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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Summary: Eddie's guard is back up after overhearing people gossiping about a secret that only you would know about. When he lets his animosity take over, the damage may be too great to repair.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 3.7k

Chapter 4/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie is still fuming when he pulls into the music store’s parking lot. He’s opening today, and his hands tremble as he fumbles with the keys. All of those parents are going to know that he’s a failure of a father. The Munson reputation clung to him like a bloodsucking leech, regardless of his numerous attempts to shed it. He’s destined to be an outcast at best and a monster at worst.

Finally managing to unlock the door, Eddie flicks on the lights, blanketing the shop in a hazy glow. The silence is deafening, and he swears that his brain will implode if he doesn’t get some background noise. He walks to the section labeled ‘METAL’ as if on autopilot, grabbing Metallica’s Master of Puppets and shoving the cassette into the player. Ash insists that they play classic rock over the crummy little sound system; something about it being ‘palatable’ for the customers, but she’s not here to scold him.

He thinks back to when this album was released, towards the end of his third senior year. The good ol’ days, when I only worried about passing O’Donnell’s class and planning Hellfire campaigns, he thinks wryly. But, no; that isn’t quite true. He’d had to worry about the trailer getting repo’d, or whether he and Wayne could stretch their food stamp budget enough to feed two grown men. Concerns that his uncle had tried to hide from him until he no longer could.

“Ed, you’re eighteen now,” Wayne had said, just one month after Eddie’s birthday, “and I’m gonna need you to start payin’ some bills around here.”

At the time, Eddie thought he was just being a bastard. It wasn’t until a few days later when he’d spotted the envelope marked PAST DUE in bold, red letters that he realized it wasn’t a punishment, but a necessity.

He’d been selling for Rick ever since. Well, until now.

“Battery” fades out to “Master of Puppets,” and Eddie flips the CLOSED sign to read OPEN. He glances at the calluses on his hands and smiles sadly, thinking of all the hours he spent learning the chords in his room. After weeks of non-stop practicing—Hetfield’s solo was a bitch—he’d raced down to Gareth’s garage and played all eight minutes straight through. Watched as his friends’ jaws dropped in awe. Gave him a standing ovation. Told him he was a fucking rockstar.

“You’re a rockstar, all right,” Eddie sarcastically grumbles now, clanging a roll of pennies against the counter before dumping them into the till. “Getting ready to drop your new hit single: Do you want a receipt with that?”

His morning has been nothing short of monotonous: help the customer find what they want, ring them up and make small talk, and then organize (or, in his case, pretend to organize) the store when it’s not busy.

There’s too much down time for him to be left alone with his thoughts. As soon as he has a moment to himself, he’s ruminating on his regrets of the past. He turns up the music volume in a half-hearted attempt to drown them out, but they manage to worm their way into every nook and cranny of his brain.

Eight years ago, a twenty-two year old Eddie Munson left his podunk town of Hawkins, Indiana to pursue rock stardom. He’d driven to Chicago with only the pocket change he’d saved up and his guitar on his back. A big city for a man with even bigger dreams.

It didn’t take him long to realize that being Eddie Munson meant next to nothing in a place that was bursting with musicians desperate for the chance to become famous. He appreciated the anonymity at first; he could blend in without being chased by taunts of Freak or Loser. But after nearly a full year of auditions where he was just another guitarist who could carry a tune, he’d started to lose hope. Prepared to return to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, he’d stopped at the nearby bar for one last drink.

“We can’t go on without a lead singer and guitarist!”

A frantic voice captured his attention, drawing his gaze from the pint of beer in front of him.

“Well, Sam bailed. Again,” another man points out, tone heavy with irritation. “So either we go on without him, or we don’t go on at all.”

Eddie finds himself standing up and walking into a conversation where he was never invited. “I, um, play guitar. And sing?” He winces as it comes out like a question. “I can show you, if you want.” What was he doing? He couldn’t line up a gig to save his life, and now he’s offering to play for some band he doesn’t even know?

The two guys, both about his age, exchange a dubious look. “All right,” says one with shaggy dark hair. “Let’s hear what you got, Guitar Boy.” He hands him his own guitar, and Eddie adjusts the strap before diving headfirst into the chorus of the first song that comes to mind:

If you think I'll sit around as the world goes by You're thinkin' like a fool 'cause it's a case of do or die Out there is a fortune waitin' to be had You think I'll let it go you're mad You've got another thing comin'

The other guy cocks his head, a delighted smirk spreading across his face. “Judas Priest. Solid choice.” He paces a bit, twirling a drumstick between his fingers. You got a name, Guitar Boy?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Eddie Munson.” He sticks out his hand, silently willing it to stop trembling, and shakes theirs.

“I’m Marcus,” the shaggy-haired man says. “This is Bryan. I play backup guitar; he’s on drums. Our bassist should be here soon; his name’s Pete.”

“And Sam was our lead guitarist and singer, but he’s a fucking asshole,” Bryan quips, and Eddie chortles at his brazen attitude. “Anyway, we mostly do covers…check out the setlist and see what you know.” He hands Eddie a crumpled piece of paper, filled with familiar songs and artists.

“I can do any of these,” Eddie says, a satisfied warmth filling his chest as he watches the guys grin even wider.

“Tell ya what,” Bryan says, plopping behind a drum set plastered with a logo reading Hard Knox. “If you don’t suck tonight, you can play with us permanently.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agrees. “We’re gonna be big, man. We just need someone to help us get there.”

“Let me run back to my place and grab my ax,” Eddie tells them, adrenaline propelling him to his apartment. This was it. This was the break he needed. Just as he was about to give up, God or fate or destiny or whoever was finally giving him a chance to prove himself.

The show went off without a hitch; Eddie’s guitar skills bringing a normally quiet audience to their feet. Bryan clapped him on the back as he looked at Pete and Marcus; the three nodding at each other. “Welcome to Hard Knox!” he announced.

“Sam leaving was the best thing to happen to us,” Pete laughs in agreement. A bartender in a tight skirt and fishnet stockings brings over a round of shots, and the four men clink glasses.

“Fuck Sam!” Eddie shouts before taking the drink. The tequila burns as it coats his throat, but he doesn’t dare reach for the lime. No, he has something to prove.

“Fuck Sam!” the rest of the band echoes enthusiastically. Their choral response reminds Eddie of the way Corroded Coffin used to be before he’d left: when he’d say something, Jeff, Gareth, and Danny would listen. He was born to be a leader.

Things started to fall into place. His one night endeavor with Hard Knox turned into a biweekly gig at the bar, which eventually turned into shows almost every night at various venues across the city. He’d even convinced the guys to play some original work of his, reminding them that cover bands don’t get record deals.

He had a steady income. A group of friends who appreciated him and his music. Beautiful women who eagerly threw themselves at him at the end of the show. And then it would repeat the following night in a new place. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Last night’s chaos has you all disheveled; it wasn’t until you got to work this morning that you realized you hadn’t even packed your lunch. You try to convince yourself that you can wait until you get home to eat, but about fifteen minutes before your break, your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl.

“I’m gonna run to the deli and grab something,” you tell Will, throwing your jacket over your shoulders and digging out your car keys. “Want me to pick up anything for you?”

“Uh, Tylenol?” he grimaces, rubbing his temples. The kids had music class today, and the sounds of ten preschoolers singing off-key combined with their clashing tambourines served as a recipe for a pounding headache. “And maybe a bag of sour cream and onion chips?”

“You got it.” You shoot him a thumbs-up as you make your way to the parking lot as quickly as possible, determined to get your food before the lunch rush starts.

You manage to just beat out the crowd of hungry nine-to-fivers, grabbing a veggie wrap to-go. Crunching on a cucumber slice as you take a big bite, you start back towards your car, but the music store next door catches your eye.

A check of your watch confirms that you have a few minutes to peruse, maybe grab a copy of the new Toni Braxton cassette you’d been wanting. If there was ever a day to treat yourself to a little gift, it’s today. Your mind is foggy and your body feels like it’s dragging sandbags as you make your way over. You knew that taking care of an ailing relative would be physically demanding, but you weren’t prepared for the emotional toll it would take. Seeing your grandma helplessly laying on the bathroom floor scared drew all of the oxygen from your lungs, filling your body with worry. And just a few hours later, she was furiously swearing at you, claiming to hate you. She’s an ever-swinging pendulum, and you’re downright exhausted.

A small glob of hummus lands on your lower lip, and your tongue licks it off haphazardly as you push open the door to the music store. The jingle of the bell is meant to alert the employees that a customer has entered, but when you look around, there’s no one there to help you.

You walk towards the aisle labeled R&B, starting by thumbing through the “B” section–nothing. Perplexed, you make your way to the “T” section, still with no luck. Was Toni Braxton so popular amongst Hawkins residents that they’d bought out every copy of Secrets?

“You can’t eat in here,” a terse voice calls out. You’re so startled, you nearly drop your sandwich. A piece of tomato flies out of the tortilla when you jump, hitting the linoleum flooring, and the irritated person sighs. “Aaand this is why.”

You pick up the fallen vegetable and turn around to see Eddie Munson standing before you. “You scared me!” you say, but your body visibly relaxes. Twenty-four hours ago, you never would have guessed that he would have a calming effect on you. How quickly things can change, you muse silently. “Can you help me find the new Toni Braxton? The Secrets cassette?”

Eddie scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can you follow simple instructions? No. Eating. In. The. Store.” He rolls his eyes. “Just because you teach preschoolers doesn’t mean you get to act like one.”

The smile that briefly danced across your lips slips into a frown. What the hell happened in the few hours since he’d dropped Harris off at school? Did you imagine that you two had gotten along?

“Are you okay?” you ask, brows furrowed in confusion. “I-I can put the wrap in my car, just give me a sec…”

He shakes his head. “No, actually, I’m not okay,” he sneers. “But I bet you knew that already.” He shifts his posture so he’s standing a bit taller. “Y’know, you have some fuckin’ nerve, coming in here after what you did.”

“Did I miss something?” Your voice gets smaller with the gnawing feeling of brewing confrontation acting as a brick on your chest. “I thought–”

“Tell me what you thought,” he interrupts, leaning on a box of tapes. “Wait, no; let me guess. You thought that because I rejected you, you could go around blabbing my personal business around the school.” He scrunches up his face, biting his lip as he looks at you. “Did I get it right?”

“Your personal business?”

“Mhm,” he answers pointedly, spinning a skull ring around his finger. “Is that not it? Was it because you were embarrassed that I heard your grandma say that she hates you? I don’t blame her, by the way.”

Your force your gaze to remain trained on him, staring into his brown eyes that have hardened with fury. “She doesn’t hate me,” you breathe out, “she just can’t remember me anymore. When she knew who I was, she loved me. A lot.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t take away from the fact that everyone and their goddamn dog knows about the CPS report.”

“What CPS report?” you ask, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. “Is Harris okay?”

He takes one look at your puzzled expression and barks out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Seriously? You can drop the innocent act.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about!” you snap, frustrated at his unwillingness to hear you out and your own lack of understanding. “All I know is that this morning, you didn’t hate me–or maybe just hated me a little less–and now you’re back to being the worst human being I’ve ever met.”

Eddie scratches at the shadow of a beard that’s formed on his jawline; an itchy reminder that he didn’t get to shave last night. “You should consider yourself lucky if I’m the worst person you’ve ever met. Tell me, what have I done? Thrown some insults your way?” He claps his palm to his chest exaggeratedly. “How ever did you survive?”

“Mock me and my teaching skills, pretend like you’re going to call when you knew damn well that you weren’t, call me a bitch, and your latest and greatest,” you counter, ticking off the instances on your fingers, “accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

He considers this for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “So you’re trying to tell me,” he starts, gritting his teeth, “that we were in the same wing of the same hospital at the same time, but you weren’t the one who told people about the CPS case they opened on me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you hiss.

“Then how the fuck did Carol Perkins find out about it?!” His volume raises to a roar, and you wince at the sting it leaves echoing in your eardrums. “Because I fucking heard her talking about it with Steve Harrington! So if you, the person who was there, didn’t open your mouth and tell her, who did? The CPS fairy?”

“I don’t fucking know!” you shout, swallowing thickly in a meager attempt to bide time before the tears inevitably leak from your eyes. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”

Eddie rakes a hand through his frizzy curls, smacking the other on top of the nearby box. “Just…just get out,” he mutters. “I can’t listen to any more of your bullshit.” He starts back towards a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY before turning back around, eyes narrowed.

“Y’know, I wouldn’t have hooked up with you that night if I knew that this is how you handle a one-night stand,” he says, pursing his lips as he steps closer to you. “And I never should’ve let Harris step foot in your classroom. I would drive him to a school in goddamn Timbuktu if it meant having you out of my life.” He pauses, scraping his teeth across his lower lip and exhaling a terse laugh. “It’s too bad I can’t forget about you like your grandma did.”

The words knock the wind out of your lungs. Your knees buckle slightly, and you have to steady yourself on the closest shelf. Tears blur your vision as your legs carry you out of the store; you feel yourself walking, but it’s like an external force has control of your body. The words fuck you sit on the tip of your tongue, or maybe you say them—it’s too hazy to tell. The world is covered in a shiny layer of cellophane; you can see everything, but you can’t touch.

You’re crying too hard to drive, so you sit behind the wheel, seatbelt clicked in place, letting out sobs that leave your whole body shuddering. It’s all too much, and though you logically know that Grandma didn’t want to forget you, his comment hit a raw nerve.

It wasn’t a straight path; Alzheimer’s never is. A few months ago, she could remember you in the morning but forgot you by the afternoon. She would call you by name at 9 AM but ask who you were at 2 PM. One day you were her granddaughter; the next, you were a total stranger. You thought it couldn’t hurt more than it already did, but the repeated reminders that she no longer recognizes you at all is a constant knife through the heart.

You’ll be late if you don’t start driving back to work now, so you turn the key in the ignition and adjust the gear shift to reverse. As you look up to glance in the rearview mirror, you catch sight of him. He’s dumbfounded, and you could laugh at how ridiculous it is that it took him seeing you bawling in your car to realize that he went too far this time.

Unable to stomach the thought of further confrontation, you take a deep breath and drive away, leaving him to mull over what just happened.

He’d assumed you’d left already when he’d walked outside for a smoke break, placing a cigarette between trembling fingers before he’d even left the store. He almost drops the lighter on his scuffed sneaker when he sees you hunched over, resting your arms on the wheel as your body heaves. He’s not sure how long he’s been staring when you lift your head, exposing tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Your gazes lock for just a millisecond, but it tells him everything he needs to know.

It wasn’t you.

When Eddie arrives at the school for pick-up, he scours the crowd of impatient parents for Carol. He finds her talking with another mom; no doubt spreading more gossip about him. Maybe he shouldn’t have pretended that their Satanic cult rumors didn’t bother him when they were back in high school. Maybe if they knew, they would understand that he’s just a goddamn person trying his best, just like everyone else.

“Hey,” he starts, pushing the fear from his voice and willing his strength to remain unwavering. “Who told you about the CPS stuff?”

