo do do!

Rose: Okay!

scott: Da, da, da, da, da, da, da

Rose: Okay!

Everyone: [muttering] Stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.

Rose: Yeah, okay. You didn’t maintain 100 beats per minute, and the ambulance didn’t arrive because nobody called 911. So you lost him.

Loki: Okay, he’s dead. Anyone know what we do next? Anybody? Rose?

Rose: I have no idea.

Loki: Anyone else?

Natasha: We bury him?

Loki: Wrong. Ehh. Check for an organ donor card. If he has one, we only have minutes to harvest.

Bruce : He has no wallet, I checked.

Steve: He is an organ donor.

Loki: He is.

Steve: Yeah.

Loki: Get me some ice and a styrofoam bucket. [pulls out knife from holder that is attached to his leg] Here we go.

Bucky: Oh my God! Loki!

y/n: Loki!

Bucky: What are you– [people are yelling] What are you doing?

Loki: We search for the organs. Where’s the heart? The precious heart.

Thor: I’m not feeling well. I need to sit down.

Steve: Hey, Thor.

scott: Thor.

Steve: Are you okay?

Bucky: Oh my God! [Loki has cut the face off the CPR dummy and put it over his own]

Thor: Oh my God!

Bucky: Loki!

Loki: Clarice?

Thor: Oh my God!

~~~

Fury: Could you tell me why you had to cut the face off the dummy?

Loki: I didn’t think it was very realistic in the movie and it turns out, it’s pretty realistic.

Fury: We had to pay for it. Cost us thirty five hundred dollars.

Steve: Five thousand three hundred dollars for a dummy?

Loki: Wow.

Steve: Okay, look. Fury, this is why we have training. We start with the dummy, and we learn from our mistakes. And now Loki knows not to cut the face off of a real person.

