#the lord of the rings music counter

[kindlythevoid]

The Lord of the Rings is a Musical

Song Counter: 47

Poem Counter: 25

Total: 72

Bonus (times singing was mentioned but not spelled out): 33

FotR Counter: 34 FotR Total: 49

TTT Counter: 20 TTT Total: 28

RotK Counter: 18 RotK Total: 28

The Lord of the Rings Total (Including Bonus Singing): 105

[fatherbrat]

TELL ME AGAIN, R. SUNA

sum. sequel to one last time. you visit suna after listening to the voicenote he sent you, just to talk, and end up doing a little more than that.

feat. rintaro suna

cw. cheating/infidelity, suna really got on my nerves while i was writing this and he'll probably get on yours too, arguing, choking (m. receiving), edging, cunnilingus, a little manhandling kinda, missionary, multiple instances of "i miss/ed you"

wc. 2k

Suna tries his best to keep the shit-eating grin off his face when you text him to ask if he’s home. 

He knew that voice message would get you. There was a tiny voice in his head that told him it would be a monumental embarrassment if you didn’t, but it was drowned out by all the other voices in his head telling him to send, send, send, send.

His stomach turns with anticipation. He doesn’t even answer your question, just orders an Uber and sends you the car make and model and how long it will take to get to your apartment. 6 minutes. And then 12 minutes from yours to his. 

He fishes out the fancy santal candle he knows you like from beneath the bathroom sink and lights it in his bedroom. Then he brushes his teeth and puts some music on and waits.

He jumps when the doorbell rings.

There’s a moment of silence when he opens the door, the two of you just looking at each other. It hits Suna that this is the first time he’s seen you in person in months. He used to see you everyday. There's a part of his chest that seems to ache at the realization. He ignores it.

“Hi,” you breathe.

He blinks once. Twice. “Hey.” He opens the door a little wider and shifts to the side so you can come in.

You take one step closer and then stop, eyeing him with unjust suspicion. “I didn’t come over here to fuck you.”

Suna takes one look at your outfit—shorts that are definitely too short to be comfortable in this chilly fall weather and a sweatshirt he’s pretty sure is his—and knows you’re lying. He doesn’t call you out, just grins and shrugs and ushers you inside anyway. 

You lean against the kitchen counter to survey the living room, pleased to see that it looks exactly the same as the last time you were here. Suna’s still standing by the door when you look at him again, arms crossed.

“So why’d you come over?” he asks.

It’s your turn to shrug. “You said you missed me.”

“Did I?”

You give him a sideways look. “You did.” You drag out the two words, nodding slowly and widening your eyes as if you’re speaking to a child.

Suna tilts his head to the side, smiling a little. “What else did I say?”

Oh lord. You should’ve known he’d be annoying about it. You shift your gaze up to the ceiling, pretending to struggle to remember even though you listened to his message several times, including once on the car ride over. 

“You said you weren’t happy for me…which is pretty fucked up.”

Suna just rolls his eyes. “What else?”

Eyes on the ceiling again. “You said you liked my Halloween costume. And that if I had sex with you it wouldn’t count as cheating because I haven’t been with him that long.” You put air quotes around his claim, sliding your eyes back down to meet his.

He’s standing closer to you now than he was a minute ago, looking like he’s holding back a laugh. “Now that part’s fucked up. Where is the boyfriend, by the way?”

You make a face and look at the time on the microwave. “Probably home. Probably asleep.”

“Yeah? How’s he doing?” He closes what’s left of the gap between you and tugs on the drawstring of your (his) sweatshirt to even out both ends.

“Fine…” you whisper, breath hitching when his hand brushes your ear on the way to your hoodie.

He hums after fixing the string and walks towards his bedroom, tapping your bare thigh as he passes you as a silent cue to follow.

You realize that he doesn’t believe your intentions for coming over are pure, which is true, but you don’t like that he didn’t even pretend to believe you. 

You follow his lead anyway, resting your head against the doorframe and watching him fish his phone out of his pocket and dump it on his desk. He sits on the edge of the bed and looks over at you with his eyebrows raised.

“I told you I just came over here to talk,” you snap.

Suna’s response is automatic. “No, you said you didn’t come over here to fuck.”

“Rin.”

He puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry.” He leans forward, setting his elbows on his knees and his hands beneath his chin. “Alright. Talk.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you mutter. “I shouldn’t have come.” You twist your foot to turn around and immediately hear the bed creak with relief. Suna wraps his hand around your wrist before you can fully turn your back.

“Wait, I’m sorry,” he says. “Stay. Please?”

He sounds like he’s begging. He looks like he’s begging, with his slumped shoulders and pleading eyes and desperation written all over his pretty face. 

It’s not enough. 

“My boyfriend doesn’t taunt me like this, you know,” you tell him, indignant.

Suna’s grip on your arms loosens as his face falls a bit.

You continue. “He’s actually nice to me. And he’s romantic. Treats me like royalty.”

You watch Suna’s jaw tick. His hand returns to his side. “He’s boring.”

“He’s steady.”

Suna’s tone grows terse. “Dull. Stale. Bland. Vanilla.”

“Stable and secure and safe.”

Suna snorts. “Safe,” he repeats, sarcastic. “I seriously don’t get how you can date him.” 

“Because he’s my boyfriend who I love and not just some guy I used to fuck when I was lonely.”

It’s a low blow. You and Suna were friends long before the benefits came along. Good friends. Close friends.

If he’s offended he doesn’t show it, just latches on to the first part of your sentence. “You don’t love him.”

He’s right. “You’re wrong.”

“Really? Why are you here then?” He narrows his eyes. “And don’t say it’s because I said I missed you.”

You’re not sure when you started taking steps forward, or when Suna started moving backwards, but his calves hit the edge of the bed and suddenly he’s sitting again, looking up at you with that infuriating self-righteousness that makes your eye twitch.

And then your hand is squeezing his throat and your lips are on his and you’re straddling him and moaning into his mouth.

You feel him start to smile against you before he pulls away. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. “Don’t fucking say anything,” you tell him, before tugging his face towards you neck. 

You can tell Suna’s still smiling, but he obeys, sucking the tender spot right above your collarbone without another word. His hands find the bottom of your sweatshirt and he pulls it up. 

His lips leave your skin and your hand leaves his neck so you can take your arms out of the sleeves and he can yank it over your head and drop it on the floor. Then he rests his hands on your hips and just looks at you. 

Goosebumps dance across your shoulders and arms. Suna wants to comment on how you're not wearing a bra but he doesn’t, just continues to stare. 

“What?” you ask.

He takes in the sight of you on top of him, the rise and fall of your chest—quicker than normal, a side effect of him riling you up. He revels in the weight of you on his legs and tries to recall the last time you had him beneath you like this. Your birthday? His birthday? Or maybe it was that time he tried to cheer you up after you got laid off. Either way, it’s been a long time and he hates to think about how you’ve probably been doing this with your boyfriend instead of him.

He can’t help himself. “You straddle the boyfriend like this?”

You huff and press your palm to his chest, shoving him onto his back. Your face hovers over his. “What are you gonna do if I say yes?”

Suna studies your face and puts his hands around your waist and beams. It’s the only signal you get before he flips you, putting your head on a pillow and taking his own shirt off before he drops it on the ground somewhere near your hoodie.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, glancing at the hard outline growing in his sweats as you trail your fingertips up his thigh. He leans into you and rests his forehead against yours. 

“I missed you,” he says softly. 

Your heart beats at a concerning speed. “I know.”

He gets up from the bed and snaps the waistband of your shorts before telling you to take them off and removing the rest of his own clothes. When he crouches over you again, you place the sole of your foot flat against him and tut. 

“You also said you’d do that thing I like with your tongue.”

Again, Suna chooses not to comment. He wonders how many times you listened to the message, because it’s sounding like more than once, more than a couple. He grabs your ankles and drags you down the bed, forcing a giggle out of your throat before he plants his head between your legs. 

He circles your clit, avoiding making contact with it directly and making teasing strokes with his fingers until you’re panting and quivering and making shaky demands for him to let you come on his tongue. When he does, you scream his name. 

“Music to my fucking ears,” he says under his breath, licking your slick off his lips. “You scream this loud for him too?”

You can't believe you forgot how aggravating he is. “Shut up and fuck me.”

He looks so smug. You start to think that the desperation from before was too short-lived, until he’s inside you and you’re filled with him and that familiar need that makes you wrap your legs around him and claw at his back.

All you can think about is how you miss him and you missed this, and you’re telling him to fuck you harder, and then his mouth is right below your ear and his hair is tickling your cheek and a stream of yes’s and Rin’s are tumbling out of your mouth like dominoes and youre trying to pull him impossibly closer and youre so surrounded by him that its dizzying and youre whispering i miss you in his ear and hoping it doesnt sound like i love you and hes saying i miss you too and youre wondering if he really means i love you too and then youre biting into his shoulder and—  

You lose count of how many times you come. Both of you do. The two of you are coated in sweat, laying on damp sheets in a room that now smells like sex and sandalwood. Neither of you speak, busy catching your breath and being lost in thought. You don’t want to say anything, afraid you’ll break the spell.

You didn’t have to worry about that, though, because you hear your phone ping loudly and realize it’s on the floor, still tucked away in the front pocket of your sweatshirt. Suna turns his head towards you.

“You should break up with him.”

You raise an eyebrow at the seriousness in his voice and sigh. “I know.”

“Today.”

A pause. “Okay.”

There’s another moment where none of you speak. And then–

“You should date me instead.”

You turn to face him and the earnestness in his expression catches you so off guard you have to look away again. It’s not that you never expected him to bring it up, you just hadn't expected him to sound so sincere when he did.

You had toyed with the idea before, a handful of times even, but everything between you two was so easy—why would you mess it up with a what are we? conversation? Although, you suppose you messed it up anyway by getting a boyfriend and ditching Suna without warning.

It takes you a long time to respond, long enough that Suna starts to game plan an exit strategy, but then you meet his gaze again.

“Okay.”

[undreaming-fanfiction]

My brain refuses to sleep, so more drabbling! Probably modern-ish AU?

Steve makes a career for himself as a re-decorator (or de-decorator, as he loves to call himself). His clientele are those celebrities who rose to fame so quickly they have plenty of money, but they don't have time to make their houses feel like home. They just bought penthouses and mansions and now live in homes that are fancy, but they feel like hotels.

Steve is there to fix that.

One of his clients is the hard working rockstar Eddie Munson whose life path went from a trailer park to couch surfing to living with 4 people in a tiny apartment, then suddenly tours, hotels and boom! He has a house that looks like an IKEA prop.

He doesn't hide his distaste at the pristine condition of the place (yes, Eddie has a cleaner). "Oh god. A beige carpet?" he scoffs and he sounds so bitchy Eddie decides he likes him already.

He likes him even more when Steve puts on reading glasses. Damn.

Over coffee, they discuss what Eddie wants. Except Steve doesn't just...tell him. He doesn't give him any hints. He just keeps asking about Eddie's favorite colors, what movies he likes, does he have hobbies apart from music? Can Steve see some of the items that bring him comfort?

And Eddie's surprised. "Shouldn't you, like...be telling me what I'm supposed to want?" he asks the gorgeous man who almost wails when he sees the vase with fresh flowers ("This is the third place in a row that has this fugly thing! Is it like a status symbol? Uh, tasteless.").

And Steve just stares at him. "Uh, Mr. Munson?"

"Eddie."

Steve nods. "Eddie. Why should I have any say in what you want? If you ask me what's practical, easy to clean, what bounces off light well, that's another thing. But in matters of taste...you're the boss. You live here, I don't. (Pity, Eddie thinks) Now, let's change this place into somewhere you actually like staying, hm?"

They spend the whole afternoon talking. Eddie opens up about what he loved before the touring and expectations from his agent took that from him. He talks about the Lord of the Rings, Dungeons and Dragons, fantasy in general, and Steve listens, makes tons of notes and asks questions that make Eddie's heart bleed, such as "and who is your favorite Lord of the Rings character?" and "you mentioned elves, dwarves, orcs, wizards...so what is your favorite group?" and "which DnD class would you be then? I guess a bard? Is that too obvious?". Now, Steve doesn't know much about these things, but learns quickly and works with the info he has.

They walk through the house again, with Steve making notes and wincing at transgressions against humanity or at least against his taste in things ("Oh ew. EW. Glossy finish on a kitchen counter? What is this, a future crime scene?") and Eddie feeling equally amused and curious. Eddie orders dinner for them, it goes something like:

"I don't know what would be appropriate, any preferences?"

"Eddie, there's no time or space when pizza is not appropriate."

"What about a funeral?"

"It puts fun in a funeral."

"Touché."

They follow up on a bunch more things. Steve notices Eddie fidgeting and asks him like the mindreader he is if perhaps the place is too clean for him. "Minimalism is what everyone's trying to push," Steve says, not without sympathy, "but it's not for everyone. I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you seem like a person who'd love a more....personal, cluttered space."

And god, Eddie feels so seen. He tells Steve about all his favorite books and trinkets that he lost during a horrible earthquake in Indiana, so when he moved to the city it was just some clothes and his two guitars. Steve makes so many notes. "I've seen quite a lot of collectibles for your beloved trilogy," he says with a hint of a smile. "Is that something you'd like in your home?" Eddie can't nod any faster.

They talk about the budget (Eddie just scoffs at that, for the first time in his life money is not an issue), Eddie's absolute no go things ("No more vases, please! PLEASE. Also maybe the one room that can stay as it is is the studio, there's no decor"), if he has issues touching any materials, if he wants to keep any areas in the house neutral for visitors (he doesn't). Then finally, he asks Eddie if he wants to be more consulted or surprised.

And Eddie, tired and surprisingly relaxed from talking to Steve, just grins and says: "Surprise me, big boy."

Steve just smirks and makes one more note. "Oh, I will, Eddie."

...

Eddie goes on yet another tour for a couple of months, which is the ideal time for Steve to start working on the house.

Steve sometimes texts Eddie random choices, such as "Rohan or Gondor or both?" or "what's the best pub in the Middle Earth?" and Eddie usually trips over his feet trying to get to his phone after concerts to see if maybe he has another message from Steve. He learns bits and pieces about the man as well - he has a younger brother, Dustin, who is into the same stuff that Eddie is. Sometimes it goes like this:

STEVE: What's the best battle in the LotR movies?

EDDIE: The Ride of the Rohirrim, duh!

STEVE: Dustin says you're wrong, it's the last stand at the gates of Mordor.

EDDIE: The disrespect to king Théoden!

And finally, the big day comes. Eddie meets with Steve at the door. From the outside, the house still looks boring, but that's what they agreed on. At least for now.

