#i was also listening to ABBA

[cosmiccreeepers]

Hi, there!

Ever since I played Resident Lover a few days ago, I can't stop thinking about it.

Although I'm supposed to be studying for my exams and completing some assignments, I decided to write this and post it.

Please, bear with me, this is the first time I've written anything like this, and English is not my first language.

Thank you, Team Avia, for this game !

[ihni]

Billy can't listen to ABBA.

His mom liked ABBA, used to sing along to their songs in the kitchen when Neil wasn't home, with Billy at the kitchen table watching her and smiling and feeling so loved and safe.

Hearing their songs now remind him of that, and it hurts. So he can't listen to ABBA anymore.

This is true for one song in particular. One that his mother would sing in a low voice when she came in to comfort him, after Neil had gone on a rampage and hurt or scared either Billy's mom or Billy himself. She'd hold him, and she'd sing that song, and Billy would cry and hold onto her and wish he could just stay in her arms forever, where it was safe.

It was also the first song he played - volume turned down to almost nothing, while pressing his ear close to the speakers as to not be found out by his dad - after the first real beating Neil gave him, some time after Billy's mom left. Because if he couldn't have her sing it to him, then at least ABBA could.

But it only made him cry more. Because pressing up to the speaker was nothing like pressing into his mother's chest, and there were no arms around him or hand stroking his hair to make him feel safe.

So Billy can't listen to ABBA without crying. Especially not Chiquitita.

[lunarharp]

uhh another modern au agott follow-up. They've gotten progressively sillier

[forgettable-au]

Hi !! I was wondering if there was any song that you associate with Forgettable AU ? Hope you'll have a good day!!

EHEHE YEAH

Okay so, I was trying to choose ONE but I can't cause there's like sooo many, I have a whole playlist (THAT IS A MESS, SO I'M PROBABLY NOT GOING TO SHARE THAT)

But, uhh, lately I've been super obsessed with "Slipping through my fingers" by ABBA and it reminds me SO much of this AU, specifically of Sans, and it makes me sad

I am going to make an animatic with that song one day!! I promise!! Cause it was one of the songs that inspired me to make the AU on the first place... the angst........

[leggalese]

i tthink edgey would listen to punk tactics and mitski interchangeably

I only heard of Mitski by Tumblr osmosis, never listened to it. I only know people associate it with trauma and mental illness...

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 19

PREVIOUS

There’s a couple things about FF that might be good to know at this point.

1. There are few things in the world he hates doing more than asking for clarification or admitting he doesn’t understand / know something. The thought of going up to someone and admitting that he hasn’t perfectly comprehended the situation upon the first explanation is something makes his stomach twist like he’d just eaten Mango-Habanero ice cream.

He has figured out his own math theorems in the pursuit of not having to ask the math teacher to explain he doesn’t understand. He got lost in an Ikea once for over 6 grueling hours where he considered making a home there and living among the display rooms until his grandma grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to safety (the food court) and let him regain his strength (eat Swedish meatballs). He, to this day, is not sure about one of his foreign language friend’s names (how embarrassing he just keeps waiting for someone else to say it but they go by some insane nickname).

So he has become a master of piecing shit together on his own. He sometimes gets it wrong (Andrew, god how embarrassing) but for the most part 8 times out of 10 he can get to the right answer if he just has a couple pieces to work with. No one had ever actually explained to him how Exy works and he was too embarrassed to ask after the third week of practice in middle school so he just pieced together what he was and was not allowed to do through the art of trial and error. He’s even mostly pieced out the rules for the other positions.

So with the information he has gotten through people being bound and determined to talk in foreign languages in front of him he has an idea about the tenuous situation some of the older Foxes find themselves in.

He’s heard Kevin Day and Jean Moreau talk in French.

He’s heard that the anxiety in both of their voices as they talked about their futures and owing 80% of their salaries to the ‘Moriyamas’ and how nervous they were about getting on professional teams or else they’d be killed.

Captain Neil and Andrew are not always using Russian to talk dirty.

He’s heard Andrew soothe Captain Neil’s worries about playing for a professional team. He’s heard Captain Neil mention that at least ‘Ichirou’ would likely just kill him and not make a game out of it like his father did.

Organized Crime might have more to do with Exy than FF had originally thought.