~~~

the end

~~~

[flamingspud]

No Fault of Mine Chapter 2: Deals Between Gods

Jimmy answers the call, and goes looking for Martyn.

Prologue

Next Chapter

Chapter under the cut:

"How do you feel about killing a god for real?"

"Huh?"

"Ok, maybe not actually killing a god, but a quest for one," Jimmy amended.

Lizzie crossed her arms and shifted her weight. "I thought you didn't believe in gods," she reminded him, her expression sceptical as she tried to sus out if this was a joke or not.

"I know, it sounds crazy, but last night, after you left the bar, a guy who claimed to be Martyn said the world is in danger and he needs my help."

Lizzie looked him up and down. "So a crackpot who thinks he's Martyn told you you're the chosen one and you took his word for it?"

Jimmy was beginning to realise just how crazy this sounded. "No- he did this whole thing with Etho, and a glass and-" Lizzie's eyebrows were slowly climbing up her forehead- "you know what- never mind, but it's kind of a big coincidence the sun stops working the day after a supposed god asks for help."

"The sun's stopped working?" Lizzie asked, sticking her head out the door and looking up into the sky.

Jimmy closed his eyes. "Yes, Lizzie."

"Huh. Weird."

"So... you in?"

The pink haired woman turned back to look at him, and she seemed to be studying him.

"Give me five minutes to pack a bag."

***

Those five minutes quickly turned into twenty.

"Lizzie, what's taking you so long?" Jimmy asked, stepping into her kitchen. He noticed how the place was practically empty, the exception being a few moving boxes scattered around.

Lizzie was closing one of two backpacks that seemed full to the brim.

"Wow, that's a lot of stuff," he commented.

Lizzie threw a bag to him, which he barely caught. "We don't know how long we'll be gone for," she explained.

Jimmy had no argument, and swung the bag onto his back, and Lizzie did the same. The two then left the house, and Lizzie locked up behind her.

"Right; so where are we going?"

Jimmy pulled the compass from his pocket. "That way," he said, pointing in the direction the red arrow was showing him.

Lizzie nodded. "Lead the way, then."

Jimmy began following the compass, Lizzie right behind him. As they walked, Jimmy looked around at the town he grew up in. The shops, the school, the parks, everything that changed over the years and yet has also stayed the same. 

They passed a mural of the gods that was painted on the side of the blacksmith's. Jimmy looked up at the four painted faces, glaring down at him with superiority.

Grian, the Sun god of redemption and servitude.

Scott, the Changing god of honour and sacrifice.

Pearl, the Moon goddess of solitude and revenge.

And Martyn, the Time god of ruthlessness and survival.

Jimmy wondered if there'd be any merit in praying to them, but decided against it. After all, if they had resorted to needing his help, there probably wasn't much they could do.

It wasn't long until they reached the edge of their small town. Ahead of them lay an expanse of fields that ended at a mountain range, which surrounded them.

Jimmy never realised how closed off they were from the rest of the world before.

Lizzie turned to face him. "You ready?"

Jimmy took a deep breath to prepare himself. "Yep. You ready?"

"Sure am."

"Me three!"

The pair jumped, not having noticed Tango who was now standing behind them. 

"Tango! Jimmy exclaimed, "what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Tango told him, tilting his head to the side.

"We're going for a walk," Lizzie said, relatively innocently.

"With heavy backpacks on? Outside of the town's protection with the mobs that, word has it, aren't burning?" 

Lizzie nodded incredibly slowly. "Uh huh."

Tango stared at her, his face remaining in a pleasant position, though it was clear he didn't believe her.

"If we told you, you wouldn't believe us."

Tango took that as a challenge, and examined the two of them for a moment, before speaking again. "You're going to look for the god Martyn, aren't you?"

"Literally how?!" Jimmy practically shouted in utter disbelief. Tango was smart, but no one's that smart.

Tango nodded to the compass in his hand. "Your compass there says Martyn on it."

Jimmy inspected the compass a little closer, and, on the side he noticed a neatly engraved Martyn among the embellishments.

"Ah."

"You've had that for how long and you're only noticing that now???" Lizzie asked.

Jimmy glared at her, before turning back to Tango. "Yeah, so we're kind of on the clock so we should really get going now," he told him.

Lizzie snorted at the pun, and Tango nodded understandingly. 

"Of course!"

Lizzie and Jimmy looked at him expectantly.

Tango gestured towards the plains with his hands. "Lead the way."

"What? No, I can't ask you to come with us-" Jimmy began, but Tango cut him off.

"You don't have to; I've made up my mind."

"But it'll be dangerous-" Jimmy tried again.

Tango put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey. Remember when my house burned down after the furnace-fire spread to the carpet, and you told me I could stay with you? And then when your house burned down after the furnace-fire, coincidentally, spread to the carpet again, you still let me stick around? Well, now it's my turn to be there for you."

Jimmy opened his mouth to say something, but this time it was Lizzie who cut him off. "I'm going to go ahead, feel free to catch up with me when you're done flirting."

"I- what- we're not flirting!" Jimmy spluttered.

Lizzie rolled her eyes and began walking ahead, and Tango bounded after her. 

Jimmy sighed, before also joining the group.

"Also, what do you mean you couldn't ask him? You asked me, Jimmy."

"Ummm..."

***

The three followed the compass for what must've been hours, fending off mobs as they did so. 

"Are you sure you weren't tricked and that that's not just an ordinary compass?" Lizzie asked, kicking a pebble as the sun began to set.

"Well considering it's pointing west, I think we're good," Jimmy responded, a little more hostile than he intended to. He was tired.

"Guys, I'm sure we're going in the right direction, it probably just takes a while," Tango said, trying to calm the waters.

"Surely a time god should be able to come up with a quicker way to travel?" Lizzie wondered aloud, brushing her hair from her face.

As the sun disappeared under the horizon, the compass needle suddenly flipped one eighty degrees. 

Jimmy stopped walking, and took a few steps backwards, but it didn't change. "Are you kidding me?!" He shouted, staring down at the little red needle. 

"What the?" Lizzie questioned, looking at the compass. 

It didn't budge, other than slight adjustments to make up for Jimmy's movements.

"Jimmy, did we just walk for hours on end just for it to be nothing?" Lizzie asked, and the question was not friendly.

"Before freaking out, we should probably find a place to sleep for the night. I saw a cave a little over a hundred blocks back that should protect us from monsters," Tango suggested, though it was clear he wasn't spared from the annoyance.

Jimmy's knuckles were white with how tightly he was clutching the compass. He sighed, hating to admit that Tango was right.

He couldn't believe he'd been fooled so easily; one guy talks to him while he's drunk and he's been convinced gods are real, and has dragged Tango and Lizzie out to the middle of nowhere.

"Let's go," he said, turning around and walking back the way they came, slowing down a little to let Tango lead the way.

As they walked back, they noticed a surprising lack of mobs spawning. 

"Maybe the nearby villages have mob spawners or something?" Lizzie suggested, though it didn't seem quite right. Today as a whole didn't seem quite right.

They walked, but they didn't come across the cave. In fact, as they walked, they slowly began to realise how the terrain was different from the way it was before. They had walked for well over a hundred blocks, yet there was still no cave in sight.

