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wraithdance · 1 month

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Damn I'm still getting notifications on this so I guess I'll elaborate on it for funsies lol

Content warning: AFAB!Reader, terrible british-isms, Reader is a firefighter and idk shit about that life lol, very NY/American coded, explicit language. Shorty getting tossed around like a hot n ready in the next part I just love to set the scene a lil lmao

Part one: The Firefighter

Your mother had always told you two things: 1) not to write a check that your ass can’t cash and 2) A hard head made for a soft ass. Unfortunately for you, you never listen.

You were on the downward slope of a 48 hour shift and feeling every bit of it. Your captain had taken no mercy on the splitting headache you were nursing and designated you to crowd control on the northern sector of the McCallen theater. The heat of the flames enveloping the old building didn’t help with the already stifling heat wave. Sweat slides down your neck in uncomfortable pools that soak the under clothes beneath your turnout gear.

While in the middle of reassuring an elderly woman whose granddaughter was in the building you’d caught sight of a large form attempting to cross the barrier from the corner of your eye. You’d whipped your head around so fast you’d damn near given yourself whiplash.

“Hey, get back behind the line!”

Your words die in your throat when you come face to face with the fucking grim reaper. He’s broad and dressed in layers of black from head to toe. His eyes, or what you can see of them from behind the eye black, bore into you from beneath his balaclava.

What the fuck?

There's a moment where your throat closes up and your muscles lock despite your body screaming at you to run the other way. It’s not until he seems to dismiss you and turns like he’s going to continue on his merry way, that you gain back your senses.

“Hey I said get back behind the line are you crazy?!” You bark, grabbing the sleeve of his jumper.

Who the hell wears a sweatshirt in the middle of June?

“This is an active fire! ”

He looks at your offending hand and makes a sound you can only describe as a snort.

“Ya’ can bloody see that.”

This motherfu-

“Good job jackass,” You say between grit teeth “I’m glad you can see the fire, funny enough you can also see it from behind. the. damn. LINE!”

The grim reaper twitches and if it's possible he looks bigger as he turns his full body towards you.

You’re too hopped on adrenaline to give a shit about his posturing. You’d worked with sweaty macho guys for six years at the station and had been around servicemen your whole life. There wasn’t a pissing contest around that you would ever back down from. So, you puff out your own chest and meet him head on.

“Sir, I’m not going to ask you again, get behind the barrier.”

“Or wot.” you think you might actually catch a murder charge.

“You get behind the line like I asked you to, big boy, or I’ll toss your ass over it myself” You hiss. The big fuck just narrows his eyes in consideration. You’re preparing to make good on your threat, when another voice cuts in.

“Riley, What's the problem here?”

Great two of them.

The second man is not as broad as the weirdo in black, but still just as barrelled chested. He maneuvers around the barrier like it's just a concept and not a physical deterrent. You have to roll your eyes at his boonie hat and the outdated beard. He had the same fashion sense as your grandpa.

He stops beside the reaper's right side and crosses his stocky arms over his chest, his beard twitching as he takes in your stance. There's something in his blue eyes that you might call appreciation, if it didn’t make you feel like you were on a serving platter.

You really didn't have time for this shit!

“Like I told your friend here, I need you both behind the line, you're getting in the way of my job and I’m tired of repeating myself.”

It might have been a childish thing to do but you can’t help yourself when you make rude shoo-ing motions with your hands.

The newcomers' eyes tighten inauspiciously. An imperceptible look passes between the two mountains that you can’t read. It makes you shudder which only stands to piss you off further.

It’s not the first time you’ve had some hyper masculine fuck question your authority while on a rescue. Hell, it's come to be expected at this point and you’d joined an online support group for firefighters who experienced the same for being non-cis white dudes.

The issue is whatever energy these monsters disguised as men are emitting, is disorienting. Normally you would have asked for back up after the second time your request was ignored. Yet your radio still sits at your shoulder and your hands are shaking beneath your thick gloves.