(He had thought it. Plenty of times he had thought it but his Gran had warned him that he was overthinking things. That he wasn’t playing a sport invented by the Mafia. That he had caffeinated coffee instead of decaf. “It’s going to be okay sweetie. Just take a deep breath.”)

This leads into the second thing you should know at this point.

2.  Before he had signed with Wymack he had known the broad strokes of Captain Neil’s life. There had been a lot of news articles about it and Gran (bless her) loved trashy gossip magazines.

After he had signed with the Foxes he had done a bit of a deep dive on as many of their controversies as he could find. There’d been things from brawls on the court (worrying), player overdoses (concerning), a straight up MURDER (Oh god), and the very public breaking of the King of Exy’s arm resulting in his suicide (Warranted, that wacko was going to take off Captain Neil’s HEAD.)

But the thing that had made him actually a little bit, dare he admit, excited to go to Palmetto was the fact that Captain Neil was there.

For someone who froze for almost a decade, who just took it and didn’t have the balls to even react? Neil Josten is an inspiration.

This is someone who got away, who lived a life completely unlike FF’s, someone who knew how to run and more impressively someone who learned how to FIGHT. Captain Neil was being hunted but he still ripped people to shreds in interviews. Captain Neil was probably more scared of the Butcher than FF had been of anything in his entire life but Captain Neil was way braver than FF could ever hope to be.

Captain Neil was taken and tortured but he still fought. FF had seen the scars and Captain Neil is right to wear them proudly (though based on some conversations he has unfortunately overheard he is sure Andrew may have a role in Neil’s positive feelings about them).

FF had thought that he was being lead to his death down in a basement of a club (Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t-) and he just trailed right behind the two of them without even an illusion of a fight.

Neil Abram Josten was a bit of a personal hero.

He’s proud to call him Captain Neil. He wishes Andrew hadn’t been there when Greg had mentioned wanting autographs because FF wants an autograph from Captain Neil but now Andrew has probably mentioned it to Neil.

Long story short, FF had looked into a lot of details on Captain Neil’s case.

Including two of the Butcher’s top men who were still on the loose.

Romero Malcolm and Jackson Plank.

He keeps his presence low but no matter how many times he blinks the man grumbling in Italian next to him continues to be Romero Malcolm.

Moreover Romero Malcolm continues to grumble about the fact that he is having a hard time finding ‘Nathaniel’ and that he’ll have to grab one of ‘The Wesninski brat’s friends’ to draw him out.

FF is a recently confirmed friend of Captain Neil.

FF who is standing next to this man, with his dick out, and trying to remain as invisible as possible.

After two shakes (Yes he was watching but only because he had to! He wonders briefly if he goes to the FBI if they would accept a description of Romero Malcolm’s penis for the wanted poster? Probably not but it is BURNED into his retinas.)

He watches as Romero tucks, zips, and then bypasses the sink entirely.

FF shivers at how unhygienic that is. Who RAISED him?

The door shuts and FF needs to get out of here ASAP but his hands are shaking with the sudden adrenaline of ’One of the FBI’s Most Wanted just took a piss next to me and is looking for me friend’. He pulls his phone from his pocket and ducks into one of the stalls. Even if there’s no door it’ll at least FEEL a little safer, a little more private. He needs to warn Neil, Warn Andrew, and warn-

The door to the bathroom SLAMS open and music blares in (palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy-) and his phone slips out of his hands and into the toilet. There are footsteps coming towards him and FF digs deep.

He’s in ultra stealth mode. He is the wall behind the wallpaper. Mantis shrimp can only dream of the color he becomes, the United States military have the CIA on the look out for him because he’s fallen off all conventional forms of radar and tracking.

He is a bargain fruit platter on a dessert table at a kid’s birthday party.

He is ULTRA stealth.

Romero’s gaze glides over him.

Then the man leaves (STILL DID NOT WASH HIS HANDS).

His heart is hammering in his chest but he manages to reach down and grab his phone. Well, Coach Wymack had gotten the extended warranty at least. (“Do you know what these fuckers do to phones? Josten crushed his last year in a fight with the Baseball team captain.”)

His phone’s extended dip into the toilet water had not done it any favors in working properly.

Well fuck.

