#thiswatch

[copias-girl]

I suppose I have two questions…. Can I be added to your tag list?? And do you take requests??

Hiii! ♥︎✨ Kk I added you to my taglist!! ♥︎

As of right now I’m too scared to open my requests because I don’t wanna get flooded and not be able to write them all 😭😂 Plus I have a ton of wips that I need to finish, and also with writing my chaptered fic (tcac) it’s hard to write other stuff because I don’t want to keep everyone waiting too long in between chapters!

However I’m always open to writing like headcanons about stuff, I love it when people send me like an ‘imagine this’ scenario and then I share my thoughts on it! And I love when people ask for my headcanons on certain things!

Maybe in the future tho when all my wips and tcac are done, I’ll open requests for a little while! ♥︎♥︎♥︎

[mccoys-killer-queen]

whoever wrote that joe x reader fic with Heaven by Bryan Adams fuk u that was MY FANTASY HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT

[appetite4savage]

what in the fuck happened to @thiswatch-lepparddef-werehi 😭 this can’t be happening again

[make-me-your-animal]

@thiswatch-lepparddef-werehi

[eyes-of-rock]

@thiswatch-lepparddef-werehi

Some more Joe with the Deep Purple guys

[steveinscarlet]

For @thiswatch-lepparddef-werehi (sound on)

[dreamy625]

Wild oats - one-shot

Words: 1620

Content: Inspired by make-me-your-animal’s chapter, I wanted to write a slutty Steve fic, but not a smutty one (though if anyone else fancies writing some slutty Steve smut I wouldn’t complain too much 👉👈) and this is what my brain delivered. So content warning for crude language and sexual references, but no actual smut. 

Grateful thanks to @thiswatch-lepparddef-werehi for language advice, and the aforementioned @make-me-your-animal whose ‘Who did Phil do?’ line I have slightly borrowed.

—-----------------------------

-8th May, Dallas, Texas-

Despite the 80-degree heat, Steve is wearing a scarf wrapped twice around his long skinny neck when he joins the rest of the band in the front lounge for a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and a carefully measured portion of their secret Heinz beans stash. No one else takes any notice but, after studying him curiously for a minute, Phil everso casually queries the reason for this sartorial statement.

“Just felt like it. Scarves are my thing,” mumbles his bandmate, not meeting his eye.

Phil doesn’t challenge it, but when he stands to put his plate in the sink, he reaches over Steve’s shoulder and, in a quick swirling motion, whips off the scarf before its wearer can catch hold of it. 

“Hey!” protests Steve, one hand grabbing at the fabric held just out of reach and the other pressed against the side of his neck. 

But he wasn’t quick enough.

“Love bite!” shriek Phil and Rick in unison, the other two guys craning around to see what they’re pointing at.

“Oh sod off! You’re like a bunch of teenage girls!”

“So, the woman you were chatting to in the bar last night?” 

“Lisa.”

“You got on well then?”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” replies Steve primly.

-10th May, Houston, Texas-

When Steve arrives for soundcheck twenty minutes late, out of breath, and with his shirt buttoned up wrong, Phil needs only one word for his question:

“Lisa?”

And Steve needs only one word for his answer, “Yvonne.”

Phil grins and slaps him on the back.

-13th May, Biloxi, Mississippi-

Biloxi, Mississippi brings a night off and the rare treat of a hotel stay. Sav had left the rest of the guys after the third bar, dreaming of a long soak in the tub and a deep-conditioning treatment for his increasingly travel-worn coiffure. Thoroughly pampered, he’d finally settled into bed accompanied by Nightline and an acceptable gin and tonic from the minibar. A perfect evening, until he was jolted from sleep an hour or so later by the rhythmic banging of a headboard against the wall of the neighbouring room. He groaned - he knew it had been a mistake to take the room next to Phil’s. Mercifully, the pillow he clutches to his head muffles the worst of the gasps and moans, and proceedings seem to reach a crescendo relatively quickly, but after mere moments the blissful silence is broken once more by the squeak of bedsprings from the room on the opposite side. So that will be Steve then, and a companion who is either very religious or highly appreciative of the guitarist’s… talents. He switches the TV back on, but even MTV can’t entirely drown out the sounds of enthusiastic enjoyment from nextdoor. And then, when that finally seems to be quietening down, the amorous percussion on the other wall starts up again. Sav resolves to buy earplugs at the next rest stop. 

-16th May, Nashville, Tennessee-

“And where have you been hiding? You missed Malvin balancing a barstool on his head.”

“Oh, I just went back to the bus for a… nap.”

“Uh huh. And was it restful, this ‘nap’?” asks Phil, eyeing the smudge of something suspiciously like lipstick on the other man’s chin.