But there's one notable difference and Eddie gasps when he sees it.

"I know we said no changes on the outside," said Steve sheepishly, "but I took the liberty to make one slight change."

Where the door used to be bland and white, it is now carved with silver etchings. It replicates the Doors of Durin. Eddie loves it.

Steve smiles at him. "Speak friend and enter, right? Dustin told me. Anyways, are you ready?"

Turns out, Eddie wasn't ready. Steve took all of the shiny and sterile surfaces and turned them into something beautiful.

The kitchen is now in warmer colors, brown and green, imitating the Green Dragon inn, plaque included.

Guest rooms have been changed, each to represent a group or a nation of the Middle Earth. Eddie thinks his uncle will love the Rohirrim one.

No more vases are to be seen, but Steve got potted plants ("almost immortal, as long as your housekeeper waters them once a week or so").

Eddie howls in laughter when he sees that Steve somehow managed to disguise all his security cameras as tiny eyes of Sauron.

The bathroom is inspired by the Rivendell, with soft tones and nods to Elvish architecture.

Eddie's bedroom resembles the Shire, with round shapes and homely motifs.

But Eddie's absolute favorite is the living room.

The only things that remain there that he bought are the massive TV and his stereo system with records. The rest though...

Gone is the ugly and sharp couch that looked like a geometry exercise. The new one is large and comfortable, with a couple of armchairs to finish the cozy feel. The coffee table and TV stand are more rough looking, with decorative ironwork. And then, around the room and on the walls...

"Oh wow," whispers Eddie and Steve beams at him.

There are collectibles and figurines that young Eddie Munson would have killed for. A replica of the Narsil hangs over the TV. It's cluttered but tasteful, still easy to clean, but Eddie always has something to touch, to play with.

And then he spots the bookcase and actually sobs. "What the fuck, Steve?" he asks, but there's no anger, just awe. "How did you know?"

The bookcase is full of Eddie's most beloved books, all that he told Steve about and more, but it's not just that. These aren't just pristine new prints - Steve managed to get both those and well-loved used copies. Most of them are the same editions that Eddie had before the earthquake. He runs his trembling finger over the back of the Hobbit and it feels like home.

"That was the hardest part," says Steve and leaves Eddie to rummage through the books, the old DnD guides and used comic books. "But I assumed you're sick of new and shiny. In fact, most of the collectibles are already used as well. They have some history. As for the books, uh..." He scratches his neck, embarrassed. "I will be honest, I don't read much. Dyslexia and some issues with the eyes, although audio books are making it more possible for me now. So I had to ask Dustin for help. We looked for editions published before the earthquake. I hope we got some of them right?"

Eddie just mutters "Sorry, I'm about to do something really unprofessional now" and pulls Steve into a bear hug. And Steve reciprocates.

"Fuck, this...this is everything," says Eddie into his shoulder. "How did you do this? Are you magic. You must be magic."

Steve grins. "I take it the surprise was a success then?"

Eddie finally pulls back. He would have loved to keep embracing Steve for a bit longer, but boundaries. "A total one. Wow. I mean. It's a lot, but so good. SO GOOD. How can I repay you?"

"You already paid me, Eddie."

"You know what I mean!" Eddie points and the books and apparently also a DVD collection he now owns. "This must have been so much more work than you normally do, no? I doubt every client has you memorize the members of the Fellowship."

"Not just that, but also why Sam is the best," Steve smiles at him and fuck. Eddie might be in love. "It was more than usual, but I loved it, Eddie. That's why I like my job so much, helping people find themselves again. You don't owe me anything. Although, if you're offering..."

"I'm listening."

Steve runs his fingers through that majestic hair. "So, I didn't tell Dustin that I was decorating the house for you, but he's a huge fan of your music. Like, massive, has every album, has been following your career from the start. And feel free to tell me it's too much, you are my client after all, but...he'd love to meet you. Over a pizza, maybe? The plain ham and cheese one you like so it doesn't have too many flavors?"

And Eddie melts. Because Steve still remembers his pizza choice from months ago, even though this definitely wasn't in his notes. He decides there and then that Steven Harrington is a national treasure.

"Sure, big boy," he smiles at Steve, and hopes he didn't imagine Steve leaning into the touch. "How about you invite him over for a movie night or something? With pizza of course."

It looks like Steve could kiss him, but he doesn't. Not yet. That only happens a week later, when they bump into each other in Eddie's kitchen when they scramble to make more popcorn for Dustin.

Steve stays the next night. And maybe a few after that. Always in a different themed bedroom.

They travel for work a lot, but when they are both in Chicago, they always meet in the Green Dragon kitchen, cuddle in the bed that would be far too large for a hobbit, and in the night, Eddie wraps himself around Steve and whispers: "My preciousssss."

And Steve can't really complain, because it's his fault that his boyfriend has re-discovered his dorkiness, so why would he mind?

[littlest-w01f]

Rita's

Feysand x Reader

FEYRE MASTERLIST

RHYSAND MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Feyre is drunk, and the barmaid who opened her and her husband's tab that night looks sexier with every shot. Rhysand is more than willing to aid her drunken fantasy

CW: Fingering, Oral f!receiving, MxFxF, Smut 18+ MDNI

A/N: part two Shifter for kinktober

You're working at Rita's, serving drinks to a variety of patrons. One moment, you're pouring vodka for a couple, and the next, you're sliding over a glass of bourbon to a rugged-looking male at the end of the counter. The room hums with conversation, laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses. Your hands move quickly, mixing drinks and wiping down tables as needed.

You laugh slightly, seeing your friend dancing on a makeshift stage nearby as drunk males and females whistled and hooted for the show she put on. While she was in barely any clothes you were dressed in a simple blouse and floor-length skirt, covering most of your skin except for your midriff and the exposing slit that showed a little of your right leg.

"Darling, right here," A voice calls to you while you're done cleaning up where a drunk patron had spilt his drink, you look up to see your High Lord and Lady occupying the seats diagonal to you.

You put on a smile and approach them. "Evenin', my Lady, my lord." You dip your chin in respect as Feyre waves her hand.

"Oh, no need for that." Feyre smiles, turning to Rhysand before turning back to you, giving you their orders.

With a nod, you start pulling out shot glasses and pouring a variety of colourful liquors into them. your fingers brush against each other as you pass the tray to the High Lord and Lady.

"Here you go, my lady," you say, your voice loud over the music blasting. As you step away, you can't help but steal glances at the pair. Feyre, with her mesmerizing beauty and Rhysand, whose aura of power is almost palpable.

As you continue to serve the rest of the night away, your eyes keep finding their way back to the High Lord and Lady, bringing them more shots and drinks. They seem engrossed in conversation, Feyre's laughter ringing out occasionally above the din of the crowd. Every so often, Rhysand would lean closer to her, his intense gaze never leaving her face. At one point, you notice Feyre looking at you, a small smirk playing on her lips, her eyes almost dark, which you blamed on the dim lighting.

Feyre looks up at you, as she had for most of the night, now leaning against Rhysand in her drunken state, her eyes meeting yours across the crowded bar. There's a spark there, a silent invitation that leaves your heart pounding in your chest. She gives you a small nod, barely perceptible under the loud music and general commotion around you.

Feeling emboldened by this unspoken signal, you begin making your rounds less frequently, staying closer to their table. Every so often, you'd catch Rhysand watching you with an unreadable expression, something that makes you burn at the pit of your stomach. When Feyre and Rhysand get up to walk out, you move to set some things back in their places, your shift ending for the night.

Rhysand stops by your side momentarily before disappearing towards the back hallway. A warm tingle runs through you at his brief touch, his whispered words barely audible over the noise "Meet us outside..."

As you leave the bar, your mind races with thoughts and possibilities. You glance around, looking for the High Lord and Lady, but they're nowhere in sight. Then, you hear Feyre's soft voice behind you, sending a jolt of surprise through your body.

"I hope you came willingly... Wouldn't want to force you into anything." Her voice is playful yet serious, holding a note of command that sends another thrill coursing through you.

"Yes. I... I came willingly." You nod and before you know it, Feyre has led you deeper into the alleyway, away from prying eyes and nosy patrons.

The cool air hits your face as Rhysand leans against the brick wall, crossing his arms. "She's been watching you all night," He murmurs, stepping closer until he's mere inches away from you.

"I want you..." Feyre slurred, the alcohol in her breath, she moved closer to you, "Can I drink you?"

The corners of Rhysand's mouth twitch upwards into a knowing grin as he watches your reaction. "You may go back inside if you do not wish to," he says, "She's been eyes you the entire evening, craving you, if you're uncomfortable with it, I am more than capable of satisfying my mate." his voice is low and filled with amusement.

You swallowed, feeling trapped between the two powerful figures. But instead of fear, all you felt was a strange excitement course through your veins. "Yes, my lady," you agree, heart racing in your chest.

Feyre giggled, reaching up to cradle your face in her delicate hands. Her lips were soft and demanding as they crashed against yours, your chests pushed together causing you to groan, seeing the chance, her tongue snaking out to explore your mouth eagerly.

Meanwhile, Rhysand's large hands roamed over your curves from behind, tracing patterns up and down your arms before cupping your ass. You moaned into Feyre's kiss, arching into Rhysand's touch.

Feyre doesn't waste any time getting you out of your attire. Her nimble fingers fumble with the buttons of your blouse, pulling the fabric apart to reveal your perky breasts encased in a black lace. Meanwhile, Rhysand's skilled hands make quick work of pulling your skirt to your waist, leaving you standing with your blouse just handing off your shoulders and your skirt at your waist as Rhysand removes your lingerie with a wave of his hand.

"You're even more beautiful than I fantasised," Feyre purrs, running her hands down your sides and around to squeeze your hips, bringing them up to feel every inch of your body.

Rhysand whispered down your neck, "You're the first female she's ever wanted, doesn't that make you feel special darling?"

You gasp as you feel Rhysand's hot breath along your neck, your cheeks heating up despite the cold. "Y-yes," you stammer, your knees nearly buckling under the weight of their gazes but Rhysand holds you still by your thighs, spreading them for Feyre as she drops on her knees, licking her lips.

Feeling Feyre's hot breath ghost over your cunt, you bite your lip hard, whines still escaping, your body trembling as she parts your folds with her fingers, revealing your glistening cunt. With a low hum of approval, Feyre dips her head, her tongue darting out to taste you, experimental at first before she dives in, crazed at your sweet taste.

"Feyre please-" Your cries echo throughout the alleyway, filling the empty space with the sounds of your pleasure. Your juices run down Feyre's chin as she feasts on your cunt, her fingers digging into your thighs as you squirm beneath her.

"Feels winderful, doesn't it, darling?" Rhysand asks his mate as he continues to praise you, while he watches Feyre eat you out. His cock strains against his pants, tenting the fabric as he grinds himself against your ass. "That's a good girl"

"F-Fuck..." You whimper, your body writhing in ecstasy, not sure whether to thrust into Feyre's tongue or Rhysand's cock.

Your body trembles as Feyre's fingers delve into your soaking cunt at once, curling and twisting inside of you as she finds your sweet spot. Each flick of her wrist sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, making you cry out and grip Rhysand's arms for support.

"Oh fuck! Yes!" You scream, your walls clenching around Feyre's fingers as you edge closer to your orgasm. The sensation of having both Feyre's mouth and fingers on you at once pushes you over the edge, and with a final cry, you come hard, your juices dripping down Feyre's hand.

As Feyre stands, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Rhysand steadies you, keeping you upright as your legs wobble beneath you.

"Good girl," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling away to adjust his pants, his hard cock painfully evident.

Feyre smirks, "I hope you enjoyed that," she purrs, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

"I did..." You blush softly, watching Rhysand take a gentle hold of Feyre's hand, bringing her fingers wet with your release to his lips to clean them off.

He groaned as he cleaned Feyre's hand, turning to you while you were buttoning your blouse, "Now even I want a go at you." you paused, looking at him and Feyre.

Feyre's eyes were bright with glee at his suggestion, "Oh, you should come home with us," she held your hands, pulling you close to her, "We can have more fun."

You let out a shaky breath, "Yeah... I'd like that." Your response makes them both smile wide, holding to you, they winnow back to the river house.

{General Taglist - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave}

{Rhysand Taglist- @yeonalie}

[nom-nommmm1]

Hi Oli,

I love your Lords Of Chaos stories so much, so could you write one for me? :)

I was thinking about Pelle x Fem reader, where she's Euronymous sister, and they have to keep their relationship a secret.

Xoxo and also I just saw that you write for some niche fandoms I really love, I can't wait for more stories to come

DIRTY LITTLE SECRET - PELLE/DEAD

Masterlist + taglist

AHHH HI ANON!! I’m so happy you like my stories! You’ll never know how much it means to me 🫶 also I’ve had ‘dirty little secret’ by The All-American Rejects stuck in my head FOR A WEEK truly amazing timing anon. But anyways, I look forward to see you request other fandoms soon. Also I didn’t know if you wanted to make this a smut or fluff so I’m gonna do fluff bc I’ve been in such a fluffy mood lol, request another if you’d like smut and I’ll gladly do it ❤️

Content warning !!: sweet!pelle x fem!reader, fluff?? There’s a suggestive part butt they don’t actually do it, kissing, hair pulling

The doorbell rings as the tussling of keys can be heard from Euronymous’ hands. “I got it!” I shout, opening the door to see Pelle standing there awkwardly. “Hey Pelle! You’re just in time, we’re all about to head to the movies” I say looking at the blonde haired boy, his cheeks turning a slight pink tone. “Oh yea uhm..Euro texted me” he says avoiding my gaze. He shuffles away from the doorway, letting Euronymous and I out. We all proceed to get into Euros car. “So are Faust and the guys meeting us there?” Pelle asks after a few minutes of nothing but the sound of the radio.

“Yeah, they’re just gonna be a minute since traffic’s pretty bad on their side” Euronymous says, putting his foot to the gas as the light turns green. Pelle nods, staring out the window, looking around at all the passing cars. I look at Pelle, he looks..tired? “You alright?” I ask. The blonde looks at me, seeming somewhat surprised by me breaking the silence. “Yea I’m fine y/n” he says looking back out the window to avoid the conversation.

The car pulls into the movie theater parking lot, we all get out walking up to the register. “Hello, what movie are we seeing today folks?” The cashier asks politely. “Three tickets for this movie please” Euronymous says, placing the money on the counter,pointing to a movie. “Of course, the concessions are inside” the cashier says handing us our tickets. Euronymous nods in acknowledgment, holding the door open for Pelle and I.

