#I fucking hate anger issues so badly

[theinkbunny]

my family after finding out that no, my reaction to pain isn’t to cry or whine, but to become hyperaggressive to anybody nearby

[desertdragon]

This shit got me heated and reminded me why I stay away from people who also play this game but it also made me think again about Why the Ga/lean section of E/W was just more tone deaf apologism for me (and as I've learned, many others)

Also I am seeing people in the quotes using having a lot of empathy as an excuse to frame themselves as superior to others and implying ableism against those that have low empathy so that's another thing where I'm like shut the fuck up you're literally fucking arrogant for making that equivalency anyway- empathy level does NOT equal a person's value or moral value/humanity and ironically thinking it does shows you dehumanize others on prejudice, which you claim not to be doing because you're empathetic-

Like I don't like this person actually I have them blocked on here and I forgot they were even on Twitter until I saw the people "dragging" this post but I agree with the essence of what op is saying- if you are ACTIVELY still being a piece of shit (And even if you're NOT because forgiveness is never OWED) No it is not an obligation on anyone to forgive you or suck your dick and not care how hurtful you're still being; it's dehumanizing, entitled, and victim blaming to tell someone they cannot be allowed to their feelings or defending themselves when met with prejudiced hate and violence

It's frustrating however seeing people turn how SE handled this into black and white self righteousness or obnoxious selfishness because I don't think anyone actually remembers how badly once again the ball was fumbled despite starting from a reasonable place, this is how I feel about it from what I remember explicitly because it made me angry to see a good thing ruined again by centrist ignorant nonsense:

It is legitimately a good thing to help the helpless! It is and that is a noble first instinct to have and not everyone has to agree with it as Lyse says if the helpless at that moment was once or still is your oppressor! But people who rush to suck SE's corporate cock stop it at that fact, at the Idea That Is Included and refuse to examine The Execution of That Idea. Any idea can be included in anything, it's been done forever, but how you describe and show that idea is what speaks. And the execution on this serious topic as with others was deeply flawed and one sided. You cannot insist that people motivated by dehumanizing fascist hatred, giving themselves wholely to the duty of extermination for national interest and personal pride, to commit countless atrocities they don't even reflect on when it's given back to Them, who see anyone not of the Perfect Chosen Civilization/Race as animals, are simply misguided and misunderstood. People coming to you purposefully in bad faith, still being entitled to absolute forgiveness and acceptance.

The few people who are welcoming to you in Ga/lemald and those who just want to move on and not hate after the dust clears, who are not actively hateful and who are repentant, should be taken care of imo. And I appreciate that they were included. And I do find it disturbing in the thought exercise it represents to insist on slaughtering destitute people who want to break the cycle. Because they come in good faith. But looking at the actual campaign and dialogue it cannot CANNOT be denied that this same lens of acceptance/pity/woobying is also extended to those who continue to only see themselves as true human beings worthy of life. It cannot be ignored how quickly the implications and weight of the evil function of a soldier for an imperialist fascist empire is ignored with zero self reflection for the military's conquered victims. Particularly represented by the character of Julius, which I have seen other people rightfully call out as well, even some of his sympathizers. Instead the story suggests you must be a doormat for everyone no matter how they treat you without any dignity for yourself and others who are targeted. That we don't need to hold those who commit evil as accountable for what they did without blaming it on something else, some outside influence having total control rather than the fact of them choosing to be an inhumane instrument. That ignorance literally happens everyday in real life, just look at how many people truly trust in the idea of authority figures or soldiers and glamorize it. Often times hateful people in real life don't move out of or detach from one of their hateful groups because of a true change of heart, but rather out of convenience for their image, or because the hate group targeted them for some different part of their identity. But it doesn't nessesarily change that they still mindlessly hate X Population for baseless reasons.

These nuances are lost, the conversation in the game refuses to engage with the detail work and instead paints using a wide brush. Because it needs to appeal to making money. And also I saw someone in the Twitter thread saying "Well the girls who run away from you because you're a dirty savage to them (which they explicitly stated) were just scared, so you can't not feel bad when they die by their own actions." This is rhetoric I have seen white people use to defend the killing or harm of people of color in real cases. You don't call someone a slur, tell them they're subhuman, that you'd rather die than get help from an animal- and then brush it off as you being scared (how many cops/bigot gun owners shoot for no fucking reason at ALL and then say Well I had to take the shot they were threatening me, I was scared, they were endangering Me when they tried to get away or ask I stop or they were scared; how many times have Whites or other hateful strangers ever called you a slur or treated you unfairly because you're not White too or not part of their group and that makes them feel threatened, because you did nothing but exist, how many times do you experience discrimination and it gets turned around/used to gaslight you with Well you were scaring me so abusing you was justified etc). You see how the jump between this prejudiced rhetoric being justified in fictional thought experiments can mirror the same logic as a takeaway real already prejudiced people have viewing the story.

So no, under no circumstances do I find calling the Ga/lemald section of EW amazingly written something I can agree with, in fact I find it incredibly ignorant and then turning it into a soapbox to target dissenters as if they're inhuman for not getting it and using ableist language as well to help do so is appalling; nor do I agree with its most extremist of detractors, who deny it any positives simply for suggesting people want to help those who suffer even if they once wronged you. This is yet another case of the SE writer's room having no fucking idea how to write anything more complex than a toddler book about shapes or focused character stories with an actual nuanced sense of perspective. How every time they have a great or decent starting point on a broad heavy topic they can't find where to address the lines within it. And the rare times they do succeed at it it still amounts to clean corns in a big picture that's a pile of diarrhea shit. And they keep getting away with it because nobody wants to lift their head instead of indulging the rat race that is fighting each other.

[bunnys-kisses]

retired!price liked that you had daddy issues. aw, did someone not have a functioning relationship with their father as a child and now has to find that relationship in older men? aw, poor doll. price was more than okay with being called 'daddy' as long as you called him 'captain' too, especially when you were on your knees. while you got off to having an older man praise you, he got off to a pretty little thing calling him captain. you even went as far as to worship his strong physic, how easily he could bend, flip, turn and press into you.

didn't help that your pussy became a fixation for him.

he was close to fifty, his hip had a habit of locking from time to time. he had been hearing about it for years that it was time to have a family. even simon had managed to make a family, price was still hung up on young tail that he could bully his fat cock into. while most younger women were flavours of the week with no string attached. price made sure to attach every metaphorical string onto you. he had a copy of your apartment key. he added a profile for you on his streaming services. he knew on wednesdays you enjoyed pasta, but hated cooking on the weekend. he knew everything about his precious baby girl. you folded into his praise and always were eager to please. and that was what price loved about you. so imagine his shock (anger) when you told him that you thought you'd have to end your arrangement because you met a guy at your university. and when he asked why, you simply said, "i have to grow up at some point.", and that hit price in the head like an ice pick. if you wanted to grow up so badly, baby girl. there were other ways to do it.

the broken condom held weight in price's pocket while you had few drinks during your last 'date' together, he waited till you got all soft because of the wine. till you were on his side of the booth with your leg over his lap and your face pressed against his bicep. you ran your hand across his chest and giggled, "you're taking this whole break up thing so well." and he petted your head, watching you fold into him further, "like you said, you need to grow up." but you both had different definitions of 'growing up'. for you it meant getting over you daddy issues, but to him it was making him a daddy, for real. you giggled further while he gave you another glass of wine. when you tried to say no, he simply pushed it closer to you, "don't want to waste the bottle." and so easily you were in price's grip.

price took you three times that night. first was in the backseat of his expensive car. he pressed you into a corner, claimed that he needed more space for his larger body. your hazy vision was transfixed on the glimmer of his gold chain against his hairy chest in the low light. your poor body bent in such ways while he pace was relentless. he admired your unsteady gaze and your heavy breathing. he continued to move against you with such a pace that the whole car rocked. but don't worry, the parking lot was dead at that hour. you could scream your head off and no one would hear either of you. he did however put a tear in your panties. right in the crotch area. he sighed and said that he'd need to buy you something a little. while he loved the cheap pairs you owned, he thought his woman deserved something a little nicer. the future mrs. price needed to look next to perfection.

then he fingered you heavily in his bed and watched you squirm. he had to make sure every drop got deep enough before he bullied your sweet pussy once more. he loved the sight of you, still so fucked out from prior. you were in a daze in the car ride home. your breathing was heavy when he pushed the skirt of your dress up a little and teased your cunt while he drove. only to go further once you were naked on his bed. he watched your ass jiggle with each of his power thrusts while he took you from behind. he felt like a mad man while he fucked you. he was determined. he only got to where he was in his career because of grit and determination. he wouldn't back down to a challenge, especially when the stakes were so high. your pussy need to be bred, you needed to be with price. he never wanted to hear anything about another man ever again. price would hate to take drastic measures if another man tried to get in his way. if you needed a collar or a tattoo, the taste of his cum constantly your lips or leaked into your panties, price would do it all to ensure that you were his. the most effective way to ensure that was what kept him going through two rounds of sex without any pains. to get you pregnant. you had already forgotten about the broken condom, it still was in price's pocket! no use using it now, even bother giving the illusion that he wasn't breeding you.

the third time was when you tried to leave the next morning, he had you upside down on the bed. your bottom half on the mattress while all the blood rushed to your head as you tried not to fall on your head. price put bruises on top of bruises. your poor cunt was creamy with promises of the future. a future with him. the blood rush made you cum twice on his cock, adding fresh slick to his coated cock. you thought that older men were supposed to slow down with age. but it felt like price was even quicker than before. his pace brutal, almost like punishment for trying to leave him. but price didn't get to be captain because he followed one plan. he was going to ease you into married life, slowly make you the perfect woman for him. he was traditional that way. church wedding, the white dress, the vows. that would all happen, but might take a little longer. he wasn't too sure that a baby bump would fit nicely in a wedding dress. the thought of you pregnant, trapped to him made him eagerly finish in you two times. and when he got you back up onto the bed, you were fucked out. when you managed to collect your clothes and stagger out of his flat by mid-afternoon, you thought you made it in time to the pharmacy to get emergency plan b.

you prayed, and you never prayed. you promised three versions of 'god' that you'd convert to their religion if the pill worked. but three deities failed you and a month later price was in your apartment with his hands on the plastic pregnancy test. he scratched his beard and looked at you. he tried so hard to put on his best acting face. "that's a real shame, baby girl." he said in that rough voice of his that got you in trouble in the first place. he leaned back a little in your kitchen chair and placed the test back down on the table, "always wanted to be a father." he frowned a little bit, "never got the chance too. they said when i retired that the chances were low of me havin' a baby..." he looked at you. you should've known he was lying. his swimmers obviously weren't shot by how easily you got pregnant. you felt bad, almost like you were burdening him with getting pregnant. that it was your fault. you rung your hands and admitted softly, "we can try... we can make a family." and price smiled, "oh, doll." then got up to embrace you. you sniffled and cried a little in his strong chest. he held you in his strong arms. he was your protector even though his cock was straining in his jeans at the knowledge that he fundamentally changed you.

your body, your life, everything. when he released you from the hug, he got down on his knees. made a point to make a small 'huff' noise from being down on his 'bad' knee before he pushed up your t-shirt and pressed a kiss against your stomach. he said to you, "don't worry, love. daddy'll take care of ya." then gave that smile that wrapped around you like a vice. <3

[i-cant-sing]

Okay but this has to be one my fav tropes ever:

And i can imagine the following characters for it:

DABI, because ofc he's the OG no. 1 nonchalant bad boy with childhood trauma pro max. Ofc he fits this trope, and yes he'll burn the world, burn himself for reader.

Bakugo, grumpy LOUD boy but gets quiet when you're around so everyone thinks that he must really hate you but he's just actually shy around you and wouldn't want to spook you away.

Naoya Zenin, for some reason, but like he's more obnoxious than grumpy, but he still fits the trope because I know Naoya, at least Naoya in my AUs, will grovel for reader but only the very few times that he fucks up so badly that yalls relationship is about to end. Otherwise, no. He'd still play the "ew, I hate women. Anti feminist🥂 bleached rat. Misogynistic and sexist rich dude" but only in public. In private, he's somewhat nicer to you.

Toji Fushiguro? Yes, because there's no shame in being on your knees for the woman you love and convince her to give you another chance and take you back. And it's not because he wants your money, no no, in fact here you go baby- take his card and spoil yourself. He's sorry for pretending he's poor before, but take him back... he's not leaving your doorstep until you do.

From my OCs: Theodore (my mute assassin/spt with 100% anger issues is quite literally obsessed with reader) and also Mahir (my suprr smart lawyer OC who owns his firm and but everything from scratch- he won't grovel... but he'll be panicking on the inside. Rest assured, Mahir doesn't fuck up much because he has too high IQ)

[raythekiller]

🗒 ❛ Personality Headcanons ༉‧₊˚✧

Featuring: Jeff The Killer, Ben Drowned, Ticci Toby, Eyeless Jack, Masky, Hoodie

#Notes: just my general take on the creeps. hope y'all enjoy! requests open :)

˗ˏˋ back to navigation ´ˎ˗

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Jeff The Killer

He's a total fucking prick, for a lack of better word. He doesn't care about other's feelings, he thinks he's better than everyone so he's "allowed" to treat people badly, and he has anger issues to top that. Protesting against his bad treatment is gonna earn you some screaming at best and some blood spilled at worst, depending entirely on his mood.

He has the potential to be a good friend and person in general, he just doesn't want to. However, you might catch him trying to awkwardly comfort Toby or Ben when they have mental breakdowns. Well, not as much "comfort" but more of a shy pat on the back and a "Stop being a little bitch" comment, but that's his way of showing that he cares. Take it or leave.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ben Drowned

Generally a pretty chill guy. He's not an extrovert, but he's still fairly outgoing when it comes to meeting new people (when he does leave his room, that is. He's kind of a shut in). Since he died when he was about twelve, I think he's forever stuck into the pre-pubescent boy mentality, so he can be quite the little shit.

That means he's also kind of a pervert and just immature in general. The type to play certain games just to gawk at the female character's slutty outfits and make fart jokes. He can also be very sarcastic and witty when he wants to, just a total smartass. Also, he's a pothead.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ticci Toby

Probably one of, if not the nicest creep in the manor. Very upbeat and cheerful, at least most of the time. As someone that has bipolar disorder, it personally doesn't make me very violent and as unstable as Toby is canonically said to be. What does make me does things though is my BPD, so I headcanon he has that as well. He's all sunshine and rainbows until someone says something in a slightly off tone and suddenly he's screaming and throwing his hatchets at the fucking wall.

That also means he's extremely clingy. He wants every last bit of attention he can get and is extremely possessive of people he likes. And, while he is nice most of the time, when he's having an episode he's probably the most cold and cruel person you'll ever met.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Eyeless Jack

One of the most chill creeps. He's not aggressive and kills only when he needs to eat, and tries to make it quick and painless for the victim. He eats any organs, not just kidneys. Also, he's a fucking great cook, Hannibal Lecter style. He really likes reading and is extremely intelligent, probably knows two or more languages, and is probably the most mature member of the manor after Slenderman.

He's not actually blind, but he's not not blind either. He sees the temperature of things instead of the actual object. He hates drama and argument and loud noises, so he normally stays away from the other creeps (especially our favorite trio, Jeff, Ben and Toby), but he gets along really well with Jane.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Masky

Another prick, though a more reserved one than Jeff. He's a perfectionist and natural leader, so he expects everyone to obey him without questions and no mistakes allowed. He has this rivalry going on with Toby because, even though he's the leader and Slenderman's right hand, he feels the tall guy has a certain favoritism or soft spot when it comes to Toby (which is true).

He gets very aggressive after missions and just wants to be left alone for at least a few hours, just until he calms down a little. After he's rested, he's actually pretty decent to be around, becoming less defensive and more accepting of others.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Hoodie

The coolest guy ever. He's calm but great to be around and is always willing to listen to others when they need to vent. He's kind of the manor's therapist and gives great advice. He's mute, so he talks either through sign language or writing down on paper. He also plays guitar and likes to write his own songs sometimes. Ben and Sally really look up to him as a kind of cool uncle.

Since he's so level headed, he's always the one to calm Masky down when he's being a bit much. Toby really appreciates this, since he's normally getting the short end of Masky's bad moods. As mentioned, he's great with the younger members of the manor and just kids in general and they all love him. The type of uncle to give them candy while saying "Don't tell your parents" playfully.

[wingedhallows]

a little jealousy; sirius black

pairing: sirius black x reader | 0.9k words plot: fighting is normal but, making up is just as important. authors note: i hope u like this little something

navigation

You hated this, the quiet. His hand would be around you, on your thigh, on your arms, his body flush against you, his voice blurring everything out. You missed him.

He avoided you, you had fought after all, over something stupid, you now realized. 

“That’s ridiculous.” He laughed as he turned his back to you. The surring anger inside your chest rose only further.

“So you think it’s ridiculous that I’m angry because Melanie fucking Primrose was hitting on you while I stood right fuckin’ next to you?!”

He brushed a hand over his face before he pushed a cigarette between his lips. He didn’t look at you, brushed your issue away like it wasn’t one at all.

“Sirius, look at me when I’m speaking to you.” He eyed you, blowing some smoke from his lips, mouth in a scowl.

“Sirius!” Your hand on his upper arm before he shrugged it off, his eyebrows drawn together.