“It was… very refreshing,” answers Steve judiciously, downing the vodka placed in front of him and signalling the barman for a refill. 

-18th May, Chattanooga, Tennessee-

As Joe and Phil walk across the parking lot, the reason for Steve’s absence from another after-show party becomes clear - he is bidding a fond farewell to her on the steps of their bus. Phil slows his pace and grabs Joe’s arm to encourage him to do the same.

“What? Why are we…?” He follows Phil’s gaze to the scene ahead of them, “Really? Again? What’s got into him lately? He’s worse than you! It’s obscene!”

“Nah, he’s just finding himself, that’s all.”

“It’s not him finding himself that’s the problem, it’s him finding half the female population of the tri-state area and shagging them on our tour bus that I object to!”

“You’re just jealous,” accuses Phil jovially as they watch their guitarist’s latest conquest depart, blowing kisses back towards the bus as she totters unsteadily across the crumbling tarmac in four-inch heels, and Joe just growls in response. 

-20th May Hollywood, Florida-

“...so apparently it’s a very bad idea to mix Guinness and Creme de Menthe…”

“...and when the lift door opened, all these chickens burst out…”

“...he wasn’t laughing quite so much when the bra hit him in the face…”

Another hotel breakfast, another session of comparing war stories from the night before. Steve is silent, but his spectacular bedhead and the bags under his eyes tell their own tale.

“Do I even need to ask what you were doing last night?”

“More apropos to ask who he was doing!”

“Err…,” surreptitiously the sleep-deprived blond peers at some biro scribbles on the back of his hand, “Kathy? No, Katy.”

“I’m gonna have to get you a little black book to keep track of them all!”

-21st May, Jacksonville, Florida-

“Jesus, you look like a bus ran over you!”

Steve gives a sheepish smile and flops down in the nearest chair.

“And who was the lucky lady this time?”

“Err… Katy…”

“Again?”

“...and Jenny.”

Phil’s mouth drops open. “One after the other, or together?”

“Um, together.” He ducks his head bashfully, but doesn’t quite manage to hide a grin.

“And it didn’t occur to you to share with your poor lonesome mate?”

“They were… kind of particular about it.”

Shaking his head, Phil pushes his glass of orange juice across the table. “Here, you need the vitamins more than me.”

-22nd May, Lakeland, Florida-

After soundcheck, during which the band and crew all referred to Steve as ‘Casanova’, making it clear that tales of his adventures had now spread far and wide, the guys gathered around the newly-revealed lothario in the hopes of extracting some salacious details.

“I… don’t really know what’s happening? I’m not even really trying and I’ve doubled my lifetime total in two weeks!” he exclaims, his face displaying a mixture of embarrassment and just a touch of boyish glee.

Rick punches him on the shoulder, “Duh, you’re a rockstar now!”

“Also your lifetime total was seven,” notes Phil.

“Seven?” Sav’s expression is kind but pitying.

“Some of them were more than once!” retorts Steve defensively. He glares at his fellow guitarist, “Note to self, don’t divulge personal information to Radio Phil.”

-5th June, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania-

“You are being careful, right?”

“Yes, Dad. After the number of times I’ve driven Rick to the clap clinic, I’m definitely a ‘no shirt no service’ kind of guy.”

“Good boy.”

“But… is it…”

Phil looks up from his cereal and catches the blush creeping up his friend’s cheeks. He makes what he hopes is a supportive and encouraging face.

“Is it possible to… wear it out?”

“Well, there was that singer in the seventies who said his exploded…” Steve’s expression has switched from discomfort to horror, so he hurries on, “but that was multiple times a day, probably without a rubber.” He scoots his chair closer and drops his voice, “Is it red or… sore… or anything?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just… wondered.”

Phil snickers, “Only you would be having the best time of your life and start worrying about that. Just think how much wanking you did as a kid…”

“Speak for yourself!”

“... and that didn’t break it, did it. Just relax and enjoy it while it lasts. I mean,” he adds doubtfully, “you can’t be irresistible forever?”

“You reckon?”

“Either that or you’ll run out of women! Come on, let’s get to that interview before any more fling themselves on your poor knackered todger!”

-13th June, Buffalo, New York-

“So what are you going to do with your two weeks off?”

“Sleep,” says Steve with a groan, laying his head on the table and covering his bloodshot eyes with his arm.

“Alone or accompanied?” asks Sav archly, and receives a raised middle finger as his only reply.

