#spin the record til the record stop spinning
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Whumptober 2023
Welcome to Whumptober 2023 — the sixth year running!
COMPLETIONISTS/PARTICIPANT BADGES CAN BE FOUND HERE
To those of you who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone joining this year, welcome!
Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.
This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.
And this years playlist can be found here.
There are 139 prompt options in total this year - this is including the alternatives list! A special thanks goes out to those who took part in our trope vote back in July. From the 1526 responses to our list of 223 tropes, we looked through the popularity results, as well as your honourable mentions, and were able to produce this years prompts list. Stay tuned, as we will be posting some of the results at a later date!
We’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!
Best of luck and happy whumping,
Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro
(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information and FAQs are posted below the cut!)
Whumptober 2023 Prompt List
No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”
Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”
No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”
Thermometer | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”
No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”
Journal | Solitary Confinement | “Make it stop.”
No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”
Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”
No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”
Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”
No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”
Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”
No. 7: " “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”
Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”
No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”
Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”
No. 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.”
Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”
No. 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”
Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you'd never leave.”
No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”
Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”
No. 12: “I haven't slept in days but who's counting?”
Red | Insomnia | “I’m up, I’m up.”
No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”
Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”
No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”
Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”
No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”
Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”
No. 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”
Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”
No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”
Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”
No. 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”
Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”
No. 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”
Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”
No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”
Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”
No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.”
Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.”
No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”
Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”
No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”
Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”
No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”
Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”
No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”
Storm | Buried Alive | “They’re not breathing!”
No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”
Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”
No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”
Matches | Scars | “Let me see”
No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”
Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | “You'll have to go through me.”
No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.”
Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”
No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”
Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”
No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.”
Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”
Alternatives List:
Betrayal
Aftermath of Failure
Brass Knuckles
Decoy
Body Modification
Playing Cards
Examination
Hunting
Drugging
Shaking
Panic
Broken
Miscommunication
Lab Rat
Reluctant Whumper
Event Info & Rules
~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask ~
WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. The 'theme' of each day is the line of lyrics.
The prompts are merely to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is "flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be related to the 'spark' of a relationship. It's truly up to you!
In total, there are 4 prompts for each day: there's lyrics, an object, a trope and a line of dialogue to choose from. We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.
Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.
When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:
#whumptober2023 …..(the event tag)
#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(day number)
#lyric, #bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)
#fandom or #OC, … (ironman, originalcontent, oc …)
#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)
#teeth, #gore tw, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Add "tw" AFTER the trigger/content warning. )
#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)
#your own tags go here
PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]
Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.
Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed the event. You do not need to post anything you have created, we rely on trust and we will not check this.
Questions not addressed in one of our many event info posts can be directed to this blog. We will not answer any questions that have been answered in the FAQs or rules already.
Frequently Asked Questions
Q. How does this year’s prompt list work? What do I have to choose?
You can create something based on:
The overall theme/lyric of the day
Prompt 1, 2 or 3
One or several of the alternative prompts
A combination of the above
Q. Is [specific anything] allowed?
When in doubt: JUST DO IT!
Q. Do I have to do all 31 days?
Participate as much or little as you like! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.7, #radio silence). If you create works for 31 total theme days you will become a completionist. But apart from that, there are no repercussions if you don’t fill prompts for each day.
Q. Can I post early/late?
Yes, you can post whenever you want. We will only reblog posts during October, but you can use our prompts all year round. The day you post will only affect your probability of being reblogged.
Q. Will you reblog my post?
Due to the sheer number of content posted during Whumptober we can’t promise to reblog every single post. We will make a random selection trying to capture a wide variety of content. The following will increase your chances at being reblogged:
tag your post properly
post within 2-3 days of the theme you want to fill: if you fill the prompt for Day 1 your chances of being reblogged during October 1st to 3rd are highest and will go towards zero afterwards.
Q. What if I don’t understand a prompt/theme?
Send us an ask! We’re happy to help with wild, unhelpful clarifications or brainstorming. That being said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation. Don’t take them too literally. For example: You can be choking on a cherry, someone else can choke you or you could be choked up on emotions, etc.
Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?
This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gifset or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe.
Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?
Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.
Q. Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms?
Of course! You can post your own content wherever you like (or you can opt to not publish it at all). Additionally we’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. It can be accessed here. The tumblr blog @whumptober-archive is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle.
Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?
Yes.
Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?
If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the Whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If you’ve previously posted something that checks the boxes, we ask that you not include it retroactively for this current year. You can, however, add new chapters relating to one or more of the prompts.
Q. What kind of characters can I write for?
Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, RPF, whoever you like. You can use the generic “whumpee” character or have specific ones.
Q. Does it have to take place in a specific fandom?
No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want.
Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?
Yes, but it only counts once towards being a completionist.
Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day’s prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?
No, you can’t exchange prompts for different days. However, if all four prompts of a specific day make you uncomfortable, we have created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from. You can exchange any prompt with these, but please make sure not to use them twice.
Q. Where can I post my work?
Post where and how you want. You don’t have to (cross)post it to Tumblr or at all. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.
Q. Can I start posting early?
You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.
Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s?
Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.
Q. Is co-writing allowed?
Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you.
Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?
One continuous story is fine. The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)
Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?
There is no limit.
Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?
No limit and combine as many as you’d like.
Q. Is a hc/angst/emotional whump focus ok?
Of course! We are not going to establish a threshold for whumpiness. If you think it’s whumpy enough, then it’s whumpy enough. It can be physical, psychological, emotional, or any combination of the three.
Q. What’s considered nsfw?
See this post
Q. What is whump?
Typically the genre includes situations where a fictional character is hurt, be it emotionally, psychologically, or physically. Fanlore provides information here.
Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn’t whumpy at all, does that count?
If you don’t think your interpretation is whumpy, then it doesn’t count for Whumptober. Remember that whump comes in many forms, though, and that we don’t have a whump-checker or a threshold for how much whump needs to be included. If you think your interpretation contains enough whump to count, then it does.
Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?
Absolutely! That’s why we post the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time” so feel free to start creating early!
Q. How do I tag triggers?
tw at the end of the word, ex. #gore tw
Q. Do I have to use your tags?
Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want.
Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?
Yes
Q. Can we @ you?
Yes but we mostly rely on the #whumptober2023 tag.
Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?
There are no rules, but please make sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies for whatever site you use).
Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?
Here on Discord or come into our ask box.
Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?
Yes, but as with everything else, use clear and descriptive tags.
Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?
Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.
Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).
Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!
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I’ve Got My Love To Keep Me Warm With; Anthony Lockwood
A/N: HEYYYYY. Well if it isn't another six-month hiatus...I fear I've done this too many times to keep apologizing. There are some long-overdue requests in my inbox, and for that I truly am sorry. With college, work, family, I'm not sure how you guys keep up with finding the time or motivation to write. Nonetheless, I just recently re-watched this amazing show, and I'm yet again horrified Netflix canceled it. I put a holiday spin on this and I hope you all like it!
CW: Characters are aged up. I wouldn't be comfortable w/ this if they were played by minors but that's not the case. Let's also pretend ppl don't typically lose their gift til their mid-20s
You're getting ready on the floor of 35 Portland Row's master bedroom. Makeup is littered all around you as you add the finishing touches. The smell of cookies flows from the kitchen all throughout your home, ones you'll decorate later upon Lucy's request. Christmas music sounds from the record player in the living room, crackling every now and again with its age.
Lockwood's leant up against the door frame, moving silently to the worn armchair across you. You can feel his eyes on you, quietly admiring, yet still brooding from a recent look at the newspaper. Kipps and his team were beaming brightly across the front page, having just solved yet another notary case on behalf of Fittes.
"I've told you not to read the papers on our day off, haven't I?" He's pulled out of his trance then, adjusting his slouched shoulders as though he's been caught.
"A bunch of posh showoffs, think their ridiculous uniforms and bureaucratic nonsense makes them superior. I swear-"
"Anthony."
"Yes, darling?" It's through clenched teeth, blinking hard to regain his composure. You brush on your mascara, still chastising when you face the mirror once more.
"It's our day off, isn't it?"
"Because we have yet to find another case-" He stops himself under your look of warning through the glass, fiddling with his rings and straightening. "I suppose it is our day off, yes."
"We don't have much of those, do we?" You approach him, then. Voice soft and sweet, unknowingly easing his tense stature with each syllable. He only hums, forehead pressing into your stomach as you run gentle fingers through his hair, careful not to disrupt the intricately combed strands. "We need this. You need this. So let's make it a good one, yeah?"
"Tell that to George. Why must we do the holiday card today?"
"We're all available, Scrooge. And if I'm not mistaken, this was your idea. Something along the lines of 'it's good for business, people are seeking a company with a personable image, clients need people to relate to-" You only stop your mimicking when he pinches at your side. The overly-posh, deep reenactment enough to bring a reluctant smirk to Anthony's lips.
"I do not sound like that." He tugs at your hips so you'll sit on the arm of the chair he's rested in, keeping an arm wrapped over your stomach and knees to settle you against him.
"Bunch of bureaucratic-" Your own yelp ceases your teasing, the arm that's snaked around you tugging hard enough to have you fall into his lap and victim to his incessant poking at your stomach and sides. Your squirming is no use, both of your laughter echoing throughout the room as you hopelessly swat at his hands.
He stops his torture eventually, avoiding an oncoming lecture on how he's ruined your neatly done hair with his tickling. You're breathless under him, stretching out over him to glance at the other mirror just above the dresser. Even with the reflection upside down, you're able to tell you'll have to redo multiple curls. He's grabbing at you before you can scold him, hand under your head to pull your faces just inches apart.
"Stop it. You look lovely." He's pulling out the charm, of course. Voice low and hoarse, the tone that he knows damn well well sets your skin on fire. He's smug then, knowing smirk playing over his dark features as his eyes dart to your lips and then to yours.
"Looked lovely." You correct, breathless all over again. His eyes narrow, incredulous.
"Can I prove it to you?" He moves only slightly closer, swallowing thickly as his thumb traces your bottom lip. You almost let him, nearly succumbing to his enchantments. Only when his lips are nearly on yours do you turn your head, keen on revenge for his sabotage.
"You've already toyed with my hair, I'll send George spiraling if I had to redo my makeup."
Lockwood, genuine betrayal littered across his face, can't even plead his case before your roommate takes his cue.
"Oi!" His shout rings from downstairs, tinged with impatience and growing irritation. "You two better be fully clothed and picture-perfect in five minutes. The camera's ready!"
Anthony can only bury his face in your neck, sore attitude overcoming him all over again.
****
"Wait!" Lucy exclaims just as the flash of the camera ensues, voice strained with exasperation. "I wasn't ready!" There's a collective groan from the lot of you, George shuffling past the redhead to reset the camera. You take the time to fix Lockwood's collar, dodging his swatting, grumpy hands.
"I assume ghost touch is a more amenable torture than this," he mutters pointedly.
"You wanted the bloody holiday card, Lockwood. And I'm the only one with enough creative vision to make the lot of you look remotely presentable." There's a collective sneer toward him, though he doesn't notice with all his tinkering with the outdated lense. Of course, George had insisted using film would make the photos hold a 'certain sense of novelty' that couldn't possibly be reproduced with less difficult equipment. "Take five, this might take a while." He waves you all off, adjusting his glasses and muttering a string of unintelligible curses as he works.
Lucy turns to you then, biting back a smile as Lockwood flushes under your doting hands, trying desperately to maintain his grouchy disposition. "Where's your chapstick, the strawberry one-"
"You always steal?" You cease grooming your boyfriend, to his relief, in order to tease her. Smiling when she only sticks out her tongue in mock disdain, already headed for the stairs and presumably your bedroom. "Right side of the bureau, just above Anthony's sock drawer." Your tone grows into a shout to accommodate her distance, grabbing onto Lockwood's wrist so he can't escape away to the study.
"Love you lots!" She calls from upstairs, most definitely making more of a mess of the bedroom in her search.
"Would you unhand me, dove? Pretty sure you're cutting circulation." He's got your attention again, face pulled with irritation. The bags under his eyes look particularly apparent this close, a dull ache in your heart at the sight. It's apparent the attitude is only due to all the stress he puts himself under. The pet name a clear sign the animosity is by no means directed at you. You smirk despite him, digging into your back pocket and ignoring his then curious expression.
Only when you get closer does he catch on. Socked feet clumsily stepping on his boot-covered ones to attempt to gain height, your arm reaches up above both your heads. Letting his eyes follow yours, Anthony can't help but let a dazzling smile spread across his features. Stubborn nature no match against the warmth and adoration overcoming him at the slightly crumpled branch above him.
"Is that-"
"Yep." You mutter, straining under the effort to reach above his head. His gaze is on your face then, arm snaking around the smalll of your back to keep you steady. "You're supposed to-"
"Oh, I know. But I'm having so much fun watching this." A small pout puckers your lip at his teasing, tone filled with the familiar mirth and smugness you hadn't known you missed so much with his solemn mood.
"Forget it then, Grinch." Your reaching arm falls to your side, attempting to push at his chest to force distance between you.
The camera flashes just as Anthony pulls you in for a kiss. Soft and sweet, each of you eventually smiling into it.
"I'm not developing that one." George frowns, adjusting the lens before shooting a pointed look to Lockwood, who loosens his hold only slightly on you. "You've got shade 205 right here, mate." The curly-haired boy draws an imaginary circle around the entirety of his mouth. Anthony scrubs his sleeve across his face at George's comments. Flushing as you laugh into his chest.
Taglist: @sunshineangel-reads
#anthony lockwood#lockwood and co#lockwood gifs#george karim#lucy carlyle#lockwood netflix#lockwood and co netflix#anthony bloody lockwood#anthony lockwood imagine#anthony lockwood fluff#anthony lockwood x reader#anthony lockwood x you#merry xmas#christmas fic
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10 days til' Christmas
figureskater!reader and hockeyplayer!gojo satoru's complicated relationship ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆
cw: miscommunication trope(Im sorry i know its annoying but like just read)
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Blue robin eggs, the sky, ice, oceans, jeans, pools, Uranus, smithsonite, opal, moonstones, and waterfalls. A list of all the things that are blue that could never do me any harm. But his eyes, they captivate they attract then they destroy and demolish.
On multiple occasions, I have been called the best figure skater of my time. I have broken records in multiple countries for the most turns, the first triple axel landed, first this and that. It felt good. Hell, it felt great.
But the truth is, I am a nervous wreck. Spinning is my specialty I do it so well and no one knows how. They say it seems like I never get dizzy.
But there is one thing I need that is always there to help me do what I do. Any dancer knows that the key to a good round of spins is a spot. Something you can focus on and keep looking at repeatedly so that you don't get dizzy.
When I spin I look for blue. Calming and beautiful but harsh and unpredictable. I look for him. Those eyes scream at me for attention. I turn so well because when I look away, my body forces me to look right back. But I could never tell him that. He hates me.
. . .
I'm the best hockey player because I practice more than the average player. I am the best because I worked too hard not to be. It is not an opinion it is fact. Most coaches will tell you that teamwork is key and I agree 100%. But, they lie when they say one singular person can't beat a full team of players because I can. That's—how good I am.
I stopped playing hockey because I loved it, years ago. I probably fell out of love with the sport when I was like 13. Now I play hockey because I love someone.
She's always there. Before I hit the ice she's out there destroying it while looking the most beautiful. We hockey players always complain about the figure skaters ruining our ice before we practice but truthfully I don't mind that she's the one ruining it. I wouldn't even mind if she ruined me.