“Back off, Y/N.” He blew some more smoke before he stepped away from you. He took his jacket and shrugged it on.

“Actin’ like my goddamn mother.”

You huffed in disbelief.

“You didn’t just compare me to your abusive, awful mother.” Your chest felt tight, your hands were icy cold.

“Oh please, you’re just like her. I can’t even stand the sight of you right now.”

He took a drag of his cigarette and walked past you, hitting your shoulder in the process.

You were still angry, livid even. He had compared you to his horrible mother, the woman you loathed for treating him like garbage. You’ve fought before, of course you did.

Every couple fights but never has he ever insulted you like this. Was that what he saw you like? As a woman so awful that he has to compare you to the woman who abused him for years on end?

 

“Why won’t you talk to him?” Lily’s hand rested on your arm, drink in hand. Reggie poured some more in your cup.

“Leave him be, he deserves to be miserable, to be honest.” You downed the insides of your cup before holding it out for the younger Black to fill it up again.

“You might want to slow down a bit or you’ll end up shit faced.” He commented before filling up the cup again. “James said he regrets acting like this.” Lily tried again but you shook your head.

“Why won’t he tell me then? If he regrets it so badly?” Reggie sighs and blows some smoke. “You’re acting childish.” You frowned at him, hands now crossed.

“You blew up in his face over something he didn’t even register and he compared you to our awful monster of a mother, I believe you’re kind of even.” 

You didn’t answer, you knew he was right. You watched Sirius glance at you before he took off to the balcony.

“Talk to him, apologize and please make up, I can’t take anymore of your weeping.” 

“Hi.” You tried, a cigarette in your mouth as you searched for a lighter. He was quicker and lit the cigarette for you. “Hello, love.” He said, putting his lighter away.

“I-”I’m” Both of you wanted to apologize, at the same time. A chuckle escaped the both of you as you stared ahead, the music buzzed behind you in a comforting manner.

“I wanted to apologize, I never should’ve said that to you. You’re nothing like my mother.” He paused and placed his hand in yours.

“You’re the most loving, beautiful and kindest woman I’ve ever known. I was angry and I spoke before thinking.” You nodded, taking a drag from your cigarette.

You turned to him, his hair fell over his eyes a bit, his eyes glassy. “I shouldn’t have made it such a big issue. I was jealous and let it out on you. I'm sorry.” He nodded, his thumb stroking your hand lovingly.

“I guess we’re both idiots.” You nodded and flicked your done cigarette off the balcony. Your hand found the back of his neck before you pulled him for a kiss.

“But if you let Melanie touch you like this once again I’m sneaking into your room at night and I’ll strangle you to death, got it?” 

His face stretched into a grin as he nodded, his eyes hooded. “Is that funny to you?” He chuckled as he placed a quick kiss on your lips.

“I kind of like you a little jealous.” You shook your head and grabbed for his cigarette, he let you.

“This is way more than just jealousy, I’m obsessed with you.” He tilted his head and grabbed your waist with his unoccupied arm, lips in a smile.

“I love you.” He whispered. You grabbed his face and placed a kiss on his lips.

“You’re mine, Sirius.” He nodded, your head on his chest. He placed a kiss on top of your head. “All yours, love.”

[ch-4-eri]

Different — Abby Anderson.

Abby X female!reader.

Warnings: comphet, anger issues, owen jumpscare (sorry) shouting, arguing, angst.

Word count: 1.2k

This fic is lowkey trauma dumping, self projection as it’s finest but hey we’ve all been there, also excuse how short it is I’m still learning how to write all over again after leaving it for a hot minute, but please do enjoy this.

You miss her. You really do, you had no other idea as to what made you and Abby’s friendship seem like it was something you’d made in the back of your mind.

Which is stupid considering everything, you knew the source of the problem, how deep he rooted his claws into her, Owen fucking Moore.

He was a senior at some point before he met Abby at a game you both went to. Soon enough he graduated which meant you’d never see Abby after school and or even the entire day as they got together. It dragged on until you noticed how moody she got, more angry than usual and you always knew Abby had temper problems.

You’d see them right outside of school, and he’d just leave her there, and you couldn’t interfere at all— you thought Abby wouldn’t like that, wouldn’t accept help in such situations.. and you were rather drifting, you’d let her figure it out on her own.

You just wondered if she misses you as well? And was Owen really worth it? Forget friendship… Abby was doing horribly in almost everything she used to like to do, her quarterback duties? Yeah, she was often arguing with her team, constantly throwing tantrums after or before games when there’s crowds watching it and the scene’s too awkward. People leave earlier than usual and it’s always intense if the argument is before the game. Even argues with the cheerleaders and their choreography as it’s not something she can pick, only the cheer coach. Abby was disturbed in many aspects, and all you could do was blame Owen.

You also wondered if it’s also Owen or something else? Was he treating her right? You doubt it, putting in mind how much she seems so temper ridden towards everything.

It was a random night you so badly wanted to check up on her, maybe hang out with her like you used to, it was all so awkward and you had no idea how else to resolve such already fucked up friendship.

You pulled up to her door with your bike, the sound of her and Owen arguing was loud enough you could hear what they were arguing about, Abby’s voice too familiar to just get over.

As you made your way out of your bike and to the front door, it slammed open with a very angry Owen stomping out, making you glare at him as he matched your glare and walked away.

Your eyes rolled and walked inside, finding Abby leaning against the counter. Still heaving in anger as she saw you; not even saying anything as you closed the door he almost broke.

“What was that?” You first said, forget the i miss yous and the corny bullshit that used to be okay between you two.

“What was what?” Abby responded, her tone cold and just as pissed off as if she’s still talking to Owen.

“Why was he yelling at you? That’s not okay.” You added, crossing your arms, keeping your voice steady. You’re not here to fight, that was Abby. Your Abby.

Abby narrowed her eyes as she’s surprised to find you there, her disturbance erupts from many things and not being able to talk to you was one of them.

She knew she fucked up when she picked Owen over you, it wasn’t even a decision she made; she just woke up one day without you around, and just him there.

She didn’t like it.

She hated it in fact.

Abby knew Owen was not a soulmate.

But the realisation of losing you for him, that stung more, made her more angry and defensive.

She was too prideful to admit what she did was wrong, be with such a guy and then lose you slowly.

Every time she recalls how good you’d treat her over stuff Owen made her feel bad about it was a damn list she had in the back of her mind every time he said something she didn’t like in which you’d be so sweet about.

Like her working out habits and how she looks, you’d encourage her and ask to come with her to the gym, Owen would just make fun of her for not looking feminine enough.

You’d take care of her when she’s sick never leaving her side enough you’d also get sick and Abby would take care of you when she’s better, Owen would just ignore her texts all day because she’s too sick in bed apparently and she’s ’too big of a girl’ she can ‘handle’ it on her own.

How you made her feel good about herself for having a ‘strong best friend’ and how proud you were of her, while Owen was too insecure to ever say something kind about it, insecure how a girl looks like she could ‘toss him away with a flick’.

The minute she had to compare the two of you, it made her feel more agony than she liked to admit even between her and herself.

As you stood in front of her after such a long time she still knew that she should be sorry, hug you and act like nothing happened.

But she couldn’t; so much had happened, she knew she shouldn’t have let you go, not for Owen or anyone because knowing he was not her soulmate, you were.

You were just right, Abby was always so certain of that, no matter who she lost or who she had, you’d be there and she let go of that like it’s nothing and she can’t mend that now, she felt too unworthy of your friendship.

It can’t be fixed.

“So what? I was yelling at him too, stop with that feminist bullshit.” Abby cursed, rolling her eyes at your defence, she loved you for it; she needed it, but she had to push you away for how wrong she did you.

“It’s not feminist bullshit, Abby, he's treating you like dirt!” You argued, showing her what’s right in hopes she’d see it.

“It’s none of your business! You don’t even have a boyfriend, you don’t get it!”

“Oh low blow! The whole ‘I don’t have a boyfriend’ bullshit just so you don’t admit he sucks and he doesn’t treat you well and he’s too fucking old for you, I don’t know what the fuck is going on Abby but this isn’t you! Hanging out with jerks like him, we used to make fun of guys like him!” You argued, eyebrows furrowed that made Abby wanna go on her knees for your forgiveness, you were right.

She wanted to cry about how wrong she’d been, she wants you back, she wants to just end this and apologise but she did you too wrong to act like this is okay.

“Shut up, get out of here!” Was all Abby managed, she wanted to save you for any more insults that could leave her mouth right at this second, there’s so much she needed to fix but you had to leave right now.

You blinked a few times at her request, Abby never raised her voice at you and maybe she didn’t mean it, but it hurt so much, she could see it as well.

“Don’t come crying to me when he’s left you, and let’s be real he will. And he will find a girl his age or maybe a girl that wears stupid bow ties in her hair because let’s face it he’s a fucking weirdo and you fell for it.” You said as a tear sheds down your cheek. “He wants to change you, and he can’t, I don’t even recognize you anymore… you won’t find me there when he does.” Was all you muttered before breaking down completely at the loss you just have to endure, leaving her house and leaving her there.

[im-just-a-bug]

Finished In Stars and Time last night and want to put down my thoughts bc that was nuts. Spoilers ahead v

Theres still much I havent seen, and ive only gotten one ending but man this game blew me away. Here are some things i loved about this game.

Timeloops are such a common plot device, a way to help the mc level up for the big bad, and the way they flipped that narrative on its head! The instant shift from "this is a gift to help me!" To "who did I think I was, how stupid," is so satisfying.

The music, at the end, terrified me. That first time Headmaiden broke down, and the music glitched and deteriorated, i realized oh. Oh fuck this is a kind of horror game isn't it. I wasnt wrong.

The changes in character art!!

The subtle things; the mirror never catches you by surprise again. Your battle sprite looks bored. You stop making silly noises at the birds.

That moment in act 3 where everything is finally going right, your companions love you and youve never felt more content, and Siffrin wins and gets to the end and they loop anyway. The way that the first time his party notices anything wrong is when he is completley and utterly heartbroken, the way they run to him. And he wakes up in the meadow, to allies that don't love him anymore. Who have no idea what hes going through. Who aren't grateful. And love didnt win the game so they go searching for answers and it makes sense but it makes everything worse.

You talk to King, and for a second you think everything might work out because stranger things have happened. And after a whole game of Bonnie being safe, Bonnie running away. Bonnie never being in any real danger. King picks them up and crushes them in front of you to 'teach you a lesson.' And the terror on Sifs face the next loop they reach the King startled me deeply, and reminded me that this game is a god damn masterpiece.

The way this game sets you up to stop caring about how you treat others, only to give you a real ending after what was essentially the WORST loop youve ever had?? Incredible. Siffrin doing everything he can to manipulate his way to the end, even if everyone hates him bc hes just so desperate. There's no point being nice, there's no point pretending in the end, bc he hopes there won't be another loop but in their heart they Know there will be, so what's the point? And he fumbles every interaction, makes every one of his friends hate his guts, and then has to fight the King alone. And then they save him anyway. They follow him and pick him up at the end (which cinematically is a God damn masterpiece all on its own God DAMN) and you figure out the whole time Siffrin was looping not bc the country fumbled a Wish, but because he didn't want his friends to go. He wanted to stay with them so badly he wished for it on accident, and the universe listened.

I haven't even gotten into how in awe I was, putting together the little puzzle pieces of Sifs backstory, of his island. Even in act 1 I was squinting my eyes. Several mentions of a whole island wiped from existence no one can remember? A protagonist with severe memory issues and no connection to or knowledge of any culture left? God I love this game.

And Loop. I didnt learn Loops story on my playthrough, but i looked into it and man. Its so incredibly neat that you have this character, this other siffrin, who went through these loops so many times they got desperate enough to make a whole NEW wish, unspecified and uncaring, just wanting something to change. Wanting help. And got shoved into our Siffrins reality instead, because wishes never work how you want them to. Finding their star room and their journal and trinkets and lore was so incredibly cool!! Though im confused why the journal says they made a cooy of themself, but their battle dialogue says they got shoved into a different reality. Idk, but it's still cool. And their anger, that someone else got their happy ending? Fucking mwah.

These characters are so complex and interesting and a day later im still in awe about it. There are so many parts of this game i havent even mentioned here that are like a punch in the face. So many little interactions, so many art shifts.

I loved this game deeply, and the only thing stopping me from playing more is guilt at taking away that ending. When a game makes u care about the characters that much, you know its a great game.

[keigosstarlight]

Pairing: Dabi x GN!Reader

Warnings: NSFW/18+, kidnapping, captive darling, noncon & dubcon, BJ, head pushing/guiding, mind break(?) (reader is sympathetic after a bit), praise & degradation, calling reader "pet," reader calls Dabi "Touya," burning, punishments.

Wordcount: <1000 (700+)

Summary: A.U. where Dabi kidnaps you after he's killed Endeavor.

A/N: This is the first fanfic that I've ever shared. 🫣 I also don't write a lot anymore, so I'm hoping it's decent enough. This was originally a fem reader, but I wanted to be more inclusive, so apologies if I missed anything! I read this like eight times, but shit happens. My brain is fried and I wrote this in like an hour.

You resisted when Dabi kidnapped you, but after that first night when he punished you, you decided it wasn’t worth it. He had fucked you senseless, face buried the mattress as your tears stained the sheets. The fading burn on your hip is a constant reminder how he held you despite your pleas, the stinging sensation of the flesh now numb in your memories since your brain forcibly detached. The events are fuzzy at best and completely hidden at worst.

Besides, he treats you well enough, rewarding your obedience with some new clothes that you were sure were more for his eyes than your own happiness, your own toiletries, and a cute little collar with a “T” on it. Of course, if he takes you anywhere, they have to know you belong to someone. He even gave you your own bedroom to retreat to. Sure, he barged in sometimes and invited himself to your bed, but his heat was a comfort now. When you woke up to his palm pressed to your stomach as he held you close, it was almost enough to make you forget.

Every day, you watched the news with him while they replayed his video, time and time again. You heard the details of how his father abandoned him, that his father only married his mother for what her quirk could provide - every single day. After so long of hearing about that abuse, of seeing the anger in his face every time the number one hero showed up, one day you felt you couldn’t be mad at him anymore. Despite Endeavor being dead now, it wasn’t enough to soothe that fire in his heart. You felt sympathy for his broken childhood.

You hated it, and yet, for some reason, the way he looks at you makes your heart skip today.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Touya?"

Dabi gives a teasing smirk, his gaze still glued to your body as he replies, "Because I can, sweetheart. Is there an issue?"

"No." 

You’re so confused, but you can’t deny how badly you want him. You fight the urge to move closer, but as hard as you wrestle with it, you give in, scooting inch by inch closer to him on the sofa until your hand comes to rest on his cheek. Your thighs brush together, the warmth is all so familiar.

"I've missed your touch, Touya."

Surprise flashes in his eyes at the affection, but this is what he’s wanted since he claimed you, so he's not questioning a damn thing.

"Good pet, I knew you'd like it." he praises with a smile.

He caresses your cheek as he looks at you with a lustful grin, his touch becoming more daring as he slides his other hand to your inner thigh.

"Now, I want you to make me feel good, and I think you know how."

Your breath hitches as you bite your lip anxiously, but your response is immediate.

"Yes, Touya."

The verbal obedience is enough to make his dick twitch, but when your hands come to help him undo his belt and pants, that's when he knows he’s got you right where he wants you; completely and utterly his - body, mind, and soul. There was no need for restraints, no need for force, to manipulate your body how he wanted. As much as he loved having that power over you, hearing you choke on his cock while you rested your pretty hand on his thigh instead of pushing away screaming was so much better. 

Muffled noises of your pleasure vibrate around his dick as he toys with your nipples, earning a hum of approval from your captor. Your sweet tongue swirling around the head of his cock makes his eyes roll back. He places a hand to the back of your head, gently guiding you up and down as he lets out sighs of bliss. His attention is locked on you while you take every inch of him, pubes tickling your face, his scent filling your nose as you gag for a moment before he lets you back up.

"Good fuckin' pet." He grunts, head rolled back on the couch’s back.

He fucks your mouth at a steady pace, hips thrusting upwards as your mouth slides over him. Once, twice, three times, he spurts down your throat and you swallow every drop of the salty cum with a slight cringe. Though you’re much more willing now, it doesn't make the taste any better. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, shifting on your knees as you look up at him panting softly as you catch your breath. His eyes flutter, his palm reaching to caress your cheek, a smirk coming over his face.

“So obedient, so submissive. You finally know your place.”

[eddiesghxst]

ALL I WANTED

part one | part two | part three

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x rockstar!reader

summary: your band, Daughters of Vampira, and Corroded Coffin hate each other and are struggling to keep a clean image in the media; so, in an attempt to solve the issue, your managers try to come up with a solution.

contains: enemies to lovers trope, alcohol consumption, smoking, cheating (reader is cheated on by her fiancé), themes of misogyny/sexism, and eddie being a dick <3

word count: 12.9k

| Daughters of Vampira setlist | Corroded Coffin setlist |

-story masterlist- | -main masterlist-

You were a musician. A rockstar. On your way to being one of the greats. Your band, Daughters of Vampira, was a small, feminist rock band out of Hawkins, Indiana. You created this band with your friends, Robin, Nancy, and Max, an outlet the four of you used to sing and write your little hearts out. You hit it big when you all moved to Los Angeles, playing at some lame bar when a producer walked up to you after the show, saying she wanted to see more, handing you a business card. 