-27th June, Allentown, Pennsylvania-

As Steve emerges from the bunk area in boxers and a faded Aerosmith t shirt, yawning and scratching his armpit, Phil gives him an appraising look. Noting the new, livid purple bruise joining the fading collection on the side of his neck, the older man smiles indulgently and leans over to make another checkmark on the chart stuck to the fridge.

Steve considers the paper with a slight frown creasing his brow as he takes out milk for his coffee, before sitting down opposite his bandmate and sipping silently.

“Hangover?” enquires Phil sympathetically.

“No, not really.” He takes another gulp of coffee. “Phil? Am I… am I a slut?”

“Absolutely! And I could not be more proud!”

“Phiiil, I’m serious. I know groupies are part of the whole scene… it just feels a bit… I dunno… sleazy.”

“But you’re enjoying yourself, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And the ladies concerned, they’re having a good time too?”

“I guess so… I mean, it sounds like it. I haven’t asked for marks out of ten or anything…”

“No stalkers, no broken hearts, no angry husbands?”

Steve’s eyes widen - he had not considered those potential side-effects - but he shakes his head. 

“Then it’s all good. You gotta sow your wild oats while you have the chance. And if you think you’re a slut, man I could tell you some stories. When I was in Girl there was this one bird who…”

“Ugh, stop, I don’t want to know.”

“See, that’s because you’re still a nice boy really. Now go and take a shower, you smell like a bordello!”

[wasted-my-time]

A friend from the other side

@dreamy625 and @thiswatch-lepparddef-werehi this is the fic I told you about!

I wrote this (well, a short version of this) for school a few years ago and thought it could be a good fic. It is about Steve as a ghost, but I don't think it is very scary.

Warnings: Swearing, haunting, mention of a ghost.

Part one: The arrival.

Student exchange, in my fifteen years old head, the word means freedom: Getting away from my hometown. And when you are a boy from Saint-Ludger-De-Milot getting away is a serious thing (Check on a map, you'll get it). The government fund agency advertisement said "A friend from the other side of the country, the ocean or even the world" so I jumped on the opportunity. Usually I am not great with new people, but when I let go of my bad will, it goes well.

But when I saw the address I would be sent to I jumped off my my seat: 44 Old Church Street, London, last house of guitarist Steve Clark!

Oh, and I am matched with a girl called Madeline Rogers, they got us together for our "Great interest in music, history and academic subjects", I guess I'll see how it goes.

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

Madeline unlocks the door as I stand in front of her house with my suitcase in my left hand, my amp in the right one and my guitar case on my back. A beautiful building indeed, bricks on all of its exterior walls (well, the ones I can see), nice arches over the door and ground floor windows, the white cornice also enhance the brownish red walls and I like how the higher floors' windows are shaped, like an half of an octagon, I would say.

God, I didn't realize my mom's home decoration and architecture magazines got that much into my head...

The inside is just as wonderful, the Rodgers seem to have been willing to preserve its ancient style, furnishing it mostly with wooden antiques, but still managed to avoid any heaviness.

-My mum is a home designer. Madeline informs me when she catches my admirative look.

-Well, I'm sure she's very good at it, from what I see here.

-Thank you. You can go put your stuff upstairs if you want, I'll show you around. She offers as her father enters the house. Follow me. She says as she walks toward the u-shaped staircase, making the floor crack at every step. I love this place already.

-Down there is the kitchen and dining room. She points at a row of stairs leading to the basement. On every floor, there is a toilet at the end of the staircase, she says as we pass by a door and begin to walk upstairs.

-My parents' room is the one facing the street, the other one is my mother's office. She indicates as we pass shortly on the first floor.

-Here we are! She exclaims as we arrive at the top of the stairs, this is the guests' room, your room in other words. I'll be downstairs if you need me!

There are two doors, the one she stated to be mine and another one, probably leading to her bedroom.

There is a wooden desk under the window, from there I can see the tiniest backyard I ever looked upon, on the opposite side of the room, there is an assorted dresser, I put my guitar on it, since I couldn't bring the stand with me, in the drawers underneath it, I placed most of my clothes, excepted for my white shirt and tie, which I hung one of the wardrobes on each side of the bed to keep the shirt from wrinkling.

There is a little lamp hanging from the wall behind the bed, you know, the kind with a little chain to turn the light on and off. As I sit on the bed, I can't help but think that my reflection in the stand up mirror across thr room would make a nice painting, if someone had enough time to waste at painting me.

-Antoine, the diner is ready. I hear Madeline's voice through the door.

I follow her again, this time on the opposite direction.

We all sit together at the table in front of our plates of curry, first time I eat that, it is very... Yellow. A sharp contrast with the room we are in: Very few natural light pass by those small window, leaving it all to the luminaire hanging above the table to light the whole room. There is an opening leading to the stairs behind me, two doors on the wall on my right, to get in the kitchen and another one on the wall on my left, probably some pantry...