"It's probably just a little further than I thought," Tango reasoned.

However, that became harder to believe as they continued and the land became more and more unfamiliar, with still no sign of a cave.

The trio kept walking, simply for lack of a better option. They stopped when they reached the edge of a desert. Well that definitely wasn't there before.

Jimmy looked down at the compass, which pointed directly ahead. 

"Anyone else think something weird is going on here?" asked Lizzie.

"Things got weird a while ago," Jimmy answered, hazarding a step into the suspicious desert.

After seeing Jimmy didn't succumb to a horrible fate, Lizzie and Tango followed him. 

In the blink of an eye the grassy terrain behind them was gone, and in its place was more desert. 

"No going back now..." Tango commented, and the three continued forward, following the compass.

Despite how tired they were, they didn't stop walking until they saw a massive building looming in the distance.

"Woah," is all Tango managed to say, which pretty much summed up the scene in front of them.

They were at the bottom of a large hill, and sat atop it was a looming palace made of sandstone, with varying sizes of windows, fringes and lanterns decorating it.

"This is probably it," Jimmy told the others, double-checking the compass to be sure.

"Oh, so you think the magical castle in the middle of nowhere could be it?" Lizzie asked sarcastically.

"Oh, shut up...!"

It didn't take the three long to reach the base of the castle, and they were faced with impossibly tall doors.

Jimmy went to push them open, when they heard a voice from beside them.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Martyn said, causing them to jump.

"How do you keep doing that?" Jimmy exclaimed, stepping away from the door.

"You'd be surprised by just how much you can do with the ability to manipulate time," Martyn said, picking a speck of sand off of his shoulder.

"Why bring us all the way out here if we're not going to go inside...?" Tango questioned.

It was as if Martyn had only just noticed Jimmy wasn't alone, as he made a face. "What're they doing here?"

"You're crazy if you thought I was coming alone," Jimmy responded firmly.

Martyn seemed nervous, shifting his weight between his feet and darting his eyes between them. However, he took a deep breath and plastered a smile on his face. 

"Well, to answer your question, Tango, we will be going in, buuut the front door is a no go; Grian's trapped it."

"How did you-" Tango began, but Lizzie cut him off as she tuned back into the conversation after marvelling the castle's architecture.

"Wait, Grian, as in the god?" She asked.

Martyn nodded, "yes, now if you'll follow me, you'll understand why you're here."

It was clear the god was getting impatient, (which Jimmy found ironic), so the trio followed him as he walked them around the side of the palace. He led them to a mound of sand, piled high enough to reach one of the lower windows. 

Martyn teleported to the top, and watched as the others struggled to climb up. 

"You couldn't have helped the rest of us up?" Jimmy asked Martyn once he reached the top.

"Not how it works, Jim," Martyn told him, which Jimmy wondered if it was just an excuse to see them suffer.

The four dropped down the other side, into an empty corridor, with minimal decoration and unlit sconces, despite the lack of light the outside brought.

They turned their heads upwards to admire the vastness of the corridor. The entire thing was made of sandstone, which their footsteps echoed against as they followed Martyn down it.

Jimmy thought it was rather empty for a god's castle,  though he supposed he had no frame of reference.

Martyn pushed open another gargantuan door, and led them into a large room, which was also empty. However, this one was way worse for wear than the corridor, with scratches and chunks of brick blown from the walls, sconces hanging at all sorts of angles on both the walls and the floor. There were pillars that ran around the edge of the room, creating a porch-like effect.

"What happened here?" Lizzie asked, picking up half a painting that was on the floor. It depicted a man with grey skin grinning, at least, the top half did, and its golden frame lay shattered on the ground.

"I'll show you," Martyn told her, ushering them behind one of the pillars.

"Stay out of sight, and be quiet-"

"What why-" Jimmy asked, but without answering him Martyn snapped his fingers and was gone. 

The walls were once again pristine, not a scratch to be found, a small curtain hung on the wall over where the painting had fallen, and the sconces were corrected, fire blazing in them despite the shining sun outside.

In the middle of the room, a man paced back and forth, a serious expression on his face.

"Grian," Lizzie whispered. Jimmy swore he could hear awe in her voice.

Jimmy was surprised, the man didn't seem like a god, especially not the legendary Grian. Instead of an expensive or fantastical outfit, he wore a simple red jumper layered under a worn poncho. The flashiest thing about his outfit was the golden sun embroidery on his jeans, though even then that looked like something you could find on anybody who had basic embroidery skills.

The only thing that hinted that he was something other than human were his golden eyes that glowed, whites and all, and a pair of white wings tucked neatly under his poncho.

He looked human.

Just then, the door to the room opened, and two more people entered, and Grian looked up at them in anticipation.

"Scar," he said tentatively, as if he was afraid his company would run off.

The man he was speaking to had a dark cloak with poppies and lilacs along the side, heavy boots, and red eyes. Not exactly normal eyes, but not like Martyn's godly red ones either. 

The other man, was Martyn. However, he looked less dishevelled here, and more determined than the slightly anxious god they were just faced with.

"Grian," Scar responded with disdain. His opinions were clear.

"You came back." Grian seemed unsure.

"I did." Scar gave nothing away, apart from the anger that seemed to emanate from him.

"Does that mean-"

"Sure," Scar said, cutting the god off, "there's just one thing I would like to do first."

Grian raised his eyebrows, inviting Scar to elaborate.

Scar smiled, though nothing about it was friendly. He nodded to Martyn who took a step forward.

Before Grian could mention his presence, Martyn raised his hands. The former went wide-eyed.

"What are you-" was all he managed to say before he doubled over in pain. He slowly straightened up, a defiant look in his eyes...

Scar was smiling like a maniac now, his eyes wild, as Grian looked back at him with green eyes that were more reminiscent of Scar's than his original godly ones. If Jimmy thought he looked human before, he really looked it now.

"Oh Grian, don't you know you should be careful when making deals with gods?" Scar asked, though it was less of a question and more of a taunt.

"What-"

A book materialised in Scar's hand, and he opened it up to one of the earlier pages before reading a quote from it.

"I owe you, so I am in your service until I lose my first life. I'm your teammate."

Grian's face fell. "Martyn what have you done?" he shouted, a mixture of of fear and anger tinting his words. He then fell down onto one knee, bowing to Scar.

Martyn took a step back, beginning to realise that maybe he made a mistake.

Scar leaned down close to Grian, speaking softly in his ear. It was a miracle Jimmy could still hear him at all as he whispered, "Grian, I want you to kill the gods for me."

Grian had a horrified look on his face as he shakily got to his feet, as if he was fighting with every part of his being not to do what Scar said. A diamond sword materialised in his hand, glistening with enchantments.