Carol plasters an obviously fake smile on her face as she responds. “I don’t know what you mean,” she says simply. Her carefree tone pushes Eddie to his limit.

“Cut the bullshit,” Eddie growls, quickly losing his temper. “I heard you talking to Steve Harrington about it. So either you tell me now, or I’ll make sure your husband knows about that guy I saw you with at the Hideout a couple of months ago.”

Her face blanches, color draining from her cheeks. “It was Jason Carver,” she mumbles, biting her thumbnail. “His wife, Chrissy, is a nurse at the hospital and saw the report. She told him, and he’s been telling, well, everyone else.”

Eddie swears that steam is billowing out of his ears. Everything is coated in a red haze, and he finds himself unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fists. “Where is that sonofabitch? I’m gonna punch him in his smug little–”

“Mr. Munson?” you cut through his rant. His head snaps in your direction. You’ve fixed your makeup; if Eddie hadn’t seen you crying earlier, he would’ve been none the wiser. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammers, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. “Actually, I needed to tell you someth–”

“I think you’ve said enough today,” you say, voice calm but firm. “I just wanted to give this to you before Harris comes out.” You hand him a pink piece of paper. “It’s a transfer slip. Starting next week, Harris will be in Ms. Marion’s class. I didn’t tell him anything about it, so you can say whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.” That’s not quite true; the idea of Eddie feeding Harris lies about you makes your stomach curdle, but there’s only so much you can control.

Eddie’s, usually quick with a retort, is uncharacteristically quiet. “I, um, I thought…the secretary told me that all of the classes were full.” It’s a cop-out, but he can’t push himself to tell you what he knows now. Not when you’re already bruised.

“They made an exception because I was the one who requested it this time,” you explain, clenching your jaw. “Looks like you got your wish. You can forget about me now.”

He takes the paper and shoves it in his back pocket. The confession is on the tip of his tongue, an apology not far behind. Say it, he berates himself. Just fucking say it. You might be able to fix this if you just—

“I’ll go get Harris,” you tell him, breaking into his thoughts. “Good-bye, Mr. Munson.”

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ohraicodoll · 1 year

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ok but listen, feral!reader picking up ellie from the hospital with Joel...

God, they would slaughter together.

God help any motherfucker who stands in their way.

Violent Ends Joel Miller x f!Reader The Last of Us 2.6k Words/ 3rd POV Feral Reader Masterlist Summary: They find the Fireflies and one by one, the lights go out. Warning: Violence. Spoilers for TLOU Ep 9 and the end of TLOU Part 1.

The moment feels frozen in time, right before the flash grenade went off. It’d been a month since Denver. A month since finding both Ellie and Red in the snow, covered in blood. That desperation that had driven him awake and to his feet, driven him to walk through miles of icy wind and snow to find them, had all at once flooded out of him. Because they were alive and together and that’s all that had mattered.

It’d been hard dealing with all their wounds. Joel was still healing from the stab wound and had to be caught up to speed, his need to take over the role of caretaker making it hard for him to relax and rest. It didn’t help that Red was exhausted, injured, and they all needed taking care of. Ellie had murdered the man, David. Had gone through hell and back and was changed because of it. She had such awful nightmares those first couple of weeks. Nights where she would scream herself awake and when they went to hold her, she would thrash in their arms. Too many nights of either of them holding her, rocking her gently back to sleep like she was a baby. Unbelievable damage had been done to all of them and for once, Joel was finding himself being the one to try and to tug everyone out of the darkness. He tried what he could to remind the girl of the good, show her fond memories, get her to laugh or even just be a little shit. Too many late nights talking with the woman at his side about what to do about her. Too many long silences, the absence of constant chatter noticeable. There were moments when Ellie seemed fine again and then the next she was gone, eyes dark and glazed over. PTSD, Red had murmured. It was hard for her too. It’d been a long time since killing had affected her and she wasn’t sure what to do to comfort Ellie. They continued on to Salt Lake City. Something about finally reaching their destination, the end of this big journey, had felt too much and he was anxious. Ellie was determined, no matter how much he said they didn’t have to go through it with, to reach the Fireflies. No cans of Chef Boyardee or promises to teach her guitar or gentle ribbing deterred her. Just the promise that she would follow them wherever they wanted to go after the job was done. At the back of his mind, he remembered Red telling him that when the job was done, she may go her separate ways. But she didn’t bring it up again and he wasn’t going to be the one to remind her. He didn’t want her to leave, couldn’t imagine it. He wanted to grab both of them by the hand, shove them in a car, and drive them straight back to Jackson. He wanted to see Ellie smile and joke again. He wanted to have them safe under the same roof without worrying who was coming for them. Joel wanted to take the time to explore every inch of Red without distraction, see her finally unguarded and at ease. He wanted them with him at his side, happy and taken care of.

But they had to finish it all. The moment before the flash grenade exploded, he’d been mid chuckle. His chest had felt light at the fact Ellie was finally laughing again, both of them arguing over shitty puns, and his eyes had found Red. She’d been smiling at him and he had wondered how many times she had ever actually smiled at him. Not at Ellie, but him and how he wanted to see it more. Then they heard the sharp metallic ping of something hit the ground and his head felt like it was going to explode. The world went dark. They’d found the Fireflies but the cost was Ellie. He had never really questioned how they would get the cure from the girl. Science wasn’t his forte so he had figured they would take some samples, run some tests, and then they would be on their way. But it’d been so stupid to be that naive. Cordyceps grew on the brain. He knew that and it had never clicked that the whole journey there had been a death procession. Marlene’s face as she said she understood his pain was bullshit. She didn’t understand anything. She didn’t understand what it was like to raise a little girl only to have her die in her arms. What it was like to live in bitterness and hatred only to find another miracle child and keep her safe against the world. How many lives and bodies had followed in his and Red’s wake to make sure she was okay only to deliver her to her death. Marlene didn’t understand shit because Ellie wasn’t her kid. She was theirs. And she expected them to simply walk away and rinse their hands of her? She gave the order to escort him out, telling him his companion would be let out separately as soon as she was awake. They had to sedate her after she broke one of their arms when she woke up. Joel’s mind was racing. On a feedback loop, that moment before the grenade went off played over and over again. Ellie’s laugh. Red’s smile. That feeling in his chest. His girls. His girls. He’d had panic attacks before, had been knocked breathless with pain at the thought of harm coming to them and the fear he would fail them. But he wasn’t going to fail them this time. He wasn’t losing anyone anymore. Ice cold violence washed over him as he took care of the two soldiers in the stairwell. It was so easy to pull the trigger again and again. Bodies fell to the floor one after another as he worked his way towards where the soldier had mentioned Red was kept. He’d get her and then they’d get Ellie and leave. The world could fucking burn if it meant Ellie would live and if anyone understood that, it was her.

He found her a floor up from where he was kept, his bullets finding Fireflies one by one. Their lights blinking out. Her bag was kept under the nurse’s station, some of her belongings spread out on the counter. They’d dug through them. Joel made sure to carefully put everything back exactly how he knew she liked it, knowing how attached she was to every single thing, and kicked open the door where she was being held. They’d tied her arms to the wall radiator with rope, blindfold over her eyes and her head lolled to the side. Rage filled him at the sight of her that way, like a wild animal caught in a trap. She’d scared them. Scared them enough they didn’t want her to recognize their faces, to be able to see the fear in their eyes. Satisfaction filled him at that fact. He made sure to gently cut through the rope with Ellie’s switchblade, rubbing the raw skin around her wrists, and was lifting the blindfold off when she jerked awake, thrashing immediately. Her nails were sharp and dug into his neck, drawing deep scratches, before he could catch her wrists. Her wild eyes were unfocused and he shushed her, speaking gently, “It’s me, it’s just me. I got ya.” Pupils dilated and eyes blinking rapidly, it took her a bit to come to realize who was talking to her, “Joel?” “It’s me, darlin,” he whispered, releasing her wrists and cupping her cheeks, “It’s me. We have to get you up and going, we don’t have much time.” “Where-” she licked her dry lips, voice raspy, and looked around the room with a furrowed brow, “Where’s Ellie? What happened?” His teeth grit and he wondered if he should lie to her. Tell her these people weren’t the Fireflies and had taken the girl, let her unleash unholy hell onto them. But this was Red and it didn’t matter who these people were to her. She wouldn’t care because the fact remained that they had taken Ellie and weren’t giving her back. “We found the Fireflies,” Joel spit out, “They’re going to kill her. To make the cure. They have to kill her to get it.” He didn’t have to explain what he was planning to do. They had always worked well, able to silently communicate without a single word passed between them. They were going to kill Ellie. That was all he had to say. Because if anyone understood what his choice was going to be, it would be her. Joel could see it. The moment the statement sunk in, her brain landing on the same frequency as his. They were going to kill Ellie. Ellie. They were going to kill their kid. Fuck a cure, fuck these people, fuck all of humanity. He’d seen that same look in her eye when he’d found them in Denver, her face and clothes coated in blood that wasn’t hers and fingers digging into Ellie tightly as if she’d disappear into the wind if she let go. Rage, pure and decimating. She’d burn the world to the ground and salt the earth afterwards. He handed over her pack and she quickly strapped it on before taking the spare pistol he had grabbed from one of the soldiers. “How many?” she bit out and rose to her feet. “A lot.” “Okay,” was all she replied before checking her magazine clip and nodding towards the door, “You lead.” And that was that. She was his shadow, that silent communication taking over like when they were back in the wilderness. He’d turn and fire and she would be there, having his back as he reloaded and checked the corners. If his gun clicked empty before finishing a soldier, her knife would find the target. Quick and brutal and efficient. Red didn’t hesitate. Even as some of the soldiers begged, she was quick to end them, picking up their gun and continuing on. They moved with brutal proficiency through the floors, bodies and blood and bullets falling in their wake. When they needed to know what floor Ellie was being held on, they grabbed a person and she’d dug her knife into their thigh, getting the information before slitting their throat. One of them would grab a bottle and toss it, causing a distraction and giving the other an opening to mow down the Fireflies.

Mercy was not something they considered. They had taken their kid, taken Ellie, they were going to kill her and that meant no one would be left alive. No loose ends, no one to come after them. She saw what had happened last time in Denver when they left loose ends. David’s group had happened. Blood and fire had happened. They wouldn’t make the same mistake again. When they reached the pediatric floor, it was quiet, empty. The painted childlike imagery on the walls didn’t help their anger. Pediatric floor. For children. Yet here these people were, about to kill their daughter for the good of mankind. This is where kids came to be saved, not murdered. Red’s body was humming with energy at his back and he knew that if he wanted to, he could unleash her and let her rip everyone to shreds even if it meant she’d hurt herself. She was a weapon to be used however he saw fit and it would be so easy to let her do it. But Joel wasn’t losing either of them. No, he was walking out with both of them at his side, safe so they could go back home together. The slight murmur of voices drew them closer to the operating room. The sight of his baby girl in a hospital gown on a table sent pain rushing through him. Ellie looked so small, hair undone and laid out around her and contraptions attached. None of the spitfire energy she usually had, no smirk, no grin at annoying him or frustrated frown when Red got after her. These people didn’t know who they were going to kill for their cure. Didn’t know the amazing girl the world would lose for them to gain a future. The surgeon looked up and was startled at seeing both of them there. Joel doesn’t remember exactly what he said, only that the doctor had grabbed the scalpel and then he shot at the same time Red did beside him. The doctor fell and the nurses did too, dropping to the ground in a splatter of blood. Just more bodies in their wake. They didn’t waste any time. Quickly drawing the IV out of her vein, Red grabbed tape and gently wrapped it while Joel worked to unhook Ellie from the machines. He couldn’t help but press a kiss to her hair and whispered, “We’re here, baby girl. Let’s go home.” “I’ll cover the rear, you carry her, and we’ll go to the garage. There has to be vehicles there,” Red bit out, “We may have stragglers show up.” He nodded and pulled Ellie off the table and into his arms, leading the way out of the room and into the hallway. As predicted, there were stragglers. A few soldiers were running from the back stairwells, guns raised. He kept going, trusting Red to have his back. Joel trusted her with both their lives and knew she wouldn’t let anything happen to them. Especially not so close to the finish line. Sure enough, he could hear her open fire, the telltale sounds of screams and pained grunts echoing around them before the thuds of bodies hitting the ground. Leave no loose ends. The mantra played through his mind as they entered the garage and saw Marlene there. It played when he turned to look at Red, her eyes borrowing holes into Marlene’s with a rage he’d only seen a few times. And it played when he pulled the trigger on the gun he was holding underneath Ellie’s legs. “You’d just come after her.”

___________________________

Red didn’t protest against anything he told Ellie. He knew she wouldn’t, but to see her trust him fully to take the lead on the explanation made him reach across the center console and grab her hand. Her hands were still bright pink from scrubbing the blood off them, wiping away any evidence before Ellie would wake up. Raiders. Barely made it out. No cure to be found. No one left. Her fingers intertwined with his, gripping them back after checking on the sleeping girl curled up in a ball on the back seat. “Back to Jackson,” Red murmured, blinking up at him under her lashes. The sun reflected off her cheekbones, lighting up her hair. “Back to Jackson,” Joel replied and gave her hand a squeeze. “You sure you want me around civilized folk?” she whispered and rubbed at a spot of blood in her jeans, hair falling into her face. The question was said jokingly but tentative. Do you want me around? You said there was no happy ending. Their past arguments swirled in his head and he cursed the man he had been, the one who had put that doubt there. “Fuck civilized folk,” Joel assured her easily, hand on the steering wheel gripping it tightly, “I need my girls with me. Who else is going to help me look after our kid.” Our kid. Because Ellie was. She was theirs. Not by genetics but they were family tied together by blood and violence and something that ran so much deeper. Red had killed for them like they all had killed for each other. Joel would kill hundreds to keep both of them safe. She smiled softly, head tilting back to lean against the headrest and blood still slightly smeared on her neck. Joel’s eyes focused on her mouth, the tilt of her lips as it curled up and the fact it was aimed at him. Just like before the flash grenade went off. He was taking his girls home.

________________________________ Feral Reader Tag List: @alouise20 @faceache111 @hawsx3 @taxidriversainz @iluvbunnyhops @mrfitzdarcyslover @emlovesya @agent007knight @spaacerabbit @namgification @wonwoosthetic

#tlou spoilers #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x reader #joel miller x feral reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x oc #series: feral #joel miller fanfic #the last of us fanfic #tlou fanfic #Feral Reader #Raicodoll writes

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staygoldwriting · 2 years

Text

Cousin Buckley: Part 2

Summary: You’re Robin’s cousin, and you’ve stolen the hearts of Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson <3

In case you missed it: Part 1!

Warnings: none, just fluff :)

Word count: 1059

A/N: THANK YOU!!! I’m SO happy you guys enjoyed part 1! You make my heart so happy :’) <3 Here is part 2--please enjoy and send it some love, and if you want to join the taglist, please don’t hesitate to ask!