He wipes his phone down the best he can. He wipes his phone down with some toilet paper before cramming it into his pocket (Sorry Nicky, he’ll wash the toilet water pants if they survive).

He sees a flyer on the wall of the bathroom and starts to think of a plan.

He rushes out of the bathroom (he still washes his hands because he will not have something in common with a man on the FBI’s most wanted list and he just dipped his hand into a CLUB TOILET) and clocks Nicky’s wild arm movements and WORSE clocks Romero just 10 clubbers away.

He sees Romero’s eyes lock onto Nicky and a smile that terrifies him.

He’s out of Ultra Stealth Mode even if every atom in his body wants to run.

He is so stressed and panicked that he has gone beyond his body’s ability to process that so all that is left is determination. He’s got a head full of a half-baked plan, a hand going to his pocket, a second hand on the only ‘weapon’ he has on him, and a stomach full of acid.

He’s pulling his phone out of his pocket before he can really let himself think about it and walking up next to where Romero is standing. He holds his toilet water phone up to his ear and does the one weird social anxiety thing that he had never done before.

He pretends to be on a phone call.

“Hey Captain Neil,” he says and in the corner of his eye he can see Romero’s gaze shift from Nicky (surrounded by an adoring public, covered in sweat and therefore difficult to grab - a difficult target) to himself (alone, shorter, and probably looking like he’s about to pass out). “Yeah I think I’m going to take a break outside after I grab quick drink and then a water at the bar.” He says because he has to be the easier target and he has to go to the bar. “Yeah, yeah, okay I’ll mention it to that bartender guy.” He says and pretends to hang up.

He turns and he walks towards the bar and feels his pulse in his throat go to the beat of the music (success is my only motherfucking option, failure’s not).

He only knows about the alley because in the car ride to Sweetie’s Nicky had mentioned that he wouldn’t let FF’s first time be out there. He had been embarrassed but it was the only way he knew to get Romero out of the club and away from where he could hurt Captain Neil or anyone else in the pursuit of that.

He spots the bartender who had gotten the drinks for their table and his mind completely blanks on the name but the bartender sees him and smiles. “Oh you’re Neil and Andrew’s new friend! What can I help you with? I thought you were-“

“Hi, yes I am Captain Neil and Andrew’s friend.” He says a little loudly because he can feel Romero behind him and he does NOT want the man to know anything about where Captain Neil was.

“Captain Neil? Oh wow that’s adorable.” The man gushes. “What can I help you with? I won’t ask for ID for one of their friends.” He winks.

“I’d like to order the uh…” he tries to remember the exact drink name from the flyer, “…the deluxe chocolate martini?” He asks and knows he got it right when the bartender’s expression shifts ever so slightly.

“Oh yeah, how do Andrew and Neil feel about that?” He asks and oh great a coded conversation. It’s nice to actually be having a real one of these for once instead of just perceiving normal conversations to have hidden meanings.

“They don’t know. They probably prefer that I order it instead of Nicky or Aaron.” He lets his eyes dart to the wide where he believes Romero is watching him.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” The bartender says, “Nicky knows how to handle a drink and Aaron’s not a lightweight either.” He adds.

FF struggles to find a coded way to say ‘It’s not that someone’s hitting on me too hard like the flyer mentioned. It’s that there’s a mafia hitman in your club.’

Finally after a moment, “It’s not the usual kind of drink they get.” He tries and the bartender looks confused by the statement, dammit. He struggles to find a different way to say it before the bartender smiles.

“Y’know you’re really cute.” He reaches under the bar top and grabs a piece of paper and a pen. “How about you write down your number for me cutie? We can meet up sometime.” He says. “I’ll get started on that chocolate martini for you.” He says.

HE COULD KISS THIS MAN.

“I’d like that.” He says.

He writes out a quick message on the small note paper.

‘Armed. After Neil. Looked at Nicky. I’m going to the back alley. Phone is dead.’

The bartender comes back and looks at his note. “We’re out of chocolate martini mix, can I get you something-“ He hopes the club lighting obscures how pale the man got, “something else?” He asks and FF can SEE his pulse.

“Can I just get some water then?” He asks.

The bartender nods and pulls up his phone and hopefully is dialing the police and hands FF a water. His hand grabs hold of FF’s “You don’t need to go out into the alley. You could hang in the backroom with me?” He offers.