Then boom. 

Everything was up from there. You got signed onto a record deal– played shows, signed autographs, walked carpets, and did interviews. Your wallet was a bottomless pit. En route to being wed, you got engaged to your production assistant turned bassist, and all was well— until about five minutes ago.

You came home from a day at the studio with your band, crafting a new song, playing with guitar riffs, and imagining lyrics. This track was going to be big; a song about your love for your fiance, a tale of how magnetic and beautiful every second was and will be.

You unlocked the door to your shared apartment, kicking off your sneakers, when you noticed a pair of red heels, which is weird because you hate heels. Maybe they were your friend Angie’s shoes; she knows where you hide your spare key and sometimes sneaks in when you’re not home. Furrowing a brow, you cautiously set your bag and keys down, looking around you for any more clues— her bag or her keys, anything. Your socked feet softly pad across your cold, wooden floors as you walk into the apartment's threshold, glancing into the kitchen. Nothing. You turned to the living room, unknowingly holding your breath—still nothing. Suspicion itches in your mind as you take in the space around you. You turn the corner to your bedroom and see the door left ajar. 

You almost think nothing of it; you wouldn’t be mad at Angie taking a nap in your room; she’s your childhood best friend, but then you hear it— the two voices. The first voice is your fiance, Scott, and the second is an unknown woman.

They’re laughing. They’re whispering about something you can’t hear either because they’re either speaking too quietly or your sudden rage is filling out the space in your ears; you’re not sure which it is. You quickly glance back towards the door, eyeing the heels for the second time— your heart drops.

It was Angie. Those were her heels; you helped her pick them out, for fucks sake. You storm up to the door and swing it open without a second thought, and your eyes widen at the sight before you. You had so badly wished your mind was playing some sick trick on you, and you were just hearing things. You were wrong.

Your fiance and childhood best friend, Angie, are sprawled out in your white-sheeted bed, heads laid on your pillows tousled, under your roof— and both incredibly naked. 

Despite the anger, your eyes quickly fill with tears, salty pools of resentment and betrayal threatening to spill over. Scott sees you in the doorway and scrambles out of bed, hastily grabbing a pair of boxers to pull over his bare hips. You can hear him sputtering out excuses, apologies, and reasons through the fog— so many words that sound like nothing but white noise to you. 

He stumbles his way over to you, hands reaching out to grasp you and raising in surrender when you yank away from him. You can hardly think; a cloudy moment where you feel as if the floor has been wiped from below you and you’re free-falling in some shitty excuse of a dream. 

“Sweetheart, please just listen–” He didn’t get to finish his sentence; the palm of your hand cracked down against his cheek to stop whatever bullshit excuse was coming. Angie shrieked, jumping out of bed, still with no clothes on, as she hurried to his side, an obvious two-against-one— that’s clarified when she shoots you a pointed look, fire building up in her eyes— and you can’t believe the audacity. 

Scott looks back at you, cheek red with the sting of your rage as he points a finger at you, “Don’t you dare fucking touch her,” he scolds as if you were a child, warning you to leave the cookie jar alone. You scoff, your mouth falling agape as you laugh humorlessly. “Me? Touch her?” You point to the naked girl. Your neck heats in fury as you shake your head, “That is rich, Scott.” 

You step back, eyeing both of them and ignoring the lump in your throat as you speak, “So, how long has this been going on?” They stare at you like they’re fucking clueless, and it ticks you off to no end, “In my own fucking bed? With my best friend?” Your tears are hot as they begin streaming down your cheeks, and the harsh swipe of your wrist to wipe them away stings, but you refuse to let them see you cry. Your mind is cluttered with questions, but they come out like bullets, firing round after round. 

Angie takes to answering you, saying your name to halt your questions, “We– we’re in love, and… and he doesn’t..” She looks to Scott for guidance, her eyes pleading for him to help her. Your fingers shake in anger.

“I want to call the wedding off,” Scott says, looking you in the eyes while he and your best friend link fingers. They look fucking stupid, standing there naked and feigning unity– you almost want to laugh. You scoff again, folding your arms over your chest like that would hide your pain from them, despite the evident ghost of tears still clinging to your skin. 

You glance around the room, around at the life you had planned for yourself, for him. Pictures of your engagement day, the closet you two shared, the fucking bed you shared, the life the two of you shared. More tears fall, and you don’t bother brushing them away this time. You nod, defeated.  “Yeah, that’s– yeah, we can… we can do that.” You wipe at your tears, fingers shaking with agony as you swallow the words. 

Your ex-fiance reaches out for your arm, and you back away, like he’s contagious– like his touch carries the heat of the sun. “Don’t touch me,” you snarled, watery gaze boring into his brown eyes. 

“The wedding’s off, so… Take your shit and,” you look at your childhood best friend— your ex-childhood best friend, and your heart aches. This fucking hurts. Your teeth dig into your lower lip as you dismissively wave your hand towards the clothes strewn across the floor, “And take her shit and get the fuck out.” You turn to leave but stop when Scott speaks, “I can’t just do that; I–” He stutters at the stab of your glare, “I need to call a truck so I can carry everything.” 

You laugh, tilting your head, “Nah, don’t worry, I can help you with that.”

You pace to your apartment window, swinging it open and ignoring the confused voices behind you when you start picking up various items. Scott’s eyes widen as he watches you storm over to the window, a heap of his things in your arms. He scrambles to you, yelling as you toss his stuff out the window. He’s looking out the window, watching them fall, “Get. The. Fuck. Out.” You shriek after every item you throw: his computer, acoustic guitar, books on Logistics, and How To Save Money Like A Businessman. 

You flutter about the room, shaking Angie off when she tries to grab you, ignoring her when she falls to the floor in a heap of naked limbs. You pick up a pricey statue that was Scott’s, ignoring his protests, courteously tossing it out the window to join his items. 

You storm out of the room, glancing around for any of Scott’s stuff. Yes, this was your apartment, but you were working on sharing it— sharing it with him. Your fiance. Ex-fiance. You skirt out to the living room, the two lovebirds hot on your tail and begging you to stop. You walk over to the balcony doors, pushing them open and ignoring the sound of the doors cracking against the wall, some picture frames falling to the floor. 

Pictures of you and him. 

You pick them up and toss them over the balcony, looking around for any other fallen pieces. You thoroughly sweep your apartment— as thoroughly as you can through your tears of rage, gathering jackets, shirts, and shoes and carelessly tossing them over the balcony. You ignore them as they hastily put on their clothes, brushing past them to pace to the door.

Your gaze is hot and heavy on Angie’s heels. Those shiny, blood-red, smooth pumps. They oozed sex appeal and smirked at you, asking, daring, challenging you. Angie scrambles to you, yelling for you to put them down, yelling that they were Jimmy Choos, that they were expensive— like you would care. 

You shrug her off as you walk back to the balcony, hanging them over the ledge and turning to gaze at her as she watches with tears brimming. Pathetic. You look into her eyes and drop them— one by one, “Fetch,” you whisper hoarsely.

Angie begins to cry, turning and running to Scott, who points an accusatory finger at you, “You’re a fucking crazy bitch. You couldn’t just end things like a civilized human fucking being?” He exclaims, “You are fucking insane!” He grits out, holding Angie by the waist. “I’ll be back tomorrow, and you better have my shit,” he says scathingly.

When they both have an appropriate amount of clothes on— Angie settling for one of his oversized shirts and panties, him with sweats— Scott hastily searches for his keys. You watch them both, numb and unmoving, and it feels like your body is vibrating in a storm of emotions. Scott finds his keys and wallet, yanking Angie by the hand and hauling her out the door, but not before he shoots you a glare— a look that tells you it’s over. Completely done with no room for redemption— you don’t care either way.

The door slams shut, and silence fills the space. You stand there for what seems like eons, basking in the fizzling heat of your emotions before shuffling towards your bag near the door and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. You search for your lighter, growing irritated when it seems to be missing. You toss your bag to the floor with a curse and walk to the gas stove, turning the knob until a rim of flames arises. You slip the cigarette between your snot-slick lips, ducking your head towards the stove top and watching the cancerous stick catch fire. 

You stand upright, inhaling and puffing out the smoke. You grab your flip phone, shuffling towards the balcony for fresh air while you make a call, but to your dismay, a crowd is gathered below your building, watching and taking pictures. At closer glance, you realize these people are none other than paparazzi— the very bane of your existence. They’re already recording; you can hear them chattering about what they suspect is happening, making up stories for the cameras and soon-to-come tabloids. 

Then, to make matters worse, Scott and Angie skirt out from the building entrance and start picking some items up, the paparazzi asking various intruding questions. Scott has enough grace and respect for you to deny a comment, opting for catching a taxi with Angie instead. With a roll of your eyes, you walk back into your apartment and busy yourself doing a shitty job clearing the mess you’d made. However, like clockwork, your phone rings.

You know it’s Miss Sinclair; well, Erica, as she always corrects you. Your music manager, a firecracker, that one, but overall a good friend on your side. 

You answer, taking a drag from the cigarette as you step onto your terrace again, breathing out a cloud of smoke. “What?” You ask snappily into the phone, glancing down at the crowd of people taking pictures of you. Assholes.

”What? What do you mean, what?” Erica hisses through the speaker. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Tiger?” A nickname she has for you that originated from God knows where. “Yeah, like… what’s up?” You play dumb, smiling sarcastically and waving innocently to the cameras below you.

“Why the hell do I have people blowing my line asking me why you’re tossing shit onto the streets of Los Angeles like it’s a goddamn Goodwill?” She impatiently asks.

You shrug, even though she can’t see you, “Dunno. See you tomorrow at the studio.” You pull the phone away from your ear, hearing her shriek and yell at you, commanding you not to hang up. You slap the flip phone closed, ending the call; her words cut off. You take another drag of the cigarette before flicking the bud off the balcony at the intruders, watching them back away to glare at you, yelling a few curses. You flip them two middle fingers in response before turning to walk back into your apartment, closing the doors behind you. 

You’re going to write a song. A kickass song.

“And then I threw all his shit out the fucking window,” you chuckle, retelling the story to your drinking companion, Robin Buckley, the drummer of your band. She smirks and downs another shot of vodka, “Yeah.. you uh,” she grimaces and smacks her lips at the bitter drink, “you created quite the stir earlier today,” She points at you and winks, picking up her forgotten glass of whiskey beside her and holding it out to you, in cheers. 

You sigh and smile, and inevitably you clink your whiskey-filled glass against hers as she says, “To shitty men and new beginnings— preferably with women,” she winks again, laughing along with you as you lighten up from her joke. You down the rest of your drink and put your glass down, sucking your teeth before rolling your lips inward as you stare thoughtlessly, the whiskey leaving burning kisses in your throat. 

The loud, underground celebrity-only bar drowns out behind you. What were you going to do? You had so much planned with Scott, an entire fucking wedding, a home, maybe even kids. And as if that’s not enough, you wrote an entire song about him. You were almost finished with it, so close to recording it and putting it out, maybe with tour dates to match. 

Now it's gone. Dead and buried. 

A whole song, written in 4 weeks, about your love, the love of your life, your supposed forever person, and he threw it all away. You knew love wasn’t easy. It never was, especially not after your rise to fame. It was hard to find time for date nights, for sex, for just seeing each other and talking. But you would’ve never imagined this to be how it ended.

You can’t help but feel as though this might have been your fault. Some small, pessimistic, mean part of you nagging that you could’ve prevented this if you had just changed. You tried to make time for Scott, you really did, but you got caught up in the music— the music for him. You worked tirelessly at it. For Scott to hear this song and immediately know it’s about him. You wanted it to be a wedding gift, maybe, to play it at your wedding for everyone to hear your love. You had never been so soft in a song, so open and disgustingly lovesick, and you wasted it all on him. Maybe it was your fault; perhaps it was for the better—

“Hey, you okay?” Robin cuts through your thoughts, “You went a little quiet there,” she smiles softly, playfully nudging her shoulder against yours. “Yeah,” you nod, “I-I’m good. Great.” You nod along with your words, trying fiercely to believe them.

You were not good, nor were you great. You were, to put it nicely, fucking wrecked. You were humiliated. How could anyone be okay after something like this? It was bad enough he cheated in the first place but with your best friend? You lost two of your closest people within the blink of an eye. It hurts more that they got each other while you got nothing but ghosts and memories. Scott was there for everything, your first real concert, the after-parties, the carpets. He was there for all of it. And he won’t be there anymore, and that hurts.

You shrug, laughing nervously and rubbing the bridge of your nose in distress, “I just can’t help but think that— that maybe this–” You motion your hands uselessly. Robin quickly interrupts you before you can finish your thought, “No. Do not go there. Are you insane? This,” she motions lazily over your figure, copying you, “was not your fault.” She shakes her head, sincerity laced within her voice and gaze. “Believe me when I say that— I would tell you if you were a crazy bitch, trust.” She smiles and nudges you again with her shoulder, pulling a laugh from you. 

You sigh, rotating your neck to stretch it out, rolling your shoulders, “So, like, what’s up with you?” You ask to lighten the mood, leaning on the bar counter with your elbows. It works because she laughs and nods, looking down at the glasses of whiskey as the bartender wordlessly fills them back up. She traces her finger around the rim of it, still nodding, “I-I’ve been good, you know,” she glances at you and shyly looks away when you begin to smirk, “Just sorta.. Hangin’ out, I guess. Shootin’ the shit,” she shrugs, and you laugh. “Yeah, so when did you guys hook up?” You say over your glass rim innocently, laughing even harder when the girl turns red in the face and sputters over her drink. 

“We did not hook up!” She exclaims, wiping the drink from her lips. “Me and Nance,” she shakes her head, “we just… We, like, hung out, you know?” She shrugged. You mockingly raise an eyebrow as she keeps talking, “And like smoked a bit and maybe drank and then like, there was a movie involved, and then she kissed me and—” You interrupt her rambling with a wave of your hand, “Alright, no more details. You totally hooked up,” you laugh, and she blushes harder, laughing and shaking her head, “Definitely did not.” she scoffs.

“You definitely did.” You challenge.

“Did not.” She shoots back.

“Did.”

She groans and shakes you, “If I pay for your tab, will you shut up?” she offers. You pretend to think dramatically for a moment before giving in and nodding, laughing when she slams a one hundred dollar bill on the counter and gets up, picking her leather jacket from behind her chair. “God, you are so annoying,” she complains, shucking her coat over her Daughters of Vampira band t-shirt. 

You get up, shrugging your leather jacket on and snickering, “Nah, you love me,” you teasingly say, shoving at her shoulder. She smirks and shakes her head, heading for the exit, “Yeah, you wish,” She pushes the door open and steps outside into the chilly Los Angeles night, immediately shoving her hands into her pockets. 

You opt for taking the damaged, smashed pack of cigarettes out of your pocket and pulling a matching lighter out. The lighter has a siren with long, blonde locks and a green, shimmery mermaid tail. You pull out a cigarette and stick it between your lips, igniting the flame and holding it up to the end of the cigarette. You bask in the warmth emanating from the flame, a soft heat kissing your nose. You pull the lighter away and puff, blowing the tobacco back out.

“Man, all I wanted was a peaceful drink, and I got verbally berated instead,” Robin jokes.  You laugh, blowing smoke in her face before stopping, looking ahead. You freeze, and not because of the air; the cogs in your brain start moving, fired up with the fuel of alcohol and the lightheaded buzz of nicotine. You still your movements, looking at your friend, “What did you say?” you ask slowly, pulling your gaze from the busy car-filled street. 

Her face heats up, eyes widening and hands flying from her pockets to raise in defense, “No, I mean, like— I was kidding. I wasn’t being serious—” you interrupt her by waving your hand hastily that was holding a cigarette, before looking at it and tossing it carelessly to the side. You aimlessly shake your hands at her, “No, what did you just say?” You stare into her eyes, watching as she tries to connect the dots. 

She raises her eyebrows in confusion, shrugging before saying slowly, “All I wanted—” You stop her, snapping and pointing, walking away and walking back, obviously pacing. “Yes! Yes— that. It’s perfect.” You stop pacing for a second, standing with your hands on your hips. Robin laughs nervously, fiddling with her zipper jacket, “Uh, what is happening right now? Am I in trouble?” she jokes anxiously, but you ignore her. 

You were thinking. Thinking hard. 

All I wanted. All you wanted? All I wanted. 

You repeat it to her, mumbling the words, gaze still focused on the ground, “All I wanted.” You say, pulling your eyes back up to hers. “Uh.. yeah– All I wanted…was a drink,” she parrots back, nodding dumbly, placating you like a small child doing a math equation. 

You smile mischievously, “Robin, you’re a fucking genius!” You all but shriek, earning some glances from the sidewalk. You pay no attention to them, but Robin does, grabbing your shoulder and pushing you into a walk, looking around her to not draw attention to the both of you, but it’s difficult when you’re wildly smiling and humming out a guitar tempo. 

“Dude, what are you talking about?” She stresses, “Please tell me what’s happening; I have no idea what is socially acceptable to say right now,” she explains nervously, hand moving to grasp at your elbow, keeping you in motion. “Robin, we have to go to the studio right now,” you beg, looking her in her eyes, your gaze shining in inspiration. “What? No, what? Why?” She steps in front of you and halts your walking, “What is happening?” she pleads, leaning forward and pressing her palms together in a praying motion— silently asking you to please elaborate. You move past her, still walking, still thinking. 