She's already done a lot of damage to me, why not just finish me off and kill all my hopes of ever being in love again. I don't have to be in the rink two hours before practice and go over 'game strategies' when I'm really watching her skate. But I do it anyway because she has a way of pulling me in and then pushing me out. I love it.
I love her. I love seeing her. I love every second I'm in the same rink as her. I love how my mind plays games with me and tricks me into thinking that when she spins she looking straight into my eyes. Because I would rather think that than think about how much she hates me.
. . .
"Darling, you won't know if you don't try," your mom urged.
You let out a long sigh and just got into the car. Your mom was a figure skater on her way to stardom before she tore her ACL and could never compete again.
Anyone who didn't know you and your mom's relationship would assume she was trying to live vicariously through you. Truthfully she was against you doing figure skating, after you decided you wanted to follow in her footsteps and figure skate as well.
You had watched a recording of her last competition. She did pair skating and she was in a last-leg competition to compete for Team USA in the Olympics. When she did her throw triple axel it looked beautiful in the air and the landing was swift. But she started making pained faces and soon enough she fell and couldn’t move her leg.
She had attempted to skate through an injury to her ACL and in the 30 seconds she skated after tearing it, she did irreversible damage to her leg. She was used to performing through pain but she said she had never felt such pain in her whole life. That's what made you want to start skating. The fact that your mother was so devoted to her sport that she could skate through one of the most painful injuries. That sparked your interest, you believed skating could make you strong. And it did but it also made you love.
You were hesitant to go to the figure skating lessons that you begged your parents to take you to because you were nervous. You loved to skate but you couldn't shake the feeling of prying eyes on you when you spun.
Since you were six years old you would go to the rink an hour earlier and practice until you got it right. The hockey boys usually had their practices after yours. So they waited to practice while watching you skate.
You had private lessons ever since you started making a multitude of qualifiers when you were in middle school. So, some of the hockey boys would be going over their game plans while you skated alone and some would just watch.
They didn't like you. Or one of them especially didn't like you. Gojo Satoru. Only the hottest guy in junior year. You had made enemies with him when the two of you were a lot younger. It didn't help that your parents were the best of friends and thought the two of you were close.
Every day you prayed the incident was just a dream and you were going to wake up and go to practice and maybe bump into Gojo and meet him again for the first time under better circumstances.
. . .
You were extremely late for your lessons. You had gone from your middle school promotional courses to tutoring then straight to the rink, no rest. You were running on three hours of sleep as a 13-year-old. As you sprinted down the halls nothing was on your mind but how you were about to apologize to your trainers. The boy's hockey team had a game on the main rink so you had to go to a side rink.
Without looking where you were going immediately slide out to ice. You were deaf and blind to the screaming boys and crowd and the lights shone in your eyes as a member of the opposing team was skating at you with the puck in his possession at full speed.
Wrong rink, wrong time, wrong position. You begged the ice to swallow you and consume you. Your legs were stone and your mind was cluttered. All you could hear was Gojo pleading for you to move out of the way so you wouldn't get hurt while racing towards you.
. . .
The drive to the rink was silent as you let thoughts of how you would possibly make it through practice today run wild. He would be there watching you with those eyes of his.
He had been away for a week at a tournament and you weren't taking it very well. His absence was kryptonite to your performance.
When the blades of your shoes hit the frigid ice you felt his eyes on you. In that moment your body burned like a furnace. No matter how cold his eyes were they had a way of setting you on fire.
The smell of dirty hockey equipment invaded your nose then all your senses. You took position and as your music started you allowed it to carry you across the ice. Once it was time for you to turn you hit every. Single. One. Your spot was blue. Your spot was him. It was good he was back.
Once your piece ended you received some applause from your coaches and some of the hockey boys. All the praise was worth nothing because you could have sworn he was watching you. So when you looked at him to see his arms crossed and gaze directed somewhere else, your heart sunk a little. He was completely unbothered by you, and you hated it.
. . .
I was afraid that if I looked at her after her beautiful performance I might’ve cried. She made her new choreography look unreal. I hadn't seen her in what felt like a lifetime. I missed our little glances that I would always hallucinate were longing, knowing glances.
I missed the 40 seconds in passing that we would talk to each other as I got on the ice and she left the ice. I missed the dinners that our parents would force us to have together. Where we would have a civil conversation 'for our parents' sakes'(I truthfully looked forward to those dinners).
I looked forward to the hug I would give her. My arms wrapped around her cold body. My hands would graze her smaller cold ones. She would be fresh out of the shower after an evening session, and her hair would smell like her fruity shampoo and her sweet honey-scented conditioner. When she walked by me quick enough, the smells would waft and invade my nose and numb my senses.
Even when I looked away from her trying not to look in her direction, my mind wouldn't shut up about her.
. . .
I hated how his lack of attention towards me bothered me so much. I hated how no matter how hard I tried, I could never hate him as much as he probably hated me. Today would be different. You wouldn't bother him today. As you skated off the ice you ignored him and skated right off. It took everything in you not to look back at him.
. . .
You stood unable to move as if your skates were frozen into the ice. Then everything went completely dark and all you could hear was the screams of your parents. You felt someone pushing you to the ground then everything went black.
. . .
next part → 8 days til' christmas
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taglist:
@aripet22
#christmas fluffdown#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo fluff#gojo satoru x you#gojou satoru x reader#jjk fluff#gojou satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk x reader#gojou x reader#gojou satoru x y/n#satoru gojo x reader#gojo angst
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For your Hellfire Haunts challenge could I get a ghost!Eddie with "Til death do us part"? I'm a sucker for ghost x human romances
I love this idea so much. Absolutely, @gr00vyr0se! Thanks for sending this in!
Haunted Hearts
Ghost!Eddie Munson x GN Reader
Words: 5.4k
Be warned: this is dangerously soft and tender.
You weren't sure what possessed you to stop at the estate sale.
You were driving through an old flyover town called...Hanking? Hawks? You were on the road for so long that you couldn't remember.
With a slow blink, you realized you wouldn't be getting much farther without needing a break. A stop would be a nice break on your eyes, and you parked your car with a stretch. Your shoulders ached, and you slouched before checking your phone.
Your map gave you an estimated arrival time of four more hours on the road, four more hours before making it home and crashing into your own bed.
Yeah, you resigned. A break would have been very nice.
The old trailer park home was almost forgotten among the greenery of the midwest. Vines of ivy twisted up and over the windows. The house was a memory of a dying age, and wildlife had taken over the parking lots. Humidity clung low, and you stood with a soft breath. In the distance, you could hear cardinals chirping and squirrels chittering in the trees.
Oh, Indiana.
Only one other car was parked in the lot, and there was a large poster listing the estate sale on the front porch.
Munson Estate Sale.
Saturday and Sunday, 10:00-6:00
You stopped at the door as you carried yourself up the creaking steps. The place looked abandoned.
"Hello?" You called into the trailer, tapping on the side of the doorframe.
You heard a rustle inside and decided to test your luck. You walked into the old, faded trailer with a frown. It looked, well, it looked sad. Neglected. Forgotten.
You wandered the living room aimlessly, looking at the faded wallpaper and dust filtering through the lights.
There wasn't a lot in the living room. Some part of you thought that there were only old baseball caps and German beer mugs left over, but a sinking feeling in your stomach told you otherwise. There must not have been a lot to begin with.
"Can I help you?"
The next thing you knew, you were spinning around with a jump, clutching your hand to your chest.
An old woman was carrying a box from one of the back rooms. She was crouched over, her spine curved, and her hair starting to grey from behind thick glasses. She was struggling with the box.
"Here, let me help," You offered quickly, holding your hands out to grab the other side of the cardboard. It was heavy, and you helped her set it up on the kitchen counter before getting a good look inside.
It was a box of old vinyl records and cassette tapes. No wonder why it was so heavy.
"Thanks," the woman offered, looking around the kitchenette. "Now, if I only knew where I put my tape – oh!" She exclaimed once she found it.
Her clubbed, wrinkled fingers urged the packing tape up in a stripe, and you closed the box's flaps to silently help her. When you shut the lid, you noticed words scribbled on one of the flaps in an old, dried-out sharpie. You moved your fingers to get a better look.
Eddie
"Well, I suppose you're here to look around," The woman said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. You looked down at her face with a nod. "Most of the belongings are going to be donated after today. Let me know if you have any questions."
You didn't need to be told twice, backing away from the main room and heading toward the back of the trailer.
The trailer was smaller on the inside. Aside from the living room and kitchenette, there was a small bathroom, a linen closet, and one bedroom at the end of the hallway.
The bedroom was your only point of interest.
The room almost looked untouched, as if the dust and cobwebs were older than time let on.
The air was stale and lingering with the smell of old cigarettes. You couldn't help but scrunch up your nose.
You walked around carefully, noticing old band posters pinned to the walls. Clothes and boxes were stuffed under the bed frame, and the bed itself was unmade. No sheets, no duvet. Trinkets and more loose cassette tapes were scattered across the mattress.
It looked much less like an old estate sale and more like a teenage boy's bedroom.
You walked around the mess, looking at an old, beat-up dresser. Half of the drawer knobs were missing, and your hand lingered over one of the drawers before pulling it toward you.
You were half expecting to see a home of spiders but were surprised. The drawer was relatively organized under a mess of socks. Old band t-shirts were hidden underneath. You pulled at an old Metallica shirt and grinned.
Oh, what the hell.
You folded it under your arm and pushed the hardwood closed. As you looked up in the dresser mirror, your eye caught something from across the room. You spun around on your heel, turning to the corner of the room.
It was a corner of old mismatched band gear, stacks of loose-leaf paper, and a guitar. A nice guitar.
"What in the world are you doing here?" You asked aloud, your eyebrows knitting together in a moment of confusion.
You plucked the guitar from its place in the corner - not even on a stand - and gave it a thoughtful strum. It could use some new strings and a little love, but it was in great shape. And you were in no condition to talk. Maybe it was finally time you learned how to play.
But what was it doing in a place like this? It was definitely custom.
You looked down at it thoughtfully.
"It looks like you're coming home with me."
You didn't see the hint of movement, a shadow, in the mirror's reflection as you walked out of the room.
Your house smelled like soft linens. It was warm, comforting, and clean.
The simple home sat stationary, waiting for your eager return. When you finally pulled the door open after your trip, it enveloped you in an embrace of laundry detergent and cashmere.
You were home at last.
You toed off your shoes before you even locked the door. You let your bag fall to the floor with an unceremonious thud before addressing the outsider.
If your home was anything, it was soft. It was gentle, humble, and welcoming. The rugged Warlock guitar was a compelling centerpiece. It was sharp and loud and aggressive against the softness of the room.
Your house didn't smell like cheap cologne and cigarettes.
You weren't waiting for your things to become dusty heirlooms.
And you thought that there was some life left in the old guitar. You let out a relaxed groan as you sat down on the couch. You lounged back, your eyes narrowing at the clock on the stovetop. It was getting late.
You pulled the guitar into your lap and looked it over, your eye catching on an engraving that left an uneven groove under your fingertips.
Corroded Coffin.
Your eyebrows hitched curiously before you traced the letters. There was fondness in your heart. You found the needle in the haystack and in the middle of a shit-stain of a town, nonetheless.
You hesitantly placed one hand on the neck and let it rest in your lap while strumming the strings. They were tight and brittle with old age. Everything was out of tune. Maybe you should get new strings before giving it a real test drive.
You made a mental list – milk, bread, guitar strings. You smirked, shaking your head. Maybe you could buy a book for beginners or look up tutorials on your phone. It would be a labor of love.
When a yawn bubbled up in your chest, you knew it was time for bed. You washed your face and brushed your teeth before falling between the sheets. You didn't pay any attention to the shadows hugging the corners of your bedroom.
What you didn't expect was to have a dream frightening enough to wake you up.
It was still dark outside when you were startled up, and when you checked your phone, it was only about three in the morning. Your eyes burned as you looked at the light.
You were dreaming of skies of lightning and hordes of disfigured bats. They were swarming over you. You couldn't run away or move at all.
You were trapped.
When you finally got a grip, the lingering feeling of fear and loneliness crept into the corners of your heart. You were scared and alone. You turned on the lights before sitting up, flailing slightly to get out from the blankets, trapping you to the mattress.
You felt like crying.
A rush of emotion left you winded, and all you wanted to do was not to be so alone.
So, you got up, turned on the lights and the tv in the living room, and let the soft sounds of old reruns soothe the tension in your shoulders.
You started a batch of laundry from the trip, and the whirl of water added to the cacophony of noise you relied on to fill the space. Searching high and low, you found an old bag of chocolate chips in your panty. You tried your hand at the chocolate chip cookie recipe on the back of it.
You definitely didn't have all the ingredients it required. But after scrolling on your phone for twenty minutes, you found helpful alternatives and were back on track.
Old cartoons were playing on the TV, and you turned to the old tune of the Thundercats intro. You raised an eyebrow with mild confusion. It had been years since you watched it. You swore your dad kept an old VHS movie tape of Thundercats at his house. But you followed the glow of the TV to your couch and plopped down.
It was almost calming to watch the grainy art frames. You sat there, subconsciously strumming at the guitar still perched next to you. You sat there until the cookies were done baking and went back to watching the old shows.
Time passed by like syrup, slowly and thickly in your brain. You swapped out the laundry, put away the cookies, and gave the guitar another thoughtful strum before deciding to try and go back to bed.
The memories of the nightmare had faded, and you almost felt silly for how scared you felt.
This time, your bed looked far more inviting. You plugged in your phone, cursed under your breath at how late it was getting, and finally crawled back under the covers. You were tired. Your mind could calm down, and it took very little time for you to get comfy enough to doze.
You were right there, on the cusp of being swept under the current. A faint thought passed over you, and you swore you could hear the low thrum of a melody from the other room. But you were too far gone to focus on it. Sleep claimed you quickly, deeply.
You didn't have any dreams the rest of the night.
In the morning, you dragged your feet out of bed and swore you were dozing off in the shower. Not even coffee helped. It felt like a blanket was weighing you down.
All your hours on the road must have finally caught up with you.
You felt irritable, like you weren't entirely comfortable in your own house, and paced around the rooms.
Nothing you wore felt right. You eyed the old Metallica shirt carefully as you pulled it out of the dryer. After running your thumb along the old lettering, you smiled. You decided to pair it with some old jeans and finally felt comfortable.
But you were still so out of it that you didn't notice the guitar or the snapped strings splayed along the couch as you hurried out the door.
It was better at work, surprisingly. You worked a whole shift and felt better than you had all morning. The tension in your shoulders was gone; more than once, you looked down at the Metallica shirt affectionately.
You felt much better when you made it to the grocery store. The fluorescents in the store were bright, and you rubbed your eyes, trying to focus. You had written out your list of staples to get. At the bottom of your list, you remembered quickly scribbling down chocolate milk on your way out the door. You grinned and shook your head.
You must have really had a tough night. It had been years since you actively thought about chocolate milk. Maybe it was the late-night baking or cartoons. There was a nagging feeling in your belly to hurry up as you walked down the aisles. You bypassed the refrigerated section altogether, and sitting on a shelf next to juice and Caprisuns, you found a case of Yoo-hoos.
You couldn't recall if your parents bought them when you were a kid, but you reached out to the packaging anyways. And it wasn't long after that you were checking out and loading up your trunk with groceries: You had other stops to make, after all.