“I can’t believe you finally have your license, Rob.”

“Oh, I don’t,” she frowned at you. “I’ve got a permit though! And this is also Steve’s car,” she continued, looking down at the BMW.

“So, I guess you should be up front then, huh Harrington?” Eddie smiled. “You know, to guide Robin--”

“Oh, she’ll be fine with Y/N in front--”

“Make sure she doesn’t wreck your baby?”

“It would actually be helpful, Steve,” Robin said, half-serious and half playing around for the fun of it. “I haven’t driven without you yet.”

Steve’s jaw tensed up. You saw him glance over at you, and you gave him a weak smile, which he returned with a sigh.

“Fine.”

Eddie opened the car door for you as you scooted in behind Robin’s seat. As Robin muttered to herself about mirror positions and if it was 10-and-2 or 11-and-3, Eddie asked you some small questions about your flight. Steve got in and looked back at you, giving you a more confident smile, but was then jolted by Robin peeling out of the parking lot.

“Robin!” he yelled, seizing the handle above the window.

“Sorry, sorry!” she apologized, “that was an accident.”

“It was sort of a rush,” Eddie shrugged, making you giggle. Steve looked back at him incredulously, smoothing his hair.

“Yeah, sure, cuz it’s not your car!” he gasped. “How would you feel if Robin played your guitar with sandpaper?”

“It was not that bad!” Robin argued, cheeks reddening. You patted her shoulder consolingly.

“It wasn’t, and like you said, it was an accident, I’m sorry for freaking,” Steve said, collecting his calm.

“Thanks Steve, but I’m still sorry. For the record, Eddie, this is exactly why I’ve never touched your guitar.”

“I appreciate that,” Eddie smiled.

“That’s cool that you play guitar,” you said, turning to him.

“Oh, thanks! I’m actually in a band, Corroded Coffin.”

“No way! Metal?”

“You know it,” he smirked. “We’re playing this weekend, wanna come?”

“Absolutely!” You smiled brightly. “Steve, do you wanna come too?”

Eddie’s face went pale as Steve turned around, beaming.

“I would love to, Y/N! Thank you so much for inviting me. What night are you playing, Eddie?”

“Friday night.”

“This Friday night?”

“Yup.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Y/N, but I have to work that night.” Steve looked dejected, but Eddie’s face began brightening again.

“Bummer! But it’s alright, we can find another time to hang out,” you smiled softly, then looked out the window. As you did so, the boys had a silent bicker-fight. As you turned around, Steve was swatting at Eddie.

“Everything okay?” you asked them.

“Like I said, they’re weirdos,” Robin commented.

***

“We’re home!”

You looked at the Buckley house in front of you, and you sighed in relief. Robin’s house was the main source of your happy childhood memories, like running around in the sprinklers, playing with each other’s hair, and staying up late telling each other ghost stories. You loved spending your summers here.

“It feels so nice to be back,” you smiled as you exited the car, stretching.

“Mom’s going to be so happy to see you,” Robin smiled back. “But she won’t be home from work for a bit. We can settle you in, but I also have to run to my shift at the Video Store in about an hour. I’m sorry, I couldn’t get out of it.”

“No worries, I can find something to do,” you replied. “Hey, could I come to work with you, or is that totally against the rules?”

“You can come, it just might be boring,” Robin shrugged.

“I’ve got cards! We can play and talk when there aren’t any customers.”

“That sounds good to me! We can leave Steve to deal with the customers.”

“You work with Robin still?” you asked, maybe a little more enthusiastically than you intended.

“Yeah, the family that scoops together stays together, I guess,” Steve chuckled. “Gosh, sorry, that was cheesy.”

“No, it was cute,” you giggled, crinkling your nose. “Eddie, do you work?”

“Yeah, I work with my uncle,” he scratched his head. “It’s more of a labor type of job, so it’s hard, but it pays the bills… sort of. It’s been better having two incomes since my uncle is still well and working and I just graduated… finally. But that’s more than you need to know,” he smiled, trying to laugh off the vulnerable moment.

“It sounds like rewarding work, Eddie,” you smiled, bumping his arm. “Good for you.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, a hint of a blush peeking out. “Alright,” he said, gaining more confidence, “let’s get you settled in, m’lady!”

Eddie grabbed your bags this time and lugged them up the stairs, despite your and Steve’s protests. The guest room was ready for you, and your side of the bathroom was empty and ready for your things. You were staying for over two months, so you wanted to load your things into the empty dresser drawers to keep yourself organized. Robin stayed with you, plopped on your bed, talking about what had been happening recently in her life, specifically graduating. The boys, however, were having a less-than-pleasant conversation downstairs.

“Okay, she’s clearly more interested in me,” Eddie whisper-yelled. “I mean, she’s a Metallica fan and she invited me to their concert within the first minute of knowing me, for crying out loud!”

“That may be true, but we definitely made an instant connection,” Steve argued. “And she called you her friend, while she called me good-looking.”

“Whatever, man, let’s just admit we both have a shot, but if we both ask her out right now, I think she’ll say no to both of us.”

“Yeah, Robin told me she’s really sweet but takes more time when it comes to dating. We’d have to get to know her more before she even thinks of us the way we think of her… She sure is pretty though,” he looked at Eddie, who nodded solemnly.

“She sure is…” he looked into the distance, a crooked smile breaking through.

“Dude,” Steve said, snapping Eddie back.

“Sorry,” Eddie shook his head. “Okay, neither of us are going to ask her out yet. Let’s just build friendships and try not to be jealous of each other. Sound good?”

“I guess,” Steve sighed. “I just really feel like she’s--”

“Ready for work, Steve?”

To be continued!

Taglist: @joequinn94 @simonsbluee @lagataprrr @holeformunson

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 2 years

Text

Second Choice

could you write angst to fluff where eddie told his friends he thought Chrissy was super beautiful but a few months later he ends up falling in love with the reader(who is Chrissy's best friend) so they start dating and when he’s telling his friends they start to make jokes about how he couldn’t get the girl he wanted so he settled for her bestie instead and reader overheard and her feelings get hurt?

Requested by anon

Warnings; angst to fluff, soft Eddie.

Like, comments and especially reblogs are very much appreciated 💞. I do not give anyone permission to copy my work.

❤

The Hellfire table was lively at lunch, talk of the next campaign was in full swing but the only person who was unusually quiet was Eddie.

Who was currently staring at the cheerleader table at none other than Chrissy Cunningham.

Garreth notices him staring and rolls his eyes.

"Dude". He nudges Eddie who comes out of his reverie.

"Chrissy is super beautiful don't you think?"

Dustin and Lucas smirk at each other while Mike joins Gareth and shakes his head amused.

"Yeah, yeah, you say that like every week man change the tune". Jeff chuckles and Eddie glares at them then finds his eyes trailing back to the cheerleading table.

Beside Chrissy is her best friend y/n, his heart skips a beat. How had he never noticed her before Jesus H Christ she was beautiful. She catches his eye and smiles at him.

He thinks that even his cynical heart could melt at that smile and suddenly Chrissy is driven out of his mind.

All that fills it now is y/n's beautiful eyes and pretty smile.

❤

The first time Eddie comes up to her is at her locker, some stare at the two of them and whisper scandalised.

Idiots y/n huffs. She's never had a problem with Eddie or thought him to be a freak like Jason and the others did.

In fact, she thought he was really sexy, she loved how he didn't conform to others' expectations, he was funny and those brown eyes of his? Gorgeous.

She kinda always had a crush on him but he always had eyes for Chrissy. Was he here to ask her about her best friend? Disappointment fills her.

He surprises her.

"Hey, uh I know you're probably going to say no but would you like to go out sometime? Watch a movie? Some shit like that?".

His cheeks are tinged pink and it's so fucking cute because rarely has she ever seen Eddie nervous. In drama, he was always the star of the show.

"I'd love to Eddie". He gapes a little then smiles all dimples.

"Great, so we can go after school? It will be totally metal princess". Her heart flutters at his cute name for her and she watches him walk away with a giddy feeling in her stomach.

❤

Eddie was very aware of the way that all of Hellfire was staring at him stunned, it was hard to focus on what was bothering them when he was thinking about y/n.

For two months they had dated and Eddie was in love. Crazy right? His cynical heart had melted from the minute he started hanging out with y/n.

Dates involved watching movies at her house or his trailer, she cooked the most incredible meals for her and him always saving some for Uncle Wayne who adored her.

They'd have nights where they would have sex and afterwards he would jam on the guitar until she fell asleep or they would work their way through the Hobbit and Lord of the rings.

He loved it and he loved her. Today he was going to tell the Hellfire boys if they would just stop staring.

"What?". He asks growing annoyed and Dustin gulps a bit but presses on with his question.

"Well, it's weird man, you haven't gushed about Chrissy in months". Really. That's why they were staring?

"Because I'm with someone Henderson, y/n, she's amazing".

Jeff frowns. "Isn't she like Chrissy's best friend?". What are they getting at?

"Yeah, and your point is dude?" He doesn't realise y/n approaching the table with a beaming smile on her face.

Gareth laughs. "Come on man, admit it. You were crushing on Chrissy for months. Oh, she's so beautiful blah blah blah and now you're with her best friend? You couldn't get the girl you actually want so you settled for her best friend?".

Eddie's stomach tightens in anger.

💞💫💞💫

She walks over to Eddie's lunch table. He was deep in conversation with the rest of Hellfire Club.

They had discussed telling his friends last night and hers. She had already told Chrissy and Robin who were both ecstatic for her and she was heading over to tell Eddie about that.

She stops when she hears his friend Gareth laughing.

Come on man, admit it. You were crushing on Chrissy for months. Oh, she's so beautiful blah blah blah and now you're with her best friend? You couldn't get the girl you actually want so you settled for her best friend?".

Dustin doesn't look impressed.

"Dude are you dating Y/n to get closer to Chrissy because that's not cool".

"Can't get the girl of your dreams so you date her bestie? Good one dude". Jeff sniggers.

Eddie really did like Chrissy? He thought Chrissy was super beautiful? Why was be with her then? Is what his friends were saying true?

Her heart shatters and she feels very hurt and seriously pissed off.

"Is that true Ed's? That's the only reason that you're dating me? As a second choice?". Eddie's head snaps up at hearing her voice, his eyes widen and he stands up.

"No, no the guys don't know shit. Jesus H Christ, I'm besotted with you princess". She sniffs wiping the tears away.

"But you did have a crush on Chrissy before?". He nodded and she shakes her head.

"So I am the second choice then?". He gapes but she rushes away before he can say anything or she hears him chew out his friends.

💞💫

"You morons". He yells at his friends who look guilty as hell.

"Eddie we...". Jeff begins to apologise.

"Shut up dude seriously. I gotta go find my girl and convince her that she's the only girl for me. I love y/n. Have been smitten since the moment I laid eyes on her. I'm over Chrissy completely. Y/n is the one for me".

With that, he storms off and goes to find y/n, luckily she hasn't gone far. She's in their spot deep the woods.

She's crying, his heart aches at the sound and he approaches her, kneels and takes her hands in his.

"Go away Eddie". He shakes his head and gently wipes her tears away.

"Sorry, princess. No can do. Gotta explain to my sweetheart that she's the only girl for me, the most beautiful, girl in the world and Yeah, I had a crush on Chrissy but I'm 100% over her. Have been since the minute I laid eyes on you".

Her crying stops and she peers up at him.

"You mean it?". He nods and kisses her forehead.

"I'm in love with you and only you. You're the only girl for me". She cups his cheek and he cuddles her close to him.

Her tense body relaxes and she sighs.

"I love you too Eds and hey I told Chrissy and Robin about us, they were really happy". He grins and strokes her hair.

"That's great princess. Now how about I introduce you properly to those dumbass friends of mine". He pulls her up and they walk hand in hand back to the school.

The boys apologise the minute y/n sits down which she accepts but doesn't want to hash it out, she would rather move past it and form good connections with them.

"Hey, why don't you guys tell me about the totally metal campaign Eddie is doing? I've helped him with bits and pieces of it. What do you all think?".

Settling on Eddie's knee she listens intently as the chatter grows animated and she's invited to her first ever Hellfire club.

For a second she's drawn to the way Eddie is gazing at her. Full of love and utter devotion.

She's his queen after all.

❤

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you

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patheticgirlsteve · 2 years

Text

It’s been four months since Eddie broke up with him. They had been dating for six months. Steve felt like it had come out of nowhere. He had thought they were happy. He had been happy, had Eddie not been?

Eddie gave Steve no warning and no explanation, he had simply said, “It’s not going to work out. It was never going to work out. Better to end things now before it gets too hard to walk away from.” And he had driven away with dry eyes, leaving Steve with a shattered heart and so many questions.

Steve had been so fucking confused and angry and hurt. Because he had loved Eddie, more than he had ever loved anyone else before. Loved him so much that it terrified him a little bit. He still does and doesn’t think he’ll ever stop. But apparently, Eddie hadn’t felt the same. Hadn’t loved Steve enough to even tell him what he had done wrong. Steve had thought… Well, it didn’t matter what he had thought, he was wrong.

Steve wanted answers, an explanation, an apology, anything, really. He wanted Eddie to look him in the eyes and say anything true. Or not, Steve would honestly settle for a kind lie at this point. He just wanted to feel whole again, wanted Eddie to give back the pieces of Steve’s heart that he had taken with him when he left Steve all alone.

And Steve thinks he should be used to this by now. Should be used to being the one in the relationship who loves harder and deeper than the other. Should be used to being left behind like his love doesn’t matter, like it means nothing at all. He should be used to this by now. He should be.

But, all in all, Steve is doing fine. Or, at least, he’s pretending to be. He’s heard that if you pretend something for long enough then it eventually becomes true. He’s doing an admittedly bad job of it right now, though.

He’s wide awake at three in the morning, lying on the shag rug in the living room in his boxers and an old Hawkins swim team shirt, listening to the one Iron Maiden record Eddie had accidentally left behind at Steve’s house when he had stopped by to pick up all of his things. Steve had found it the next day and he hadn’t called Eddie to tell him, he didn’t think he could right now. So he kept it and now he listens to it every night when three a.m. rolls around and he can’t talk himself into falling asleep.

Steve still doesn’t like metal music. Eddie had tried so hard to get Steve to like it, but it never worked. He doesn’t hate this record though. It just says Iron Maiden on the cover, so he’s guessing that’s also the name of the album. He hasn’t bothered to learn the names of the songs, but he knows that the one that’s playing right now is the one he dislikes the least. He might even go so far as to call it his favorite.

Steve is not quite enjoying a ridiculous-sounding guitar solo, trying not to imagine what Eddie’s hands would look like playing it when the phone rings. He is in no state to deal with a real emergency right now, but if there’s one thing Steve’s learned in the past three years, it’s to always answer three a.m. phone calls. So he pulls the cue off the record and goes to pick up the phone.

“Hello?” He asks whoever is on the other end of the line, and doesn’t bother using his manners.

“Steve?” He hears the answering voice and his stomach drops to the floor.