Robin jogs to catch up to you, “Tell me what you’re thinking, please,” she begs. You look at her and smirk, “I have an idea for a song,” you conclude. Upon hearing this, Robin smiles like the fucking Cheshire cat.

“Hit me, Tiger.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh when his friend tells him what happened. He pauses for a moment, staring at Scott and waiting for him to say it was just a joke, but he never does, and Eddie nearly dies of laughter, the rest of the band along with him.

“Holy shit,” Eddie gasps between laughter. Gareth snorts, raising his eyebrow in shock as he speaks, “She threw your shit out the window?” 

Scott rolls his eyes, flipping the brown-haired boy off, sipping his beer, and leaning back into the red leather couch. Eddie shakes his head as he swivels around in his chair to mess with the studio soundboard, “That’s what you get when you fuck crazy bitches, man,” Eddie laughs, glancing up to watch Jeff mess around with chords in the sound booth. He listens as he speaks, “I mean, sure, she was hot,” He shrugs, reaching over for his box of cigarettes, “Insane tits or whatever, but at what cost?” He snorts. 

Scott shrugs, downing the rest of his beer and tossing the bottle into the small trash bin near the soundboard. 

“I mean, the sex was definitely good, but she just— I dunno, man,” he shakes his head and dismissively waves his hand, “She’s too much of a firecracker. Angie is way more docile,” he concludes. He snickers as he thinks it over, “Easier to deal with,” he smirks, reaching down to the floor to pick up another beer. Gareth snickers and Eddie grimaces with a shake of his head; he then smirks as he slides a cigarette between his lips, “Nah, the firecrackers are the fun ones, man.” he speaks around the paper as he lights the cancerous stick, sucking and blowing out the smoke. “So, what now?” Gareth asks, taking a swig of his drink as he looks at Scott. 

Scott shrugs, opening the glass bottle of beer and sipping it, “Yeah, y’know… no wedding, I’m with Angie, whatever,” he says, and Eddie chuckles, glancing over his shoulder for a moment, “Yeah, I get it,” he nods, taking another drag off his cigarette, lost in his thoughts. You’re a crazy bitch, but you fuck so good… A lightbulb goes off in his head. 

“Wait, guys,” he swivels around in his chair to face Gareth and Scott. The two boys look up at him as Eddie speaks, “We’ve all had crazy girlfriends, right?” His gaze bounces between the boys as he puffs on the cigarette before standing up and pushing the bud of it into Gareth’s bottle, much to his dismay. He ignores Gareth’s complaints, ignoring the boys laughing at him, pacing the room, mind swirling to the sound of Jeff’s guitar. 

Through the fog of chords and lyrics, Eddie continues speaking, “All of our ex-girlfriends— and ex-fiances,” he blindly points to Scott as he paces, ignoring when Scott scoffs, “are crazy bitches,” he points out, looking back at the group. “I mean, I can’t remember the last time I had a normal fucking girlfriend,” he snickers. The boys look at Eddie as if they’re concerned, confusion written across their faces that Eddie could care less to ease, “This is fucking inspiration, boys! Let’s write this shit down,” He leans on the soundboard, “Let’s expose this chick,” He snickers.

He walks into the sound booth and grabs his guitar from the stand, pulling the strap over his neck as he nods toward Jeff, “Keep playing that,” he orders. Despite his masked confusion, Jeff continues to play the riff he’d been tweaking. Eddie steps up to the mic in the middle of the sound booth, reaching for the headphones to slip them over his head, leaving one ear uncovered. He gestures to Gareth through the glass, motioning for him to tag along.

Gareth puts his beer down and walks in, glancing at Eddie in confusion, “You gonna tell us what we’re playing or?” He sits behind his drums as Eddie tweaks the strings on his guitar. “Just follow along, man.” Eddie distractedly mumbles. Gareth and Jeff glance at one another— Eddie often has moments like this, and they have yet to get used to it. Gareth shrugs, picking up his deeply mangled drumsticks and tapping a beat to Jeff’s strings.

Eddie mumbles to himself, fingers ghosting chords over the frets as he nods his head to the beat. He picks up with Gareth and Jeff’s sound, shredding along to create a fuller sound, the images of the music he’d composed in his mind coming to life just below his fingertips. Scott watches from outside the sound booth, standing up to lean over the soundboard. He watches, intrigued, as they play together, wordlessly tweaking until they all compliment each other. Scott reaches over with a smirk and hits the record button just in time for Eddie to chime in on the mic, finally spitting out the lyrics they’d all be waiting to hear.

And it’s fucking good. 

“Alllriiight!”

It’s raunchy, unhinged, and all things dirty. On top of that, it’s a massive fuck you to Scott’s ex, and Scott can’t keep the grin off his face as he adds the bass to the track, snickering at the words Eddie sings. They work on the song all day, throwing in new verses and tweaks until they feel satisfied for the time being. They sit outside the sound booth and nurse a round of beers as they play the song, listening to what they have so far, grinning and nodding along to the beat, laughing at the absurdity of the lyrics.

“Hey, you’re a crazy bitch, but you fuck so good, I’m on top of it.”

“It’s good… as much as I hate to say it, it’s good.” Scott laughs, rolling his eyes when the boys cheer. Sitting on the swivel chair in front of the soundboard, Eddie reaches out and nudges Scott's foot with his own, “You might get a few slashed tires when she hears this, you know.” He snickers over the rim of his beer bottle.

Scott laughs and shrugs, “Can’t be any worse than what she’s already done.” He jokes. The boys all laugh, watching Jeff as he raises his beer in the gesture of a toast, “To crazy bitches.” The boys all raise their beers in unity, parroting back, “To crazy bitches!” They clink their drinks and laugh, taking sips.

“You’re crazy, but I like the way you fuck me.”

“Think of me when you’re out, when you’re out there,

I’ll beg you nice from my knees.

And when the world treats you way too fairly,

Well, it’s a shame, I’m a dream,”

Your voice filters through the speakers, thick studio headphones skewed on your head as you fiddle with the soundboard knobs and buttons. You sigh and push the headphones to rest around your neck, rubbing your hands tiredly over your face. You take a glance at the clock— 4:34 AM. Goddamn. You had truly been here all night. After your night out with Robin, drinking your feelings away, and your quick epiphany moment, you guys caught a taxi straight here and got to business. That was at 10:46 PM. 

Poor Robin, you put the girl through the wringer. Making her drum out new beats, forcing her to pluck out a bass riff to the best of her abilities. The rest of your band was, without a doubt, asleep, and you didn’t want to bother them with your antics. And, of course, you all were close, but it was just different with you and Robin. You guys could be together for hours and never tire of one another. You just clicked. 

Maybe it was also the fact that you didn’t want to face whatever awkward encounter was bound to happen between Robin and Nancy, opting to wait until the morning to see them face one another. Robin was fully asleep underneath the sound booth, using both of your jackets as a pillow. Her fingers are wrapped around the beer she’d been drinking; hand cuddled up to her face. You pull out your cigarettes from your pocket, pulling one stick out and sliding it between your lips. You light it up and puff on the cigarette, glancing at Robin beneath the table before reaching down and carefully snagging her beer. You take a quick swig, quietly listening to the song. 

“All I wanted was you,

All I wanted was you.”

The guitar that comes in right after is powerful. It’s beautiful; it showcases your anger, your betrayal, your heart that still aches. This was supposed to be a love song for Scott, but after tweaking a few lyrics, it quickly became a song laced with hatred and resentment— a piece of heartbreak and anguish you’re still clearly sorting through. But that’s all that love is, right? Just two people fighting and slashing at each other until one inevitably gives in and waves a white flag? 

You down the rest of your stolen beer, still taking drags of the cigarette and blowing it back out. It wasn’t unusual for you to be the only one here at ungodly hours of the night, but it was one of the first times you were here with your friend and bandmate. Knowing she was here for you after such a chaotic, hectic day, supporting you even at unreasonable hours, was nice.

You replay the lyrics repeatedly, playing with the weak bass Robin was barely able to play. You should go home; you know you should, given how late it is and the dryness that begins to seep through your eyes, but you hate the feeling that runs through your bones when you think about what used to be your and Scott’s home. You don’t want to go home. Home is where everything ended. Home is no longer home— not after what happened. Home is where you’ll go to relieve the day over and over again until you get tired enough to pass out. 

And then it hits you; lyrics, more heartache hits you. The song was initially titled The Only Exception, but the words changed after playing around for several hours. You stuff the cigarette bud in the beer bottle, letting it fizzle out as you get up from your swivel chair to try and find a notebook— a notepad, napkins, or something, but you only find a pen. Frustrated with your lack of writing materials, you look at your surroundings hungrily before your eyes land on Robin’s bare arm. 

You pace back to the soundboard and reach underneath to yank on Robin’s arm, waking her up for a split second. You ignore Robin’s grumbly and slurred “What the fuck?” and proceed with your task as she inevitably falls back asleep. You yank the pen cap off with your teeth and begin jotting down lyrics on Robin’s pale, freckled, tattooed arm. 

“I think I’ll pace my apartment a few times,

And fall asleep on the couch. 

Wake up early to black-and-white reruns,

That escape from my mouth.”

Scott and your favorite thing to do was watch old 1950s classic films. You guys watched them so much, watched so many of them, over and over again, that you could quote them to one another. Tears begin to well up in your eyes as you write these lyrics down, some falling on Robin’s arm and smudging the ink. You curse and press your palm to the running ink to dry whatever can be salvaged from your sloppy work. You drop her arm to the ground and hear her briefly groan as you pace back into the sound booth, picking up your black guitar from the stand and pulling the strap over your upper body. 

You move your headphones around your neck to sit over your ears, waiting for your next move. You start strumming out a guitar riff, basking in the glory of the echoing sounds and its full, tough ring. You push your lips to the microphone and begin mumbling, playing with more lyrics in your head before you sing.

“I could follow you to the beginning,

Just to relive the start.

And maybe then, we’d remember to slow down.

At all of our favorite parts.”

The tears are freefalling now; the dark eyeliner you’d spent the past hours smudging leaves roads of sorrow against your skin. You and Scott were together for seven magical months. Yeah, it was quick— pathetic in a different light, but you’d been mindlessly in love. And fuck, would it have been a mistake if you did end up marrying him. He was a production assistant and a bassist with no new lines of work coming, opting to freeload off his friend’s band, Corroded Coffin, playing with them at shows whenever they needed him. 

And it’s working for him so far— until it doesn’t. As much as you hate to admit, Scott is talented. He’s good with his instrument and has a good ear for sound, but despite his talent, he has no real drive— no actual want to succeed and be at the top of the music pyramid with you. As you continue to play with the guitar, you stop for a second to wipe your eyes, thoroughly smudging your makeup now and probably making you look insane. 

Scott had good moments, though. When it was good, it was good— spontaneous nights out, making out in alleyways like lovesick teenagers, and every second feeling like a movie until the credits rolled— but when it was bad, it was really fucking bad. Fights, stupid arguments, bickering, breaking expensive items, and threatening to leave each other until he makes it up to you with mediocre sex and breakfast in bed the next day. You loved him, you did, and you believe he loved you too, but you just can’t pinpoint where it all went wrong. 

You stop strumming the guitar and huff waterily, setting the guitar back on the stand and ripping your headphones off your head before tossing them to the ground. You sit on a metal, foldable chair beside you and lean forward to push your head into your hands. 

You really blew the fuck up on him. Did you overreact? Did you honestly act like a crazy bitch? Fuck, maybe you should apologize. 

You can hear Robin in the back of your head, nagging and begging you to stop thinking self-destructive thoughts like this, telling you you’re insane for even thinking of apologizing, but you just can’t help it. You venture down the deep, dark, but welcoming rabbit hole of psycho-analyzing every romantic relationship you’ve ever had. None of your relationships have lasted— the ones in high school, obviously, but you’ve been out of that shit hole for years now, yet you’re still playing the never-ending game of kiss and tell.

Life in Hawkins was a weird, dull one. All the boys you brought home never shared the same interests as you and certainly did not like that you had a mind of your own. They didn’t like the clothes you wore, or the makeup you did, or the music you listened to. They thought you and the rest of the band were stupid and wasting your lives trying to be something big with the weird sound you carried. Nothing about you or the people you hung out with fit the cookie-cutter shape of Hawkins, and you learned that the hard way. 

You were more of a dirty secret for boys in your school. Nobody wanted to express their love or attraction to you openly, but they sure as hell did so behind closed doors. Your first boyfriend, Brady, was a star on the wrestling team; he didn’t mind showing you off much because nobody had the guts to talk shit about him— too scared to get sucker punched. Brady lasted a few months before you eventually cut ties with each other. 

There were a few others after Brady, all meeting the same dead end you’re so familiar with. Although there was one guy— Eddie Munson— people believed you would be perfect for each other. You liked the same music, dressed relatively the same, and had shitty high school bands nobody wanted to listen to. Logistically, it was a perfect match; the only problem was Eddie Munson is an asshole. 

Scum of the earth, piece of shit, grade-A asshole.

Scott was friends with him, and on occasion, you would sometimes cross paths at parties or hangouts with mutual friends; and every single run-in you’ve had with the man left you with a splitting migraine and an itching impulse to smash his head through a window. He’s awful; he doesn’t respect you or any woman for that matter, he acts like he’s a living god, and he and his shitty band won (stole) that fucking music contest in Hawkins back in ‘87, and you’ll never forget it. That’s how you met him, and your guys’ race to the top hasn’t let up since.

And now that you think of it, it’s not surprising that Eddie and Scott get along so well— they’re both sexist assholes. 

You’re milling in your thoughts for what seems like hours, tears dried and itching against your skin. You’re not sure how long you sit in the sound booth, but before you know it, Robin’s hoarse voice is cracking through the speakers of the sound booth, “As much as I think you’re a musical genius and love the way you work in mysterious ways, it’s extremely late, and we both need to catch some sleep before tomorrow.”

Your face twists in confusion, “Tomorrow? What’s special about tomorrow?” You ask, your voice cracking. Robin shifts on her feet, brows furrowing at your confusion, “We’re meeting with the record label. Remember we’re playing them our new album?”

Fuck. You completely forgot about that, and all of those songs, except for maybe three, are based around your stupid ex-fiance that just dumped you for your best friend. You sigh, dropping your head in your hands and running your palms over your face. You let out a long groan into your hands, not even hearing Robin opening the door to the sound booth and walking up to you. Her chilled fingers wrap around your wrists to pull your hands away from your face. Her blue eyes are tired and full of love and warmth as she squats before you to gaze at you, “Talk to me.”

Tears brim your eyes at her soft voice, and you wince— you really wish you could stop fucking crying. You rub at your teary eyes and shake your head, “It’s just—” you sigh and blearily blink down at Robin, “they’re all about him, Rob.” You frown.

Robin patiently waits for you to find the words, comfortingly squeezing your tear-dampened fingers. “Every song on the album is about him and I… I really don’t wanna spend an entire tour singing about him.” You softly speak, avoiding her gaze.

The brown-haired girl shuffles closer to you, ducking into your gaze and shrugging, “That’s okay,” she shakes her head, “We can scrap it. I mean, the label might be a little pissed, but just… play them what we did tonight, and I guarantee you they’ll extend our time.”

You furrow your brows and shake your head, “What? No. Robin, the song’s not finished—” “We don’t get another chance with this, Tiger. We either play them what we did tonight or give them the album.”

And you know Robin is right; she does not want to give you an ultimatum, but it’s the inevitable truth. You can either play the song and hope it’s the best thing the label has ever heard, or you suck it up and play them the album full of bittersweet words that leave a sticky residue clogging your throat.

You look at Robin, her patient and tired gaze locked on your face. You chew on the inside of your cheek, thinking it over for a moment— and it could work. The new song you’d just recorded is insane— nothing you’ve ever done before and, without a doubt, has a groundbreaking sound. It could work.

Max and Nancy are going to kill you tomorrow.

You nod your head, “Okay,” you breathe. Robin’s lips slowly stretch into a smile, “I’m gonna play it for them.” You nod. Robin shoots up to her feet with a cheer.

“Perfect! Now wipe those tears, and let's get the fuck out of here.”

You and Robin look like hell. You’re sporting heavy undereye bags with dark circles, while Robin opted to cover her evident lack of sleep with a pair of dark shades. Nancy and Max look concerned when they see you both sitting in the lobby of your label’s building. Nancy, of course, chastised you for your lateness while Max just snickered in the corner. Max suddenly makes a face as she speaks, “Why do you guys look like you’ve been hit by a bus?”

Robin tiredly groans, shifting in her seat with a yawn, “Stayed at the studio late.” She mumbles. Nancy’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, “Why? I thought we had everything ready for today.” She points out, obviously concerned. Nothing would ever get done if you didn’t have Nancy in the band. Now that you look at her, she has a manila folder in her hands, most likely stuffed with questions, comments, concerns, budgets, and more. She was more like Erica’s assistant than your bass player. But fuck, could her skilled fingers pluck out a riff.