"Oh! I almost forgot, you need to save yourself for last!" Scar added, which seemed to be to Grian's dismay, "can't have you sacrificing yourself for your friends now, can we?"

Grian struggled to stay still, but it was clear his grip was slipping. "Run...!" He launched at Martyn, who barely managed to duck to the side. Not teleport.

Grian swung his sword at Martyn, who tried jumping backwards. He still managed to cut him though.

Just then, the doors slammed open, two new characters joining the fray. A man and a woman, who Jimmy put together were probably Pearl and Scott.

"Grian!" The teal haired god shouted, turning the sun god's attention to him. "This ends now."

Instead of any sort of meaningful reaction, Grian began swinging at them. 

The rest went by in a flash, as the two new gods took out their own swords, and began to fight back. Grian was a skilled fighter, but he was no match for this duo, who fought with explosions and lightning.

Jimmy, Lizzie and Tango ducked, covering their ears to try and protect themselves from the booming battle in front of them.

In spite of how bloody Grian got, he kept going, and it was clear he wasn't going to stop until he was dead. Scott and Pearl looked at each other, as if relaying a silent conversation, all without slowing down their blows.

Grian was on the ground now, on shaking hands and knees. He looked up at them with a set look, one that said 'do it.'

Pearl raised her sword, a look of reluctant determination present in her features, but Scott grabbed her hand instead. 

Scar started screaming, not in anger but in agony. 

Jimmy had lost track of the fight.

Scar scrambled for the nearest window, and as he sat on the sill, he shouted to Grian, telling him to get away from here, before dropping out.

Scott and Pearl didn't try to stop him as he stumbled backwards, making a great effort to flap his wings, and follow Scar out the window.

The three remaining gods vanished, and it was once again night in the castle.

"What just happened," Jimmy asked.

"That is why the sun isn't killing mobs anymore," Martyn explained, suddenly beside them again. Jimmy was the only one who jumped this time.

"What did you do to him...?" Tango asked.

Martyn sighed. "I made a deal with Scar, a stupid deal, but a deal nonetheless."

The other three watched him expectantly. They were starting to get sick of how he beat around the bush.

"To put it simply, I messed with Grian's time, and turns out he made some sort of deal with Scar in the past that prevented him from defying him," Martyn told them, "and now he plans on using him to take out the gods for good."

"Then why did he retreat? Wouldn't it have been a win no matter who won the fight?" Tango asked, "sure, it'd be useful to keep Grian alive, but one dead god would be better than none, right? Especially considering how far he let it go."

"Normally, that'd be the case, but in a last ditch effort to stop Scar, Pearl and Scott soulbound them."

"Soulbound...?" Lizzie repeated.

"The last thing Scar wants is to die and become one of us, so they made it so that if either of them would get hurt, the other would also get hurt. A drastic measure, I know, but we were out of options.

"That's where you come in; I can't directly bring harm to them, but he won't be expecting you; if you can kill Scar, this might finally end."

"Didn't you just say that'd kill Grian too...?" Jimmy pointed out.

"It's risky, but the logic is hopefully Grian will be able to withstand more than Scar."

The trio looked at each other, taking the moment to consider Martyn's words. He was asking them to kill some rogue-god, and not die? It was crazy. But what if they didn't help, and Scar succeeded in taking out the gods? What would that mean for them?

Jimmy sighed, turning back to Martyn. "Where do we begin?"

[louloulemons-posts]

Oil At The Coffee Shop XI

Eddie X Fem!Reader

Summary : Family time is the best time, but family truths also spill during it.

Word Count : 1.9k

Warnings : not proofread, swears, minor angst, talks of parental death, drunk driving, alcohol, cuteness, sweetheart eddie, just a lot of comfort for sad reader.

Fic Masterlist

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Saturday rolled around and you were glad the week was almost over, excited for a lie in on Sunday. Scott, Diane and the kids had come into the shop, begging you to have your lunch with them.

El and Max had shoved you in their direction, with the promise that they were fine and would come and get you if it was urgent. You were lucky to have those girls.

Sat with Matty cuddled up to your side, Scott spoke, “So Eddie seems nice.”

“He really does,” Diane agreed.

“He is. He’s lovely. I know on the exterior he looks like the stereotypical scary metalhead, but he’s a sweetheart.”

“And he’s nice to you?” Your brother asked.

“He’s been nothing but, he’s a lovely person Scott I promise you.” The man nodded, taking your answer as the truth. If you said he was a good man, he’d believe you.

“So who are these other friends you’ve made? Not replacing me are you?” Diane asked, teasingly. You huffed a laugh, “Never, could I replace you. The girls that work here Max and El, and then their friends. Oh and Jonathan and Steve, all of their friends.”

“Jonathan Byers?” Scott questioned.

“Mhm, that’s the one.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Great, he’s a photographer. Has a girlfriend, she’s called Nancy.”

“How’s that brother of his, Will?”

“He’s as lovely as he was when he was a baby, he’s actually good friends with Max, and he’s Els brother.”

After chatting a little more, you had to get back to work. Walking past the table, you slid two cupcakes in front of Jenny and Matt. The pair squealed, happily biting into the thick icing.

The bell above the door rang and in stepped your favourite person. A smile on his face, “Hey.”

“Hi, coffee?”

“Please.”

“What’s got you so smiley gorgeous?”

“Well apart from seeing my favourite girl, works been great today.”

“Good I’m glad,” you smiled back at him, “Scott’s over there with Di and the kids.” You motioned to the tables, Jenny was now covered in icing.

“I’ll just go and say hi,” he told you, to which you nodded. Shaking your brothers hand, Eddie got down low to talk to the kids. Jenny reached out for his curls with her sticky hands, Diane pulling them away. The man laughed, as she told her mom, “But mommy they pretty!”

“Yes Honey I know, but you’ll get them all sticky.” Grabbing a tissue, she wiped her daughters hand. “There you go, now you can touch,” Eddie said, taking her small hand into his hair.

The small girl laughed loudly, finding her curls to be one of the most interesting things she’d ever seen. With Eddies coffee in your hand, you headed over, ruffling Matts hair as you did.

“What are you up too?” you asked the small boy. He was colouring a picture, “It’s a project for school, have to show some of our favourite things for a big collage.”

“That’s cool bud, what are you colouring?”

“Dinosaur, it’s a stegosaurs.”

“That’s really cool, you’ll have to show me when it’s finished.”

Eddie pried little hands from his hair, standing up next to you. “Here you go,” you smiled, handing him his drink. “Thanks Sweetheart. It was lovely seeing you all again, when is it you leave?”

“Tomorrow, back to work on Monday and little man’s got school,” Scott explained. “Well hopefully I’ll see you before you leave, I have to get back to work now though.”

He leaned down to kiss your cheek, “I’ll see you later, and tomorrow, maybe we can hang out,” he told you. “Okay,” you smiled, cheeks flushing. “It was nice to see you all.”

“You too,” Scott smiled, oh god, here comes the teasing. Eddie waved goodbye and was on his way. “Wow, that was,” your brother began, “Adorable!”Diane finished.

“I have to go back to work, so you need anything?”

“No Sweetheart not a thing,” the woman smirked. “Yep, I’m going back to work now.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