Walking up to the concessions counter Euro turns to us. “What do you guys want?” He asks pulling out a 20 dollar bill. “Popcorn and a slurpy?” I ask. “Sure sis, what about you Pelle?” He asks turning to the blonde. “Oh- I’m fine with whatever,” he says quickly, almost taken out of a trance. “Alright, you guys can sit down while I pay for this stuff” Euronymous says, pointing to the tables next to the bathrooms.

I nod walking over to the table, Pelle following close behind. We sit down. I look at Pelle, taking in his features as he refuses to look at me. “What’s wrong?” I ask putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Nothing y/n” he says moving out of my touch. Euronymous comes back with a handful of snacks. “Come help me get the rest guys” we all grab our own snacks and drinks. “Sorry you guys are going to have to share popcorn, I was two bucks short to get another” Euro said as we walked down to our designated auditorium. “It’s fine Euro” I say as we take our seats.

The theaters lights dim as music from the projector plays, the movie is finally starting after what feels like an hour of previews. I go to reach for the bag of popcorn accidentally putting my hand on Pelles, immediately pulling away. “Sorry” I say quickly before turning back to the movie. The movie continues on, the main character jumping out into the frame of the projector screen.

The audience chuckles as they say a joke as a criminal swings at them. I take a sip of my slurpy taking a brief glance at Pelle. I look away as I see his eyes look over to me. I lean to Euronymous, whispering in his ear. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, I’ll be back” he nods as I get up from my seat, walking down the dimly lit movie theater stairs.

I walk into the bathroom, splashing water in my face, starting to sob into my hands. After a few minutes I hear slight knocking on the bathroom wall, a figure slowly coming into my line of vision. The figure comes closer to me, rubbing my back. “I’m sorry we have to do this” the figure says. “What..?” I ask looking up, at first confused but soon my confusion is clarified as I see Pelle, still there rubbing my back.

Pelle frowns, wiping my tears away. “I can’t stand to see you cry, but you know why we have to keep this a secret, right?” He asks coming closer to me. I nod looking into Pelles warm brown eyes. “I know, Euro won’t allow it” I reply sniffling. Pelles frown grows and he wraps his arms around me, putting his head in my neck giving me a small kiss.

“Just wait a little longer, we can convince him” Pelle says brushing my hair out of my face. I nod again looking at him glumly. “Hey it’s okay, I promise” he says smiling, waiting for me to smile back but I don’t. Pelle then puts me into a kiss, my eyes widen in shock but I kiss him back passionately. I wrap my arms around Pelles neck. Pelle kisses me harder, putting his hands on my waist, picking me up. “Pelle!” I yelp feeling his hands on my ass, lifting me up.

Pelle places me on the bathroom counter, pushing me against the mirror as his lips attack mine. “I missed this” he mumbles into my lips, coating them with our saliva. I giggle pulling onto Pelles hair. He moans in my mouth, biting my lip and touching up on my body. He’s about to undo his pants before we hear a voice of a staff member. “Get out of there before I call your mamas!!” The staff member screams banging her mop on the floor. Pelle and I bolt out of the bathroom making out to our movie auditorium. “Remember, keep this between us” Pelle says before opening the door for me.

“Of course” I say walking in. “Alright, I’m gonna wait out here for a few minutes so they don’t think anything” he says giving me a quick kiss before shutting the door, smiling.

SORRY FOR THE DELAY BBS IVE BEEN SUPER BUSY N THERES BEEN A BUNCH OF DRAMA W MY FRIENDS BUT IMMA TRY TO UPLOAD

Alt acc: @nom-nommmmworkspace

Taglist

╰┈➤@mxqlss @roseroseluvrr @bkaulitzz @adellaonly @m3tal-chick

[beefcakekinard]

[<- part one] ~ ~ ~ [part three ->]

'A few more minutes' lasts about half an hour, and the only reason it isn't any longer is that Buck's bladder finally wakes up and makes itself known. He grumbles as he peels himself off of Tommy and grumbles as he brushes his teeth. When Buck shuffles out of the bathroom in his slippers, he follows the scent of bacon through Tommy's house to the kitchen.

Breakfast is quick, and quiet - Buck's on his second cup of coffee as he finishes eating, and he's still waiting to feel his first.

"Here," Tommy says, reaching for Buck's plate. "I'll get the dishes, you pick out what you want to put on."

Buck yanks his plate back. "I don't think so. You cooked, I'll do dishes." Tommy raises his eyebrow and they stand off for a moment - Buck can practically hear Chim whistling that cowboy tune.

Tommy rolls his eyes when he relinquishes the plate, but he can't hide his smile. "Alright. What do you want to watch? I can get it ready."

Buck shrugs and starts gathering the rest of the dishes. "I don't really care, as long as it's not Hitchcock."

"You heathen," Tommy says. He leans in close, presses a kiss to Buck's forehead over his birthmark, and cops a squeeze of his ass. Buck kicks at him and rolls his eyes as Tommy chuckles his way to the living room.

The dishes gathered into the dishwasher and the skillet drying on the counter, Buck wanders into the living room, his slippers tapping quietly on the hardwood. He finds Tommy on the couch with basketball highlights playing on the TV and a stack of DVDs on the coffee table.

"Babe, you're single-handedly keeping DVD printers in business," Buck says, taking his own seat on the couch. "What's the verdict?"

Tommy raises his eyebrow. "The Criterion Collection alone sells an estimated-"

"Kidding, I was kidding!" Buck says, shoving a pillow into Tommy's face and laughing at how he squawks. There's a wrestling match for it, which Buck yields, only to ruffle his hand through Tommy's hair.

"Our options," Tommy says, fruitlessly trying to smooth his hair down and gesturing at the stack of DVD cases on the table. "I didn't know what you're in the mood for, it doesn't have to be any of these."

Buck picks up the stack and shuffles through it - there's two box sets, for Planet Earth II and The Lord of the Rings, and underneath those, a slimmer case for My Big Fat Greek Wedding. He spreads them out across his lap and considers them, looking between each of the covers.

"Here," he says, holding up My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

"What, really?" Tommy asks, looking bewildered. "Is it my birthday or something?"

Buck shoves at his shoulder. "What, I can't want to watch a rom com? I can't be in the mood for romance when I'm with my boyfriend?"

Buck loves saying that word. When they had the labels conversation, Tommy floated the 'partner' option, but there's nothing like the thrill he gets from being able to say 'my boyfriend'. He gets such a thrill from it, actually, that his coworkers have started to drop hints that he's maybe over-using it a tad. Screw them, he's happy.

Predictably, Tommy's face goes all gooey and soft. That's the best part about the whole 'boyfriend' thing - Buck knows he's not alone in loving it. "Alright, whatever you say," Tommy says.

He gets up, takes the DVD from Buck, and gets everything ready. Buck wastes no time when Tommy returns to the couch: he's sprawled over Tommy's side even before the opening music starts playing, Tommy's arm around his shoulders, his fingers tapping along to the music on Buck's bicep. The movie doesn't matter, not really, not when this is what Buck was looking for.

[<- part one] ~ ~ ~ [part three ->]

[minyard-05]

drunken/drugged confessions, kevaaron 👀

this got out of hand oopsies

(written largely whilst watching the battle of helms deep in lord of the rings, if that means anything)

prompt game

-----

"Have you tried talking to anybody who isn't us about this?" Renee asked gently.

Kevin sighed.

"Matt and Aaron are friends, Neil and Aaron just pretend they're not friends, Nicky is Nicky and also in Germany, and Andrew would murder me on the spot."

"What about Dan?"

Kevin looked over to the blonde that was perched on the kitchen counter.

"Allison already tells Dan everything I tell you two."

Allison nodded without looking up from her phone. Renee sighed, endearingly, and reached over to squeeze Allison's hand.

"Got any advice?"

Allison looked up.

"Honestly, Kev? If you're seriously trying to get over this Aaron thing, which I am generously only teasing you about internally right now, then just let me take you to a gay bar and you'll forget his name in five minutes."

Kevin was skeptical. It definitely wasn't the first time Allison had pitched this idea, and it most certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Honestly, Alli?" Kevin replied, mimicking her tone as Allison raised an eyebrow.

"I will be dead before I let you take me to a gay bar."

-----

They were in a gay bar and Kevin Day was very much still alive.

"C'mon, you're going to have fun. Let go a little!" Allison had to shout to be heard over the music, and Kevin settled for flipping her off so she couldn't pretend to mishear.

"Look, we'll stay for twenty minutes, and if you still hate it, movie night, okay?"

Allison squeezed his shoulder with her hand as she said it– Kevin knew that meant she was honest. If he pushed any further, if he seriously wanted to leave, she'd let him, no questions asked. Allison knew how to push, but she also knew when to let it slide. Kevin rolled his eyes, but said,

"Fine."

Allison clapped, and disappeared into the crowd not long after. Kevin aimed for the wall and managed to maneuver his way through the crowd before he found a spot to watch the dance floor.

It wasn't that bad, he thought after a while. More people in a confined space than he was usually comfortable with, but most of them pretty much stayed out of his way, and the various costumes and complicated outfits clubgoers had put together for their night out was entertainment enough. He felt moderately underdressed in a green shirt and jeans, but he was hardly the center of attention.

Somebody was, though. Even from this distance, it didn't look like he was trying to be, but part of the crowd just swarmed around him, twisting and moving in and amongst each other like the tide. A flash of blond hair in the middle of the crush caught Kevin's eye as he watched.

Aaron looked nothing like he did at Eden's back in college, though Kevin supposed he hadn't really been paying attention back then. Here, now, a year since he'd graduated, it was like he was a completely different person. Aaron's hair was longer, and he wore black jeans with silver chains hanging at his hips, a loose black shirt with a tight fishnet under layer, and a smile on his face that looked like nothing Kevin had ever seen before.

He watched Aaron move for so long he didn't notice when the blond finally appeared at his side, warm, close, unfairly gorgeous.

"No fucking way you're actually here, Your Highness," came the familiar voice, Aaron's voice, slurred from alcohol and barely audible over the pulsing rhythm booming through invisible speakers. Kevin stared at him.

"You're drunk," Kevin said, but that was obvious. Aaron grinned and downed the last of whatever was in his glass.

"You're gay," he replied, pointing an accusing finger into Kevin's face.

Kevin blinked, but pushed his hand away.

"Bi, but sure. So are you, apparently."

Aaron just grinned again.

"Nah," he said, nonchalantly.

"I just come for the..." he paused, taking a long second to look Kevin up and down before finally coming back to meet his eyes.

"Music," he finished.

Kevin felt something disturbingly familiar in his gut and did his best to ignore it.

"You here alone?" Aaron asked, swiping Kevin's drink from his hand and taking a sip, pushing it back with a grimace soon after.

"There's no alcohol in it," Kevin explained.

"And Allison is somewhere, I think."

Aaron raised an eyebrow at him.

"Reynolds?"

Kevin nodded.

"Huh. I didn't know you two still talked."

"You wouldn't," Kevin replied, too fast, and Aaron's expression suddenly turned dark.

"Fuck it," Aaron said, louder, and started to pull away.

"I'm getting another drink."

Kevin suddenly had a hand around Aaron's arm before he fully realised it.

"No," he said.

"Let go of me, Day," Aaron said fiercely.

"It's late, and you're already wasted. We should go."

"Who the fuck is 'we'?"

"Aaron," Kevin insisted, but he loosened his grip. Aaron tried to pull back again, but stumbled, shaking his head like he could make the world clearer by force. Kevin had to grab onto him again to stop him collapsing entirely, and he started to move them around the wall and headed for the door. Aaron pushed at him, but his strains grew weaker. Kevin held on as loosely as he could without dropping him, and finally they stumbled out into the night.

The street was quieter than he'd expected, but one glance at his watch said it was already past midnight. He briefly wondered what had happened to Allison, but all other thoughts suddenly vanished when he looked back at Aaron.

"Why the fuck are you even here?" he spat, sudden anger in his words as he finally forced himself away from Kevin, turning to face him.

A million answers suddenly spun around Kevin's head.

Wondering if Alli will let me drink again.

Trying to distract myself.

Trying to exist as something different for once.

Trying to forget about you.

"Did Andrew fucking send you? To come looking for me?"

Now it was Kevin's turn to stare in confusion.

"What?"

Aaron suddenly laughed, but it was bitter, cold.

"That's it. That's fucking it, isn't it? You can't just leave me alone, can you? Can't let me live my own fucking life for once, on my own!"

"That's not–"

"Why do you think I fucking left?"

Silence. Kevin watched Aaron, tentatively waiting for him to continue, but Aaron folded his arms, shivering in the December night.

"You were trying to forget about the Foxes," Kevin said, slowly, because it was all he really knew.

"I was trying to forget about you," was the response, sharp, angry, full of venom.

Kevin's head spun as he processed the words. He knew he hadn't been drinking, but he suddenly wished he was because this wasn't real. This wasn't right. Aaron had never been like that. Aaron had never wanted him. Aaron was straight, or Kevin guessed that wasn't true either, but whatever he was, this wasn't it. This wasn't how this happened.

Aaron stepped back, like he'd only just realised what he'd said, but he was still drunk, so Kevin instinctively reached out to steady him, but Aaron moved further away.

"Shut up," he said, even though Kevin hadn't spoken.

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. It's nothing. Fuck off."

Aaron turned to leave, and Kevin followed. He had to.

"Why were you trying to forget me? What did I do?"

Aaron suddenly spun back around.

"You– you don't fucking know? You don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

Aaron opened his mouth like he was about to speak but no words came. He stared up at Kevin, not angry anymore, but hurt.

"Aaron-"

Aaron's hand was suddenly over Kevin's mouth (IGNORE THE HEIGHT DIFFERENCE), and he was shaking his head, voice lower now, almost gentle.

"Don't. Don't say it. I can't hear it from you."

They stayed there for a moment, Aaron's cool skin pressed against Kevin's, heartbeat pulsing steady against his lips, before Aaron stepped back.

"Goodbye, Kev."

Kevin watched him walk away.

-------

[bethanydelleman]

I'm going to tell you about a pro-vaccine commercial that plays in my head all the time and I wish I could create.

We start with a counter on a black screen, it's Humans vs. Smallpox and our score is zero and their score is super high and it just keeps going up. Then we see flashes of physicians from the past saying in various languages, "There's nothing we can do."

Then we go to all these soldiers attempting to fight this rampaging representation of smallpox. Think of the cave troll in Lord of the Rings. But the soldiers don't have any weapons and everyone is just screaming and trying to run away but they get stomped on:

(my excellent art)

So then we see Dr. Edward Jenner invent the smallpox vaccine and moms lining up with all their lil' babies (in old timey outfits) and we flash back to the counter and look, the smallpox side starts slowing down! Progress!

We go back to the soldiers. A scientist runs in with a glowing vaccine needle and they finally have weapons and they start to defend the townspeople from the big smallpox blob and he's getting smaller.