There really are some kind people in the world.

“I think it’s better if I’m not in here for a bit.” He says back and honestly he needs this kindness and he has a spare bit of courage, “What’s your name by the way? Sorry I missed it.” He says.

The bartender swallows, “It’s Roland.” He says.

“Thanks Roland.” He twists the cap off of the water bottle and takes a sip.

He turns and pretends not to notice how Romero is trying to be inconspicuous pretending to be on his phone.

He makes his way over to the alley door and notices that Romero is tracking his movements but is not following him like he did to the bar.

His heart is pounding and he can’t BELIEVE he’s doing this. He wants to run, wants to hide somewhere, wants to become imperceptible but…but…

He opens the door to the alley as the bass of the remixed song finishes.

(You can do anything you set your mind to, man)

He lets the door slam behind him and he is alone in the alley.

He was not expecting a van to come to a screeching halt in front of the entrance and for a different face to appear climbing out of the car.

Jackson Plank.

FF looks at the ugly smile on the man as he walks towards him with a knife in hand.

Okay now what genius?

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

5/26/23: EDITED. Can’t believe I forgot to put the Captain in front of Neil’s name on the meme. I’m blaming the accidental early awakening.

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings​ @blep-23​ @dreamerking27​ @andreilsmyreligion​ @belodensetdust​ @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace​ @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world​ @obscureshipsandchips​ @booklover242​ @whataboutmyfries​ @sahturnos​ @pluto-pepsi​ @dreamerthinker​ @passinhosdetartaruga​ @leftunknownheart​ @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead​ @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme​ @tayspots @nick-scar​ @crazy-fangirl2524​ @blue-jos10​ @stabbyfoxandrew​ @splishsplashyouropinionistrash​ @sammichly​ @the-broken-pen​ @bitchesdoweknowu​ @very-small-flower​ @ghostlyboiii​ @its-a-paxycab​ @bisexual-genderfluid-fan​ @cheesecookie​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @foxsoulcourt​ @blueleys @adverbialstarlight​ @elia-nna​ @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner​ @nikodiangel​ @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat​ @hallucinatedjosten​ @satanic-foxhole-court​ @vexingcosmos​ @chalilodimun​ @insectsgetcooked​ @angry-kid-with-no-money​ @queer-crows​ @lillyndra​ @themugglemudperson​ @readertodeath​ @apileofpillows​ @mortalsbowbeforeme​ @hellomynameismoo​ @next-level-mess @youreonlylow​ @interstellarfig​ @notprocrastinatingatalltoday​ @percyjacksonfan3​ @queenofcrazy27​ @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares​ @spencellio​ @adinthedarkroom​ @harpymoth​ @sufferingjustalilbit​ @anxietymoss​ @oddgreyhound​ @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken​ @ken22789​ @atiredvampire​ @isoldescorner​ @not--a--pipedream​ @azure-wing​ @bushbees​  @roonilwazlib-main​ @crumplelush​ @foldedaces-paperbirds​ @thesenseinnonsense​ @let-tyrants-fear​ @ketchupfriesandallthingsnice​ @legowerewolf​ @deadlydodos​ @but-we-respect-his-craft​ @cariniqe​ @zanypersonapricotbiscuit​

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it  right but you didn’t  get a notification there might be something  switched around in  your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

Lillyndra it worked this time!!!

[stevethehairington]

He needs a break. A chance to breathe for a moment. This lifestyle sometimes feels like the corsets that Robin is always complaining about — too tight, too constricting, and superfluously unnecessary. Steve pities Robin, and the rest of the poor women, who have to deal with both. The circumstance and the corsets.

Steve knows better than to complain, though. He lives a lavish existence, one that many people would give anything to have. It isn’t fair of him to pity himself like this when there are so many people out there that are so much worse off than him. He should feel grateful. Lucky, even.

But it’s hard not to feel suffocated instead, sometimes.

The alcove is quiet, thank god, and void of any stray party guests. It’s hidden away, tucked between two rocks that overlook the seaside, and the crash of waves from down below has a mollifying effect on Steve’s agitated disposition.

