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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 2 years ago

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Is anyone else occasionally sort of nostalgic for early in the pandemic? I realize that might just be me taking my usual tendency toward nostalgia to ridiculous degrees. But I’ve heard a few other people talk about this before, so I know it’s not just me. Not people I know, or anything – no one I know has any idea why I’d feel this way, which is sort of part of the problem. I’ve heard a couple of comedians talk about it. And I hope this goes without saying, obviously I don’t literally want to return to an earlier point in the pandemic. Nostalgia paints a rosier picture than the one that actually existed, and obviously it’s incredibly self-centric to feel this way, because millions and millions of people around the globe had horrifying experiences that I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

But. Okay, before the pandemic, for pretty much all my life, I felt out of step with other people. Your run of the mill level of autistic-related out of step. Didn’t understand people, they didn’t understand me, by high school I managed to find a community of people where everyone so outside normal society that they accepted me anyway and just sort of went along with my quirks, I hung on to that community for the next fifteen years, it was fine. Things were a little off, but they sort of worked out.

And now, I feel a gulf between myself and others that seems wider than anything I’d felt since before high school, since before I really communicated with anyone. I’m never on the same page as anyone else. Everyone else returned to the world in the wake of COVID ages before I did, so they’re all on a different timeline from me, things that seem new and scary to me are things they got through a year or more ago. And they returned so much faster than me, with so much less fear. They’ve all just moved on like the world hasn’t changed. And I know that maybe they’re just pretending it’s okay, same as I try to do, but this also applies to my close friends, whom I’ve talked to honestly about it, and there’s just such a gap between the way we experience things. I feel like I’ve come back into a world that’s wildly changed in my absence and that I now understand less than ever did.

Also, I can’t let shit go. Everything that got said during the pandemic, all the adults who are in positions of influence over children and teenagers and used their social media promote COVID conspiracies. All the people who illegally kept gathering all through the pandemic, and bragged about it, and now we’re supposed to just go back to seeing them as fun friendly rivals. All the people who drove to my own neighbourhood only a year ago to stand literally outside my fucking bedroom window with “No mandate” signs to fight for their right to kill everyone’s grandmother. I don’t know how to let go of the anger about that and see anything that they’re involved in as fun again.

I really love this Tweet:

Because that’s how it feels, like it isn’t fun anymore. People I used to dislike because they were dicks, I now dislike because they came to my home and tried to destroy my neighbourhood in the name of freedom to ruin the world. It’s not fucking fun to beat them in a fun game anymore. I have, however, started referring to several world-ruining people I know as “aforementioned lizard”, and that does make me laugh.

But there was a point in the middle, in between the pre-COVID time and whatever’s happening now, when I felt more connected to the world than I ever had. Like everyone was on the same page, more than I’d ever experienced before. Everyone was indoors, everyone was doing the same thing, experiencing the same struggles (obviously they weren’t, I’m ridiculously lucky that I wasn’t trying to take care of kids during the pandemic, that I had a job I could easily do from home so I didn’t lose my income, that while I did lose a good friend tragically in 2021, none of my loved ones became seriously ill with COVID - but it felt like everyone was in the same boat).

And I know it’s ridiculous to be nostalgic for that time – I actually have a way to go back and see how I was doing then, because I started this blog in August 2020. And I know I made posts on this blog in its first year or so that make it clear things were not going well. I desperately missed my life. But I was also looking forward to my life coming back, just the way I’d left it. That’s what I miss, that’s what I’m nostalgic for. The time when I was looking forward to that, because I hadn’t yet learned that it wouldn’t happen that way.

Anyway. The thing that got me writing this post isn’t nearly as dark as that. Well, I guess it is dark, but it isn’t nearly as dramatic as that. Does anyone else remember those couple of YouTube songs that went viral in late 2020/early 2021, by this guy calling himself Thomas Benjamin Wild Esq? I don’t know who he is. He’s British and he writes comedy songs, so I guess he’s technically a British comedian, but I’ve never heard of him outside this small number of songs he put up on YouTube. But he put them up at that point in the pandemic, the point where that messed up and misplaced nostalgia fits for me. They were timely and funny.

I spent a fair bit of late 2020/early 2021 staying at my parents’ place, because my mother was across the country taking care of her parents, and my dad was alone in the house, and got lonely during lockdown. And when lockdown was lifted, he still didn’t go anywhere except work, and when he was at work, the cats were alone all day, which wasn’t great. And I liked my dad, and got along with him, which is more than I can say for my roommate, so if I was going to be locked in the house for months anyway (which I was, I didn’t have any non-essential social contact during the pre-vaccination era of COVID, whether lockdowns were officially mandated or not), it may as well be with someone I like. So I stayed there for months, working from my dad’s living room, taking care of cats all day. In the evening, my dad and I would take turns making dinner and then watch Catsdown or QI, because we have a common interest and Canadian folk music and British comedy, and those are nice things to have in common for being compatible roommates.

And then, probably more often than a doctor would advise, after we’d finished eating dinner and watching whatever we watched, my dad would go to bed, and I’d get drunk on something from my parents’ wine cabinet, like I was a teenager again (except not really, because I didn’t actually start drinking until I was 19 and no longer living in my parents’ house). I’d watch Taskmaster and Mock the Week and 8 Out of 10 Cats and Amstell-era Buzzcocks, and make posts on this blog about how much I missed real life and how Britcom was getting me through this temporary break from reality. And I often listened to those few weird songs that were sort of viral at the time by this Thomas Benjamin person.

Anyway, he appears to have recently put up a couple of new things, which has put his old stuff back into my YouTube recommendations again. Which is the thing that actually started me writing this post, which was not meant to be all that dramatic. The point of this post was supposed to be: “Remember the funny songs by that guy that hit just right at that specific time and are so tied to that time that they give me a weird and ill-advised nostalgia for like December 2020″?

I know exactly how long ago I was into those songs - it was before Taskmaster season 10 had finished. I know because I took one of those songs, and used it as the background in a Taskmaster video I made in fall 2020, that used only clips from seasons 1-9, because I’m pretty sure season 10 had only just started at the time:

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It’s worth seeing the actual video, though:

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I think that went went viral during COVID because, you know, it was relevant. But it was written a while before it. While this one was actually written during and about lockdown:

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And this one was also written specifically for that time period, in the YouTube description as: “dedicated to those out there who still refuse to wear a mask in public places”. Set to the Monty Python’s Flying Circus theme song (yes I realize it wasn’t originally the Monty Python’s Flying Circus theme song, but you can’t expect us to see it anything else by now):

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Anyway, I’ve just learned he has a bunch of songs I did not previously know about that I’m going to get into now, sometimes the YouTube algorithm gets it right by reminding me of things like this.

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piastrinorris · 2 years ago

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first off, congratulations on your milestone. I'm so happy for you, and I'm obsessed with this carnival theme!

I'll take a hall of mirrors please🪞💕 - I am the literal worst at talking about myself, but hopefully I paint a good enough picture of myself for this.

I work in a library where I design book displays, trivia games, and escape rooms, and I run a DnD club where I am the DM but I'm still learning so I'm kinda terrible at it lol

I'm a big musical theater nerd, a reader and writer (duh lol), and a book hoarder. Sometimes, I act in plays and musicals, but I also have horrible stage fright, hate being the center of attention, and can't easily speak in front of large groups of people to save my life. I am aware it makes no sense. I'm also big on all forms of sewing type crafts (cross stitch, embroidery, crochet, plushie making, etc). I just really like keeping my hands busy.

I am the kind of person who loves discovering new media, but when I find something that I really enjoy, I will watch the same movie over and over again, listen to the same album on repeat for months at a time, rewatch the same shows again because I like what I like.

My favorite piece of clothing is this very flowy black dress patterned with sunflowers, and it makes me feel beautiful. I have a mood ring that I wear every day that I will admit I only started wearing because it looked like one of Eddie's rings, but now I feel naked if I forget to put it on before I leave the house.

I'm unintentionally loud, a fierce protector of my friends, and a hopeless romantic.

Please take this info dump of probably unhelpful information and put my dumb ass into the narrative lol

not me reading all this intensely as if i don't already know all of this about you lmfao though you missed out the bit where that dress is also eduardo's favourite 😉

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ 2k follower celebration event ongoing! ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

okay so, not to just copy and paste one thing about you into it lol, but i do think you'd work at the hawkins library, too. eddie had practically begged you to take it once you both graduate, anyway, since he can't exactly keep running sessions from the school now he's left, and it's not like people use that conference room in the back, you could just let him keep his throne there, right?

you'd always wished you could have been more than just a sub for hellfire stuff, you always had fun playing with the party and they were forever inviting your character to join bonus oneshots, but theater always took up too much of your time to commit to d&d full-time. the only downside to getting the library job is that now that consumes all your time, so you still never really get to join any campaigns. eddie'll still visit between sessions to plan, though, and he's forever bending your ear for inspiration.

once eddie gets a job, he doesn't have time to get to the school in time, pick up the kids AND get to the library quick enough to get a good session in. so he relies on his ol' pal steve to play chauffeur so he can meet his party there. steve doesn't even question that there's another person in his car every week that he's never met, let alone spoken to. he hears the name gareth get thrown around, but he assumes that's part of the game, he doesn't believe that name really exists.

steve doesn't know what to do with himself while they play, and since you're the only one within 30 years of his age range, he pretty much hangs off of you. he's useful to keep around, though; he can carry way more than you, he's happy to fetch you stuff, and he can reach up to put things on higher shelves with ease - in fact, after seeing the makeshift way you pile things up to reach those shelves, he insists. As payment for being your little assistant, you'll make him little thank-you gifts - a woven bracelet here, an ewok plushie there. but, since his love language is acts of service, he always retaliates by trying to do even more while he's at work. meaning you feel more obligated to make him stuff to show your appreciation for all this extra effort. which makes him believe he's gotta do more to earn all those extra gifts. he gets the message eventually, though.

#anna 💙#*2kcelebration #fic: steve h

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anatomic-adoration · 6 months ago

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6/12/24

The plant didn't make it. I tried, I really did! I did a bunch of research, then when that didn't work I did more, and still nothing! Underwatering made roots start growing from the body(??) so I messaged an old friend from high school who said to add water and to pull out the new roots. That was... it was dead within a day. A day!

