#& arms stolen money that doesn't matter because it will always be traced and will always have blood on it

[lorephobic]

what if i actually did it this time

[imtotallyokandnormal]

hiii!! I’m not great at making requests, sorry if this is shittily explained

can you do romantic johndoe headcannons with a reader who plays the guitar and is basically the most stereotypical metalhead in any hollywood film?

Ah my first request!! That's a really fun idea, I'll do my best! By the way I switch between he and they pronouns for Doe, but in future requests I may use she as well since they're genderfluid!

Reader: gn reader

Warnings: none!

Image link: hi!

☆John Doe x Metalhead You!☆

- John definitely wouldn't be one to judge music taste, I imagine he likes all kinds of music (they like seeing the effects different kinds of music has on them). So introducing him to your favorite bands would be really exciting for him!

- He would definitely get immersed into the music, rocking back and forth in time with the beat as he listens with the biggest grin on his face. Of course they likely won't be taking their eyes off you the whole time, but you'll be able to tell by the look in his eyes (they look almost like they're...vibrating?) that he really does enjoy it.

- They definitely wouldn't understand a lot about genres of music, so they're likely to get something wrong (a lot of things actually), but he'd love for you to teach him about different kinds of metal and the intricacies of each genre! Honestly you could talk about the lead guitarist in Cannibal Corpse's grandma or something like that and he'd be completely soaking in every word you say like it's gospel.

- If you have piercings/tattoos honestly they'd be a bit worried about you, not that they don't like them, but they worry about you being hurt. He's learned that humans aren't exactly as durable as he is, so he worries about you doing things like that. Still, they'd definitely be fascinated by your body modifications, tracing their fingers over your tattoos with wide studying eyes or just full on staring at a piercing of yours. They like to study it close, the tip of his nose it practically always touching you because he gets THAT up close (they do not know personal space).

- If you have long metalhead hair he LOVES to play with it! He's practically never off of you anyway but to add onto that his hand is almost always in your hair to some capacity. It doesn't matter if your hair is straight, curly, in dreads, whatever, they WILL play with it. And of course they'll giggle and give you praise while doing it.

- If you have a band. Oh my lord if you have a band they are the BIGGEST FAN YOU GUYS HAVE. They always follow you to practice just to watch you, if you made merch he'd use all of his collected (possibly stolen) money to buy it so he can support you. And during gigs if you give him attention amongst the crowd (like giving him a wink) he WILL quite literally melt onto the floor.

- They love seeing you play guitar and he likes to study how your fingers move along the strings. If you play something at home he'd be mesmerized just by how skillfully you play. He'd absolutely love to have you teach him but I'll be totally honest he's not good at it. He will play the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard and excitedly ask you if they did well (and you can't say no because he just looks so hopeful, pupils all wide).

-Concerts...if you guys went on a concert date he gets fairly protective. He's not always protective, but in places that have big crowds or anywhere unfamiliar to you in The Uncanny Valley he absolutely does. Their usual clinginess is accompanied by them squeezing your arm or hand or hugging you a bit tighter than usual. Honestly they might not be entirely focused on enjoying the night unless you snap them out of it because in their mind anything could happen at any moment. The noise and closeness of everyone in the crowd doesn't exactly calm him either.

- If you do snap him out of it and reassure him things will be fine, then he'll loosen up a bit. He just gets worried about you, about how easily you could slip away from him. But they don't want to stop you from enjoying yourself, so they'd try to focus on the fun parts (while still keeping an eye out for anyone that might try to hurt you).

- You just might need to give him lots of cuddles at home afterwards.

[6azia]

𝟶𝟻|𝙵𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚙

𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 Part 4↞↠Part 6 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ᴅᴇ

And he finally turns and sees her- sees you.

You look like a stranger, now grown up, lips and and cheeks tinted red. There is nothing familiar about you other than the colour of your wings and the similar markings around your eyes, but inside the colour there's no trace of the ghost that's been haunting him - but he knows it's you. The universe brought you both into this world together, and whatever star you're made from is the same as his, and it's always been trying to pull you two together so your souls could return to the cosmos from which you were born. He doesn't recognize anything about you except for the warmth he's feeling in his chest, the warmth you gave him whenever you were pressed in a hug.

It's you. Oh God .

You're tapping your foot impatiently, arms crossed as you stare unimpressed at him. What the fuck is he supposed to say?