The music store was intimidating.
You walked past aisles of sheet music to the guitar gear with small steps. There were acoustic and electric guitars hanging on the walls, and boxes of amps and speakers were below them. There was so much to look at. You were never particularly musically inclined - but your parents were. Maybe it was time to learn for yourself.
The shop was quaint, and there might have only been two or three other customers while you looked for strings. And when you found them? Oh man, there were a bunch of them.
The strings ranged by guitar type and brand, and you quickly got frazzled. The price range was obscene. When you finally fidgeted toward a box, you hesitated.
"It's a rip-off."
The words were followed by a low whisper of a breath, and you looked over your shoulder. You wanted to see who was giving their feedback. But the only person remotely close by was an older employee.
You could have sworn the voice sounded younger.
You looked around again before shaking your head, forgetting about it. You reached for some middle-of-the-road strings and a winder. They didn't break the bank, and you even snagged a couple of fun guitar picks before calling it a night.
The house was much colder than you remembered leaving it that morning.
You crossed your arms after putting away groceries, frowning when you looked at the thermostat. It was the same as you had left it. With a grumble, you turned up the heat and moved to your bedroom, throwing on a sweatshirt.
You baked a frozen pizza and drank a Yoohoo for dinner before settling in on the couch, but you felt restless. You couldn't stay still.
It was only then that you noticed a couple of snapped guitar strings. You cursed under your breath, your fingers blindly reaching toward the music shop bag.
Three tutorial videos and a half an hour later, you were winding, clipping, and pulling the first string into place, only to find out it was the wrong string. It was an arduous task.
Your back ached, and you groaned, sitting up from your spot. You let your arms stretch above you and thought the air was warmer.
When you finally blinked away from the guitar, you felt a chilled rush of goosebumps on your neck and tilted your head back to the kitchen. For a moment, you thought you saw something just out of the corner of your eye.
You bit your lip anxiously. It didn't matter what you thought. You were feeling paranoid.
Or at least you thought you were paranoid.
Days started to pass quickly as you got back into a work rhythm. You still woke up to strange dreams. They were all vivid at the moment, but none were as frightening as the initial dream of bats and lightning. Their memories sizzled out when you woke up, but you were left with a strange feeling.
Every morning you woke up with a heaviness in your bones that wouldn't cease until you left the house.
There was a chill in the air regardless of the warm fall sun. Sometimes you felt like you weren't entirely alone.
Learning the guitar came slowly. The pads of your fingers burned and ached, and most nights, you let the guitar sit all alone on its side of the couch.
You turned to old comfort films to fill your free time and started to expand your music horizons. Sometimes you would watch old rock and roll music videos with heavy guitar solos and look at the guitar with a longing expression.
You could do that.
If you applied yourself, you could do it.
Sometimes, in the dead of night, you swore you could hear the guitar playing from out in the living room. It was slow and sweet, and you could almost feel the thrumming vibrations in your sleep.
Sometimes you would wake up on the couch with the guitar in your lap or a blanket draped over you. Those days you felt especially drained.
You couldn't remember how you got out there but could imagine it was the aftermath of a bad dream.
One morning you woke up to the soft sound of the TV. Your eyes were sleepy, and your neck ached, but you were content. The remote was right next to your hand, and when you focused, you realized the music was the end of the Lord Of the Rings.
You didn't overthink it. You loved those movies.
You reached for the remote and turned on the second one - The Two Towers - before settling back on the couch.
But your precarious sleeping patterns also messed with your appetite.
You went through another pack of Yoo-hoos and bought chips and pop tarts.
Playing the guitar became a subconscious effort like maybe you knew how to play after all. You were zoning out one night, strumming blindly while watching cartoons, and startled up when you realized you were playing the notes of Stairway to Heaven.
It was slow and maybe a little choppy, but it was there. The trouble was, you didn't even know how to play that song.
You put the guitar down for a while after that.
It wasn't until one Friday night, after you settled in after a long work week, that you got a noise complaint from the neighbors.
They were grumpy, spitting up and down that they could hear your 'devil music' during all hours of the day. They listened to the incessant noise all afternoon. They even complained about hearing the raucous music in the middle of the night.
But you had a hard time understanding them; you weren't even home in the middle of the day. You didn't even have time to run home on your lunch break.
You didn't have speakers or an amp, so what were they hearing?
There was a sudden chill in the air behind your back. Oh. You swallowed hard and tensed up, but tried to keep your composure and calm down your neighbors.
You promised to lay off the music, and when they finally relented and let you get on with your night, you sent a scalding glance at the guitar.
"You're putting on a show without me?"
When you finally dared to pick up the guitar, you moved it from the couch and made a beeline to your closet. Until you knew what was going on, you didn't have the nerve to look at it.
Even the dark, carved words Corroded Coffin stared back at you with grief. But you closed the closet door anyway.
You had no idea what you were doing.
What did you bring into your house?
You stayed in your bedroom the rest of the night. Whatever was in your house wasn't malicious. That much you were sure of.
You took to the internet for help. Cold air? Strange noises? It could mean anything from poor airflow to a mouse infestation. Strange dreams? It could mean phycological distress or uncertainty.
And as much as you wanted to skirt around it, you eventually searched for what was really consuming your thoughts.
Ghosts. Haunting spectre. Demonic presences.
You didn't know where to start.
'Ghost anomalies could be caused by connections of the deceased to places or objects. These spirits can have an effect on the environment around them. They can influence temperature, and electronic devices can go haywire. Magnetism shifts are expected. Sometimes, if left alone for long enough, it could even affect the living.'
You frowned, letting your head fall in your hands.
The strange behavior didn't begin until you brought that guitar home.
It would explain your own peculiar behavior. Some days it felt like the strength from your bones like you had been hit by a bus. But maybe it wasn't a bus at all.
You cleared out your search bar and looked up Corroded Coffin, but the results were few and far between. You looked up haunted instruments, but that search list was even shorter.
And then you pulled up a map, trying to backtrack the route you drove home.
It must have all stemmed from the estate sale.
You tried to remember the path, zooming in and out of the major cities and small towns. Did you take County Road 19? Didn't you make an exit at Highway 75?
It was an arduous process, and when you finally did get back into the weeds of Indiana, your eyes almost lit up.
Hawkins. Bingo.
You opened a new tab; a new search.
Hawkins, Indiana estate sales.
There was a list of fancy, middle-class homes with estate sales. But there was nothing about a trailer park. You kept trying.
Hawkins, Indiana trailer park.
You did find the trailer park, but there was very little information on who lived there or how to get in touch with them. There was just an old brochure attached in the city records that must have been from the 70s. Maybe you weren't looking in the right place.
Hawkins, Indiana obituaries.
Why would they have an estate sale unless there was no one to take care of the trailer? Someone must have recently passed away.
The search pulled up a newspaper. The Hawkins Post. It was a weekly paper that mainly covered local sporting events and the mismanagement of tax policies. Still, at the end of the articles, there was an obituary section. It was a small town, after all.
You started looking back, digging through weeks of online copies of the paper, searching for a needle in a haystack.
You almost gasped when you finally found something that lingered from your memory.
Wayne Munson.
Munson Estate Sale
He passed away about a month before the estate sale and had a short obituary underneath his name.
Wayne was a dedicated worker at the power plant for over forty years, had a soft spot for fishing and fried foods, and was as kind as he was gruff around the edges.
Unfortunately, Wayne is not remembered by family members. However, he is and will be recognized by this community. Wayne was a devoted uncle, but after the town events of 1986, he remained alone. We will remember Wayne and all the work he has contributed to Hawkins.
You read over it twice. Maybe you were haunted by the memory of Wayne Munson. But it didn't make any sense. What happened in 1986? You went back.
Hawkins, Indiana 1986
Your eyes went wide at the results. There was a massive earthquake that destroyed the town. People were killed, and others went missing. There were pictures of the wreckage.
Your belly ached. You thought about the guitar and looked at the closet door across the hall. Wayne had a family. Someone went missing.
"What happened to you?" You whispered into the air, clearing your search bar again.
Missing Persons Hawkins, Indiana 1986
You scrolled through missing person pictures, and there was a massive spike in the spring of 1986. The town really was devastated.
And then you found it. Edward "Eddie" Munson.
It was a missing person's poster of Eddie Munson.
The black and white poster was old and grainy, and you zoomed in as closely as possible. His hair was long and dark, unruly, with curls that framed his face. You couldn't help but smirk. He definitely had hair to fit the period. His eyes were dark, or maybe it was just the picture, but his features were soft. You leaned back against the bedframe. He looked so young when he went missing. It must have been a school picture.
Eddie Munson.
You thought back to the estate sale and the woman carrying that big old box of tapes. Eddie's name was on the top of it. Eddie was into music.
When you looked back at the picture, your heart skipped a beat. He was wearing an all-too-familiar Metallica shirt in the photo. That same shirt was draped over your desk chair with the rest of your clean laundry.
You zoomed back out and saw a link to details of the disappearance with a newly formed curiosity. But your computer screen froze as you moved to click on the link. Not even a moment later, the screen turned black, and you jumped.
There was a shadow looming behind you.
You practically jumped off the bed, but when you turned around, no one was there. No shadows were lingering between your bed and the wall.
You were all alone when you looked back at the dark computer screen. It couldn't have run out of battery charge - it was plugged into the outlet.
Panic spiked in your veins.
You made a move to stand up but faltered. The air was too cold. You could see the puff of air as you exhaled, and your head ached.
It was a heavy, suffocating feeling. You couldn't think straight.
The room was spinning around you, and you braced yourself on the headboard to steady yourself. But the effort was fruitless. You blindly collapsed between the bed and the dresser only a moment later. And as your eyes fluttered shut, you were out before your head could hit the floor.
But your head never hit the ground.
You were cradled between the hardwood and something invisible to the naked eye. You were brought to the ground gently, your skin jumping with goosebumps at the sudden chill. For the first time in a long time, everything was silent.
And Eddie didn't know what to do.
He was scared.
"Sorry, sorry," He apologized. And he meant it.
Eddie didn't want you to look for him, worried about what you might find. He was accused of so many things - devil worship, child endangerment, murder. He was the ostracised freak of Hawkins, and he couldn't even die right. He wasn't at peace.
And when Dustin gave his uncle the guitar, he found his way back. Not that anyone could see him, but he was there.
He was tied to the guitar in the upside-down, and when Wayne locked it in the back room with all of Eddie's things, he thought he'd be stuck there forever.
You saved him.
Your entire existence was different from the life he had known. It was white linens and peace. It was clean air and the chance to grow up.
Eddie didn't feel dragged down by his upbringing. He wasn't a freak.
You felt it too. You could feel him, even if you couldn't put it into words.
And Eddie tried to be a polite guest, but he was just so antsy. He was in a new place and didn't feel so alone with you. He wanted to be content for the first time in a long time.
He got to see you, the real you, in the safety of your own home. He spent his mornings staying out of your way, watching from a distance as you hurried to get ready and make it to work.
He appreciated the slow, cat-like way you stretched out after a long day. He'd watch how you slowly pluck at the guitar strings when you needed to decompress. Sometimes he even wanted to help. He even tuned your guitar and ensured the strings were tight before you played.
Eddie's taste in movies was rubbing off on you; he was sure of it. You'd put on old slasher movies without really thinking about it. And when woke up to the Fellowship of the Ring? He was nervous about being too involved, but you jumped right in. Eddie had been in a bubble for so long and didn't want to be locked away again.
At night, when you were just on the cusp of falling asleep, he felt the closest he ever had. It was like the plane between life and death was thinner somehow. You were on the cusp of wakefulness and sleep, and he could reach out to you. If he could just show you, talk to you, he -
Eddie froze.
He was lonely. He just wanted someone to talk to.
Most nights, he'd linger in the doorframe until sleep pulled you under, waiting until he could feel the electricity in the air. He was so close to something. And he reveled in that feeling.
He could reach out to you in your dreams.
At first, he didn't mean to do it. And he never meant to scare you, but he could vividly remember the upside-down. Your dreams and fears were his own.
Eddie needed to show you. He didn't want to jeopardize whatever attachment he formed, but he needed you to understand. He wasn't a monster. He wasn't a killer.
Eddie was enamored by you.
He didn't know if it was love or the need for companionship, but he didn't want to lose you. He had waited years, almost lifetimes, for a change. He had been waiting for you all along.
And if you knew what other people thought about him? If you believed them? He wasn't sure if he would recover.
The fear was paralyzing, so he panicked. He had to stop you.
He didn't even know just how much influence he could have. His body was still trapped in the upside-down, and he could feel the lingering power of the heavy atmosphere. So he overwhelmed the energy of the room.
You couldn't have fought against it if you had tried.
"I'm not going to hurt you." He assured, reaching out to touch your face. "I promise."
But Eddie didn't know if he was trying to assure himself or you. He wasn't even sure you could hear him. He'd have to be careful. His touch was nervous, pressing into your temples and watching as your expression softened. He moved his hands away quickly.
You were pulled up from the floor and laid back in bed. Eddie assessed you with a frown. His connection was stronger than he thought. He leaned in close, sitting on the edge of the bed, and twirled his rings on his fingers anxiously.
He was going to tell you the truth, his truth, before you could find out on your own. But when he took your hand in his own, you startled up.
You could see him. You were staring straight at him, grasping his hand tight as you looked him over. It wasn't another dream.
He was really there, wearing an old, beat-up jacket and jeans as he sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes were just as dark as the picture. You could see and feel him and hear how his breath got caught in his throat.
"Eddie?" You were startled. It wasn't from fear, no. You were startled by how comfortable you felt. You were safe and secure.
You could feel the rush of power, of energy from his hand to yours. And as those dark eyes shifted to yours, he knew.
Eddie wasn't connected to the guitar anymore. He was connected to you.
Hellfire Haunts Masterlist
#hellfire haunts#writing challenge#ghost!eddie munson#ghost!eddie#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#ghost x reader#spooky stories
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What does the Doctor Keep in his pockets?
Context: Damian has fallen through the Doctor's pockets after an attempt was made to grab the sonic screwdriver to play with Alfred the Cat. Unfortunately, the Doctor's trenchcoat pockets are deeper than they look and Damian falls inside and right into a warzone of Daleks and Cybermen. (all of this will be added at some point to a later post, I just need to post this now so I can not think about it for a hot minute)
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Only cowards run. A young man in a red and green suit held a sword in a defensive stance. Damian Al Ghul-Wayne is no coward.
“Dami! What are you doing?”
Damian jumped as he started slashing through the overgrown moving pieces of iron with his upgraded sabre that he had forged from some materials in the trenchcoat pockets. It cut through easily, like a lightsaber in a Star Wars comic book.
“Ex-term-in-ate-”
These tin cans were no match for a small eleven-year-old that runs on spite and red bull.
“I’m trying to save your life here. The least you could do is cooperate.”
“As you can see, I am more than in my element here, Doctor.”
What kind of name was Doctor anyway? It seemed senseless. So far, the only thing he’d done was create more problems and wave a sonic screwdriver (whatever that was), and he didn’t seem to have a PhD.
“You’re not tho-” There was a clashing and cleaning behind him; Damian turned around just long enough to see one of the tin cans spinning into another three. “Damian, you’re underestimating them.”
“You haven’t given us a straight answer once since we came here.” Damian said. “Give me one good reason why I should trust you.”
“Your father and grandfather trust me.” The Doctor replied. “Is that not enough for you? They traveled with me throughout the ends of the universe, and still, they came home safe and sound.”