And then we see the World Health Organization announce that we will eradicate smallpox. The soldiers keep fighting and smallpox gets smaller and smaller until it's in a lil' jar:

(this looks more like a jug but stay with me)

and then we flash back to the counter and the numbers freeze on the smallpox side and on the human side a huge needle smashes down through our zero to be a 1 on the human side. We killed it!

Then a copy writer says something more clever but along the lines of "We've killed one once, let's do it again."

Honestly, I don't know if it's possible to move the needle on vaccine hesitancy and denial, but I'm like, super proud that we've managed to kill a disease. Diseases have been killing us, without mercy, for thousands of years and we killed one back! We did it! That is so amazing and I wish we talked about it more. We got revenge. We were persistent and strong and we finally defeated our oldest enemy.

I want other people to feel that pride and accomplishment. I want dramatic music as we vaccinate the final person. I want all the people of the past marvelling that we now grow up and live without fear of being killed or scarred for life by smallpox. It is a miracle. 40% of babies used to die but we live in the age of miracles.

Anyway, that's my vision. Let's kill polio! Let's kill them all!

[mochalottie]

Baby!Spider headcanons!

For my fic For the Nights and Days of Life. Because some of the stuff I want to include would probably expand into a 5k scene that wouldn't do anything for plot, so I thought I'd put them here.

he will eat absolutely anything. and I mean, like, baby yoda levels of eating anything. if Jake has left out on the counter, it will be in Spider's mouth faster than Jake would even notice.

it also means that he loves putting things in his mouth. his wooden toruk? the head will be slobbered on daily. a pen dropped on the floor? Jake once discovered the kid with blue ink all over his cheeks.

Spider adores music. which is handy, because every scientist who had stayed in Hell's Gate created and curated their own playlist to get them through the monotony of the day. he loves Norm's badass good girls playlist (Beyonce, Spice Girls, Christina Aguilera) but he will also not fall asleep unless Max's soothing classical genre isn't lilting its way through the speakers.

if the kid adores the song he will dance. when he couldn't sit up on his own, it would be the kicking of his legs and the nodding of his feet. when he manages to learn how to sit up, he bops along with his head and shoulders, finally going up to bouncing on his little bum and giggling at the music.

he loves exploring. in the base he would be crawling to the nearest thing that interested him, inspecting it with all the focus and care of a scientist.

Spider doesn't usually cry. he whines, and grumbles of course, but he doesn't do loud tantrums. And not because he can't, it's because he learnt during his brief time under the care of Selfridge's people that crying will only use energy and wouldn't give him anything in return. the reason why he cries when Jake finds him is because the poor baby is frightened by the new person, but also doesn't want Jake to leave him alone again. no one knows this though.

he's a visual learner, so he watches with a keen eye as children and warriors run past the healing hut, learning to walk. it's the same with language, he only need to watch the person say the words a few times and he'd repeat it back.

Neteyam is his best friend. when Kiri joins them they make a trio. they call themselves the three Muscavados because they can't pronounce musketeers, and Jake tried to tell them that story once from memory. he wasn't very good at remembering the plotline so he melded it and lord of the rings together.

[hellfireclubmember]

Secret Nerd PT 2

Someone requested this and I can't find the ask so I am sorry. I'm also sorry for literally taking forever to get to it.

part 1

Summary: Eddie, who may or may not be in love with you, finds out you like LOTR.

Warning(s): lots of steve fluff but eddie angst, unrequited love, not proof read

pairing(s): boyfriend!steve harrington x fem!reader, platonic!in love!eddie munson x fem!reader

w/c: 1.6k

Siouxsie and the Banshees was softly playing through the dimly lit shop. The stacks of new records were beginning to lose their height as you sorted them out into their appropriate bins. There was dust in the air from the number of bins you were kicking out of the way. Usually there was someone to help you with the heavy lifting, but it was 10 AM on a Tuesday. A time void of customers.

“(Y/N)!!” Eddie’s voice boomed through the store.

There was something almost pathetic about how fast a smile appeared on your face when you heard him. You loved it when Eddie visited you at work. He always made your shift go by at Mach speeds. He helped you on inventory days, walking around holding piles of records all whilst giving you free music advice. Which was really just him complaining about anything you put on the loudspeaker. Because according to the dramatic mop of hair, ‘your music taste would be perfect if you just cut out all the moody, creepy whining.’

“I know you’re in here, short stack! Only you would be playing Siouxsie.” You could hear the eyeroll from across the store.

“Yeah, whatever, act like I haven’t seen you nod your head to Happy House.” You walked onto the main floor where Eddie was sitting on the counter, next to the Madonna cassettes. “Nice of you to come see me, Edward.”

“No need to continue the act, (Y/L/N).” His face was stone cold, eyes blank. Last time he looked that severe, he was being told that Hellfire couldn’t use the theatre room because the basketball team had booked it last second. Not a good day to be around Hellfire’s dungeon master. Mike, Dustin and Lucas avoided him for two days, just to be safe.

“You don’t have to pretend to be friends with me any longer; for I have been told the truth.” He hopped off the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, covering the Megadeth graphic plastered on his black tee. “The lady lies.”

“Me lady?” You pointed your finger to your chest, confused as you could be. “I lie?” Brows furrowed as you thought of any fib you might’ve muttered out lately.

“You lie! If we were friends, you would’ve never kept your love for Lord of the Rings from me!” he exclaimed, hand on his forehead. In that moment, the appreciation you had for Eddie’s dramatics had been replaced with a strong urge to kill. You should’ve guessed it though; it had been exactly one day and one night since you had admitted it to Dustin. And Dustin is a HUGE blabber mouth. The boy did not stop.

“Ah, heard about that huh?”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” He rudely mimicked your voice and glared at you. “This entire time, when I was holding stacks of Duran Duran for you, we could’ve been talking about Boromir’s heroic sacrifice.” It was taking everything in Eddie not to crack. He couldn’t stop thinking about how cute you look all pouty. You were all frown lines and crossed arms.

The small crush Eddie had on you seemed to grow at speeds that would leave NASA’s head spinning. When you were first introduced, he didn’t think much of you. Some chick he saw at school occasionally, walking with Nancy or laughing with faceless losers. You were one of the rare people that didn’t move to the other side of the hallway when he walked by, so he definitely remembered you when Dustin was pushing him toward the group. He already knew you were dating Steve, how could he not? ‘Steve’s girlfriend’ was your identifier. And back then, there was nothing he cared less about. Currently it’s something that didn’t let him sleep at night.

Eddie was never sure what love would feel like; and now he knew what both love and heartbreak felt like. Even so, he was never truly sad, not when he could spend time with you like this. The faux vexed look you were forcing onto your face was enough to crush any self-pity swelling in his chest. Besides, he knew that there was no way he had a chance. You loved Steve, and Eddie knew there was no one else you would rather love.

“You would be a Boromir kind of guy.”

Eddie held his hand over his chest as if he were hit with an arrow. “A woman after my own heart.” He fell onto the counter he was previously sitting on.

“Where’s my pretty girl?” The voice of the sandy haired man was heard before he was seen. Eddie watched your eyes light up before you walked around the counter toward the door.

“Hi, Stevie.” You wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head on his chest. Steve was like a giant, human Xanax. He made every muscle in your body relax, every racing thought slow down. You squeezed him tight and took a deep breath. Steve loved your hugs. You hugged him as if he had gone away for years at a time.

Steve’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, and he kissed the top of your head. “I missed you.”

“Aw I missed you more, Harrington.” Eddie stood behind you. His arms were crossed over his chest. He was trying his best to look as big as possible. Even if he did know you loved Steve, it did not keep him from messing with him as often as he could.

There was really very little things Eddie could do about the pesky feelings that clawed at his chest when your eyes reached his. He knew that at some point they would slowly fizzle out, like the bubbles in his favorite beer. But for now, he was going to enjoy them. Enjoy looking at you smile, hearing you laugh, rolling your eyes, even putting away those annoying records and cassettes. Even if the image of you stuck to Harrington chunked away at his health. He was used to piecing his heart back together with the scraps of time he could spend with you. Eddie knew what his role was in life and getting the girl wasn’t part of it. It was devastating but his songs had never been better.

You felt Steve’s body tense up. “Man, you’re in here a lot.” He kept a possessive arm around your shoulders. “You wouldn’t want my girl or anything, would you?”

Your head snapped up to look at your boyfriend. That was a really jerky thing to say. Something King Steve would say. Which is what was the most surprising bit, with all the effort Steve put in to distance himself with his asshole high school self. All his other moments of jealousy were pretty tame, cute even. But he was being a jerk to your friend, and it was very upsetting.

Eddie scoffed. “I could never. That would be really dumb of me, right?” He grabbed your hand and pulled you toward him, his lips placed a soft kiss on your knuckles. “I bid your farewell, fair maiden. I have dragons to slay and whatnot.”  

The sunlight from outside painted the walls of the record store once Eddie opened the door. The second he was out of ear shot you finally spoke to Steve.

“I hate it when you’re like that.” Steve looked over at you when he heard your voice, and your frown was like a shot to the heart. He was no stranger to your cute angry face, but he knew when you were really upset. That frown looks nothing like the one you shoot him when he steals some of your fries. And he knew why you were upset. He was being a douche bag. As he was saying the words, he knew they were very asshole things to say but he couldn’t stop it. Steve couldn’t help how angry Eddie’s heart eyes made him.

“C’mon baby. He was flirting with you.” He tried to reason with you, walking around the counter to where you were counting some cassettes. “He has to know he can’t have you. Even if you’re all nerdy too.”

“Steve, Eddie isn’t a threat to you.” You turned around to face him. “Just cuz we both like..”

“I know. God, I know he’s not. I’m not insecure, sweets.” He put his hand on your right hip. Looking down at you. “I know I was made for you ‘cus there’s no one out there that loves you like I do.” He let go of your hip and found your hand. A perfect fit, but he already knew that. If that thing about an invisible string was true, he knew you were both knotted up together. Like those impossible knots on your necklaces, the ones you have Steve work out for you.

The anger that you felt for Steve dissipated and turned to another familiar feeling. Adoration. Love. Loving Steve has been the easiest thing you have ever done. He made it so easy. With his honey coated words and his pretty pink lips that kiss away all your worries.

“I just wish you would be nice to Eddie. He’s done nothing but be good friend to me.” There was a part of Steve that knew you were right. He was a good friend, not just to you but to multiple of his own friends. But the part of him that knew he was in love with you made him want to pummel Eddie.

“I just hate that he thinks about you the way I do.” He placed a gentle kiss on your lips. “It should be illegal. I should put in a word with Hop, get him arrested or something.” Another kiss on the tip of your nose. “In fact, get every loser that thinks they have a chance with you and through ‘em in jail.” Another kiss to your forehead. He saw the way you were biting back a smile when he pulled away.

“Just please stop being an asshole okay?” His finger found your sides and he started to poke, making you giggle and squirm away.

“If you insist, angel.” His lips pressed to yours for a long kiss.  

taglist: @slashersluttt @slurmp69 @sadbitchfangirl @actual-mom-steve-harrington @stylesyourmine @pennyllanne @johnricharddeacy

[valhallaas]

How Sweet It Is (to be loved by you)

Pairing: Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: SMUT (18+, minors dni) oral (female receiving)

Summary: Bradley teaches you a lesson about patience

A/N: i’m back. i don’t know what this is, but i kind of like it lol feedback is appeciated, and as always, enjoy!

It’s your idea to invite everyone over. To set out finger food, soda and beer. Even the liquor cabinet is unlocked. Maybe that’s what’s gotten into you. You’ve downed three cranberry vodkas already and the night is still young. Bob and Natasha are setting up the karaoke machine in the living room. With this much liquid courage running through your veins, there is no doubt that you’ll be the star of the show. You sway to the music in the kitchen, no one notices your absence. You were the resident lightweight, one of Bradley’s favorite things about you. It makes you fun, you’re always so serious, mama. Sometimes you need to let loose. Your gaze drifts over to the said man occupying your mind. He’s sitting at the dining room table with the others playing a game of poker. From what you can tell, Jake is wiping the table. It isn’t your game–terrible poker face, but you could always call someone else’s bluff.

Tilting your head, you stare at him. Bradley, Rooster. The only person you allow to call you uptight. Because, well, maybe you are. Maybe he needs to fuck it out of you. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring, but it’s long enough for him to feel it. His eyes snap up to yours, an easy going smile taking up his face. You do your best to smile back, lifting your glass to your lips and downing the rest of it. Bradley’s eyebrows raise at the action, a knowing look passing his eyes. Shit. Shit. You’ve been found out. If you’re good at calling people’s bluffs, Bradley is good at calling yours. He doesn’t have to look so cocky about it, though. You huff, biting your lip as your husband pushes back his chair and makes his way to you. The guys shout in protest, but you both ignore them, too caught up in each other.

You watch as he rounds the counter, arms snaking around you, caging you in. Melting into his embrace you rest your head on his chest. Sea salt and bergamot. A soft whine escapes you when he kisses the top of your head, his cinnamon flavored breath fanning over you. Tilting your head back up, you don’t make it to his amused gaze. Sighing, your hands run up his arms, rubbing at his shoulders, scratching up the back of his neck. One hand trails back down, index finger catching the chain hidden under his shirt. You thumb at the dog tags, the imprint of his name against your skin. It’s the silver band that has your attention. It used to bother you that he never wore it on his ring finger. Used to make you not want to wear your own. But you understand now; feeling Bradley’s heartbeat under your hand as you fiddle with the ring.

"What's gotten into you?" he grins, taking you by the chin. Taking in your flushed cheeks and pouty lip, his grin only grows. "Jesus. Baby, don't you go looking at me like that. It'll do things to a man."

You crinkle your nose, jutting out your lip even more. You don't even have to say anything, he knows exactly what your look means. The effect it's having on him is obvious. Bradley groans softly in his throat, readjusting himself in jeans. His gaze lingers on you before moving to the rest of the table. "Mama, please. Can't you wait just a little longer?"

With the eyes of the dagger squad still on you, you decide it best not to make a scene. Lord knows they’d never let you live it down. Begrudgingly, you sigh and allow Bradley to free up a second chair. Falling into the seat given to you, a polite smile flashed at Jake and Javy. Everyone here is family, a family built on trust and mutual respect. You aren't a pilot, and have no desire to live in the clouds. But everyone loves you all the same, and because you’re Bradley’s wife, they care for you just the same. They learned to read you and your moods just as they had with Bradley. Jake grins at you, but doesn’t say a word. The other three watch you, but they keep most of their conversations directed towards Bradley.