-It's the drinks cabinet, but don't go there, it's haunted. Mr. Rodgers jokes, causing his whole family to laugh.

Steve?

-The former owner wanted to sell the house because he thought there was a ghost! Apparently "someone" was finishing his bottles. If you want my advice he just didn't remember doing it himself... Madeline's mother explains.

-And, did you experience... Weird stuff?

-Sometimes we hear noises, like footsteps, and a sound... like a long squeaking, but it is a fairly old building, so it is probably structural rather than spectral.

-It would make sense... I mumble.

-Looks like you scared our guest, Nathaly. Her husband chuckles.

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

Midnight, yet my silly brain thinks it is something like seven o'clock... Everyone else went to bed at 9:30, so what was I supposed supposed to do? I stopped playing my guitar one hour ago and now I just lay here thinking about Steve. It is weird to think that I stay in the same house as he lived. Yes, lived, because he lived here before dying here. Forget it, that sounded much better in my head.

Still, the idea of his ghost driving the previous owner out of the house is quite amusing.

Knlong, klong, klong

Footsteps, right by the bed, boots on the hardwood floor. No, it can't be real...

I don't think I could move if I wanted to, I'm way too freaked out.

I can't really see in the dark room but the noise seems to stop by the dresser then... It's something else... That squeaking Mrs. Rodgers talked about, I hear it, it is much more than that, it's, it's a guitar! A long note, with a lot of bending, I can't believe they thought it was just "structural"! It keeps getting to a higher and higher sound, and louder, I feel like my ears are about to explode.

-Fuck! I exclaim as I finally snap out of my fear and sit up to turn on the light, but there's nothing, no one. Just my guitar case wide open although I closed it when I stopped playing.

This is definitely going to help me to sleep...

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

Eleven o'clock on the clock on the nightstand and six in my head, not so bad of a time to wake up actually. I turn around and see my guitar proped up against the dresser, wait, wasn't it in its case... Heck, I remember last night!

I jump on my feet and inspect the instrument, everything is perfectly normal, then I take a look at the furniture only to find all my picks disposed to spell Hello on top of it.

-It has to be some bad joke... I whisper.

No, the picks now write, moving around like it was someone placing them.

-... Steve?

Yes.

-Clark?

YES.

-I... I... I mumble uselessly.

The picks start to spin aimlessly, sometimes forming the beginning of a letter, as if he was looking for what he wants to say.

Don't he finally writes before changing the picks, worry... won't .... hurt... you.

-What do you want?

Help ... Me ... Take ... Shape

-How?

The picks go back in a little pile and my guitar gets lifted from the ground like if someone was about to play, then the strings start to ring along to the intro of Mirror Mirror (Look Into My Eyes).

I turn around to face the mirror, only to see my own face of total disbelief.

-And what am I supposed to do?

I see the guitar being carefully placed back against the dresser, then the picks start to move again.

Try ... This.

One of them floats up to me, then just waits there until I hold my hand up for it to be dropped in my palm.

-So... I just have to put it on the glass?

Yes

Am I really listening to a ghost telling me how to help him get back to a "shape"? Can jet lag cause hallucinations?

Anyway, I close my fist around the little piece of plastic and walk up to the mirror. I clasp it to the cold glass with my thumb and... Nothing, of course there's nothing, what was I thinking about?! I pinch the pick to retrieve it but as I pull it away, I see two other fingers holding it from the other side of the mirror.

-Holly shit! I exclaim as a hand follows the fingers, along with an arm.

Soon enough, a foot steps out of the mirror and I let go of the pick, him now being able to get out by himself.

Long blond hair, a leather jacket over some white t-shirt and black jeans covering the upper part of a pair of boots, no doubt about it: I did really bring Steve Clark back from the grave.

Wait, why am I seeing those black dots all of a sudden?

-Thank you kid... No, don't fain't, please! I hear him as I now don't see anything and feel myself falling backwards.

[lord-of-the-weird]

@thiswatch-lepparddef-werehi

[amiscreations]

Thank you for the tag @de-luxeviolets ! 

Nickname: just Ami!