“Eddie,” Steve isn’t sure what the protocol is for when your ex who broke your heart calls you in the middle of the night.

“Eddie, why are you calling me?” Steve asks. “Are you okay? What happened?” Because, sure, Eddie ripped his heart in two, but Steve still cares about him and he’s never going to let anything bad happen to him if he can help it.

“Nothing, I…” Eddie trails off, but he’s breathing heavily. He sounds out of breath like he’s been running, or something. “Nothing happened. I just, it just… I had…”

Eddie trails off again, his breathing only growing heavier and more frantic and it doesn’t take long for Steve to put the pieces together.

It was impossible to go through what they had all been through and come out of it all completely unscathed. They all had nightmares, but Eddie’s had been bad. Really bad. Like, wake up screaming and shaking and sobbing sort of bad. And they happened a lot. Steve knew that Eddie woke up screaming at least once a week, and that was on a good week.

Steve had done what he could to help from the very beginning, he made sure Eddie knew without any doubt that he could always call Steve, no matter what time it was or how ridiculous it felt. Made it clear that Eddie would never have to go through any of this alone.

After they had started sharing a bed, he had been there to hold Eddie through it, to stroke his hair and whisper reassurances into his ear. To make sure Eddie knew that he was safe. It didn’t stop the nightmares from happening and it didn’t change the frequency at which they occurred, but it gave Eddie something to cling to, something to solid to remind him that he was alive and safe.

And then Eddie had left. And he had stopped calling Steve when he had nightmares. Steve knew the nightmares hadn’t magically stopped, and could only hope that the silence from Eddie meant that he had found someone else to call when the darkness got too big. The thought of Eddie finding comfort in someone else hurt, but it hurt, even more, to think that Eddie was just suffering through it all alone.

“Eddie,” Steve softens his voice as he leans against the wall next to the phone. “I need you to breathe for me, okay? Just breathe in, okay? Can you do that for me, please?”

Eddie’s breath is frantic and wild and Steve’s gut wrenches as he listens to him struggle to get it under control.

“Follow my breath, Eds,” Steve’s voice is low and as calm as it can be while he talks his ex-boyfriend down from a hellscape trauma nightmare-induced panic attack. It’s just as hard as one might think it would be. “Breathe in with me and hold it,”

He takes a deep breath in and waits until he hears Eddie’s shaky breath in as well. He holds the air in his lungs for a couple of seconds before releasing it slowly.

“And let it out,” Steve ignores the way his heart clenches as Eddie releases a shuddering breath. It sounds so fragile over the phone and Steve hates it.

“That’s good,” Steve says. “Let’s do a couple more together, yeah?”

He leads Eddie through four more deep breaths until Eddie sounds stable enough to breathe on his own. Steve gives Eddie some silence to breathe on his own. He knows that Eddie needs to feel like he can breathe by himself again before he goes on.

They spend a couple of minutes of relative silence, Steve keeping his own breaths audible in case Eddie needs them, but not overpowering. And then Steve hears a sound even worse than frantic terrified breathing.

Eddie is crying.

Steve wants nothing more than to reach through the receiver and scoop Eddie into his arms, but even if that wasn’t impossible, Steve knows that it wouldn’t be welcome.

Steve is trying to think of what to say when Eddie starts speaking.

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” He sobs, and if Steve’s heart wasn’t fully shattered before then it certainly is now. “I’m so sorry for calling you, I know it’s not fair of me to call you like this at whatever the fuck time it is for emotional support after I…”

He interrupts himself with a broken sob that brings tears to Steve’s eyes.

“After I broke up with you without explaining why, but I didn’t mean to, I just. I thought it was for the best, and I still think that, but I just miss you so much, Stevie,” the name is another punch to Steve’s gut. “And then I dreamed that you, that he-- that you were--”

He’s really crying now, and Steve wants to cut him off, to tell him that it’s okay, but he knows Eddie needs to get this out. As much as Steve himself doesn’t want to hear it, can’t stand to hear it right now, he doesn’t give himself the option of stopping Eddie. He’s done this enough times to know that Eddie needs to get it all out before he’ll let Steve try to help him.

“And I’m so sorry, Steve,” Eddie is still going, his voice breaking on every other word. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, please, believe me, Steve. Sweetheart, please, I’m so sorry, I’m so--”

“Eds, Eddie,” Steve jumps in, he can’t let this go on any longer. He can’t listen to Eddie apologize anymore, even if it’s what he’s been wanting for months now. He didn’t want it like this. Never wanted this. “Eddie, ba—“

Steve cuts himself off quickly. God, fuck, he’s almost called Eddie— Fuck. He almost called Eddie baby. Jesus H. Christ. That’s maybe the least helpful thing he could possibly say right now.

There’s a sudden silence on the line, and Steve knows that Eddie heard his slip-up. Knows Eddie heard the pet name start to spill out of Steve. He knows the damage is done.

“Will you say it?” Eddie whispers. “Please, Steve? Will you please say it?”

And something about the way Eddie asks it just breaks Steve’s heart all over again, like it has over and over again, and he really never could say no to Eddie, so he says,

“Yeah, baby,” It hurts. Hurts, even more, when he hears Eddie release another shuddering sob. “Eddie, baby. It’s okay, it’s all okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Eddie sounds like he’s the on edge of something again and Steve knows he needs to move now. “Nothing is okay, it just isn’t because I ruined it! I always ruin it!”

And, fuck this situation is spiraling out of what little control Steve had over it. He makes a decision, the only decision he can make, really.

“I’m coming over,” Steve leaves no room for argument in his tone. “Stay where you are, baby, I’ll be there in ten.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, doesn’t protest at all, which Steve takes to mean that he’s not planning on going anywhere.

“Stay where you are, I’ll see you so soon, Eddie,” Steve says, and right, as he’s about to hang up and go track down some pants and his car keys, Eddie speaks. Quietly, almost inaudibly.

“Steve?”

“Yeah, Eds?” Something in Eddie’s voice makes Steve pause. It doesn’t sound as despairing as it had earlier, but it doesn’t sound good either.

“Thank you,” Eddie practically whispers. He continues speaking before Steve can respond. “And I’m sorry. For everything.”

“It’s okay, Eds,” Steve doesn’t want to do this right now. This is not a right now conversation. “We can talk about all of it later, okay?” He’s trying so hard to keep his cool and stay calm and strong for Eddie, but he can feel it starting to slip.

“Okay,” Eddie sounds exhausted, which makes sense, he probably is. “Steve?” he says again.

“Yes, Eddie?” Steve asks.

There’s a long pause before Eddie says anything else, long enough that Steve starts to worry.

Then Eddie speaks.

“I still love you,” And it feels like a knife to Steve’s heart. He feels like throwing up. He feels like he’s dying. “I never stopped loving you. You know that, right?”

Steve is actually gonna throw up. He can’t have this conversation right now, not like this.

“I’m coming over,” Steve knows his voice sounds strangled. “Don’t go anywhere, Eddie. I’ll be there so soon.”

“Okay,” Is all Eddie says before he hangs up the phone, and Steve is left alone with the dial tone.

(edit: this now has a part two!!)

(edit #2: now complete!!)

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #my wiritng #sorry this is mean. hehe #also very sorry this is not proofread even a little bit #thank you to char and megan for enabling me #this was inspired by a mitski song btw.#anya.txt

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spinef0ryou · 8 months

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An interview with Dave Mustaine from this month’s Metal Hammer magazine. Transcript under the cut.

THE REVENGE OF DAVE MUSTAINE

Forty years ago, Megadeth emerged from a maelstrom of drugs, carnage, and raw fury. Now, the man at the centre of it looks back at the birth of one of metal’s most iconic bands.

WORDS: JON WIEDERHORN

It has become one of the most oft-repeated legends of metal history. At 9am on April 11, 1983, Metallica woke up guitarist Dave Mustaine and told him he was out of the band. They were holed up in a divey live-in rehearsal space in Queens, New York, preparing to record their debut album, Kill 'Em All. With hardly an explanation, they handed him a one way bus ticket back to Los Angeles, and James Hetfield drove him to the Port Authority Bus Terminal in Midtown Manhattan. Without a dime in his pockets, Dave boarded the 10am bus, which was scheduled to arrive in LA four days later.

Broke and hungry, he spent much of the ride looking out the window, stewing in rage. His drinking had become a problem with the rest of the band, though the tipping point came when he attacked James Hetfield after the latter allegedly kicked Dave's dog. Still, Metallica were about to head into the studio to record their full-length debut without him, after he had written four songs, seven guitar leads and two sets of lyrics for the album. And that stung like hell.

Sitting on the bus, he glanced at a political postcard he had picked up along the way. It was from California Democratic Senator Alan Cranston, and it read in part: ‘The arsenal of megadeath can't be rid,’ political speak for, ‘now that the U.S. has ramped up its production of nuclear weapons, the genie is officially out of the bottle.'

It was like a bomb exploding inside Dave's head. ‘Megadeth: what a cool name for a band.’ Inspired, he started scribbling new song lyrics on the back of a cupcake napkin. This was the basis of the very first Megadeth song, titled Set The World Afire, which would eventually make its way onto the band's third album, 1988's So Far, So Good...So What!. But on that bus heading across the middle of America, Dave was determined, driven and hungry. Failure simply wasn't an option.

It's 40 years since that fateful bus ride, and Dave Mustaine has lived multiple lives. He's endured drug addiction, countless line-up changes, the death of close friends and his own throat cancer diagnosis (he got the all-clear in 2020). But the one constant throughout has been Megadeth, the entity he imagined into being while staring out at the passing landscape and seething.

"I was driven by revenge" recalls Dave of Megadeth's inception today, speaking to Hammer from his home in Nashville. "I was angry about what happened with Metallica, and all the way home I kept thinking, 'I'll just be faster, I'll be better, and my songs will be heavier."

It didn't take Dave long to get back on his feet once he returned to Los Angeles following his unceremonious dismissal from Metallica. Crashing at friends' houses in Hollywood, he began looking for bandmembers for his new project. Word soon began to spread - the guy who got kicked out of Metallica for being too fucked-up was back. And he was pissed off.

"Somehow everything turned into this thing where we had a band ready called Fallen Angels" says Dave. "I thought, "Uh, no we don't.!' I didn't even have a full band yet."

Trading under the name Megadeth - after the phrase he'd seen on that political postcard - he began trying to piece together a stable line-up, something that proved easier said than done. A churn of guitarists and drummers came and went throughout the rest of 1983 and into 1984, none sticking around permanently.

Some interesting characters passed through their ranks. One drummer, Dijon Carruthers, was the son of Hollywood actor Ben Carruthers (best known for his role in the 1967 war movie The Dirty Dozen). Another drummer, Lee Rausch, claimed he'd sold his soul to Satan, something that even Dave, who had performed occult rituals, found too bizarre (Lee, who died earlier this year, later became a committed Christian). And then there was a young guitarist named Kerry King, who briefly pulled double duty in Megadeth and his own band Slayer.

"When Kerry sat in with us [for five gigs in early 1984), he was doing us a huge favour" Dave says. "He didn't have any plans on being in Megadeth because he loved Slayer, and that was his band. I really didn't want to take him away from another band. Poaching bandmembers has never been something I've been into."

Finding a bassist was easier. Recently transplanted Minnesota native David Ellefson had moved into the apartment below Mustaine, and paid his new neighbour a visit to ask where he could buy cigarettes and beer. The two men got talking, and Mustaine plaved the AC/DC- and Judas Priest-loving Ellefson some of the music he'd written for his new band. The bassist liked it and threw in his lot with the guy living upstairs.

That just left the task of recruiting a singer. Dave didn't see himself as a vocalist, so they tried out a few other people. They either looked wrong (one guy turned up to rehearsal in make-up) or sounded wrong. It didn't help that the music he was writing was faster, angrier and more complex that any mainstream metal of the time. Eventually, someone suggested he do it himself.

"I was reluctant right up to the last minute," he says. "And then I finally said, OK, fuck it, I can't be worse than some of these other dudes."

Even while the line-up was solidifying, Dave kept writing. He was determined not to produce songs that sounded like his old band, which wasn't easy given his input into Metallica's early material.

"When I was in Metallica, I was kind of playing at Lars's level, because Lars was still learning to play drums back then," he says. "But watching James play guitar for the first time was kind of shocking, because I didn't know he knew how to play guitar. We just got fed up one day of auditioning guitar players, just like I did with singers. And he picked up this guitar and started playing, and inside I'm going, 'Get the fuck out of here. How can you possibly be satisfied being a singer when you play like that? Why not be both?' I've always thought he was a really talented guitarist."

The first 'proper' Megadeth line-up began to take shape in mid-1984. "There was a guy, Jay Jones, who managed another band and was a very scandalous person," says Dave. "He came into the rehearsal studio when he heard me in the room playing and said, 'Have I got a drummer for you!"" That drummer was Gar Samuelson, who had formerly been a member of a jazz/ fusion group named The New Yorkers.

Dave agreed to meet Gar in his studio and, right from the start, was impressed by his jazz swing, crushing hits and jarring mannerisms.

"Gar sat down on a couch in Mars Studios, and he was smoking a cigarette," says Dave. "He fell asleep and his cigarette burned through his hand and burned his fingers. I thought, 'Shit, this guy is crazy. wonder what he's into?”

What he was into was heroin, the reason he nodded off mid-cigarette - something Dave himself would find out soon enough. Today, the singer speaks highly of Gar's abilities (the drummer died in 1999, reportedly of liver failure).

"We became great friends, and his jazz style complemented my riffing," says the singer. "I gotta give credit where credit is due. He had a lot to do with the sound of that first Megadeth record. He had taste and technique for days."

Megadeth entered Hollywood's Hitman Studios in 1984 and recorded a three-song demo, Last Rites, which featured Last Rites/ Loved To Deth, The Skull Beneath The Skin and Mechanix, the latter a gas station sex fantasy that Dave had written when he was in his earlier band, Panic, and brought into Metallica (who would subsequently change the lyrics and rename it The Four Horsemen). Desperate for someone to help promote them and bring them dope, Megadeth hired Jay Jones as their manager/ pharmaceutical supplier.

It was Jay who helped find the final piece of the jigsaw. Guitarist Chris Poland had been a member of The New Yorkers with Gar Samuelson, and, more recently, a group named No Questions. Like Gar, he was a jazz guy - and, also like Gar, he was a heroin user. He had little interest in playing metal, but he was interested in a pay cheque to fund his own drug habit. Despite that, Chris and Dave hit it off musically, the spontaneity of the former's playing meshing with the growing complexity of the songs the latter was writing.

Mustaine and Ellefson weren't strangers to drugs, though they initially favoured weed and beer, but they soon gave in to temptation and started dabbling in smack as well. With time, dabbling became binging. For Mustaine, narcotics were a coping mechanism, a temporary respite from hunger and homelessness.

“I liked getting high, but it was more about escape than anything." he says. "If there was a moment we were awake, we were looking for drugs because that's how horrible our existence was. We were scratching and clawing to get someone to take notice of us and thank God, no matter how fucked-up I was, my first priority was making music and playing good shows."