Damian gripped his sword harder, jumping towards the Doctor. “You’ll want to duck.”
The Doctor dutifully rolled out of the way as Dami crashed into another tin can, decapitating its eye before it had a chance to fire an electrical shock.
“See? They’re gone.” Damian refrained from adding under his breath No thanks to you.
“For now. Til the simulation resets.” the doctor shrugged. “I came to grab you. You’re still in my pocket.”
Damian huffed. They were standing in Gotham plaza. Rulli’s was right across the street, the Batburger was around the corner, and Red Robin right behind him. The ground felt solid underneath his feet. This wasn’t a simulation.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them again. He muttered curses under his breath.
“Look up.” Trenchcoat behind him said.
Used to following orders, Damian allowed his eyes to flash upward for one second to see a banner he hadn’t noticed before: “Round 3. Record score: 213300/500000 EXP”
The hell is that supposed to be?
“You’re in my pocket dimension, Damian. Quite literally, you haven’t left my pocket. I came to grab you, but if you’re having too much fun fighting daleks, well, I won’t stop you. Looks like you’re having fun.”
“How long have I been here?” Damian suddenly crouched to avoid two incoming shots from the Daleks.
“Couldn’t tell you. Time passes differently here than in the proper universe.” Doctor shrugged. “Besides, what is time besides a human concept to measure moment-to-moment-”
“I don’t need a philosophy lesson right now!” Damian shouted. “You could help me out with this, you know.” The new guy was worse than Dick at this sometimes.
“Nope. They can’t hurt me. I’m a simulation too. Just like them. Except I’m programmed to help you get out.”
Damian’s glowing sword cut decommissioned two more Daleks, and then he thought he saw numbers rising from the corner of his eye. 2000? 1500?
“That’s the amount of experience points you’re getting, Damian.” The doctor grinned. “Kill enough Daleks and you get to level up.”
Then Damian noticed that every time the sword struck against the metal, a long red bar would decrease in size, first by halves, and then by smaller increments.
“What is this.”
“I told you. It’s a game.” The Doctor’s voice came from behind him. And Tag, your It.”
Damian turned around to yell at the Doctor when he felt something hit him from behind. As he vibrated and writhed with pain, collapsing to the ground, he heard the sound of glass.
“That’ll be your heart containers, Damian. Might want to make sure those don’t break. You know each level gets harder than the rest. The Daleks get stronger. Faster. Better.”
As soon as Damian got control of his arms back, he swung just in time to reflect one of the dalek’s blows back harmlessly away from himself. Unfortunately, it didn’t hit the Dalek, but all things considered, it looked cool.
“If I level up. Will you get me out of here?”
“You could just quit. I can take you out now.”
Only cowards quit. Damian grimaced. He was not a coward.
He did wish he had paid slightly more attention to when his brothers were gaming instead of training. Perhaps there were many different kinds of training.
Round 4 was not difficult. Not only were there Daleks, but they also brought friends that exploded if you came too close to them. This ended up working not to their advantage when Damian found a way to set it off in their vicinity but outside of their range
Round 5 was worse. Another heart container shattered, leaving Damian with two left. He had been facing against two kinds of enemies. Dalek and an enemy that seemed to hate Daleks, but it also wasn’t sentient enough to be friends with him either. But this thing had some kind of tracking aim, so any projectiles would be coming right at Damian no matter where he could run. He could only try to put in some amount of distance between them before they exploded.
Round six got a bigger, translucent banner popdown. LEVEL UP! Please allocate your stats points.
What.
The name at the heading was “Damian Al Ghul-Wayne, 5th Robin of his name, prince of darkness--” the titles carried on past the spacing of the header would allow.
Underneath, there were six boxes, numbers sandwiched by a plus or minus sign.
Strength: 7, Constitution: 9, Dexterity: 9 I ntellect: 6, Wisdom: 5, Charisma: 4
“What happens if I change the numbers?” Damian asked the Doctor, using the moment of peace to turn to face him.
“Do it and find out.” Damian only received a shrug. “Will warn you, the effects after you hit the ‘submit’ button are permanent.”
“How do I leave the simulation?” Damian sheathed his makeshift sword letting his arm rest.
“Well, you have to leave the pocket.” The Doctor stood up and started walking towards him. “Which means you have to keep playing the game.”
Damian exhaled and turned back to the popup. This is ridiculous. These numbers are perfectly arbitrary; what does a 4 in Charisma even mean?
He squared back his shoulders. Whatever these numbers signified, they must have affected the game somewhat. Well, Charisma has not been helpful to this encounter, so not that one. Besides, I’d probably just turn out more like Richard. The thought wasn’t that unpleasant to him, but in the interest of exiting the pocket dimension as soon as possible-.
Jason was strong. Damian idly started pressing the plus button to see how high it would go. A seven turned to fifteen, and it wouldn’t let him toggle any of the other numbers until he returned it to its original state.
As the strength numbers increased, so did his muscles tighten and grow before they were almost bursting out of the suit. Interesting.
Dexterity could be a good one as well- he would be able to match Richard in his flamboyant acrobatics stunts. But why were his intellect and wisdom so low? Damian was top of his class in school, he didn’t deserve a 6 and a 5 respectively.
Damian just took one of each of the traits that interested him (constitution seemed boring and high enough anyway) and having two left, he added one to strength and wisdom each.
Strength: 9, Constitution: 9, Dexterity: 10, Intellect: 7, Wisdom: 7, Charisma: 4
Damian felt his muscles increase again - although not to the same extent as before. However, he also felt sparks fly off in his brain when he increased his intellect and wisdom scores. This is…strange to say the least.
Then part of him realized how funny it would be if he could stay like this in the real world outside the pocket dimension. He debated splurging all six of his points to get charisma up to 10 to unnerve the rest of his siblings. I still need to get out of here though.
“I imagine the levels will only increase in difficulty rank from here?”
“But of course. Same as with any game.” The Doctor replied.
“But there should be a way to force quit.” Damian followed up.
“You could- but where’s the fun in that?” The doctor grinned leaving Damian to simply tsk in disapproval.
He clicked the submit button before realizing that he had only put all of his skill points in Charisma, making the final scores
Strength: 7, Constitution: 9, Dexterity: 9, Intellect: 6, Wisdom: 5, Charisma: 10
Damian growled. I didn’t mean that- but the popup vanished as quickly as it came. Great.
The floods of enemies did indeed increase in great number and in variety. Some of them were easy to deal with, but as expected his Charisma boost was only a dead weight.
“You’re not thinking outside the box enough, Damian!” The Doctor shouted from somewhere behind a barrel. “I believe in you; If Bruce could do it, than so could you.”
Father did this as well? Damian didn’t really have time to process this information.d
Then it hit him. What’s Tim saying? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? He could turn them all against each other. Gaslight. Gatekeep. And Girlboss.
“HEY. Metal Trashcans.” Damian shouted. “I am not the one constantly shooting at you. People who shoot at you are your enemy. Therefore , I am not your enemy and you should be fighting the Metal Men.”
Ex-Term-In-Ate. The metal trashcans screamed and turned around, allowing Damian space to breathe in an old tower as things began fighting each other.
I can not believe that worked.
Damian came to the realization that if bamboozling them had worked, he then could then stealth behind them and just convince them to attack each other.
“Did you know that the big metal men are trying to quote unquote upgrade you?” He whispered behind the ranks of the Daleks. “Do you really think they’re going to stop at just the human race? There will be consequences-.”
As the Daleks began to turn and panic, Damian had moved out of sight as the Daleks approached their new enemy. “I am the superior being. Take out the metal trashcans first.” Damian whispered to one cyberman and then disappeared as the hunk of metal turned to look at the voice.
Tim was right, Damian reflected. Psychological warfare was fun sometimes. Perhaps
What if he could also use this to leave. He crept around the simulation grounds until he was next to where the Doctor was perched, crunching away on an apple.
“I wanna go home, Doctor.” Damian leaned his head against the older man’s arm, like he did to Richard when he craved attention. “I miss my family and I’m tired-”
“I can see through you. Your right eye twitches when you lie. Same as your old man.” The Doctor sighed. “Besides, it’s your fault for messing in with my pockets and falling in.”
“I just wanted to use your sonic screwdriver to play with Alfred.” Damian looked up as his lower lip trembled slightly.
The Doctor furrowed his brow slightly as he looked down in Damian’s face. “Somehow I don’t think Alfie’s going to approve of a glorified laser pointer as a pet.”
“No. Not Alfred the Butler. Alfred the cat.”
“Alfred can turn into a cat?” The doctor stood up suddenly, accidentally shoving Damian aside. “This I have to see.”
Damian wasn’t going to correct this assumption until they got home. The Doctor grabbed his hand and pulled out a different glowing gadget- how many did one man need?
Then the simulation faded into Darkness and Damian saw a bunch of stars zooming past him until it turned into soft darkness before he was in the Wayne Manor theater with everyone looking at him.
“Did you have fun?” Father was looking at him with a bemused smile for a second behind a mug.
Damian blinked. “You’re strange . But you’re interesting.”
The Doctor laughed. “He did better than you did, Bruce, you should have seen him rizz up robots like it was nothing-” The Doctor stopped as he laid eyes on Alfred. “Alfie, how have I been roommates with you for multiple centuries and I have not seen you turn into a cat once .”
Alfred looked towards Damian who just shrugged. “I believe there’s been a miscommunication, Doctor-”
Damian slipped out to go check out the TARDIS while the adults were all distracted. There was still time. There was all the time in the world.
---------------------------------------------
tagging @walkthruthewords and @igotthisaccountunderduress
Also I post on Ao3 as brb_on_a_quest! You'll see repeats of all of these fics posted here but hopefully some more original content if I can get more of my editing act together. :P
#doctor who#Damian Wayne#damian wayne al ghul#Alfred Pennyworth#The Doctor and the Butler#Brb-having-thoughts#brb-writes#fanfic
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Not Anyone Who Says
Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - AO3
Previous Chapter - Next Chapter
2
Fleetwood Mac’s “Monday Morning” crackled from the old record player perched atop a tray table in front of a sprawling bookcase, and Joel mindlessly tapped the toe of his boot in time with the music, lost in his work. The sharp buzz of his phone in his pocket jolted him back into himself, and he straightened up and pulled it out to squint at the screen.
Hey Dad
Gonna come by tmw for the bed frame and rest of the boxes
What time works for you??
Joel hit the green “Call” with a broad thumb and brought the phone to his ear. He loped across his office and switched off the turntable, watching the spinning vinyl slow to a stop as the phone rang. He wandered back through the room and stopped at the threshold to rest a squared shoulder against the dark wooden doorframe.
The conversation started with a good-natured and exaggerated groan. “Every time!”
“Hey there, babygirl,” Joel snarked. “Nice to talk to you too!”
“Dad, what is wrong with you? Just text back! You don’t have to call!”
“I can barely see the fuckin’ letters.”
“Are you wearing your glasses?”
“Sure am.” Joel pinched the bare bridge of his nose and scanned his workspace for his glasses, coming up empty.
“Liar.” He could hear the smile in her voice, and the dimple on his right cheek deepened with a grin of his own.
“S’not the point, smart ass. Phones are for callin’, Sarah.”
“Maybe you should join us in this century, Dad. You’re not ancient.”
Joel snorted. “Feels like it. You girls must’ve just ran me ragged before my time. Now what time are you plannin’ to bother me tomorrow? Couldn’t possibly let me enjoy my peace and quiet for more’n a minute, huh?”
Sarah chuckled warmly. “Oh, bull shit, Dad. I know you’re miserable already. Stomping around the house grousing at Ellie is your favorite hobby.”
“Now, that’s not true and you know it. I also like grousin’ at you and Tommy. Bunch of fuckin’ knuckleheads.” Joel barked a laugh that trailed off at the end, softening against his will into something more wistful that he hoped Sarah wouldn’t notice, though she noticed everything. She pretended she didn’t, forever giving him the grace he needed and never felt he deserved.
“We’ll come later in the afternoon. 4ish? 4:30? Ellie has class til 3, after I’m off work I’ll swing by the apartment and pick her up to come straight there.” Sarah paused. “We miiiight need your truck,” she admitted guiltily.
Joel shook his head, smirking. “‘Course you do.”
“And your help loading. And your help packing whatever’s left. Sorryyyyyy!”
“No ya ain’t,” Joel teased. “Don’t matter, I already figured you two’d been exaggerating ‘bout exactly how much you got done out there. Can’t trust either one of you.” He smiled broadly and shifted his weight before crossing to the window and cracking it halfway. “How about you make it up to me by stayin’ for dinner and pretendin’ we ain’t all sick of each other. Tell your sister she’s responsible for dessert, since she couldn’t be bothered to pack up her own shit.”
“Sounds perfect,“ Sarah cackled. “I’ll let you know when we’re on our way. Thanks again, Dad, for everything. I love you. See you tomorrow.”
“Love you too, babygirl,” Joel rumbled, his voice smooth heavy river rocks sun-warm with affection. He swallowed. “Love you both so damn much, even if you’re a pair of pains in my ass. I’ll see you tomorrow, darlin’.”
He hung up the call and slid the phone back into his jeans, its ghost a faded rectangle on the denim there. The corner of his mouth quirked up under his mustache, rounding his cheeks, and an unbidden tear snuck out the corner of his eye. He let it sit until it dried on his skin, salted sentiment.
Pressing a palm against the deep blue wall, he slanted closer to the open window. Tall Texas sage brushed against the sill, silvery leaves and whorled purple blooms swaying in the breeze, and Joel inhaled deeply, relishing how the sharp citrus pine smell swept fresh through his head like a broom, clearing out the cobwebs and dust. Lighter, he cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and sat back down at his desk.
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A LAST GOODBYE
“I put the record on
Wait 'til I hear our song
Every night I'm dancing with your ghost”
PARING: Norma Bates x F!Reader
A/N: My friend decided to kick the bucket and I’ve finally been able to get back into the headspace of writing. I was trying to give delirium but idk if it was successful. Anyway, please enjoy and to whom ever requested this I hope it fits your standards.
Ps. sorry for any errors I did not feel like proof reading.
SUMMARY: REQUEST! anon: reader has a hard time accepting the fact that norma is dead, and her grief has made her somewhat delusional to where she believes that norma is still alive.
WARNINGS: ghost (?)
WORD COUNT: 412 (short one)
Your night was like every other night, lonely. Counting sheep, one…two…three…four hundred. Sleep never seemed to come and neither did Norma. You couldn’t remember how many days it’s been since you’ve actually slept. Three days or maybe it was five.
The second you began to drift off into sleep, you heard loud music coming from downstairs. It startled you so you press your eyes close as you try to calm your racing heart. Once you feel it regulate, you slip out of bed, wrapping your throw blanket around yourself and you journey down the stairs.
You see the living room light shining down the corridor. It’s cold, colder than normal you think to yourself. Reaching the living room, you see Norma standing in front of the record player. Her blonde hair lays loosely to her shoulders and her white cotton night gown meets her ankles. The light is a perfect contrast to her skin.
She has a record in her hand with a smile on her face, she takes off the current record and puts on the new one. As it begins to play she looks over to you “Wanna dance?”
You smile at her and join her in the middle of the living room. Her hands are cold, yet they warm you. You both spin around the room, your bodies swaying hypnotically in time with the music. She hums in your ear as she holds your body close to hers and as the song draws to an end, so does the spin of the room.
