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enam3l · 2 years ago

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love, lola / chapter nine pt.1 / going solo (5.7k)

Eddie’s arrived in California, leaving you behind, to start his new life as a rockstar.

thank you for 1.2k of you kind angels!!!??? and thank you guys for your patience, life has been hectic with work and school and after the anniversary of eddie’s death (but not in this fic baby) i thought fuck it imma post what we got for chapter 9 - I hope it’ll all be worth the wait

a/n: sex drugs and rock and roll - no fr there is graphic sex here

series masterlist / follow #enam3l love lola for instant updates / my other work / now available to read on AO3!

comment for tag list. requests open for prequel stories.

California is too fucking hot. That is what Eddie Munson has learnt since moving. Far too hot for hair like his and definitely far too hot to stay hidden behind the safety of his leather jacket. After years of the mind numbing mundanity of Hawkins, Eddie was propelled into the fast pace L.A. mindset. Each morning for a moment his heart hammered, wondering where he was until the palm trees outside the window reminded him it definitely wasn't Indiana. The apartment the record label had set him and rest of Kraven up in was definitely not the trailer - maybe the size of every single one in the park combined.

So far, everyone had been nice; a niceness you're not usually privy to when you're known as 'The Freak'. Kraven were excited he accepted the offer and their label and manager had heralded him the hero of the hour. But a nagging part of Eddie couldn't ignore the feeling that this wasn't really his band, he was a replacement. There was a brotherhood between the bandmates long before his arrival and it's hard to ever truly assimilate with a bond like that. Regardless, he was there, escaped the confines of his small town and now living the dream of becoming a rockstar. This was always the fantasy, wasn't it?

September 2nd 1986

For the first time in his life, Eddie is sat in a real life, high tech, actual recording studio. A far cry from Gareth’s egg box insulated garage. An egg shaped chair swallows him whole which feels tediously symbolic of his time so far in California. Everything is much bigger than him. As the band and producers play him the demos they have already, with hopeful looks on their faces, he resorts to anxiously twisting the rings on his fingers. They're a tangible reminder of home. He thumbs them in order. Skull. Pig. Cross and bones. Mom's. But now there's a new edition - yours.

It made its way onto his finger as you said your final goodbyes in the airport terminal and it hasn't left since. Between runny noses and weepy eyes, Eddie frowned as you withdrew from a hug that had already lasted several minutes (which was still not long enough).

'I have something for you, Teddy,' you confess as you sift through your bag.

'You already threw the party, sweetheart. Whatcha wasting money on me for?' He sighs.

The protests were not what you wanted clearly as he's met with a silencing finger until you finally found what you were looking for. Now you chew your lip anxiously, fumbling with a little velvet pouch.

'It's not for going away... it's - well, I gathered, this will be the first time since we met that we've not spent our birthdays together...'

Eddie's stomach drops, he had not gathered that. 'Oh...' he murmurs.

'So, I thought I'd give you your present now. I guess. If that's okay?'

Totally thrown, he only blinked and nodded. Taking his hand, you lay his palm out flat and shake the pouch until Eddie hears a little clinking, then feels cool metal on the skin.

'It's the big 2-1, y'know. I wanted us to have something special. I couldn't think of anything to buy. But, I - uhhh - I could think of something to make.'

Finally, he moves and inspects your gift closer. Two silver rings, perfectly imperfect. Carefully, he spins them round until he can finally see what the feature of them is. It causes him to gasp and you to resort to nervously stumbling over your words.

'I was taking a silversmithing class at college and I was thinking about your rings and then I thought I could make you one. Then I thought I could make us some. Matching ones. For our birthdays. It's silly. They're not professional or anything. Y'know a little wonky. Just thought it'd be nice...'

Eddie balls his fist up, clutching the precious contents and closes his eyes to swallow up a sniffle. One ring has E for Eddie on, the other identical except for your initial.

'Wonky? Y/N... they're perfect. This is, holy shit, this is the most amazing thing anyone has ever given me...'

The compliment makes your insides fizz.

'Are you sure? I mean, I was gonna tidy them up more but when you were in hospital. When I went back to New York... I brought them back with me. Just incase... y'know...'

Just incase Eddie never made it to his 21st is the unspoken ending to that sentence that you both understand. Eddie takes your hands in his and squeezes. The rings shielded by your conjoined palms.

'Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you... put it on me! Go on! Make me your little hand model m!'

As usual, Eddie's theatrics ease the tension and force you into giggles.

Carefully, you slide the E ring over Eddie's finger. He prompts you to place it on the bare one next to where his Mom's old ring resides. Then, he takes your hand and delicately places your own ring onto the matching finger. To the rest of the people in the airport, it must've looked like the exchanging of vows between two lovers being forced apart. Really, they wouldn't have been entirely incorrect.

‘So what do you think man?’

Eddie breaks his daze to be met with a room of hopeful eyes.

‘Huh?’ He murmurs.

‘The demos!’ The manager Chris encourages, ‘for the album! These are what the guys have put down so far. Love em?’

Eddie’s brain stumbles over what will be the correct thing to say. The songs bad? God no, there was a reason the bad were signed. But were they what he would do? Not really. It was clear they were angling as more commercially marketable, less niche like metal, a more digestible rock. Taylor was more Iggy than Ozzy.

‘Yeah, yeah they’re tight,’ Eddie scrambles, praying he didn’t appear rude.

Already though, his brain has calculated how he would rearrange each element of the songs, what lyrics he’d tweak, how he’d make it his own - but he has to remind himself that’s not why he’s here.

‘We want a single out for Christmas. Make a big splash over the festive season. Hit the talk shows, the radios. Get you boys out there. Build up the hype for a Valentine’s album release,’ Chris cheerfully continues.

‘But don’t forget, none of these songs are finalised,’ a rough voice from the corner of the room interrupts Chris’ ambitions.

Riz, the producer, sits like the mastermind behind the console in his swivel chair. His skin weathered and tanned, littered with scribbled tattoos not unlike Eddie’s own. Tired eyes that have seen too many young ambitious bands and their teams come in and out of his studio, are concealed by thin tinted glasses. A mane of salt and pepper curls, some formed into dreads cascade past his broad shoulders. A real old school rocker.

‘Oh well, yes, yes of course,’ Chris fumbles, ‘plenty of room for your inputs Eddie.’

It’s clear Chris is entirely intimidated by Riz’s presence. His clean cut Armani suited self a direct contrast to the producer’s rough look. One is the face, the other is the real brains.

‘Speaking of, Chris, why don’t you take Taylor, Spike and Keith to lunch. Use that gold card the label bestowed upon you whilst me and Eddie get accompanied?’

Eddie shoots round to look at Riz, used to his name being called out as the signal he’s in trouble. But when he meets his eyes, they only offer warmth and a small smirk; something Eddie had yet to see him crack so far.

‘Oh are you sure?’

‘Yeah, yeah, lots of technical things I need to adjust now Eddie is with his. Go on,’ Riz practically shoos Chris out the door. The rest of Kraven following suit, amused by their manager’s nervous babbling.

Finally, once the door is shut and locked, Riz returns to his throne, spinning round and looking at Eddie expectantly.

‘Well, come on then,’ he chuckles, smacking his tattooed hand against a leather chair beside him. Eddie immediately scrambles over, Sweetheart safely in her case towing behind him. There’s an awkward silence as Eddie toys with his guitar case, desperate to avoid Riz’s piercing gaze.

Nonchalantly, Riz swings his feet up onto a nearby stool and reclines in his chair.

‘So… you hate the songs,’ he chuckles.

Eddie finally looks up to gawp, scrambling for a response.

‘No, I don’t, it’s not, I never said I-‘

‘It’s cool brother. You’re a metalhead. They aren’t a metal band. They’re not your first choice, no sweat.’

Riz, in just a few minutes of knowing each other, has called Eddie’s bluff. The tone in his voice is not anger or judgment, it’s just matter of fact with a hint of amusement.

‘They’re not my first choice either, sound wise. I’m a lot more old school myself, personally. But, fuck, you know what, those boys got more star power than anyone else who’s been brought to me in the last two decades.’

Eddie nods eagerly. There’s a reason he was honoured Kraven had asked him, they were really fucking good and most surprisingly - nice. Riz eyes the boy before him, big brown soulful eyes that scream there’s a story behind them.

‘I think you’re an old soul like me though, Munson. Let me guess… you’ve got notebooks full of lyrics in that case of yours?’

A beetroot blush flushes Eddie’s cheeks, he’s been rumbled and stutters an agreement.

‘And I bet you’ve never shown anyone either, huh?’

Two for two.

‘No, never. They’re all a little… personal,’ Eddie murmurs.

‘All the best stuff is. So what you’re gonna do is get them out and show me who the musician Eddie Munson really is.’

With an eagle eye, Riz combs through the tattered pages of scrawling lyrics. Words dating back years. The afternoon flies by as Eddie demonstrates the melodies he wrote for each with Riz adding his own input.

‘Well, Munson. I don’t think Kraven or the label know what they’ve accidentally come across with you,’ Riz scoffs. His fingers gloss over the stacks of song lyrics Eddie’s unveiled.

‘And you better be marrying this girl you’re writing about. Ain’t heard love songs like this in a lifetime.’

The way Eddie nervously shrinks in on himself over his words isn’t lost on Riz, things rarely ever are.

September 21st 1986

‘TWENTY ONE MOTHERFUCKER’

Raucous laughter and cheers manage to erupt over the booming club music. The fine spray of champagne, more expensive than his trailer, soaking Eddie’s curls. The women that had crowded the booth, struggle to get in the stream of booze. Liquid gold dripping from their open mouths and exposed cleavage. No, this was not the usual Munson birthday set up.

Despite attempting to keep his twenty-first birthday a secret, Eddie had been rumbled. Chris’ assistant Sammy had discovered his impending celebration after going through files. That was spilt during bedroom talk with Spike the bass player who she’d been hooking up with. Spike then mentioned a small night with the boys to Taylor and Keith to celebrate, which was overheard by manager Chris. So now due to Chris’ inability for subtlety, the boys found themselves in an exclusive WeHo club, surrounded by bottomless bottles, scantily clad girls and yes men - all courtesy of the label. Eddie was light years away from where he’d usually spend his evenings round humble drama room DnD table or with lukewarm beers in Gareth’s garage.