After sending Last Rites to various L.A.-area indie labels, Megadeth caught the attention of New York’s Combat Records, who gave them $8,000 to record their debut album, Killing Is My Business... And Business Is Good! They stumbled into Indigo Ranch Studios in Malibu, plugged in and got by on a combination of ambition and muscle memory. One day, when Dave asked Jay where his bandmates were, his manager told him they had just spent $4,000 (half the budget for the album) on blow, smack and frozen hamburgers. Dave promptly sacked Jay, cajoled another $4,000 from Combat, hired engineer Karat Faye, and paid him $50 a day to finish co-producing the album with him.

“We did the takes quickly, with Dave, Gar and I in one room, playing together, with no click tracks," Ellefson told Metal Hammer in the mid-2010s. "You can hear the tempos shifting around, depending on whether it was a 'heroin take' or a 'cocaine take'. It's funny now, but I wouldn't recommend that approach."

Since three of the songs were from the Last Rites demo, Megadeth only had to finesse another four tracks and a cover of Nancy Sinatra's 1966 hit These Boots Are Made For Walkin'. Once the album was finished, Megadeth hit the road, though the severity of his addiction meant Chris had to sit out the first two weeks of the tour.

"He was a real Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde because of his personal issues," Dave says. "As much as I loved Chris and tried to get close to him, what he was doing just took precedence over anybody and anything. What they say is true. You become powerless over that stuff. So, when you came down to it, I didn't mean anything to Chris, Megadeth didn't mean anything to Chris. All he cared about was what he was doing on the side."

On the road, Megadeth spent many nights crashing at fans' houses, preferably apartments owned by nurturing women turned on by bad boy rockers. They spent other nights in Motel 6s and when nothing else was available they would sleep in the van.

"The shows were out of control because hardly anyone knew what moshing was," Dave says. "They weren't familiar with crowdsurfing. Kids would just jump up on the stage and there was no stagediving protocol. Some of them would run over to you and grab your mic stand to get some picks off. They'd bang into your guitar or try to scream into the mic. Then someone would shove them off the stage. It was pure balls-to-the-wall metal insanity."

The band environment was no more relaxing offstage, especially when Chris and Gar needed to score.

"They'd sell a whole bunch of gear to buy drugs" Dave says. "We'd have to drive around town to all the pawn shops and instrument shops looking for all the drum pieces, or other pieces of equipment."

The situation wasn't helped by the fact that their label didn't seem to care about the band. A particularly demoralising moment came when the band ran out of money and didn't have enough gas to get to the next gig.

"I called up the vice president of Combat and he was a real piece of work" Dave recalls. "I told him I was at the hotel, and I needed gas money to get to the next town so we could get paid. And the guy says, 'Get a day job."

Other, more weak-willed musicians probably would have quit there and then, but not Dave Mustaine. Every obstacle, every element of adversity, provided extra determination not to let getting kicked out of Metallica mark the beginning of his downfall.

Killing Is My Business... And Business Is Good! caught the attention of the thrash scene when it was released in June 1985, not least thanks to their frontman's connection with Metallica. It was a subject was brought up in every interview, usually resulting in shit talking from a still-bitter Dave.

The vengeful drive that had given Megadeth their initial impetus hadn't abated. Dave found time between gigs, fixes and after-show debauchery to write a bunch of new songs on the road to add to the ones he'd been stockpiling since the beginning of the band.

One day Mustaine and Ellefson were at Killing Is My Business... producer Karat Faye's house when the frontman picked up his bandmate's bass and began playing a rolling, strident riff. Ellesfon was blown away. It took them two hours in the rehearsal room to turn it into a song. On the car ride to that rehearsal, Mustaine had turned to the bassist and asked: "What do you think of Peace Sells... But Who's Buying?” Megadeth had the name of both their second album and - in the truncated form of Peace Sells - its iconic near-title track.

Lyrically, Peace Sells was a world away from metal's traditional fascination with swords'n'sorcery and the occult, injecting a dose of politics into the Megadeth's melodic thrash attack. What do you mean, "I don't support your system"?" sneered the singer. 'I go to court when I have to.'

"I tried to keep up with what was going on in the world and I still do,” Dave says. "I mean, it's not especially deep or anything. It's kind of like the credo of Al Bundy from the (late 80s/early 90s] TV show Married... With Children if he was a metal fan. That's a silly comparison, but it's what was in my head at the time. And I wrote all the lyrics on the wall of the practice room. When you're writing on a wall there's not much room to come back with an eraser. I don't know if they painted over the wall, but they probably should have excavated it and sent it to some kind of museum.

Despite their tensions with Combat, the label stumped up a budget of $25,000 for Megadeth to enter Malibu's Indigo Ranch studio with producer Randy Burns to record their second album. Even before the album was released, major labels had begun sniffing around the band. One person who was interested was Michael Alago, the A&R hotshot who had recently signed Metallica, but Dave had no interest in being on the same label as his former bandmates-turned-antagonists.

"I didn't want to play second fiddle to them." he says.

In the end, they signed with Capitol, who opted to buy Megadeth out of their contract with Combat and bring in producer Paul Lani to remix it and give it a slicker sound. Along with the deal came a noticeable improvement in the band's financial situation - as Capitol's shiny new thrash metal band, Megadeth received more tour support and bigger royalty cheques than they'd ever got on Combat. But much of the money they were now making went into their expensive pharmaceutical habits. Even though he was deep in his own addiction, Dave knew that providing some sense of leadership was important, now more than ever before.

"I quickly realised that when stuff goes wrong - and it does go wrong - that if you're the leader, you need to take responsibility for shit even when it's not your fault,” he says. “You need to step up and make it right. I look at stuff and say, 'I've got to do whatever I can to make this right. We've come too far for everything to go sideways."

To Dave Mustaine, righting the ship has also meant knowing when it's time to make changes. In June 1987, Megadeth wrapped up the tour in support of Peace Sells... But Who's Buying? with two shows in Honolulu, Hawaii. When the band got back to LA, Gar Samuelson and Chris Poland were jonesing for a fix. According to the frontman, they ended up selling band equipment again to buy more drugs. It was the final straw.

"I was totally fed up," Mustaine says. "I guess it was just one too many times driving around Los Angeles trying to find everybody's band gear. I told Ellefson, 'Well, that's it. I'm breaking up the band and I'm getting rid of those guys. If you want to stay with me that's fine."

David Ellefson did stay, though Chris and Gar were history. They'd eventually be replaced by guitarist Jeff Young and drummer Chuck Behler, whose one-album tenure - they appeared on 1988's chaotic So Far, So Good... So What! - proved to be no less volatile.

Forty years after Dave Mustaine formed Megadeth in the wake of his firing from Metallica, much has changed about both the band and their leader. Today, he's the sole remaining original member and the only one who has played on every album (after leaving and rejoining the band in the 2000s, David Ellison was ousted for a second and seemingly final time in 2021 following an online sex scandal.) The singer himself cleaned up long ago, embracing his Christian faith in the process.

But at the same time, the single-mindedness and stubborn streak that saw him pick himself up post-Metallica and build an entirely new band remains intact. Lesser musicians would have folded a long time ago, but not Dave Mustaine. And it all dates back to those earl vears when he had so much to prove and nothing to lose.

"We went through everything, man, from what happened on the road, to homelessness, to starvation," he says. "The panhandling, the sleeping on people's floors. The destitution the desperation and poverty. We survived it all."

MEGADEATH’S LATEST ALBUM THE SICK THE DYING… AND THE DEAD! IS OUT NOW VIA UMC

Sidebar:

THE SONGS THAT BUILT MEGADETH

The best of Megadeth’s 80s output

Killing Is My Business… And Business Is Good! (1985)

The snarling, sneering, 100mph title track of Megadeth’s debut album and a defiant ‘fuck you' to his ex-bandmates in Metallica.

Mechanix (1985)

Aka the song that begat Metallica's The Four Horsemen. Megadeth’s version is faster, sleazier, and had flames shooting out of its exhaust. 'Made my drive shaft crank/Made my pistons bulge,’ indeed.

Wake Up Dead (1986)

Peace Sells... But Who's Buying?'s opening track is a thrash song like no other, possessed of an oddball arrangement and lyrics that detail an extra-marital affair. The 'Diana' in the lyrics was Mustaine's real-life girlfriend.

Peace Sells (1986)

An iconic 80s thrash song: Dave takes aim at The Man over a massive bassline and ver instant-classic riff. It was purloined as the theme to MTV News, for which Mustaine claims he never got a penny.

Good Mourning/Black Friday (1986)

Begins with a downcast, jazz-adiacent guitar duel before it utilises circuitous riffing and glorious half-step abuse to show just how different Megadeth were to everyone else.

The Conjuring (1986)

Dave once claimed to have buried part of a hex in this occult-inspired rager ako featuring an evil-sounding guitar run, which explains why he stopped playing it for years after re-embracing his Christianity.

My Last Words (1986)

A Favourite of Lars Ulrich, apparently, and it's easy to see why, with its climactic build and fist-pumping gang-vocal climax, the Peace Sells... album closer is a tension-and-release masterstroke

In My Darkest Hour (1988)

So Far, So Good... So What!'s power ballad written in response to his ex-Metallica bandmates failing to tell him about Cliff Burton's death. The disdain at being left to fend for himself is tangible.

Liar (1988)

One of metal's greatest diss songs, aimed at former guitarist Chris Poland. Dave reels off a list of vituperative personal insults at his despised ex-bandmate before reaching an apoplectic climax: 'You... you... you fucking LIAR!'

Hook In Mouth (1988)

The 80s was the PMRC decade, and motormouth Mustaine had something to say about it on this scathing, bass-driven rebuke to the ‘Washington Wives' who were trying to silence metal and hip hop's freedom of speech.

"METALLICA WOULD COME TO OUR SHOWS!"

Ex-Megadeth bassist David Junior' Ellefson looks back on his early days in the band

WHERE DID YOU FIRST MEET DAVE MUSTAINE?

"I'd moved to Hollywood with my friends and Dave had an apartment directly above. We went and knocked on his door to buy cigarettes and he went, 'Down the street' and slammed the door in our faces. We went back later and asked him where to buy beer and he looked us up and down and said, 'All right, now you're speaking my language."

HOW MUCH INPUT DID YOU HAVE IN THE SONGWRITINGEARLY ON?

"Dave wrote the songs that cast the die of whatever Megadeth was going to be, but at the same time those songs were put together in the band room, and when you're in a room together there's a lot of collaboration. There are musical moments that happen that would never have happened with one guy putting, the songs together on his own.”

HOW WAS IT PLAYING WITH SLAYER'S KERRY KING, WHO WAS BRIEFLY IN THE BAND?

"Going to San Francisco with us opened his eyes to what thrash metal was, seeing bands like Exodus. Kerry went back to LA and Slayer took the make-up off and became more the band that we knew them to be."

HOW CHAOTIC WERE THOSE EARLY DAYS?

"Everything in Megadeth was chaotic because we were poor and we were on drugs. Some bands 'party' and to me that's beer and a little weed, hanging out. When you get into heavier drugs like cocaine and especially heroin, that’s not partying. You’re going down a very dark, secluded road.”

YOU AND DAVE WERE HOMELESS FOR A WHILE, RIGHT?

"Oh yeah, we were living in the rehearsal room, living in my van, finding people to take us in to crash at their house. Me and Dave would hock our guitars on any given week. We had these little phone sales jobs so when we got some money together we'd go get our guitars out of hock so we could go to rehearsal that week."

WAS THERE A RIVALRY BETWEEN BANDS IN THE SCENE?

"I'd say there a friendly rivalry. Dave was obviously furious about being let go from Metallica but Lars and the guys would come to some of our shows. For me, the rivalry was never Metallica. i'd listen to them and go, 'Fuck, they're hitting every mark. I know it was hard for Dave because how could it not be to look to the left and see Metallica going straight to the top?'

HOW DO YOU LOOK BACK AT YOUR TIME IN MEGADETH?

"No regrets and 100% pride. I will always be a lifelong champion of that band and legacy because It never would have happened without me - I financed the Killing Is My Business tour on my dad's credit card! I'm very proud of the years I was there. It's a cherished moment in time."

TO HELL AND BACK, THE NEW ALBUM FROM DAVID'S NEW BAND, DIETH, IS OUT NOW VIA NAPALM

#megadeth #dave mustaine #thrash metal #interview #interviews #metal hammer #metal hammer magazine

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thesolarangel · 8 months

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A touch of cinnamon and spice

Chapter 1

Summary: Eddie and Steve meet for the first time at college under awkward circumstances. Well, at least for Eddie.

1.438 words · Rated: G · College AU, no upside down · fluff, pining, getting together, cozy cute fall fanfic with minimum drama and zero angst or warnings!

Thanks again to @elronds-pointy-ears for reading my first unhinged draft and giving me some thoughts on how to deepen the interactions between them! @niennawept for beta reading my edited draft, you helped me so much, THANK YOU again! …. and for @lady-of-imladris for helping me choose a title! I love you guys!

Read on AO3 here

Chapter 1 · throwback · summer ‘86

“You’re kidding… College?” Eddie chuckled, staring at his uncle wide eyed.

They had been standing in the kitchen of their trailer home, a few weeks after Eddie had graduated, discussing where he could go from there. If it were up to Eddie, he’d just get famous with his metal band “Corroded Coffin” right away and tour the country, but these things didn’t happen over night. And it wasn’t like Wayne decided over Eddie’s life. He was of age, he could decide on his own. But Wayne’s opinion mattered to him greatly. This man had provided for Eddie for half of his life and he was deeply grateful for that.

Wayne crossed his arms and looked at him sternly. “Listen, kid, I know high school was tough –”

“That’s the understatement of the year, right there.” Eddie snorted.

He had managed to get his high school diploma on the third try. Keeping up with homework and studying for exams never came easy to him. He had had trouble concentrating and listening to what was being discussed in class and the teachers labeled him as lazy without even trying to get through to him.

When it came to math, history and other school subjects that Eddie found boring, it was almost like there was an invisible force pulling his attention away, keeping him from concentrating and it was very hard to fight that.

But eventually, with the help of a terrific new guidance counselor that had transferred to his school that year and the support of his uncle, he had made it somehow. Alumni of ‘86, baby!

“Eddie, you’re incredibly talented when it comes to the stuff you’re interested in. You’re creative, driven… I’ve seen the artwork you put up in your room… and you learned that puppet song within a week it came out.”

“Master of Puppets”, Eddie corrected him. And how could he not, it was a legendary piece by his favorite band.

“All I’m sayin’ is, would be pretty unfortunate if you wasted that kinda potential, son.”

He was right. Eddie did have a different mindset when it came to drawing, writing his own lyrics or shredding away on his guitar.

“Alright, I’ll think about it.” Eddie sighed.

A while later he had applied to a few public colleges in the area that had art programs. For his application portfolio Eddie had collected some design work he did for the promotion of their band, some pencil sketches and several elaborate fantasy drawings he did for his recent DnD campaign. And he had gotten in!