After work the five of you had decided to head to the park, the kids bundled up as the cool November air made their cheeks rosy.

Diane was pushing Jenny on the swing as Matt climbed up on to the slide.

“Have you told him yet?” Scott asked from beside you. “Told him what?”

“About mom and dad, about what happened.”

“It hasn’t come up.”

“You need to tell him.”

“Why does it matter? We barely speak about them.”

“They died, we’re both still dealing with that.” You sighed, you’d both been young when your parents had passed, being brought up by your grandparents.

Your aunt Callie was your grandmothers sister, she saw a lot of her and your mother in you. It was a strange way to grow up, but you’d live longer without them than you did with them.

“I’ll tell him,” you said simply, “But only when I want too, I’d don’t want you making comments that forces me too.”

“Okay. I just … it caused some issues with me and Di. I see the way you look at each other, I don’t want you to go through that.”

That was true, he hadn’t told Diane until a couple years in when they argued. She had done something that upset Scott and she didn’t understand why.

“I get it Scott, I just … I don’t remember them much, I hate that it’s such an issue.”

“Me too, as soon as you get it out of the way, the sooner it’s done.”

“Daddy! Look!” Jenny squealed as she was swinging. “Look at you! Going so high,” he laughed. You looked down feeling a tug on your hand. “Hey bud, you okay?”

“Will you push me?” he asked.

“Sure thing!” You went hand in hand, Matt climbed up on the swing, laughing loudly when you pushed him. You’d missed this, so so much.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“I am going to miss you so much,” you said, giving your nephew a big squeeze, “But I promise I will see you soon.” Turing to Jenny you gave her a kiss on the head, “I’ll miss you munchkin.”

“Miss you.”

Standing up you hugged Scott and Diane, “Drive safe,” you said, “and call me when you get back.”

“We will, we’ll see you soon okay?” Di smiled, kissing your cheek. “Let us know about Christmas,” your brother spoke.

“I will.”

“It was great meeting you guys, hopefully I’ll see you all again soon,” Eddie said from beside you. Diane kissed his cheek, picking up Jenny who reached out for Eddies hair once more. He laughed, saying goodbye to the kids and your brother.

“Take care,” Scott said to you, “Love you.”

“Love you too.” The four of them climbed in their car, Eddie pulled you close. Sighing into his chest you hugged him, already missing them.

Leaning down to kiss your head he whispered, “You’ll see them soon, I promise.”

“I know, it just hurts my heart to watch them go.”

“I know Sweetheart,” he rubbed his hands up and down your back.

Once their car had gone from the street, you spoke, “Let’s go in, it’s cold out here.” Pulling Eddie by the hand, you wandered inside, you had to tell him. You didn’t want secrets, not after what he’d so bravely told you.

“You alright?” he asked softly, wrapping his arms around your waist so he could pull your back to rest against his chest. “Yeah, they all seemed to like you a lot, especially Jenny.”

“Yeah she’s a sweetheart,” he chuckled.

“Hey!”

“What?” he asked.

“That’s me!”

“Don’t get jealous on me, you’re my only sweetheart I promise,” he kissed the top of your head.

Turning in his hold, you looked up at him, “Can I talk to you about something?” you asked. “Sure, what’s up?”

“I just … Scott brought something up and he said about me telling you and he’s right it’d be shitty if I didn’t tell you.”

“Hey, you can tell me as much or as little as you want too. It works both ways,” he said softly, leading you to the couch.

“I wanted to talk to you about my parents. About why they’re not around,” you said.

“Okay,” he said, encouraging you to carry on. “They um … they passed when I was young. A-a drunk driver hit their car, so uh me and Scott were raised by our gran and grandpa.

“I just .. I wanted you to know. I try not to think about it, I was only 4 and Scott was 7, I don’t remember much about them. Just that they were kind, that was something my gran wanted me and Scott to keep, our moms kindness.”

Rubbing your face with your hands, Eddie wrapped you up into a cuddle. “Thank you for telling me that. I think they’d both be extremely proud, of you and of Scott,” he placed a kiss on your head.

“You think so?”

“I know so, and I do understand, how strange it is to loose your parents. My dad got sent to prison and my mom passed, it’s why I grew up with Wayne.”

“Oh Eddie I’m sorry.”

“Sweetheart it’s okay, we were raised by great people and we make them proud every day. Thank you for trusting me.”

“Thank you for telling me too, I don’t want us to have secrets.”

“So we won’t, we’ll tell each other when we’re ready, so long as we tell, does that sound okay?” You hummed, nodding into his chest and letting him hold you.

“You spoke to me about them before you know?”

“I did?”

“Steve’s Halloween party, you were scared I had been drinking, refused to get in the car.”

You scrunched your face, trying to remember.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Eddies arm was around your waist, “Just don’t let Robin pour anymore drinks,” he said to Steve. “Yeah okay I won’t, you be careful.”

“Will do.”

Walking down the path, Eddie spoke once more, “Where are your keys Sweetheart.”

“They’re in my purse,” you fiddled with bag, opening it up and shaking the key.

“Great,” he said, taking them from your hand and going towards your car. It’d save you from picking it up in the morning. “W-wait Eddie you can’t drive!”

“Why not?”

“You’re drunk!”

“Sweetheart I’ve been drinking soda all night, I assumed I’d be driving someone home.”

“B-but I saw you! You had my drink!”

“Just a sip.”

“You can’t drive! It’s not safe!” you panicked, tears forming in your eyes. “Woah, it’s okay. It’s alright, if you don’t want me to drive I can … I can call Wayne and he can pick us up. Or we can crash here.”

You sniffled, “You can’t drink drive, we could hurt someone. You could kill someone.”

“Sweetheart what’s this about?” he asked, holding your face gently.

“He killed my parents, he was so off his head. He lived, only got a few-a few years! They died because he’d been drunk.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that happened to them. I promise you I’m not drunk okay, I would never lie to you. If you don’t want me to drive I won’t.”

Sighing you looked up at him, looking for any signs he was buzzed. “I trust you, but you have to promise me! You’ll never drive when you’re drunk!”

“I promise you.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“I remember,” you said, meeting Eddies eyes. “I didn’t want to bring it up until you were ready to tell me sober,” he explained.

“Thank you for doing that for me.”

“Sweetheart I would do anything for you. I uh I ..” he stuttered.

“You what?” you asked wide eyed.

“I like you a whole lot,” he smiled, kissing your cheek. “I like you too.”

More than like.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

A/N : I know that ending is gonna annoy so many of you 👹

Thank you so much for reading 🤍

Taglist : @corrodedseraphine @flawiette @witchwolflea @emxxblog @plk-18 @vintagehellfire @lma1986 @squidscottjeans @eddiesguitarskills @nanas-lasagna @halialex1119 @goth-cowgirl-03 @corrodedcoffincumslut @micheledawn1975

let me know if you want to be added 🤍

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

The Ocean is She(One-Shot)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Warnings: Loki's POV summary till the Season 4 Midseason Finale.