You suck in a breath through your teeth, glancing over at Robin, who seems to be now passed out behind her glasses, offering you no help. You scoff. Of course. You mentally punch Robin in the face. You fidget with the rings on your fingers as you begin to explain. “So, basically,” you start, “I came home yesterday and found Scott and Angie fucking in my bed, so I threw their shit out the window and then called Robin,” you barely pay attention to Nancy and Max’s widening eyes as you spew out the events of yesterday. You knew they already knew, probably from Erica or the fucking tabloids. Hell, the whole fucking world knew, but they acted like this was their first time hearing about it. 

You ramble on about the events, telling them about you finding inspiration and dragging Robin to the studio, drunk, only to decide to scrap the album you’d all been working on for the past few months. 

That last bit of information didn’t go so well, however. 

“You what?”

You wince at Max’s sneering tone, glancing at Nancy to try and get a read on her expressionless face. “Please tell me you’re joking,” Max says, voice teetering on the precipice of panic. You wish Robin would wake the fuck up. “I… I know I’m really taking a leap of faith here, but I need you guys to trust me on this,” you plead, gaze hopefully bouncing between the two women, “Please.”

Max folds her arms across her chest, tongue rolling against the inside of her cheek before she shakes her head, “I swear if this fucks us over, you’ll never hear the end of it from me.” She breaks, and you’re just thankful she agrees to follow your and Robin’s plan. She turns around and walks over to plop into the seat on the other side of the lobby, glancing at you before speaking, “Sorry about Scott, by the way…” she mumbles. “Maybe it’s a good thing; I never liked all those love songs anyways…” She smiles apologetically, and you huff out a chuckle.

Nancy nudges her foot against your leather boot, “You were out of his league anyway. He was dumber than a rock.” She adds to Max’s apology. You snicker and thank them for their condolences. Nancy sits on the chair next to Max and sighs heavily, “Did you tell Erica about the change?” she asks, already flipping through her folder. You pretended you didn’t hear the question, which was not a good idea. 

The two girls begin to panic at your eerie silence. Nancy’s face falls, and Robin fucking snores, “You did tell Erica, right?” She presses. Your silence says enough.

Max groans, leaning forward to sink her head into the palm of her hands, “We’re so fucked.”

And when the time comes, you’re not exactly sure what the label is thinking. All the board members wear the same unwavering expression as they listen to All I Wanted. You glance at Nancy and Max, who are both visibly shaken with nerves; Max’s leg bouncing at an ungodly rate beneath the table, and Nancy’s poor fingers picked to shreds. Robin, who’s now awake, is busying herself with doodling random sketches on the napkin in front of her, and you’re— well, you’re hardly breathing. 

Erica looks thoroughly pissed; you don’t doubt she’d thought about strangling you the second you announced you were scraping the album. You could tell she was itching to make some phone calls as her stone-hard gaze stayed on you throughout the whole listening session. You pretended you didn’t notice her.

When the demo ends, a thick silence settles over the room, and you lean forward, pressing pause on the track to prevent the CD from repeating. You awkwardly scratch the side of your neck, “I-It’s not done; I’m still working on it, but um—” You glance at the table of faces and gulp. You haven’t been this nervous in longer than you can remember. “I know it can be something. Something big.”

James, the CEO of the record label, clears his throat and leans forward, pressing his elbows onto the thick wooden table. A burning cigarette hangs between his fingers as he points to the middle of the table where the CD player sits, “This is about Scott, yes?”

All eyes are on you, and you have no choice but to nod yes. James takes a drag of his cigarette, eyebrows furrowing as he silently thinks. You glance at your friends, a wave of nerves washing through your body at the anticipation. “What happened yesterday can never happen again. You almost ruined your image. Almost.” He finally speaks, his stern gaze locked in on you. You almost want to shrink in your seat, feeling like a child being scolded in the principal's office as he continues to speak. “You're a good talent, but if you don't know how to act like a grown woman, you won’t have a place here.” 

You scoff and open your mouth, a smart response on the tip of your tongue, until Robin harshly kicks the heel of her leather boot into your ankle. You hiss in pain, sucking on your teeth to poorly conceal it. You relent and nod your head, “I understand.”

James nods and flicks the ashes of his cigarette into the ashtray beside him, leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh, “Now,” his lips split into a smug grin, a grin that tells you that you won, “Get this track finished by the end of the week. I want it on air by Monday morning.”

Monday morning, Eddie is hauling ass down I-405, without a doubt breaking many traffic laws he could care less about, given he’s late to his studio session with the band. When is he not late? He’s got a cigarette hanging from his lips and the smell of last night's alcohol on his clothes. As he meticulously swerves and weaves in and out of LA traffic, he jams his finger to turn his radio on, flipping through static, noise, ads, shitty pop music, and landing on a seemingly decent Rock station. 

He takes his cigarette out of his mouth and puffs the rest before tossing it out of the open window. His hair tousles from the wind, and he bats the curly strands away whenever they fly into his view. His ringed fingers grip the steering wheel, swerving out of the way of a truck before honking and throwing up a middle finger. What he misses during that exchange is the introduction of the song.

“Next up is a new hit single named All I Wanted by Daughters of Vampira! Daughters of Vampira will be going on tour soon; stay tuned for details!”

Then, the music starts when he finally starts to slow down after narrowly missing the truck.

“Think of me when you’re out, when you’re out there,

I’ll beg you nice from my knees.

And when the world treats you way too fairly,

Well, it’s a shame, I’m a dream.”

Your voice filters through his car stereo, unbeknownst to Eddie, and he glances down at his music console. He slowly turns the volume dial up, intrigued by the sound and wanting to know where it’s leading. When the ferocious guitar shred comes in, his face twists in approval, turning the volume even louder as he bobs his head to the tune. Whoever’s band this was, is fucking good. It’s not every day you hear a good Rock song sung by a woman, he thinks.

“All I wanted was you, oh,

All I wanted was you, oh!”

Eddie’s not sure why it takes him so long to realize the voice playing through his speakers is none other than the lead singer of that stupid fucking feminazi band Daughters of Vampira. He nearly chokes when he realizes it’s your voice, turning the volume up to max and listening to the words.

It’s… sad. The lyrics are like the gut-wrenching heartbreak you see in movies, aching and drenched with the grief of a love that was supposed to be great. And your voice is so fucking raw, so angry, and filled with pain that it brings Eddie to a stand-still, the skin on his arms raising in tiny bumps at the sheer emotion. Eddie almost forgets he’s in his car until he hears the car behind him honking, the man behind the wheel yelling at him to go now that the traffic light has turned green. He doesn’t move an inch, afraid he’ll miss a beat of this slice of heartache.

The song ends, and Eddie turns off his radio, choosing to spend the rest of his ride in silence as the gnawing feeling of guilt settles in his gut. By the sound of it, Scott really did a fucking number on you— tore your heart out, chewed it up, spit it out, and stepped on it like a spider on a sidewalk— and Eddie knows what that feels like; he’s had his heart broken before so he knows what it feels like to be so angry at the love you had for a person. It’s a shitty feeling.

So, Eddie’s not sure why he decides to be an asshole and tell the boys about your new song, but he does. The second he enters the studio, he tells Gareth to turn on the radio.

“...Why?” Gareth questions with a tone of suspicion. Eddie brushes his question off and walks to lean over the desk, turning the radio on and beginning to switch through the stations. “Uh, Eddie… we’ve got some work to do, man, we don’t have time for—” “Shh, just give me a second,” Eddie snaps. 

“It’s gotta be playing somewhere.” Eddie mumbles, eyebrows furrowed, ringed finger going overtime on the dial, abruptly stopping when he finally hears it. “This is it! This is it; just listen.” Eddie turns the volume up and stands up to his full height, hands on his hips, and chews on his lip as they silently listen to the song.

Jeff is the first to speak through the sound of drums and intense chords, “Why are we listening to this?” Eddie waves him off, telling him just to wait— just wait until the verse.

“I think I’ll pace my apartment a few times,

And fall asleep on the couch. 

Wake up early to black-and-white reruns,

That escape from my mouth.”

Scott’s eyes widen, striding over to Eddie’s side and gazing at the boombox in shock, “No fuckin’ way.” He breathes. Eddie looks at Scott as he reaches over to increase the volume. Gareth twirls his drumstick between his knuckles and deeply sighs as he leans back in his chair and kicks his feet up onto the soundboard, “Dude, no offense, but why are we listening to this shit?” He asks. Scott turns to the boys and points back to the radio, “That’s my fucking bitch ex singing about me.”

Jeff and Gareth’s eyes widen, both boys leaning forward in their seats to listen to the lyrics. Scott curses and reaches over to shut the radio off, letting a thick silence fall over the room. Jeff is the first to break and nervously laugh, and Eddie grins, Gareth falling into a fit of laughter behind Jeff’s. “Why the fuck are you guys laughing?” Scott sneers.

Eddie chuckles, reaching out to rest his hands on Scott’s shoulders and turn him to face each other, “You don’t get it, man,” Eddie begins. Scott’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and Eddie smiles mischievously, “This is the perfect time to drop Crazy Bitch.”

You nearly blow a gasket when you first hear Corroded Coffin’s new song. Nancy did quite a good job of bringing you down to somewhat of a levelheaded state and getting you to understand that killing Scott or slashing his tires wouldn’t be the wisest of decisions to make. You still aren’t convinced.

You try your best to ignore the song, switching the radio to a different station whenever it plays, but it seems like that fucking track follows you wherever you go. A week after the song's release, you’re walking down the street with Robin, browsing the stores that catch your eye and chatting about whatever comes to mind.

You hardly notice the crowd gathered outside the store you are in until Robin points it out, nudging your side and nodding towards the window, “Looks like we’ve got company today.” she mumbles. You curse, shelving the shirt you’d been looking at as you grumble to Robin, “Seriously, how the fuck did they find us?”

You suppose the rest of your day out won’t last much longer, so you and Robin decide to make your way home, stepping out into the crowd and shoving through a sea of flashing bulbs. 

Over time, you’ve mustered up the strength to ignore the questions paparazzi throw at you; questions about who you’re dating, your sexuality, your political beliefs— questions of generally no substance or anything to do with your music. You’ve become numb to the reality of your life being plastered on tabloids and riddled with lies; it doesn’t really hurt you anymore. 

However, you’re still a human being, and you have moments where you crack, and today seems to be one of those moments when a man yells out, “You were seen dumping your ex-fiance Scott's items into the street! So is the song true? Did you and Eddie Munson have an affair? Is that why you and Scott broke up?” 

Robin tenses, glancing at you and silently pleading for you to just keep walking. Ignore, ignore, ignore.

You glare but smile at the man, flashing your white, shark-like teeth, “If you wanna know so bad, why don’t you ask Scott and Angie yourself?” You sneer. 

A few of the men snicker, one whistling and commenting about you being feisty, but you ignore it and continue as you and Robin finally reach your car, “And for the record, I wouldn’t touch that asshole with a ten-inch pole. His dick is small.” You grin sarcastically, opening your car door and getting in without another word. You hear the crowd erupt in more questions outside your car, some scribbling stuff down on their notepads and some laughing.

You groan in annoyance, buckling yourself in and starting the car as Robin settles in the passenger seat. You don’t miss the chance to flip the mob of men off when you drive off, leaving them behind with screeching tires. It’s silent until Robin chuckles, and you glance at her, “What’s so funny?”

Robin shrugs and shakes her head, “Nothing,” she says, “Just that Erica’s gonna murder you.” You roll your eyes and slide a pair of shades on. “When is she not wanting to murder me?” 

The media erupted after your comment about womanizer and rockstar Eddie Munson. Many fans came to your aid, voicing the truth of the breakup and defending you and your band. In contrast, many other fans— Corroded Coffin’s cult of assholes— came to Eddie’s defense, stating that he was only doing charity work to get your name in the papers. That you were fucking your way to the top of the music industry and much, much more deeply misogynistic statements. 

You didn’t care for any of it. You, your friends, your family, and your band knew what actually happened. The best part is that Scott knew the truth, and he was a shit fucking liar. He couldn’t cover up what happened if his life depended on it. It made you think of how he could lie about the affair for as long as he did. You don’t dwell on that thought for too long, growing tired of digging deeper into the pit of despair Scott had so happily tossed you into.

At the end of the day, your image is in shambles, and if your image is fucked, then so is the bands. Daughters of Vampira wasn’t booking anything; shows, meet-and-greets, autograph signings— nothing. Even though All I Wanted was an enormous hit and ended up in the charts, people couldn’t get over the fact that you, the lead singer, tend to be explosive. You would’ve felt bad about this if Eddie’s image hadn’t suffered the same fate. 

Eddie and his band immediately stopped booking shows after their song Crazy Bitch. Of course, it was a big success, but only because the drama fueled it. Young women stopped throwing themselves at the band and instead opted for screaming, “Woman haters!” and “Sexist pigs!” at them whenever they were out. It had been fucking rough, and it only got worse after Eddie commented to the paparazzi while he was out on a coffee run in the streets of Los Angeles.

“How the fuck do they always find me?” Eddie grumbles to himself, putting on a fake smile for the group.

Eddie was rocking a pair of shades, thinking of ways to quickly escape the mob, when a young boy approached him from the crowd. He had a Corroded Coffin shirt on with a photograph of Eddie clenched to his chest as he kindly asked for an autograph. 

“Sure, kid,” Eddie crouches down to the boy’s height and gently takes the photograph and Sharpie, "who am I signing it for?” He smiles softly at the boy, “For Thomas, sir!” The boy politely says, his eyes shining in excitement. “Thomas, sick name, man.” Eddie compliments, yanking the cap off with his teeth. He signs his name with a Let’s fuckin’ ROCK! in the corner, putting the lid back and handing the photo back to the boy. 

He smiles when the boy squeals in excitement and offers him a fist bump before standing up to his full height. “Thank you, Mr. Munson!” Eddie snickers and nods, “‘Course, but hey, don’t call me Munson; call me Ed,” He smirks, and the kid laughs. “Mr. Muns– Ed, I have a question for you,” the kid shyly asks. 

Eddie’s heart implodes at the cuteness of this little shithead and chuckles as he responds, “Shoot, kid, I’m all ears,” Eddie ignores the flashes from the cameras, taking photos of this pure and innocent moment. He ignores the coos from the women, from the kid’s parents, all of it, just zoned in on this small child meeting his hero. Him.

“Ed, is it true that you hate girls?”

And just like that, the moment is over.

Eddie turns red in the face and forces a harsh but nervous laugh. The crowd closes in upon hearing the exchange and begins asking a multitude of questions. The parents snag their son away and start expressing profuse apologies that Eddie waves off. “Nah, nah, the kid’s fine. But uh, to answer your question, no, that isn’t true, Tommy boy,” he says, looking at the child standing beside his mother’s legs. He takes out a pack of smokes and opens it, sliding a cigarette between his lips as he adds, “I am a really big fan of girls,” he flashes a dazzling smile around the stick and does finger guns at the small kid before he turns and begins to walk away. 

He’s forgotten all about his coffee, and now all he wants is to get the fuck outta there. 

He lights the cigarette up and ignores the crowd of paparazzi following him, cameras still in motion. He rolls his eyes, body buzzing in annoyance from the kid's question and the crowd. He continues walking the street as more questions and fans approach him. As Eddie signs a woman’s photograph, a cigarette hanging from his lips, an interviewer comments with a camera already zoned in and recording Eddie’s face. No doubt this will be on MTV tonight. No doubt he won’t hear the end of it from Dustin and Steve.

“Eddie, did you hear what the frontwoman of Daughters of Vampira has said about you? Can we get a response?” He shoves the mic into Eddie’s face.

Eddie’s lips break into a grin, but he doesn’t look up from the autograph he’s signing. “Yeah… yeah, I heard, and y’know what? She can come find out herself if it’s small or not,” He looks up and smirks right at the camera, “Have a nice day.” He smiles tightly at the interviewer and hastily flags down a taxi, hopping in and yelling at the driver to step on it. He watches as the crowd grows smaller and smaller with distance, his heart thundering in his chest. He takes deep breaths to slow his pulse down, to stop thinking of you. 

It never seems to slow as his mind can’t move on from you or that damn song.

Both the managers of Corroded Coffin and Daughters of Vampira are pushed to the limit with you and Eddie. Dustin Henderson and Steve Harrington are co-managers of Corroded Coffin, mainly because Steve has the money and Dustin has the brains to man the operation. All Steve really does is cut the checks and warn the team when to cut back on the extracurriculars. 

Erica, Steve, and Dustin are all from Hawkins and are quite familiar with each other due to living in a small town where everyone knows everybody. They, along with all members of Corroded Coffin and Daughters of Vampira, all sort of grew up with one another in the 80s and have always been on this whimsical journey together. As the years went by, you all drifted, more so because of the competition, but aside from the band, the managers stayed relatively civil with one another. Erica, Steve, and Dustin stayed in touch because sometimes they couldn’t handle the two bands, which is why Erica summoned the two boys to a bar in downtown LA.

Erica Sinclair is seemingly always tested by you and has no idea where to go or what her next move should be. She has times when she feels like a single mother dealing with an angsty teen, and when those moments teeter on disastrous, she makes calls— the call.

“I mean, I have just had it up to here,” Erica moves her hand up in the air to emphasize her annoyance, “with these girls, I mean, my god!” She shakes her head as she sips her red wine, the two boys nodding from across from her. “Trust me,” Steve scoffs, “we get it.” 