_______

October 5th 1987

Fall had always been Eddie’s favorite season ever since he was little. The deep red color of the fallen maple leaves was his favorite color and he secretly loved crunching the dry leaves under his boots. With every passing day of summer, he looked forward to cooler temperatures, horror movie nights and of course: Halloween. While planning his costume in his head, he put the hood of his parka over his unruly brown hair and made his way to class.

This was going to be his 3rd semester of studying fine art and so far he was doing really well, despite his own doubts. Learning about the subjects he was interested in and acquiring new creative skills had proven to be much more straightforward and uncomplicated for him than high school stuff.

College had given Eddie the chance for a fresh start. For the first time, he wasn’t the freak, the loser, the kid with the weird hair who listened to “devil” music. The university offered all kinds of programs and they had a big art department ranging from photography and fine art to design and film-making. So naturally, there were plenty of art nerds, film geeks and a variety of young people studying alongside Eddie. He fit right in and he had also made some new, real friends.

Jonathan, his roommate, was studying photography and English and wanted to become a journalist. He already wrote a weekly column in the school’s paper. Jonathan was the intelligent, kind, introverted type with short shaggy dark blonde hair and inconspicuous appearance. Eddie connected with him through his open-mindedness and his passion for music.

Argyle lived in another dorm down the hall. He studied film-making and worked part time at a local pizza shop from where he often swiped pizzas for them. He was a laid-back, approachable guy, who got along with everyone and also hugged everyone when he had the chance. With his long black hair, tall stature and colorful clothing, he stood out in most places.

Eddie thought he was very lucky to have met them since making friends had never been easy for him in the past. Both of them were very easy to get along with and they also had a lot of shared interests.

…

Eddie arrived at a seemingly empty classroom, illuminated by the bright morning sun. Several canvas stands and some chairs were set up for the students. He chose a seat and dropped his bag and coat on the back of the chair.

When he sat down and combed through his backpack for his pencil case, he heard something rustling from behind the nearby folding screen. Obviously not thinking this through, Eddie wandered over and found –

Oh.

His eyes landed on the muscular naked back of a stranger who was in the process of getting undressed. Eddie froze. Unable to take his eyes off of this guy’s athletic physique. His tanned skin was patterned with plenty of freckles that looked like stars in a beautiful constellation which Eddie desperately needed to explore. Those jeans hugged his butt perfectly and when he took them off, they revealed tight black boxer briefs and broad hairy thighs. Eddie wanted nothing more than to have his head crushed by those legs. Oh, what a way to go.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

A voice ripped him from his fantasy. Fuck.

The gorgeous stranger was now facing Eddie with both hands on his hips and a slightly cocky expression. Eddie noticed his beautiful hazel eyes, pouty lips and effortlessly styled hair. His strong chest was even hairier than his legs and a dark little happy trail disappeared at the rim of his underwear which displayed a significant bulge.

Fuuuuck.

“I’m so sorry!” Eddie almost yelled when he realized he had been staring. He could feel the burn of embarrassment on his face but like a deer in headlights, he stood there completely frozen.

The brunette smirked. “Don't worry about it, you're gonna see me nude in a minute anyhow", he replied in a smug voice. Eddie went even redder if that was at all possible.

Right, they were going to do nude sketches today, to learn some anatomy… Eddie felt he had already learned a lot.

“Alright, I’m gonna, uh… go, yes, I’m gonna go set up”, he stumbled backwards, averting the stranger’s view.

Little by little the classroom filled with students and their tutor arrived and gave them a quick instruction on sketching techniques when drawing from a live model. Two other students closed the door and blinds and placed a small platform in the middle of the room. They were ready to start drawing.

The handsome stranger emerged completely naked from behind the folding screen. He seemed very secure in his body, judging the way he stepped gracefully onto the platform, striking a pose the tutor had asked for.

Eddie tried so hard to look at him in a professional manner as he began sketching his beautiful body. He roughly outlined his proportions with some charcoal on his sketchbook. He tried to keep a straight face when his view landed on the model’s dick. And what a gorgeous one it was… Eddie felt his heart thump violently in his chest.

In a moment of carelessness when Eddie’s eyes wandered over his freckled skin upwards to his handsome face, their eyes locked. The brunette gave him a wink and held his view. If he was flattered or amused, Eddie couldn’t tell, his face was burning up once again and he tried to hide behind his sketchbook.

Focus, Munson. You just gotta keep it together for 20 more minutes!

His hand swept over the paper, messily sketching and filling in the model silhouette with charcoal. At this point, he didn’t care if the drawings turned out badly, he just wanted to get out of there, away from this awkward situation. Once he was done, he quickly packed up his stuff and rushed out of the classroom.

...

To be continued...

tag list: @starlady66 @bananaphanta @runawaymun @mistergandalf @fenharel-enaste @queenmeriadoc @elronds-pointy-ears @hbyrde36 @hammity-hammer @corrodedbisexual @spoookysix @rozzieroos @cranberrymoons

devider by @firefly-graphics

#steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #fluff fanfiction #steddie fluff #meet cute #awkward meet cute fanfic #college au fanfic #college au #steddie college au #spicy six fanfic #steve x eddie #autumn fanfic #fall fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fanfic writing #ao3fic #fanfic

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theunderestimator-2 · 9 months

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Lou Reed performing at Copenhagen in September 1973, as captured by Jan Persson.

"For that 1973 world tour, Reed had put together a fantastic and very energic band they were all from Detroit and they all knew their business. The concept of the tour was to deliver «Berlin» to an eager public. As Reed had been musically brought up in the Warhol’s factory, he had become a master of manipulation and he knew how to bring the hysteria element within his crew. Very high on diverse drugs, Reed silently enjoyed it when all his staff, manager, musicians, roadies and friends, fussed around his person. Andy Warhol had found out the lights concept by himself: «What is needed» suggested the Pope of Pop» is to borrow the light effect conceived by Albert Speer» for what will later be known as the «Hitlerian ceremonies»: White light spots, (whiter than white) and with a tremendous intensity all focussed on Lou Reed on an immense black background. And that’s what they did. The Tour started on September 17 at the Paris Olympia, with eleven European dates to follow. On stage, Lou Reed was wearing black leather. His face was a livid mask and he had an Afro. In Amsterdam, the bootlegers stroke, and realeased a Pirate album called «RocknRoll Animal» That made him laugh and «now here is a title for me» will he declare. Every nights, his big black Mercedes will take him to different venues, and every nights, he’ll arrive at the last moment. And his Roadies had to practically carry him up on stage where he had to stagger to reach the mike. The tour was a colossal success thanks particularly to his guitarists who had found a way to «metallize» his repertoire. His band was driven by an tremendous rhythm section: the drummer Pentti Gian played ocasionally with Steppenwolf, and the bassist Prakash John, had just resigned from Funkadelic to be replaced by Bootsy Collins. The lead guitarist Dick Wagner, had debuted with Frost, a band used to the Grande Ballroom. And so that’s why Steve Hunter was the perfect counterpart: a veritable virtuose who loved to put danger in his technique. Hunter, had once belonged to Detroit (behind Mitch Ryder) and already in the old days he used to cover the Velvet Underground «RocknRoll» on a rather hard mode, and that’s been the option adopted from the beginning to the end of that mythic tour. Every night the two guitarists will have guitar duels in front of eager crowds. Lou Reed was taking all kind of drugs, and his roadies will confess: he took everything coming his way: coke, speed, weed, valium and Johnny Walker Black Label and the roadies had to hide bottles for him into the amps. Rock critics will put it that way: «It’s been like a black mass into a Gothic Cathedral with Heroin as a God». jltambo.wordpress.com

(via)

#lou reed #1973 #rock n roll #rock n roll animal #glam rock #live gig #people

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dreamsagain · 3 months

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youtube

A lot of you know my love for for loud, guitar driven, metal. To make better aside from loving this song, I have a crush on both of these ladies. Makes it that much better. After another cancer treatment today, this is how I unwind.

#Nita Strauss #alissa white gluz #Metal #Youtube

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madaboutmunson · 1 year

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Ok because the other two little fics were so well liked my brain could stop thinking about it.

So we've got how the song in question was written, the song when Corroded Coffin make it big, so consider this one the last time that song is ever played live by Corroded Coffin.

It starts with a little shocker so I've hidden the story under a read more so people don't accidently read it, in case it upsets anyone, but trust me when I say it's not all doom and gloom 😉 I got you 💚

The day the news of music legend Eddie Munson passing breaks, it plunged the world into deep, dark despair. A shocking departure that stopped newsreaders in their tracks to announce it.

The bombshell news was plastered everywhere for weeks, billboards, posters, newspapers, magazines, murals, tv show opening monologues, and this thing slowly emerging, the internet, had its forums full of theories as to what had happened, as no announcement had come from the Corroded Coffin camp as yet.

There was no sign of illness or injury. No accident or crime details. He seemed to have just...died.

The outpourings of condolences from countless heavy metal icons, hundreds of celebrities, some of which you would never have even guessed, liked Corroded Coffin, millions of fans worldwide held candle-lit vigils and sang their songs sombrely acapella in meeting places all around the world.

A week later, the band finally released a written statement.

"It was during the hellish times of high school that Eddie found us, protected us, guided us and forged this band of brothers that would go on to conquer not just our fears but the entire world. Impossible dreams came true countless times over, but now we sit in a waking nightmare at the loss of our leader, so now our time must come to an end.

A band is a sum of its parts, and with any one of us gone, this is simply not Corroded Coffin anymore. So it is with the deepest sadness but no regrets we have to say goodnight to you one last time.

Thank you for sticking by us all these years.

Remember to look out for one another.

HFC 4 Eva

The Remains of Corroded Coffin"

With the statement is an announcement that there will be a tribute show organised by Corroded Coffin, but they declined to play all but one song, which a special guest on guitar.

A month later, the tribute show goes ahead, but no stadium can hold it due to demand, mainly because the band had to fulfil Eddie's final wishes.

One of which was causing the most problems, Eddie wanted every member of the Corroded Coffin fan club to get the first refusal on a space at the tribute show. So no matter where in the world they were from, they were invited and their travel expenses paid, or something set up so they could join the live feed.

Eddie had jokingly set up the fan club at a merch table in the early days. It got you a Corroded Coffin badge, a hand-painted d20, a poster, access to a monthly newsletter/comic and a hand-drawn membership card signed on the back by the band, all for the price of five dollars. As the band grew, the fan club pack stayed the same, except the merch was better quality, it had to be mass-produced, and the price was lowered to one dollar.

The band also often had membership cards on their person or gave them out for free to fans that wanted them through their music charity for kids living in low-income areas.

So as you can imagine, there were thousands of potential attendees, but if you didn't have the card, you weren't getting in, no matter how much money you had or how famous you were.

The crowd is a sea of Corroded Coffin fans of all ages and all walks of life.

The first people out on stage are Corroded Coffin.

All of them.

The three band members wheel out an enormous coffin encased in rusted metal sheets with haphazardly driven rivets to keep it together, standing up tall, onto a platform at the back of the stage. They do this in absolute silence. The crowd is so hushed that on the recording, you can hear the ting of someone dropping a can.

Then the chants start, "Eddie! Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!" Hauntingly fierce like an army ready for battle, they know they can't win.

It spreads across the ocean of fans like a ripple of deafening voices.

Then the concert begins. Not only is the lineup littered with some of the most famous musical artists in the world, but also many of Eddie's favourite bands, and to introduce each of them is a celebrity pairing.

Nancy Wheeler and Robin Buckley. Prize-winning journalist and film director, respectively.

Tech Whiz Kids Dustin Henderson and Erica Sinclair.

Internet entrepreneur duo Jargyle.

Jim Hopper and Joyce Byers. Heads of a missing children's charity.

Award-winning scientists Mike and Will Byler.

Novelist Lucas Sinclair and Skateboarding legend Mad Max.

Then lastly, a fan favourite, Eddie's Uncle Wayne. He had made a cameo appearance in every video they had ever made, was on every concert video and was always thanked in the album notes.

"It is my greatest honour that the boys chose me to introduce the last performance of the evening. I know this song was his favourite, and many of yours also. So without further ado...Sadly, for the final time, Ladies and Gentleman, I give you Corroded Coffin," he shouts finally over the crowd's roar as flames shoot out of the sides of the coffin on stage, and the three remaining members walk out.

They say nothing and launch into the heaviest song Corroded Coffin ever wrote.

A lead guitar joins in but with no guitarist to be seen.

As the song draws to a close, a man walks out in a denim battle vest a little too snug for him, his hair voluminous but dishevelled. He's holding the prop guitar.

He swings it around, smashing it into the floor behind him, and with an almighty swing back in front of him, the guitar must know this is its last show because the body splits in two. The man rips the neck of the guitar out of the body and holds it above his head. The fake blood spills out of his mouth, and the tears flood down his face as he punches the air in time with the Eddie chants before he blows a kiss at the crowd and then one at the coffin.

There is a curtain call for all involved as pyros and flames fill the air around the stage until the last fan leaves the area. Then the curtain finally drops.

Everyone heads backstage or to the trailers behind it for food and drinks.

All except one person. Steve Harrington.

He looks around to ensure the coast is clear, approaches the giant coffin structure, and puts his hand on it, still warm from the flames.

"I never did find the right time to tell you this, and it looks like I'm too late." The tears prick his eyes again, and the first one that escapes down his cheek causes the rest to follow in droves.

His sobs are so loud he covers his mouth to quiet them for fear of anyone overhearing, "I love you, Eddie. I just didn't know how to say it, I-I d-didn't know if you felt the same, so I'd act like I didn't care and hoped you'd make the first move, but you didn't. And then you got famous, and were gone. I saw you a handful of times, and every time I wanted to tell you, something got in the way, or I chickened out, you know, because...well, because maybe you'd reject me and hate me or worse, you'd want what I did, and the press would eat you for breakfast. It would have ruined everything you built, and I couldn't handle that."

He runs his hands through his hair, bows his head, and presses his forehead against the warm sheet metal. "I couldn't take that chance because I loved you so much, so very very much, Eddie." He plants a kiss on his fingertips and presses it against the name plaque on the coffin. He lets out a final guttural sob. "See you on the other side, Munson", he manages finally and walks away.

He takes a last look back over his shoulder as he wipes the tears from his eyes, and Steve swears he sees the thing move.

He shakes his head and takes a few more steps, he can hear Eddie cursing under his breath in his mind, and it makes him smile.

But then Steve freezes to the spot because there is a loud clang behind him. He doesn't want to turn around and fix Eddie's coffin, but who else is going to do it, right?

"Well, that was suffocating!" Eddies voice rings in Steve's head.

Steve steels himself and prepares to see the worst as he turns back towards the coffin, only to find the front of it completely off its hinges, and standing draped in his guitar, with crumbs in his hair and hat with two beer cans in with straws, is one, very alive Eddie Munson.