❝What's-,❞He says, but his voice cracks so he coughs before trying again,  ❝What's your name, kid? ❞

You huff,  ❝Not a fucking kid , mister. You missed that chance by two years. ❞

He cringes, feeling a sickness swirling through his body. He can't leave you here, he got out and needs to bring you too. All that he's worked hard to achieve is worthless is he can't save the one person who matters the most. He's got a second chance to protect you, and he'll be damned if he lets you get away again.

❝Oh, fuck it.❞ You mutter, turning around to walk away.

❝How much do you charge? ❞ He says it before he has a chance to think. He doesn't know what else to say, doesn't know how to introduce himself underneath the flashing lights and heavy scent of sin, so he decides to speak in a way you'll understand. Money.

You pause, pursing your lips as you look at him. You slowly eye him up and down before speaking again,  ❝30 000 yen. ❞

❝I'll give you 100 000.❞ Money's easy to give, he's got so much of it. He'll throw out any number to keep you interested in him until he finally gets the chance to explain everything to you.

You laugh.  ❝Fuck, you must be nasty .❞

He thinks he might throw up. Instead he takes deep breaths, tilting his head towards the sidewalk. ❝Walk with me? ❞

❝Oh, no need, there's a hotel just by- ❞

❝Walk with me.❞ He says firmly. And for 100 000 yen? You wordless follow him, the click clacking sounds of your heels being the only thing to fill the space between you two.

He walks and walks, all the way out of the Red Light District, looking over at you to make sure you're still following. He sees the slight discomfort on your face when you leave, noticing how the air is no longer imbued with tobacco, and the smoke that you breathe out is from the cold and not a cigarette. He realizes that you've probably never been outside much, your whole life spent in the inescapable hell.

He should probably just tell you that he's your brother, but for some reason the words are stuck in his throat. They carry the weight of 17 years of guilt for not being able to keep you out of this life in the first place, even though it wasn't his fault. He knows that he was just a child and couldn't do anything, but he feels like he failed you. He failed his responsibility of being your protector, and for all he knows you could want nothing to do with him.

You might ask him questions he isn't prepared to answer. You might hate your birth family because they were the ones who sold you to this life. And you might hate him, because he's a Pro-Hero while you have to earn your keep on the streets, even though there's more to the story than that.

Of course, he can't just no t tell you. But it requires a courage that he hasn't been able to build up inside of him ever since you got stolen away, the foundation of his persona has been skewed and distorted that he doesn't know how to find it in himself to ask if he can remake his home inside of you. And you are definitely not ready for your life to come crumbling down around you at his revelation, a sharp knife puncturing the fragile bubble of your life - he recognizes the weariness in your eyes and he wants to make sure that first and foremost, he brings you to safety.

He notices you shivering, and he instantly takes off his coat to place it over your shoulders. You smile at him, putting on the jacket, the sleeves covering your hands as you thank him. Then your eyes widen, looking down at his back. He shifts his head to follow your gaze, noticing that his straggly features are peaking through the holes in his sweater.

❝You're...❞ You pause to collect your thoughts,  ❝You're that Pro-Hero, aren't ya? What's your name again? Eagle? ❞

❝Hawks. ❞ He corrects, even though that name burns his mouth.

You snap your fingers. ❝Hawks! You're the number two hero, right? I see ya flying around all the time on the news, sending your feathers to help all those people.❞

❝I... I'm not that special.❞ He says, feeling embarrassed that you know who he is. He sees you playfully roll your eyes before he speaks again,  ❝Well, do I get to know your name too?❞

He knows playing dumb will probably bite him in the ass later on. But for now he wants to play dumb, just wants to pretend that this is chance meeting between two strangers. There's a huge disconnect between the person he's been mourning and the person standing before him, and if it weren't for his familial instincts going off he probably could have convinced himself that it wasn't you. You shove your hands in the coat pockets. ❝Call me Dove.❞

He feels like an explosion has just gone off inside his chest, but years of learning how to keep composure allow him to keep a neutral face.  ❝Dove...❞He says, and it sounds so perfectly safe in his voice, a name belonging to his mouth, trying it out after all these years and he says it with love out of habit. He wets his bottom lip with his tongue quickly,  ❝Is that your name?❞

You smile, though you look tired.  ❝S'the only name I know. Doesn't matter what it is as long as I respond though - right, Hawks ?❞

He forces a laugh.  ❝Guess so, Dove.❞

[bentnotbroken1fanfiction]

One-shot response to @carito-dorito ’s prompt:

Steve meets Billy’s mom at his grave and they bond as they talk about him

It’s sunny and hot in Hawkins, not a cloud in the sky. A beautiful day if there ever was one. Everyone is probably soaking it up, enjoying it while it lasts.