Their chatter drags on for close to an hour, occasionally rising to an ungodly loud volume when they roar with laughter. You don’t know what’s funny enough to have Jake about falling out of his chair, as long as he’s having a good time, you suppose. Chin resting against your palm, you listen with mild disinterest. Another ten minutes passes by until you decide that you have been patient long enough. Discreetly under the table, you nudge Bradley’s calf with your foot, trying to get his attention. When he moves it away, unaware of your intentions, you huff in annoyance. He’s too caught up in his conversation with Mickey to notice when you kick your sandal off. While keeping a bored face, you slide your toes up the inside of one of his spread thighs, stopping when you reach his crotch. That gets his attention.

Grunting at the contact, Bradley plays it off the best he can. His hand grabs your foot under the table, squeezing it in warning. You’ve never really been good with subtle clues. Pursing your lips, you tug your foot back and he releases it. You wait for their conversation to go on a while longer before trying again. This time you will succeed.

Bradley doesn't release your foot. His grip is firm, but not hurting you. Thumb rubbing up the arch of your foot and digging into the sole. It makes you jump hard enough your knee whacks the table. It makes you want to moan. Fuck, it doesn’t matter where he’s touching you, he’s always good with his hands. When a shaky sigh leaves you, he scoots out his chair and turns to you.

“Is there something you need from me?” he murmurs low in your ear.

Eyeing him up and down, you slowly pull your foot away from him and stand to your feet. His hands are grasping your hips, keeping you from escaping. Shaking your head, your teeth bite at the inside of your cheek as your thighs rub together.

“Don’t need anything that you’re not willing to give, Bradshaw.”

His eyes darken, the hazel being drowned out. He scoots back, allowing you to pass. He’s on you within seconds. In your bedroom, the door shut, he’s flush against you. Nose bumping against yours, he's holding you to him, and you whine, because god, this is all you’ve wanted. It’s all you’ve thought about all day. You tried to be good, really, you did. But Bradley is a goddamn drug and so, so good to you.

He takes your face between his hands and slides his tongue into your mouth. Sighing, you count one, two, three steps before he has you pinned against the wall of your bedroom. Shaky hands slip underneath his cotton shirt, sliding your palms against the expanse of his abdomen. You grin when his muscles clench at the light touch. You trace the line of hair that disappears into his jeans, and when you reach for the button of his pants, he bites down on your lip.

A gasp at the silent reprimand, and before you can run your tongue to sooth the bite, he’s already on his knees, tugging your shorts and panties down and tossing them over his shoulder. Bradley kisses your thigh when he hoists a leg over his shoulder. He gives you no time to process in your slightly drunken state what’s happening before he uses his thumb and forefinger to part you and drags his tongue up to your clit.

Gasping, your knees buckle and you reach for a handful of his hair to steady yourself.

“Bradley,” You moan, hips already moving to match the pace of his tongue. “I—” Your eyes roll back and your head drops against the wall, the muscles in your thighs already beginning to shake in anticipation of the orgasm coiling tightly in your stomach.

The creak of the hall bathroom door sounds, echoing through the silence of your bedroom. Your eyes open, tilting your chin to stare down at Bradley. His eyes are hard, wild, dangerous. Everything you’re wanting and there is no stopping, there is no slowing down. No one can see you in here, they’d have to walk in. You lick your lips, eyes flying to the door right across from you. Bradley, well aware of the situation, only adds more pressure to the quick flicks of his tongue on your clit, you squeak in warning as a set of footsteps pass right by the door. You inhale a shaking breath, doing nothing for you as the voices of Natasha and Bob ring out over the music. Fuck, you forgot about karaoke.

“Come on, mama,” he murmurs against you, and you catch a flash of his smile as he looks up at you. “Count. Let's see how long it takes.”

“Are you insane?” you hiss, eyes darting to the door once again.

A sharp pain shoots up your leg and you glance down to see a red mark in the shape of his teeth on your inner thigh. “Did you just fucking bite me?”

“Don’t act like you don’t like it. Now count.” There’s no denying the threat in his voice. The threat of him keeping you away from your release until you do what he says.

His lips find your clit again, and while there's a part of you that knows that this isn’t a good idea, you cannot bring yourself to care. He wanted you fun, he wanted you loose. So here you are bearing it all. If his friends just so happen to be witnesses to it, well, that’s on you. He told you to wait. No, this isn’t a bad idea, not when you lace your fingers through his hair and start to count.

“One, two, three…five, seven, um…” You swallow back a moan and clench your eyes shut trying to focus. “ I lost count, do I have to start over?” His teeth graze your clit and you jump at the rush of pleasure that shoots through you. “I’m not starting over— fifteen, sixteen…oh god, Bradley.” You grind yourself against him, digging your fingers into his shoulders. “Oh, my god. Nineteen, twenty, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty…twenty-seven.”

Your eyes close, letting your body lose itself to the rhythm of his tongue. To the feel of him slipping a thick finger inside you, to the heightened sensation of goosebumps racing up your chest.

“Thirty-three, thirty-two, thirty, thirty— oh —” you give up on counting when your stomach tenses. Your legs nearly give out, and you tug on his hair so hard you're surprised it's not ripping out of his head.

You moan his name. Loud.

Right before you have the sense to be embarrassed, your orgasm floods you, setting your body on fire and lighting up every nerve in its wake. Bradley jumps to his feet, your shorts already in his hands, he’s holding you up while dressing you. Your legs shake against him. Your knees buckle a bit when he finally pulls back. Your head rolls against the wall until your cheek presses against the cool surface and you moan softly with each after shock pulsing through you, quaking through your trembling body.

Bradley smooths out your shirt, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He takes your chin and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. You sigh, tasting his cinnamon gum and you mingled together. It was a heady mix. He wraps his arms around you and opens the door, leading you down the hallway. It’s the flood of music and the mental haze of your orgasm leaving that reminds you that you just came. You came loudly with your house full of people. You freeze, bare feet sliding against the hardwood floor as Bradley keeps you forward.

“Do you, do you think they heard?” You whisper, tilting your head up.

“Oh, they one hundred percent heard. Bob might be nice and pretend that he didn’t.” There is no mistaking the air of satisfaction radiating from him.

“Oh my god.”

You bury your head in your hands as you round into the kitchen. The poker game has been abandoned. Everyone is in the living room, picking out their choice song for the singing competition about to take place. Bradley clears his throat, making everyone turn and stare. You’re sure you could fry eggs from how hot your cheeks are. They know. All of them. Poor Bob can’t meet your eyes. You sigh, flopping down on the couch.

You didn’t feel like singing anymore. Not that it matters, everyone knows you’re the real winner tonight anyway.

[ignitefever]

🗲 — beat of the city. (app)

Click. Click. Click.

Her heels tap rhythmically as she walks through cobblestone streets, tram cars grinding along the rails, the roaring engines of passing cars, shopkeepers ringing their bells to attract customers…

It was the heartbeat of the city. A performance all its own.

“ ♪ …Duh-duh-duh, duh-duh… ♪ ”

Serval takes in each sound, each sensation, using the noise of the city and tapping of her heels to form the foundation of a beat. Mechanical Fever had been doing well enough with their shows, but the fans would get tired of the same ol’ eventually, and what rock band would they be if they didn’t flip the script every now and then?

Her walk has become a jaunty little sway as she approaches the door to her shop, humming as she takes out the key and slots it into the door. A lot of places around Belobog had begun to turn to more advanced security systems, but as seen with her taste in ‘prehistoric’ music styles, Serval had an appreciation for the classics.

A slot, twist, and a click, and she’s inside.

She picks up the mail she’d grabbed this morning, left on the counter just before she went out to do errands. Whistling, she flips through envelopes and vehicle catalogues, subscriptions to engineering and fashion magazines, only to stop when she spots a certain name.

Landau.

…Probably from Mom.

She sets the letter down, deciding she didn’t have the energy to think about family right now. Well. Former family, if her dad had anything to say about it. Serval—eldest daughter of the Landaus. Smartest in the Silvermane Guards. A once-in-a-generation genius.

Cast out like yesterday’s trash, by both friend and family. 

As if she hadn’t spent the better part of her life working to please a father with high standards, supporting her best friend as she faced the crushing pressure of becoming Belobog’s guardian, or studying the Stellaron, so that they might understand a piece of the world beyond the endless blizzards and tundras…

That they might learn where the monsters and the Fragmentum came from, or a way to end the Freeze; save Belobog and the whole damned world, even—

"Take responsibility for your choices and the people of Belobog..."

And that’s what she had done, wasn’t it? Ticked off all the boxes. Excelled in her schooling, researched the topics that made her heart sing; working her butt off and piling up accolades and credentials, serving the city and continuing the Landau’s longstanding tradition of dignity and esteem.

Yet it got her nothing but an abrupt discharge from the army, an unrecognizable best friend that wanted nothing to do with her anymore, and a father so ashamed of her he didn’t even want her to claim her own family name.

So! She wouldn’t claim it.

She takes a seat at the front counter. She’d given Molly the day off from the workshop, Lynxy was out on an expedition, and both Pela and Geppie were busy with Silvermane Guard business, which gave her the perfect window to work on a few personal projects.

Like… restoring this old relic of a stopwatch she found.

She sets the machine out on her desk, and before opening it, catches her own reflection on the surface. Huh. She looked pretty good today. Makeup hid the bags under her eyes, though her hair was left a little tousled from the wind gusts outside…

“Agh.” The maid groans, “Lady Serval, your hair is COVERED in soot and snow! Were you playing around outside again? You know how the lord and madam hate it when you muss up your hair…”

Pure locks of gold. Perfect and pristine. A lauded Landau trait… until it wasn’t. Humming, Serval brushes her hair behind her ear and opens the watch to a series of gears. The thing about being ousted from an esteemed family was that you didn’t have to follow little things like tradition anymore. 

Streaks of blue through the gold, brightly dyed tips… she’d always wanted to color her hair, just like the rock n’ rollers of old. Plus, there was a new glowing dip dye she was experimenting with…

Click. Click. Click.

Heels click with strong, purposeful strides. The halls of Qlipoth Fort were always noisy when Serval was around. 

In her school days, it was all the commotion from her band performances with Dunn, and the growing hordes of fans amongst their classmates. Now, it was the respect she amassed as a researcher in the Architects, soldiers and scientists all buzzing about with rumors—a new lead researcher was about to be elected for a big project, and Miss Serval Landau was a shoe-in for the position.

Because of course she was. What Landau wasn’t made for excellence?

Yet Cocolia still shut down her lab, accused her of insanity, and threw her away. For nothing. Their friendship, her achievements. Her dreams, aspirations, her life… and dad? The family elders? Pheeeew, they were having none of that. No disgraces allowed!

And fine, great. Less pressure for her. 

…Except they put it all on poor Geppie instead.

Click. Cli—

“Agh, darn. Looks like this gear’s jammed. Let’s see…”

But she made it through. Landaus were all about resilience and endurance, after all. Stubbornness, too. Even if those first few years after losing her job and leaving the family had been hell. 

The family had taken her money and support, so she clung to what she had: technology. Machines. Her brain. Things malfunctioned and broke everyday, and people needed someone to fix them.

Cocolia had completely trashed her reputation and career prospects, so she channeled her rage the best way she knew how—rock music.

It was how she vented back in the academy, taking out the frustrations of studies and her family with a good, cathartic jam session. 

And even now, her band attracted new and younger fans, lost kids seeking to find an outlet for the awkward and difficult feelings they were growing up with. Drama with love, peers, and family. The growing threat of the Fragmentum, and the bleak future that waited outside of Belobog’s walls.

The music helped them, like it helped her. The machines she tinkered with may not have been new, state-of-the-art technologies, but it felt good to see the smile on someone’s face when their heater got patched up, or the excitement in someone’s eyes when they got a new mod on their car installed.

Sure, she may not have been the Serval Landau. Not the Architect or prodigal daughter. But Serval Landau, the rock musician? The mechanic? She was making a difference, and that was just as good. Better, even.

There was still a place for her in the world. Helping little Bronya, forcing Geppie to chill out, making sure Lynxy and Pela didn’t get into too much trouble. Repairing machines, studying new intergalactic technologies, and coming up with ways to make life easier in both the Overworld and Underworld. 

There was a time when everything felt dark. When she wanted to run from her anger and grief, from a life that felt empty. 

But now, it’s different. Brighter, a little more hopeful. Not so bad.

A little more tinkering, and the gear unjams, Serval hums to herself as it begins to turn again, filling the silence with a steady, rhythmic—

Click. Click. Click.

Hm. She had the time. Maybe she’d read Mom’s letter, after all. Start writing that new song for Mechanical Fever’s next show, too.

[shrimpathizer]

Welcome

I’m Miso/Poet. I'm a minor and use any pronouns. I have ADHD and depression

i love talking to people. I like writing (&poetry!) and circus (silks, stilts, acro).

My sideblogs:

tlt: @noodlecankilljod (spoilers)

gimmick blog!: @consonant-counter

ART BLOG: @souroboruoss

Fandoms: doctor who, good omens, the locked tomb, lord of the rings, don't hug me i'm scared, sandman, dungeon meshi, addams family and others.

music: Hozier. janelle monae. classical. queen. lil nas x. ELO. tears for fears.

Mutuals | Art | Positivity | My art/writing

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for me:

[rip-quizilla]

Your Leather, My Lace ~ Part 5: Enter Sandman

Pairing: Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Rockstar!fem!Reader

Summary: It's the release of Metallica's new album, and you weren't lucky enough to snag a copy. Fortunately, Eddie managed to buy one and he's very eager to get back in your good graces.

Word Count: 6.9k

Tags for Entire Fic (from AO3): Enemies to Lovers, Rival Bands, Tension While Singing, Leather, 80's Rock References, Song Lyrics, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Thinly Veiled Hex Girls Inspiration, Eddie Munson Lives, 1991, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Mutual Masturbation, Hate to Love, Oral Sex, Consensual Sex, Smut, Eddie Munson Has No Sense of Personal Space, Cunnilingus, Nipple Licking, Catholic Guilt, brat!reader, Dom/sub Undertones, light degradation, Car Sex, The Lord of the Rings References

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

If asked whether or not 7 AM is a stupidly early time to be starting your day, most average adults would probably answer “no”. For a musician, however, 7 AM is basically the buttcrack of dawn. Hence, the second cup of coffee of the morning that you held in your hand as you waited in line for Mad World Music Store to open.