He reaches for the cravat at his neck, loosening it with deft fingers. He’s in the act of tugging it away from his throat when the clear crunch of a footstep has him spinning around sharply.

And there, emerging from the shadows to block Steve’s only escape route, is a man.

The first thing Steve notices about the man is the curtain of dark curls that frame his face. They’re long enough to tumble freely over his shoulders, and they’re pulled back by a thick swath of fabric, deep red in color. The ends of his bangs peek out from beneath the bandana, as do a pair of thin braids, each tied off with two hollowed out pearls.

With his hair out of his face, Steve can see it all. Every single feature, open and on display — those soft cheekbones, that sloping nose, the gnarled scar that stretches across the left side of his jaw and pulls the corner of his mouth into a twisted, permanent smile.

Steve is sure that he’s never seen this man before, and yet there is something achingly familiar about him. A tugging within his gut; it feels like he should know him, but from what, he can’t quite place.

The man’s left ear is pierced through twice, two identical gold hoops looped through the skin. And just beneath his ear he has a small mark. A tattoo. Steve isn’t quite close enough to make out just what it’s of. He squints his eyes and nearly takes a step closer to take a proper look, but catches himself before he does.

It’s then that Steve realizes that he’s been staring, borderline ogling, for much longer than is appropriate, too. His cheeks warm as he averts his eyes to the ground. But rather than the cobblestone path below, his gaze falls to the man’s feet.

Flared brown boots cover those feet, rising up nearly to his knees. They’re old looking, worn and well-purposed, but still sturdy, even after countless strops though mud and water and sand and all sorts of other rough terrains. Beneath the boots, his stalwart calves and strong thighs are encased in rough-hewn black breeches, tight, yet functional.

Steve’s eyes stray further up, despite his best efforts. 

The man wears a thick brown leather belt, layered with a silken red cloth and an even thinner black belt, this one scaled like a dragon, with a shiny gold buckle. It sits around his waist, atop an open black vest that accentuates his slim figure. His blouse beneath is a deep wine red, made from a gauzy looking material that clings to his skin. Steve imagines that if it were to get wet it would be absolutely sinful. The neck of it is rather plunging, too, exposing the man’s collarbones, and the corner of another tattoo on his chest. 

And there, above his heart and to the right, in the very center, hangs a pendant — some sort of serpentine creature with wings, gaudy and golden and absolutely eye-catching.

Steve feels a little hot under the collar, taking it all in. He has to look away.

The man makes an amused humming sort of noise. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” He drawls, flicking both eyebrows up at once. A lazy grin unfurls across his full lips, and he practically drapes himself over the rock behind him.

The position puts his whole body even further on display, in an entirely new way this time, and looking away is futile now. Steve’s eyes are heedlessly drawn back to it, raking over every inch. It feels… dangerous, to be looking this much, this long, but he can’t help it.

The man lifts a hand to examine his black varnished nails, an air of boredom to the action. His fingers are adorned with chunky silver rings that glint in the mid-afternoon sunlight. Casually, he pulls a dagger from its hiding place amongst the belts and uses the sharp tip to pick at one of his nails.

Idly, he starts to whistle — a low, warbling tune that has an almost menacing edge to it.

It, too, strikes a chord of remembrance in Steve, and he wracks his brain trying to think of where he’s heard it. And then it hits him.

“You’re a pirate!” He gasps out. It sounds scandalized, when he says it, though, really, he isn’t scandalized at all. He doesn’t find himself very afraid, either, though he knows he should be. Instead, he’s just intrigued.

The man snickers. “Very good, sweetheart,” he commends, tucking the dagger away again. He brushes his knuckles against his shirt. “What gave it away?”

Steve frowns. “What are you doing here? Where’s your ship?”

“What am I doing here?” The man repeats. Laughs this breezy little thing. “I’m meant to be taking you prisoner, actually,” he tells Steve.

“Take me— prisoner?” Steve repeats, shock coloring his tone. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Oh, yes,” the man replies, pushing himself off of the rock. He starts to circle Steve. “I’m meant to be snatching you up— well, that’s the interpretation of it, anyways. All they said was that I needed to deal with you, and, really, that’s so vague.”

He starts to circle Steve, slinking around him slowly, purposefully. His voice carries as he does. “Pirates are supposed to be unscrupulous, though, aren’t they? What with all the threatening and the stealing and the killing and the like. I figured it only makes sense that I take you.”