Everyone except Steve, that is.

Steve wishes it was raining, that it was thundering, lightening around him.

Because it's painful, and unfair that the outside world doesn’t match the hollowed out one that’s inside of him.

Why should it be warm and bright and wonderful when something so cold and dark and ugly has made itself at home in his chest?

He doesn't want to feel this way, but he’s resigned. He knows it’s going to hurt, that it’s going to feel like he’s missing a limb.

Because he lost his person.

He lost him, and no one even knew that they’d been together. No one knew that he woke up every morning with a broken heart and cried himself to sleep every night. No one knew that he drove across town every time the pain got to be too much to sit on a patch of new grass and cry.

Well, Max knows. She knows everything. The whole story. The beginning until the end. But he refuses to lean on her, or drag her out here every time he wants to go. It’s the second time this week that he’s here, walking through the cemetery. He’s here so much the caretaker knows him by name now.

No. This is something he does alone.

Like everything else.

When he gets closer to his row, his breath hitches. And for a moment he thinks he’s seeing things, a ghost maybe, or a mirage, because his eyes have zeroed in on a figure standing in front of the headstone, back turned to him. A figure in faded blue jeans and a head full of blonde curly hair.

The same as his.

But no. He knows it’s not him. He's gone. He's been gone for over a month. And they are shorter than he’d been, and upon further inspection, it’s definitely the figure of a woman.

He moves.

He wants to know who this person is, who’s leaving something on his grave. Steve knows everyone that comes here.

Ha. Everyone.

Meaning him and Max.

His dad hasn’t been back since they laid him in the ground, since he stood up in front of everyone and talked about how much he loved him. How proud he was of him. How sorry he was that this happened.

Yeah. Sure. He's sorry.

Maybe sorry that it hadn’t been him that did it.

Steve tries not to think about Neil. When he does, rage consumes him, and he does stupid things. Like keying his truck. Or popping one of the tires. Or trying to punch him in the middle of the supermarket.

It’s just… it's bad.

So he stops thinking about that asshole and focuses again on finding out who this is. He walks until he is standing beside her, and when she turns around it feels like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs.

Because it should be impossible, but Steve is staring into his eyes. And that's his mouth. His golden hair.

This woman…who is standing here alone, crying over his grave… it can't be? But…

“Are you his mom?”

She startles a bit at the sound of his voice, but gives him a calculated look, as if she’s sizing him up.

And God, that is the same too.

“Are you his friend?” She finally asks.

Friend. “Something like that, yeah.”

She nods like she knows what that means, and turns back to the headstone. “He didn’t even tell me.” She says, and her voice is angry, bitter, “Our son… my child, died and he didn't tell me.”

Steve knows she means Neil, and he doesn’t know why she is telling him this, but it doesn’t really matter. He’ll listen. Because this is his mom, and he had loved her. He would have wanted Steve to stay. 

So he does.

“He took him from me.” She cries, and furiously wipes tears from her eyes. Steve feels his stomach drop. “Neil didn’t even want him. He just did it to punish me for leaving.” She looks over her shoulder. “He probably never even knew that, did he? That I wasn’t allowed to see him?”

He shakes his head, because he hadn’t. He’d told Steve that she left and didn’t take him. That’s it. “No.”

She makes a sound that he thinks is supposed to be a laugh. “It figures. He probably told him I abandoned him. Made him believe that I didn’t want him, but I do. More than anything. I tried to get him back. I tried so hard, but that bastard blocked me at every turn.”

“The law wasn’t on my side. I was nothing. A waitress living out of a motel. He had a house. A good job Money. It didn’t matter to them that he…” She pauses, “it just didn't matter to them.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and he can hear her sniffling. “I was nothing." She says eventually, "But I loved him. It should have been enough.” Then her legs give out and she’s kneeling, shaky fingers tracing the engraved letters of his name.

“He was almost eighteen. Neil wouldn’t have been able to stop me from seeing him anymore. So I was waiting. I was waiting.” Her shoulders shake and Steve can feel the heat behind his eyes. “And while I was waiting, my baby boy died." She chokes on a sob. ”And I didn’t even know.“

He doesn’t try to stop the tears from falling. His chest feels like it’s breaking open. Feels like he’s losing him all over again, and he places his hand on her shoulder. He wants to say it’s just to comfort her, but it’s not. It’s to anchor him too.