Steve cannot move. He mutters, "Oh god, I've finally lost it."

Eddie looks at Steve with a perplexed look on his face, "Ah, yeah, you have" he puts his hands on his hips, "Keeping a secret like that from me for like a decade. First of all, how fucking dare you wait until I end everything to tell me, and secondly, get over here, you big stud, and give me some well overdue sugar."

"What...the...fuck..." Steve fearfully whispers to himself, "I'm actually insane."

"Eddie!!" Dustin's excited voice rings out behind Steve as he charges forward, embracing him.

"Hey, watch my guitar, you little shrimp!" Eddie giggles and Ruffles Dustin's hair.

"Wait a second now," Steve says, finger pointed out in front of him, slowly stepping forward, "You can see him?"

Now it's Dustin's turn to look confused at Steve. He scoffs out a laugh, "Well, of course, I can! Are you feeling ok, Steve?"

"But...but...but he died...again...is he like... immortal, or something. Like a-a vamp.. vampire?" Steve tries gingerly, moving closer, one hand still stretched out in front of him like he's trying to ward off something evil.

Dustin and Eddie look at one another in confusion and start laughing.

"Steve, have you sampled some of the special backstage treats?" Eddie asks and turns back to Dustin, "I mean, that might explain why he also just confessed he's had a massive boner about me for over a decade!"

"Really?" Dustin says curiously, and Eddie nods as he takes off his guitar. "Wow."

Then the others start piling onto the stage, all of Eddie's nearest and dearest, and all of them are smiling and laughing and joking, except for Steve, who is watching this happen around him until he erupts.

"How can you all be so god damn normal about this??!!!!! He's just come back from the dead. Not like last time when he passed out. He's been dead for like a fucking month, and your all just-just fucking OK WITH THAT??!!" Steve is yelling at the top of his lungs, hands gesticulating wildly at them all, still keeping his distance, and the group falls silent.

"Oh, no, honey," Joyce says soothingly, walking towards Steve. "It's ok, it must be really scary to see this kind of thing, but you remember, right? It's all just for show." She turns and whispers to Hopper, "I knew all those bumps to the head needed looking at."

"FOR SHOW?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN FOR SHOW?! IT WAS EVERY-FUCKING-WHERE" Steve starts counting on his fingers, "It-it was on the news, and-and in all the papers, and-and the fans did all those vigils" He points accusingly at the band, "You were at least three of those!!"

Robin's eyes go wide "Steve, it's me, Robin. Hi!" She approaches him slowly, "I'm real. We're all real here. Everything is ok" Once Robin is within arms distance of Steve, he pokes at her and squeezes her arm to make sure she is, in fact, real, "OW!! Jesus!!!"

She bats Steve's hands away, "Ok, enough. Listen, did you open the fan club mail this month?"

"The fan cl-? What the hell are you talking about?? Is this a nightmare? Am I dead??!! Is this Hell??!!!" Steve shouts into the air.

"In this month's fanzine, it explained everything. The band wanted to stop and spend time with their families and start new projects, but the press was getting to a fever pitch with them. Gareth had his bins rifled through. Jeff couldn't even take his kid out for his birthday without getting hounded. So Eddie came up with this plan. That way, no one gets blamed for breaking up the band. It just is no more." Robin explains compassionately to Steve.

"So the whole crowd, all of you and the bands, they all knew it was fake?" Steve asks quietly whilst everyone is still staring at him and Robin.

Robin nods but then adds, "Well, not the other bands. We couldn't risk it, but we and the fans are loyal enough to keep a secret. Plus, if anyone even tries to say they've seen him, they'll be labelled like those Bigfoot-spotting people."

Steve shakes his head, "But I'm not a member of the fan club?!"

"The absolute audacity!!! What, you fucking love me, but you're not a member of my band's fan club? What kind of half-assed groupie are you?" Eddie shouts, astounded and a little insulted at Steve.

Jeff turns to Eddie, "You knew he wasn't, man. You made him that special membership card at the hideout for valentine's day, but you never gave it to him, remember?"

"Shut up!" Eddie says through gritted teeth at Jeff.

Steve stands more confidently, his hands on his hips, "Oh, is that so?"

"Yeah, that's right", Gareth laughs, "And then when we were talking about this, you said you'd call him and tell him yourself, Eddie, remember?"

Eddie bites his bottom lip and tries to look as innocent as he can from under his hair, smirking over at Steve, "Did I say that? Really? Funny thing that... I don't remember"

Steve's eyes go wide, "Why, you little shit!!" Steve runs and lunges for Eddie. Eddie is laughing and yelling as he's being chased around the stage by Steve, who eventually captures him in a bear hug when he runs the wrong way around the drum kit.

"urgh...god...let me..." Eddie struggles angrily and tries to wriggle free as Steve squeezes him.

"Oh-hoh no, you are going nowhere, you little prick!" Steve says, squeezing him tighter, making Eddie's face screw up, "What you did, was so not cool!"

"I...only...did...it...cus..." Eddie tries to talk, but it is difficult. He can hardly breathe.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Excuses. You wanted to make me look like an idiot!" Steve says with an unimpressed tone.

Eddie's face is turning pink as he frantically shakes his head in a no.

"Oh, you didn't? Then why?" Steve says, loosening his grip enough for Eddie to take a breath.

Eddie's body sags a little as he takes a deep breath, "Because... I wanted to see if you'd be sad if I died." Eddie says quickly, "I mean, I didn't expect you to agree to headline and the whole speech, you know?" Eddie says, trying to hold back an adoring smile.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head in disbelief, "You made me go through a month of grief to see if I would be sad if you died?"

"Well...it was supposed to be just a day, but then I got genuinely distracted by everything, and then it was two weeks later, and then I thought I could surprise you by jumping out of the coffin, and you'd be overjoyed and I'd say something romantic to maybe win you over, like..." Eddie looks everywhere but at Steve as he details everything.

"Like what? What could you possibly say to make up for that, you complete shithead!" Steve says with an angry squeeze, making Eddie wince and groan.

"That I fought an army of angels and the hordes of hell for one kiss from your sinfully perfect heavenly lips because you're my muse, my love." Eddie manages to get the words out with a struggle.

"What?" Steve says, lessening his grip.

"The songs I write, the ones with my name next to them on the albums, they're all about you," Eddie says as he catches his breath.

"What?" Steve says again, wholly bewildered and fully releases Eddie.

"Our first number one, the one that got a Grammy, and was used in a bunch of movies. That's about you. The um, slow one with the choir on the unplugged album, that's about you. The one we close the shows with, the one with no words, that's about you too. And loads more," Eddie says, adjusting his clothes, looking back up at a dumbfounded Steve, "What? You had no idea? You don't remember? in the garage? You corrected the spelling of sleeve, but it was supposed to be Steve. I just forgot to cross the t" Eddie looks between Steve's eyes for a glimmer of comprehension.

"Ohhh", Steve says finally and points at himself and smiles.

Eddie smiles back at this lovable weirdo and nods.

Steve claps his hands together and looks pleased as punch, turning to the others still pointing at himself with a look of happy surprise.

Everyone nods at him except for Mike, who throws his hands up, "Are you kidding me? The song we danced to at our wedding was about Steve??? Oh my god!" Mike has to be consoled by Will and Nancy.

Steve eventually turns back to Eddie with a massive smile on his face.

Eddie plays with his hair and looks coyly up at Steve swaying from left to right, "So I dunno, do you maybe wanna come live on a secret island with me for a few years until people forget about me, maybe? I mean, I'll have to get my hair buzzed first, and um, lose the whole rockstar get up" Eddie looks up hopefully and gives a cute little shrug.

Steve folds his arms and taps his lips thoughtfully, "Hmmm."

"OH, MY GOD! Could you grown-ass idiots just kiss already? I could be solving the mysteries of the goddamn world, ok? But instead, I'm stuck here waiting for a long-haired freak and his little ex-sailor boy bride to figure out what everyone else knew years ago!!" Erica shouts, exasperated.

"Apart from Mike", Dustin whispers.

"Yeah, except Mike, who is also on team dumbass!" Erica adds.

"Hey!!" Mike says, annoyed, and is immediately swamped by Will, Joyce and Nancy as Hopper pats Erica on the shoulder with a smile.

"Get offa me, sasquatch!" She says, rolling her eyes.

"Well, you heard the lady," Steve says with a smile walking with an over-the-top swagger towards Eddie.

Eddie grins mischievously, jumps up to grip onto Steve like a koala on a eucalyptus tree, and kisses him, once on the lips, with an audible mwah sound.

Steve looks at him with a laugh, "I hope you've got more where that came from because you've got a lot to make up for, Eddie Munson."

AO3 Link

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creatingblackcharacters · 14 days

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Here's a black OC im currently writing! Her name is Keona Saunders, and she's a heavy metal drummer who's also a key part of the band's songwriting process (she has a knack for taking a lot of separate elements of a song; i.e., guitar solos, choruses, bridges, and stitching them together into a coherent piece when they might not seem to initially fight together). They are the co-founder of the band along with one of the guitarists, and the two of them are a creative dynamo when they work together on songs. They usually wear a leather jacket with various patches and their hair is in an afro with a side part. They have a lip piercing and expressive but constantly tired brown eyes. She's genderfluid and uses any pronouns besides he/him (usually she/they). She's a very creatively driven person. When they get the muse, it's usually a huge burst of ideas and energy that can come out of nowhere sometimes. But she can also be emotionally vulnerable sometimes, and is currently struggling through disillusionment after seeing what the music industry does to people. How does all of that sound? I'm hoping to get some feedback on whether her characteristics are well-written or not. Thank you so much!

They sound very fun! I think it'd be great to read about them more to see where they go, and how well written they can be!

#creatingblackcharacters

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illwynd · 7 months

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A Song in the Key of Death

It's still Halloween, so here's a new spookyfic!

Human AU, teen outcast Loki and dead rocker Thor. Loosely based on Trick or Treat (1986). 3.3k words.

“You should be loyal to your heroes. They can turn on you.” - Sammi Curr

Contents: thorki, underage sexuality, bullying, violence, mentions of death

(Read on AO3 or read below)

Hero worship is easy when you’re a high school outcast. Especially when your hero is Thor.

Loki lies in bed, headphones on his ears, Thor’s voice loud in his head. Drums thrash, guitars scream, and at the center of it all is Thor. He has Thor’s poster on the opposite wall, where he can look at it as he’s falling asleep.

Thor’s music speaks to him.

His parents disapprove. His classmates call him a freak, a weirdo.

Loki doesn’t care.

He’s bought all the magazines with pictures of Thor in them, and he’s bought all his albums, and he’s watched all his videos. Loki’s dreams at night are filled with the way Thor moves, sleek black leather clinging to his legs, the torn shirt practically falling off his shoulders, so much bare skin, and he bares it as if daring anyone to say anything. His eyes are piercing and lined with kohl and his hair is long and messy and his body is thick and powerful. Anyone could want him. He could want anyone. Clearly, neither of those possibilities bothers him. In the realm of metal, Thor is a god, above all the petty prejudices and small-minded fears.

Loki thinks about it and he writes letters he doesn’t send.

Thor, if I ever met you, would you want me?

No one else seems to.

Loki watches as the media tries to tear Thor down, calling him satanic, calling him depraved, calling him obscene, and he feels like he understands, the way no one else could. They’re both misunderstood. They’re both mistreated. The only difference is… Loki longs for Thor with a ferocity that only a lonely 17-year-old can muster, and Thor doesn’t know he exists.

Loki dreams and he plays Thor’s records obsessively and he knows every song by heart and he writes still more letters. Letters he would not ever admit to writing.

The week Thor dies, Loki is in a daze. He hears about it in a brief mention on some news show his mother is watching, and he doesn’t think it can possibly be true. A freak accident. A fire in his hotel.

Loki doesn’t remember anything about the next day at all. Or the day after that. Even the bloody nose and bruises he gets from a couple of the more brainless of the high school assholes when his inattention gets him in trouble, even that barely registers. The shove at his backpack at the top of the stairs, barely catching himself from going down face-first but catching himself wrenches his shoulder on the banister and practically breaks his arm, and the laughter of his classmates all around at his pale sweating face and pained gasps. Then being the one to get a detention when he leaps up and lashes out at the one who had pushed him, driven by fury. His hero's dead and this is the shit he has to deal with every day and nothing is ever going to get any better. And even that fades into the dull grey of bitterness like a fog in his mind, until none of it seems to matter.

And then it’s Friday, and he stays up late because there’s a storm coming and he suddenly wants it. He wants to hear the sky tearing itself apart.

The wind howls and the clouds race past the distant stars and he goes for a walk, not even bothering with an umbrella or a slicker, just pulling his hoodie up to cover the earphones, and Thor’s voice rings out over the rumble of the storm.

The smell of ozone. Metal on his tongue. The feeling of the hairs on his neck rising.

Loki realizes what it means half a second too late.

It is the brightest light he’s ever seen, and the loudest sound he’s ever heard, and as it passes through him, too sharp and sudden to even be called pain, he is sure he is going to die.

He wakes up in a hospital bed. He knows it from the subtle but pervasive odor of disinfectant, the unsettling feeling of an IV drip taped into a vein in the crook of his arm, the warble of distant beeping machines.

Below that sound, even softer, though, there is music. He can hear it. He doesn’t know the song. But then Thor starts singing.

He knows Thor’s voice. He’d recognize it anywhere. And it is not a song Loki has ever heard before. Loki tries to find out from the nurses—only once, though, after the way they look at him when he asks about the music.

He’s discharged the next day, with some painkillers for the burns and an order to call them if anything gets worse, and he goes home and frantically Googles all the lyrics he scribbled down. Surely it’s some unreleased material, right? Some songs that never made it onto an album. That happened all the time, and it's possible he was hearing, oh, strains from some orderly's headphones amplified through a vent near his bed, something weird like that. Isn't that possible?

But he turns up nothing about the lyrics, if so. Dejected, he goes to the kitchen to find something to cram in his face.

The toaster shocks him when he tries to make toast. The coffee pot sputters and gurgles and dies. The clock on the microwave flashes 6:66.

At least peanut butter smeared on a slice of bread doesn’t require electricity.

Soon after, Loki lies down to sleep in his own bed, with a sigh, and he stares up at the poster of Thor. Loki would feel like more of a creep, studying every inch of Thor’s body in the picture, except for the look in Thor’s eyes. He feels like, somehow, they already know each other.

He slips into dreams and Thor is there. Above him on a stage, growling into the mike, screaming the melody, hips gyrating. Then the stage is gone and it’s just them, and it’s so real he can smell Thor’s sweat. There’s nothing sweet about it. Thor between his legs, and it’s sharp and real and he’s never felt so alive.

He wakes up slowly the next morning. Late morning. Saturday. The house empty and echoing with the distant sounds of lawnmowers and cars going by on the street and kids playing in the neighboring yards. He lies there with his eyelids glued shut, groaning under his breath. Throws an arm up over his head to hide from the creeping sunlight for as long as he can, and he’s half dozing when the music starts up again.