Despite that, I still have it in the window sill. A part of me is hoping I'm wrong about it dying. Seasonal plants are a thing, right? I bought it at the turning of the seasons, so maybe it was just bad timing. Tomorrow I'm going to go back to the shop with a picture of it to see if someone who actually works with plants has any insight.

On the bright side (literally) it's been gorgeous out. The warmer it gets the more energy I have! I've been walking to class and it's done wonders for my mental health. I wish lab could be outside too. Speaking of being outside, I've been out so much that I've got a few "regulars" I see like clockwork. There's this woman who's outside at 8pm gardening who I always say hi to, this couple (I'm assuming) who are always wearing matching hats and sunglasses no matter how sunny it is, and there's this person who I see walking in the opposite direction of me every time no matter where I see them. It's funny, I've been living over here for a couple years, but it isn't until now that I'm really feeling like I'm getting to know the area and the people.

We're all creatures of habit. Familiar schedules, familiar routes, and familiar neighbors (though I use the term to loosely describe anyone within around a five mile radius haha). There's something so charming about seeing people be themselves and live their individual lives.

Admittedly I've gotten a bit attached to the people I see. I've gone a bit out of my way- just a bit- out of curiosity about what they're up to. Mostly they're just on a normal walk, same as me, but sometimes they're going somewhere with intention.

By far the person I've seen the most is that guy from the coffee shop. We must have really similar taste and schedules! The poor guy probably thinks I've been following him with how much our paths have crossed. Because of that I've been trying to keep my distance so it doesn't look like I'm deliberately following him. I guess I kinda am, but I don't know; something about him just intrigues me. Maybe it's the juxtaposition of being punk while still clearly having anxiety? I don't just mean his body language (though the tense shoulders and the way his eyes flick about at small noises and movements is a dead giveaway). It's more the fact he looks simultaneously young and old. Not that I've looked that closely, but in the few times I've seen him up close the type of exhaustion that usually only comes from age is painted clear as day all over his face. I know I'm rambling, but there's just something that's making him stand out from the other people I've seen lately. He doesn't quite fit in, but why? Maybe the heat is getting to me. I need to occupy myself with something else before I keep myself up needlessly ruminating.

#journal entry 7

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sammichbreadalmighty · 6 months ago

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Oh my Jesus Christ, how fucking hard does it need to be to stretch an image on a goddamn iPhone. All I wanted to do was stretch a goddamn picture so that it had that funny overstretched effect so I could add it to a meme I was making. And if I was doing this shit on a computer or something, I could have just copy and pasted it into Ms paint or whatever the hell, stretched it, then copy and pasted it back out into where I wanted it. Hell I’m pretty sure you can stretch images from just the photos app if you’re on windows. BUT NOT FUCKING APPLE. NOOOOO OF COURSE FUCKING NOT!!!!!! THAT WOULD BE STUPID!!!! THAT WOULD BE SIMPLY FUCKING PREPOSTEROUS!!!!!!!! My first thought was to try and adjust the aspect ratio to something slimmer, BUUUUUUUT it doesn’t stretch to fit like it would in any other goddamn software it just crops it and fucking zooms in. So I look this shit up and it basically says I need a third party app. WHY THE FUCK DO I NEED A THIRD PARTY APP FOR SUCH A BASIC GODDAMN FEATURE THATS BUILT IN TO SO MANY OTHER GODDAMN OPERATING SOFTWARES YOU PIECE OF SHIT APPLE. And now, I’m not gonna go into why I can’t really download other apps, because tumblr doesn’t need to know my living situation, but let me just say, I can’t. Not at the moment at least. But whether or not I can or can’t download other apps is mostly irrelevant to this because it is such a fucking basic and fundamental feature like Jesus Christ. So like I’ve been trying to find a pre-installed app that lets me do those things that could have been done in literally five goddamn seconds had I had access to a computer of any fucking type. I go into the notes app, keynote, even fucking pages. WHO THE FUCK HAS EVER USED PAGES IN THEIR LIFE?!?!?!?!?????? And like I was so excited when I saw in the pages app that no one has ever used in their goddamn life, that there appeared around the image 4 circles that were in the middle of the top edge of the image, bottom edge, left edge, and right edge. Because in any CIVILISED EDITING SOFTWARE those are used to squish and stretch the image. But NOOOO. This is apple we’re talking about. This is the fucking Wild West motherfuckers. It wasn’t used to stretch or squash the image, it was used to FUCKING CROP THE DAMN THING. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE AT APPLE??!???!?!????!???? Like I still can’t believe that they don’t have this feature fucking built in?!?!??! Like JUST LET ME STRETCH THE FUNNY IMAGE OF SUSIE DELTARUNE SO SHE LOOKS FUNNY WHEN I EDIT HER INTO AN IMAGE YOU STUPID PEICE OF SHIT. WHOEVER DESIGNED THIS SHIT TO WHERE YOU NEED TO DOWNLOAD A THIRD PARTY APP TO STRETCH A FUCKING IMAGE, I HOPE YOU BURN IN HELL. I HOPE YOU GET UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT HUNGRY AS FUCK WITH NO WAY OF FEEDING YOUR HUNGER. AND AS YOU WALK THEOUGH YOUR HOUSE LOOKING FOR FOOD YOU STEP ON LEGOS, MAKING YOU STUMBLE FORWARD AND STUB YOUR GODDAMN TOES. I WISH THAT THE ONLY FOOD IN THE HOUSE IS EXPIRED. I WISH THAT YOU ARE SO HUNGRY THAT YOU CAVE INTO EATING THE EXPIRED FOOD AND THAT IT GIVES YOU FOOD POISONING FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT. THATS WHAT I FUCKING WISH HAPPENS TO YOU EVERY. GODDAMN. NIGHT. BECAUSE THIS SHIT IS EVEN MORE FUCKING STUPID THAN THE IPAD NOT HAVING A FUCKONG CALCULATOR APP. FUCK YOU.

#iphone #apple #image #stretch #apple if you are reading this all of this is satiracle pls don’t hurt me I have a family #susie deltarune #I will give you a slice of bread if you can prove that you legitimately use the pages app #pages app #app #photos

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taylorbuggtaylortot · 1 year ago

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I can’t even tell you how I feel because I don’t know how to say it without a pen or a page

I can’t even say what I’m thinking cause I’m always thinking of things too late

And all I know is I wanna scream out loud

But I can’t so I push it down

I gotta be alright

Yeah I gotta be okay

I can’t let them know so I push them away

Cause what does it mean if I can’t pour my heart out

I don’t want to be dramatic or misunderstood now

But if I keep it to myself

I can’t deal with all this hell

I know I’m mentally unwell

But I just can’t get help

But I stopped filling the void and I’ve been dealing with my emotions

But I still feel alone

And Wanna mix up all the potions

And I’m too broken to be ready for something like love

And I can’t be myself to the one that I really trust

I thought attention was love but love is respect

And now I have neither

Cause no one here is left

To hold a conversation or listen to the pain

And everyday I feel the same but I still fight for a change

Still Im at the end of my line

I need a shoulder sometimes

I need a friend not a guy

Some one who just doesn’t lie

I wish you would look me in the face and tell me that im safe but I gotta do that for me but right now I feel weak and afraid

Don’t choose now to hold your tongue

I trust you more than anyone

And I’ve been feeling so undone

And though you could be the one

Im sick of playing pretend

I got a whole heart to mend

And im not ready for love but yet my heart don’t listen

I look at you and I see strength to pull me through the day

Please don’t give up on me

I’m tryin to give you some faith

Narcissists will literally be a terrible person and have to deal with the consequences of their actions and still try to paint a picture of why you should feel sorry for them and nurse them back to health, and they say they’re sorry (just like they have a million times without enforcing changed behavior) just to trick you into rescuing them like you used to.

What I want to say to a narcissist:

1) if it’s mother fuck me then it’s mother fuck you

2) if you gonna do you, I’m gonna do me, and trust me honey.. I can do me very well

3) well well well, If it isn’t the consequences of your own actions

4) weird how you actually did terrible things to deserve what you’re dealing with, and I got all that and more even though I stayed doing right by you

5) stay strong like I had to. Keep your composure like I had to. Carry on like I had to. Be alone like I had to.

6) I no longer trust you so giving you any information to aid you in continuing your behavior successfully is off limits because helping you is no longer my concern or business

7) weird how now you’re having to eat the consequences of your actions and you can’t even stomach it. Literally. But when I was getting force fed that shit, it didn’t matter. I was supposed to swallow it down with a smile on my face no matter how much I was dying inside.

8)It’s my turn to not give af about you. You threw all trust and safety that I felt with you out the window, and you expect me to just look at you the same? You have no rights to me or my space. You’re a snake who lies to make themselves look like the victim even though there’s a reason why nobody wants to help you anymore. You don’t truly appreciate the people in your life, they’re props to you in order to alleviate your wants and needs, so you chew them up and spit them out but act like you love them with your whole heart and try to ruin their character behind closed doors. Real life coward shit.

9)When you get caught doing the shit you sorry for, have the same amount of remorse you had while you were doing it.

Yeah, being responsible for making a shitty decision sucks. Yes, you got caught. That must completely and utterly suck for you. You poor poor baby.

Sike…

Swallow that the same way I had to. Only sorry you dealing with repercussions, nothing more; nothing less. Be strong now baby. I’m out.

10)🤡Narcissist Alert🤡

You gonna need me and I ain’t gonna be there. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Just remember: you did that.