Word Count: I just sort of poured out whatever I felt for this dude. Which all shades of sad mostly.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"This is Y/N. She is here to complete her college degree. She will be living here for now." That was the first time Loki saw you.  You stood out like a lost firefly in that lounge among the crowd of broken people on Hero Syndrome. While everyone was giving him the stink eye, you passed a flat smile towards his direction before being pulled by the others into questioning. What is someone like her doing here? Loki was meant to have it as a passing thought. But that passing thought slowly percolated into his life in the form he never really thought he would meet again- a friend. "It's okay, I'll have another one." You smiled at him when he took your cup of green tea your first morning there. And Loki would never admit to his ego that the first act of unadulterated kindness had made his heart sink a little into an unnamed ocean before covering it up with 'this woman must have an ulterior motive'. Ulterior motive. Loki was 'on guard' since then, trying to figure you out. You knocking on his door to join the others for a movie night, making him those heavenly molten chocolate lava cakes on his birthday, buying rings and bracelets that reminded you of him, falling asleep in his presence in the library, asking him to help you study for your exams, sending him pictures of cats on the campus, sharing latest memes with him to keep him up to date; everything you did was seen as motive of some bigger game for the God who had once fallen and twice died. But seemingly, he killed a part himself the day he told you about your origins and you did not blame him for a single second. And nothing was the same for God afterwards.

He started paying more attention to you. His initial reason was that unlike the clowns infesting the building always high on either adrenaline or coffee, you were a specimen that he could study. Right. He was studying how you had a habit of cracking your neck every hour no matter what you did. How you would interact with inanimate objects with emotions, like looking at your assignment on the laptop and asking it with tears in your eyes, 'Why won't you conclude yourself in a way that's not gibberish?!'; or how you would gently pat the car and say thank you whenever you arrived at your destination. How your eyes would light up every time you saw a little spawn of the dogs or cats and your voice would go higher to greet them. He was amused by how your calm persona would do a one-eighty when your menstruation cycle was on the verge of bleeding days. That was the exciting part of his day during the cycle- sitting close to your sweatshirt and shorts-clad figure sprawled on the sofa in front of the TV, watching you threaten anyone who passed the hall. That's all you were to him- an amusing human who helped him pass his days on earth. At least that is what he had convinced himself of, never realising how his day would start by coming out of his room looking for you. How he would take a tour of the entire Avengers facility to find you and when he did, he would play himself off non-chalantly. He did not seem to let himself know how he would automatically come to stand by your side whenever he was to leave the facility and go out into the world. 

The narrator's heart often wonders how he could not see himself getting attached to you. Like that one time, he was the only one up beside Scott and Tony when you were out partying with your college friends; how he pretended to be drowned in a philosophy book while Tony worked on his robot babies and Scott watched the Kaichowa Maid Sama anime; how he intently listened to the phone call Scott got and he immediately recognised your voice even though he sat a bit far; how he heard your slurred words say 'Scottieeeeeee~ please take me home. I am drunkkkk and I kindaaaa don't want to stay heeeere'. "Of course, honey," Scott replied, "but it'll take me an hour to reach-" "Then send someone who'll be faaaaaasterrrrr~" you whined on the line.  Scott looked in the direction of the elevator, wondering whether to call Stark from his workshop when Loki slammed his book shut. "Turn on the sink tap," Loki commanded a confused Scott as he vanished with green and golden hues only to land on the campus grounds in a poorly lit park where you were sitting in the cold grass, your phone still to your ears. "Scott," you whispered into the phone, "you don't understand. I am drunk and I am feeling these waves of horny-ness but I do not want to do it with anyone here!!!" "Let's go home," Loki announced as he stood in front of you, waiting for you to take his hand. And boy did he feel his heart do another dip in that unknown ocean when you smiled at the God with a shade of relief and hugged him the moment you were up on your legs. "Thank you for coming for me." The wave of feeling his heart about to take another dunk into that ocean, he immediately teleported back with you, making sure both you and he landed right next to the sink to help you puke your wobbling guts right into the sink.

As time passed, Loki grew more used to your presence. From sitting together at breakfast and sharing one cup of tea to having reading sessions in his room on his bed. You were one of the rare ones who were allowed to enter his sacred space. No one knew but he thoroughly enjoyed the waves of emotions that would run over your features at different times when you became too engrossed in a manga. Sometimes it was your uncontrollable laughter where you read the same pages again and again; other times it was the repeated punches you threw either on your thigh or on the bed when you found yourself being impressed by something. But then there were the times when you would be in tears when one of your favourite characters died, and you could not stop yourself and Loki would look at you, with the intensity of the moon, wanting to stop time and do something...anything to stop you from crying. 

He did get tested for his belief of looking at you as a specimen. That one time when you and Hope fell into the other end of the universe. This God was ready to draw blood if it meant bringing you back in one piece. Once you were home safe, he could not help but overthink as to why did what he did for you. You were a mere human.  You were not supposed to mean much to him. You were just his amusement. Right? Just his amusement. The very amusement who stood in a barren alien land in front of the most delirious alien army, making Loki calculate in one point two seven seconds how he was about to lose his sleep for the next three months if he was to keep you alive while trying to find a way back home. Home.  Earth isn't my home, he would mentally slap himself back to reality whenever he caught himself thinking of the Avengers facility and the other clowns. But then he would turn to look at you.  Earth was your home. And going home would make you happy. He wanted to see you happy. Another mental slap to his head. You are losing your edge, Loki, he would bully himself to keep himself cold and calculating throughout that demanding journey of looking after you and the monster you had adopted on your way. And of course, Javi.