“I’ve always loved dancing with you to that song.” She whispers. Her cold lips press a kiss to the side of your cheek.
“I know.” You whisper back to her, backing up slightly to see her face. “Let’s go to bed?”
There’s sadness in her eyes, yet she still smiles. You furrow your brows as you tilt your head. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m dead, remember?” And with that, darkness fills the room and it grows quite and cold.
“How do I keep forgetting that?” Only then does the loneliness you’ve been trying to run from, slowly and quietly creeps back in. It embraces you, and you let it. It dances through your body like you and Norma were doing moments ago. As much as you’ve tried to stop yourself from crying, your tears still fall in vein and no matter how many of them stain your cheeks and soak into your clothes norma wasn’t coming back.
♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎
Let me know if you want to be tagged! (18+)
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NOTES: I still don't know what this is.
TRIGGER WARNING: Mentioned sexual harassment and body shaming (not on the page)
COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: Any recognizable elements belong to Attack on Titan
CHAPTER TWO: Fake it til you make it
There was something about being back on the ice that made Mikasa feel like she was home.
Sasha stumbled a few times but eventually remembered.
Therapy had been today and to get her mind off of it, Sasha and Mikasa had taken over the rink before practice.
Levi shook his head as he watched the two girls skate around.
“Are you wearing your hockey skates or your regular ones?” Sasha asked.
“Regular, why?” Mikasa asked as she turned back towards the other girl.
Sasha grabbed both her hands. “Spin!”
Mikasa began spinning them as they dissolved into laughter.
“WE’VE BEEN INVADED!” Connie yelled as he walked into the arena on his way to the locker room.
“Do we need to leave?” Mikasa asked Levi as her and Sasha stopped skating.
“Two hours until practice. Springer comes in early with a few of the others. They run drills early. Feel free to give them hell,” Levi said as he looked down at his clipboard.
“HOLD ON! Let me get suited up and I’ll come onto the ice with you two!” Connie called before he disappeared into the locker room.
“There’s your answer too,” Levi flipped another page.
Sasha grabbed Mikasa’s hand and pulled her around the rink.
It had been Sasha’s idea to actually go skating instead of their usual work out. Therapy was always a rough day for Mikasa. Today had been especially rough. They had talked about her mother and how Mikasa always felt like she was failing when she played hockey. They spoke of the sexual harassment and body shaming she’d face as a dancer. Then about what had finally pushed her to punch Gross.
As soon as she was done, Sasha had been waiting there.
It was nice that she didn’t have to talk to Sasha. They could be in silence.
“SASHA! MIKASA!” Jean called as he entered the arena, waving to them.
Mikasa and Sasha waved back as they continued to skate around.
“When was the last time you skated? And helping Levi doesn’t count,” Sasha asked Mikasa.
“Uhh….family skate,” Mikasa asked as they skated over to Levi.
“My last family skate?” Levi asked as he looked up from the clipboard.
“Yeah, besides your physical therapy, I haven’t skated. I haven’t really had time. My last few years have been dance rehearsals, your physical therapy, and my own therapy.”
“And that’s why I told you to take this time to figure out what you want to do. By the way, what’s your Decemember look like?” Levi asked her.
“Christmas with Kuchel, Kenny, and you. That’s all I have planned. Why?” Mikasa asked as she sat down on the home team’s bench.
“There’s a camp we’re running in connection with the Warriors. I’ve been trying to get a women’s team in here. Warriors are sending a player over here to help. You met her the other night, Gabi. She tried to beat your record from what Falco told me.”
“Is your record still the highest in the Midwest?” Sasha asked.
“It can’t be. It was only 227,” Mikasa shrugged.
“It is still the highest in the Midwest. Gabi graduated with 224. She was signed right out of high school.”
“Okay, so she’s good at scoring. I don’t see what this has to do with me.”
“Jaeger’s record for scoring is 224 also. Kirsten was 223 and Grice was at 220. You and Gabi could bring in more women to the sport. It’s needed.”
“So you’re going to steal her for your women’s team?” Mikasa asked as she raised an eyebrow.
“No. I want you to teach at the camp that’s running here in December. A lot of girls have signed up just from Gabi.”
“Why me though? I’m not known. Where I am known is in dance circles and I can guarantee none of them are saying anything nice about me right now,” Mikasa looked down.
“You are. You still hold that record. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. But I don’t think you should hide from this.”
“I’m not going to play hockey professionally,” Mikasa said as she stood and walked back over to the ice.
“Not asking you to. Just teach some kids for a week in December.”
“I’m not getting a choice, am I?” Mikasa muttered as she skated away.
“You always have a choice,” Levi called to her.
Mikasa rolled her eyes before doing a simple toe jump.
“I always forget she was also a figure skater,” Sasha remarked to Levi.
“It was brief. It was a way to try and get Mikasa away from hockey,” Levi looked back down at the clipboard in front of him. “Though when she’d play pick up games, she’d start doing jumps.”
“It was dangerous and stupid,” Mikasa said as she skated back over to Sasha.
“You want the visitor locker room key now or are you going home to shower?” Levi asked as he pulled his keys out.
“I was going to go run on the treadmill for a while. I’ve had enough of the ice for today. So yes.”
“I’m going home,” Sasha answered.
“Do you want to give me a ride home?” Mikasa asked Levi.
Levi took a key off, handing it to Mikasa. “Do you want to sort through the paperwork on my desk and group the kids by ages for the camp?”
“I'm surprised you haven’t done it,” Mikasa scoffed.
“I printed them out before I came down here. They’re sitting in a nice stack on my desk. Keep it neat.”
Mikasa rolled her eyes, “I will. I’m going to take my skates off and then go up to the weight room.”
“Don’t put your feet on my desk when you’re done,” Levi waved her off.
“I’m putting my feet on your desk when I’m done and messaging your “not in a relationship” partner.”
“Hange has a class tonight.”
“Funny, I didn’t mention a name,” Mikasa grinned.
“She has you there,” Sasha laughed.
“Fuck off. Both of you,” Levi waved them away.
Sasha and Mikasa both left the ice.
Ten minutes later, Connie would come out.
“Aw. I missed them,” Connie complained.
—--------------------
Normally, Eren was at practice two hours early.
Today, he was not.
After avoiding his dad’s phone calls for several days about the last game, he was forced to go out to lunch with the man.
Grisha Jaeger wasn’t a bad person.
He was just obsessed with his sons’ careers. Some days, it was overbearing.
Grisha wanted to know why those goals got in.
Eren didn’t know.
He wasn’t defense.
He was a center forward. He’d never played defense in his life. He’d been a right winger, a left winger, and finally, a center forward.
Grisha worried about Eren’s attention on the ice.
“You are aware I hear about your life outside of the ice, correct?” Grisha asked as he sipped his wine.
“So?” Eren asked as he put his water down.
“So..your focus should be on the ice. I know it’s not. I know Historia is bailing out your reputation. Eren, you’re getting towards the end of your career.”
“I’m twenty seven,” Eren remarked.
“And most retire between thirty and thirty three. Hell, your brother has spoken about retiring after his next season.”
“I’m not retiring until they make me or I get injured.”
“And they will make you when your behavior off the ice is so horrible.”
Eren shook his head, removing himself from the memory.
Keith Shadis had a soft spot for Eren so Shadis gave Eren a key to the visitors locker room for days like today. Days needed to get his head on straight away from his teammates.
His music blasting in his earbuds, Eren unlocked the door and closed it behind him. He was walking over to the lockers when he saw Mikasa.
In her bra and underwear.
He knew she was muscular under her clothes. She was a former dancer, her abs were fantastic and he wondered what it would be like to lick them. And her thighs? She could squish his head like a watermelon and Eren would thank her for it. Was she wearing a thong?
They stared at each other for a moment before Mikasa screamed and launched her bottle of body wash at him. Eren ducked at the last moment. Body wash bottle hit the floor and exploded.
“GET OUT!” Mikasa shrieked, Eren could hear her over his music.
Eren gulped before he turned and left the room.
The home locker room was full but no one questioned why Eren went directly into the showers, turning it to ice cold.
—------------------------------
It was the fourth game of the season.
2 weeks since Eren had stumbled in on her almost naked.
One month since the first game.
One month since Eren had been an ass to her as they exited the elevator.
It was the first time Mikasa hadn't attentended a game. It was in New York and Mikasa wasn't in the mood to go to New York.
It was where her parents met, where her mother gave up on her dream since she was pregnant with Mikasa, and where her mother decided Mikasa was to one day join the New York Ballet.
She hated New York.
So instead, Mikasa attended an influencer and critic event with Sasha. Sasha's food review blog and social media had grown so much that she had quit her job as a secretary to pursue it full time.
It was almost midnight when they piled into Sasha's car.
“That meat was so overcooked” Sasha complained
“It wasn't horrible but it wasn't good.’
“That should be their slogan.”
“TEXT IN GROUP CHAT: JEAN-BOY AND CON-CON: FROM CON-CON:
WE LOST BIG TIME. JEAN AND EREN FOUGHT TWO DUDES. WE LEFT AS SOON AS GAME ENDED. WILL BE HOME AT 3:00 AM.”
“That does not sound good,” Mikasa remarked.
“Historia is going to kill him. He's already a pr nightmare. Now he's going to be worse. I don't even know how that's possible,” Sasha sighed.
“Jean or Eren?” Mikasa asked.
“Eren. She told him to slow down on the partying and everything. He doesn’t listen. Now a fight on the ice? And it would have been bad if Connie is texting me about it.”
“You’re going to have your hands full tonight then.”
“If Jean comes home, yeah. He’s spending more and more time with Pieck but refuses to make it official. Then again, she’s not pressuring him to. She’s cool though. You should come out with us one night. Since you ditched Jean’s Halloween party and every other thing involving the team. Did something happen between you and Eren?”
Besides him finding her almost naked in the vistior’s locker room and she had been avoiding him ever since? She left quickly after games, meeting Levi in the car and having him drop her off at the apartment. She hid in her apartment any time she heard him left.
It was the look on his face that bothered her.
It had to have been disgusted, right?
She was all muscle and she worked hard at it. Mikasa always had.
“No, nothing happened,” Mikasa lied.
She hated lying to Sasha but Mikasa found herself doing it more and more. There was a part of her that felt guilty about it. She’d tell Sasha everything eventually, once Mikasa figured things out.
—-------------------
The bus ride home had been silent.
Levi had glared at Eren and Jean the whole ride home.
There was always trash talk on the ice but tonight, the defenseman from New York had pushed Eren to the edge.
Carla Jaeger was younger than Grisha Jaeger. It wasn’t a huge age gap, just a handful of years.
They had met after Grisha’s marriage to Dina had ended. Dina and Grisha had married right out of high school. Eventually, they had Zeke. Before Zeke had turned one, Dina and Grisha were on separate pages. They had grown apart, simply weren’t in love with one another anymore.
Then Grisha met Carla in her parent’s bar where she was working.. There was a connection there. Next thing everyone knew, Carla and Grisha married, with Dina’s blessing.
The rumors about Carla were cruel, calling her a golddigger, a whore, the reason Grisha and Dina’s marriage had failed.
And tonight, that defenseman from New York brought it.
“I’m surprised you’re on the ice, Jaeger. Thought you’d be like that gold-digging whore of a mother—-”
Eren launched himself at the defenseman.
Jean tried to pull Eren off.
“Come Kirstein. We know you can’t keep that model girlfriend of yours satisfied. How about you let me—”
Jean let go of Eren and went after the other defense.
It was moments later the refs broke up the fight and sent both Jean and Eren off the ice.
They lost the game that night.
All Levi said was “I’m disappointed in you.”
When they finally reached the arena, it was after three am. They all scrambled to their cars, none of them speaking. Eren barely remembered the drive home.
—--------------------
Why was Mikasa awake?
There was no reason for her to be.
Eren probably wouldn’t even come home.
Why did she care?
She didn’t.
They weren’t even friends.
The door across the hall slammed.
Eren was home.
THUD!
“FUCK!” Eren screamed in rage. It echoed into Mikasa’s apartment.
Mikasa had watched the fight once she had got home. It was clear whatever the defensemen had said to Eren and Jean had really got to them.
Something possessed Mikasa before she knew it, she was storming across the hall to Eren’s apartment. She hesitated for a moment, staring at the door. She raised her fist and then hesitated.
No.
He didn’t deserve her comfort.
Mikasa turned back to her room.
—---------------
“I have to say that the Scouts are disappointing me. Jaeger and Kirstein have been benched for the last three games after that fight. The Scouts have lost two out of three of those games. It’s not looking good for the Scouts to advance to the playoffs,” Shadis said.
“And can we talk about Jaeger’s behavior off the ice? He’s out partying, going home with different women every night. We’ve all seen the pictures,” Magath added. “If I were Coach Ackerman, I wouldn’t be putting him back on the ice again until he gets his shit together.”
Historia switched the podcast off.
Just as she thought.
Eren was bringing all sorts of bad PR.
It wasn’t long until she received a picture of him at a bar right now.
It was only three in the afternoon.
No.
He was not allowed to do this.
Pulling out her phone, she clicked on the only name she knew that could both mentally and physically put Eren Jaeger in his place. (Besides his mother. Calling Carla in would only lead to disaster.)
“Hey. Are you busy? I need a favor,” Historia said.
—------------------------
Life sucked.
His mom was on his case.
His dad was on his case.
This was a way for Eren Jaeger to deal with this. He had already disappointed Levi once, so why not let it continue?
That was all Eren was.
A disappointment.
And the disappointment got worse as Mikasa Ackerman walked into the bar as the blonde who sat in his lap kissed his neck.
Before Eren could figure out what was going on, the blonde was hauled off of him.
She yelped.
And Eren? Eren was slung over Mikasa’s shoulder.
How the fuck was that possible?
“Put me down,” he growled as he thrashed in her grip.
“No,” Mikasa said simply.
All the blood was rushing to his head.
Mikasa was strong.
Very strong.
It was a turn on.
“You can’t do this. This is kidnapping,” Eren argued.
“You’re twenty-seven,” Mikasa deadpanned.
He heard a car door open, then he was unceremoniously dumped into the backseat of his own car. A seatbelt clicked into place.
“How did you get my keys?” He asked as Mikasa slammed the door.
She didn’t answer him as she climbed into the driver’s seat, starting the car.
His spare keys were kept in the shitty bowl he had made in ceramics class in high school. How would she get those keys?
Unless….
Oh fuck.
“Historia?” he asked as Mikasa drove off in his car.
“Yep. And just so you know, I despise driving. But I owe Historia. She told me to come get you using whatever means possible. That’s exactly what I did. You are spiraling into destruction. Your friends aren’t going to let that happen.”
“We’re not friends,” Eren muttered.
“Don’t remind me,” Mikasa scoffed.
They remained silent for the short drive back to the parking garage. Mikasa parked in the assigned spot.
Eren got out of the car, storming off.
It was useless as they ended up in the same elevator, making their way back upstairs.
Eren ran to his apartment but couldn’t get in. Mikasa still had his keys.
The door swung open.
Historia Reiss stood there, anger painted on her face as she crossed her arms across her chest.
Once he walked inside, he saw Armin waiting for him.
“For fucks’ sake. Is this an intervention?” Eren moaned.
“If it was an intervention, I wouldn’t be here,” Mikasa said as she leaned up against the door Historia had just closed.