Dustin nods, taking a sip of his Shirley Temple and smacking his lips before adding, “We’re in the same boat too— with Eddie,” Dustin starts, drinking his Shirley Temple out of a bendy straw. 

“Yeah, he’s always been a pain in the ass, ever since high school,” Steve continues, sharing a look with Dustin, who tiredly nods, “But it has never been this bad. Normally we can get a hold on him running his mouth, but it’s just been…” Steve falters and trails off, struggling to grasp the words to explain Eddie’s childlike behavior. Erica nods, “I know what you mean,” She makes a face and holds her wine glass out to cheer with them. Dustin clinks his Shirley Temple, and Steve clinks his beer, them all taking a sip.

“Both band’s images are terrible. It won’t be long till we’re losing more money,” Steve grumbles, taking another swig of his beer. “I think we should just lock them all in a room together till they get along,” Erica jokes, earning a chortle from Steve and a cackle from Dustin. They all sigh in unison, a comfortable silence falling over them. 

Suddenly, Dustin sits up straight, aggressively snapping his fingers before pointing to Erica.

Steve jumps and makes a face at Dustin, grumbling about how annoying Dustin’s theatrics are. Erica rolls her eyes, already used to the boy’s antics. “Well? Are you gonna tell us about your nerdy little lightbulb moment or keep making a scene?” She sneers over her wine glass rim, taking a sip. Dustin looks back from Steve’s annoyed face to Erica’s tired one, basking in the dramatics.

“Why don’t we do just that?” He finally says.

Steve and Erica share a look. Typically, Dustin has these moments, and Steve and Erica have to entertain them, but Erica thinks Henderson might be onto something. Steve scoffs and leans back in his chair, “I doubt they’d last a week locked in a house before one kills the other.” Steve mumbles, clearly missing Dustin’s case in point.

Erica, however, knows just where Dustin’s mind has gone— to the motherland of brilliant-fucking-idea. Erica puts her glass down and leans her elbows on the table, resting her chin on the backs of her folded hands. “When you say just that, you mean…?” She looks at the boy quizzically, praying he means what she thinks he means. Steve puts his hand on the back of Dustin’s chair and leans forward, “I’m not really picking up on this guys,” He uses his other hand to lazily gesture. Dustin ignores Steve and nods slowly, “Oh hell yeah, I mean that.” He says, smirking mischievously. Erica and Dustin share a grin, a playful gleam in their eyes. Steve groans on the side in annoyance.

“Let’s book a fuckin’ tour bus, boys,” Erica concludes, and Dustin erupts in cheers, the two of them clinking their drinks. Steve finally understands, and his eyes widen, “Oh! Holy shit, that’s fucking genius.”

Erica laughs and finishes off the last of her wine. “Tiger is gonna kill me.” She smirks and shakes her head, sighing. Dustin and Steve share a look and chuckle a little bit, “Her reaction won’t be as bad as Munson’s. He’s gonna fuckin’ lose it.” Dustin says, slurping on his straw.

A few weeks pass before Erica, Steve, and Dustin manage to rally both bands in a conference room. The tension in the room is almost unbearable. For the most part, the band members seem more interested in knowing why they’ve been summoned together— the real tension is at the end of the table, where you and Eddie sit across from each other. Eddie wears a snickering grin to go along with his darkened shades, and you— well, if looks could kill, everybody in this room would be six feet under and crossing into the afterlife. 

You’re pissed. Annoyed that you’re being forced to breathe the same air as that fuckface Eddie Munson, and Eddie could not be more pleased with himself. Eddie gazes at each of the girls across from him; Max, who’s glaring at your managers and bouncing her knee in evident impatience, Nancy, who couldn’t look more uninterested if she tried; and Robin, who seems more intrigued with the wood paneling of the wall to look at anything else. He makes the mistake of looking at you, earning him a nicely silver-wrapped middle finger which he winks at.

“If you two are done acting like children down there, we’d like to get this meeting started,” Erica announces from her seat at the head of the table. All eyes turn to her, and she sarcastically smiles, opening her mouth to begin speaking until you cut her off, “Whatever fucking bullshit you three have planned, I won’t be a part of it. Not with this asshole.” You gesture to the curly-haired boy across from you.

Gareth and Jeff snicker, and you glare at them, ignoring Robin’s elbow jabbing into your side. “It’s funny that you think you have a choice, Tiger,” Erica says, tilting her head with a grin. You begin to bounce your leg impatiently, jaw clenching as the ticking time bomb in your mind begins to speed up. 

Dustin clears his throat and stands up, gathering everyone's attention as he clasps his hands. “Let’s cut straight to the chase,” he begins, “Your music careers are fucked.”

Jeff breathily laughs to the side, and Erica glares at him, quickly diminishing his obvious amusement. “Somehow, the seven of you have managed to obliterate your band's image in less than a month,” Dustin points out, picking up a stack of magazines before him and walking calmly about the room. He tosses a magazine out into the middle of the table, “Misogynists,” another magazine, “Anti-feminist,” another magazine, “Chauvinists,” another magazine— the final one, “Woman-haters.”

You all look at the magazines silently until you mumble, “Sounds about right,” causing Eddie to scoff and roll his eyes beneath his shades. “What? You’re mad the media is finally realizing how full of shit you all are?” You prod with a tilt of your head. “At least nobody’s saying I should be sent to a fucking ward.”

Your eyes narrow, and you begin to form a response, but Erica rises from her seat loudly, startling the room as her loud voice booms through the space, “The media is tearing both of you to shreds,” she leans forward to press her palms against the cool wooden table, heated gaze darting between you and Eddie.

“Both of your bands aren’t booking gigs, and you're losing money faster than you earn it,” she points out, watching as you all cower from the truth. She waves a manicured finger between both sides of the table, “This stupid little fucking back and forth you’ve created either ends here or on the road.”

Robin’s face twists in confusion, a raspy voice speaking up for the first time, “On the road?”

Steve turns to her and grins, “Yes. On the road. Together.”

Gareth leans forward in his chair, confused as he speaks, “What, like a retreat type deal?” He questions. Dustin slaps a paper down in front of him, “No. Tour. Nine months, ninety-two shows.”

Gareth doesn’t get much time to take in the information on the paper before Eddie snatches it out of his hands, shades pushed up into his hair as he leans in to gape at it. A list of tour dates, an ongoing and never-ending fucking list.

“You’re not serious.” He says. Steve chuckles at the end of the table, nodding his head, “As serious as a heart attack.”

You’re next to snatch the paper away for a gander, ignoring the rest of the room as everyone erupts in a fit of protest. You stand with your back to the table as you gaze through each date, your neck heating up with anger as your fingers crease the paper. You turn around, face twisted in rage, wrinkling the paper in your shaking fist as you storm up to where Erica stands, waiting for you to say your piece with an unwavering impression.

You hold the crinkled paper up as you stand before her, “You’ve lost your fucking mind if you think I’m doing shows with these pieces of shits.” You sneer, tossing the paper onto the table. Erica raises an eyebrow, looking at you as if you’ve gone off the deep end. The room enters a thick silence at your outburst, all eyes on the standoff between you and Erica. “Call the tour off, or I’m out.”

“What?” Robin leans forward to gaze at you, eyes widened in shock at your words, “You’re not leaving the band, Y/N, you— you can’t.”

You ignore Robin and step closer to Erica, eyes burning into her gaze as you speak, and Erica has never seen you this angry in all her years of knowing you. “Call it off.”

Erica will let you believe you have the upper hand for your peace of mind, but when it comes down to reality, you both know you don’t stand a chance against her force of nature. Erica is calm and uncannily patient as she speaks to you, “You’re at a dead-end street, Tiger,” she starts, “You either make a way, or you go back to Hawkins with your tail between your legs like everyone expected.” 

Erica sits back in her chair, not even bothering to look at you as she busies herself with the paperwork before her when she adds, “You make the call.”

You glare down at her, throat closing in anger and betrayal. You don’t say another word as you storm out, leaving the room with a booming echo of the heavy glass door slamming shut. Erica sighs, settling back in her chair and gazing at the rest of the band members, who are all silently fuming in anger. “Now, does anyone else have something to say or something of substance to add, or are we done here?” Eddie rises from his seat with clear annoyance, “This is bullshit,” the force of his movement sends his chair back to the wall as he walks out of the room, just as angrily as you had previously done.

The remaining band members sit in silence, avoiding each other's gaze, and Steve breathily laughs, “Well, Dustin, you were wrong,” he teases, smirking when Dustin and Erica turn to him. “Eddie took that pretty well.”

The band members glance at the managers, and Dustin sighs as he leans back in his chair, twisting his mouth in thought and tapping his pen against the table.

“This is gonna be more work than I thought.”

————

a/n: AHHH, YOU'VE MADE IT TO THE END!!! WE HOPE YOU LIKED THIS AND LOVE THEM SO FAR; more to come sooonnnn <3

————

teeny taglist: @tommyvelvet @oeuryale

[dnaofhersoul]

i love hate you more. (enemies to lovers)

requested by @sgtgarricks

ty for the request love <3 hope you enjoy :)

warning: enemies to lovers (obviously), some mean words are exchanged, crying, arguments, drinking, fighting for attention/rivalry, fluff in the end, subtle flirting

you and gaz never really got along. you were just fine with everyone else. except for him. and nothing ever happened between you too, it just.. never works out.

you only realized you didn’t particularly like him was a few months ago. you were hanging out in prices office. just you, him, price, and soap. you were all just talking about an operation you’d gone on just a week ago. you and gaz never really talked much before this. all was going well, it was sort of an uncivilized debrief. until gaz spoke up. “yeah, the mission went well i guess. y/n uh.. you could’ve done better.” he said it very rudely, it came off badly.

“well, you know. we all make mistakes.” you shrugged off, trying to steer the conversation away from that. “yeah sure. but you’re falling behind.” an awkward silence instilled. “‘scuse me?” you said. “thats not uh.. real nice y’know. i’d say i’m doing just fine.” “yeah- uh. whatever you say.” you gave him a dirty look before turning away from him.

after that moment it set you both on bad terms. and for no apparent reason, gaz just didn’t like you. and that ticked you off, so you decided to return his attitude and for months on end you two just had an undisputed rivalry. but it was never in a friendly, joking way. it felt genuine, genuine dislike. maybe even hatred.

it started to get worse a month ago. you two were on a mission, it was a squad mission but you 2 were paired together. you two were supposed to rendezvous with price and ghost at a certain coordinate with a person of interest you had to kidnap. you were unsure why price even put you with gaz, i guess it was a poor and pitiful attempt to bring you too together.

you walked along the trail, enemy in hand, and you were close, on trail to the position. you could hear the faint sound of a helicopter running, and you assumed all would be well. however, the hostage began to struggle. gaz, being generally light-hearted, gave a warning. however, you and him had different views on how to handle this situation, you brought your hand forward and smacked the hostage, knocking him forward a bit.

“you behave if you know whats better for you-“ was all you managed to get out before being interrupted by gaz. “keep your hands off him, price said we need his memory good, not fucked by a concussion since you wanna hit him.” “oh, so you just wanna let him struggle? make it easier for him to slip out your hands? you don’t know what you’re talking about.” and that was all it took to set gaz off, resulting in a loud screaming match between you and him.

by the end of it, you two had gotten so heated yoy hadn’t even realized the hostage was.. gone. you both looked at each other when the realization hit, a mixture of panic, anger, and fear. you two dispatched price, letting him know you’d ‘run into trouble’ but would be there soon. you two never ended up finding him on that mission and had to return to price empty handed, which resulted in another screaming match but in front of price and ghost which ended up with them pulling you two apart as you were in each other’s faces.

on the ride home in the chopper, price somehow reprimanded you both for the entire ride home. it was deserved definitely, just wasn’t enjoyable. when you finally reached base, he called you two to his office and yelled at you too. he called you two dumb and insubordinate, and threatened a write up which he should’ve given out. however, he said because we were both young and stupid, and still loved us regardless, he’d let us off with a warning and condition.

you and gaz had to fix whatever issue we had, or we were off this task force. you weren’t even sure if he could do that but the threat alone scared you two. you stepped out of his office along with gaz. a long silence protruded between you two before you muttered a “sorry” before walking away. after that, you and gaz didn’t argue. it was just empty and awkward. missions that you were used to felt uncomfortable and you could not focus.

it was lunch now. you normally sit with some buddies of your or eat with price and ghost but today felt so bleak. you could not manage today. it just felt wrong. you took another bite of your food before stuffing your face into your hands and sighing. you were so tired, and for what? you normally were energetic and ready but today was just so abnormal.. until you heard someones voice. “you care if i sit here?” you look up, and its none other then gaz.

you stare awkwardly for a second before nodding. you weren’t sure why you accepted, you two were still on awkward terms. you ate your lunch, the silence was louder then the lunch room. gaz spoke up. “i uh.. hows your day.” he speaks quietly, almost a whisper. “its fine.” you nod. “what about you.” “same here.” you look away and turn to him. “why are you sitting here gaz?”

he sighs and rubs his eyes. “listen. i’m sorry. for what i did on that mission a month ago even though it was kinda your fault and listen. i feel bad about it. i mean- were supposed to be friends. and i don’t know why i fucked up our friendship that one day when we were drinking with price. i just was having a bad day and got tipsy and got snappy and i’m sorry about it-“ “shh.” “..what?” you pat his shoulder. “its alright. you don’t have to apologize anymore. i get it. you’re alright man.” you put your arm around his shoulder in a sort of hug.

“we can be friends.” he nods, and scoots a little closer to you. your thighs are touching. you look at him and examine all his features, closely for the first time. gentle with precision. you see that hes.. handsome. his eyes are soft, his skin is smooth. his lips are full and he looks gentle. you suddenly snap out of your trance and turn back to your food. you feel a little embarrassed but you look at gaz who seems to be reacting the same. maybe he was in a trance like you.

“uhm.. you look nice gaz.” “you too sweetheart.”

————————————————————————

a/n: sorry if this is a bit short ��� fun to write though!! ty for my first request <3

[stephaniebrownslover]

Guys I have an idea.

What if I made Jeff The Killer like BoJack Horseman???

Guys don't leave please guysssssss it's so dark hereeeee

Okay now that I think about it, I'll ramble about this a bit.

Either I'm on to something or on something.

Also BH characters as creepypasta characters random BoJack Horseman dialogues as Jeff under the line and how other pastas would react.

And the only Jeff portrait I like is @jeffthekillerzblog 's Jeff because he's like a real life :3

THEIR FIRST TWO LETTER IS SAME THEY'RE THE SAME

...

GUYSSSSSSS TOBY AS TODD JUST IMAGINE

Lol just kidding but I think Toby and Todd would actually get along. Like they would just chill around and build random shit and talk about nonsense stuff. Their silly goofy traits are kinda similar so they would understand each other most of the time. Great minds think alike.

Okay okay let's talk about Jeff Horseman stuff before drifting away the topic.

First of, I think BoJack Horseman is not a character do defend. Yes, he tries to fix his mistakes but it was too late for him. He needed to change before all the shit happened. He needed to go to rehab or therapy before.

I'm not saying it's all his fault but just look at Diane. She had her own trauma and even though she was feeling bad most of the time, she wanted to get better. She worked for it in time instead of BoJack.

Yes, BoJack is a traumatized character but Todd was right about "You can't keep doing shitty thing and then feel bad about it!" because BoJack did this always.

Now back to Jeff. He has a similar trait with BoJack. I think Jeff has BPD most likely and he has serious anger issues. That's not a good mix as you can guess. It causes him to make mistakes and hurt people he actually gives a shit about and even though this makes him feel bad later, he won't do anything about it.

He wants to change, he wants to apologize from Jane and Nina and Liu. He wants to be a better person. He hates this life he build but he's been in this hell so long that he doesn't know a way out. He thinks it's too late for him and for treatment after all the people he killed and hurt.

Just like BoJack but in a different way.

BoJack hurts people close to him mentally and Jeff hurts people close to him both mentally and physically.

They both doesn't want to live their life and they would rather be like anyone else does.

They would hate each other if they met because they would see the other as a mirror. Or something like they could be in an another universe. And this would scare them as hell.

Jeff might be a surface character but I think that's because of his creator portrays him. I have like/hate relationship with him because of how badly he portrayed in almost every work.

He was not a pure evil monster, he was a 13 year old kid with untreated mental issues and body trauma. And no one was there to teach him this was not right since this motherfucker is very stubborn and he killed everyone who could.

Both of them doesn't want to die no matter how shitty their life can became. They want to live. They want to see the next day even though they would hate it. They think they deserve to live after all the things they had gone through.

They want to believe that they have a chance for redemption without caring about their past mistakes.

Also if Jeff would be an animal, he thinks he would be a wolf but he'd actually be a horse. That's like his spirit animal.

Take random BoJack dialogues as Jeff and other pastas' reactions to that.

...

Jeff: Rehab was supposed to be a fresh start. But no matter how many starts I get, there's always the same ending. Everything falls apart, and I end up alone.

Clockwork: Then get a new life man, this shit is not that hard.

Jeff: Shut up bitch! I'm having a moment here!

...

Jeff: Same thing that always happens. You didn't know me. Then you fell in love with me. And now you know me.

Nina: Eat shit and die asshole. You ruined my life.

Jeff: Fucking let me apologize whore!

Nina: Okay. I'm gonna kill this bastard. Don't hold me!

Kate: No one's holding you.