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mountain-in-springtime · 2 years ago

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Tag Game To Better Know You! Send this to people you'd like to know better!

thanks to my dear darling syd @samkooszka for tagging me! love you <333

(i've done this post before, but ik the trend is going around again, and some of the questions are slightly different on this one. also some of my answers have changed, so i'm just going to redo it!)

what book are you currently reading?

i'm currently reading john denver's autobiography, but i haven't been able to read that much lately because of school and because i've been reading fanfic instead

what do you usually wear?

when i'm just hanging out around the house i wear a t shirt and yoga pants (or a hawaiian shirt and shorts if it's the summertime), and when i go shopping or to class i'll wear jeans or tights with graphic tee and a cardigan.

how tall are you?

i'm 5'3"!

what's your star sign? do you share a birthday with a celebrity or historical event?

i'm a pisces! i share a birthday with johnny cash, fats domino, and victor hugo, which is pretty cool ig.

do you go by your name or a nickname?

i go by my full name (mallorie) and mal interchangeably.

did you grow up to become what you wanted to be as a child?

i think i grew up to be the kind of person i wanted to be personality-wise, but considering that i wanted to be a vet or an actor/singer, i definitely didn't become what i wanted to be career-wise lol.

what is something you're good at vs. something you're bad at?

i'm good at most creative/artsy things and i'm really good in academics, but i'm absolutely terrible at anything atheltic.

if you draw/write, or create in any way, what's your favorite picture/favorite line/favorite etc. from something you created this year?

considering the year just started, i haven't really made much art, but i did make a painting of george harrison last year that i am particularly proud of!

dogs or cats?

i have both so i feel like my only answer can be both

what's something you would like to create content for?

omg literally any fandom i'm in. i'd really love to start putting out fanart and possibly even some fanfic for gvf, stranger things, the beatles, and like a million other fandoms.

what's something you're currently obsessed with?

i feel like i could list things forever, but right now i'm obsessed with gvf, the beatles, 80s new wave, horror films, john denver, seinfeld, and the simpsons, among a million other things.

what's something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year?

again, since the year just started i'm a little short for answers, but i just started taking film classes, and they're not disappointing but definitely different than i expected. i also recently watched barbarian, which i was excited for, and i didn't think it was as good as everyone said it would be, so i suppose that was disappointing.

what's a hidden talent of yours?

i'm pretty good at doing voice impressions!

what's something that you wish to have at this moment?

happiness, peace, love, and a boyfriend

i'm tagging my darlings @allieisacrybaby @gretasmokerising and @bowievanfleet (i tried to tag people i hadn't seen tagged yet and that i didn't tag last time. sorry if you've already been tagged! also if you aren't tagged but want to do this, go for it!)

#this was literally so fun #i love doing trends like this #also thanks again to syd for the tag <3

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carolmunson · 1 year ago

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HERE WE GOOOO:

He holds up the Soundgarden CD before using his teeth to rip open the cellophane covering the plastic case.

Shut up that's so him to use his teeth.

His face softens. “You’re a doll.”

I'm gonna lose my mind.

"Listen to this transition," he insists, his voice filled with the same awe that it always does when he talks about music, "The shift from acoustic to electric guitar is seamless." “I wish I could hear it the way you do.”

Why did this innocent exchange already inform me that I'm going to be sad about this entry.

“It’s lyrics that hook you. You’ve always got so many words floating around in that big brain of yours.”

GOD.

“Just stay here with me tonight, okay?” Rolling to your side, you wrap your hand across his chest, offering him the only protection that you can. “Yeah, okay.”

Don't even LOOK AT ME RIGHT NOW.

Unknown: I admit last night could have gone better. Let me make it up to you. Coffee? After tapping in your passcode, you open the message app to reply. You: Wrong number

This is me coded.

His shoulders slump as he looks across to the cherry built-in shelves holding the rows of tailored suits hung by progression of color. “You always look beautiful.”

God I love my hot sexy brooding hulking husband, also.

“How else am I going to keep spoiling you?” He stands, dropping the towel and picking up the black Tom Ford boxer briefs he set out before his shower.

The pain I was feeling before? Currently healed. I am team Steve for now.

Unknown: Nice try, doll. Robin gave me your number.

I am wavering.

“What do you have going on today?” The well-defined muscles of his sculpted shoulders, earned from never skipping a day at the gym, flex before disappearing into his shirt sleeves.

Nope, still team Steve.

He possesses zero patience, holds a disdain for people, and dismisses any music created after 1978.

Every man in my family.

"Well, it's time to get reacquainted. I want a series chronicling the opening of CursedSound Recordings, and I want you to write it."

UGH. I audibly groaned.

“Give it to Miles.” “I’m giving it to you. Morales is busy with–”

I see you there, hehehe.

The mention of Steve’s name sets your teeth on edge. He hadn't breathed a word about this assignment earlier, and now he's reaching out to Hopper, painting a picture as if you're disrespecting your editor and exploiting your personal connections to secure a story.

OMG! LITTLE SNEAK!

The crystal blue of the cassette is dulled behind the transparent black window, but you can still make out the handwriting on the yellowed label. For when you miss me. “Did you ever listen?” Everyday.

There are tears in my eyes right now. I literally have goosebumps.

“You’re moody,” he accuses, leaning closer to your ear to be heard over music. “No, I’m not.” “It’s true,” he shakes his head. “You’re moody. Moody dick.”

LMAO Argyle is really my MVP here. I love him.

“Now we're here, with my future baby mama killing it on stage, and you’re sucking all the energy out of the room.”

He would be SO down bad for Santi.

His face turns serious as he explains, “It’s like surfing. We all want that wave that’s just out of reach. Especially if someone else is riding it.” “How did you get so wise?” You ask. “I don’t know. Must be all the weed,” he says with a hand on your shoulder, turning you toward the bar. “Let’s go get another drink.”

JELLLYYYY YOUR MIND. I'm literally losing it. He's so funny, perfect characterization for his character in a more modern setting. I'm obsessed.

“The content Stax puts out is directly under my approval, just like Metro and the Newsdesk and every other division.” His voice, which has been steady and even until now, begins to rise, “I’m not going to call you and ask for permission every time I make a decision. Eddie and I have kept in touch. How do you think we landed that interview with Radiohead last year when they wouldn’t even sit down with Rolling Stone?"

Big boss Steve is so fine I am chewing on glass.

.“But I'll tell you one more thing—you are going to write this story.” He waves a hand toward the bathroom. “Now, go wash your face.”

Don't yell at me, but also like...keep yelling at me.

He places a final tender kiss on your temple, his eyes closing as his features turn peaceful. But for you, even in this stillness, another song lingers in your mind, its lyrics echoing like a secret.

I know I'm not going to survive this. I already miss my music afficionado boyfriend. I already need him. I already love him. You can literally feel the slight pull reader has whenever she talks to him or is near him -- it's so buzzy. And even though she loves Steve there's such a SLIGHT -- SLIGHT disconnect that doesn't flow as well with him as it does with Eddie.

I am literally SO excited for the next chapter, I want to eat this story like a three course dinner.

Torn | Song 2 | Masterlist

Twelve years after Eddie Munson broke your heart for a life on the road with nothing but a mixtape as a goodbye, you finally feel like you have two feet on the ground. Engaged to Steve Harrington with the career of your dreams it feels like you’re going to have your happily ever after, but what happens when the boy that broke your heart comes back as a man with a revelation that changes everything?

TW: Femreader, Love🔺️, Smut, Mentions of DV, 18+ No minors WC:6558 beta'd by @superblysubpar

Plink.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

The old wooden frame of your window groans against the track, burdened with too many layers of paint to make the slide smooth. The swirls of creamy pinks and oranges have faded hours ago into the star-lit summer sky. The boy is below, standing in your backyard, fist full of pea gravel taken from a neighbor's garden. A smile twisting his lips lifts his cheeks, putting dimples on full display as he looks up at you from the darkness below. You raise a finger, signaling for him to wait before you turn away. Tossing a few things in your empty backpack, you take a pillow from your bed, and your comforter is wrestled free from the mattress. With careful footsteps, you creep down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen. The light from the fridge casts a triangle across the floor as you take a few Capri Suns to add to your bag. Leaving through the slider, the end of your blanket trails behind you through the grass that was trimmed that morning. You slip off your flip-flops, leaving them beside a pair of larger, well-worn sneakers with a chain wallet tucked inside the right shoe. Eddie bounces on the trampoline, his sock-covered feet launching him into the air, arms stretched for balance. You toss everything on before climbing on with him. With a final bounce, he lands on his butt beside you, grinning.

“I got it,” you tell him, tossing the pillow behind you.

“Nah-uh.”

"My dad took me to Tower this afternoon." Rummaging in your pack, you pull out a Discman and over-the-ear headphones with the cord in a tangled mess. "I could only get two. I had to choose between Rage," you begin, ticking off album titles on your fingers, “Soundgarden, STP, and Pearl Jam.”

“And?”

Taking out the CDs, you press them against his chest, letting go as soon as his fingers go around them. His brown eyes widen as he examines what’s in his hands as you pick apart the knotted cord.

“Songs from the Vatican Gift Shop AND Down on the Upside? You haven’t even opened this one.” He holds up the Soundgarden CD before using his teeth to rip open the cellophane covering the plastic case.

“I waited for you.” You smile.

His face softens. “You’re a doll.”

He lies back, his head nestling into your pillow, hands clasped behind his head, gazing up at the sky. After putting the CD into the player, you follow him, pulling the comforter over you both and resting your head on his bicep. The headphone speakers are flipped out, tucked between you, as Chris Cornell's melancholic voice begins to seep into your ears, velvety and dark like the night itself.

"Listen to this transition," he insists, his voice filled with the same awe that it always does when he talks about music, "The shift from acoustic to electric guitar is seamless."

“I wish I could hear it the way you do.”

As you gaze skyward, a slender branch sways in perfect rhythm with the chords, green leaves fluttering with the bass. The stars multiply and shimmer as if they’re caught up in the flow of the song.

“You do,” he says, his head turning toward you, “You’re the only one I know who loves it as much as I do.” He studies your face, his eyes locking with yours. The music building until it’s too intense, and he looks away. “It’s lyrics that hook you. You’ve always got so many words floating around in that big brain of yours.”

The disc spins, and you both listen, the scent of lilacs wafting in on the breeze, and fireflies painting the sky with their gentle glow. Time passes in the slow way it only does for kids on a cool summer night.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He answers, eyes closed.

“Are they fighting again?”

He doesn’t talk about it, but everyone knows—an ugly secret festering on an otherwise picture-perfect street. No one wants to get their hands dirty by getting involved.

“Why won’t she leave him?” A simple question in a world of black and white.

“I want her to,” his adams apple bobs as he swallows, “She says she loves him.”

“Just stay here with me tonight, okay?” Rolling to your side, you wrap your hand across his chest, offering him the only protection that you can.

“Yeah, okay.”

When you wake the following morning, the songs and memories you were reacquainted with last night have faded to a dull throb–much like the martinis. But remnants of their lyrics persist, crawling under your skin, irritating like an itch, a tune hummed without the words to accompany it. Your phone’s screen lights up with an incoming text, the short burst of vibration sending it skittering across the surface of your nightstand. It takes a moment for your bleary eyes to focus on the notification on your lock screen.