After three weeks of locking themselves in the studio when the sun had begun to rise, only leaving well after, the band were finally letting loose. The guys had all told Eddie their tales of L.A’s debaucherous rock’n’roll night life; the secret places where other musicians mingled, where dealers made their money and girls got the memorable nights they went looking for. But so far, he’d yet to experience it and now he was, Eddie wasn’t sure it was for him. A rainbow of pills scattered the table without discretion, he could tell they were far better quality than the shit he used to sell. Servers came with an endless supply of bottles, money no question. A far cry from the gruff, stingy bartenders at The Hideout. The clientele is a far cry as well. The girls that had flocked to their booth looked straight off a Hollywood set. One busty blonde sat on a bewildered Chris’ knee, his eyes desperately trying not to focus on the cleavage that bobbed below his chin. Spike was making it clear he and Sammy weren’t exclusive as a brunette and a redhead sat either side of him as they purred in his ear. Taylor had disappeared into the crowd, ever the life of the party, surely feeling the effects of the pills he’d let fizzle on his tongue. Out of everyone, the only person Eddie felt envious of was Keith.

Nestled happily in the corner of the booth sat Keith and his fiancee Grace, lost in their own little world. The pair had scoffed when a girl had tried to luck with Keith, knowing hell would freeze over before he left Grace. High school sweethearts who had made it work as he’d followed the path of wannabe rockstar. She was no eager groupie or ditzy model, Grace was a lawyer; officially Kraven’s lawyer. Put together, fierce and completely soft on Keith - reminding Eddie of you. Although, they were a real couple, best friends and lovers, exactly what Eddie had failed in making the two of you. When they whispered private jokes or sleepy appeared from their bedroom, his heart panged with envy. Mind racing with questions of how they managed to make it work. Who made the first move? How did they know it was mutual? How did they know it wasn’t a mistake? All the questions he fretted over when his lips burnt with desperation to meet yours.

Eddie’s wishful gaze is interrupted by a sudden touch to his thigh. Eyes wide with confusion, his head spins round and are met with a fluttering pair staring right back at him. The stranger’s fingers tucking rogue curls behind his ear causes Eddie to freeze. A touch too intimate to receive from anyone but you or his family.

‘Your hair is nearly as long as mine,’ the girl drawls. Long nails still trailing up his shredded jeans and now up his exposed bicep. Whether she hadn’t noticed Eddie’s bewildered look or had just chosen to ignore it, the girl pressed on.

‘The boys told me you're the new lead guitar… I think you’re definitely an upgrade, honey.’

Eddie gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. So far he had been able to avoid interacting with these legendary California girls. Throwing himself into rehearsals with the band and his own late sessions with Riz long after the rest of the guys go home. Women weren’t on his radar. Everyone dull in comparison to the shine he knows radiates off you.

‘Urm, thanks,’ he mumbles, trying to squirm out of her grasp.

‘And he’s a little shy?’ She giggles, ‘sooo cute.’

Eddie’s eyes, wide like saucers, scan the surroundings rapidly, desperate to escape this uncomfortable encounter. He wasn’t interest in a hook up, the thought unimaginable and he definitely didn’t want this. He’s desperate for you more than ever now, wishing for your soft touch, wishing it was your tipsy words being whispered in his ear. His birthdays weren’t for sharing with random hookups, they were always reserved for you. After being separated by your college, Eddie was giddy at the thought of getting to spend your birthdays together again. But now you were torn apart again, now even further apart.

Finally, Eddie spots his opening. The girl leans over to the table to pour another drink, her grip on him loosening. Quickly, he darts up, hopping over everyone’s legs and abandoning the booth as the girl calls after him. Eddie’s feet seem to take him away before his mind is even sure where he wants to go. Hand’s planting on the bar top, causing an unexpecting bartender to jump, Eddie pleas,

‘Is there a phone anywhere I can use?’

The bartender nods, finger jabbing to a corridor beside the toilets. Shouting a thanks behind him, Eddie shoots off in the direction of the promised phones.

Frantically, he punches in a number he’s known by heart for most of his life. Ringed fingers twist round the cord anxiously and the dial tone hums over the vibrations of the club’s speakers.

Eddie’s breath hitches as the other end picks up and fumbling can be heard.

‘H-hello?’ Your sleepy voice croaks.

It’s the best noise he’s heard since he arrived, better than anything he’s heard in the studio.

‘Hi,’ he whispers shyly, ‘it’s me, it’s Eddie. I’m sorry, did I wake you?’

Your giggle makes his stomach churn.

‘I know it’s you, Eds or should I say birthday boy? No, no, it’s okay. I was already awake.’

‘Are you okay? Are you sick?’ He enquires desperately. For a moment, Eddie is sure he hears a hesitation in your voice.

‘No, no, I - urm, you know, just one of those nights. I’m fine! It’s nice to hear your voice.’

Eddie for once is grateful for the distance that separates you for seeing the blush that spreads across his cheeks.

‘It’s really nice to hear yours too. I’m sorry I’ve not been keeping up with the calls, it’s all just -‘

You interrupt before he falls into a spiral of apologies.

‘Eds, it’s fine! You’re a rockstar in training, I don’t expect you to be missing all the fun to be calling me every second.’

‘But, I want to, sweetheart… I wish you were here,’ he sighs.

‘I wish I was too… but this your adventure. This is everything you’ve ever dreamed of.’

Eddie desperately wants to let the alcohol coursing through his system to take ahold of his tongue and confess no, you’re everything I’ve dreamed of. But he doesn’t. Your voice chirps up again, trying to dispel the sad silence that took over the line.

‘So, how’s your birthday? How is being 21? Are you not out and drowning in booze and those Cali girls?’ You’re chuckling but he doesn’t laugh.

‘No, no I’m out with the guys. But, urm, no Cali girls. Definitely not.’

Eddie’s not sure if you let out a relieved sigh or it’s just wishful thinking.

‘You’re out?! Eddie, what on earth are you calling me for!’

Your scolding tone makes him grin. He can picture perfectly how your brows are furrowed and how if you were in front of him your hands would be flailing animatedly.

‘Cos birthdays are our thing. You’re much better than this club full of fuckin’ posers.’

‘Yeah, they are. Am I now? Are you trying to flatter me, mister?’

‘Always, sweetheart.’

The pair of you giggle down the phone. His dimpled cheeks aching from the grin you inspire. As the giggles finally subside, Eddie hears you attempt to disguise a yawn and remembers how once again distance keeps you apart.

‘Guess I should let you get to sleep then, huh sweet?’

‘You should go and enjoy your birthday more importantly!’

Eddie huffs, knowing such a thing is impossible without your presence.

‘I’ll try… I’ll speak to you soon, promise.’

‘Don’t worry about it, Eds. Whenever you have time!’

‘I’ll always have time for you. I’ll make sure I at least call you on your birthday.’

‘You better,’ you sleepily smirk, ‘it’s two days after yours, you’ve got no excuse to forget.’

‘How could I?’

Eddie rakes a hand through his curls, knowing he needs to hang up but it’s too hard to let you go.

‘Get some sleep, sweetheart. I miss you.’

‘Goodnight Eddie, I miss you too.’

The line goes dead and once again the only sound filling his ears is the throbbing base. Trying to replay your words in his head, Eddie flops against the wall. Eyes closed tight as he wishes it was you he was breathing in rather than the cloud of perfume wafting from the women’s bathroom nearby.

It’s only when he can feel a presence beside him does Eddie open his eyes. A woman mirrors his position against the wall but faces him, a wicked glint in her cat-like eyes. Taken aback by her close proximity, Eddie jumps causing her to giggle at his squirming.

‘Whatcha waiting for cutie?’

Eddie continues to shuffle away, the phone your warm voice once echoed out of, now uncomfortably sticking into his back.

‘Was just… just using the phone…’ he murmurs nervously.

‘Oh?’ she cocks her head, auburn waves tumbling, ‘and here I thought you were waiting out here for some fun.’

A slender manicured finger reaches out, tugging at a bewildered Eddie’s bottom lip. He stutters as his brain scrambles for a response. Another awkward round of full frontal flirting from random girls. The thought of supermodel groupies throwing themselves at him was somewhat appealing when he was a raging hormone of a teenager. But even then, you were still in the back of his mind on a pedestal, now you live there front and centre. Eddie recoils from her touch, swatting her hand away.

‘No!’ he surprises himself with the firmness in his voice, ‘M’sorry, not looking for anything.’

The girl scoffs a ‘whatever’, rolling her eyes and flouncing off. Just as Eddie finally feels his body relax, a snigger from the corner catches his attention. A frame steps forward from the shadows.

A man, also in his twenties, grins an infectious smile that makes Eddie feel a little giddy. Shorter than himself, but broader, tanned muscles that glistened with sweat from dancing.

‘I think she’s a little disappointed,’ the guy chuckles.

‘I really was just using the phone!’ Eddie insists.

Gradually the two move closer towards each other, Eddie drawn in by the piercing pale eyes that never leave him. Despite the corridor being much cooler than the dance floor, heat bubbled between their bodies.

‘So… Eddie, are you definitely not looking for any kind of fun?’

October 31st 1986

Now in the depths of autumn, the madness of life had only increased. Kraven had found their sound with the addition of Eddie, days spent mastering their sound in the studio. When out of the studio, the boys sat round meeting tables listening to suits spew corporate jargon about their mastermind ideas for selling the band. That was his least favourite part, hearing his existence and passion whittled down to money making schemes. It’s also where Eddie was forced to tackle the idea of fame. Seeing his name in small print under photographs of the band, plastered in pages of music magazines about the next hot thing. Personally, he found it mortifying but Wayne insisted it was proof of him achieving his dreams, whereas you cackled down the phone at the surrealness of it all.

At the end of the day, Eddie buried himself in sheets of paper, attempting to put into words the feelings that brewed inside. Trying to heal the internal wounds the events of the year had left, whilst being a thousand miles from the people who actually understood. Vocalising the sadness he wished he didn’t feel over achieving his dreams of making it but not with his own band. Then as ever, trying to find an outlet for the love he felt for you that bubbled with fervency in your absence and

with every stolen phone call. Then, a couple of times a week, Eddie would present his lyrics to Riz to make sense of, during after-hours at the studio. A secret project the two of them found themselves falling into outside of Kraven. That was another source of guilt, that his heart and soul weren’t invested in the band in the same way Taylor, Spike and Keith’s were. That he reserved the heartfelt work for himself, letting his real passion erupt during the late night sessions with Riz.