Today was the release of Metallica’s new album, and you were determined to get a copy. You didn’t want a single day that a whole album’s worth of new songs by your favorite band were out to pass without at least starting to memorize every line, every chord progression, every complicated riff- you ached to have every new song rolling around in your brain. So here you were- thirty-seventh in a line of metalheads that didn’t mind being temporary early birds if it meant getting their hands on a copy of Metallica’s self-titled album. The line was so long that it wound around the outside of the tiny music store; you used your free hand to wrap yourself further into the large thrifted fleece jacket you wore over the thickest hoodie you’d brought with you. The morning chill wasn’t too bad, but with so little sunlight on this cloudy day there wasn’t much to balance out the wind that stung the bare skin exposed between the ends of your pants and your lace up Docs. 

You sipped your coffee and busied your mind by letting it wander back to what had become the center of your every waking moment lately- your band, your setlist, and literally every possible thing that might keep you from winning Indie Battle. 

When the line finally began moving in your favor, you felt your heart rate pick up as you shuffled forward a few inches. Before you knew it, you were through the door, inching forward minute by minute until you reached the checkout counter. You could practically feel the plastic-wrapped cassette tape in your hands, until-

“Sorry, we’re all out. That was the last one.”

Your eyes turned to ice when you looked up at the stout, curly-haired cashier. “What?” You grit out, your voice stony and barely above a whisper. You set your coffee down on the counter, splaying both hands on the surface “I’ve been out there waiting for almost an hour.”

The man shrugged apologetically, and you empathized with every groan you heard from the customers in line behind you. “We’ll have more coming in at the end of the week, but that’s all I’ve got for now.” He made a sort of sorrowful grimace as you sighed, shoved your hands in your pockets and accepted defeat. You turned around to walk aimlessly down an aisle of used vinyls, listening to the grumbling of customers as they left empty-handed. Amidst the shuffling of dejected feet, however, you noted that one set of white sneakers moved hurriedly in the opposite direction toward the cashier. 

“Hey man! You got it?” 

Damn that voice, you’d started hoping you’d never hear it in the same room as you again.

You checked over your shoulder to check if that voice belonged to whom you thought it did, and sure enough, there he was.

Eddie Munson, in all his glory, strode down the center walkway of the music store toward the cashier you’d just finished speaking to.

Slowly, you backed further into the aisle without completely losing sight of the two objects of your attention. You grabbed a random record and pretended to gaze at the faded album cover while you listened in on their conversation. 

“Yeah, dude, I put one aside for you the minute they came in.” your eyes bugged, glancing quickly to see whatever the cashier was referring to. Sure enough, held in his hand was a shiny, brand new tape of the Metallica album. “There was a line out the door for these, you owe me big time.” 

Your eyebrows pinched as you shook your head softly and stifled a scoff. This guy just couldn’t seem to stop pissing you off. What were the odds that he knew the guy working at the music store well enough to get him to save a copy of the most anticipated release of the year? You inwardly cursed your shitty, shitty luck and craned your neck to get a better look between shelves at the two behind the counter. 

“That’s the understatement of the century, Grant,” Eddie said congenially. “Anything you want or need, just say the word. You can even hop back on the stage with us, you know that’s a standing invitation for life, man.”

The cashier- Grant, apparently- smiled fondly at Eddie, clapping him on the back with one hand and scratching an itch in his beard with the other. “Ah, thanks man… haven’t been on a stage in years, you know that. I’d probably sound like dogshit.” he laughed good-naturedly, picking up an empty box that must have held all of the new tapes and heading toward the back of the store.

“Even if you did, I wouldn’t give a fuck,” Eddie followed Grant, fiddling with the plastic on the tape as if he were itching to open it up and stick it into the nearest stereo. You couldn’t blame him; if that tape were in your hands, you’d be anxious to listen to it too. “Corroded Coffin isn’t the same without you, man.” 

So that’s how they know each other. 

This guy must have been a band member at some point. You wondered why it was that Eddie and his band hadn’t competed in the past when they had a friend in the music industry working at a music store that was located so close to all of the venues where Indie Battle took place. No doubt they’d heard about it from this Grant guy before… what took them so long? 

“Fancy seeing you here, Galadriel.” 

Eddie’s voice at the shell of your ear surprised you so much you dropped the record straight down to the carpeted floor. You quickly retrieved it, spinning around to face him. Eyes wide, you took in the sight before you.

Eddie wore ripped jeans the color of charcoal gray, a red T-shirt sporting a graphic made to look like the poster for Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, that damn leather jacket, and a denim vest that was loaded with patches and pins. He was smirking at you through heavy lidded eyes, and in his hand he held… your coffee cup. 

You had left it on the counter, and your name was written very clearly across the surface in thick, black lettering. 

You cursed yourself inwardly for your carelessness; If you had just remembered to grab it, he might have never known you were there. You sighed, reaching for the coffee cup, and as he handed it to you he grabbed the record from your other hand. 

“Little Willie John?” Eddie questioned, quirking a grin as he studied the vinyl that you’d been practically hiding behind while he’d been talking to Grant. “Didn’t peg you for a soul man.” 

You scraped your brain for something to say while you stood there awkwardly holding your coffee cup with both hands. Tapping your thumbnails on the plastic lid, what finally came out of your mouth was “Yeah, well… ‘Fever’ is good.” 

Eddie continued to stare at you with that fucking smirk, letting you chew on your lip and avoid eye contact like it was the black plague.

“Yeah, ‘Fever’ is good,” he said, his voice even. You weren’t sure if he was being patronizing or serious. “Have you… ever heard the cover by The Cramps?” 

You eyed him suspiciously. He was making civil conversation, which you hadn’t been expecting. Teasing? Yeah. Condescension? For sure. But civility? You weren’t sure what to make of that. “Yes, I have.” you said cautiously, nodding your head. “It’s good.”

Eddie smiled softly, nodding his head to match yours. “Good.”

The way you were looking at him, someone might think he’d just grown a second head. “Good.”

The two of you must have made a strange sight, standing quietly facing each other as you nodded in tandem. After a few seconds, your distaste for awkward silences got the best of you and you were barely able to stop the strangled chuckle from bursting out of your mouth. Eddie seemed to be right there with you, chewing his lips to keep a smile from showing itself. You had thought you’d be more angry with him, but you felt strangely neutral about Eddie at the moment. Performing the other night had been like therapy- all of the anger, the betrayal, the itch to prove him wrong and so very stupid- most of it had been left on the stage that night. You weren’t exactly a fan of the guy right now, but the venom you’d felt before was- for the time being- nowhere to be found. 

“Are you here for the Metallica album?” Eddie asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth rushed. 

You sighed, “Yeah. They ran out before I got one though.” You nodded towards the checkout counter. “I overheard bits and pieces of what you were saying up there; being friends with store employees has its perks, huh?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow as he placed the Little Willie John album back in its place. “Overheard, huh? You spying on me now, babe?” 

“Don’t call me babe.” 

Eddie’s eyes widened, his lips snapping out of his smirk into a thin line. A chill breezed through the store as a departing customer opened the door, the jingling of the bell on the doorframe echoing through the room. A harsh breath left his lips as Eddie stuck his hands in the deep pockets of his leather jacket. Your fingers twitched, remembering the smooth satin lining and how it had felt on the pads of your fingers when you’d worn it less than a week ago. 

“I deserved that.” Eddie said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I should have been honest with you from the beginning, and I took things as far as I did with you without letting you in on the full truth, and that was an asshole move. I get why you were mad.” He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath before tagging on, “I’m sorry.” 

You stared at him, eyes betraying none of the very sappy emotions you were fighting to keep at bay. “I appreciate the apology,” you said, careful to maintain a neutral tone. 

Eddie’s chin tilted upwards in question. “Aaaand you forgive me?” Oh gosh. His voice was so hopeful, you couldn’t help but take one look at those big brown eyes and imagine a puppy at the pound. Your heart made you feel like putty in his hands… but your brain? Your brain knew better.

You decided to make him work for it a little more. 

“You do know that an apology doesn’t automatically entitle you to my forgiveness, right?” you said, one hand finding purchase on your hip as you slowly moved to take a sip from your coffee. 

Eddie shook his head, eyes still wide and- to your delicious satisfaction- a little bit desperate. “No! I mean, yes, of course I know. You don’t owe me anything, I just… I wanted to say that I…I regret-”

“-being too much of a little bitch to just tell me the truth from the get-go?”

Eddie’s gaze narrowed at that. Adios, puppy dog eyes. 

“Hey now-”

You shrugged, your ego inflated at the fact that you were getting a rise out of him. He’d had his fun playing with you; it was your turn now.

“I’m just saying, a man who’s honest enough with himself that he can admit when he’s been a truly pathetic-”

“Whoa-”

“-sad,”

“Sad-?”

“-too horny to properly function-”

“Oh see now, coming from you-”

You were smiling ear to ear now, “ -Little. Bitch.” You punctuated each word with a condescending nod of your head. “...A man who could admit that to himself, I might just be prevailed upon to forgive.”

Eddie looked about ready to explode. Eyes narrowed, mouth agape as if warming up to open fire, head softly shaking back and forth, hands tensing to fists in his pockets. After a moment, his voice- eerily steady- spoke up. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, sweetheart.”

Your smile remained intact. “Not your sweetheart.” you purred. “Unless…” you leaned forward, eyes narrowing in on him. “-you say it.”

The only change to his expression was the corner of his mouth drawing up into a challenging smirk. “You want me to- no. No way.”

You shrugged. “Say it.”

“Are you an actual child?” Eddie scoffed.

“You’ve seen the proof that I most certainly am not.”

Eddie blinked twice. Slowly. 

“Not saying it.” he reiterated. 

“Then I don’t forgive you.”

The air between the two of you was about ten degrees hotter than the rest of the air in the music store. The electricity in your eye contact could have powered the whole building. The silence was only permeated by the quiet hum of radio music buzzing in the store speakers, only interrupted by the chime of the bell above the door once again. 

Finally, Eddie let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, let me propose a compromise.” 

You stood your ground, hand on hip while the other brought your coffee back to your lips. “I’m listening.” you murmured into the plastic lid.

Eddie pulled from his pocket the plastic-wrapped Metallica tape. “The two of us get in my van-”

Your eyebrows shot up so high, they practically got absorbed by your hairline.

“-in the front seat,” Eddie rolled his eyes. “Jesus. We get in my van and listen to the new album, because I’m a good person and don’t mind sharing.” He shook the tape in the air two feet from your face. “What do you say, princess?”

You sipped your coffee. “Don’t call me princess.” 

Eddie took a step closer. “Why not, is it affecting you?”

“It’s affecting my patience.”

Eddie smiled, and it wasn’t a snarky smile this time. It was bright and warm and made your heart do a little backflip, which you chose to pretend didn’t happen. 

“I really am sorry.” Eddie’s voice was sincere, low and came out in a throaty rumble. “And there’s nobody I’d rather listen to this album with than someone who shares my adoration for the way Kirk Hammett can fucking shred his way through a song that- were it by any other band- I would probably think was way too long.”

A chuckle bubbled out of you before you could stop it, and your free hand flew up to cover your smile daintily with the tips of your fingers. That only made Eddie’s goddamn grin grow wider. His lips quirked around it, like it were something to savor, to chew on and revel in its flavor. 

“So…” again, that deep, sincere voice. He said your name; it sounded sacred on his lips. “What do you say?” 

Dammit. 

You shook your head, exasperated by the smile you just couldn’t wipe off your face. “Lead the way.” You conceded. “But we’re stopping for breakfast.”

Eddie led the way out of the music store, a smug little grin lingering in the corner of his mouth the whole time. At one point you saw him look over his shoulder at something, and when you followed his gaze you saw Grant redirect his attention and hide his thumbs up faster than the speed of light. 

***

Two doors down from the music store was an old, wacky-looking diner called “Deedee & Bub’s” that looked like it had been opened by a hoarder who ran out of room to put things. 

You had to admit, the place had a weird, retro sort of charm that rubbed you all the right ways. Every square inch of wall space was taken up by old photos, strange art pieces, old license plates from not only different states, but different countries. Whoever “Deedee and Bub” were, they undoubtedly had stories to tell, judging by the amount of conversation pieces decorating the entirety of the store. They even had a whole corner of the diner dedicated to the largest collection of Santa Clause memorabilia you’d ever seen in your life. It was like a shrine to Christmas capitalism- weird as hell. You loved the energy of it. 

As you and Eddie sat yourselves down in a squeaky red booth, Eddie voiced exactly what you had been thinking. “Well this place is weird as shit in the best kind of way.” His brown eyes darted from wall to wall, taking in everything that he could even though this was the kind of place where, no matter how many times you visited, you would always notice something you hadn’t before. 

You grabbed one of the menus clipped to a stand on the side of your table closest to the wall. “It’s cute… but I’m withholding judgment until I get my food.”

It only took a moment of looking at the menus for your waitress to arrive at your table. Eddie was quick to tell her his order, which consisted of “french toast with strawberries and extra whipped cream, please” accompanied by a flutter of his eyelashes. You smiled politely at the waitress as you closed your menu and placed it back at the end of the table. 

“The Elvis Oatmeal and a black coffee, thank you.”

You watched the waitress jot down your orders in her little notebook before walking away, at which point Eddie pounced.

“Oatmeal, huh grandma?” he chuckled.

You scoffed, “Oh you’re one to talk,” you imitated him by batting your eyelashes the same way he had moments ago. “Yes ma’am, I’ll take a plate of sugar with a side of diabetes, please!” 

He laughed good naturedly at your impression, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back into the booth. “Don’t hate me for having a sweet tooth, princess, that’s just how God made me.”

“Not your ‘princess’, and God made you with the palate of a six-year-old.” You laughed as

the waitress returned to set down your coffee. Before she could turn and leave Eddie asked, “Excuse me, miss, what are these cards here?”

You craned your neck to look at the cards Eddie was referring to- beside the menus, there was a small compartment that had been cut into the wooden surface of the tables, just big enough to hold a deck of cards. 

“Oh those are so fun!” the waitress replied, brightening at Eddie’s question. “The cards all have little conversation starters on them. Owners found a deck of them in a little gift store somewhere and came up with the idea to put them at the tables. Some come from the original deck, but the majority of the cards have prompts that staff members came up with over the years.” She waggled her fingers toward the deck as she turned away to attend to her other tables. “Feel free to use them if you’d like!”

As expected, Eddie was absolutely into the idea of the two of you interrogating each other with the questions on the cards. It didn’t take him long to divide the deck in half, place the cards between the two of you, then sit silently vibrating and smiling like a kid in a candy store as he watched you expectantly. You couldn’t see his knee bouncing under the table, but you could feel it nonetheless. 

You let a moment pass watching him, playing up the exhausted look on your face as you smirked at him until finally you sighed dramatically. “Fine, I’ll play, but I reserve the right to refuse to answer whichever questions I want.”

Eddie nodded excitedly, placing his elbows on the table and sitting his chin on fisted hands. He looked adorably ridiculous. 