Nina: I said don't hold me!

...

Jeff: I'm the one who has suffered the most because of the actions of Jeffrey Woods.

Jane: What about Liu or Nina or even me?

Jeff: Nah, Liu's fine and he hates you.

Liu: No, I don't.

Jeff: He doesn't know what he's saying. And Nina loooves me.

Nina: No I don't!

Jeff: She's high on my awesomeness.

Jane: Shup the fuck up you dumbass.

...

Jeff: There's gonna be plenty of people around when I kill myself!

Masky: Not me.

Hoodie: Nah, I'll be there to celebrate.

Jeff: I hate all of you.

...

Jeff: Really makes you think, though, huh? Life, right? Goes by, stuff happens. Then you die.

Toby: W-who the hell are you?

Jeff: Yeah, you're right.

Toby: I am?

Jeff: Nah.

Toby: Of cour-se I am.

Who wants part 2 for incorrect quotes??

[karoochui]

I just wanted to say I am so enamoured with Binary Insurgence! I eat up everything, every little crumb, you drop about it and the entire idea is so interesting to me! I'm so in love with stories and worlds like this! I'm also curious to know about the relationship between Sun and Moon, if it's alright to ask. How was it before the fire compared to after? Does their relationship begin to mend (because I'm certain over the years it deteriorated) when y/n comes back into the picture? If any of this is too spoilery or you just haven't fleshed it out yet then you don't have to answer! I'm just super curious about the boys and how you see their dynamic/relationship. I just look forward to seeing how their bond has grown and/or broken and how it may be mended over time.

AHH im glad you like it so much!! Im happy to talk about what i've got, but you are right not everything is fully fleshed out. I have points i wanna get to but while im brainstorming and planning i make up a lot of stuff as i go and then go over it again later to see if i like it or can connect stuff in any way. I have 3 chapters for Arc 1 fully summarized as of now! (Which probably doesn't seem like a lot but i like my chapters long, so it's quite a bit actually).

I wanna say, too, that i'm planning for the first story to be more in the perspective of the reader, so most things about Sun and Moon's personal thoughts and feelings are gonna be more implied than said. I might have some switching points of view, i'm not sure, but i haven't found a place i'd do it or think it's relevant. The sequel is gonna be more from their perspective since it'll mostly be about them.

NOW! I see Sun and Moon as brothers, so they really treat each other in a way that's like that. Before the fire they get along pretty well. Most instances of issue would be when Moon blocks out Sun when he fronts, or just mutual panic over the fact Moon lost his shit w/ the virus. They'll have their disagreements about things (i havent planned specifics yet) but generally they're chill. Sun just worries about Moon hurting people, but Moon worries too. With the way the virus functions in this AU it's hard for Sun to fully fault Moon for what he does, especially because he's also affected by it but not nearly as bad. (I'm gonna explain this more in another ask i have).

Plus, even before the virus they were always glitch/bug-ridden because technicians fucked up their programming continuously after removing them from the theater to work in the daycare. So they had to kinda navigate through that together, glitches and errors on both ends (though not deadly). They hate P&S bc of this, obviously. Hardware fixes suck but they fucking HATE software examinations.

Later on though some issues come into play whenever Sun starts getting worse by being further exposed to the virus (it gets worse for him when they eclipse) because it presents itself in Sun differently than it does Moon. He gets snappier and angrier at times (that comic i made that's captioned "well someones snappy") and while they both understand he doesnt mean the shit he does it's still not great. And nobody's gonna just let themselves be talked to like a dog even if the reason it's happening is because of something the other person can't really help. They're still relatively fine at this point, though.

It's at the end when shit goes really bad, because this part of the story does end badly. I won't spoil specifics but after the fire Sun loses his shit. He starts trying to put the blame on Moon for everything (the virus enhancing his already bad habits/fucking with his line of thinking) out of grief and anger. That carries over into the apocalypse and he just gets worse in general. He gets irrational.

It's a long period of time though, so he eventually also manages it, in his own way. But! I did say before in an ask that in the sequel he's "not evil, persay, but he's a fucking nut". He damns Moon to an hourglass to just fucking get rid of him about 100~ years before they meet you again (he fully thinks he's in the right for this (and he also just hates him) and the only reason he really even stayed around after that was to make sure Moon didn't get out again). He's not a bad-intentioned individual, but he's off the fucking wall at many times bc of the virus having made him worse. He's stubborn as all hell to an infuriating degree, he's irrational, hard-headed, reckless, and while a good bit of his old, kinder self is still pretty prevalent he can be downright fucking mean if provoked. Again, worse than before, and it doesn't take much these days! I always imagined him to have more dramatic, snappy, diva aspects to his personality (even before Help Wanted 2 came out) bc hes so theatrical and intense, so basically take a Sun that's like that, crank it up to 100 and put him in a Bad Situation. That's what Round 2 Sun is like at his worst. He's not a complete lost cause though, and he's far from dumb when he does stuff, just clouded by his own judgement. He doesn't think anything's wrong with him (or does he?).

Moon doesn't really hate him like Sun hates Moon, because although he knows that what happened (the ending of the first story) is technically both of their faults he just feels guilt. They do fight a lot, though. Most of it is Moon trying his best to tell Sun that he's basically full of shit and not seeing things right after Sun starts something, but Sun's at the point where he's gotta learn by consequence. Part of the reason he's so bad is bc 1: hes been infected by the virus for so long now and 2: in his grief, anger, and resentment he's learned to live with it rather than fighting it.

But the sequel is gonna be a feel-good story! Falling in love w/ the reader all over again, i want things to get cleared up - or at least some kind of middle ground between Sun and Moon - the whole sha-bang.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Reichenbach: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: You're done with Dean and his antics. You want to leave and you're going to do whatever it takes to make him understand that he doesn't have the power here. You do.

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

It doesn't matter what city you're in or what bar/strip club you're at, Dean always manages to flirt with every woman to the point where he'd like to fuck them. There is an exotic dancer in this car that Dean has his eyes set on while you're at one of the tables drinking yourself away. Dean hasn't paid you any attention since narrowly avoiding his brother, but it's not like you wanted it in the first place.

If you're being honest, you're getting kind of bored with him. It was fun in the beginning but you hate watching him sing badly, flirt with other women, and beat up any man he sees. You look over the entire bar and notice Crowley by the front door. He motions for you to follow him outside, and you listen since there is nothing else left for you to do.

You down the rest of your drink and follow the demon outside where it's much quieter.

"Look, it's no secret that we're both sick and tired of Dean's behavior and his attitude. We need to talk about his anger issues. He is getting out of control."

"He's a class-a douche," you roll your eyes.

"We need to do something. I've been in contact with Moose. He's trying to find a cure for being a demon."

"Yeah, like what we did to you? Remember that?" you chuckle.

"Unfortunately."

"Tell me one good reason why I should care."

"If he continues down this path, he's only going to be more ruthless to the point where he might kill you. I'm gonna guess you like life."

"That was weak but I guess I'll help because he's getting on my damn nerves."

Seconds later, the front door of the strip club opens and the beaten security guard throws Dean out. Two teenage boys walk past the strip club and collide with Dean. They say something insulting but before Dean can kill them, Crowley steps in.

"Kids, am I right? In my day, we respected our elders. Of course, back then, anyone over thirty was ancient. Now forty-year-olds are still living with mommy, lying on OkCupid, and taking pictures of their food."

"What do you want, Crowley?" Dean sighs.

"A chat. We need to talk about your anger-management issues."

Dean has nothing better to do, so he follows you and Crowley into the nearest bar to grab a drink. Dean motions to the bartender when he gets there for a drink while you hold up two fingers for a double.

"So, how have you been feeling? On edge? Pent-up? Unfulfilled?"

"You sound like a Viagra commercial. You do know that, right?" Dean scoffs.

"This is about the Mark. It's changed you."

"I've noticed," Dean smirks and flashes his black eyes.

"I know that you want to keep the party going. I know you want to have fun till Daddy takes the black eyes away."

"Why are you picking on me? The Mark changed her, too."

"What are you, a child?"

"She's not going around beating people left and right. The fact is that you need to kill now. It's not a want, it's a need. Face it, darling. You're an addict. Death is your drug, and you're gonna spend the rest of your life chasing that dragon."

"So?"

"So, I'm here to facilitate."

"You want me to kill for you?"

"I want you to kill for us. You're going to snap eventually. The anger and the bloodlust are gonna build up until you can't take it anymore. So, the question is, do you want to spike a civilian or someone who has it coming?"

"Who?" you ask.

"Mindy Morris. She's a caring mother, a loving wife, and a cheating hoe. After her husband, Lester discovered Mindy's affair, heated words were exchanged. In the end, Mindy wanted a divorce and fifty percent of everything. Lester doesn't want that. We live in a very materialistic world. Mindy's gonna die one way or the other. Why not take the job and feed the beast?"

"He has a point," you shrug and down the first drink.

"Fine. This is a one-time deal."

The thought of Dean killing someone with the Blade causes your Mark to itch and burn slightly. You don't like the idea of going anywhere with Dean but he is going to cause chaos and you crave that right now.

"I'm coming with you."

"I don't care what you do."

"That's a lie," you scoff and down your second drink.

Most of that afternoon is spent watching Mindy at her house until the sun goes down. You're about to get out of the car when headlights shine from the end of the road. They get closer and a car pulls into the driveway. The car's lights turn off and Dean decides to confront the person rather than go inside and do the job Crowley wants him to do.

Dean takes the passenger seat while you get in behind him. The man jumps at the sudden noise and Dean smirks at this.

"What the fuck? Who are you people?"

"Let me guess. You're Lester?"

"Who are you two?"

"Who do you think?" Dean asks, flashing his black eyes. Lester seems to recognize the demon in Dean. "What the hell are you doing here, man?"

"My contact told me this was happening, so I wanted to come down and make sure it gets done right."

"Because you're the expert, right?" you ask.

"Murder 101. When you hire someone to kill your wife, you don't want to be around when the hit goes down. It's called an alibi."

"Yeah, I know what an alibi is. I watch 'Franklin & Bash'."

"Fascinating. Listen, you sold your soul for this shit, so--"

"It's not shit. This is my life, and she flushed it down the toilet."

"Did you ever stop to think why she cheated on you?" you ask and lean back in your seat. "Maybe she's not the problem, you are."

"I'm gonna say something to you and I need you to really listen to me," Dean says, recapturing his attention. "You're a loser. Your lady in there is ten times better than you. She's an eight and you're a four and a half, at best. I don't blame her for stepping out, especially if she found you were messing around first."

"No. I-I wasn't. How do you know?" Lester sighs.

"You just got that pervy 'I'd do anything to nail my secretary' look."

"No, t-that's not--It's different when guys do it."

"Really?" you scoff.

"Yeah, it's called science. Men aren't built for monogamy because of evolution. We're programmed, you know, to spread our seed."

Dean quickly punches him in the face for that comment.

"Like anybody would want your seed," you roll your eyes.

"As I said, a loser with a capital L."

"Yeah, well, you're a punk-ass demon! You work for me now. So, get in there and do your job, you freak!"

He really shouldn't have said that.

"What are you gonna do?" Dean asks with an icy glare. "Are you gonna watch? Is that what you like to do, Lester? Watch? Well, watch this."

Dean pulls out the First Blade and stabs Lester in the chest, killing him instantly. As soon as he is dead, you feel this wave of power that comes from the Blade. This high is what you need to feel like all the time. The high seems to get at Dean, too, but it's gone as quickly as it comes.

"Killing Lester wasn't such a good idea. Crowley is gonna be pissed he lost a soul."

"Crowley can kiss my ass."

This high is replaced by annoyance. If you were a demon, you'd be a much better one than him. With the "job" done, you two head back to Crowley who is in some bar talking to two demons. As soon as he sees you two, he motions for his minions to go away.

"Dean! Y/N! How did it go?"

"Go ahead, Dean, tell him."

"You were right, Crowley. He's dead and I feel amazing."

"He?"

"Lester."

"The client? You killed the client?"

"Does it matter? He was a douche. Now, he's a dead douche."

If Crowley was on the fence about Dean before, he's over it now. He's fucking pissed like you said he was going to be.

"Of course, it matters! The deal was one dead wife for one soul. If the wife's not dead, I don't get the soul. It's math."

"I told you," you say and he shrugs.

"Okay."

Dean turns to leave but Crowley isn't done yet.

"Don't turn your back to me!" Dean turns and shoves Crowley down to the ground with a cold chuckle. "Is something funny? What do you think you're doing?"

"Whatever I want."

"Really? Because I think you don't know what you want. Tell me, Dean, what are you? A demon? If so, why isn't Lester's wife dead? Did you feel sorry for her? So, maybe you're human. Except you have those pretty black eyes and you're working alongside me. Why don't you do us all a great big favor and PICK A BLOODY SIDE?!"

"Or what? Hmm? Go ahead. Make a move. See how it ends. I ain't your fucking bestie, and I ain't taking orders from you. When I need to kill, I'll call. Until then, stay the fuck out of my way."

"Fine," Crowley says and gets up. "It's over. What can I say? The crazy ones are good for a fling, but they're not relationship material."

"Are you done?"

"We're done. You know what, Dean? It's not me. It's you."

Crowley disappears seconds later, leaving you and Dean alone in the bar. Dean looks at you and sees a sour look on your face.

"What's your problem?"

"I'm done with your shitty attitude. You want to be the bad guy? By all means, but if you're going to be bad, be bad with a purpose. You're an even bigger dick than before."

"What are you gonna do?" Dean smirks. "Leave?"

"Yeah, maybe I will."

"I'd like to see you try," he laughs.

Oh, you will and he's not gonna like it when you finally do.

x

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[antianakin]

Yoda and Mace have been my favorite characters since childhood, and I never quite forgave him for killing the latter and choking Padme. Granted, I was 12 and had zero romantic understanding or media literacy but I thought it was fucked up how he killed kids and a Queen married him?? Anger issues with a bad haircut??? With 'kind and compassionate' Padme??? Like his actor is attractive but Anakin gives off school shooter vibes imo. I like Obi wan too, but kinda like you like the really ugly old cat who gets into the trash but is genuinely sweet and pettable.

Anyway, my reasons for hating him are probably really petty and not as coherent from yours, but I really do appreciate the quality analysis.

I don't think those are petty reasons at all (well, the bad haircut thing might be a little petty lol).

In all seriousness, you don't NEED essays to explain why you don't like a character. I'm someone who kind-of ENJOYS overthinking my media and writing down my thoughts, it helps me sometimes to be able to really figure out why I feel the way I do about storylines and characters. Sometimes it leads me to love a thing even more, sometimes it doesn't. But nobody NEEDS long coherent essays detailing why they simply don't like a character. Not every character is going to appeal to everyone and that's just how it works.

I love Obi-Wan and there's a LOT of people out there who hate him for one reason or another or who just are more neutral on him and find him overrated, and that's fine. I happen to really like Trace and Rafa Martez and apparently that's a minority opinion. I think that Cikatro Vizago is one of the better characters in Rebels, and certainly the one with the best redemption arc on that show, and I KNOW I'm likely the only one who thinks that way.

And of course, if you've been around this blog long enough, you know there's tons of characters that I DISLIKE that a lot of people really adore. They just aren't for me. Sometimes I do feel like the characters are badly written and I have no qualms with explaining why I think so, but that was never required. The characters don't have to be badly written for me to dislike them, and I never owe anyone an explanation for why a character doesn't work for me. Neither do you.

[sl-ut]

long, long time

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

description: joel and y/n deal with the loss of their close friends in the only way they know how.

warnings: smut, angst, age gap, mentions of death, slight mention of suicidal thoughts, bill and frank, mention of violence

words: 4.3K

date posted: 05/04/23

previous part | next part

Sometimes Y/n wondered why she did the things that she did. She wondered whether things would have been easier or not had she not dropped out of FEDRA school at sixteen, or if she hadn’t gotten mixed up with Tess, or even if one of the many deals that had gone south had resulted in her death. Sure, she may have been stuck living a life where she was hated by the general public and wore a flashing bullseye on her back to attract Fireflies–but hey, anything could be better than this, right?

Y/n wasn’t sure where to go from there, both literally and figuratively. She’d considered fleeing, hell, Joel had given her a prime opportunity to do so when he made no protest to her keeping watch outside, if only her brain could figure out an exact map of the road that they had followed. She cursed herself internally for blanking out for so long, not even taking in her surroundings as she followed behind Joel and Ellie from a safe distance, and even if she had made it back to Boston, she would more than likely get herself killed–either by an infected, sheer dumb luck and stupidity, or executed after getting caught sneaking back into the QZ. 

Fucked. She was so fucked. 

During the long trek, she had considered Ellie’s burning question; why are you with them? If the fourteen year old girl was able to pick up on the dynamic between the three adults, Y/n considered her own internal debate about whether she was crazy or not to be settled. Sure Joel and Tess had treated her like shit repeatedly in the past, and sure, she always went running back to him the moment that things got rough, but was that truly such a bad thing? He was the only constant she still had in her life, having been on her own from a young age, and he was the only person who seemed to show any sort of care for her wellbeing, even if it was shown in his own brutal way. Truth be told, Y/n wouldn’t make it a day without him, and the dread and shame behind that truth ate away at her slowly and painfully.

Another issue at hand was Tess–though, an entirely different issue than she had usually posed. 