Steve has a million questions — like who the hell is they? And what do they want with him? And why did they send a pirate to do their dirty work?

Instead, what comes out is, “I guess that would make sense.”

He folds his arms over his chest, just for something to do with them, and then a thought surfaces to the forefront of his brain.

A crease forms between his eyebrows, and his lower lip pushes out into a contemplative pout as he mulls it over. “But what if—” he starts. Pauses. Cuts himself off like he won’t dare finish the thought.

Only it’s too enticing, too tempting not to. 

“What if you didn’t take me?”

The man comes to a stop right in front of Steve. He’s close, much closer than anyone would normally be comfortable with, but Steve doesn’t care. If anything, he has to refrain from curling his fingers into that necklace and using it to leverage him even closer.

Steve looks into the man’s dark eyes. Big, endless, easy to lose himself to. But he doesn’t. He meets them head on, unwavering with his gaze, as if he’s challenging him.

“Sweetheart,” the man starts, dripping with condescension. He raises a hand and flattens it against the rock behind Steve, boxing him in. Another wry chuckle tumbles past his lips. “I don’t think you get it,” he says. “I have an order. I need to follow it.”

Steve just his chin up, defiant. “I don’t think you get it,” he returns, poking the man in the chest, much to his astonishment.

“What if you didn’t take me,” Steve repeats slowly, putting emphasis on his meaning. “But what if I… went with you anyways?”

It takes a moment for the words to properly sink in, but when they do, a slow spreading surprise settles over the man’s face. “Oh,” he says, sounding pleased. His lips curl back into a grin that bares his teeth. “How rebellious of you,” he tuts.

“You say rebellious, I say free-thinking,” Steve replies, brushing him off.

The man’s smirk grows, but he doesn’t accept the proposition. Not yet. Instead, he watches Steve carefully, like he expects his bravado to fall away any second now and for Steve to renege. 

But Steve holds his ground. He’s not taking it back. He’s not chickening out. In fact, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

He’s going to go with this man.

Finally, the man relents. “If that’s what you want,” he says.

“It is,” Steve replies, without hesitation.

The man gives a firm nod, and without another word, he turns on his heel and starts to briskly walk away.

Steve scrambles to follow him, out through the opening of the rocks and across the open courtyard that leads towards the port. He glances behind him every so often to make sure that he hasn’t been spotted or followed by any of the partygoers. By any of his family. 

But each time he looks, there’s no one.

He doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or thrilled by that.

The further he gets from the party, though, the easier it gets to breathe. Like the noose around his neck loosens with each step. That almost makes him want to laugh, considering his choice here would earn him a real one, permanently.

Ships line the port, when they finally make it to the water’s edge. Great big ones, with hulking hulls and dozens of ballooning sails. There are at least four, anchored in the bay, but none of them stick out to Steve as a pirate ship. Not that Steve’s ever actually seen a pirate ship before. He’s only heard tales. Still, he expected that they’d be distinct.

The man approaches one of the ships, and he doesn’t hesitate before tromping up the shoddy wooden gangway and stepping foot onto the polished deck. His hands slide onto his hips and he casts a wide glance around. He takes in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, his whole body relaxing as he does. Like he’s finally home.

He turns then, back towards Steve and offers out his hand.

Steve looks down at it, then back up at the man.

“I’m Steve,” he says, taking it. The man’s palm is rough against Steve’s, but it’s warm too. It feels nice.

The man laughs. “I know,” he says. “And I’m—”

It’s then that Steve notices it. It’s subtle, in the sense that it’s just the one detail. But that detail itself is anything but. Just past the man’s head, right in the center of the biggest sail, a red devil. Pointed horns protruding from its skull, wicked yellow eyes, razor sharp teeth. 

It is unmistakable.

“You’re Eddie Munson,” Steve says, recognition finally hitting. And, jesus christ, he feels so stupid for not realizing sooner. The most notorious pirate in all of the seven seas — how could he have forgotten?

“That I am,” Eddie muses. Then he uses his grip on Steve’s hand to pull him the rest of the way onboard.

It tightens, and he doesn’t let go right away, like maybe he thinks Steve will try and make a run for it now that he knows who he is. 