The strange thing, though, is that this time it sounds distorted, the way a record sounds when you spin it backwards. He’s heard of that, bands doing it as a joke or a way to mess with all the most credulous parents and preachers and journalists who are deeply concerned with the forces leading the youth astray. The corner of his mouth curls up reflexively.

But the difference is that there’s no vinyl under his fingers. The disjointed rhythm and jolting vocals are coming from nowhere, drowning out all the more prosaic sounds from beyond his window, and there's no logical theory he can invent this time for where it could be coming from.

And as he listens, his body feeling like he’s drifting, floating, and impossibly heavy all at the same time, he begins to make sense of the sounds. Begins to pick out the words.

Pentagram circle – lightning struck – bring me back – bring me – obey me – bring me – obey me – pentagram circle – lightning struck

Loki breathes slowly, hearing his heart beat in his ears.

He does it that night, alone in his room. He’s researched as much as he can and he’s put together the rest by feel, by intuition. He draws the pentagram on his floor in ashes, with black and red candles burning at the five points. He plays Thor’s albums on his stereo while he recites an incantation he found on the internet, elaborated with a few of Thor's lyrics to make it sound cooler. But nothing happens until he switches his stereo off, falls silent, feeling foolish for having tried. He presses his hands against his eyes. When he opens them again, his gaze lands on the plasma ball sitting on his shelf, a toy he had barely thought of in years.

He was already lightning-struck and still has the burns to prove it. But the feeling, the taste in the air as he clicks it on…

He can hear music again, softly.

He kneels beside the pentagram, and as the music grows louder he tries to hum along. He can hear words and he sings the chorus, his hands on the plasma ball, the tickle of electricity on his fingertips.

He should be more surprised when a shadow fills the center of the symbol on his floor. Tall black leather boots. Sweeping upward, torn black skintight denim. Mesh over pale, muscled abdomen. More leather over the broad, massive shoulders. Tendons of the neck and the strong, set jaw. Long black hair, messy and animal. Fierce eyes…

The scars on his face, his arms—those take a moment to register. Burn scars, deep and gnarled.

“Thor,” Loki says, the name filling his mouth as his eyes are wide with awe. It’s the moment he’s always dreamed of. And this, this is something he never would have thought it could be. It is Thor in his bedroom. Because he called him back to the world of the living. Because he resurrected his hero from death.

He thinks of his old lust-sodden fantasies and he knows that they were nothing compared to this. They were sad and desperate, begging for a single scrap of attention or acknowledgment. Once, just to breathe the same air as Thor, he’d have considered his whole life fulfilled. Once, he’d written so many secret longings, in the terribly certainty that Thor would never know, would never see them, would never care. Hopelessness had been safety, and despair.

Now, he watches as Thor frowns down at his kneeling form.

And he watches as Thor takes in the sight of everything else around him and seems to come to a conclusion in a moment, striding forth, breaking free of the pentagram’s boundaries with a shiver of blue-white lightning crackling all over his form.

Thor strides forth, seeming not to notice him at all.

The dark figure of him slips into the shadows and disappears.

All the candles go out.

Loki lies on his bed for the next day and a half. He lies curled around his radio, weakness immobilizing him.

The news pours in. Electrical storms. Freak accidents in which dozens of people were injured or died. Speakers, amplifiers. Live mikes. Event sound systems.

Loki lies there listening, and inside him a fury is growing. He has been loyal. He has never been as devoted to anything or anyone as he is to Thor. To Thor’s music. To his message. To… to him. He has been loyal!

He thinks it like a scream. He can feel it in his throat, searing.

It was Thor who lied, who deceived. It was Thor who used him.

Why had Thor simply… walked over him, not even glancing at the one who had brought him back? Why had Thor not even noticed him?

Loki girds himself and prepares. He loads up his parents’ car (the one nobody really drives often, the terrible old sky-blue Cutlass just sitting out in the garage with rust in its wheel-wells and a cassette deck that eats tapes every full moon) with his backpack and camping gear from his brief truncated scouting days and a bunch of junk food and torn paper maps, and he hits the road, intuition still pulling him along like a current.

He still just wants Thor. But now there is more than that.

His hero has turned on him. And though he is not stupid or naïve enough to believe in fairness in the universe, it is a situation that calls for action.

Thor is somewhere out there, killing people, breaking things, wreaking havoc. Loki figures he can find him, can let the same feeling deep inside pull him along like a tide to wherever his hero is. And then there will be a reckoning.

It is a foolish thought, perhaps. One that only a dejected 17-year-old could have conceived.

Being too young and dumb to know what is impossible is an advantage sometimes.

He drives with the radio turned low and the windows rolled down, the air off the highway buffeting in his face and stirring the hairs on his arm, fighting against the heat of the sunlight. Smell of asphalt and diesel exhaust and the endless fields along the roadside. He’s been driving for hours, barely aware of the mutter of “Crazy Train” through the speakers. When the song cuts out in another two and a half minutes, the station turns over to a news break, a radio announcer’s impassive description of the inexplicable trail of mayhem that has struck over the last few days. No one wants to say it, no one wants to admit that the string of incidents is connected. No one wants to acknowledge the obvious.

That, at least, is a problem Loki doesn’t have. He knows exactly who is at the center of the storm.

And maybe that’s why he’s the only one who seems to notice that… the body count isn’t what it should have been. The last few, particularly.

But it’s hard to think on that too deeply when the music inside him is welling, drowning out the monotone of the newscaster entirely.

The song has been growing louder since three exits back, and his hands grip the steering wheel. His knuckles creak. His heart thuds in his chest. He shifts his hips on sky-blue leather, a subtle motion of his driving foot to relieve the tension that has built up in his body.

What will he do if he finds him? What will he say?

He’s still wondering when the air rushing over his arm grows cooler, the sunlight abruptly gone, clouds closing in overhead.

The song grows louder still as the first drops pelt down on the windshield, and he curses and hits the wipers as the rain brings down all the dust with it, splattering the car with crud, smearing it grey-brown across the glass.

“You don’t play fair, man,” Loki murmurs, grumbles. His lip twitches. “That’s okay. I'm used to it.”

He knows the place instantly when he sees it. The music has been growing louder for the last hour, until the rhythm of the drumbeat has taken up residence in Loki’s core and the shriek of the chords travels along his every nerve. He jolts the steering wheel sharply to the right, veering off the highway, down the side road, onto what can barely be called a driveway, into a dirt lot that’s already half filled with vehicles even older and more beat-up than his.

It’s gonna happen here. He knows it, even as he slams it into park and yanks up the emergency brake. He has to sit there shuddering for a few moments, the car still trembling beneath him in sympathy.

Screaming metal, a song in the key of death, battles against the sounds of pedal steel guitar in a whining country tune.

The door hinges squeal likewise and nobody even notices when a 17-year-old wanders into the bar, and for that he supposes he should be a little bit grateful. He takes in the smells of spilt cheap beer and cheap bar food and too-infrequent bathing and various varieties of road dirt. He takes in the sights of an entirely different sort of leather boots and sticky-topped tables and the chicken wire surrounding the whole stage area, walling it off from the jeers of flying glass. There’s a band up there now, just getting tuned up for the evening. It makes Loki think of the “Rawhide” theme for a second, and the idea makes him laugh.

He’s got his hand in a bowl of free peanuts and pretzels when Thor shows up and takes over the stage. The musicians around him jolt at first with electricity, pain written across their faces. A few resist it, fight back. They’re the ones that slump to the ground soon after.

The rest go along with it, and their bodies begin to play their instruments in a way they never would have before. A tune they do not know. A stubborn energy that doesn’t come from their tired bones.

There is lightning crackling over everything as Thor’s form appears in the midst of them, limned in spotlight blue. Chains glittering. Leather glistening.

Loki wants to see it. Part of him just wants to be part of this. He never got to go to one of Thor’s live shows when he was, well, alive. He can’t miss the chance now, and he pushes forward through the press of hicks and bikers to get closer to the stage.

Another part of him, though, is burning. His hands clench at his sides.

If Thor is going to be going around exacting revenge like this, he at least owes it to Loki—the reason Thor is alive again—to bring him with. Loki has plenty of his own revenge that he’d like to grab.

That is what infuriates him the most. The fact that Thor had dismissed him without a thought. Walked past him and turned away after everything Loki had done for him. After how much Loki had wanted him and everything he was.

When the first bolt of lightning shoots from the neck of Thor’s guitar, Loki can taste it in the air. Revels in it, in the sight of some wannabe-cowboy burning to a crisp not twenty feet away from him.

Another bolt shoots out. Another.

People are screaming, running, fleeing. Suede fringe and bolo braids flying.

Loki is ducking between them, toward the side of the room—he’d spotted it when he first came in, a door that barred the way to the stage area.

The knob turns under his hand.

When he makes it up onto the platform, there’s nobody else left alive in the building. Dead musicians and dead patrons and dead barmen.

Thor is still there, panting hard under the bright lights, guitar still slung on a heavy chain over his shoulders. Sweat glinting. The lights hot and still.

Loki approaches, fearless, and he feels himself smiling.

“You need me. It’s all been falling apart, hasn’t it?” he says, thinking of the newscaster's bland monotone. Feeling the fading bruises on his own body from school. The feeling. The feeling that has driven him. The vengeance and rage and betrayal.

Thor plays a broken, sorrowful chord before the pick falls from his fingers. His face turns sharply to where Loki stands.

“I brought you back, Thor. You owe everything to me.”

Thor stares at him, brow twisting.

Loki spreads his hands, welcoming. “Come here, beautiful.”

Thor strides closer. And in the empty bar, Loki reaches up and trails his fingertips across Thor's scarred face.

“Your music will live forever. The legend of you will keep it alive. No one will ever be able to forget,” he promises. “At least, that’s how it will be if you have a good manager. One who believes in you.”

Thor gazes at him. His kohl-lined eyes pierce into Loki’s core, and the feeling is like nothing he has ever experienced. It’s like everything he always dreamed. Everything he could have ever hoped, writing desperate, aching letters into the darkness.

Thor stands before him, and Loki pushes down on his shoulders until Thor kneels before him. Hands he has watched in videos countless times come to rest on his waist, fingers splayed. Wrapping around the sharp angles of hipbones beneath denim.

There in the middle of the wreckage, Thor presses his brow against Loki’s abdomen, bowed as if in prayer. It is a chaste gesture, and it makes Loki’s blood burn hotter than his own sweatiest wet dreams of a month before.

Then Thor’s face turns upward. His eyes intense and staring back into his.

Loki buries his hands in Thor’s hair, feeling the softness of it.

“We will do great things together,” Loki murmurs, swept up in pleasure. “Just you wait.”

#thorki #my fic #spookyfic

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estrellami-1 · 1 year

Text

Breathe

Also I’m trying my hand at a permanent taglist… let me know if y’all want to be added!

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Eddie had gone on before him. It wasn’t fair to keep him waiting, but, well… Steve had tried to warn him about smoking.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Steve’s eyes drop closed as he thinks over his life. It was good. Once Vecna was gone, once the hospital scare was over and done with, it was good.

Exhale.

Inhale.

They’d all grown up, separately but together. Robin and Nancy, surprisingly enough, had been the first to leave. Then one by one, the rest of the Part followed in different directions.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Robin and Nancy had moved to San Diego. Dustin and Suzie settled in Maine, of all places. Lucas and Max picked Florida. Will and Mike were closest in Indy. El and Erica—with whatever they had going on—were in Oklahoma, trying to find normalcy.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Steve and Eddie had bought an RV and traveled the country. Visited the kids. They were there for Dustin and Susie’s first kid (and second, and third). They were there when Nancy got her first journalist award. When Mike and Will tied the knot, even if it wasn’t exactly legal yet. When El and Erica needed some familiar faces. When Lucas and Max had gotten hitched. They’d even driven them to the airport, seen them off for their Colorado honeymoon.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Never any kids of their own, Steve reflects. Except in all the ways they did. Everyone had been there for Eddie. Crowded into the hospital room, annoying the fuck out of the hospital staff and uncaring, because that was their Eddie, their brother, their uncle, their grandpop.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Steve had seen memories flash through Eddie’s eyes, like they’re doing in Steve’s mind right now. Their first kiss, sun-drenched and summer-sweet, tentative and so, so hopeful.

Exhale.

Inhale.

When they bought the RV and visited everyone for the first time, rolled up in front of their houses and laid on the horn until someone had gotten annoyed enough to peep out the windows, only to run outside when they realized who it was.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Will and Mike first, since they were closest. Eddie and Steve had taken them out to a gay bar—a nicer one than they’d ever been to at the boys’ age—and had fun for a night. They’d stayed for a few days before making the trek up to Maine to see Dustin and Suzie. Skiing and dinner and loud laughs long into the night.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Then they’d gone to see Max and Lucas in Florida, getting horribly burned the first day and regretting it for the next few days. Max and Lucas had both made fun of them. Then a rather uncomfortable drive to Oklahoma to see the girls. El, who had been learning to cook, made them all dinner. They were introduced to May and Alex, two kids who had needed help. Eddie had put his arm around Steve’s shoulders like he knew Steve had been holding back tears.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Then off to San Diego to see Robin and Nancy. Robin had yelled and barreled out the door. Steve had done much the same thing after parking the RV, and the hug lasted long enough that Nancy had helped Eddie bring their things inside and were well on their way through the first of many iced teas. They’d stayed there the longest, even toyed with the idea of making home base somewhere near.

Exhale.

Inhale.

But Steve knew Eddie, knew he’d want to be near Wayne, at least while he could be. So they returned, set up camp in a town about the same size as Hawkins, about an hour away. Settled in. Hired someone to cut the grass. Bought groceries. On their third day there, kids had come around, intrigued by the new RV, drawn close by the sound of Eddie’s guitar. Kept close by Steve’s snacks.

Exhale.

Inhale.

They’d pseudo-adopted a few kids from that town. The kids had decent parents, who would come over from time to time and joke about Steve and Eddie stealing their kids. The nights would end in beer and laughter and more guitar, softer than the metal Steve had fallen in love with, but no less beautiful.

Exhale.

Inhale.

They grew up together. They grew old together. What goes around comes around, because a few short years ago Eddie had been in this very same hospital, right back in Hawkins. The familiarity of it all had given Steve double vision at times. He’d been there when Eddie passed. Felt him squeeze Steve’s hand for the last time.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Steve hadn’t cried until he’d gotten back to the RV. After all the condolences, the paperwork, the well-meaning bouquets and cards. The family they’d made, who were just as heartbroken as he was.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Steve had driven off, secluded himself for a few months, as he learned how to breathe without Eddie around. He didn’t make any more trips, but he did return to the town they’d made their own. He saw their youngest kids, their parents. More condolences. More faked smiles.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Now, he gives the ceiling a genuine smile. He’d kept Eddie waiting for too long. He takes his last breath and steps into the rest of forever, Eddie by his side.

Permanent Taglist:

@justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround (you didn’t ask but I figured you’d be ok w it… but if not lmk, no hard feelings!)

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