Any other day, any other life, any other universe, Loki would have punched the numbers as to how useful you were to him dead or alive and then be his way once you fulfilled your purpose of helping him survive. But here, he was doing the basing math of making sure to get you out of all the darkness of the universe unharmed. But life, as we know, has other plans. The music genre too changes when the playlist is on random and the heart is set on adventure for one and survival for another. Aellae came as the genre of dread and darkness. Being well aware of her obsession and abuse of power, Loki knew she would see you as a threat; for she knew the God of Mischief never travelled in a pack unless that pack had Loki's prey or something Loki wanted to keep close. So his first thought was to call in the seven Gods while 'ditching' you in the middle of a desert. Little did he know that you too were thinking from your heart in that space and time. As much as he hated to see you come for his rescue, he would never give up on the time when you two were stuck in that small space in Aellae's dungeons, trying to find a way through the room, bodies covered in sweat, your back and his front finding the angles to become one as you both pushed your way out. How synchronous were your bodies working together, how you readily trusted him with touching you in a way he would never want to witness you being touched by anyone. Why was he thinking that way? All those questions, all those confusions, all those hours of his inside voices bullying him to see you as nothing but a human ticket to a life of peace back on earth- all of them burst with the brittleness of the snow that fell on you as your lifeless figure lay in his arms. This time when his heart sank into the ocean, it did not want to come up. The God could not sense anything but fear crawling on his skin when his hand touched your face and it did not feel warm anymore. Your usually cheerful eyes did not open when he called out your name again and again. The fear he had felt when he first found himself dying when he wanted to live, was nothing in that moment when he was faced with the reality that you might be dead. And just as that little speck of possibility crossed his mind, the hell inside him broke loose, causing a wave originating from his magic destroying everything within a radius of two kilometers. Ever since he was born, Loki, son of Laufey, son of Odin, Prince of Asgard, the Silvertongue, took to his knees for the first time for a life that was not his. He begged for your survival at the cost of his own, no longer denying himself from the truth. His heart did not come up from that ocean that carried your name on every atom in its waves. You were his reason to laugh. You were his reason to be curious in this life. You were his reason to look forward to getting up the next morning.  You had been the reason he had not gone for Plan B of running away from Earth and ending in the bosom of some dying star that would end his misery.  You were the reason he was willing to live a little longer. You were the reason he was ready to love again. 

Even when back from the horrors of the universe, Loki did not stop looking after you. He let Peter in on the secret of your near-death experience because he trusted that boy and he knew how much he cared for you. Both he and the boy would discreetly look for signs of you experiencing any discomfort. Taking shifts in the night, they would help you get out of your nightmares- which were the after-effects of healing you back to life right from the arms of death herself. Loki grew more protective of you but would distance himself whenever found himself feeling whatever little ounces of happiness his heart felt in your company. He would walk the extra mile of punching a man in his face for disrespecting you but he found himself pretending to laugh at your heartfelt confession because his heart could not bear the truth of knowing that you loved him back. You loved him. You, the perfection that walked amongst mere peasants. Loved. Him. And he laughed. He laughed hard enough to hide his tears of happiness that hurt him to the point of no return. He could not let you do that. You were too precious. Too precious to be put in danger again. He was the danger. He brought death to you. He would rather die than do that to you ever again.  And so the God decided to walk away, let out his screams in the middle of the desert to kill his heart for finding love in this lifetime and then hating the fact that it loved him back. The God was no better than a human then. He was in love. But he could hold on to that love for the fear of breaking it with his ill fate.

[arwainian]

Reading This Week 2025 #16-18

helloooooo. this reading log comes to you late because i was extremely busy the weekend of the the 20th with various commitments, and even busier at LARP last weekend. decided to just make a bit three week one with everything in one place rather than spam a bunch of catching up posts

Finished:

The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson, narrated by Christine Marshall my library hold on the audiobook came in and so i have finally read the kickoff book for another fantasy series the lesbians on my tumblr dash are obsessed with! wasn't blown away but then the twist really got me! i'll check out the rest of the series eventually

The Library Thief by Kuchenga Shenjé, narrated by Cora Kirk non-romance historical fiction, which is unusual for me bc i usually like to go for genre histrom, of if not that then a very genre murder mystery in a historical setting. the "mystery" that this is presented as didn't really carry then book but that's okay because i think the mre important part is Florence growing into herself, her budding friendships, and her struggles to define herself as a mixed race black woman with a future that she determines. also has lovely trans rep in the supporting character Annie

Point of Dreams by Melissa Scott & Lisa A. Barnett on my hands and knees begging more people to read Astreiant. I love the subtly to Rathe and Eslingen's romance. it is emotionally mature, with some conflict that comes between them but doesn't seesaw to too quick of a resolution (the emotional quandry for them being "are we coming together the way that we want to? circumstances are making us move rather quickly" is very interesting). the plot surrounding them is tense and fraught enough that their remarkable stability with each other feels like the calm in a storm. the world continues to be very well realized

The Low, Low Woods written by Carmen Maria Machado, art by Dani, color by Tamra Bonvillain horror comic series about some girls in a small Pennsylvania coal mining town investigatng their missing memories (and those of every other woman in town)

Blue Box, Vol. 9 by Kouji Miura, translated by Christine Dashiell genuinely really proud of Taiki's integrity in pulling himself together and turning Hina down. that takes real guts when she's such a good friend to him, and as bad as I feel for Hina's heartbreak, and her attempts to delay rejection by telling him not to answer her confession, it's better this way that everything is out in the open. I am shooting Hina and Ayame with a yuri beam

Dragonsinger by Anne McCaffrey, narrated by Sally Darling love an older sff work. the gender stuff in this book is fairly well handled. the bullying! from peers and from disapproving adults all of it made my blood boil, but it never felt contrived or cliche. just felt very real to adolescent struggles

What Did You Eat Yesterday? Vol. 16-17 by Fumi Yoshinaga, translates by Jocelyne Allen <3 Shiro meeting Kenji's family and it going well warmed my heart, and in vol 16 we also see Kenji get to meet Shiro's housewife friend. i wonder if this is reflecting changes to social discrimination against gay men in Japan at the time it was coming out because Kenji and Shiro are getting more opportunities to move socially as a Couple in a the wider world

Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries by Heather Fawcett, narrated by Ell Potter and Michael Dodds oh no. i was neutral on the book until I met Dr. Wendell Bambleby and he was so hilariously on-pitch for the flamboyant charmer archetype that i love it redeemed the rest of the book. i have some nitpicks about the framing device of the field notes journal, but that can wait for book club

All The Hearts You Eats by Hailey Piper, narrated by Em Grosland, Alexis Vandom, Sena Bryer, Jeremy Carlisle Parker, and L. Morgan Lee this was good but i am starting to wonder if horror is not my genre/if i have not read enough horror to be trained to react positively to how horror novels are structured.

Graphic Women: Life Narrative and Contemporary Comics by Hillary L. Chute academic work analyzing several women cartoonists doing autobiographical work