He wants to scream at the sky, the stupid beautiful, clear blue sky, because it shouldn’t be him standing here consoling this beautiful broken woman. She shouldn’t have to have a need to be consoled. She should be smiling and hugging her son, not crying over his grave.

"He was stolen from me. The life we could have had was stolen from us. If Neil would have just…let me have him, maybe he’d still be alive. Maybe he wouldn’t have died thinking…thinking that I didn't… that I didn't love him.”

“He knew.” Steve says softly, crouching down beside her. “He may have thought you left, but he always knew you loved him.”

She just sobs harder and Steve wraps his arms around her, hugs her tightly, holds her like he knows he would have. And shit, his chest aches.

And he keeps holding her until his limbs are numb, until she’s pats his back and pulls away. He sits down right where he is and listens to her taking deep breaths. He takes a few too.

“Was he happy?” She asks when the crying subsides. It sounds more like a plea to Steve’s ears.

“He was when he was with me.” He answers, hoping he’s making the right call by telling her this. He keeps Neil’s bullshit to himself.

She hums, thoughtful. “You loved him didn’t you?”

“Yes.” His throat tightens and his emotions threaten to spill out, because she doesn’t sound angry. Would she have approved of them? There’s only one way to find out. “And he…he never said it, but I could tell that he.. that he loved me too.”

“Only his sister Max knew about us. People here…they …they’re not so open minded. And that was the hardest part. I had to… I had to stand there and pretend that we were nothing to each other. I had to pretend that he didn’t take a part of me with him when he… I had to hold myself together and stuff down the urge to sob because it would have looked strange. It would have tipped off Neil, and I didn’t want to end up decking him at his sons funeral.”

He sighs. “Maybe I should have. Maybe it would have made me feel better. Maybe it would have made everyone feel better. He’s a fucking dick. But you already know that. More than any of us.”

“Yes. I do.”

He rubs at his eyes. “He’s just…he was more upset that Max was at the mall, than finding out…and I was…I was there when it happened. Me and Max. We saw it and we couldn't do anything. We were helpless. And we climbed out of the wreckage of that lobby broken and traumatized, and the only thing he does is yell at her when he finally shows up. What the fuck is wrong with him?”

“A lot.” She replies.

He snorts in agreement before blurting out, “I keyed his truck. After the funeral.”

She looks a little surprised. “You keyed his truck?”

“Yeah. I just. I hate him. Like really really hate him,” God what an understatement. “and it was the easiest passive way to say fuck you.”

“I think I like you-” She stops and tilts her head, “Oh, what’s your name, hun?”

“Steve.”

“I think I like you, Steve. "She extends her hand to him and he takes it. "I’m Amelia.”

Her hand is small in his, “It’s nice to meet you.” He says honestly. “I just wish it was under different circumstances.”

Her mouth turns down and he knows she’s barely holding it together. “Yeah. Me too.”

They sit in a sad yet comfortable silence for a long time, until she abruptly stands up and brushes off her pants.

He shields his eyes from the sun as he looks up at her. “You’re leaving?”

She gives him a slight smile. “You came to be alone with him. I can come back later.”

“At least let me walk you back to your car.”

She agrees so he gets up.

“You staying here in town?” He asks, as they head back to where they’re parked.

She nods, “At least for a couple of days. I’m at the Motel 6 off the highway.”

“Well, I have…Max snuck me some of his stuff.” He tells her. He’s been thinking about this for awhile. He thinks it’s the right thing to do. “You can come look through them if you want? Take something back with you.” He can’t keep them to himself, not anymore, not after meeting her. “And I have pictures. You probably don’t have recent ones, right? You can have some of those too.”

She looks like she’s going to burst out in tears again. “That would be…thank you.”

He swallows the lump in his throat. “He’d want you to have something.”

“You’re a good boy, Steve. I’m glad my son had someone like you here.”

He can’t find the words to respond to that so he just gives her a tight smile and his number before he watching her leave between the iron gates.

Only then does he return.

But he doesn’t sit when he gets there, just stands with the sun beating down on the back of his neck as he stares at the name that shouldn’t be there.

“I met your mom.” He tells the silent granite. “And El was right, Billy.” He blinks back tears. “She’s really pretty.”