You read the question off your first card. “What did your fifteen-year-old self imagine you’d be doing right now?” you raised your eyebrows, impressed. “Wow, that’s actually a pretty good question.”

Eddie’s expression shifted from excited to pensive, nodding absently as he pondered the question. “I’m proud to say that I expected myself to be doing something exactly like this.” He said. Something about his voice was quieter now, more reverent in the way he spoke. “Actually, I probably would have said I’d be working at the plant like my uncle. This- competing in something like Indie Battle that gets attention from real producers and shit- this was a pipe dream.”

You smiled softly, touched by his honesty. “So this is quite literally the dream for you, huh?” 

Eddie nodded, eyes warm and honey-sweet. “Pretty much. I think little Munson would be proud of future-me.”

You placed the card face-down beside the deck. “That’s all any of us can hope for.” you shrugged softly before nodding toward Eddie’s deck. “Hit me.”

A wicked glint sparkled in his gaze as he pulled his top card. “I hope it’s something dirty.” 

“For your sake, I hope it isn’t.”

His chest shook in a silent chuckle before reading the card. “What do you ask people for help with?”

You blanched, thinking about it for about two seconds before replying decisively with “Nothing.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” 

You laughed into your coffee cup as you took a sip. “I’m good at handling things myself, that’s not a fault, it’s a skill.” 

Shaking his head, Eddie placed the card on the table. His gaze was joking, but something in his eyes told you he wasn’t the biggest fan of your answer. “See, you say that, but all I see in front of me is a control freak-”

“Hey!” you interjected.

“-who wouldn’t ask for help even if she needed it.” Eddie punctuated the end of his sentence with a pointed look that you couldn’t help but feel a little bit judged by. 

You didn’t like how perceptive he was being. It made you feel… too bare. And not in a good way. 

Redirecting the attention would do the trick. 

You ignored his comment, plucking the next card from your deck. “What’s your theme song?”

Eddie smirked. “I’ll let you know when I’m done writing it, sweetheart.” 

You snorted at his cheeky reply. “Not Master of Puppets?” you pushed. 

“I think that would be a little too obvious, don’t you think?”

You nodded, glancing at the tattoo on his forearm and trying not to think about the fact that you remember the way the raised, scarred skin felt under the caress of your thumb. “Fair.” you replied. 

You waited expectantly for Eddie to take the next card from the top of his deck, but he only sat there smiling at you. You quirked an eyebrow. “What?” 

“You let me call you ‘sweetheart' that time.” He replied.

This smug little bastard.

You rolled your eyes and sighed, shaking your head. “Oh my god, just draw the next card.”

Eddie’s smirk stayed plastered across his face at full power while he read the next question silently. Then, his smirk somehow grew even bigger as a dark chuckle escaped his lips. 

“What kind of-” his big brown eyes flicked up to yours, “-shower ideas do you get?”

You almost choked on your coffee.

“There is no way that’s what it says.” you coughed. Eddie turned the card around for you to read- that was what it said. 

You almost cashed in on your right to deny him an answer, but when you thought about it, you found that the answer actually wasn’t too embarrassing. 

“Actually, I don’t do much thinking in the shower.” 

You could tell from the dark blush on Eddie’s cheeks that his mind went straight into the gutter before you had even finished your answer. 

You chuckled, shaking your head. “What I mean is that’s kind of the only place where I can let my brain go blank. Usually I like to blare my music loud enough to hear over the water and sing along at the top of my lungs.” 

Eddie nodded, seeming to have overcome whatever naughty image he’d created in his head enough to comprehend what you were saying. “Gotta say,” he said, voice huskier than it had been a moment ago, “after what I saw on that stage the other night, that’s a show I wouldn’t mind buying a ticket to.”

Your smile dropped, and your expression shifted into the very picture of unamused. You sighed, wordlessly taking the white beverage napkin from beneath your coffee cup and crumpling it up into a little ball. Deadpan, you looked Eddie in the eyes and gave him a disappointed “Boooo,” as you tossed the napkin ball at his face.

He grimaced, not making a move to block the incoming projectile as harmlessly bounced off his cheek. “Right, I deserved that.” he grunted. 

“Damn right,” you snarked, pulling a new card from the top of your deck. Upon reading the question, your easy smile faded a bit, lips thinning into a melancholy line. This question was a bit more serious than the last.

Which was fine, because the way you felt about this guy was completely and totally indifferent, so his answer to this question shouldn’t affect you in the slightest. You really couldn’t care less what his opinion was on the subject.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” you read aloud, tone remaining as neutral as you could manage. 

You watched Eddie’s brows pull together, really taking his time to think about this one. His idle fingers sought purpose in twisting open the corners of the napkin you’d thrown at him, eyes trained on the wooden surface of the table as he came to his own conclusion. When he finally opened his mouth to speak-

“Alright, that’s one Elvis Oatmeal-” This waitress’s timing was award-worthy, you had to hand it to her. “-and one strawberry french toast, extra whipped cream!” With both breakfasts placed before you, she placed her hands on her hips and smiled wide, oblivious to any tension she’d interrupted. “Anything else I can get ya?” 

The two of you shook your heads, smiling politely and thanking her for the food. As soon as she walked away, Eddie dove into his french toast head-first, almost as if he were hoping you would forget about a certain question on a certain card. 

“Well?” you prompted.

“Hm?” Eddie asked, coyly avoiding the question. “What?”

“So what’s your answer?”

Eddie smiled around a bite of strawberries and whipped cream. “I’m still thinking about it.” 

He chewed his french toast while you took a bite of your oatmeal, crushing a banana slice on the roof of your mouth. You both ate in silence for a moment before you chimed in. “Well I don’t.” you decided. 

Eddie’s expression betrayed nothing. “And why is that, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not your sweetheart.” you corrected, “And I think real love doesn’t happen until you actually, truly have had the time to know and understand a person.” Shrugging, you brought your coffee cup to your lips. “Anything felt before that is just lust or passion or infatuation.”

He nodded while he listened, really taking in your words and mulling them over. “You make a good point,” he conceded, “I’ll give you that. But I’m gonna have to side with the romantics on this one.”

You smiled, surprised at his answer. “Okay, Mr. Romantic,” you teased. The irony of the nickname wasn’t lost on either of you. “State your case, then.”

Eddie shrugged as he crushed a syrupy strawberry with his fork, mixing it into the whipped cream. “I’m not on a quest to change your mind or anything, like I said- you have a point. Love takes work, takes time.” You listened carefully, lips resting on the rim of your warm ceramic coffee mug. “But I think love can start before you know someone, really know them, I mean… not saying I’ve experienced it, I’m not that lucky…but I want to believe in it.” Your heart started to beat a little faster; you didn’t want to think about why. “I don’t know, something that pure and that rare…” 

Eddie’s eyes flicked up to yours, their gaze sudden and intense. “You know how people say everything in life eventually balances out? Like, there’s a “yin” to every “yang”, all that shit?”

You nodded, hanging on every word, your eyes held captive by his blazing brown ones.

“This world can be so fucked sometimes… for that to make sense, then I’ve gotta believe that something as mushy-gushy and naive as love at first sight can exist. For every time this world feels like a living hell, there’s got to be a time it feels like heaven. Otherwise, what are we doing this all for, you know?” he shrugged, stabbing his fork through a bite of french toast and dipping it in his strawberry-whipped cream concoction. “So yeah, that’s my answer.”

You weren’t sure when you’d started holding your breath, but it was definitely time to breathe now. 

Once oxygen filled your lungs, you huffed out a soft, breathy laugh. “Well damn, do I feel like a cynic.” You stirred your oatmeal, a smile latching itself to your lips and taking up residence whether you liked it or not. “Maybe if I had your way with words, Next Hex would have at least one original song by now.” 

Whoa. Where had that come from?

You didn’t want to give him a chance to comment on the biggest insecurity you had about your band- even if you had just voiced it out loud like a fucking moron. “How’s your food?” you asked.

Eddie’s eyes were wide, a little confused about the abrupt subject change, but he followed your cue beautifully. “Fucking delicious.” he practically moaned around a particularly large bite. “What is that you have over there, anyway? Is that peanut butter?”

You laughed airily, grateful that he wasn’t commenting on your original song dilemma. “Oatmeal with peanut butter, banana, and honey. If it was good enough for Elvis, it’s good enough for me!” You shoved a heaping bite into your mouth in hopes that it would shut you up enough to prevent further stupid comments. 

The two of you were able to eat in comfortable silence for several minutes before Eddie spoke softly, “I could help you, you know. Write a song.” 

You narrowed your eyes on him. “What makes you think I need help with that?”

He put up both hands in the air, a silent I surrender. “I’m not saying you do, just… offering, I guess.”

You still felt suspicious of such an offer, from your competition, no less. “Why?”

“Your band is good- really good. Too good to just be a cover band.” He stabbed another strawberry with his fork. “I mean, not so good that you could beat Corroded Coffin, but…”

You scoffed, his cockiness was so insufferable that it was almost funny. Almost. “Oh, we could cruise through the rest of the competition doing nothing but covers, and still wipe the floor with you guys.” You teased.

“Oh you could, huh?”

“Without a doubt.” you smiled confidently. “But if I, ah…” You struggled to keep your voice from shrinking. “...if I ever find myself wanting… a second opinion when it comes to songwriting, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask someone with experience in that field.” You pointed your spoon at him sternly. “Not that I would need help.”

Eddie fought a smile from creeping across his lips. “I know you wouldn’t, Galadriel.”

A mutual understanding- your pride couldn’t take another hit from this guy; he knew that. Eddie regretted the way that things had gone down between you two; you knew that. So he offered you help, and you accepted it- maybe not with the words you said, but fortunately you were both very good at reading between the lines. 

When you complimented his way with words, you were really saying ‘I wish I was as good at that as you are’. When he offered to help you, what he was really saying was ‘you can be’.

A secret code, just for the two of you. 

***

Breakfast had been a balm to the bitterness between the pair of you. The conversation cards and smell of strawberries and peanut butter had settled over the pair of you to form a sort of truce- neither of you had woken that morning with the intention of making amends, but you did have one thing in common:

You both fucking loved Metallica.

Now, the two of you sat in quiet anticipation as Eddie carefully unwrapped the plastic from the brand new tape. The sun had come out to warm the morning air, and you’d since shed your fleece and rolled up the sleeves of your baggy sweatshirt. You tried to assuage your impatience by taking the time to fold your fleece while you waited for him to finally pop the tape into his van’s radio, but you were getting antsy. 

Groaning impatiently and dropping the fleece into a pile at your feet, you shifted in the passenger seat and began to drum excitedly on the worn leather surface of his console. “Oh my god, just open it already!”

Eddie chuckled, carefully peeling the clear plastic off of the precious commodity. “I’m not scratching the case on the first day, sweetheart. Have a little patience.”

You pouted, eyes narrowing. “No.”

He paused, looking up at you curiously. There was a twinge of darkness to his pupils that made you suck in your stomach for some reason. An eyebrow raised. You matched it with your own. 

After a moment where Eddie looked as if he were about to say something, he apparently decided against it and huffed out a charged breath through his nostrils, disguising it as a laugh. He peeled the last bit of plastic away from the tape before carefully opening the case with a soft click. You could have sworn your heart rate skyrocketed with the knowledge that in a moment, you would hear the first new Metallica song to grace your ears since ‘88.

You closed your eyes and waited until finally- the low strum of an electric guitar filled your ears.

Often, Metallica’s songs started out brash, jarring. The rage with which they were composed was evident in the immediate ring of harsh guitar and drums. This… this was deeper. It crept, it rolled around in your brain, allowing the grungy darkness of its tone to slowly crescendo. You felt an infectious sense of euphoria as its melody crawled into your chest and wrapped itself up in your pulse. Before you knew it, your head was bobbing to the beat, and when you heard James Hetfield’s familiar voice growling through the speakers? Oh, you were gone. 

By the time the first chorus began, there was a giant, sappy smile on your face. You cracked one eye open to look at Eddie, and what you saw made your smile grow even wider. 

Eddie Munson sat in his driver’s seat, head bobbing, knees bouncing, fingers drumming, eyes closed and grinning like a maniac. You’d never felt more seen in your entire life. Every time you’d locked yourself in your room and listened to music for hours? Every time you had been mocked for the metal band stickers on the inside of your locker and the band pins on your backpack in high school? Every time that you had blared your music as loud as it could go through your headphones so you could fucking drown in it, because you knew you wouldn’t hear your own thoughts reflected anywhere except within those songs to which you’d clung so desperately? All of that was validated with one look of this man who gave himself to his music with reckless abandon. 

It was almost like he could feel your gaze on him. Eddie opened his eyes and took in the sight of your smile, your head as it bobbed to the beat of the music, and for a split second you wondered if he felt that same sense of validation when he looked at you; if there was a part of him- maybe that fifteen-year-old Eddie who’d already surrendered to an inevitable life working at the same plant his uncle returned to day after day- who saw this moment for what it was. Two kindred spirits, two twin souls, two freak metalheads, seeing and recognizing each other in a world where loving the music you loved could get you hurt by those who refused to try and understand it- and the two of you had not only kept on loving it, but made it your world. 

You thought he might say something, but he simply returned your smile and gave his wild mane an extra shake as he turned his headbanging up to the next level. You laughed; so did he. Then you both just listened- you let the music continue to wash over you. There would be time to talk about it later. 

That was how you passed the next hour. You both just sat there, taking in the music and letting every note, every word, every mood roll through you. By the end of the third song, you’d shucked off your boots and tucked them under your thighs to sit criss-cross-applesauce in the passenger seat. Neither of you said much, other than the occasional “damn” or “fuck yeah” whenever a chord progression or certain lyric hit one of you where it hurt. 

When the sixth track on the tape began, you scrunched your nose in concentration as you struggled to place the melody that was…yep, definitely familiar to you. When it finally landed in your memory, your eyes grew wide. 

“No. Fucking. Way.” you said, voice low and from your chest. 

Eddie glanced at you curiously. “What?”

You giggled, shaking your head in disbelief. “This riff is from West Side Story!” 

“West what now?”

You only laughed harder. “West Side Story, it’s a musical!”

He eyed you warily, “You’re telling me that Metallica referenced a musical in this song?” He shook his head, “You’re mistaken, fair Galadriel.”

You smiled smugly as he rolled his eyes, clearly not convinced. “Dude, I was in that play in high school. I know the song, it’s America, it’s all about the American dream versus the realities of being an immigrant, and- wait, gimme.” You grabbed the plastic case from where it sat on the dash. “...Hah! The song is called ‘Don’t Tread on Me’, so that reference makes complete sense.”