Then there was another output Eddie found for his pent up frustrations about his overwhelming emotions and suffocating new lifestyle. A way to let go in a way that didn't leave him ashamed as if he had betrayed you. The guy at the club on his 21st birthday had opened up possibilities that Hawkins had limited. Small town life was oppressive, he didn’t need the rumour mill buzzing with fresh stories that the satanist Munson was also a sodomist. Whilst Taylor and Spike drowned in girls, Eddie became comfortable seeking out something else in the bars and clubs they’d frequent. It was easier, less intimate. He didn’t need to worry about coy teasing, didn’t need to exchange names and take girls home. Eddie could find release down the back of another guy's throat, quick and hot in dark corners and back allies. He was unsure if his bandmates had realised and was anxious that they’d reject him for it but that was another issue forced to the back of his mind, stored in another box overflowing with anxieties.

Halloween was decided as a good marketing angle for the band. Their name added to the line up of hot new rock bands performing at an infamous West Hollywood Halloween party. Something thrown by a record executive’s tabloid covering daughter that had become notorious enough to be spoken about on MTV. Eddie being no stranger to a costume and outlandishness being second nature to Taylor, the pair had put themselves in charge of putting together the band’s costume.

‘This is pretty hardcore you guys,’ Spike admitted, ‘didn’t think you’d pull it off.’

The four cramped into a backstage room at the venue, getting ready for their performance. Eddie’s tongue stuck out in concentration as he finished painting Spike’s body. All four of them were skeletons. Leather trousers and boots embellished with white paint, creating the illusion when on stage they were void of flesh. Their torsos mostly exposed aside from frankly decorative scraps of leather. Spike in long leather sleeves that covered wrist to arm and left the entirety of his chest exposed. Eddie and Keith both in tight leather waistcoats. Then Taylor, naturally, entirely topless aside from some leather wrist cuffs and mask that made him appear as a devilish gimp. All exposed skin had bones painted on top which was now Eddie’s current job.

‘Of course we did,’ Taylor boasts, ‘you really doubted our little DnD nerd’s ability to put together a costume?’

Eddie splatters paint in the singer's direction. Even if they weren’t his friends from home, his band mates had become real friends. Their bantering is interrupted by the door opening and a fallen angel with a clipboard appearing.

‘You guys gotta be outta here in like a minute, the band on stage are wrapping up and you’re next.’ Her sentence is finished with a pop of her bubble gum and the slam of the door.

After final adjustments to the costumes, the boys file out to the side of the stage. Eddie’s chipped black nails gripping at the neck of his guitar. The usual pre-show jitters causing his stomach to flutter.

‘You good brother?’ Keith whispers, a reassuring firm hand bracing Eddie’s shoulder.

‘Yeah, yeah, all cool, I mean y’know aside from usual pre-show nerves,’ he shrugs. Keith nods with understanding, spinning his sticks - a nervous tick Eddie has come to notice.

‘Damn, you better at this fuckin rockstar shit than me. My heart feels like it’s about to fall out my god damn asshole knowing who’s in that audience!’

Quirking an eyebrow, Eddie warily responds,

‘What do you mean… who’s here?’

Keith’s eyes bulge at his bandmate’s obliviousness.

‘Holy shit, you got no gossip rags in that little town of yours? This party is infamous. It’s some real Motley Crue as shit out there. Full of rockstars fuckin heiresses n shit! Little Miss Clipboard said mother fucking Slash is here!’

Before Eddie can even clear his now dry throat to respond, the sound system booms with the excited announcement of the MC.

‘Next up is rock’s hottest new band… Kraven!’

The cheers are muddled by the ringing in Eddie’s ears, his body seized up until Spike nudges him along. With a gulp, he steps out into the spotlight, trusty axe in one hand whilst the other spins the ring you made him.

Dripping sweat causes the paint to bleed down Eddie’s exposed skin. Unsteady hands grab one of the bottles of whiskey thrusted upon them once the band exited the stage and merged into the party. Eddie’s ear’s still buzzed with the raucous applause and hollering that erupted once Kraven finished their set. Immediately after they were mobbed by names he’d read on the backs of cassettes he couldn’t afford in record stores. Producers, lyricists and fellow musicians, all congratulating and praising him - Eddie the freak Munson, the kid who grew up awkward, poor and unwanted. The change of pace in his life was surreal; after a lifetime of critical fails, he’s been rolling nat20s.

A soft evening breeze provides Eddie with as much needed respite as California weather can. The surrealness of inside was getting to him. Skin sticky from sweat induced by the growing crowd of important people with his name on their tongue. His name. Eddie Munson.

‘Eddie Munson?’

It takes a moment for Eddie to realise that voice wasn’t coming from inside his head. A few feet before him, leaning against the roped barrier a guy peers with his head cock. Soft flopping quaff falling into his curious eyes. A cowboy. Blue wash denim waistcoat with nothing underneath exposing taught tanned muscles. A tanned cowboy hat pushed back so it hangs off the back of his neck.

‘Uh, yeah, yeah… can I help you?’

The guy shrugs, hands sliding into the back pockets of tight jeans and rocking on the balls of his cowboy boots.

‘Nope. Just thought it was you. Saw you perform, you were great. More talented than most of these rockstars,’ he scoffs.

‘Oh, I - I don’t know about that. Thanks, I guess,’ Eddie fumbles over his words, eyes focused downwards at those damn cowboy boots.

With a chuckle the guy responds, now daring to move forward, strong hand adjusting Eddie’s waistcoat.

‘See, you just proved me right. Most of those guys would’ve agreed and definitely wouldn’t thank me…’

His fingers brush over Eddie’s jittering own.

‘Need a light for that?’

He pulls up Eddie’s hand that holds a long forgotten cigarette that remained unlit. Gulping, he nods. The mystery cowboy draws nearer, a zippo and a cigarette for himself materialising from inside the waistcoat.

‘I’m Max by the way,’ he smiles as he takes Eddie’s cigarette and places it into his agape mouth for him.

‘I’m Eddie…’

‘I know, babe,’ Max whispers, his own cigarette in his mouth now.

The tips of both cigarettes almost kiss as the distance closes between the two men. The zippo crackles alight, the flame illuminating a pair of wide chocolate eyes staring at a charming pair of green, both sets of pupils dilated.

‘Holy fuck, I knew you were big. Could see it on stage in that tight ass leather,’ Max groans. Metal scrapes on marble as Eddie Munson’s ringed fingers grip at a bathroom countertop as the man he met moments ago pumps his aching cock. Finally the tension built up inside him from the pressure of the evening was on the brink of dissipating. Huffs of air escape his mouth as Max drops to his knees, long tongue flicking at the drip of precum.

‘Knew you’d taste good as well,’ he smirks.

‘God damn, shit,’ Eddie pants as warm lips caress his tip, he struggles to contain himself. His hand lunges out, grabbing at Max’s soft locks. ‘Shit, my balls, suck my fucking balls.’

Pliant, Max does as he’s told, firm balls popping into his mouth causing wild bush to prickle at his face. After a few luxurious sucks, he’s hauled back to his feet and Eddie’s previously shaking hands are nowhere to be seen as he swiftly unbuttons denim.

‘I can’t be the only one to play show and tell.’

Eddie smirks as he watches green eyes flicker in bliss as his fat cock is released from its denim cage. Tanned to match Max’s toned body with a pretty pink head, fair pubes trimmed neatly. A real pretty boy.

‘No wonder you were so confident,’ Eddie chuckles, ‘knew you had that ready and loaded, huh?’

Max whimpers now he’s the one to receive relief from another’s hand. Eddie tugs his chin to force eye contact. Only a moment can they maintain contact before both men are chest to chest, jerking the other off, a mess of precum leaking between them. Open mouths and tongues flickering at each other, spit swapping. It’s dirty and hot and far too filthy for this fancy carpeted bathroom.

Pushing aside a wail of pleasure, Max uses a free hand to fumble inside his waistcoat until he brandishes a foil square. Eddie arches a brow.

‘Jesus, just, just fuck me before I cum,’ Max pleads.

The desperation makes Eddie snigger but it’s mutual.

Quickly, the man is bent over the counter, ass exposed as Eddie’s warm spit drips down. Groans echo as his thumb circles over Max’s tight hole, slipping in as both men’s dicks twitch in suspense.

‘P-please, fuck me,’ he grunts.

‘Alright, alright. You ready cowboy?’

Moans echo off the tiles as Eddie eases into Max’s asshole. The pair’s eyes meet in the mirror they face until he tops out and his head drops into denim. After a moment, Max begins to wriggle beneath, fucking himself on Eddie’s cock until the message is received. Eddie braces himself, fingers digging into hip bone as he begins to drag his length in and out.

Eventually the air is thick with heat and the sound of skin on skin. Full balls slapping against each other. A ringed hand against a plush asscheek. Feral groans and whines of pleasure. So loud that no head is turned when the bathroom door bursts open.

‘What the fuck is this shit?!’ A new voice booms off the tiles.

Eddie and Max’s heads snapped round to the figure in the doorway. The pair caught, trousers round their ankles and Eddie balls deep in a stranger. The image is too incriminating to be anything other than it was. He was exposed and the sweat from the impending orgasm now runs cold. There was no hiding.

-----

damn who tf at the door? my man didnt even get to nut in the hot cowboy

tag list: @tlclick73 @probablyin-bed @fangirling-4-ever @booksarekindaneat @azydrateanatomy @sadbitchfangirl @fluffybunnyu @big-ope-vibes @beam86 @midnightsgetawaycar @stevieharringtonswife

#enam3l love lola #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x best friend reader #rockstar eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie munson #eddie munson is bisexual #rockstar eddie munson x you #eddie munson series

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novankenn · 11 months ago

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Steadfast, Immovable (1)

Chaos swarmed the Arc estate, a horde of grimm a size unlike the warrior family ever encountered rushed their walls and defenses. Auto-cannons, and auto-guns, roared to life, cutting great swaths through the closing mass of darkness. In the main yard, Nathaniel Arc and His wife Jasmine readied their weapons, as did their eldest children. About them, the staff piled into waiting transports with their families. Many wanted to stay behind, to stand with the family that treated them with so much respect and love. They wanted to protect this slice of peace and prosperity with everything they had.

“It’s time, husband.” Jasmine spoke formally as she readied her auto-gun. “We have need.”

“I know.” Nathaniel replied as he readied his chain sword. Adjusting his stance easily in his bulky power armor. “But is he ready? The strain it would put on him.”

“We face annihilation. He should be given the chance to stand with his family, to and face our final demise, like an Arc should. We stand together always, even in the face of inevitable death.”

“Then…” Nathaniel paused, as he touched the rosary hanging around his neck, and let his finger press in on the skull situated in the center of the Arc Crest. “So it shall be.”