“No. But you can’t fuck or drink away your daddy issues,” Historia said as she strode towards him. “Do you have any idea how this looks?”
“The media has always hated me,” Eren scoffed as he sat down in his chair.
“I wonder why,” Mikasa muttered.
“Okay, fine. You don’t care about yourself. But you do care about Levi and the team,” Historia walked over to Eren’s coffee table and opened her briefcase.
She threw printed out news articles at him.
Eren thumbed through them, only reading the headlines.
CAN LEVI ACKERMAN HANDLE HIS OWN TEAM?
JAEGER GONE WILD
SCOUTS WITH LEVI ACKERMAN LEADING THEM IS A FAILURE
DOUBTFUL THE SCOUTS ARE GOING TO MAKE IT TO THE CUP
DOES THE JAEGER DYNASTY END WITH ZEKE? EREN JAEGER WIDELY CONSIDERED A FAILURE
FROM DYNASTY TO FLOP ERA: THE JAEGER FAMILY
LEVI ACKERMAN: RISE AND FALL OF HIS LEGACY
JEAN KIRSTEIN TAKING NOTES FROM EREN JAEGER? FAILURE FORWARDS
“The podcasts and social media aren’t any better,” Armin spoke up.
“Though…” Historia pulled her phone out of her pocket and held it up. It was a picture of Eren and Mikasa leaving the bar, Eren slung over her shoulder.
NEW COUPLE ALERT: EREN JAEGER + MIKASA ACKERMAN=JAEGER BACK ON TRACK.
“You did this?” Eren asked as he looked up at Historia.
“No, I actually didn't. I was informed the photos were going to be printed but I gave them no explanation.”
“You can’t seriously expect me to go along with this?”
“You’re trending right now. They’re debating if your couple name should be ackerjaeger, eremika, or jaegerman,” Armin informed Eren.
“And you’re okay with this?” Eren asked Mikasa.
“Not really but for Historia, I’ll do. Besides, someone needs to get your ass back in line,” Mikasa shrugged.
“So what? I’m just supposed to date Mikasa? That solves all of my problems?”
“No, you idiot,” Historia said as she collapsed on the couch next to Eren. “Mikasa is going to babysit you. She’ll attend all games and events with you as your girlfriend but you won’t actually be dating her. She’s made her disdain for you known.”
Ouch.
Well that hurt his ego a little bit.
“Won’t people say I’m getting treated special but Levi?” Eren asked.
“No, because you’re still benched. If anything, Levi will come down harder on you,” Mikasa pushed off the wall.
“And I just have to go along with this?”
“Unless you want to hire someone else to be your PR and find another team, then yes. Levi is done with your shit. I’m done with your shit,” Historia informed him.
“The team is done with your shit,” Armin spoke up.
“Really? One little fight?” Eren scoffed.
“Oh. This isn’t about the fight. This is about how you injured your hand, showed up hungover, and everything else. We’re all done,” Armin explained.
Eren groaned as he leaned back in his chair.
————————————
Being Eren Jaeger’s fake girlfriend was actually not that hard.
Mostly because he hadn’t gone anywhere but practice.
Mikasa avoided him more than normal.
He hadn’t shown up hungover.
Levi had hated the plan at first, then gave into it.
The original starting line up, Sasha, Historia, and Levi were only the ones who knew that they were not dating for real.
So Mikasa threw herself into trying to figure out what she was doing with her life. She had cooked new recipes but that didn’t feel right. She had tried painting and drawing. She wasn’t very good at it. She was okay at knitting but that didn’t seem like her calling either. She had taken the coaching job that Levi had offered her at the winter break hockey camp. She didn’t think she’d be any good at it but her therapist thought it was a good idea.
There was a knock on her door which meant it would be one of two people. Considering Historia called every time she came over, that left Eren Fucking Jaeger. She checked the clock.
Yep. It was the time he got home from practice.
She opened the door, a wet haired Eren Jaeger stood there.
“I don’t have your number,” he muttered as he looked down at his shoes.
Mikasa raised an eyebrow.
“Jean wants to go out to dinner after the next game. I was going to text you to ask you but I didn’t have your number. I couldn’t ask anyone because you’re supposed to be my girlfriend,” he looked up and handed her his phone.
“Is this normally how you pick up women?”
“No, normally I just tell them I’m Eren Jaeger and they’re ready to go home with me,” he grinned but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“And now you have been reduced to a mere mortal who has to actually try,” Mikasa scoffed as she entered her phone number into the phone. She handed it back to him before going to close the door.
Eren stuck his foot in the doorway, stopping her. “Wait.”
Mikasa just stared at him.
“I’m sorry. About the shit I said the other day.” He stepped back.
“No, you’re not,” Mikasa shut the door in his face.
———-
She shut the door in his face.
Mikasa had really just looked at him and shut the door in his face.
Historia had asked Mikasa to go get him because Historia knew that Mikasa could easily lift him.
How could Mikasa easily lift him? Eren wondered.
She was ridiculously strong.
Historia also knew that Mikasa wouldn’t deal with his bullshit.
Why had he ever thought she would?
—————
It was true that Eren was benched for the next game.
However, they ended up winning without him.
So dinner instead turned into the vip section at a club that Jean knew the owner of.
Mikasa was currently on the dance floor down below with Sasha and Pieck.
“She fucking hates me,” Eren told Armin as they leaned over the railing, looking down at Mikasa, Sasha, and Pieck.
“Do you blame her?” Armin asked as he grabbed the beer out of Eren’s hand and replaced it with water.
“Seriously? I haven’t even had a drink out of it.”
“Yes, you’re driving,” Armin answered before handing the beer over to Jean.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a dick to her, she wouldn’t hate you,” Annie replied as she looked up from her phone.
Eren groaned as he sat down on the couch. “You are supposed to be on my side, Annie.”
“Not when you’re an asshole, I’m not. Besides, are you still pretending not to know her? Like you didn’t fucking cry for a month when you first moved to Marley?” Annie blew her gum into a bubble before popping it.
“Shut up! What if she hears you?” Eren commanded.
“I’m not the one who has anything to hide. You are. Why is it such a big deal anyway?”
“Because he’s been in love with her for eighteen years,” Armin answered.
“I have not!”
“Me thinks the man doth protest too much,” Armin grinned.
“Great. Now you’re quoting Shakespeare to me. Really helpful, Armin. I don’t want her to know because then the conversation becomes why didn’t I tell her? Why do I treat her so badly? What did she ever do to me? And I just don’t want to deal with it.”
“Ah. Boo who. Poor Eren Jaeger has to deal with his real problems instead of fucking and drinking. I think we’d all like to know the answer to those questions,” Annie stated.
“I know the answer. He’s an asshole,” Jean grinned before taking a drink of Eren’s beer.
“I am not an asshole,” Eren muttered.
“You are. You treat her like shit and then wonder why she hates you. Face it, Jaeger. Mikasa isn’t one of your little fan girls. She couldn’t give a shit why you score on the ice. In fact, she holds the most scored goals of the girls hockey team in the country from when she was in high school. She hasn’t been on the ice for almost ten years!” Jean defended.
“Why do you know that?” Eren asked Jean as Eren raised an eyebrow.
“Because I went to high school with her. She’s just as gifted on the ice as Levi. She played harder than any of the guys. We were terrified of her. She was a legend. Several colleges were competing for her to be on their women’s team. She turned them all down and went to school for dance,” Jean explained as he lifted the bottle to his mouth again.
“Why’d she do that? If she’s as good as you say, why’d she quit?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask her about that.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Falco said as he came into the vip area with Gabi.
“How’d your game go, Braun?” Jean asked Gabi.
“We won, of course. Was there any doubt?” Gabi scoffed.
“You know the fact that I’m dancing with your girlfriend more than you are says a lot about you,” Pieck said as she came up the stairs.
“Wait, she’s here?” Gabi asked.
Pieck nodded.
“Oh, I’m not prepared to actually talk to her,” Gabi groaned. “I spent four years trying to beat her record.”
“Wait, you know Mikasa?” Eren asked as he raised an eyebrow.
“I met her briefly at Zeke’s but I know of her. She holds the record in the Midwest while I’m second.”
“Funny, we were just talking about that,” Jean smirked.
“No one asked me but I like her. She’s a great dancer. Better than you Jean-boy,” Pieck smirked.
“No doubt about that. She’s been doing it professionally for years.”
Connie walked upstairs and sat down on the couch.
“Where have you been?” Jean asked as he raised an eyebrow.
“Nowhere exciting. My mom called. Making sure I’m coming home for Thanksgiving.”
Eren leaned on the rail, looking down at Sasha and Mikasa still dancing. The others were still talking but became background noise to Eren.
A man was approaching them, causing Mikasa to freeze. She was clearly very uncomfortable.
Eren looked at his friends. Pieck had just been handed some sort of fancy drink.
“Give me that and buy another on me. Mikasa is uncomfortable,” Eren told Pieck.
Pieck nodded, handing Eren the drink.
Taking the steps two at a time, the crowd parted for him once he was on the dance floor. He made his way over to Mikasa, Sasha, and the man. Eren snaked an arm around Mikasa’s waist and pulled her body into his. For someone so muscular, Mikasa was still soft against him.
“Sorry, I took so long,” he pressed a kiss to her neck. Her height worked to his advantage since he didn’t have to lean down too far to do so.
Mikasa relaxed into his hold. “It’s okay.”
Eren held the drink out in front of her. “Got your drink,” he grinned, purposely ignoring the man who was staring at them.
“Thank you,” Mikasa said as she took the drink, drinking deeply from it.
“Is he why you left the company?” the man asked.
Eren finally looked at the man. “No, I’m not. Who’s your friend?” Eren looked back at Mikasa.
Her eyes seemed to scream, ‘help me.’
“He danced at my old company, his name is Karl.” Mikasa answered before taking another drink.
“I see. Well, Karl, as you can see my girlfriend and I are kind of busy. And seeing as she hasn’t even taken the time to mention you to me, you’re not important. So kindly fuck off. Come on, babe. Let’s go dance some more,” Eren pulled Mikasa with him by her waist.
“Thank you,” Mikasa muttered as she followed him.
“Don’t mention it. Now stay and dance with me until he gets the message to move on. Then we can leave if you want,” Eren offered.
“Are you sure?” Mikasa looked up at him as he found another empty spot.
“Yes,” Eren loosened his grip on her waist, moving with the beat. Mikasa began to dance along with him.
“I’m surprised,” Mikasa laughed.
“What? That I can dance or that I helped you?”
“Both,” Mikasa laughed again.
“How many drinks have you had?”
“Two. I’m not drunk. I’m trying not to cry, honestly. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone from the studio here especially since the studio is in Marley,” Mikasa rambled.
“Sorry for the kiss, by the way. I should have asked but I figured—”
“It’s fine,” Mikasa waved her hand. “I figured sooner or later that was going to happen. Can we just go?”
Eren nodded. “Come grab your coat with me and then we’ll leave.”
—------------------------------
It should have been a chill night.
Of course, her past continued to haunt her in the moments.
Eren’s kiss on her neck had grounded her.
Your cousin should have died in that car accident, Gross had said.
Mikasa had punched him.
Months of dealing with his constant abusive words but it was the comment about Levi that had caused her to snap. Her fist had flown, breaking Gross’s nose.
She’d do it again if given the choice.
But the other dancers there hadn’t exactly been nice.
You’re too heavy to lift, Karl had said.
She didn’t weigh that much. No one had had issues lifting her before.
“Hey,” Eren said as he pulled into the parking space at their apartment building.
“Sorry,” Mikasa said as she unbuckled her seat belt.
—-------------
The walk to the elevator was silent.
The ride in the elevator was silent.
Once they got to their floor, Eren had walked up to Mikasa’s door right after she opened it.
“Hey Mikasa, are you…?”
The door shut in his face.
Again.
—----------
“She shut the door in my face…again!” Eren explained.
It was the Scouts’ day off. Eren didn’t know what to do so he called Armin.
Annie was cackling in the background of his facetime call with Armin.
“Really, Annie?”
“I’m sorry. No, wait. I’m not. The great Eren Jaeger getting a door shut in his face is hilarious. Not once but twice. I think you’re out of your league here, Jaeger,” Annie said as she came into frame.
“And why would that be?”
“Because Mikasa is a ten. You? You’re a five on a good day.”
“EXCUSE ME? I’m at least an eight!”
“Eh,” Annie shrugged as she walked off.
Armin just grinned.
“So what do I do?” Eren asked Armin.
“What do you want to do? You haven’t exactly given Mikasa any reasons to like you.”
“I helped her with that guy at the club!”
“Do you want a gold star? You’re doing the bare minimum for your fake girlfriend! She has to watch you sit on a bench for how many hours?” Annie popped back up in frame, a bag of chips in her hand.
“She’s there for her cousin as well!” Eren defended.
“You’re an idiot if you think she doesn’t have to show up for you too now.”
“You don’t even know her.”
“I don’t have to. I looked into her and not just her hockey stats. Do you know she was said to be the next great dancer? That everyone was surprised that the New York Ballet didn’t snag her once she graduated from college?”
“Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“You’re hopeless. You know what? If you want Mikasa to let you in, maybe stop being a dick all the time. Maybe take an interest in her.”
“Why? She’s just my fake girlfriend?”
“You know what? You’re an ass. This is why no woman wants to be with you for more than a night,” Annie spat before storming off.
Eren flinched at the words.
“Sorry. She’s just….” Armin apologized.
“She’s not wrong,” Eren confessed. He knew he was hard to be around. He understood it. Leave before getting left. It was something ingrained in him, from where? He wasn’t really sure. The team therapist had asked him about it, they had worked on it. He was good at letting his friends in but a partner? An equal?
He had seen how sad his mom was when Grisha was busy all the time. Even after he retired, he still had press tours, charity events, and whatever else came with it. It was not something that Eren was interested in putting someone else through. Pieck and Jean worked because she was always jetting off to whatever photoshoot or fashion week she needed to do. Annie was a kickboxing coach so she had her own schedule to attend to. It also didn’t hurt that Annie and Armin had been dating since high school. Connie never dated anyone seriously like Eren. And Falco? Gabi was also a hockey player so of course she got it. Those two were practically married anyway.
There was a knock on the front door.
“Historia?” Armin asked, pulling Eren from his thoughts.
“Probably. I’ll text you,”Eren said before disconnecting the call. He walked to his front and swung it open.
Mikasa stood there, rubbing her arm. “Hey,” she gave a small wave.
Eren just stared at her.
“Sorry, am I bothering you? Are you busy?” Mikasa bit her lip.
Eren shook his head. “Just talking to Armin.”
“Oh. Sorry. I hope I didn’t interrupt.”
“Don’t worry about it. I was just debating things with him and Annie. Did you need something then?”
“Oh. Right. I just wanted to say thank you for getting me out of there last night and sorry for…”
Eren held up his hand, “don’t worry about it. Honestly, that guy seemed like an asshole.”
“You have no idea,” Mikasa huffed. “That whole company is just…sorry. You probably don’t care about the politics of the dance world. I should let you get back to Armin.” Mikasa made it half across the hall before Eren stopped her.
“You want to come in?” he asked. “I mean I should probably know more about you.”
Mikasa looked back at him. “Sure,” she smiled.
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Finally finished a fic based off of one of @venomficprompts's many, many prompts! It's technically a follow up to an earlier fic, but I don't think it's necessary to read the first (though it'd be cool if you did).