After a beat the man with the boonie hat speaks, identifying himself as the leader of the two.

“Listen love, we’re SAS, we can help with the rescue if you just point us in a direction.”

Your eyes are rolling before he even finishes, you knew it. Macho men.

“That’s nice and I’m auditioning for the Wiz! We have everything under control gentlemen but thank you for the offer!”

Maybe it’s the migraine or the lack of sleep, but you can’t help but to dig the knife in deeper just a little bit. You’re smiling with your teeth and speaking in a baby voice before you can think twice about it.

“Why don’t you big strong men sign up for the next station tour and I’ll give you a nice badge and a sucker!” You clap your hands in mock excitement, before flattening your tone and expression “So that way, when you wanna play firemen, you can do it without jeopardizing the professionals! Fuck you very much, get off of my scene.”

Looking back it was probably the thing that doomed you, but you’d been too caught up in the moment to see it that way. Your radio had rattled off with the sound of your captain calling you in for an assist.

You hadn’t thought to really sus out the reaction of the men you’d bitched out. Had been all too happy to give up your position dealing with them to a wet behind the ears rookie.

After getting the fire under control and surviving the end of your shift you’d gone home and face planted on the couch. After chugging down your weight in electrolytes and ramen, you joined the server for the firefighter’s support group.

You’d been soothed by the jokes your online support system cracked when you retold the clusterfuck of a day. Before logging off for the night you get a friend request from some random account with a string of numbers and a skull icon. You snort but look through the profile. Scoffing when you see that it was made in the last hour.

Fucking bot accounts. You’d have to ask the mods to check out their spam filters next time they were on.

Ugh, you needed a bath.

Preview of next part:

“Open your mouth.”

Your eyes widen and you struggle against the tight grip around your chin. His warm hands only tighten, causing your lips to pucker. A husky laugh sounds from behind your shoulder and you can feel the brush of cotton against your ear.

“C’mon pretty girl, open up, captain just wants to give you a sucker.”

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deangirlswiftieism · 3 months

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tell the fandom dean's literate

dean winchester x tell hip-hop I'm literate (demo) by fall out boy

thank u to @dean-isms and @scoobydoodean for collating these incidents together and @nostalgicbones for answering my questions <3

#couldn't for the life of me get the Bukowski lines to line up but whatever it's fine it's a first attempt #supernatural #spnamvarchive #k.txt #fobnatural #k.mp4

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samthestrangerthingsfan · 6 months

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Out of The Woods

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: A look back into our reader's past, and a run-in with one, too.

chapter warnings: slow burn,mentions of grief, parental loss, motherhood, swearing, alcohol(ism), child neglect, childhood trauma. Maggie fluff to fix it all <3

a/n: EEP EEP EEP, i know i know its a slooooow burn but we truly are just getting started. Enjoy!

chapter two: Tell Me A Lie || series masterlist

SEPTEMBER 17th, 1982

Freezer-burnt Egos sit three high on the olive green plate in front of you.

“Great.” Syrup hasn’t been purchased in weeks, so you slather each one with a smear of grape jelly. All served up with a side of tap water.

One bite in, and the sound of shattering glass startles the appetite out it you.

“Dad?!” You shout in a panic.

The sight that greets you on the living room is one that’s become familiar in the few months since your mom’s passing. Your father, slumped over in his beat up recliner, a shattered vodka bottle on the floor next to him.

“Shit…” you’re frantic as you rush to grab the broom and dustpan. It’s become a routine, clean up dad’s mess so that he doesn’t hurt himself when he wakes for his night shift at the Plant.

While it may be routine, it’s certainly not normal. No fourteen year old should be shopping for groceries, and doing laundry and writing checks to the electric company with a letter begging for them to give her a little more time with the lights on.