/=/

“So, what is the situation in Ansel, Qrow?” Ozpin asked his long time friend and confidant as he sipped from his mug, while looking out the windows of his office.

“We found two survivors of the family, they were inside a bunker about five clicks from the estate with the rest of the town’s population. But the place is a disaster zone.” came Qrows steady voice over the speakers of Ozpin’s private terminal, even though the video feed was choppy.

“I see. So the Arc family?”

“They went down fighting, no way to tell how many they took with them, but I would say they more than lived up to their name and reputation, but we do have two Arcs who survived.”

“Survivors?” Ozpin bit his lip, a small sense of relief passed through him. “Who?”

“Saphron and Juniper; but there’s something else, Oz.”

“Else? What are you talking about?” Oz turned from the windows to look at his terminal, and the glitchy video feed.

“Picture, Ironwoods Prototype Paladin, but bigger, meaner and trigger-happy.”

“Qrow?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, Oz. There is stuff I’ve never thought existed, I mean weapons and power armor, the likes that would make Jimmy salivate. The Arc’s have some real weird shit out here, and that thing is included on that list.” Ozpin waited, watching Qrow wiping his face with a grime cover hand. “I think you should come out. I’d send a video feed, but the signal is shit, and it won’t stop trying to take our heads off.”

“The risks. If she found out I was out and about.”

“In this case, I think the risks are worth it.”

“I see.” Ozpin set his empty mug down on his desk, “Anything else, I should know?”

“A lot, but it's better you see it in person. I don’t know where this tech came from, but it outclasses anything I’ve ever seen.”

“And how are Juniper and Saphron?”

“How, do you think? You have a two-year-old and a five-year-old who are just finding out their whole family was slaughtered.” Qrow paused, Opin saw him take a swig from his flask. “Physically, they seem to be unharmed, as far as we can tell. Emotionally and mentally, I have no idea.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oz, get your ass out here. Sums is with the girls. But I need help. Whatever this thing is, it won’t let anyone in to examine the bodies, or set foot near the main compound. I think it has some type of AI, and probably a whole host of tech that’s letting it counter any move I make.”

“I’ll see what I can…”

“Don’t see, Oz. Just do it.” Qrow snapped, “I’m going to make a perimeter check, while Sum stays at the bunker with the girls. Get here soon, and bring some help.”

“I’ll have Glynda arrange a bullhead for us. We should be there early this evening.”

“Be better if you brought more than just Glynda… be ready for weird shit.”

“Do really think that is necessary?”

“At least bring Bart.” Qrow replied, “I should do that patrol. See you when you get here.”

Ozpin nodded in response as the call was ended. Taking a deep breath as he let his ind try to fathom why this had happened, he sent both Glynda and Bart a message requesting that they meet him at the bullhead pads in an hour. Regardless of why, the result was the same. A stalwart and valuable compatriot in his secret war had been removed from the board; and Vale’s southern border was now undefended. /== Table of Contents ==/

A/N I will say this now. All I know about Warhammer 40k is from youtube, so if I screw anything up... please be gentle or point me in the right direction. I have no clue if I'll do more than what I have posted now... I'm mentally drained and sort of sifting through old content to post things to show I'm not totally MIA.

#rwby #warhammer 40k #jaune arc #junpier arc #saphron arc #ruby rose #yang xiao long #tai xiao long #qrow branwen

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tarotoftheendless · 6 months ago

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Hey... So, yeah, my Waiting for Forever fanfic has been on hiatus... I do plan on continuing to write it, just life stuff has come up, same with just crippling depression.

I have plans for my Waiting for Forever fanfic, so it will come, just slowly, sadly... I love Willie too much to abandon him.

I also have had some other great ideas for fanfics that I both would either like to write myself or allow someone else to write with some input from me on the idea. Most of the ideas for fanfics I have are things I would love to read myself, so...

Of course all my ideas are Tom Sturridge related... Here are some of my ideas for fanfics... If you want to write it yourself, just please reach out to me and ask me what my full idea was and maybe give me a bit of credit for helping to come up with it, that's all I ask if you are gonna write before I have the chance to.

Tom Sturridge fanfic Ideas:

Nathan from 'Skin'. It's an 11 minute short film that showcases how amazing Tom is as an actor. He gives so much to this performance, I was floored.

What we were able to get from the story is that he is grieving the death of his husband. Well, I am assuming Daniel, that's the man's name that Nathan was with, was his husband considering it seemed like it was more than just boyfriends.

The AI voice never states what Company that Nathan works for, so I have been calling it The Company... Which started to sound ominous in my head. It could be a tech company, but it could also be a company with illuminati levels of influence...

My idea, vaguely, was that after the stunt that Nathan pulls to manipulate the AI into playing a recording of his husband's voice, The Company makes him agree to a Live-In Companion, much like a Companion from Firefly but less just a one and done. And in my mind Nathan is bisexual. He agrees, but chooses a female companion.

She is to stay with him for three months, helping him with whatever he needs, like whatever he needs, to help him heal from his grief of losing his husband... So he is work ready again for The Company. If he fails to become work ready in that time or if he does not sign the documentation to start the process, The Company will terminate him and take him to court over the stunt he pulled.

I have so many ideas for this, all of them very thriller sci-fi conspiracy and action, with smut of course thrown in there. Like what if The Company gave Nathan's husband the cancer he ultimately died of? Why? For what reason? Juicy shit my guys, juicy shit.

I wish I could write this myself... And maybe I will... Unless someone else likes it so much to collab with me on it?

Anyway, next idea....

Jake. Jakey. Baby Jakey. Sweetbitter.

So, I had a thought awhile ago that Jake would be great with a roller derby chick... But then I thought maybe he would be great with a professional dancer... Like all styles of dance. She has spent her life training in dance. And she moves into the apartment next door to Jake's place. No new hire at the restaurant bullshit. She is removed from it because that is what Jake needs in a relationship. Something separate from the restaurant.

I had the thought that she was hired to be the choreography coordinator at Broadway, so, she is a career driven woman, something I think Jake needs. Vision. And I think this dancer OC would help him see that he is a good enough photographer to actually pursue that as a career.

Like what if she shows her boss at Broadway his work and her boss wants to hire him for a fuck ton of money to shoot dress rehearsal and opening night, where his photos will be chosen for an article on the play in The New York Times, who is looking for a new journalist photographer. Like it could be life changing.

I had the thought that the play would be the musical Moulin Rouge...

And yeah, Jake will be Jake about it, self-doubt, the Simone of it all. But I think it could work. Giving Jake a partner that believes in him and wants him to choose something for himself and himself alone just this once.

Anyway... Another idea I have is a parody idea... Of a cross-over of The Great British Baking Show and The Sandman. Like it's a promotional episode of TGBBS for The Sandman.

The actors playing The Endless would do the Signature and Technical as themselves, the actors, but for the Show-Stopper, they are their characters.

It was a funny idea. And I don't know all the actors and characters enough to write it believably, so, someone who does, please write this. I think it would be so fucking funny.

And who would win? Is it just one episode or are they doing multiple to actually get the The Endless that is the star of The Great British Baking Show?

Anyway, those are my ideas for fanfics... And yeah, I still am gonna write my Waiting for Forever fanfic, it's just slow going...

Here's a cute Willie for now 😘

#tom sturridge #tomsturridge #tomstu #will donner #willie pajamas #will donner x reader #will donner x female reader #waiting for forever #waiting for forever will donner #tom sturridge skin #jake sweetbitter fanfiction #jake sweetbitter x reader #sweetbitter jake x reader #jake sweetbitter #sweetbitter jake #jake sweetbitter fanfic #tom sturridge nathan #thomas sidney jerome sturridge #thomas sturridge

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callme6olet · 2 years ago

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The Neon Glow

The struggle with cyberpunk is that it's supposed to be punk, but it's also all too real. The days of Neuromancer and Johnny Mnemonic are behind us. The idea of the sci-fi corporate supercity, this neon-limned sprawl of concrete, vice, and pollution no longer seems like a frighteningly possible dystopia, but like an exaggerated reality. At its inception, cyberpunk existed in a liminal state between the primary and secondary worlds. These stories were ostensibly set on a futuristic Earth, but there was a sense that it was an alternate future, that these worlds were a warning about something that only had the slimmest possibility of really happening. They read like secondary worlds in the same way that Middle Earth reads as a secondary world: familiar in its bones, in its soul, but not in its details. The fact that that gap is closing, that we're watching those prophecies unfold, is at the heart of the current generation of post-cyberpunk fiction. Gibson's Agency, Stephenson's Termination Shock. Matrix: Resurrections. These stories deal not only with the dread of capitalism's brutal advance, but also (in my opinion) with the writers' mixed feelings over having predicted it, over creating a vision and aesthetic so powerful that our world is actually changing--purposefully--to match it. Just look at the MetaVerse. A Stephenson invention, now marketed as a reality, like that's supposed to be exciting.

This is a problem for me, because I love writing cyberpunk. I stumbled onto The Matrix in middle school, but it didn't sink its teeth in until I came across Shadowrun 4th Edition at Borders. Here was a world that felt lived in, in much the same way that the original Star Wars must've wowed people in the 70's. Arguably, Star Wars and cyberpunk both fit into the classic definition of the latter: high tech, low life. Luke is a farmer; Han's a drug trafficker. And while Star Wars is and will remain my all-time favorite, the cyberpunk genre brought an edge with it, something that grabbed hold of me, hit the dopamine button in my brain: the neon glow. Holograms and flickering advertisements in a rainy night. Smog dyeing the sunset crimson and purple. LEDs glowing from every nook and cranny.

And now, your average gamer's battlestation looks like something out of Bladerunner. And part of me rebels against that: do we not realize that we're losing? We're a couple short steps away from corporate citizenship, for god's sake.

That sense of doubt, that itch, pokes at me when I'm writing and find myself describing more of the same. It made me feel sick watching Edgerunners. The idea of losing your family to random violence because you don't make enough for health insurance isn't fiction--so why is this show dressing it up like it is? Like that's just as outlandish as a thousand-foot holo ad, a street tough with mantis blades in her arms? Did the showrunners not know what they were doing, somehow? Were they just jumping into this genre because they read Neuromancer once, thought it was such a wacky idea?