But Steve doesn’t. He stands his ground, holds Eddie’s gaze steady.

Something zings up Steve’s spine as Eddie’s big eyes bore back into his own, and he thinks briefly to himself that whatever he’s gotten himself into here, it’s going to be well worth it. He’s in for the adventure of a lifetime here.

Eddie drops his hand then, and a slow grin, just as devilish as his flag unfurls across his pretty lips. He flourishes one of his own hands out around him.

“Steve Harrington,” he practically purrs. “Welcome to Hellfire.”

[aheathen-conceivably]

🌻 rosella !! i miss her sm and i just know she'd be the best auntie if she were still here 😔 she lived she served cunt then she DIED

🌻: OC in something from the 70s

Nonny, dearest, this ask brought me such joy, and I do hope she's serving enough cunt in the 1970s to live up to your standards...

Yes, she is vacationing in the Riviera with Halston, and yes, she said the musical vibes of that night's party are mandatory for you as well....💵🎶

[wheredidalltheusersgo]

Bridgeoff wedding!!!

[oshisanbignaturals]

hi does anyone remember that one bapc x enstars piece i drew like a year ago 😁😁 i made a comic based on it, took a break n then completely forgot abt it until today. its not fully rendered but there was such a long period of time between me closing the mdp file n opening it again that i completely forgot what i wanted to add 💀 in any case i hope maybe u guys could enjoy this as much as i enjoyed making this :3

[boxwinebaddie]

i regret to inform y’all that if you thought jersey’s favorite movie was something deep and complex…it’s actually mamma mia and mamma mia two: here we go again

[heybiji]

It devastates me to know that Ruth and Tony are divorced and I barely know them, so I feel you, haha

if we all hold a piece of the devastation it will be a lighter load

[weezerlvr228]

Blast Off! Performed live in San Diego last fall! 🫶

[sforzesco]

To begin with, your blog is AMAZING, WONDERFUL AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH😭

You are the main source of my late Roman Republic hyperfixation and I am GRATEFUL.

In one of your post you've mentioned that you have a crassus sulla playlist and since then I can't stop thinking about it. Can you pls tell what music you associate with these guys??

my top three songs for Crassus and Sulla are Hatef—k by the Bravery, Obsession by OK Go, and Seven Nation Army by the White Stripes! sometimes syudou’s In The Backroom when I’m thinking about those moments of Sullan style violence you see Crassus inflict, LUCY’s Boogie Man when I’m more focused on Sulla’s point of view. more abstractly, Daniel Licht’s Corvo Trailer & Polyphia’s Playing God. Anson Lo’s Money to zero in on specific themes!

and ABBA’S Lay All Your Love on Me, ofc!

shoutout to U-Know’s Thank U and Vuja De which also appear on my Sulla-Pompey & Sulla-Caesar track lists as well!

[fullmusicbardsquared]

guys,s. my computer autoplayed born under punches on here when I was listening to abba on spotify. and it was real;ly awesome and really awful. I wish I could make a recording of the same thing intentionally so you could all experience it with me. like HOLY SHIT.

[oblivious-idiot]

music artists i think lockwood and co would listen to

lockwood - he gives me 80s alt vibes yk? mainly those songs full of feels but he'd 100% blast out abba or wham!

the cure, kate bush, the smiths, queen, david bowie, elton john, tears for fears, u2, the cranberries, the police, the front bottoms, abba, wham!

lucy - she's definitely 00s/10s indie i think but also 80s alt like lockwood (i'm blaming @wellgoslowly and @ikeasupremacy for the au they came up with)

arctic monkeys, regina spektor, coldplay (specifically the parachutes album), adam melchor, wallows, the cranberries, radiohead, the police, her's, the crane wives, sam fender

george - i feel like he'd be the kinda guy to listen to soft 60s/70s/80s music while cooking

the mamas and the papas, simon and garfunkel, fleetwood mac, lemon demon, oingo boingo (weird science - for those skull experiments), abba, prince

kipps (special mention) - all i can imagine him listening to is 10s/20s soft indie lmao

cavetown, billie eilish, phoebe bridgers, her's, lizzie mcalpine, sufjan stevens, dodie, peter mcpoland, hozier