Unknown: I admit last night could have gone better. Let me make it up to you. Coffee?

After tapping in your passcode, you open the message app to reply.

You: Wrong number

Darkening your screen, you let your phone slip from your hand onto the bed beside you. With a sigh, you lean back, staring at the ceiling, seeking answers that remain elusive. The scent of brewing dark roast and toasting bagels rises up the stairs with the sounds of Steve moving around the kitchen. A cup of coffee (or five) and a shower is what you need to wash away the past and leave it firmly where it belongs– in your rearview.

It's the bottom of your second cup when Steve into your massive walk-in closet with a towel wrapped around his waist, fresh from the shower, his hair still damp, the freckled skin of his chest looking golden in the soft glow of the elegant pendant lights.

“Is that what you're wearing to work?” He asks.

“Um, yeah.” You finish buckling the strap of your chunky mary-janes. “Something wrong with it?” you ask, catching sight of yourself in the mirror, dark distressed jeans and a band tee recut into a fitted v-neck.

“Of course not,” he sighs, running his hand through his hair before sitting down heavily on the leather bench. His shoulders slump as he looks across to the cherry built-in shelves holding the rows of tailored suits hung by progression of color. “You always look beautiful.”

Taking your watch from the marble top of the large center island, you wander over to where he’s seated. He hooks a finger into one of the large holes in your jeans, tugging you over to stand between his legs, his big hands wrapping around the backs of your thighs.

“Guess I’m just missing the days of wearing jeans and a jersey to work,” he says, his smile not smoothing the faint crease in his brows.

“You traded that in for a car service and a big fat paycheck,” you point out, kissing the top of his head and moving back to your side of the closet to select a blazer.

“How else am I going to keep spoiling you?” He stands, dropping the towel and picking up the black Tom Ford boxer briefs he set out before his shower.

“Steve, I don’t need all of this,” your hand sweeps in the air, gesturing to the lit shelves holding more clothes and shoes than you could ever need. “Just take me to a concert every once in a while.” Your voice trails off as notification chimes on your phone.

Unknown: Nice try, doll. Robin gave me your number.

“Can you imagine if we were still in that cramped apartment in Lincoln Park?” He scoffs, pulling on a light gray pair of suit pants. “We were tripping over all our stuff.”

Steve found the three-bedroom, three-bath brownstone on a tree-lined street in the ritzy Gold Coast neighborhood just after he got promoted from Metro, marking the beginning of his rise up the ranks in Second City Media. He spent a year and a chunk of his trust fund on a meticulous renovation before the two of you moved in. It is beautiful—large air rooms with lofty ceilings adorned with pristine white crown molding and wainscotting throughout, giving a modern but classic feel. Living with so much space is lavish in a city of this size. But you would be just as happy back on that ratty couch in Lincoln Park, drinking beer straight from the bottle and eating pizza without the fuss of plates, working on your laptop while he watched a Cubs game. Steve is driven–determined to be a success, and he is, but with the money came the stress. And it’s taking a toll.

Your finger hovers over the block button, but you press add to contacts instead. “Hey,” you change the subject, slipping your phone into your jacket pocket, “Did you ever look into that sailing charter you wanted to book out at the lake? We could do that this weekend?”

“I wish I could, Ace. I’ve got those weekend meetings about the streaming radio we're trying to launch. Pick out a tie for me?” He asks, pulling off a starched black button-up from its hanger.

“Sure.” You walk over and spin the rack holding up dozens of ties on shiny brass hooks.

“What do you have going on today?” The well-defined muscles of his sculpted shoulders, earned from never skipping a day at the gym, flex before disappearing into his shirt sleeves.

“Not a lot.” You pull the silky slip of deep maroon fabric off its hanger. “Lola is put to bed for this year. I just have an album review to finish up and a meeting with my editor today. Maybe a series on the Fall tours?” You propose, mostly to yourself, as you bring him his tie.

“Maroon, huh?” One brow raises with the question, “I would have picked black.”

“I know.” The corner of your lips turn up in a sly smile before you rise to your toes and place a kiss on his mouth, “I’m gonna go.”

“You want my driver to drop you off?” He asks, looking in the mirror and adjusting his tie.

“Nah, I’ll drive myself. Argyle and I are going to the Subterranean for drinks. Santigold is performing. Do you want to come?” You throw out, picking up your ancient army green messenger bag you can’t bear to part with, straining with the fullness of your laptop and notes.

“I’ll pass. Not really my scene.” As he fastens his gold cufflinks, they catch the gleaming light.

“You never come to shows with me,” you sigh.

“I know, I know. I’ll try and catch the next one,” he says, sliding his feet into shiny Italian leather shoes. “I’m meeting Robin for lunch. You want to join us?”

“No. I’ll let you have your girl time.” You blow him a kiss before heading out the door.

“See you tonight, okay?”

“Love you. See you tonight,” he calls after you.

Passing through rooms decorated with rich creams and calming moss greens, you yell over your shoulder, “Tell Robin I said we don’t have any more room for paintings of flowers that look like vaginas.”

“They’re a good investment,” his voice fades as you jog down your stairs, grabbing your keys from the stained-glass bowl on the table beside the door, ignoring the buzz coming from your pocket.

The world is full of cliches. Many become so ingrained that we accept them as unwavering truths. Every cloud has a silver lining. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Actions speak louder than words. A rotten apple will spoil the bunch. Don’t spit into the wind. Well, that last one is just good advice, but there is one that has stuck with you. Love what you do, and you’ll never work a day in your life. Music is your deity, and working at Stax is where you worship at its altar, spreading the Gospel of John, Paul, George, and Ringo. It’s a place where your lifelong obsession is not only validated, it’s celebrated. Your journey leading up to this point feels like destiny, like the universe conspired to harmonize your two greatest loves—the lyrical power of words and the soul-stirring magic of music. Each day within these walls is a new chord, a different tempo, and you revel in the ever-changing rhythm of your life. One spent intertwined with the music and the people that create it. The magazine's pages are your stage, your canvas, and with every keystroke, you paint the stories of the music, offering them to those who care to listen.

Without taking your eyes off your laptop screen, you reach for your coffee mug only to knock over the tittering tower of CDs that you had stacked on the corner of your cluttered desk. The plastic jewel cases meet the cement floor with a shattering crash, the noise echoing off the walls of the open industrial space that houses the offices for Stax Magazine in the heart of Fulton Market District. Clapping comes from other desks as you chase the discs rolling on their sides in all directions. Pausing, you bend into a dramatic curtsey, earning chuckles as the applause dies out. The perpetual chaos of your desk has become an ongoing punchline in the office banter. Your phone begins to ring at the same time an IM pops on your screen - both from your editor, the enigmatic J. Hopper.

“Art Garfunkel’s house of pizza,” you say by way of greeting, trying to get the CDs back in their cases and toppling a pile of mail in the process.

“Where are you? Why aren’t you here? We had a meeting at 2,” comes the gruff voice of a man who's clearly not amused.

“It’s only one forty,” you reply.

“Get your ass in here now,” he yells, disconnecting.

Hopper's bark has always been more bluster than bite. The towering, older man has been a fixture in this building since its days as a "hard-hitting" newspaper. While the city has evolved and transformed, Hopper and this old brick building have remained resolute, like an immovable rock in the ever-shifting stream of time. He possesses zero patience, holds a disdain for people, and dismisses any music created after 1978. You love him as much as your own father. He offered you a position fresh out of college when other magazines wouldn’t take a chance. He's pulled out your best work, often sending you back to your desk like a pouting child, making you the writer you are today. The wisdom he’s imparted is beyond the reach of any professor or workshop, and for that, you’ll always be grateful.

With a gentle rap of your knuckles against the frosted glass, you step into Hopper's office. He's seated behind a substantial oak desk, buried beneath a mountain of paperwork. A hint of cigar lingers in the air, though you've never been able to catch him smoking. He remains engrossed, squinting at his desktop screen with a furrowed brow. Settling into one of the vintage leather club chairs, you wait for his acknowledgment, your gaze drifting across the framed magazine covers and photographs lining the walls. One of a much younger Hopper clad in a tattered flak jacket catches your eyes. His face smeared with dirt and grit, standing amidst the ruins of a war-torn Kosovo street, a city reduced to chaos.

"Where’s my album write-up?" He asks without looking up.

"I emailed it to you before lunch," you reply, confirming on your phone.

He pushes back from his desk, propping up his feet on the edge, and offers you a soft smile from under the bushy mustache covering his lip, "How are you, kid? Everything okay? Harrington treating you, right?"

"Of course, Hop. He knows he'd have to answer to you otherwise. What about you?" You ask, leaning forward, "Is Joyce looking after you? Making sure you're watching that cholesterol?"

"Yup, she's got me eating all these organic vegetables, no booze, no smokes. Kinda takes all the fun outta life." He laces his hands behind his head, stretching out his back.

"Oh yeah, does that include that bottle hootch you got stowed in your bottom drawer?"

He sits up with a quick move, pointing his finger in your direction. "You don't know anything about that. Are we clear?"

The only one who can scare Hopper is Hopper's wife.

"I don't know. What are you going to do if I give Joyce a call? Seems to me that's something she'd want to know," you tease, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You'd be out on that sidewalk before you hung up the call. Don't test me." He shakes a finger at you, "Now, what are you pitching me?"

"Well, I'm going to a club tonight, so I'll have a live performance review. And I was thinking of a piece on the bands touring this Fall. Kind of like a road map that the readership could follow and hit all the good shows."

"Those sound good, kid, but I got a feature for you to cover." He leans forward, narrowing his eyes, "You know this Eddie Munson character?"

The blood drains from your face. "No. Not-not really," you stammer, "we're from the same town, but I haven't seen him in years."

"Well, it's time to get reacquainted. I want a series chronicling the opening of CursedSound Recordings, and I want you to write it."

A featured series is something that other journalists fight over, and usually, you'd jump at the chance, but not this time. Not this series. Not Eddie Muson.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, looking down at your lap.

“You don’t think–”

“Give it to Miles.”

“I’m giving it to you. Morales is busy with–”

“I don’t want it,” the words burst out of your mouth before you think better of it. Less than twenty-four hours after seeing Eddie, your world is spinning out of control.