But then--oh-so-late to the party--I started playing 2077. I rebelled against it at first, felt the same itch, the same existential dread. But then the story revved into overdrive, and all at once, I realized: this here, it's the classic example of tropes done right. The world might be forty years old, but it's flawlessly realized. And, more than that, it is aware of the genre it exists in, of the evolution. There's something about the game that makes me want to be V, to live in a world where you have to carry an SMG to leave the apartment. To live loud. Even a month ago, I would've said it's the feeling of agency, the idea that, in a world of violent conflict, each person is more able to make a large-scale impact. But I don't think that's it, not really. Night City crushes you, makes even the most outrageous victories seem short-lived, insignificant blips against the weight of the world.

The moments that shine out aren't the big ones, they're the small ones. Seeing Mama Welles at the wake. A visit from a stray cat. Going to the ripperdoc and seeing the option to change appearance, because in that world, it's just that easy, and all of a sudden, I can be seeing a face I like in the mirror.

And here's the crazy thing: part of this reality we've stumbled into, this pseudo-cyberpunk corporatocracy, is the fact that's it's almost that easy to switch bodies here, too. We're getting there. There is beauty in all things, even the dark ones. There is beauty, too, in the impetuous, borderline-nihilism of an edgerunner, in the willigness to engage in hopeless rebellion. And there is a beauty in neon lights.

The meaning of the word punk hasn't changed, never will, but its expression has. In the 80's, it meant drinking and smoking because Mom and Dad said not to. Now, what gives me hope is going to punk shows in underground venues and seeing drug-free youth graffitied across the PA. It's realizing that rebellion changes as society changes. That, even though we might live in a dystopia, that dystopia will never choke out the beauty of our reality. So, I'm keeping the mirrored shades; I'm switching the LED strips back on; and I'm going to keep writing about cities bathed in the neon glow.

#cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #termination shock #neal stephenson #william gibson #writing #sci fi

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shemarmooresfedora · 4 years ago

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Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

A/N: i may have a little surprise for you guys tomorrow... (not related to this fic)

Masterlist

Chapter 15

“Jo! Please bring your suitcase downstairs so Daddy can load it into the car,” you called up the stairs.

“How high does the plane go up in the air? Who is the pilot? How fast does it go?” Jo asked as she walked down the stairs.

Jo had been asking a lot of questions about planes recently since you told her that you all were taking a little trip. You were going to Las Vegas so Diana could meet Jo.

Spencer was ecstatic about it so you tried to hide your growing anxiety to not kill his mood. You had already met Diana multiple times when you would accompany Spencer on road trips home on long weekends in college and she seemed to love you. But that was before you had her granddaughter and didn’t tell her or her son for six years. Not to mention the fact that you and Spencer were now dating again and living together.

“Those are questions for Daddy on the ride to the airport,” you ushered her out the front door, locking it.

Jo repeated her questions again once in the car.

“The plane will fly at about 5.9 to 7.2 miles up in the air. I don’t know who the pilot is but we can ask. Commercial planes fly at about 547 to 575 miles per hour which is about 14 times faster than the speed we are driving right now,” Spencer informed her.

“Woah,” Jo exclaimed, “I’ve never been on a plane before.”

“Yes you have, Baby J. You were just too young to remember it. You and Mommy flew from California to here,” you said.

Once you made it through check-in and security, you were waiting in the terminal for your flight to start boarding. Spencer came back with coffee and breakfast sandwiches for you both and a chocolate milk and donut munchkins for Jo.

“Thanks, Spence,” you gave him a quick kiss before unwrapping your sandwich.

“Jo, look!” Spencer pointed to a woman in a uniform, “I think that’s our pilot. Do you want to go say hi?”

Jo nodded shyly. She seemed to be a little starstruck.

“Come here, Princess,” Spencer lifted her up and walked over to the lady.

You watched from afar as the woman nodded her head to Spencer’s first question so she must be the pilot. She seemed very enthusiastic to answer any and all of Jo’s questions. She knelt down to her bag and gave something to Jo, waving goodbye.

“Mommy! I got wings!” Jo held up a little wing pin.

“Oh my gosh, sweetie! That is so cool!” you smiled, pinning it to her sweater.

“Do you want to be a pilot when you grow up, Jo?” Spencer asked.

“Yes,” she beamed.

“You can be whatever you want, Josephine,” you smiled, kissing her cheek.

It was the middle of the night. You couldn’t possibly sleep, knowing you were going to have to face Diana in the morning. You were expecting the cold shoulder from her at the very least.

You were sitting on the cool hotel bathroom floor, silently crying with your knees pulled up to your chest and your head tucked in between.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Spencer quickly rushed over to you, sitting down beside you.

Either your crying was louder than anticipated or he just woke up to use the bathroom because you forgot to lock the door.

“Your mom hates me and I know how much her approval means to you,” you sniffled, not looking up.

“Baby, can you look at me please?” he whispered.

You hesitantly looked up to meet Spencer’s sympathetic gaze. He used the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe the tears from your face, pulling you in for a hug.

“She doesn’t hate you, I promise. She is overjoyed to meet her granddaughter,” he assured you.

“What if she’s just not telling you, Spence? She is seeing Jo for the first time at the age of 6, I honestly wouldn’t blame her for being pissed,” you were crying again.

Spencer pulled back and cupped your face, wiping away the fresh tears with his thumbs.

“I’m really sorry, I got so excited I forgot to consider how you’re feeling. I can take Jo alone tomorrow if you don’t want to go,” he said.

“No, I want to go,” you replied with no hesitation.

Spencer smiled softly, “If you feel uncomfortable at any point, we will leave but I swear she is not harboring any animosity towards you.”

“Does she know we are living together and dating again?” you asked softly.

“Yes, she does. Let me tell you she was not happy when I broke up with you the first time so I can assure you she approves of us getting back together,” he chuckled.

He elicited a quiet giggle from you.

“Would you like to go back to bed?” he asked softly.

You nodded and Spencer helped you up off the floor and back to bed. Spencer wrapped his arms around you and you snuggled into his chest, finally getting some rest.

“Dr. Reid! Diana has not stopped talking about this visit all week! She is having a wonderful day!” the nurse at the front desk chirped.

“Thank you. Is she in her room?” he asked.

“Yes, you know the way!” she said, gesturing down the hall.

You and Spencer stopped right outside her door, halting Jo’s movement as well because she was in between you both, holding each of your hands.

Spencer knelt down to her level, “Do you remember who we are meeting?”

“Your Mommy,” Jo said.

“So that makes her your Grandma,” Spencer smiled.

“I already have a Grandma,” Jo said, confused.

“You have two Grandmas now, Baby J,” you explained.

Jo still seemed a little confused and made a grabby motion for you to pick her up.

Spencer knocked on the door and opened it a crack.

“Mom?” Spencer said.

“Oh, Spencer!” you heard the familiar voice excitedly shout from inside.

You entered the room with Jo nuzzled into your neck. Jo tended to get very shy around new people and liked to cling to you or Spencer until she warmed up.

Once Diana finished hugging Spencer, she turned to you and Jo.

“Hi, Y/N! Good to see you! Let me see my beautiful granddaughter,” she chirped.

“Good to see you too,” you smiled, “Jo, can you say hi?”

Jo nuzzled further into your neck.

“How about if you sit in Daddy’s lap?” you whispered in her ear.

She nodded and you handed her over to Spencer, taking the seat next to him on the couch.

“Oh, look at her precious little face. She looks just like Spencer did at that age. Hello, Josephine,” Diana smiled.

“Jo, how about you tell Grandma what we did yesterday,” you prompted her.

“We went on a plane and I got this,” Jo pointed to the wings that she was still wearing today.

“Oh my, the pilot must have thought you were a very important little girl then,” Diana nodded.

Jo beamed as you reached over to your bag.

“Um we brought some of Jo’s toys if you want to play with her,” you asked Diana.

“Of course! I would love nothing more!”

“I have to pee,” Jo tugged at Spencer’s sleeve.

“Okay, let’s go,” Spencer lifted her up.

Shit. As much as Spencer assured you that his mom didn’t hold a grudge, you were scared of the ‘girl talk’ that would ensue when he left the room. You couldn’t really offer to take Jo because you didn’t know where the bathrooms were.

Once the door to the room clicked shut, you felt Diana’s eyes on you.

“So long time, no see,” she said.

“Yeah,” you chuckled nervously.

“Now I’m Spencer’s mom and I’m supposed to see him as perfect but one of the biggest mistakes he ever made was leaving you and I made sure I let him know that. And I didn’t even know you were pregnant at the time. You both just had this special bond that was so clear to anyone who was within twenty feet of you. I am so grateful that you gave him the opportunity to come back into you and your daughter’s life,” Diana spoke.

You were tearing up at how nice she was being. She didn’t blame you for any of it.

“Can I hug you?” you asked with watery eyes.

“Of course, my dear,” she opened her arms, “I am so lucky to call you family.”

Spencer returned to see two of the most important people in his life hugging and the third was in his arms.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #cm fanfic #criminal minds

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itsagrimm · 3 years ago

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Imperial!Tech 3

Summary: Tech's chip activated instead of Crosshairs so Tech is now an imperial commander tasked to serve the Empire at any cost. But is he willing to do so? And are you, dear Y/N as member of the experimental Elite Squad, willing to follow any order your commander Tech gives?

CN: self-harm, talk of death murder and war crimes, stalker behaviour, soldier life in a fascist state, power imbalance, overreaching behaviour, structural violence, sexually predatory behaviour and the likes, sensual overload, insomnia, references of drug abuse, depression and mental health issues, trauma

Imperial!tech X they*them Y/N reader, afab

Thanks a lot to @eyecandyeoz for your insight, feedback and thoughts. Check out their lovely blog!

I am sorry it took me so long. next part will be faster. I already started writing it.

And feel free to criticise especially concerning my use of CN and if the reader perspective is inclusive for you.

2800 words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Tech collapsed into the chair as soon as Y/N had left the room. He was tired, so tired. He leaned back and put on his glasses. Him taking off his visual aids around Y/N was a degree of trust Tech rarely allowed. He was nearly blind without his glasses and the Kaminoans had considered terminating him for that. Tech was sure Y/N did not even know how much he had surrendered himself to Y/N and their touch. Their oh so soft touch. The memory of it was still fresh on his skin. It raced through is mind which for once was craving to match his body with the need to slow down and take a rest.

But it didn’t.