Sign: Capricorn

Height: 4′11

Last thing I googled: Discogs.com

Song stuck in my head: Slow Ride by Foghat (I'm learning it on bass atm)

Number of followers: idk, I never check on here bc its the only social media where followers do not mattar at all to me

Amount of sleep: anywhere between 3-10 hours lmao, it depends on what I'm doing

Dream job: it honestly changes every year or so, but I think my ultimate dream job would be to create art for bands and films etc, either for marketing or promotion. but right now realistically, I'd love to work in Lush again, I worked there a year ago and it was genuinely the happiest I've been and I miss working there every day. It’s retail tho so there are just no vacancies and the ones that do come up are very competitive where I am lmao

Wearing: my dark blue starry top and my green blue and yellow mandala harems, and ofc lots of random layers under those bc its cOLD😂

Books that summarize you : Coraline by Neil Gaiman, The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R Tolkien

Favorite song: this changes a lot, but one that always comes to mind is Move With Me Slowly by Def Leppard! Some honourable mentions are: Shelter Me by Cinderella, Quicksand Jesus by Skid Row, Stand Up (Kick Love Into Motion) by Def Leppard, Man On The Rocks by Mike Oldfield, We Sink by Of Monsters And Men and lots of others!

Favorite instrument: bass and also maybe cello or harp. I can play bass but not the other two😂

Aesthetic: 70s-80s glam metal, and also hippie/boho

Favorite author: Patrick Ness or Richard Ayoade

Random fun fact: I'm (apparently) distantly related to Bill Wyman, he’s my mum’s third cousin or sth. He most definitely doesn’t know I exist tho😂

Tagging: @mccoys-killer-queen @and-i-want-and-i-need @anotherhitandrun @hungercityhellhound @elliearty @thiswatch-lepparddef-werehi (idk who else to tag lmao and sorry if you've already been tagged a bunch!)

[mccoys-killer-queen]

shit u not this was my dash

@appetite4savage @thiswatch-lepparddef-werehi

[appetite4savage]

@thiswatch-lepparddef-werehi look at our guys 🥺🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

*photo credits to the Def Leppard Vault

[make-me-your-animal]

@thiswatch-lepparddef-werehi @genxrocker

[steveinscarlet]

Thanks for the tag @lord-of-the-weird :)

No pressure tags @oneluckygirl @appetite4savage @thiswatch-lepparddef-werehi @thedeviousdevilxx @hungercityhellhound @wasted-my-time @therockywhorerpictureshow @whitelightningstrikes feel free to skip if you've already done a million of them!

[dreamy625]

Since I no longer have my American language consultant (miss you, thiswatch-lepparddef-werehi), please can I ask my non-British mutuals whether 'Fido' would be understood as a generic name for a dog outside of the UK? Or is there an American equivalent? Thank you so much 🙏

[appetite4savage]

Raindrops and Road Trips (Joe Elliott)

-

Joe fluff requested by @thiswatch-lepparddef-werehi 🫶🏻

-

Y/N’s POV

“I can’t believe you talked me into driving to New York instead of just flying.” Joe shook his head, looking over to me and back at the road. He starts bopping his head to the rhythm of Highway Star as it plays on the radio.

“You know I have to keep you on your toes.” I smirked, squeezing his hand that has rested on my thigh for half of the drive.

Just as he’s about to make a snarky remark, the sky suddenly falls out. The road is no longer a clear path in front of us due to the raindrops piling up on the windshield. The once sunny array of light in front us is now a dark and cloudy mess.

“Babe, I have to pull over.” He says, pulling into the parking lot of a gas station that has long closed.

“Well, now what.” I ask as he moves the gearshift into park.

“We wait for the rain to calm down.”

“I have an idea! Let’s play song association.” I suggest.

“Alright, sure. We can pull words from the book you were reading.” He suggests, pointing to the half-read novel poking out of my bag.

I get it out, scouring the pages for a word. “Golden.”

“Golden Age of Rock N’ Roll.” He says proudly.

“Of course.” I giggle, rolling my eyes as I pass him the book. I should have expected that his first song pick would be by Mott.

“Saddle.”

“Back in the Saddle. Easy.”

“I knew I fell in love with you for a reason.”

-

We got so into the game that we hardly realized that the skies had cleared around us.

“I think it’s cheating to use your own song, but whatever.”

“Hey, if it fits!” He shrugs dramatically. “Oh look! The storm passed.” He points at the sky.

“It did! No we can get back on the road.”

“I have the perfect tape for this.” He pulls out a single that has ‘On the Road Again’ written on it.

“You are such a dork.”

“A dork with excellent music taste. That’s why I was the clear winner of the game.” He says proudly.

“Oh what EVER!” I smack him on the shoulder. “It’s because you were picking impossible words like Lobster!”

“Don’t pout.” He pecks my pouting lips quickly before pulling out another tape. “Let me introduce you to this band called The B-52s, that have this great song called Rock Lobster. Then we can talk about how I won the game fair and square, baby.”

People warned me about dating a lead singer. Perhaps this is why….