Hopper's face turns to steel as he plucks the pen from behind his ear and throws it down on the desk. “I think that you’ve forgotten how this works. I give you an assignment. You write it.”

Your lips part before the protest in your brain is fully formed.

“If you’re about to tell me no again, it better be followed by a damn good reason.”

His eyes are locked on yours while he waits for a response, one brow raised in challenge.

“Listen, kid,” he picks up a stack of papers, shuffling through them as he talks, “I’ve looked into this Munson character. He has a good reputation in L.A. His name is in the credits for over half the multi-platinum releases in the last five years. And word is, his studio is booked out with big names for a year in advance.” He pauses for a moment to be sure his words sink in. “Establishing a good relationship with him is in the magazine's best interests. And what's good for the magazine is good for you. Are you hearing me?”

“Yes, Hop,” he answers for you when you remain quiet.

“Yes, Hop,” you repeat.

“Good,” he says, lacing his fingers together. "The printed word isn’t worth what it used to be. Everything's gone digital, the never-ending twenty-four-hour news cycle. The competition's cut-throat out there. Trust me, our friends over at Spectrum would eat this up for Chicago Lifestyles. Frankly, I’m surprised at you. I thought you’d be all over this. Especially since it was proposed by corporate. I figured you went around me and pitched it to Harrington directly.”

“I would never do that,” you shake your head.

"Alright then. Call Byers at Metro," Hopper instructs, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "Bring him with you. His assignment is just wrapping up."

You nod, your blood boiling and your mind racing. Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you finally reply with an outward calm, "Okay."

Hopper's eyes remained fixed on you, his brow furrowing slightly. "Now, why are you still here wasting my time? Get out."

You don’t need any more prompting. Swiftly, you rise from your seat and make your way out of Hopper's office, formulating plans to murder your fiancé.

With a heavy sigh, you sit back down at your desk. The Stax logo bounces off the edges of your laptop screen. Your phone lights up with a photo of Steve. You let it ring a few times before sending it to voicemail. A few colleagues linger nearby, mugs in hand, their idle chatter blending with the hum of printers and the rhythmic clacking of keyboards. Your to-do list sits on your desk with strike-throughs on only half the tasks, but the priority of the ones remaining isn’t enough to capture your attention.

Reaching down, you tug at the handle of your tightly packed bottom desk drawer. It sticks, protesting the overload. The bright yellow color of the Sony Sports Walkman stands out from among the other clutter. You hesitate when reaching for it, the beginnings of the ache already tightening your chest. But you can’t resist, your hand closes around it, pulling it and the headphones coiled around out from under a pile of old concert passes attached to lanyards.

Swiveling your chair away from the desk, you face the windows and slip the headphones onto your ears. A gentle press of your thumb produces a satisfying click, and a soft crackling sound fills your ears as the capstans start to whir.

The crystal blue of the cassette is dulled behind the transparent black window, but you can still make out the handwriting on the yellowed label.

For when you miss me.

“Did you ever listen?”

Everyday.

A bird's eye view of the stage is perfectly spaced in your viewfinder, with Santi downstage dominating the mic, her other arm outstretched to the fervent crowd. Your finger clicks the shutter as a text pops on the screen.

Eddie: Seems this city isn’t so big after all.

With a huff, you close the screen, pocketing your phone.

“What’s going on with you?” Argyle shouts over the crowd, handing you back your drink as you both lean over the black-painted railing on the balcony at The Subterranean.

"Nothing," you reply, your gaze returning to the stage where Santigold is Chasing Shadows.

“You’re moody,” he accuses, leaning closer to your ear to be heard over music.

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s true,” he shakes his head. “You’re moody. Moody dick.”

The corners of your lips lift as you roll your eyes.

“This wouldn't have anything to do with mister dark and handsome sound engineer guy from last night, would it?” He probes as someone bumps into you from behind, throwing you off balance.

Your eyes narrow as he steadies you with a hand on your elbow.

“Hey, I know things,” he says, sipping his drink and looking back out over the crowd.

“Oh, yeah?” You ask, turning and leaning on the banister to face him, “What do you know?”

He turns his head toward you, his thoughtful brown eyes connecting with yours. “I know you looked freaked the fuck out when he showed up for drinks and even more so when he said he was staying. And I’ve seen you tell off enough people to know that’s what was going on at the bar when you walked away from him last night,” he says, looking back toward the stage, gesturing with his hands, “Now we're here, with my future baby mama killing it on stage, and you’re sucking all the energy out of the room.”

The song ends with the crowd erupting in applause. “I love you!” Argyle shouts toward the stage with his hands cupped around his mouth as the bass starts back up with the opening of High Priestess. Santi looks up, throwing him a wink, her voice low and fast as the reverb vibrates under your feet.

“Future baby mama?” You laugh.

“Yeah. Do you think you could use your press pass to get us backstage?”

“No. I don’t think you need to add to the population tonight.”

"See, you're no fun,” he complains, sticking out his lower lip, “So you really used to crush on that guy?

Chewing on your lip, you throw him a sideways glance.

“Yeah, you did. You crushed hard,” he laughs, “So, tell me, what happened?”

“I don’t like talking about it,” you say, scrubbing your face.

“Keeping everything all bottled up ain’t good for you, little mama,” he pokes your arm, letting you know he’s not going to drop this, “I’m your boy. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”

“Circle of trust,” he says, stirring the air between you with two fingers when you don’t respond.

You lean against the rail, considering. “Alright, but this stays between us,” you threaten him with a pointed finger. His head nods as his fingers slide across his mouth like a zipper.

“There’s not much to tell,” you say, looking down at the sticky floor. “I had a crush, and he didn’t feel the same way.”

“I get it. The fury of a woman scorned. What did you do, go full bunny boiler?”

“No,” you chuckle, “Nothing like that. That part didn’t even really bother me. He was my best friend, my only friend for a long time. I thought there was something between us, that he cared about me. Maybe not the same way I cared about him, but you know, I thought we were close. I must have built it all up in my head because one day, he just takes off.” You swallow the sharp pain pressing into your chest, “He never even said goodbye.”

“Nooo,” Argyle’s eyes widen.

“It broke me,” you admit.

“Harsh,” he agrees, “And he never called you? Or gave you an explanation?”

“Not until yesterday. He asked me to lunch. You know, he actually had the nerve to say that Steve has me on a tight leash.”

“Typical.” He shakes his head, swallowing the last of his drink.

“What do you mean?” You ask, swirling the last of your ice into your watered-down drink.

His face turns serious as he explains, “It’s like surfing. We all want that wave that’s just out of reach. Especially if someone else is riding it.”

“How did you get so wise?” You ask.

“I don’t know. Must be all the weed,” he says with a hand on your shoulder, turning you toward the bar. “Let’s go get another drink.”

“You never told Steve any of this?” He asks as you join the crowd of people that constitutes the line.

“No,” you sigh.

“No?” He repeats in surprise, “This is bad news, man. Why wouldn’t you tell him? What are you going to do, just going to keep it a secret forever?”

“I guess. It doesn’t really have anything to do with him.”

“This is going to get messy.” He shakes his head as you move up in line.

“Well, I’m not real happy with him either right now. He went behind my back to Hopper, deciding that I’m going to cover Eddie’s recording studio's opening. He completely humiliated me in front of my boss. I look totally unprofessional.”

“Well, that's not cool,” Argyle sympathizes as he takes the plastic cup from your hand and tosses it into a trashcan tucked beside the bar.

“No, it was very not cool,” you agree, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Wait," he looks at you with sudden revelation, “Technically, isn't Steve your boss?"

“That’s not the point–”

“And isn’t your job to write about major happenings in the city, like when fancy L.A. sound guys open up studios?”

“You're not helping, Argyle.”

His hand lands on your head, offering a comforting pat like you're a child before the line begins moving again. "Cheer up, Bernstein," he quips with a grin, "I'll buy the next round."

Your anger hasn’t abated when you walk through the front door of the brownstone. Steve is already in bed, shirtless with the taupe velvet coverlet pulled up to his waist, glasses perched on his nose, not looking up from his laptop as you enter the room.

“Hey, Ace, how was your day? Did you write me–”

“Anything you want to tell me about, Steve?” You ask, your voice already coming out more heated than you intended.

He looks up at you, brows pulling together. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, dropping your bag onto the blue slipper chair in the corner of the room, “Maybe about how you went behind my back?”

"What?” He questions, slamming his laptop shut.

“The story, Steve,” you huff, leaving the room through your closet. You’ve just put your shoes away when he appears in the doorway, padding across the carpet in his bare feet, wearing just his boxers.

“Munson’s opening, that’s what you’re mad about?” He demands.

“You totally blindsided me,” you complain, pulling a hanger off the rod and hanging up your blazer with enough force to have the other clothes swinging. “Why didn’t you say anything this morning?”

“Because I hadn’t thought of it this morning.” His hands run through his hair, tugging in frustration.

“So what, it just came to you in a flash of brilliance?” Popping the button on your jeans, you tug them down your hips, kicking them into the corner instead of putting them in the basket.

“No, it didn’t, and I hate it when you’re sarcastic. Robin wanted to stop by and see his studio. We had lunch nearby,” he informs you, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the gold chain he wears glinting in the low light.

“So the two of you just decided what I was going to be writing? Maybe that’s something you should be discussing with me.” You lay a hand on your chest before pulling your shirt over your head and giving it the same treatment as your jeans. “You know, your fiancée, not some old buddy that sold you weed a few times back in Hawkins.”

“That’s another thing you kept from me. I had no idea Eddie was your best friend.” Your eyes narrow as your fingers yank at the delicate clasps of your jewelry and watch.

Steve's eyes roll in frustration as he shakes his head. "He's not my best friend. He’s a business contact. I know him through Robin. They were is band together, you know this."

"That feels like a lifetime ago, Steve," you remark, the clinking of your jewelry against the marble island adding a discordant scrape.

"Well, some people aren't embarrassed about where they came from," he accuses.

"I'm not embarrassed," you scoff and begin to pace as if you can outrun his words.

"Oh, please," he says, taking a seat on the bench, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge, his gaze tracking your restless movements. "You cut off anybody we still know living there. You won't even go to visit your parents. They always come here."

“You never listen to what I’m saying. This has nothing to do with Hawkins or my parents.” You halt your steps, your hand slices through the air, punctuating your statements. “It's about you making me look like a fool in front of Hopper. Like I’m trying to go around him to corporate to get assigned the big stories. Like I’m sleeping with the boss. I’m not ruining my reputation so you can give free advertising to your friends.”