Y/N was pleasant to be around. Their touch was careful and considered. Only his brothers used to treat him like his. – His brothers, the former clone force 99, had left him behind after they refused to comply with order 66. Due to their divergence the inhibitor chip had not worked while he, Tech, had tried to kill the Jedi. – He had tried to kill a child. – The effect of the inhibitor chip was decreasing. His wound received on Bracca had an 84,743 % chance of damaging the inhibitor chip. But he should investigate further and get the chip out to stop any possible interference with his superior thought process. - Y/N was not aware of the inhibitor chips. He felt the need to tell them. Why? – The Havoc Marauder had not been mentioned on the imperial comm chatter for a while. – Echo was likely to take care of the ship now. – He should get some sustenance. He felt hunger. – Y/N – The Empire expected a degree of loyalty, uniformity, and compliance he was unsure he could deliver for long considering his diverging mind. – what would Hunter do? – the kaminoan proverb “yn’ja tha vaí m°O” was untranslatable into Basic but could be understood in Sit Bisti as “it needs tö be döne för the betterment öf äll”- The Empire was unlikely to grant him the freedom to find his brothers or in fact any freedom. – The canteen might serve Tiingilar tonight – He was a child slave destined to die in approximately 34,6 standard yearly rotations from old age if not sooner. – maybe the canteen will serve uj’alayi too. – Does Y/N speak Mando’an? He should enquire. – Of course, there will be no uj’alayi today. The Kaminoans did not allow sweet foods. – Y/N – How did the atmospheric controls work that ensured breathable air even for the highest floors of coruscanti buildings? - He knew why his brothers left him behind, but why did it feel so painful. – The empire was likely to kill him if he out served his usefulness for them. - He had tried to kill a child. He had killed several children on Onderon. How could he live with that? How could-

Tech forced his thoughts to stop by digging his fingers into his bloody scar.

The sharp pain felt soothing.

“Let’s consider making a list of the most pressing tasks for now.”

He starred at the ceiling.

“The Empire. It is the closest threat to my demise, but it can be my salvation if I am useful. Am I willing and capable to do that?”

His head started spinning again just at the thought of killing another child for the Empire. And yet serving the Empire gave him purpose he wasn’t sure he could muster on his own.

“Where are my brothers? How are they? How do I feel about them?”

Another unpleasant wave of thoughts and feelings washed over Tech before he continued.

“What is with the inhibitor chip inside my head?”

He nodded to himself. That was a rational and containable problem with fixed variables and clear answers. He felt comfortable with that question, pushing aside all the things he might have done due to being under the chips influence.

Only one question was left now.

“Why do I enjoy Y/N presence?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ryloth had a warm and dusty climate during daytime. Y/N felt sweat dripping under the dark armour. The elite squad, including a new ES-03, was ordered to stand close by to Admiral Rampart, the highest imperial officer on Ryloth. And so, they had spent the last rotations following the Admiral around, doing tedious security work and presenting themselves like the Admirals favourite guard dogs to a public very much disliking their military presence. For once, even commander Tech looked annoyed about their not spec-ops appropriate services.

Today they were on the outlook. The Admiral wanted them scanning a large crowd for troublemakers and resistance fighters during a public announcement. Y/N couldn’t blame them. The Twi’lek of Ryloth had spent years fighting for their independence and spilled an ocean of blood on the dusty planet’s surface only to face an Empire now. Half a life ago Y/N would have hated themselves for being a soldier in service of a suppressing ruler. But now it was paid work.

“ES-01?”, Commander Tech brought Y/N back from their thoughts

“I am in position before the crowd.”

“ES-02?”

“Yes sir, I am on the building as you ordered.”

“ES-03?”

“Any nonimperial transmissions are being blocked now.”

“ES-04?”

“The war hawk is ready for take-off in case we need it.”

“Good. Do you register any noteworthy activity?

Y/N gazed through the crowd. They were mostly Twi’lek, waiting to hear from their leaders. All of them were in civilian clothing, none came with visible weapons.

“I can’t spot anything, sir.”

Tech said nothing. But Y/N could hear him type something.

“Analysing previous rebel fighter behaviour and strategies in similar situations they are likely to appear at these coordinates within the crowd today. I am sending you a list for you to especially pay attention to, ONCE.”, he finally said using the moniker the elite squad had given Y/N.

“Yes sir.”

Y/N looked at their holopad and started checking the coordinates commander Tech had calculated. At entry four they spotted their targets.

“Commander. I have a visual about 40 meters from my position, 10 o’clock. There are two fighters. Twi’lek. One female and one male passing. Shade of blue and orange.”

A moment everyone was silent.

“Confirmed.”, ES-02 stated.

Another moment passed.

“Observe them for now. Stay alert.”, Tech ordered before ending the transmission.

High above the Twi’lek senator started to talk. Y/N could not remember his name and paid little attention to his words. Unlike the Twi’lek.

“They are not happy.”, ES-02 stated flatly.

“Yeah thanks, I would not have noticed without you.”

“Always a pleasure to help out, ONCE.”

ES-02 was right. The crowd was angry. The imperial presence, the empty words of some disaffected politician, the fresh memories of the clone war. It was no surprise that the Twi’lek called out for their resistance leaders to speak.

“We want Syndulla! We want Syndulla!”, the crowd chanted.

A different voice from above started speaking. The crowd calmed down, not entirely happy but at least not a raging mob.

“At least we will not have to gun them down, now.”, ES-02 mumbled with a bitter voice.

“Would you really do that, two?”

“You know what they say, good soldiers follow orders, ONCE. And I intend to be one. Especially when I’m getting paid for it.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

Rampart was an asshole. He was a smug little administrator, willing to lie, back-stab and sacrifice whatever needed to achieve his goals. Rampart was the perfect general to handle a loaded situation like the one on Ryloth. And he was no fool.

Y/N hat noticed that he had kept both commander Tech and Howzer, the commanding clone trooper in charge of the regular clone troopers on Ryloth, close. A strategic move. Spec-ops commandos like the elite squad and regular commandos were in constant competition and mistrust to each other. Should one commander not deliver or even consider treason the other would interfere. And Rampart would always end up on the winning side of their clone infighting.

Y/N could here their arguing inside the office.

Commander Tech had ordered for Y/N to wait outside the office for new orders.

More arguing from the office was audible until finally Ramparts voice cut their bickering short.

The door opened and Howzer left. His expression was that of a practised reserved solider hiding his worries.

The door opened again, and commander Tech stepped outside of Ramparts office.

He looked tense.

Instead of a greeting or an order he just started walking. They followed him.

“Clone force 99 is here. But we are kept on a short leash. As always.”, Tech stated, “It is implausible to not use the best tools possible when confronted with a problem. Howzers troopers will not be able to beat them if necessary. Just like they won’t be able or unwilling to beat the Twi’lek should the need arise.”

Since Kamino the commander had started to share more of his thoughts with Y/N. All they had left to do was to listen and ask the right questions.

“Sir, you think Howzer will commit subordination?”

“There is a possibility of him and his men disagreeing with the new imperial leadership and it’s methods. Howzers unit has fought alongside the Twi’leks the past years. Bounds forged in the trenches can be stronger than loyalty to an administrator from Coruscant. But I require further data to assess the likelihood of treason.”

“What about clone force 99?”

“Their abilities and erratic strategies will be a challenge should we … no, should I have to face them.”

“So, we did not get the order to hunt them down?”

“No. Not yet.”

“And yet you already imply them as of importance.”

“It would be a grave strategic mistake to dismiss their presence.”

“So, what is the elite squad going to do about them? What are your orders, sir?”

Tech paused and adjusted his glasses.

“We are going to do nothing.”

“Sir!?”

“Don’t.” There was a warning in his voice. A signal to Y/N not to cross a line, invisible yet perceptible. He was after all a commander and Y/N just a soldier.

“I am sorry. I overstepped. You are in charge.”

He turned, stepped away and looked at Y/N. His eyes scrutinized them like a scientist inspecting a rare specimen of remarkable value.

They shivered.

His gaze was intriguing. It was painful to feel on display like that. And yet it was nearly intimate to be studied by Tech. Unsure if he would finally hit Y/N for their countless discretions or if he just contemplated their objections.

Finally, Tech nodded appeased and continued his walking without any further talk.

“What do you want us to do now, sir?”

Tech stopped.

“What do I want you to do now?”, Tech repeated as if the question had a different meaning to him than it had to Y/N.

He took out his holopad only to put it away again. He cleared his throat.

“I need you to stay alert. The situation is complicated. For now, get some sleep. The chances are below 4,65 % that there will be a significant development within the next two hours. After that I except the elite squad to be combat ready.”

“Yes sir.”

XXXXXXXXX

The Refresher room was empty. Most clones avoided the elite squad, and all the other members of their unit were taking a nap before the night shift which left Y/N to have the large washroom for themselves.

They signed.

Taking a shower and having some alone time to think and feel before finally taking a rest was what they needed.

Y/N started to strip out of the armour.

First, they took of the helmet, then the vambraces and shin guards before getting the shoulder pieces and lifting the heavy breast armour off before finally getting out of the abdomen armour. The black katarn fell to the floor, making loud echoing noises.

Y/N didn’t care. No one was to correct them on their improper handling of equipment here.

And as much as the armour was a useful necessity, it was a heavy burden in more than one way.

Their blacks followed and soon Y/N was standing under the refresher, naked and alone.

The water was hot and painful.

It was a welcome distraction to all the feelings of … well what exactly?

Y/N felt tears running down their face.

No, no, no. It’s just the refresher.

An uptight sob escaped Y/Ns throat. It was all so different from what they imagined. They had entered imperial service for the payment during a desperate time. And ended up witnessing murder after murder, committing murder.

Today they could have become accomplices to killing a crowd of innocent Twi’leks. And Y/N knew that they would have complied with the order to open fire on the civilians if given. How could they not? Surrounded by troopers like them, ordered around by heartless and calculating commanders.

Would Tech give a killing order like this?

Was he that heartless?

He had done so before.

He had killed so many times before their eyes and yet a piece of Y/N refused to see him as a murderer. In fact, they felt shameful about feeling and thinking about Tech – about their commanding officer – at all.

Y/N stopped fighting the tears and cried out loud.

Nobody would know about this.

Nobody would know about their doubt and vulnerability.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As always sleep had been an unwilling friend to visit Tech. With a sigh he gave up and got up from the cot. As always, his mind was racing. He had tried the breathing techniques Crosshair taught him after a particular long stretch of insomnia, but it didn’t work.

And Tech wasn’t in the mood to experiment with the vast collection of sedatives to force his body to sleep right before possibly facing his brothers and definitely meeting admiral Rampart soon.

Work it was then.

His holopad listed only unchallenging administrative tasks.

The new Shuttle was in top shape.

His weapons were cleaned.

Tech had nothing to keep is overthinking brain in check.