Sharing Songs
T, Gen, 1.9k words
Eddie Brock & Venom Symbiote
They do end up stopping by the pet store on the way home, but only because Eddie is cat sitting while Anne and Dan are on vacation and he needs to get more kibble. Venom doesn’t look at any of the cat furniture, and Eddie doesn’t comment on the faint urge to go down the aisle where the scratching posts are.
Are we not going to feed Mr Belvedere again? Venom asks as they turn towards their apartment instead of Anne’s townhome.
“Nah, not til tomorrow.”
Should we get a cat?
“Huh? Why?” Eddie wishes for a moment that they were at home where he could send an incredulous look directly at Venom. “You want a scratching post that badly?”
No! I will eat the couch! They poke his flank from within hard enough to make him stumble.
“Sorry, sorry,” Eddie soothes. “Why do you want a cat then?”
I like the texture, Venom says, ruffling against his nerves and deadening the result of their vicious poke.
“Yeah, Mr B is really soft.”
That too, but the sounds he makes feel very nice. Like this. Briefly, Venom makes a buzzing rumble against Eddie’s abdomen. It’s like an internal version of a cat’s purr, and Eddie remembers how Venom’s story-calling felt against him an hour or so ago.
“You still want to listen to some music when we get home?” He asks as he turns the corner and heads into their building.
Of course. Venom’s voice is eager and the phantom feeling of their grin curls into being over Eddie’s face.
“Alright, any preferences?”
“No,” Venom materializes over his shoulder and takes the bag of cat food from him as soon as they get inside the apartment. They sit the kibble directly in front of the door so that Eddie would be unable to forget it when he leaves tomorrow. “Pick something you like.”
“That’s a problem.” Eddie starts flipping through his modest vinyl collection. All that remains are his absolute favorites; the rest had been sold shortly before his run in with Venom. “I like them all.”
“Then pick the best one.” They reach forward with a tendril and Eddie cups it in his hand. It’s not that Venom won’t be careful, but they have a hard time judging their strength against objects they’ve never handled before.
“So impatient,” Eddie grouses as he flips through his singles with his unoccupied hand until he comes upon one near the back. “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen. A song that is embedded into the cultural consciousness of most of the English speaking world and notable for its multiple, unique sections. Perfect for introducing an alien to a range of music.
Venom is unexpectedly quiet as Eddie sets the record onto the platter. He can feel their attention, all their focus on the what and the how of his actions.
“If you wanna do this while I’m asleep, just be really, really careful,” Eddie cautions as he settles the player’s arm into place and starts the platter spinning. “Like with Anne’s glassware.”
“Of course,” They mutter, lightly offended. “But why–”
Venom cuts themself off as Freddie Mercury’s duplicated vocals shine out of the speakers.
At first Eddie is too focused on his symbiote’s reaction. Will they like it? Will the music strike that terrible sweet spot and claw at the bond between them? Or, perhaps worst of all, will Eddie’s music not mean anything, just a pale imitation of Venom’s own heart-deep story-calling?
Stop worrying, they chide in Eddie’s auditory cortex. Just let me feel what it means to you.
Easy for you to say, he thinks back. But then the introduction fades into piano, Freddie Mercury leads in softly, and Eddie remembers road trips.
He doesn’t remember the first time he heard “Bohemian Rhapsody,” doesn’t remember when he learned the lyrics well enough to sing along, but Eddie does remember belting it out at the top of his lungs along with his college friends as they rolled down the interstate. The four of them had been young and invincible, ready to right the wrongs of the world with their writing.
At the time, the content of the song hadn’t mattered, just the build and the power of the guitar, the companionship of his friends, and the joy of people singing together. He recalls the wide grins and laughter they’d shared as the song wound down and the next song on the cassette started playing. It had been a beautiful time in his life.
Eddie's mind drifts to Venom. They're half caught in his memories and half webbed through his skin and he can feel them shift within both. For a moment he tastes the bright sun and chilly breeze of his youth. A wide grin spreads across his face. His heartbeat picks up. Venom is with him, as if they always had been, hanging their head out of the driver’s side window like an enthusiastic dog. Eddie’s college friends keep speaking, conversation gone indistinct with time.
Eventually, six minutes or so later, Bohemian Rhapsody winds down. They’re laying on the floor in front of the speakers. Normally it would be miserable, but Venom is out and padding Eddie’s back like they never do when he tries to do the yoga Mrs C has recently decided he should do.
Because yoga is boring. We are already flexible enough.
“Yeah,” Eddie grunts as he flexes himself into a sitting position, “because you’re fucking around in my joints.”
If I did not fuck around in your joints you would have arthritis, Venom points out, primly.
“I didn’t say I don’t appreciate it, just Mrs C is trying to help, y’know?”
Whatever, do you have more music like that?
Eddie laughs, short and breathy, “There’s not anything else like Bohemian Rhapsody.” But he stands up and ambles back to his record collection. It’s true that Queen’s ballad is unique, but it’s not the only song Eddie has associated strong memories with.
They spend the rest of the night listening to Eddie’s albums, reliving some of the best times of his life and some of the worst. But even the bad memories were made bittersweet with Venom alongside him. They back him up, assuring him without words that he is too good for the boy who broke his heart in highschool and that even if he and Anne’s planned wedding song stings, it’s still a good song.
"Does the YouTube have music?" Venom is small and cradled in the crook of Eddie’s left elbow with a tendril reaching towards his pocket and the phone inside.
"Yes, the YouTube does have music," Eddie confirms fondly.
"Show me?" Venom’s tendrils have slipped his phone out and, as Eddie settles into bed, they shove it in his face.
By the time he's navigated to the music section of the app, Eddie is half asleep. Venom engulfs his phone–so the light and sound won't keep him up–along with the hand holding it–so they can use his fingers to navigate the touchscreen.
"Plug it in," Eddie tells them muzzilly as he falls asleep completely.
That night's sleep is the best that Eddie’s gotten in a long time, which is impressive because Venom had taken to maintaining his rest like it was their job. The whole night is warm and soft and flowing. Eddie doesn’t remember if he dreams, though that isn’t unusual, but he’s well rested when he wakes.
Eddie’s hand is still around his phone and embedded in his symbiote, who is in turn clutched to his chest. He feels Venom flowing across his knuckles in intricate patterns and textures.
“You have a good night?” Eddie’s in awe that the sentence doesn’t even come out a little sleep garbled.
YesEddie. TheYoutubehas. So Much Music. Venom’s mental voice staggers stiltedly into Eddie’s perception.
“What?” The volume down button is easy to find even when he can’t see it and Eddie wastes no time holding it down until Venom stops squirming around his fingers.
I have been listening to The Beatles’s Love, Eddie. A tiny face forms on the blob encasing Eddie’s hand, eyes squinting contently and little zipper teeth lined neatly into a smile. It is eighty-six minutes long, Eddie. It sounds like that brownie you had in college felt.
“You got high off of The Beatles?”
There's a beat of silence while Venom collects their thoughts. "Yes."
“Huh.” A thought occurs to Eddie at that moment as he considers what his symbiote is telling him alongside what happened the night before. Mr Belvedere’s breakfast would definitely be late, but… “Do you think we could get high off of The Beatles?”
“Oh, yes, Eddie.”Venom doesn’t hesitate. “We very much could.”
“Awesome.” Eddie wriggles around on his bed until he’s face down, pillow over his head, and his forehead on top of his crossed forearms so his nose isn’t smushed into his mattress. Symbiote mass builds up on the back of Eddie’s head, spreading like an ooze over his scalp, ears, and jaw. When the secondary plasma on his head joins Venom’s primary volume still on his hand and around his phone, they turn the sound back up and start the album over.
The album starts off familiar, if a little weird because Venom is transmitting the audio into the bones of Eddie’s skull as well as his ears, but there’s enough difference to make Eddie wonder. In lieu of an explanation Venom dumps the first paragraph of a Wikipedia page into his brain–apparently it’s a soundtrack to a Cirque-du-Soliel show–and tugs Eddie away from his interpretation of the music and into theirs.
There were words being sung, but to a symbiote very few had any meaning. Just love, Love. The back tone builds subtly and the vocal melody drones and their whole being jangles into rhythm over discord. They are a heartbeat, red and rushing, steady. Fighting claw in meat, tooth in bone. And then drawn out into quiet space and strings.
Eddie knows the strings. The melody and refrain of the song soothe with familiarity. It’s sad, cleaning, joining. He/she/they aren’t alone. Venom clings and wraps and covers him away. More rhythm, a different pulse, drawing together, bouncing across space. A sea of stars seen in bursts and jolts. Tasted. Heard. Static, a building tone, longing.
Together, they are together. They are holding each other. Known.
And they soar. Imagery pulls from both of them. Eddie sees layers of pale clouds scudding in parallax across blue-green-yellow-sweet skies. People dance, rich and savory. They see, they see, they see, they taste-feel-know-learn. Their/his world is slow and easy and relaxed and together, always together.
Instruments gain smell, gain taste, gain texture. Sharp floral percussion, tangy electric guitar, smooth strings. A cat flies through the sky on fur-feathered wings. A bird digs with broad shovel-claws. Horses swim in cresting waves.
Sound plucks across them. Bouncing, rolling, bounding. Stroking, pulling, soothing. Gripping, dragging, grounding. They feel it together, taste it together, see it together, sing it together. Together.
Eighty-six minutes later, Eddie rolls over, off of the bed and onto the floor.
“Wow.”
Yes.
“Yeah.” What would another album sound like from Venom’s perspective? Pink Floyd maybe?
We still have to feed Mr. Belvedere.
Eddie curses, throws some jeans on, and trips over the bag of cat kibble on the way out of the apartment.
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Everything’s Coming Up Roses
Ethel Merman
Track 12 on Gypsy (Original Broadway Cast Recording)
Produced by Goddard Lieberson
Everything's Coming Up Roses
I had a dream, a dream about you, baby.
It's gonna come true, baby.
They think that we're through, but baby--
You'll be swell, you'll be great.
Gonna have the whole world on the plate.
Starting here, starting now,
Honey, everything's coming up roses.
Clear the decks, clear the tracks.
You've got nothing to do but relax.
Blow a kiss, take a bow.
Honey, everything's coming up roses.
Now's your inning, stand the world on it's ear.
Set it spinning, that'll be just the beginning.
Curtain up. Light the lights.
You got nothing to hit but the heights.
Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com
You'll be swell, you'll be great.
I can tell, just you wait.
That lucky star I talk about is due.
Honey, everything's coming up roses for me and for you.
You can do it, all you need is a hand.
We can do it, Mama is gonna see to it!
Curtain up. Light the lights.
We got nothing to hit but the heights.
I can tell, wait and see.
There's the bell, follow me.
And nothing's gonna stop us 'til we're through.
Honey, everything's coming up roses and daffodils!
Everything's coming up sunshine and Santa Claus!
Everything's gonna be bright lights and lollipops!
Everything's coming up roses for me and for you!
youtube
Muppet Songs: Liza Minnelli - Everything's Coming Up Roses
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Hellloooo! Whumptober is coming up and the prompts are officially out! So much potential for batfam fics! I wanna do something a little different this year (which will hopefully also get me motivated lol). I am taking any and all (reasonable) requests for (platonic) batfam fics relating to the whumptober prompts (imagine there’s cheering and clapping please)
All you gotta do is send in an ask with the day number, prompt you’d like (or alternate if that applies), and title! I am super excited to be doing this, this year!
This will also become similar to a master list once whumptober is over. Under each prompt, I’ll put the link towards the fic (LoosePocketChange on AO3!) some fics, depending on how it goes, will also be posted here on tumblr.
Happy whumping! Can’t wait to see what you guys choose!
No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”
Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”
No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”
Thermometer | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”
No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”
Journal | Solitary Confinement | “Make it stop.”
No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”
Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”
No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”
Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”
No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”
Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”
No. 7: " “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”
Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”
No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”
Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”
No. 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.”
Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”
No. 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”
Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you'd never leave.”
No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”
Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”
No. 12: “I haven't slept in days but who's counting?”
Red | Insomnia | “I’m up, I’m up.”
No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”
Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”
No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”
Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”
No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”
Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”
No. 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”
Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”
No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”
Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”
No. 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”
Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”
No. 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”
Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”
No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”
Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”
No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.”
Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.”
No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”
Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”
No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”
Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”
No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”
Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”
No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”
Storm | Buried Alive | “They’re not breathing!”
No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”
Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”
No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”
Matches | Scars | “Let me see”
No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”
Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | “You'll have to go through me.”
No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.”
Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”
No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”
Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”
No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.”
Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”
Alternatives List:
Betrayal
Aftermath of Failure
Brass Knuckles
Decoy
Body Modification
Playing Cards
Examination
Hunting
Drugging
Shaking
Panic
Broken
Miscommunication
Lab Rat
Reluctant Whumper
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My version of Donut the Musical
Hi guys! I made this version of my AU, where everyone reacting to Donut the Musical because honestly it was quite funny of how the song goes. If you want to know about this AU go to see my oc “Frøy Kurenai.”
I hope you guys like it
Nora: Umm... Hey Donut!
Donut: Yes Nora?
Nora: They mentioned something about “Donut the Musical”, what is “Donut the Musical”?
Reds and Blues: NO!!!
But it was too late, as Donut took a deep breath and somehow we can literally hear his music out of nowhere.
Sarge: Oh no…
Jaune: What's happening?
Doc: Uh…
Tex: Oh dear lord…
Wyoming: Ugh, why now?
Yaiba & Daiji: Is he going to do what I think he's going to do?
Grif: Ah… shit!
Flowers: Please, Donut! No!
Church & Momotaros: Is he fucking singing!?
South: Oh, for fuck sake!
Caboose: Go! Muffincakes! Go!
Frøy: Yeah! Go make people suffer with us!
Arms Monster: FRØY!!!
Frøy: If I have to suffer from hearing this song, then so are you!!
Cue random musical number because it isn't a spin-off without one!
Donut:
Let me blow you... away…
You won't believe your eyes and ears today…
You are in for a surprise
When you look into my eyes
You won't be able to deny my ga… ZE!
Jaune: Wait, your what!?
Donut: Come on Jaune, you can't deny my deep, penetrating... eye contact! My gaze! What did you think I said?
Jaune: Uhh...
Pyrrha: (quickly reply for Jaune) Don't ask.
Sarge: (whisper) Good move...
Donut: Don't tell!
Donut:
Let me blow you... away…
There is nothing that I will not do or say…
To entertain a Red companion
In this hot and sweaty canyon
Like a stallion I am bursting through the ga... TE!
Aruto: A what?
Donut: You know, a stallion. A stud, a horse with a big...
Horobi & Jiro: Don’t you dare finish that sentence!
Donut: Saddle! Now who wants to mount up?
CT, Weiss, & Momotaros: Oh God…
Donut:
Let me start with this inquiry
Which I've recorded in my diary
I've got a secret thing I want to say…
What's worse, than a conundrum?
Or a cheerleader threesome…?
Doc, Caboose, Ryutaros, Ikazuchi, Vice, Yang, & Frøy: Bitches!
Church, Flowers, Leo, Horobi, Izuku, Weiss, & Jiro: DON'T JOIN HIM!
Donut:
Not taking time to enjoy life each day…
You see the fun, will never cease
As long as we've got elbow grease
Donut, Doc, & Vice: There's really nothing to it
When you're using head… light…
Donut: Flu… id… ah…!
Naki & Ruby: Headlight Fluid?