“You're being crazy right now,” he yells, wincing with regret as soon as the words leave his mouth. He stands, moving closer, making an effort to control the tone of his voice, “I gave you this assignment because you know Eddie, and it will make for a better story, not because I’m fucking you. We’ve been together since the day you started at Stax. We’ve been engaged for two years. If anyone was going to think that, they already would’ve.”

Your head shakes, rejecting his rationale. He throws up his hands in frustration. “I can't have a conversation with you when you’re like this.” He starts to walk back toward the bedroom but stops abruptly, spinning on his heel and pointing his finger in your direction. “But I'll tell you one more thing—you are going to write this story.” He waves a hand toward the bathroom. “Now, go wash your face.”

Your teeth cut into your bottom lip as you walk into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

A sliver of gold from the streetlights outside pierces the tiny gap in the curtains. You’ve been lying on your side staring so long that you can see its warm hue behind closed lids whenever you start to drift. You burrow your arm deeper beneath your pillows while your feet shuffle, searching for a cool spot on the sheets. Steve’s breathing hasn’t changed behind you. He’s having the same trouble falling asleep. He turns over, his weight rocking the mattress. He’s much closer now. You can feel the comforting warmth from his chest, filling the space between him and your back.

“Baby.” His breath caresses the spot just behind your ear before the wet press of his lips traces a path along your neck, latching on to the apex when it meets your shoulder. A gentle bite follows the swirl of his tongue as he moves even closer. The rough pads of his fingers glide over your shoulder and down your arm, coaxing the thin strap of your tank with them.

“Please,” he whispers between kisses, his fingers finding their way under the bottom edge of your tank top, the light scrape of his blunt nails against your ribs sending shivers across your skin. Your breathing is picking up, the fire from your argument morphing into a new kind of heat. His hips flex against your ass, his cock hard and ready. When you turn your head, his lips are there, a wet slide over your mouth until they pull back, floating just above you, lingering with a question. And when his hand cups your shoulder, urging your body to turn towards him-–you answer.

The sultry feminine voice drifts from the speakers in your bedroom, her smoky timber weaving through the air like dark tendrils intertwining with the high piano notes. Your hips rise with the flow, a slow, unchanging cadence, the stretch of his cock creating delicious friction against your velvet walls. You move higher until he almost leaves you before you start your descent, the angle finding all the hidden places that light you up beneath your skin.

"M' sorry," he murmurs.

Your eyes flutter open at his words as they carry you away from the depths.

"Hate telling you no." He gazes up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his hair pushed back from his face, and a flush across his skin.

"I don't wanna talk about it." Your hands cover the ones wrapped around your thighs, guiding them up your body. His warm, rough fingers are eager to map out every contour. Your head falls back when they find their destination, cupping your breasts with a possessive grip.

The song shifts, the new baseline a drawn-out pulse lining up with your movements. The lyrics are raw and a little filthy, fueling the urgency of your rolling hips, your clit grazing the short hairs at his base.

"Don't like telling you what to do," he mumbles even as his hands drop to your hips, attempting to hold you still as he bucks up from underneath. "Just wanna take care of you."

"Steve," his name passes your lips in a low moan as you lean forward, taking his hand from your hips and pressing them into the pillow, "Stop talking."

Sitting up, you shift your position, leaning back, bracing your hands behind yourself on his hairy thighs. You set a new pace, bouncing harder, driving him deeper, taking what you want.

“Jesus, fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes hitting the back of his head while his hands slide across the sheets seeking any purchase as you ride him. The music surges, its tempo rising in perfect sync with the wet intimate sounds of your bodies coming together, the rhythm repeating over and over.

"So close…please," his fingers slip between you, adding pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves that he finds there, "Need you to cum."

"No," you rasp out breathless, pushing his hand aside, your eyes locked on his as you bring your own fingers to your mouth. With a swirl of your tongue, you coat them with wetness before sliding them down to touch yourself, controlling your own pleasure.

The muscles in his neck strain with effort, his gaze darkening, fixated on you. “Goddam, so sexy like this,” he murmurs.

Your body tightens, taut like a bow-string, the tension building until the crescendo crashes over you. The music washes over your senses as you reach your peak, your legs trembling with the intensity. You push your body further over the edge, succumbing to the euphoria lost in the wave of sensations.

Floating back down, your eyes open to the sight of your ceiling, your body still arched, catching your breath. His fingers tighten on your ribs, reminding you he's there. Sticky wetness dripping between you is evidence that he reached his own climax. His hands gently urge your forward to collapse into his chest.

"Wow, that was…" He strokes the sweat-slicked skin of your back. "I’ve never seen you like that before. What got into you?"

"I think you did," you say, placing a kiss over his heart as your fingers smooth through the hair covering his chest. He chuckles, holding you closer.

The gentle croon of the music fills the quiet space between you as you lie entwined, drawing closer to sleep's embrace. With a fumbling hand, Steve reaches for the remote on his nightstand, silencing the stereo, returning the room to a restful hush. He places a final tender kiss on your temple, his eyes closing as his features turn peaceful. But for you, even in this stillness, another song lingers in your mind, its lyrics echoing like a secret.

For updates follow @tornupdates & turn on the notifications

AN: Thank you for reading and rebloging. Your comments are what keep me at my keyboard plugging away at this story. Please keep sending me your songs and asks! They have inspired so much of what's to come. xoxo- Jelly

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harrypotter-imaginess · 4 years ago

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A/N: I loved doing this one guys, and I hope you love it too. Might do a part 2 not sure yet, as always commissions are still open until 3/10 message if your interested- price list is here

- Okay this is the ship guys this is it-

- This is like Hades and Persephone type of love

- Everyone thinks that Regulus is someone to be feared because of his family, and everyone knows they dabble in the dark arts

- And everyone is so caught up in his family-

- In the estate, and those dark rumors, and their dark magic-

- That no one see’s Regulus is just a boy-

- A lonely boy with no real friends, not really

- It’s worse now that Sirius has been disowned

- He’s got people around him, boys who’s parents are aquatinted with his

- But they don’t really like him

- They just hang around because they want a flicker of his power

- Of that ancient dark magic everyone’s convinced he’s got

- Everyone except you that is

- You’re this beautiful, cheerful, precious thing

- He meets you when you’re lost, looking for the bathroom

- “Sorry to bother, but do you know if it’s down the hall?” You ask, he’s seen you a few times; in class, or around the corridors

- Playing gobstones with your ever growing group of friends

- He would be jealous if he wasn’t so surprised that you’re speaking to him at all, aren’t you a muggle born?

- Shouldn’t you be afraid of him?

- Just like everyone else?

- “It’s in the next hallway, that one is moaning Myrtle’s bathroom” he says quietly

- He watches you nod enthusiastically

- Looks like you’ll be on your way now, probably for the best, he wouldn’t want his parents to know -

- “Would you mind showing me?” You ask

- And it’s awfully pushy, but somehow Regulus can’t turn down that bright smile of yours

- You talk to him so easily, like you’re not afraid of him at all

- And it irritates him a little.

- Honestly, even the professors are a little afraid of him

- Everyone is

- So why aren’t you

- “Do you-“ he stops in the middle of the corridor, and you walk a few steps forward before realizing he’s not beside you anymore

- “Do you know who I am?”

- You must not, that’s the only explanation

- When you find out you’ll go as pale as the moon, and afterward you will regale the tale for your many friends, how you barley escaped the fearsome Regulus Black, right before he was about to curse you with his dark magic.

- But you only offer a quizzical expression and a smile

- “You’re Regulus Black”

- You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world

- It only makes him upset, but he doesn’t know why

- In fact since the moment he met you there’s been this burning irritation lingering in the back of his mind, and he just can’t seem to pin point why

- But regardless of the reason, it seems to be boiling over right now, in an empty corridor in the middle of the night

- “Shouldn’t you be afraid? I could curse you right here if I wanted”

- But the smile on your face remains

- “Maybe, but you won’t” you muse

- He laughs

- “Why because you think I’m afraid getting expelled?”

- Honestly his parents would welcome him with a feast if he came home for attacking a muggle born

- It would be a sign he wasn’t going to become like Sirius after all

- Because that’s the worst thing a person could be according to his parents-

- A blood traitor

- But instead of quaking in your shoes you flash him a quizzical smile

- “Nah, I just don’t think you’re that kind of person” you shrug

- The words echo in his mind long after you’ve said them

- And though he’s looked at you before

- He’s only really looking at you now, the easy way your lips curl into a smile, the sparkle in your eye, the glow around you-

- Like you’re made of sunlight

- Like you breathe life into all things wherever you go

- Like an ancient witch he heard of , heralded as the goddess of spring

- Like Persephone

- Ah, so that’s it

- It’s not that he hates you

- It’s that he envies you

- Because seeing how natural it is to see you do good, makes him hope - it makes him yearn to be like that too

- To be more than an heir to his family’s dark legacy

- “I could be wrong though” you shrug, you can count on one hand how many times you’ve been right about something

- But still, you just don’t buy that the shy kid in front of you is some evil prodigy bent on destroying the world

- “No” Regulus’s voice cracks, and it’s soft, so soft you almost don’t hear it.

- But your turn to him, eyes jumping from one of the many paintings in the corridor to his pale face

- His eyes seem glossy as they look into yours, and it’s not just because of the light from the torches

- “No, I’m not that kind of person” he says with a bit more strength this time, and you grin

- And while you feel that there’s something important about the moment, you don’t realize the monumental significance this chance meeting holds for Regulus

- “Oh, we passed the washroom” he realizes after a moment, he was so caught up in talking to you he hadn’t realized

- “Ah, that’s okay I didn’t have to use the bathroom anyway” you say with a wave of your hand

- Huh?

- Noticing his expression you get a sheepish look on your face

- “Well I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while, but you’re always with people-“

- Yeah he’s sure his “friends” would give off an especially murderous aura if you ever tried to approach them

- “So when I saw an opportunity, I just took it” you admit with a slight laugh

- “I wanted to see what everyone was talking about when they mentioned the ‘Dark Prince’ “ there’s a teasing flint in your eye, and the nickname alone is enough to make him flush red

- “And what’s your assessment?” he manages to ask, a smile stretching across his face

- “Very underwhelming, I came expecting several hexes and a duel, and all I got was a cute boy with pretty eyes”

- This time he really does flush bright red, eyes trained on his shoes

- You laugh, you were mostly teasing

- But he is quite cute isn’t he?