Eddie was smiling now, but his eyes still narrowed to show his obvious suspicion. “Yeah, I still don’t think Hetfield is a musical theater junkie, sorry.” 

You shrugged, replacing the tape case before relaxing back into the seat with your hands behind your head. “Tell yourself whatever you have to, Munson.” You smirked at him. “I know what I know. Metallica just referenced a fucking show tune.”

He shook his head, shoulders shaking with a silent laugh. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” 

The two of you continued through to the end of the tape, listening with easy grins and tapping out drum lines on your knees. It was so simple; the way two people sharing something they both loved could so effortlessly just fall into comfortable silence with each other. To put it simply, time ceased to exist as long as you were sitting in the van and the tape was running. Unfortunately, however, all good things must end. Eventually, the tape ran out and Eddie offered you a ride back to your hotel. When he dropped you off, you lingered in his passenger seat for a minute even after he had parked. 

Looking into Eddie’s big, hazelnut eyes, you surprised even yourself with the words that tumbled out of your mouth. “You’re a pretty cool guy, Eddie Munson.” 

Unsurprisingly, that made him smile. “Yeah?” he asked airily. “Y’know, you’re pretty cool yourself.”

You grinned down at your boots as you laced them back up your ankles, a wonderful excuse to not have to look Eddie in the eye as he returned your compliment. Shyly, you hopped out of the van onto the concrete of the hotel parking lot. Before you shut the passenger side door, you glanced back at him and smiled sweetly. 

“Hey Eds?”

Eddie’s brows shot up, taken completely by surprise at the use of your new nickname for him. He audibly gulped before recovering with a “Y-yeah?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re still a little bitch.” Immediately, you shut his door and turned tail, practically skipping to the front door of the hotel. 

After he’d picked his jaw up off the floor, Eddie began to laugh deeply, darkly into the silence of his car. He shook his head as he threw his arm over the headrest of the passenger seat, checking his rear windows before reversing out of the parking lot. “Cheeky little brat…” he murmured under his breath, and his tires squealed against the pavement as he drove closer to the front doors on his way out of the lot. He honked his horn twice before you turned around just in time to see the big ‘ole birdie he was flipping you as he drove by. You doubled over as you laughed, heart fluttering, elated from the way your morning had turned out. As you made your way through the lobby to the elevator, you wondered how long it would take for him to call.

After all, you had left your fleece jacket in his van, and Eddie would need to get it back to you somehow.

Taglist: @cloudroomblog

[dragon-communion]

Normally I would restrain my random commentary to Discord but I got a truly incredible idea to mull over and I am thriving.

Important context: I study anthropology and I'm intensely goth, and I enjoy combining both of these for way-too-serious videogame analysis. Over on my Zelda blog I've got a sporadic little series for when I wake up in a cold sweat to ramble about what culturally/lore accurate goth fashion and hobbies could be. Don't even get me started on music.

Anyway. The Lands Between are not exactly prone to silliness or whimsy, as the setting of a rather grim fantasy, and I've been endlessly fascinated by what it could have looked like before all the rot and ruin set in. Functioning cities, trade, music. What stories did the farmers tell while spinning yarn on the porch? What kind of writing systems did they use? We get a decent idea of the large scale panem et circenses but very little about the life and beliefs of the everyman. Which tends to be the way of things.

The problem with ruins in general is that we see the big bones, typically, not the little ones. I could pull up schematics right now for what an ancient Sumerian temple looked like and how it worked, but it's incredibly hard to figure out how normal people with bills to pay and mouths to feed honored their own gods, because it was just never written down. "Obvious" things are never written down, which is honestly a travesty.

It's the nature of high fantasy and related genres that we get swept up in the Grand Myth Of It All, the legendary battles and the golden empires, ancient magics most profane and unutterable evils. I'm a bit of a greedy bastard though and that's not enough for me. I stay awake asking myself if Onyx Lords eat hematite, or how babies-via-amber actually works in detail and if that has any notable psychological/sociological effects compared to live birth.

This long-winded tangent is to say that I wish I had a better idea of what the Lands Between looked like when purportedly stable, so I could better understand the development of potential countercultures, subcultures, and minorities, particularly religious minorities/"pagan" traditions since the Golden Order is such a core driving force of the story. Rykard's very easy to shoehorn into the sort of Luciferesque figure the eldritch fantasy discount Catholicism naturally invites, and it looks like Messmer is doubling down on that imagery in the trailers, but there's so much more to dig into in terms of countercultures and subcultures.

I've been researching Death and death-related magic and imagery in Elden Ring to try to figure out what it's become and how it has been twisted in the wake of Marika's reign, because magic in Elden Ring is to some extent a direct expression of divine will period, not necessarily just the Greater Will. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Death in Elden Ring behaves like an odd mix of an infection and a journey, or maybe a journey that has become so twisted it behaves like an infection. Desiring Death, appreciating it, or even just happening to have been in contact with it, seems to run so utterly counter to Marika's very personal design for the world that there MUST be some secret in it. What kind of secret? I don't know. No one likes to die, that's reason enough. But Death is so utterly wrong and broken in the Lands Between that if I read the entrails of it long enough I might find something nobody else has.

And, hey, it'll enable my goth little heart.

That's my entire aimless ramble, scene and cut, but feel free to add on if something struck your fancy.

[lotrmusical]

here it is: the Big Wheel of Things People Love About Watermill Lord of the Rings!

spin here

optional: use what you get as a creative prompt for fanworks to celebrate the anniversary of the production! (full info here)

a couple stats from sorting the responses, just for fun:

louis/frodo is the most commonly mentioned, followed by nuwan/sam, aaron/aragorn and folarin/gimli.

a full 10% of responses mention the characters' physical affection: hugging, holding, reaching for each other, etc. this is truly the world's claspiest musical

louis and nuwan are tied for the most quoted line deliveries, followed by tom

everyone really loves the ent noises and falling leaves in the fangorn scene. (5 separate mentions)

full list of responses & credit below the cut 🍃

@cicelythereaper:

The Ents being represented by the sound of wood striking wood in the walls

The actor-musician setup - the way everyone is musical and telling a story!

Galadriel standing within her giant wreath - which turns into a sort of Ring of fire when she's considering going darkside

The choreography of Flight to the Ford

Frodo and Gollum's parallel body language

Folarin's performance in Moria

Saruman. Everything about Saruman

Aragorn's habit of clasping people's heads

@mischieffoal:

Matt Bugg's Gollum thirst traps

Lobelia

Evil flute magic

I want the ring/risk to be mine alone

Day May End

The breath like choreo at the first "lorien laure"

clutching our heads in his hands

Mrs. Bracegirdle

Samfrosie 5ever

GIRL PIPPIN

"our lives are woven together yours and mine"

aoife's voice

sioned's extremely eldritch elf queen

brown sam and black rosie!!!!!

yazdan's just really hot

extreme divorced energy saruman/gandalf

that bit in the council of elrond where Legolas speaks just as the turntable has put him directly facing the audience

Boromir's death and wake

Boromir's ghost/Faramir

Aragorn/Arwen, they do it SO WELL

@nowandforalways:

The new arrangement on specifically Frodo's verse of Now And For Always

"SAM LOVES ROSIE SAM LOVES ROSIE"

The way that PDukes says the words "a far, green country"

Frodo constantly slinging his arm around Sam's shoulders

Plum cake

Bilbo kissing Frodo's hands

Ensemble hobbits reaching their hands out to Frodo when Sam helps him up before Wonder

Hobbit hug after Gandalf falls in Moria

"Heyday" stupid-foot-tap-jump-thing

The change in Gollum's voice after Frodo calls him "Smeagol"

Sparkly elven cloaks

The way Arwen holds her arms

Stab Wound Continuity™️

Shelob puppet

PDukes standing behind Theodenothor looking so SAD

Arwen & Aragorn's matching arm movements during Lasto i lamath

The "beat drop" in Lothlorien (when they start singing in Quenya lol)

"Master Elrond, WHY there is a dwarf here I do NOT know"

The lighting during Song of Hope (reprise)

The Black Speech being projected on the back wall when Gandalf takes it out of the fire in Bag End

Frodo mostly hanging back at his own birthday party and then immediately getting SO INTO IT when the dancing starts

Frodo fully forgetting his pack at the start of The Road Goes On and Sam grabbing it for him

Louis' voice

Frodo directing the other hobbits and encouraging the Breelanders during The Cat And The Moon

The red waistcoat with Louis' dark hair and eyes

How physically affectionate Frodo is with the people he loves

TIRED AND COLD

Frodo grabbing Smeagol's arm to counter-balance as Smeagol falls into Mount Doom

Louis being the resident freak in all of the cast interviews

Frodo being on the lower harmony for the first time in the whole show when he joins Sam singing at the Gray Havens

@eelfleece:

BIG! SPIDER! PUPPET!

little small leaves floating down in the ent scene and the soft Boom Boom accompanying them

anonymous:

It drove my sibling's wife insane for several months. Sometimes the most important thing about a production is how much it means to people you care about.

the actor-musicianship

the intimacy of the theatre

the cast themselves

the strong south-asian inspiration in the music and choreo

It felt like such a genuine production. No big stage or huge light shows, just actors having fun and delivering one hell of a performance. The smaller venue helped with that a lot

The pre show where Bilbo walked among the crowd greeting people and chatting with them as if they too were hobbits.

I walked from Newbury station to the theatre so getting there and seeing that the outside of the theatre was decorated as well was such a good way to arrive there after an hour of walking

All of the actors being the ones who play pretty much all of the music as well made me have so much more respect for the amazing cast

The parts where actors played outside of the stage like gollum climbing the decor or Aragorn (I think) suddenly being on the balcony.

The leaves falling when the ents are in the scene made it so much more immersive

The costumes made for the production were amazing. Each one suited the character well

I saw the actress who played pippin smiling throughout the entire show. She was having genuine fun and that made it so much more authentic to me

I am Astonished that they managed to fit all the three books into one musical.

I just really hope this musical will someday return to the watermill theatre as it was the best performance I have ever seen. Nothing will top this

the way louis maskell says "mr gandalf - please" with a laugh in his voice as he kneels next to sam to "protect" him from being turned into anything unnatural

the final show where sam scurried behind frodo during "don't let him turn me into anything… UNNATURAL" so frodo just knelt with his hands out in front of him like "Mr Gandalf… please"

Legolas! and! Gimli! forehead! touch! and! head! clasp! during wonder after talking about seeing the caves and the forests together

Louis Maskell's wiggles

Yazdan's northern accent for Legolas

the Look TM and intonation on Frodo's "…goodbye, Sam" before they do the foot tapping as Sam heads off to the Ivy Bush with Rosie

looks like /you've/ got ALL the company you need

oh yes! lots of FRUIT around here

Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli doing different rituals whilst kneeling over Boromir's body

Aarongorn's ritual gesture - hand to head, chest and lips

boromir: 'and defeated him!!' elrond: '…...yes. 🙄'

'don't adventures ever have an end?' bilbo's heartbreaking tone

circle of light holding gandalf captive in isengard

the pattern from the moria doors also used on gimli's costumes

NAZGUL PUPPETS. horse skull my beloved

the blue cloths rippling down from the ceiling for flight to the ford

amelia's high harmony in road goes on

council of elrond turntable and curved benches blocking that effortlessly puts everyone where they need to be to keep the scene moving, clear, dynamic

'go forth in hope that the small may succeed where the great could not' tom's tone and gentleness with frodo making me cry every time

STAR OF EARENDIL A CAPPELLA MOMENT. CHILLS FOREVER

all the times merry, pippin and sam support frodo and help him along, emotionally and physically

EVERYONE MIRRORING SAM AND REACHING OUT THEIR HANDS TO FRODO BEFORE WONDER

nuwan's beautiful floral guitar strap

sioned's galadriel becoming increasingly terrifying, her distant gaze and lilting intonation

matt bugg gollum upside down moments

the audience helping to rebuild the shire for the epilogue

the big white sail for frodo to exit behind one final time, and his last look back as he goes

all the people playing instruments but ESPECIALLY elliot getting so so energetic and hype during song of hope reprise

'w-w-what she means is… how about a song?' and the other hobbits immediately dying inside

FOLARIN'S LAMENT FOR MORIA and his bowing to the surroundings before he starts and the depth and reverence and awe he brings!!

CHARLOTTE GRAYSON ROSIE 'i've been expecting you since the spring!!' making me cry every time

aarongorn's gentleness and reluctance to come out, and the way he sits during the council trying to fade into the background while everyone's talking about the lost sword

bridget and reece's cartwheel/lift choreo in cat and the moon!

the lights in the big tree by the outside stage

'that's often how it is in a forest, pip' geraint's hilarious delivery, and him and amelia clearly having the MOST fun together

The ensemble acting as an extension of Sam! He represents the people ✊

The way Aragorn falls to his knees after Song of Hope (Duet)

The nazgul lighting

Incorporating the environmentalist message from the book with the wildflower packets, the orcs' industrial look, and the emphasis on rebuilding at the end

The ensemble narration :)

The sense of loss that clouds the production, as it tells of the end of an era and doesn't quite finish where it started (same place but so much is missing) (again with the rebuilding theme)

Rosie Cotton

Creative use of the physical space in the house!

The ents being represented by Noises

Being a major adaptation willing to mess around with gender! I hope this starts a trend of more genderfuckery in Tolkien adaptations

the detail of the set and costume design!! e.g the pattern on gimli's costume matching the moria floor pattern

Folarin's Lament for Moria - absolutely incredible voice, was swept away

The hobbits hurriedly putting their waistcoats on and rolling up their shirtsleeves as they transition from Mount Doom to Gondor

Yazdan's wide eyed wonder and smile as he sings Lorien

Sam's quiet, muttered "no Frodo" when Frodo says "goodbye Sam" during the final (I love to have my heart smashed into a thousand pieces)

Charlotte as Rosie - so joyful and sweet and strong and A++++ fiddling

whoever's job it was to stick their hand through a hole in the ceiling and drop leaves one by one while the ents were talking

Nuwan's Sam and Louis' Frodo, how tender and in love they were

HANDS

Tiny weirdo powerhouse Georgia Louise Galadriel!! Best Galadriel performance ever.

Boromir and Sioned-Elf’s mesmerising interaction at Lothlorien

Legolas and Gimli's arm clasp / forehead touch during Wonder

Bilbo’s birthday party in the garden and getting to wish him a happy birthday

Frodo’s expression when Elrond gives him his blessing

Elf hand choreography and hand speak!!

Literally everything about Nuwan and Louis in Now and for Always

Sassy Elrond/Saruman

Aaron’s soft boi Aragorn. I stan a gentle king.

Nuwan's Sam being decisive and protective with Frodo and taking no sh*it. "Lots of fruit around here!" comes to mind.