Simmons: Long story short, when Donut had just arrived at red base and we pulled the “go to the store” prank.
Urataros: Donut, you do know there's no such thing as headlight fluid.
Donut: Depends on what you mean by "head"!
Flowers: We’re just going to pretend we don't know what you mean...
Donut: I'm going to pretend you do!
At this point, everyone apart from Caboose, Vice, and Doc collectively sighed.
Donut:
I caught the fever for hot fun
And I'm recruiting everyone
You know, this army needs a little style…
Sarge: No it doesn't Donut! We don't need your damn daffodils in the armoury!
Donut:
Hold my ankles, stretch my hammies
I hope that you like double whammies
'Cause I'm gonna sing and dance until you smile!
Doc & Vice: 'Til you smile!
Caboose & Ryutaros: I’m smilling! Yay!
Momotaros: Look I’m also smilling! Now please stop singing!
Grif: (face to Izuku and Leo) It's too late for them. Don't even bother.
Donut:
Some soldiers only… work or nap
While I ride in shotgun's lap
Doc & Vice: Shotgun's lap…
Donut: The solution's simple!
I'll fill 'em up
With my
Donut, Doc, & Vice: Po… tent… ial...!
Ramon: Shotgun’s lap?
North: Shotgun’s lap simply sitting in the lap of the guy who called shotgun.
Leo: When did that happen?
Simmons: It started when we needed to get somewhere, and the Warthog only had a three seater and so half of us had to sit on each others laps.
Grif: Please, never remind me!
George: Okay! Donut, please, enough with the double entendres!
Frøy: Gheo! No don’t-
Donut: Double entendre? Is that anything like a ménage-à-trois?
Frøy: Great job Gheo, great job...
George: What?!
Donut: In that case…
Horobi & Fuwa: Is he still going!?
Donut:
Let me blow you... away…
Like a needle I'll get lost inside your hay…
Easy if you know how, just like milking a cow
(Cow Bell!)
Like we do it on the farm back in I-O-W-A…!
Delta: Moooo!
Everyone turned their heads to see Delta had played the sound of the cow bell and a cow mooing,
York: Not really helping, D!
Doc: Hmmm. So you really grew up on a farm in Iowa?
Donut: Yep. You spend a lot of time thinking when you're on the farm. And then a lot of time repressing those thoughts.
Everyone promptly started to shift away from him,
Donut:
Let me blow you... away…
I'm on my knees, just to have a chance today…
If you see me winking, it's 'cause we're both thinking
(Donut then blows a kiss… at Sarge)
This lightish-red armor looks so ga... rish!
Ren: Uh… sorry, what did you call your armour?
Donut: Garish. It means totally lacking in good taste.
Ikazuchi: Huh. Kinda like this song.
South: For the millionth time, Donut, your armor is clearly pink!
Donut: It's lightish-red!
Momotaros: Seriously?! It’s clearly pink!
Donut: No! It’s lightish-red!
Blake: Why won't you just admit?
Urataros: Yeah, you're not fooling anyone Donut.
Jin: Um… are we still talking about his armor color, or something else?
Donut: Enough talk, you guys! It's time for some action!
Everyone: NO!
Jin: I still want to know what you guys are talking about!
Donut: After this!
Donut:
So let me blow you...
Doc & Vice: Blow you…
Donut: Blow you all...
One by one...
Individually...
Or in a group...
Blow you...
Away...!
Kintaros: The song was so horrible... (starting to sob) that even it makes me cry!
Momotaros: PLEASE DEAR GOD, STOP SINGING!!
But it was ignored by Donut, who still closed his eyes, so Momotaros decide to book it, and he’s not the only one.
Donut: So… how was it?
Donut asked as he opened his eyes, only to see everyone gone, having ran as far away from Donut as they could.
Donut: Oh well, I guess they went out to find the others. I guess I'll wait here.
#red vs blue#rvb#CrossOver#kamen rider#kamen rider kiva#kamen rider zero one#kamen rider revice#kamen rider den o#rwby#oc
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I was running up the dope before the dough (North)
You can check the records
Ever since I got conscious, dying was obvious, count down with seconds
I was left with no options, snorting oxys off a Smith & Wesson
Body filled with narcotics, fuck the optics, bitch, next question (Get the fuck outta here)
Smokin' like I been stressing (Smoke)
Hoes tryna read me, leave 'em dyslexic (Ho)
Get this weight off my chest like I'm bench pressing, ho, I'm big stepping (Wetto)
Jordan Clarkson with the Narcan
I shoot for thirty and that's with my off-hand
Walk in, they like, "Who let the dog in?"
Kill myself before I let them out, man
Bitches begging me to get toxic, okay, let me go and pour a cup
Mom and dad would if they could, I ain't even mad they ain't showing up
Thinking 'bout it got me choking up, if I love her, time to blow it up
Pop off some Percs 'til I'm throwin' up
Then refresh on X like I'm scrolling up
Yeah, I got some wounds and they closing up (Let's get it)
Cuts on my body, no toning up (Let's get it)
Ghost if there ain't no disposing of (Let's go, let's go, ayy, ayy)
Emotionless, put the doses up (Let's get it)
Fuck affection, I don't cozy up
You in my house, and that's close enough
I got problems with trust, I got problems with lust
Bitch, that's powder, not dust
Whole gang brain fucked
G'59 be the cult
They ain't nothing like us (Grey)
They say, "Huh?" I say, "What?"
I drink 'Tuss, they drink nut
They all pussies, get touched
Turn an opp to a slut
Turn his block to a blunt
Watch my dog, he got flushed
Looking at his first dead body
Life too painful, and the game will change you
Have you saying, "Fuck everybody"
I don't give a fuck what they hear about me
We got a couple killers including Dre around me
Better thing twice 'fore you play around me
Got more guns on me than a red county
Copped the Porsche 911, now I’m gettin’ randomly selected (What the fuck?)
Search for drugs and bombs and weapons
Wait a second (Huh), no need for aggression (Nope)
Just a common misconception bettin' that I'm a threat in my profession (Prolly)
Their perception of who I am, won't make me question who I am, damn
Rose gold Immortal knight lookin' like a suicidal gesture
Knocked her ex-boyfriend the fuck out, just so I could impress her (Fuck him)
Just so I could undress her (Yeah)
Now I'm paying for the full semester (God damn)
Know that they call me professor after with the break of my hand all through my successor
Strive for the greater and never the lesser
Me and $crim made it without an investor
Yeah we survived suicidal adventures
Made a pact that we would never surrender (Huh?)
Never surrender (Say it again)
Made a pact that we would never surrender
Selling my soul to my dreams and my goals but I won't ever stop until I'm on the stretcher
There's a demon in me and I think it might've overstayed its' welcome (Uhh)
There's a demon in me and it's helping me to reach a state of deadly (Uh-oh)
Snorting these pills like I'm trying to smell them
I'm declarin' war on my cerebellum (Ayy)
My worst enemy is the version of me that I can't even fucking remember (Ayy, ayy, ayy)
Uh, yeah
Ruby been destined for the looney bin
Round my finger the uzi spins
While I'm chugging some bougie gin, lose and win
I'm never slowing down like, we lose and win, I'm grooming them
For that is my lifestyle, will have you choosing limbs, the moon is dim
Tonight I'll have to remain locked up in my tomb again
Took too many xans I started asking who is $crim? The night is loose again
So we tied the noose too thin
Living life like pulling teeth I get up with a toothless grin
Oh, you better run boy, get those fucking legs going
Oh, you better run boy, get those fucking legs going
Oh, you better run boy, get those fucking legs going
Oh, you better run boy, get those fucking legs going
La la la la
La la la la la la la la la
La la la la
La la la la la la la la la
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Full Whumptober Prompts List
NO. 1 "But now this room is spinning while I'm trying just to fill in all the gaps."
Safety Net | Swooning | "How many fingers am I holding up?"
NO. 2 "I’lI call out your name, but you won't call back."
Thermometer | Delirium | "They don't care about you."
NO. 3 "Like crying out in empty rooms, with no one there except the moon."
Journal | Solitary Confinement | "Make it stop."
NO. 4 "I see the danger, it's written there in your eyes."
Cattle Prod | Shock | "You in there?"
NO. 5 "You better pray I don't get up this time around."
Debris | Pinned Down | "It's broken.”
NO. 6 "Do or die, you'll never make me, because the world will never take my heart."
Recording | Made To Watch | “It should have been me.”
NO. 7 "I paced around for hours on empty, I jumped at the slightest of sounds”
Alleyway | Radio Silence | "Can you hear me?"
NO. 8 "I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier."
Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | "It's all for nothing."
NO.9 "Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days."
Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | "You're a liar."
NO. 10 "Can't you see that you're lost without me?"
Broken Phone | Stranded | "You said you'd never leave."
NO. 11 "All the lights going dark and my hope's destroyed."
Animal Trap | Captivity | "No one will find you."
NO. 12 "I haven't slept in days, but who's counting?"
Red | Insomnia | “I'm up, I'm up!"
NO. 13 "It comes and goes like the strength in your bones."
Cold Compress | Infection | "I don't feel so good.”
NO. 14 "Feed me poison, fill me 'til I drown."
Flare I Water Inhalation | "Just hold on.”
NO. 15 "I don't need you to help me, I can handle things myself."
Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | "I'm fine.”
NO. 16 "Would you lie with me and just forget the world?"
Gurney | Flatline | "Don't go where I can't follow.”
NO. 17 "You're the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest."
Collar | Touch Aversion | "Leave me alone.”
NO. 18 "I tend to deflect when I'm feeling threatened."
Blindfold I Tortured For Information | "Hit them harder."
NO. 19 "I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me."
Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I'm not as stupid as you think I am."
NO. 20 "People don't change people, time does."
Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them."
NO. 21 "See the chains around my feet."
Vows | Restraints | "Don't move."
NO. 22 "They never saw us coming, 'til they hit the floor."
Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident I "Watch out!"
NO. 23 "It's gonna get me by the end of the night."
Shadows | Stalking | "Who's there?
NO. 24 "I've got a head full of chemicals, mouth full of ridicule."
Goodbye Note | Neglect | "I thought they were with you."
NO. 25 "You're not delivering a perfect body to the grave”
Storm | Buried Alive | "They're not breathing!"
NO. 26 "Sometimes I get so tired, I don't even know myself."
Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | "You look awful."
NO. 27 "You drew stars around my scars, but now I'm bleeding."
Matches | Scars | "Let me see.”
NO. 28 "We might not make it to the morning, so go on and tell me now."
Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | "You'll have to go through me.”
NO. 29 "I only sink deeper the deeper I think."
Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | "What happened to me?"
NO. 30 “It's okay just to say 'I'm not okay'."
Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry I "Not much longer…”
NO. 31 "I thought that I was getting better." Emptiness | Setbacks | "Take it easy."
ALTERNATIVE PROMPTS
FIFTEEN EQUALLY WHUMPY ALTERNATIVE PROMPTS FOR WHUMPTOBER.
1. Betrayal
2. Aftermath of Failure
3. Brass Knuckles
4. Decoy
5. Body Modification
6. Playing Cards
7. Examination
8. Hunting
9. Drugging
10. Shaking
11. Panic
12. Broken
13. Miscommunication
14. Lab Rat
15. Reluctant Whumper
#since you cannot copy/paste on phone tumblr#i used the picture text reader#but some of the font was harder to read than other parts#so for your convenience friends
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youtube
Release: October 9, 2009
Lyrics:
This beat is hypnotic
I wanna ride like a shofa
The sound of zonic's
Controlling me just like a robot
I go bionic, so d, d, dj put it on
I'm losing logic and cruising deeper in the zone
It's so cinematic
Charismatic
You got me froze up
This acrobatic
Beat is something
I need a dose of
I'm systematic
Mo, moving every single bone
There's no mechanic
That can't understand what I'm on
Let's crank it up (crank it up)
'Til the walls cave in
Crank it up (crank it up)
Put the record on spin
Cause I am ready to party
Gonna get my girls and get naughty
Crank it up (crank it up)
'Til the walls cave in
Just crank it up
Oh, oh, oh, whoa
Oh, oh, oh, whoa (crank it up)
Oh, oh, oh, whoa
Oh, oh, oh, whoa
Th, this beat is melodic
Harmonic, got me striking poses
I get up on it, electronically feeling so fresh
It's so erotic my body's like a cyclone
I'm like a puppet, can't stop it
Drop it like a stone
It's so cinematic
Charismatic
Got me froze up
This acrobatic
Beat is something
I need a dose of
I'm systematic
Mo, moving every single bone
There's no mechanic
That can't understand what I'm on
Let's crank it up (crank it up)
'Til the walls cave in
Crank it up (crank it up)
Put the record on spin
Cause I am ready to party
Gonna get my girls and get naughty
Crank it up (crank it up)
'Til the walls cave in
Just crank it up
Turn it up louder
Turn it up louder
Turn it up dj
Turn it up louder
Turn it up louder
Turn it up dj
Turn it up louder
Turn it up louder
Turn it up louder
Turn it up louder
Turn it up louder
Turn it up
Turn it up!
Let's crank it up (crank it up)
'Til the walls cave in
Crank it up (crank it up)
Put the record on spin
Cause I am ready to party
Gonna get my girls and get naughty
Crank it up (crank it up)
'Til the walls cave in
Just crank it up
Songwriter:
I systematically mo-move every bone
So crank it up I wanna get in the zone
I systematically mo-move every bone
So crank it up I wanna get in the zone
Aake Molinder Niclas / David Moses Jassy / Joacim Persson / Johan Carl Axel Alkenas
SongFacts:
👉📖
#Youtube#Spotify#new#new music#my chaos radio#Ashley Tisdale#Crank it up#music#spotify#youtube#hit of the day#music video#video of the day#youtube video#good music#2000s#2000s music#2000s video#2000s charts#2009#pop#electro pop#electronic#house#dance pop#lyrics#songfacts#787
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audio voyeur
tagged by @phaytesworld: “ playlist on shuffle, top ten songs — this should be… well…. here I go! (love music stuff!!!!!!)”
“Something You Will Never Forget” by William Onyeabor: Nigerian funk music circa 1980.
“Sex According to the Prince of Darkness” by Big Daddy Kane: Old skool and always fresh
“Midnight Hour” by Talib Kweli, DJ HiTek, and Estelle: the best modern blend of hip hop and soul
“Old RocknRoll” by Young Fathers: Modern hip hop from Edinburgh with a contemporary African accent
“Medicine Chest Dub” by Nostalgia 77 and Prince Fatty: Funkofied big band music with a huge soul singer
“Proud Woman” by Rosie Lowe: A woman-power anthem big voice and even bigger harmonies
“Meteor Hammer” by Wu Tang featuring Ghostface Killah: the innovators of modern rap still killin’ it with the best member of the original crew
“Top Coat” by Policza: Polish downtempo dance music with a Gothic inflection
“Hey” by MF Doom: Cartoon samples, weird dissonant beats, and the best modern MC hands-down.
“Thank You” by Blood Orange: The best parts of a sleazy 80’s ballad layered over a spare syncopated beat and the most yearning falsetto ever.
i tag @muspellssynir @glynna-gold @boxwineconfession @modernart2012
#are you happy now#can't help it though#i'm curious#spin the record til the record stop spinning#dirty dirty is you getting crunk with it#i am a fighter and a lover#i'm the freaky babydaddy#i'm a bad motherfucker#weird hip hop#funk it up#soundtrack of my life
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