- What’s everyone so scared of anyway? He’s like a shy kitten

- He watches you walk to a particular portrait, whispering a word before it swings open

- “Well see ya around Mr. Dark Prince” you say, sending a teasing wink his way

- Regulus is glowing red, even when he’s tucked in bed, in his common room hours after the meeting. the mere memory of the words you said send his heart racing again

- “They said I’m cute” he’ll recall with a goofy smile spreading across his face

- After that, things are brighter for Regulus

- You pull him into your group of friends, quite literally

- “I-I don’t think this is a good idea” he manages, catching the terrified glances of passerby’s as you tug him forward by his arm

- What a sight you must be, the literal personification of spring pulling the Dark Prince himself by the arm through the castle

- The aforementioned Dark Prince having a rosy tinge on his cheeks, which most of the other students misplace for Fury instead of what it actually is:

- Embarrassment with a healthy dash of attraction to aforementioned personification of spring

- “Nonsense, everyone’s dying to meet you Reg”

- When you use his nickname his flush darkens

- No ones ever called him that-

- No one except Sirius and Andromeda

- He likes the way it sounds coming from you

- And you’re right, your friends accept him into their fold immediately

- “You know any curses?” One of your friends asks, it’s in a jovial manner that anyone could tell they’re just teasing but Regulus flinches

- “No, not really” he admits, not any he’s good at anyway

- He did see his parents do something akin to a sacrifice when he was younger with an alter in the full moon, but he really wouldn’t know where to start with that

- “What about gobstones, you know the rules to that?”

- Regulus nods

- “Well lets play then!”

- Before he knows it, it’s like this was always his life

- Laughing with you in class, games of gobstones with your friends and trips to Hogsmeade on the weekend

- Regulus didn’t know that he was yearning for this

- How often had he wished for something like this,

- A place that feels like it’s full of sunshine, where everyone feels accepted, and no one has to feel sad

- This is the happiest Regulus has ever been

- But all dreams must come to an end

- The end of the semester comes around, and he has to go home for Christmas vacation

- You’re standing side by side on the train platform waiting for the train, your trunk lying next to you

- “You’re not taking anything back with you?” You ask

- Regulus shrugs

- “There’s no point, everything I need is at the manse”

- You’ve always been a bit curious about what the Black manor is like

- Probably something grand, large library’s, they probably have one of those record players with the gold horn thing

- And a ballroom

- It probably makes Hogwarts look like a pile of dirt

- But the way Regulus’ face darkens when you ask him about it tells you that- yes they probably do have a ballroom, but there’s other things too, things that are far less pleasant

- And when he starts talking about his home life, how it’s worse - lonelier- Now that Sirius is at the Potter’s all the time, and there’s no one around to stand between him and his parents

- He notices your heartbroken expression and rushes to comfort you

- “It’s not so bad, Mum’s got her tender moments every so often and-“

- “Regulus” you cut in, and the sound of his whole name leaving your mouth makes him stutter to a stop

- “You’re supposed to feel safe and loved all the time not just sometimes”

- It’s such a basic thing, but when Regulus hears this, he feels like he’s being allowed something

- He feels, for the first time, he’s allowed to be safe and happy

- He’s allowed to be good

- “Why don’t you come home with me for Christmas? It’s probably not as grand as you’re used to-“

- You fidget awkwardly, maybe it’s silly, the prince, Regulus Black, himself sitting on your worn sofa, holding yarn while one of your family member’s knits

- You can picture it though

- You can picture a big smile across his face, indulging the younger children in your extended family in their requests for piggyback rides and for him to participate in their games

- “I want to,” he says, really the fact that you’re offering is enough, more than he could ask for

- “But I can’t”

- And it’s the truth, after Sirius, he can’t make any mistakes, his family won’t stand for it

- He especially doesn’t want to think what would happen to you if they found out he had been spending all of his time with you, a muggle born

- He doesn’t want to think what curses they might inflict you with

- He doesn’t want you to ever be hurt because of him

- “You’ll write to me?” You say it with the fervor of a demand, and it makes a smile curl onto his mouth

- “Everyday” he promises

- And things are exactly as they always were at 12 Grimmauld Place, his mother is distant, only livening up when one of the other ladies shows up for tea

- His father is squirreled away in council meetings

- His cousins are no fun, not really, and Andromeda’s not around anymore since she ran off with Ted

- He likes Ted, though he would never admit it to his family

- Ted is a lot like you, someone with an infinite amount of kindness

- He wonders how they’re doing

- He wonders how Sirius is doing

- He’s probably happy, he always looked happy when he was with his friends

- And so- with a picture of you discreetly kept on his desk, he writes three sets of letters

- The first is for you, to assure you he’s fine, and live vicariously through your spring, through your lovely Christmas moments and imagine himself there too.

- The second for Andromeda, to ask if she’s doing alright, and to tell her he misses her

- And the last, is for Sirius

- Asking how he is, and hoping he’s well.

- And to say that he understands what Sirius was saying all those years, in their childhood and then into adolescence, Regulus understands now-

- And he wants to be good too

#harry potter #regulus black imagine #regulus x y/n #regulus black headcanon #regulus black x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter headcanon #marauder headcanons #marauder imagine

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nilolol30 · 2 years ago

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Endangered: 3

---------------------------

"Thanks again Kosma" I say hopping over the spilled paint on the floor I don't want to make more of a mess.

"Oh anytime soft one but if you can tell those two up their to quit with the paint tossing" Kosma shook their head and started getting to work with cleaning.

"I will see ya" looking around I'm definitely going to need a way up and luckily I found a good way next to the shop was a bin next to a small platform I could easily climb up!

Climbing the bin and the platform was easy but now I have to jump onto the air-conditioning and jump onto the other one on the other side.

After doing so I climbed on top the small balcony using more of the air-conditioning I climbed to the roof when I made it I saw another companion laying on some mattresses.

I swear if I find out I took the hard way up I'm gonna cry.

"Oh hello I was wondering what those noises were" the companion says looking at me.

"Ah sorry if I startled you"

"No worries I was looking at the circles of light I wish I could see the real sky one day" oh poor guy I remember the stars the lights here look nothing like them.

"I hope you do the normal dark sky is way beautiful than this one" the companion made this cute whirring noise and a heart popped onto it's screen.

"Really? I can't wait!" I couldn't help but laugh a little I gave to companion a goodbye wave and looked around just on the other roof was a couch and Tv.

Not questioning it I jumped down on the other side was a air-conditioning with some beautiful yellow flowers I'm surprised that they can grow without sunlight maybe evolution?

Climbing up I finally sat down the couch was a bit worn out but still comfortable and the remote was on the couch too curious on what future tv is like I turned it on seems like a news channel but there was no sound and I couldn't read the text but a small picture of a robot with a top hat was on the corner.

I sigh honestly I kinda thought by now I'd at least remember my own name but I can't even do that and I doubt any of the companions here can really help me I doubt they know much about humans if they're shocked when seeing one.

Because everyone is dead...my parents, my friends everyone I'm literally the last person alive...I can feel myself hyperventilating trying to stop myself from crying its obviously failing since I can feel the tears.

I can never talk to them again there gone and I can't do anything about it I don't even have a fucking photo of them why was I in the cryopod in the first place why was mine the only one to have survived that's not fair.

I could have at least died with my family or friends that would have been more peaceful than this.

I'm not sure how long I was sitting here crying long enough for me to get thirsty again or maybe it was hunger I can't tell anymore the sound of faint pots breaking distracted me from my own pity party.

A few roofs over I could see Stray push some empty pots over for them to break ha classic cat stuff I quickly whipped my eyes and snot I should keep moving I really don't want to end up falling asleep outside.

Turning around there was a balcony with a blue neon sign with a frown since it looks easy to get in I hopped over and moved the wooden board away and pushed the white boxes to the side then opened the door.

It looks a its a library books everywhere ahead was a bunch of computers walking forward on the right I saw another room the entrance was full of piles of books I tried to carefully move over them but they still fell over.

"Ah shit hopefully there isn't an angry librarian in here" of course there wasn't but on the mattress there was a note and keys but again it was in a different language but maybe I can look around to see what the key opens.

So I did that walking out I took a left turn and saw a bigger room in the middle of all the book shelves there seems to what I can only guess is a dead companion and a piano the poor guy though must have been there for a long time from what the spider webs tell me.

On the piano was a music sheet I can't read the title but maybe B-12 can I'm a bit curious so I folded the sheet and put it in my pocket oh wait I walked past a hall and on the other side was a box I should check that.

There is so many book piles here it's a pain I didn't even take four steps and I already tripped over knocking more down with me.

"Okay curse whoever did this!" I couldn't help but try to hit the shelf next to me out of anger but when it did it wasn't books it was a frikin safe!?

"This library is making a mockery out of me" the key is definitely opening this and guess what it did! There was a small book with the same symbol as the sign at the door on the back of the book was a drawing of a dragon maybe B-12 can translate this it must be important I definitely need to find the cat.

Getting out and climbing down was way easier than getting up the Guardian probably seen Stray by now so that's who I headed to.

"Ah yes I've seen the cat go down there" Guardian pointed left down some other stairs.

"Thank you!" Not wanting to miss them I ran downstairs but I could already see Stray laying next to a companion with a guitar.

"Oh human we were listening to Morusque play music we've been giving him music sheets" B-12 popped out the little bag again.

"Music sheets huh funny I just found one!" Morusque seems happy hearing that.

"Really may I see?" Nodding I handed the sheet over.

"Mildly important information. This one was composed by a renowned algorithm" Morusque starting playing the song was really nice almost calming Stray even started purring sadly the song wasn't long.

"Where did you find that human?" B-12 asked.

"Oh! in the library with this" I held out the notebook and B-12 immediately started translating.

"This notebook seems to belong to someone named Doc "After weeks of research I've combined a spectrometer with a powerful UV lamp. With this, we should be capable of warding off the Zurks on our way out. The initial attempt was explosive I might have to test it under real conditions" we actually found two other notebooks good job human!" B-12 softly dropped itself on my head as it's own way of a headpat.