Kriff, his life really was miserable. A never-ending effort to bringing his spiralling mind some peace.

A notification came in.

What a blessing.

Tech looked at the holopad again. It was just a reminder to check on his subordinates, to listen in on their private talks and vital signs.

The order from Imperial Command was an uncomfortable task but it was the best he had to do right now. And listing in on some snoring was better than listening to the elite squads talk like last time. At least it felt less overreaching.

He started with ES-04 and workout down from there. Four was in deep slumber, nothing of interest to note. ES-03 was still new and his sleep was restless, a few murmurs about his home planet and family escaped his lips. ES-02 was dreaming. His heartrate was accelerated. Tech turned his observation of, not interested in the rutting sounds of ES-02.

ES-01 was left. ONCE. Y/N. The thought of peeping into their private life was not only uncomfortable, but it also felt violent to strip Y/N of their peace and privacy.

And yet, Y/N was the only one Tech WANTED to know more about. He felt his desire to learn more about Y/N like a physical need, an addicting obsession Tech knew he needed to be careful with not to indulge.

Was their slumber peaceful and sweet?

Did they have dreams about home?

Or did they fight their nightmares in sleep just like they did awake?

He swallowed.

He was just following an order.

He will do nothing more.

He was just a good soldier.

Y/N wasn’t asleep. Their bucket was off and there were no vital signs coming of them. But the acoustic signal was working.

Y/N was somewhere with a lot of echoes and running water.

Tech felt himself blushing and getting hot.

They were in the shower.

It felt so right to listen in on Y/N. Tech felt bad about it.

The thought of water running down their bare and naked body made Techs mind slow like nothing ever before. The pleasure of a calm mind made him groan.

He hesitated. This was not okay. He shouldn’t listen. He shouldn’t imagine a subordinate like that. He hated that he had to. He hated that the Empire gave him order to do so. But more than that he hated himself for following that order so willingly.

He reached for the off button on his holopad.

A sob.

Was that Y/N? Were they crying?

Tech’s mind went from zero into overdrive. He needed to know who or whatever made you feel like crying. He would find out. And he would remove whatever it was from your life.

Part 4

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years ago

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Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 19

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

While at first the days and nights that Mulder is away on a case feel lonely, she soon comes to appreciate the time to herself. She reads more, watches the rom-coms that he despises, has one-sided conversations with Priscilla, and gives her vibrator, long since relegated to the back of her bedside drawer, a second lease on life. When Mulder is home he’s more animated and energetic, their sex exciting and passionate. The things she loves best about him magnified, but also some of the worst. There have been a few nights he’s missed dinner without so much as a phone call, and her worry quickly gave way to irritation when he waltzed in the door raving about secret storage facilities hidden in mountains. They create new routines, new boundaries and expectations, and as time wears on, they adjust. He’ll call if he’s going to miss dinner, and she won’t guilt trip him when unexpected cases ruin their plans.

The day before Thanksgiving, he gets a tip from one of his sources about a UFO crash site in Utah and books himself and Monica tickets for that night. Scully questions whether he’s going to miss Thanksgiving dinner at her mother’s and he grimaces, saying he hopes to be back but as usual, can’t make any promises.

The last she hears from him is around 8:00 am on Thanksgiving day when he asks her to send his regrets to her mom. She tries to keep the disappointment out of her voice as she promises to pack up some leftovers for him to have when he gets home. When he hasn’t called by Friday afternoon, she’s a little bit worried. By Friday night, she’s panicking.

Not knowing what else to do, she goes to the Gunmen’s, using her own special knock that spells out “doc” in Morse code.

“Hey, Sis, are you okay?” Missy greets her with a worried frown, now an honorary fourth member of the trio.

“I haven’t heard from Mulder in over twenty four hours,” she answers, breezing past Missy and into the tech room. “I need you to find him for me.”

The Gunmen work their magic while Missy pours her drink after drink. They track his flight into Salt Lake City and then ping his cell phone just outside Provo around 8:00 pm Thursday night. After that, nothing.

“What do you know about the case he was investigating?” Byers asks, perched behind a computer with Missy’s arms draped over his shoulders, her chin resting on his head.

Scully rubs her hands over her face in frustration. “Nothing, other than an alleged UFO crash site. He didn’t give me any other information.”

“What about his partner, Agent Reyes?” Langly asks, “do you have any way to get ahold of her?”

“I’ve tried her cell a hundred times, it’s off,” Scully replies, feeling tears coming up again.

“Does she have a family, someone else you could contact to see if she’s been in touch?” Byers adds.

“She has a partner, Dahlia,” Scully explains, “but I don’t know her last name to look up her number. I’m sure it’s in Monica’s file as her emergency contact, but the whole Hoover Building is shut down for the holiday. I know that her first name is Dahlia, she works at a flower shop in Alexandria, and they live in Palisades. That’s it.”

“Well we can work with that, why don’t you go home and get some rest?” Frohike offers, resting his hand on her shoulder.

She shakes her head, quiet tears slipping down her cheeks. “I don’t want to be alone,” she whispers, her voice small and afraid.

“I’ll come with you, Sis,” Missy says, replacing Frohike behind Scully and wrapping her arms around her sister’s shoulders.

After Missy has gathered her things and kissed Byers goodbye, she drives Scully’s car back to her apartment and plies her with more alcohol. They hold hands as they sleep, Scully’s dreams plagued by visions of Mulder detained, hurt, or worst of all, dead. If she’d had any idea that having the X files reopened would put his life at risk, she never would have entertained the idea.

Please come home, she begs God, the universe, Mulder himself if he’s somewhere listening. Please be okay.

The phone shrieks and she sits up abruptly, her head spinning. Early dawn light is just beginning to seep into the room and she feels like she hasn’t slept at all.

“Mulder?!” she blurts out, a thousand prayers on the tip of her tongue.

“No, it’s Langly, sorry. We got a number for Agent Reyes’ partner.”

Missy is now awake, and scrambles to the hallway to get a pen and paper so Scully can write down Dahlia Vidales’ phone number.

“Thank you Langly, bye,” she says and hangs up without waiting for a response. She dials Dahlia’s number with shaky hands, repeating please please please in her head over and over.

“¿Hola?” says a creaky voice, and Scully glances at the clock to see that it’s only 6:00 am.

“Dahlia?” she asks desperately, her head feeling thick and muddy.

“¿Si, Quién es?”

“This is Dana Scully, have you heard from Monica recently?” Her throat feels thick and dry, her ears ringing in protest of what they might hear.

“Oh, Hi Dana. Yes, I spoke to her last night around ten pm.”

She lets out a shaky breath, feeling a wave of relief.

“Was Mulder with her?” she questions, her jaw quivering.

“Si, she said their cell phones were confiscated and they had stopped at a diner to get something to eat. She called me from a payphone. Is everything okay, Dana?”

She’s shaking, her body suddenly freezing even under her down comforter. The tension she’s been holding for the last two days erupts in a wave of tremors and she starts sobbing.

“Did she say when they’ll be home?” she forces out around her tears.

“They were hoping to get a flight this morning, so sometime today, should be.”

“Thank you, Dahlia. Sorry to wake you,” she says, and hangs up.

Missy holds her as she shakes uncontrollably, her head aching as her racking sobs jostle her dehydrated brain. Missy runs her a hot bath and after some ibuprofen, two big glasses of water, a set of warm clothes and a hot meal, she feels physically much better.

Mentally, she has shifted from worry, fear, and despair to white hot rage. When he walks in that door, she is going to kill him.

———

“Later, Reyes, sorry to hijack your Thanksgiving,” he says with a regretful smile as Monica slides into a cab. He grabs the next one, chucking his duffel bag into the trunk and slumping into the back seat with an exhausted sigh.

It’s been a long few days. They’d located the crash site and even got a little peek at it from behind a utility shed, but soon after they were loaded up in a paddy wagon and interrogated for six hours in a place that was definitely not a police station. When they were finally released, it was without their cell phones, though the suits were kind enough to let them keep their FBI badges.

He needs a shower and a shave, and a good night's sleep. He hopes Scully has gone grocery shopping, and if he's really lucky, there will still be Thanksgiving leftovers. He’d tried calling her from the terminal but she hadn’t answered. At least he has a full day off tomorrow before getting back to the daily grind on Monday.

The cab drops him off outside Scully’s apartment building and he tosses some money over the seat before retrieving his bag. Once inside, he’s fitting his key into the lock when the door swings open and he finds Melissa on the other side.

“Oh, hey Missy,” he says with a touch of surprise.

“I was just leaving,” she replies with an icy stare, and he wonders if something is up with her and Byers.

“Okay, see ya,” he says as she brushes past him and down the hall.

The apartment is dim, a fire crackling in the fireplace the only source of light.

“Scully?” he calls out as Priscilla trots up to him, rubbing her flank against his leg. He picks her up and scratches under her chin, letting her rub her cheek against his two-day stubble.

“I’m here,” Scully says flatly, and he realizes she’s lying on the couch.

He picks up his bag and walks it to the bedroom, dropping it on the floor and discarding his suit jacket on the bed. Returning to the living room, he leans down to kiss her on the cheek and then stands between the fire and the couch, facing her.

“Did you have plans for dinner?” he asks, “I’m starving.”

She scoffs, but he can’t make out her face in the dim light.

“Make your own fucking dinner,” she spits at him, and he physically recoils. Scully very rarely swears, so when she does, it means something.

“Whoa,” he says with a concerned tone, “What’s going on with you?”

“What’s going on with me?” she repeats, moving to sit up. “What’s going on with me? Hmm, let’s see,” she continues, her voice shifting to angry sarcasm. “Perhaps, Mulder, what’s going on with me is that my boyfriend skipped town just in time to miss Thanksgiving dinner with my family and I had to answer questions all night about where he was. Or maybe,” she says as she leans over and snaps on the lamp on the end table, illuminating her face. Her eyes are red and puffy, pronounced bags resting underneath them. “Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t heard from you in over fifty hours, not a single phone call, or email, nothing. Maybe what’s going on with me, Mulder, is that I have barely slept in two days.” She stands, moving towards him, her voice rising in volume and her bottom lip quivering. “Maybe what’s going on with me is that I thought you were fucking dead, and I had to track down Dahlia to learn that not only were you alive and well, but you were also perfectly capable of calling me, but simply chose not to. MAYBE that is what is going on with me, Mulder!”

He stands there shell-shocked as she pushes past him, slamming the bedroom door shut as wails of agony erupt from the other side. Priscilla jumps up on to the coffee table and quirks her head at him with a meow.