Tess was dead, bitten by a clicker in the museum and blown to bits by her own free will. The loss of the older woman was a blow to the entire group–Joel had closed off even more than usual, Ellie seemed a bit skittish and did her best to keep the conversation away from it, and Y/n, well she wasn’t quite sure how she felt.

Bile had risen up her throat and splattered onto the concrete at the sight of the building that they had fled going up in flames, and she had struggled to withhold her tears on the journey. Though each time that she felt the urge to cry, she heard Tess’s voice taunting her, pouring fresh salt into old wounds. Grow the fuck up. Don’t be so weak. I still don’t understand how you’re even still alive. The woman had been vile to her, down right nasty; calling her names, sending her on deals that she knew would end badly, always giving her the shitty rations that she would scrounge up and split the better portions between herself and Joel. Every moment when Y/n began to mourn her, she began to burn with untouched rage. 

Then, as the flames of anger died within her, she would reminisce on her early relationship with Tess. The woman had saved her–as much as Y/n accredits her survival to Joel, Tess had once been equally as crucial to her wellbeing. For so long, helping Tess out with deals was the only way that she could afford food and resources, and the woman had patched her up countless times after finding her huddled up in an alleyway. She had once acted like somewhat of a mother figure to her–albeit, a deadbeat one. For years, Y/n wondered what she could have done to the woman to make her change her tune so quickly, switching Y/n’s nickname from hon to dog in the matter of days. 

Now that she knew that reason, she couldn’t help but feel a moderate amount of guilt. In her own story, Y/n had made Tess a villain. While she had certainly performed actions to earn this title, Y/n now understood exactly why she had felt such a way. She continued to console herself, telling herself that she didn’t know, and that she had asked her before pursuing anything with Joel–because she had–though a part of her always had a suspicion that something had gone on between the pair, she just couldn’t prove it. 

I never asked you to feel the way I felt. 

The single sentence had confirmed to her what she had suspected from the beginning–Tess had been in love with Joel, and he was more than aware of that when he brought Y/n into his life so intimately. She wondered how long he had known; was it before they got together? Could he have possibly pushed Tess out of the way in favour of a younger woman? What if she had confessed to him after he and Y/n had gotten together? All that time when he would sit there and let the pair of them put each other down, he had always known that the cause of such chaos was his own inability to convey his own feelings. He was choosing to allow both of them to fight while he protected himself from it all–it was all making so much more sense. His hesitation when she asked him to stand up for her, his reluctance to show her affection in front of Tess–it wasn’t to protect the bond he had with either of them, he was simply removing himself from the conflict that he had started. 

She had yet to bring it up to him, not having a moment away from the nosy teenager who would most certainly insert herself in any argument that might erupt between them. From the beginning, the girl had made it her mission to bug Joel as much as possible, though Y/n knew that such instigation would only cause a blowup much larger than the one to already be expected. Though, he knew that she was angry with him–he could always tell. 

He hadn’t been gentle with either her or Ellie while getting them out of the city, pushing and dragging them through alleyways until they had stumbled into the treeline, scarcely uttering a word to either of them as they set up a place to rest and regroup. He had, however, noticed the slight tremor of her body as she curled against a tree. Quietly, he offered her a sip of his water to clear the vile taste of vomit from her mouth, then tucked his jacket around her shoulders before trudging off to the rushing creek nearby. 

When he returned, his jacket had been abandoned by the girl and laid over Ellie’s legs for warmth. That was the first tell. The next few were her blatant ignorance of his presence, whether she be disobeying his orders or actively tuning him out, speaking only to Ellie for the remainder of the walk. While he may not have been the most intuitive man when it came to women, he wasn’t dumb enough to be confused as to why she was angry with him, and he, too, was unwilling to bring it up with Ellie present. 

Ellie had been a regular chatterbox once the small group parted ways with Cumberland Farms, asking a series of questions about life before the outbreak, needing to be reminded several times that Y/n genuinely could not remember much beyond brief flashes of nostalgia from her early childhood. She was amazed by the remains of an airplane that they came upon, having crashed into the slope of a field, and began spewing her own personal theories about how exactly shit had hit the fan. When she received dreadfully boring drawls of explanations from Joel, she began to ask about the two men that they were going to find. Joel was a bit tightlipped about them, uttering only that Frank was the nicer one of the two.

“Bill’s a survivalist. Built the whole place to withstand a disaster before it even happened, you’ll definitely like him,” Y/n added, nudging the girl’s shoulder, “But, uh, Frank’ll like you. He loves to meet new people.”

The girl smiled fondly to herself, remembering the first time that she had spoken to him over the radio. She had been napping on Joel’s couch, waiting for him to come back from a work detail when a voice crackled through.

“Hello, hello? Joel, Tess? Anyone there?”

Y/n reached for the receiver, fingers hesitating over the button as she considered how much trouble she would get in with both of them for interfering, but they would likely give her just as much shit for not answering. 

“Hello?” She answered slowly, “I’m here.”

“Tess?”

She grimaced, “Uh, no. I’m Y/n.”

The radio crackled quietly, the man’s silence proving his confusion, “Y/n? I’m sorry–where are you transmitting from?”

“Joel’s apartment,” she answered, chewing her lip, “I’m…a friend. Is this Bill?”

A small chuckle came through, “Fortunately for you, no. I’m Frank.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And I’ve heard nothing about you. How old are you?”

She hesitated, “How old are you?”

“Touché.”

She giggled to herself before responding, “Sorry, but Joel and Tess aren’t here. Can I take a message or something?”

“You can just tell them to radio back. Now tell me, who exactly is this mysterious third party that we’ve never heard of?”

She had been correct in suspecting a tongue lashing for even touching the radio, but she was more than happy that she had. Y/n and Frank had begun chatting on the radio at least once a week, sharing stories, ideas, and bored ramblings back and forth while Joel, Tess, and Bill took care of the majority of the heavy lifting. Frank had even encouraged her to join Joel and Tess on their next visit, which she did, despite the protest. 

“My word, you must be Y/n,” the voice was so familiar, and the grin on the man’s face was just as welcoming in person as his voice had been over the radio, “You’re prettier than I pictured you.”

She laughed, dropping her pack onto the step as she slumped onto the bench next to him, quickly looping her arm through his as if they had personally known each other for years. Bill watched on with furrowed brows, glancing over at Joel, who seemed equally surprised and not at all at how quickly she and Frank had become friends. 

Y/n ignored the pair, “I have to say the same. Now what’s this I hear about hot water?”

Lincoln was probably a once unsuspecting town, the type of place where very few could actually afford to live, and consisted of mostly young families and the elderly. Now, as the small group approached the town, it was comparable to a small fortress. Y/n had been gleeful as she had passed through the gate, eager to meet her friends once more and simmer in the comforting warmth of one of Frank’s hugs, though her heart sank at the realisation that it would never come. 

She was saddened by the dust that had gathered around the house. Frank had once made an effort to keep the place tidy, always prepared to offer comfort to his three favourite guests when they made the trip–though Y/n only had the pleasure of visiting twice before. Now, as she dragged her fingers over the dusty vanity in one of the spare bathrooms, the weight of this loss began to settle over her. 

Ellie had showered first, leaving Joel and Y/n alone in the bunker to experience the tension on their own. Y/n made a quick exit as Joel worked with his homemade battery for the truck, returning to the fancy dining room in the house. She tidied up the mess that had been left on the table–old food covered in fuzz and flies being tossed in the trash before she carefully washed and placed the fine china back into the cabinet where it belonged. She was glad to find some food still in the fridge, picking through it to find the bits that had not spouted mould spores and putting together three equal portions. 

She ate hers alone, waiting patiently at the table for Ellie to clear out of the bathroom so she could take her own shower. The spray of the hot water over her body was the final straw that she hadn’t even known that she needed to release the built up emotions over the past few days. Tears rolled down her cheeks first, silently mixing in with the streams of water before her shoulders finally began to heave with deep rooted sobs. All hope of privacy was thrown out of the window–she was unsure of exactly how loud she was being, but she was no longer concerned with the threat of Ellie hearing if she were to wander by the door.

A slow creak echoed through the bathroom, barely audible to her over the sound of running water and throaty sobs–she almost didn’t even react when the shower curtain slid open behind her and a large figure took up the space behind her. His hands touched her back carefully, the ghost of a touch acting as an offer of comfort. Her flesh prickled underneath the press of his calloused fingers, and her head screamed at her to push him away, to scream at him for coming in uninvited and bringing all of the accusations that she had been stewing over to light. 

Instead, she slowly turned around to face him, her splotchy face burying in his firm chest while her arms wound around his waist. His hands settled around her shoulders, acting like a safety blanket as her body shook with her cries, nose burrowing into the wet mop of hair atop her head and whispering quiet affirmations. Joel knew how much she had loved the two old men, even if she had only been granted the pleasure of meeting them in person twice before; he felt an overwhelming sense of regret over not allowing her to come with them more often when they would visit Lincoln. 

“Joel–” she sniffled against his wet skin, raising her gaze to meet his. His dark eyes were swimming with turmoil. He was grieving for the loss of his partners, of his friends, and yet he was still holding every ounce of emotion in to avoid either of the younger females to see. This typical act of his was the kind of thing that made her feel very self conscious about how vulnerable she so often was around him, while he showed almost no vulnerability whatsoever. “I–”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, one hand smoothing through the sopping mass of hand on her hand and curling his fingers around the base of her skull, “I just–”

Her own hand slid up, grasping the back of his neck and forcing his head to tilt down so that his forehead bumped against her own. She nuzzled her nose against his, fluttering her eyes closed as his fingers began to slide down her back, finding purchase in the dip of her spine. 

As his lips came crashing onto her own, any instinct to push him away quickly faded away, her lips moving against his with fervour as her body relaxed against him, dormant to his touch. She moved her spare hand to rest on his chest, fingers curling into the coarse hair that scattered across the muscle, letting it slowly inch down his sternum and over his plush belly, resting along his lower stomach, as if asking for permission. 

He grunted against her, pulling her closer to his body at the teasing touches of her fingers. He was halfway there, continuing to harden against her thigh as his own fingers kneaded the flesh of her back, hips, and down to her bum. He let out a soft groan as she finally took him in her grasp, curling her digits around him and working at a slow, steady pace until he was ready.

They didn’t have much time, they both knew that. Ellie would come looking for them eventually, and while they didn’t expect her to be ignorant enough to not know what was going on upstairs, they didn’t need her interrupting–she had enough ammo against Joel as it was. Under normal circumstances, Joel would work her open and prepare her much better, though he could only press her against the tiled wall and tug her thighs apart, running his tip through her dampening folds experimentally.

“Ready?” He grunted, adjusting her thigh to curl around his waist. She nodded hastily, eyes squinting at the pinching sensation of him pressing into her. He paused once he was fully inside, allowing her to adjust to his presence and softly pressing kisses across her jaw and chin to calm her while softly swirling his fingers around her clit.

She curled one arm around his broad shoulders, holding him impossibly close while her other hand rested on the curve of his ass, holding him in place. Softly, she squeezed the taut muscle, signalling for him to move.

Y/n tilted her head back against the wall, the dry drag of him against her inner walls and the sensation against her clit combining to create a strange sensation somewhere between pain and pleasure, though she couldn’t quite place it. She was thankful that her body was quickly making adjustments to this intrusion, wetness beginning to flood her nether regions to lubricate the slow movements of his thrusts, making the pain fade significantly.

“Okay,” she gasped, “Go–go ahead.”

He nodded, lips and teeth dragging over the exposed expanse of her throat as he began a much quicker pace, fingers still working against her bundle of nerves in hopes of getting her there just as quickly as he knew that he would. It was embarrassing how soon he was able to feel his balls tighten in anticipation, curt grunts and groans transforming into desperate moans and pleas for release as he rutted into her. Her own sounds spurred him on, soft gasps and cries of his name reaching his ears as she clenched around him.

He panted her name, eyes clenched shut in concentration as her fingers wound into his hair. She tugged firmly, pulling his head back to force him to meet her gaze. Her eyes were hooded, lips parted to release her soft pants–she was a vision, and made it nearly impossible for him to keep himself from tipping over that edge. 

She nodded at him, “Go ahead–fuck–it’s okay.”

Y/n had accepted at this point that she wouldn’t finish. While the pleasure was certainly there, her body needed much more for that to happen, and neither of them had the time to make that happen. Regardless, she needed him just as much as he needed her; the act was providing some comfort to her, a distraction from the overwhelming grief that had taken over her entire being. She reached down, pushing his hand away from her clit moving it to her hips, continuing to encourage him towards his peak as she pressed soft kisses across his hairy jaw. 

With a loud grunt, he pulled out of her, watching in awe as she took him in her hand, stroking him at a quick pace until his spend began to spurt out, coating her hand and belly with an alarming amount. He sighed in relief, head dropping onto her shoulder as she slowed her pace, continuing to work him through it until she finally released her grip on him. 

Neither of them spoke another word as she moved back into the spray of the water, using a small dab of honey scented soap to wash away the mess he had made, then carefully helped him wash himself. She was gentle as she massaged the suds across his knuckles, cleaning the scabbing wounds for the first time since he had beaten that officer to death outside of the QZ. She felt him wince under her touch, confirming that the bones likely had fractured and had not been let to set and heal. 

Y/n left the shower first, leaving him to finish washing himself while she dried herself off and searched through the boxes of clothing that Frank had set aside for when she and Tess needed a fresh set, settling on a mauve henley and a pair of dark grey cargo pants. She made sure to stuff an extra set into her pack before moving to shuffle through the men’s clothing in search of a new shirt for Joel.

The bathroom door opened behind her, Joel stepping out in the pair of jeans that he had refused to pair with, shaking the water out of his thick hair with a towel as he locked eyes with her. 

“I, uh,” she tossed the forest green flannel across the room to him, “That looks like it should fit.”

“Thanks,” he grunted, tossing the towel onto the chair in the corner before slowly sliding the shirt over his shoulders and buttoning it in silence. “Look, I know–”

“Did you know?” She finally asked the burning question, scarcely sparing him a glance as she reached for the stick of deodorant on the dresser, “About Tess, I mean. Did you know that she was in love with you?”

He pursed his lips, hands moving to rest on his hips, “It wasn’t like that. Tess and I–before you came around…”

“You told me nothing was going on between you two.”

“I wasn’t lying. I–we put an end to things before you and I ever... She wanted more than I could give her.”

Y/n shook her head, “You couldn’t give it to her, but you could with me?”

“That’s different. You and I–we’re different.” He crossed the room, hands grasping her biceps tightly, “You know that.”

She chuckled, “But you knew. You knew the whole time why she hated me and you never even let me know?”

“That never woulda changed things, we both know that. Tess was a proud woman, and you findin’ out about her and I woulda only made it worse for you.”

“Joel, I was awful to her. I was so terrible to her sometimes, all because I had the one thing that she wanted.”

“She was worse to you. Shit, she treated you like a dog half the damn time. If you coulda heard half the shit she said about you when you weren’t there, you probably woulda clawed her eyes out.” He closed his eyes in frustration, “I’m sorry. Maybe I should have told you, but I was doin’ what I thought was best for the group. What’s done is done.”

She frowned, the urge to fight with him some more dying out as she realised that he was right–no amount of anger or fighting would change the way that things happened. Tess is dead, and she would stay dead no matter how much hell Y/n put Joel through over this. 

She sighed, touching her forehead to his softly before pushing him away, “Fine. I just–I need some time.”

Ellie was poking around the house curiously when Y/n came down the stairs, leaning against the wall in faux-nonchalance at the sight of one of her guardians. Y/n shook her head at her, leaving her on her own once more as she settled on the front porch, taking a seat on the bench that she and Frank had chatted on for what seemed like forever on both of her visits. She sat in silence for a few moments, eyes scanning the overgrown town that had once seemed like a utopia, her peace broken as Ellie bounded down the front steps, footsteps heavier than what seemed possible for such a small girl. Joel appeared next to her, an expression of uncertainty on his features as she glanced up at him.

“You ready?” He asked for the second time that day, nodding towards the shed where the truck had been stored.

She nodded, following closely behind him towards the barn, chuckling to herself at the sight of the young girl as she buzzed around the truck excitedly. Y/n pushed her towards the front seat, allowing her to get the full experience of driving in a motorised vehicle for the very first time while she took the back. She was actually thankful for the extra space, aside from the mountain of supplies that Joel had stuffed into the back, giving her the chance to stretch her legs out a bit more. 

“It’s like a spaceship!” Ellie murmured in awe as she pressed every button she could reach, despite Joel’s scolding. She then turned to digging through the dash, digging out an old cassette and shoving it into the radio.

“Ellie, don’t–” Joel paused at the sound of the music playing over the shitty sound system of Bill’s old truck, “Wait, no this is good. This is Linda Ronstadt. Do you know who Linda Ronstadt is?”

Y/n smiled to herself as she listened to their bickering, turning to stare out the back window as Joel drove out through the gate, watching through watery eyes as Lincoln faded into the background, Bill and Frank’s memory going with it.

And I think I’m gonna love you

For a long, long time.

tags (i just tagged anyone who asked for more parts on previous chapters-lmk if you wanna be untagged): @mischiefmanaged2 @a-colletion-of-cells @lizlil @linneasblog @kuchokitty @imnotyourbcbe @amberpanda99 @floralsightings @lockleywife