"Hah thanks we should probably go to Momo's now" looks like Stray agreed because they started walking off and meowed at me to follow.

Stray took me to the side of Kosma's place and climbed up this was definitely a bit more difficult but on my way up I only slipped a little but other than that I finally got up unfortunately my clothes get a little dirty sorry Kosma...

Ahead of me was one of the little bots that was tossing the paint.

"Soft one! Sorry about the paint it was an accident!" The bot immediately panicked spotting me.

"Hey it's okay but Kosma really doesn't like cleaning the mess you made why don't you guys find another way to move the paint?"

"But me and my friend love tossing buckets at each other..." Well that's a weird hobby.

"Well why don't you toss empty buckets?" The companion thought for a moment and nodded.

"Ok yeah that's a good idea thanks soft one!" Laughing I bid them goodbye and followed Stray as they jumped over the balcony and yet again we had to climb air-conditioners to get into Momo's balcony.

"The window seems to be open stay here human and we will open the door for you" nodding B-12 and Stray climbed in I could hear something smash and some beeps and all sorts of robotic sounds.

Soon the door opened there was a companion with a rainbow screen and flamingo coat they visibly stumbled back.

"H-Human!?" Without saying anything I just gave him a small wave.

"This is our friend they don't remember their name so we've been calling them human for now they actually have one of your last notebooks!" B-12 says spinning around.

I handed Momo the notebook poor guy must be so confused.

"Oh this belongs to Doc he was really a huge nerd for electronics and stuff he was always on the verge of a great discovery! Wait you actually found all my friends notebooks? Oh a note? The transceiver can be repaired? This is incredible! That means we should be able to communicate outside the slums! Clementine, Zbaltazer, Doc I'm sorry I doubted our cause I'll promise you I'll find a way to the surface. Thank you we might be able to find a way up now let's fix this junk transceiver" Momo was really quick to start fixing the transceiver.

While was doing that B-12 quickly filled me in on what happened poor Momo he was too scared to follow his friends I guess Momo was so happy he got super speed because the transceiver was now fixed.

"ET VOILÀ! it works! Come with me" Momo walked to the window and opened it.

"Up there! See that building, high above the others? If you install the transceiver at the very top of that tower, we should be able to communicate with the whole city. My friends might still be out there if there is a way out, they'll know it" Stray meowed hopping onto the window I walked over ready to follow.

"I think the cat is the only one small and quick enough to evade the Zurks human you should stay" Momo says lightly holding my shoulder.

"Huh no way I'm not gonna let Stray and B-12 go out by themselves!"

"I agree Human you already struggle with climbing up here and you should keep Momo company plus we aren't by ourselves we have each other" with that Stray jumped outside the window.

"Good luck little outsider" Momo waves and closed the window leaving it unlocked.

Not gonna lie being left behind hurts.

"So wait how are you alive soft one? Are there more of you?" Momo asked fiddling with his knuckles.

"Ah sorry I'm most likely the last one my cryopod somehow survived everything and Stray somehow opened it"

"Stray? Is that the cats name?" I nodded it is a funny name for a cat.

#stray #stray blazer #stray clementine #stray x reader #stray game x reader #stray momo #stray doc #stray seamus

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colemonroe · 2 years ago

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With his face still tucked between her hands and his eyes locked on hers, Cole felt like Taliah was quite literally looking right through him, but it didn’t unnerve him. No, if anything, this was the most steady he’d felt since the night he confronted Jeff. There was a quiet stillness encasing them that made him feel safe. She made him feel safe, and maybe that was why he’d never really tried to hide much from her, even now. She’d just see through it anyway. Frowning gently, he nodded, eyes temporarily shifting down to the scant space between them because he knew she was right– he was hard on himself. He felt like he had to be in order to remain upright in the face of all the awful things he did. If he wasn’t, he feared he’d become something far worse than he already was. Meeting Taliah’s gaze again, he swallowed hard and found himself nodding again as she spoke. It was true– Cole rarely did anything he couldn’t justify. No matter how heinous the action, he always had a reason, and she was right– that reason was love. “It’s always love,” he mused aloud, having never really thought about it in that regard before. Smiling, he couldn’t help but allow some warmth to seep through the cracks in his tired, pained expression the moment her words reached him. To be her angel, it was probably the highest honor he could imagine holding. “I think ya might be mine too,” he murmured, unsurprised by just how much he meant it. How was she not his angel– truly? “Oh yeah?” He started, laughter rumbling in his chest at the mental picture she was painting for him, “Don’t beat me too hard, I might like it,” he warned, the grin on his lips almost warm enough to drive the sadness from his eyes.

“Since when did ya become a gangster, darlin’?” He chuckled, head giving a light shake. By now, he should have known better than to be surprised by anything that came out of Taliah’s mouth. Easing out a shaky sigh, he drew comfort from the gentle pecks she pressed to his cheeks. Physical touch had always settled him in ways spoken word never could. Swallowing thickly, he nodded, knowing he couldn’t argue the point she was trying to make. While it felt so cliche to say that everything happened for a reason, it was true. In order for him to be who he was in that moment, everything at his back had needed to play out exactly as it had, no matter how badly it hurt. “I know,” he murmured, blowing out a heavy breath, “Just wish it hadn’t hurt so much,” he admitted softly, head shaking. With the way his emotions had roared to the surface with a vengeance tonight, Cole began to wonder if he’d ever really confronted any of this before, or if he’d only thought that he had. Growing up, he’d never really had a chance to and by the time it had finally occurred to him that he should, he’d become well accustomed to the idea that vulnerability was too great a risk in the life he led. And so he just…hadn’t. As a result, Cole couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so open and vulnerable, but more importantly, he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made him feel safe enough to be.

But Taliah did. It was incredible, how she could see every single flaw that he had and still found a way to see the good in them– the good in him. And now that he’d finally voiced so much of what he’d always held back, he had to decide how he wanted to deal with it– how he wanted to move forward, just as Taliah had said. It felt good knowing he’d never have to do it alone, even if hated dragging anyone else down with him. Still, it was high time Cole accepted that there were people in his life who didn’t care how stubborn he was, they’d still push and push until he didn’t have to carry the weight of everything he felt on his own. “Obviously,” he parroted back at her, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Suddenly and all at once, he felt the tension bleed from his shoulders, almost like the ebb and flow of an outgoing tide. Relaxing then, he offered up a small smile. This…it was the support he’d needed a week ago. “Thank you, T,” he breathed quietly, shaking his head, “Really– I dunno how I’d do any of this shit without ya.” Taliah steadied him– far more than a drag on a cigarette or a shot of whiskey could. No, he felt truly grounded because of her and he ventured to guess that he always had. She was his best friend. “I needed this– a lot,” he continued, reaching out to give her hip a gentle squeeze. Swiping at the remnants of his tears, he sighed, his exhaustion showing both in his eyes and his smile. “Feel a bit lighter now,” he announced, sliding off his barstool, “Though that might just be the whiskey,” he laughed, injecting a bit of his own humor into the somber moment. He knew the truth though– it had nothing to do with the alcohol running through his bloodstream and everything to do with the way the woman in front of him had always had his back– and he hoped always would.

When she originally walked on into the clubhouse after noticing a light on, there wasn’t any chance she could have anticipated this. It wasn’t about seeing Cole here, of course, that wasn’t surprising; it was about the weight of the things he shared. Things she let him know he could share, so maybe, just maybe, she could help him carry it in order to keep him afloat. But that was always the hope, the goal, for any of his struggles, confession & worries. Taliah only ever wanted to try and make it better for him and just be there in times when that wasn’t possible. He deserved that, hell, he deserved more than that, if she could give him a magic key to solve every wrong done to him, she fucking would. “I know,” pulling in an unsteady breath when he closes his eyes, she takes a moment just to look over his features with his face still cupped in her hands. The way his eyes scrunched, the crease in the middle of his forehead, the way his cheeks wet with tears glimmered under the lights - the anguish was written all over his face even without the visual aid of his troubled hues. To her, it was nothing short of devastating to witness. It was a problem she couldn’t resolve, a painful thought, a wish that Cole was always going to have because there was no way to change it.

“I know so.” Replying without missing a beat, she scarcely returns the faint smile on his own lips. “You’re so hard on yourself, Cole. You think too much about being or acting immoral that you forget how decent you are. Or even just the reasons behind any immoral action you’ve taken… Because there’s always a reason, isn’t there? And is that reason not usually love?” Not expecting or even wanting an answer, her words were only spoken to try and remind him of the very thing that fuels his heart – love. And maybe he would argue it was fire, or rage, but she would firmly disagree, tell him that those are just counterparts of what love is. “You’re a good man, kind… So yes, your mother would be proud of you.” Nodding, she reiterates just to drive her point home, hoping it would resonate even just a little. She doesn’t take her eyes off his, not even when the more anxious side of her wanted to hide once her tears became obvious enough for him to be wiping them away. “You’re my angel,” she shrugs gently, words she truly believed, too. Her heart couldn’t possibly bleed this much for anything less than a human so holy he blessed the ground he walked on. “Oh please, there’s no way I could have taken you then. Now? Bet. The day Nate showed me how to throw a knock out was a day he now rightfully regrets,” setting a slightly brighter grin on her face in spite of the quiet sniffle – the red nose, the glassy eyes that were forcefully holding back a tidal wave of emotion.

“Of course,” smiling as she rested her chin on his shoulder, “What is it gangsters say, real recognize real?” Giggling, she squeezes him tightly and takes a deep breath, sighing it out softly. “I know that it hurts, every what if scenario usually does…” Leaning back, she kisses his left cheek, then his right, and rests her hands on his shoulders. “Everyone in this world has something they wish they could have done differently, we’re only human, it’s ok to have those thoughts. But you need to remember that if even just one thing in your past was changed, it would change your future, it would change you.” Taliah smiles sadly. “I’m not saying that I don’t wish you had less pain and heartbreak because of course I do, I’m saying that those things had a part to play in who you are now… And you, my kind, beautiful, angel boy, this exact version of you�� he’s incomparable & irreplaceable. So, you go forward from here,” she adds, addressing his earlier comment. “One step, one breath, at your own speed and with the help of your family. We have your back. I have your back, I’d fight a pack of wild animals for you… And I would win, obviously.“

#( ft; taliah tezel. )#( taliah 003. )#idk why this got so long #buuut maybe wrap with your reply??

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