“I have no idea,” he says to the cat.

He cautiously opens the bedroom door and finds Scully sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, a wad of tissues in her hand and tears streaking her face. She looks up at him with a wounded expression that he’s never seen before, and would never like to again

“I’m sorry, Scully, I didn’t mean to make you worry,” he says softly, approaching her.

She gives him an incredulous look.

“How the hell would I not worry if I hear nothing from you for two days, Mulder? What was I supposed to think? And why didn’t you call me?”

“They took my phone, Scully,” he offers, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“What about the phone in your hotel room, Mulder? Or a pay phone, or a goddamn stranger’s phone. Your cell phone is not the only device available for you to contact me with.”

He’s starting to feel like he’s being lectured by his mother for staying out past curfew.

“Okay, Jesus, I get it. I’ll try to call next time,” he says with an irritated tone.

“You’ll try?” Scully asks him, the anger taking center stage again.

He shrugs. “Shit happens, Scully. You don’t know what it’s like out in the field. Sometimes you don’t have access to a phone, or you’re running down a lead and just can’t waste the time to make a call.”

The shift in her demeanor tells him that was the wrong thing to say.

“Waste the time?” she asks in a tight whisper. “Calling me so I know you’re okay is a waste of your time?”

“God, no, Scully, that’s not what I meant. You’re twisting my words around. Look, I’m exhausted, I’ve barely gotten any sleep, can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“YOU’VE barely gotten any sleep?!” she screams, then stands and walks towards him. Even with the ten inches he has on her, she looks larger than life, imposing, and scary. “I have been lying awake crying for two days worried about you!” she shouts up at him. “Get the fuck out of my apartment!”

He’s dumbstruck. He can’t remember the last time she referred to it as her apartment instead of theirs.

“Scully, you can’t be serious, all my stuff is he-”

“I said get OUT!” She cuts him off. She picks up his bag and walks it to the front door, tossing it into the hallway.

He walks slowly towards the door, waiting for her to say she doesn’t mean it, that they should get some sleep and talk about this in the morning. She stands beside the open door, her chest heaving and her jaw set, eyes focused on some far-away point but most certainly not on him. He steps into the hallway, opening his mouth to speak, and she slams the door in his face.

He hears the thunk of the deadbolt, and the sound strikes him as similar to the final nail in a coffin.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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aspacepiratesprincess · 3 years ago

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To Be One With The AllSpark

Gazing out of the large bay window, Bumblebee beheld Cybertron. It was positively radiant. After a milennia, it glittered once again. Iacon, the place Optimus Prime's upbringing itself glimmered around them as they had begun their rebuilding. War had been all the bots knew for so long; on both sides. Autobot versus Decepticon; at each other's throats for thousands upon thousands of years, and finally, the curtain came to a close. Bumblebee had survived the conflict. With little to spare but the metal on his frame, they began the long journey of repairing what once was.

Bee's time on Earth had been only a blip in the timeline, for him. It was so short, yet so palpable that every time he thought back on them, the memories felt fresh. He'd come and gone. His genesis there had been rocky.

He'd lost his memories, he'd lost his voice, was assaulted by the Decepticon known as Blitzwing, proceeding the human military...and weary from battle, he somehow found himself hiding in the garage of a human girl's some time later, surrounded by primitive technology. He was endeared by her; they became the best of friends in what felt like the short moment he was there. He'd protected her, mused with her, they'd had a new kind of fun together. Alien to him yet right. His cherished human friend. And at the end of it all, when the Decepticon signal tower had been deactivated and Optimus himself came rolling up that big red bridge, he was gone.

Yes, his time there was fleeting. He never saw Charlie again, after what transpired. His duties were elsewhere. He had responsibilities to his cause, prior engagement to his Autobot brethren. But he'd never forget her.

"Here, try this one," said Charlie, hopping onto the step-stool to pop a tape into the slot she'd improvised to him. She closed it, and suddenly, sound was playing, which Bee couldn't help but move to. He bobbed around and took in the alien noise, until she smiled and put another tape in. The Smiths, as she'd called it. Her favorite. Not his, though. He promptly ejected it and almost hit her in the face with the thing. His bad.

The footage was from his perspective, being replayed from his memory cells from over two hundred years ago. Would he still think about her at three hundred?

Charlie was with no doubt dead. She'd certainly passed away in his time after their war on Earth, but he could only hope that she didn't die in their crossfire. The door-wings on his back drooped at the thought, as did the receptors on his head as he observed his memories. While they were ending a war and working to rebuild their home, she had been quietly living out the rest of her mundane life. Human lives were so short. Bumblebee would always lament that.

His thoughts circled back to the brave Sam Witwicky, who had taken Charlie's place in Bumblebee's life twenty years later. Who was regarded highly among the Autobots for his help, and regarded highly by Bee for his character. Frends were to be made in the humans. Even if Earth had spawned their own fleshly Decepticons.

He was engrossed rewatching these sweet memories, the outliers being the ones in which Charlie was almost killed because of him, but he focused on the ones that made him happy. Giving the slip on an officer in a high-speed chase, demolishing the car of the person who'd disrespected her. Fun times. There wouldn't be anything like it again.

Behind him, Optimus entered the room, and the old bot stopped for a second, watching Bee as he bittersweetly reminisced.

Charlie, tiny compared to Bee, hugged him for the last time. She rested her chin on his shoulder. His spark fell as he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, careful to not squeeze.

Naturally, Bee had thought that their journey would continue together, because that was how it should have been, right? They were partners, now. They'd been through a lot in their short time together. What role she would come to play in their quest for the AllSpark if she had gone with him, he didn't even know. But parting from her there was akin to when he watched his homeworld become but a speck in the galaxy from his escape pod on his lonely mission. He would miss her.

"Thank you—for—giving me—my voice," chattered his radio, stitching together whatever he could scan. She shed a tear, and knowing that it was time to go, he transformed. Into a handsome yellow Camaro, which Charlie was shocked to find out. He laughed to himself when she asked in disbelief if he could have been a Camaro that whole time. Down on the bridge, he saw Optimus come into view, the bulky red and blue semi truck. That was his signal that it was farewell. His mirrors shifted to put Charlie in sight, and he pulled out over the hill, leaving her in his rearview.

Bee didn't even have the tech she had retrofitted to him then. A lot of his parts had been damaged and replaced, though his voice module not yet repaired...he didn't have anything of their friendship left but these recordings. Shaking his head, Bee shut off the footage and turned to the bot in the doorway, who he'd known had been there. Charlie was definitely gone, Bee thought. That prompted a question he hadn't yet thought of. Standing before him was none other than their leader, presumably having come to check one of the many monitors and terminals.

"Optimus," Bee started, looking up to his leader. His optics shifted to meet Optimus' who waited for him to continue. His next question took Optimus by surprise: "Do you know what happens to human beings when they die?"

Optimus stared down at his scout, unsure as to how to answer such a question. He did not know. Did humankind have sparks like they did? Was their "soul" the true equivalent to their spark? Optimus knew the fate of Cybertronians. When their life was extinguished, they would become one with the AllSpark. Perhaps even Primus was somewhere along that way. But he couldn't say with any certainty just what happened to humans when they passed. They had their version of God. Was it all the same being, wrapped in different cloaks? Or were Humans and Cybertronians fundamentally different down to the core?

Optimus stood tall as ever, yet mellowly admitted: "I do not know, Bumblebee."

There was a pause in which Bee thought. The words eventually came to him. "Does that mean there's a chance?" he asked, dubious with a glimmer of hope in his bright optics.

Though stoic, Optimus's expression indicated a questioning of what Bee was saying. "A chance she has joined the AllSpark?" he finished for him. It was almost absurd. But Optimus truly did not know. "Only Primus and The Cube know such things, I'm afraid," he said. Bee visibly deflated, drawing away slightly from him. Optimus had heard his tales of this "Charlie", who had woken Bee from stasis and inadvertently brought their plans back on course. Who knew how long he would have remained powered down in that junkyard if she hadn't? Optimus wasn't sure of the extent to which Bee had gotten attached to her, but now that the fighting was over and Bee had the time to feel sorry over things of the past, it seemed to have come back to bother him.

After all, nobody liked a question gone unanswered.

Optimus put a gentle hand on the scout's shoulder, a gesture that he'd adopted over the years. "But, it is of my personal belief that we Cybertronians and humans are not so unlike. Though we may have different vessels, on the inside, we may the same. I think her...spark has been reintegrated, as we will all be, one day."

The unknown wasn't all appealing to Bee, but Optimus's wisdom went undisputed for the humble scout. Bee could be content with that answer. If they would all end up at the same place in the end, he didn't need to worry. Death was just a part of life, and it was coming for him some day, too. Thousands, maybe millions of years...but his spark would indeed be reabsorbed, in due time.

_________________________________________

I know the Autobots didn't return to Cybertron at the end of Bayformers, but what if we mashed that and Transformers: Prime's story together a bit? Idk I just like the scene of Bee looking out at Cybertron lol. The setting doesn't matter to this blurb, anyway.

The original version of this is still on my page here but I added some stuff and reposted because I felt like it :)

#transformers #transformers fanfiction #bumblebee #bumblebee 2018 #transformers bumblebee #fanfic #angst #bittersweet

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enam3l · 2 years ago

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love, lola chapter nine preview!

university has been super busy and these will be two big chapters that’ll drop simultaneously so i’m sorry about the delay. but here’s the opening for the next chapter -

Eddie has just arrived in California with Kraven and his rockstar journey is just beginning but he can’t stop thinking about how you said goodbye.

California is too fucking hot. That is what Eddie Munson has learnt since moving. Far too hot for hair like his and definitely far too hot to stay hidden behind the safety of his leather jacket.

After years of the mind numbing mundanity of Hawkins, Eddie was propelled into the fast pace L.A. mindset. Each morning for a moment his heart hammered, wondering where he was until the palm trees outside the window reminded him it definitely wasn't Indiana. The apartment the record label had set him and rest of Kraven up in was definitely not the trailer - maybe the size of every single one in the park combined.

So far, everyone had been nice; a niceness you're not usually privy to when you're known as 'The Freak'. Kraven were excited he accepted the offer and their label and manager had heralded him the hero of the hour. But a nagging part of Eddie couldn't ignore the feeling that this wasn't really his band, he was a replacement. There was a brotherhood between the band mates long before his arrival and it's hard to ever truly assimilate with a bond like that. Regardless, he was there, escaped the confines of his small town and now living the dream of becoming a rockstar. This was always the fantasy, wasn't it?