Lust: Kinky Online Personal Ads by Ellen Forney collection of illustration Forney did for a sexual personal ads section of an online publication in like the 2000s as well as interviews with some of the people who put in the ads. all of the art was great but i was struck by some of the attitudes that were revealed in the "seeking" sections. there was a lot of "seeking F and FTM" conflation of women and trans men which I found transphobic/transmisogynistic. it certainly more reflective of the people requesting the ads than Forney herself but it was uncomfortable to see! that said there were also a lot of ads seeking "F and MTF" and a wonderful interview with a man about how his ad led to him meeting his trans girlfriend so its a mixed bag

Crowded, Vol. 1: Soft Apocalypse written by Christopher Sebela, art by Ro Stein & Ted Brandt gig economy gone even more dystopian. i'm meh on it

Spring with the Unicorns by Taylor Titmouse trans-norm short erotic fantasy story about two male unicorns erotically wrestling over who deserves to mate with a female unicorn. and i mean like significantly trans norm- the male unicorn's vulvas are called their "manhoods" and one of them is mocked for being effeminate because he's tall

The Republic of Thieves by Scott Lynch, narrated by Michael Page the last book in the series! or at least it looks to be for a while. I think overall the first book is the best but the rest were still fun. Sabetha's issues around her hair and accepting that she can be loved and desired for who she is is very real but can also be very tedious and annoying. i do think her "Locke, the other gentleman bastards like and respect you more and listen to you faster than me because you're a boy" was a really good recontextualization of their relationship as well as Locke's natural leadership

Dragondrums by Anne McCaffrey, narrated by Sally Darling piemar suddenly being the protagonist feels weird! once again the bullying in this was really difficult to read, but also like written well

Errant, Vol. 1 by L.K. Fleet glad this exists but it's prose was a little flat/mediocre for me. too straightforward fanfic hurt/comfort to the romance vibes. sorry for being a snob

Rocannon's World by Ursula K. Le Guin, read by Stefan Rudnicki i love the prologue to this. a fairytale of a woman losing 16 years in a single night when she goes on a quest to recover a family artifact (but its bc of relativity and she has to space travel, but she doesn't understand that that's whats happening and neither does anyone else). very cool blend of fantasy vibes and science fiction thought

Started/Ongoing:

Homosexuality in Greece and Rome: A Sourcebook of Basic Documents edited by Thomas K. Hubbard big collection of translated documents from poetry to philosophy. anything that is even mildly gay from ancient greece and rome. having a fun time with it

The Charioteer by Mary Renault, narrated by Joe Jameson been meaning to read this since Cat Sebastian went down the charioteer rabbit hole. enjoying it. love reading older queer literature

Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen, narrated by Rosamund Pike finally reading this after having been in a stage production of it as a teenager, having a good time

[noatherics]

❝ when did you start looking at me like that? ❞ @ magik heheheh

PROMPT. this was supposed to be horny/frenemy code i think but. i apologise in advance. horny will be soon (threat) i kept thinking about our plotting dms instead

illyana  was  never  one  for  following  rules  very  well.    even  as  a  child,    young  &  sweet,    she  had  a  tendency  to  test  the  limits.    that  was  why  her  brother  called  her  snowflake,    aside  from  her  clinging  to  his  side:    often  she  was  found  out  in  the  snow,    on  the  ice  lakes,    when  she  wasn’t  supposed  to  be.    she’d  find  reasons  &  ways  &  loopholes,    nothing  enough  to  get  her  in  big  trouble  but  enough  to  plant  a  small  seed  of  rebellion.    she  thinks  piotr  &  her  parents  might  not  have  minded,    after  all  these  years.    they  certainly  were  gentle  with  punishment  compared  to  stories  she’d  heard.

but  there  were  few  rules  even  her  parents  tried  to  echo,    to  drill  into  her:    she  must  finish  every  meal.    she  must  come  home  before  midnight,  lest  the  babai  get  her.    she  must  not  look  at  women  lest  the  soldiers  get  her  instead.      & in  the  years  she  spent  in  limbo,    these  were  the  only  three  she  could  recall,  until  slowly  it  faded  to  just  the one.    even  then,    illyana  found  it  hard  to  understand:    what  threat  could  loving  a  woman  bring  that  these  depths  could  not ?

so  it  was  forgotten,    too.    for  a  long  time.    she  had  other  priorities:    living,    killing,    the  whole  nine  yards.    add  some  more  time  to  that  post-escape,    maybe  she’s  let  a  few  rules  slip  back  into her life.    maybe  its  because  scott  is  the  only  one  who  can  enforce  them.

so  she  forgot  about  the  homophobia  of  her  homeland,    until  she  was  reminded.  &  this  time  when  illyana  looks  away,    it  isn’t  for  herself,    but  for  marceline.

not  that  she  would  ever  blame  her  for  this.    illyana  knows  of  churches,    knows  of  gods,    knows  of  evil.    knows  they  are  not  as  separate  as  humanity  thinks.    isn’t  she  proof  of  this,    aren’t  they  both  ?    with  marceline’s  pale  skin  and  illyana’s  clawed  hands.    so  she  keeps  her  gaze  beside  the  woman,    most  of  the  time.    until  she  catches  marceline  staring  too.  they’ve  known  another  for  months  now, maybe longer.    magik  was  never  good  at  keeping  track  of  time,    but  she  is  good  at  keeping  track  of  memories.    she  remembers  their  first  encounter,    scared  thing  with  a  blade  at  illyana’s  throat,    the  thrill  of  the  chase.    but  they  weren’t  really  enemies,    only  by  circumstance,    and  those  has  never  stopped  an  opportunist  before.    (    there  was  something  familiar  in  her,    the  way  her  blade  steadfast  despite  her  pinched  lips,    that  made  magik  feel  like  she’d  met  her  mirror.  )    

marcline  is  cold,  beautiful,  fleeting.  like  ice.    & illyana  is  a  snowflake.

(    when  did  you  start  looking  at  me  like  that  ?    )

caught  red-handed.    too  slow  this  time  or,    or  maybe  marceline  is  finally  letting  her.    but  illyana’s  blue  gaze  softens,  so  slightly,  pulling  her  form  her  reverie.    she  is  staring.    she  can’t  help  it.  marceline’s  holy  eyes  remind  her  of  the  icy  lakes  where  she  nearly  fell  through  /    her  unwavering  guess  just  as  much  a  threat.    just  as  willing  to  drown  her.    how  long  had  she  looked  at  her  like  this?    from  day  one?    yes.    it  was  that  porcelain  skin  hiding  rage  beneath  that  called  to  her.  but  marceline  looks  scared,  almost,  worried.    like  illyana  might’ve  been  had  she  not  seen  the  worst  of  the  worst  and  decided  this  was  nothing.

this.    what  is  this  ?    it  could  be  love  one  day,  maybe,  she  thinks.    if  she  knows  what  that  is.    it  is  infatuation,    if  nothing  else.    comfort.    every  time  she  tries  to  leave  the  angel  behind  her,    she  comes  crawling  right  back.  

“      ...      like  this,    ptitsa  ?  ”        a  sly  smile,  shining  eyes.    she  wants  to  hear  her  say  it.    but  marcline  looks  so  nervous.    affection  and  touch  are  foreign  to  magi,  yet--hand  reaches  out,    clasps    glaved  one.    lifts  it  to  press  over  the  bruise  on  magik’s  cheek.  her  lashes  flutter,    half-shut,    and  for  the  first  timein  years  illyana  eally  does  look  at  her,  like  that,  soft  yet  burning,  wanting,  protective.    a  blaze  promising  to  keep  you  warm,  to  scald  your  enemies. possessive and wanting. a waiting hound ready to serve.

“  perhaps  longer  than  i  have  noticed.    but  you  were  scared.    so  i  tried  to  stop.    i  couldn’t.    ”