Every payday, you’d wait for Dad to pass out in his chair, and you’d take most of the cash from his wallet. It was just enough to get yourself food for the week and pay what you could. If he noticed the missing money, he never said anything, but you assumed he did notice that debt collectors had stopped calling so much.

“Bye, Dad.” You whispered. No response—then again, there never was.

The bag of glass was thrown into the trash on your walk to the garage. Hopping on your rusted out silver bike, you started the 2 mile ride to Hawkins High.

In truth, this has become the only slice of peace in your day. You could shut your damn brain off and just breathe. Not worry about the inevitable chaos that waited for you at home.

It was Friday, which means a meeting with the school counselor to see how you were doing since your mom died. June was…it was a time you’ve tried to block out. To suppress any memories or feeling from that awful day.

“Did you hear me, hon?” Ms. Kelly’s soft voice pulled you from your dissociation.

“What? Oh, mhm.”

She looked at you softly, tilting her head as a sign she absolutely did not believe you.

“Listen,” she pulls the file off her desk and turns it for you to see. “Your grades…they’re not at all reflective of your abilities. Your teachers think you’re brilliant, but the lack of effort on homework and tests is something of a concern.”

The pain of holding back tears began to prickle your throat. “I know, I’m—I’m trying. I’m studying as much as I can—“

“You’ve got such a bright future, just work a bit harder, hm?” Her smile was one of reassurance and confidence.

It’s not Mrs. Kelly’s fault. She didn’t know about what was happening at home, so she certainly didn’t know the impact of her advice.

“Work harder,” you whisper, venom coating your tongue. “Got it.”

The smile on your face is only there to keep the tears at bay. She excuses you to get back to next period, and you practically sprint from her office.

Where your legs take you, you’re not exactly sure. But the room is empty and dark and at this point you’ll take any refuge you can get.

So you sit and sob, heaving breaths and crying into your palm to muffle any sounds. How long you were there you have no idea, but it was long enough to hear the bell for end of the school day.

The door to the room opened, pouring in light from the hallway.

“Shit…you okay?”

His voice was so gentle and unsure. Backlit as the door closed, the shadow of his silhouette almost made him look like an angel.

Long shaggy hair, denim and chains and leather.

An angel--dressed like a devil.

You attempted to stand quickly, muttering a half-hearted apology, but you stumbled. Luckily for you, the stranger caught your elbow and waist.

“Whoa, hey just—here, sit for a sec, okay?” He guided you to the table across from where you’d sat, and ushered you towards one of the chairs.

“You’re not hurt are you?” His voice was so soft; a kindness you hadn’t heard in a long, long time.

You shook your head, “No, no. I’m fine.”

He laughed softly, “You sure about that?”

The tears in your eyes put holes in his chest.

“I’m Eddie,” he sat next to you on the table, “Who might you be?”

You whispered your name, and he smiled, then whispered it right back.

Eddie was gentle with you. He sat in silence for a few minutes, waiting for your breathing to return to normal.

What you didn’t know was how he watched you. The way he recognized the pain in your eyes—a kind of sadness that only people who’ve experienced it can understand.

He knew a bad home life when he saw one, and It made him angry.

Angry that someone could look in your eyes and hurt you. That people could see how broken you were and take advantage of it. Worst of all? He was angry there was no one there to protect you.

As far as he was concerned, that changes today.

Eddie cleared his throat, and your eyes found him again. “Look at us,” he nudged your shoulder. “strangers a couple minutes ago, now we’re acquaintances. Who knows? Before we leave we might even be friends.”

A genuine and true laugh escaped you. It’d been so long since you’d heard your own laugh, the sound alone was foreign.

Though for Eddie, it was a sound that made his heart beat faster and face turn rosey, even under the gross fluorescent bulbs.

“I’d like to be your friend, I think.” You smile. Crinkles formed by his umber eyes as he mirrored your grin.

Your hand juts out, extended to him for the taking. “You’re not a serial killer, right?”

His warm grip finds yours, “Not to your knowledge.”

There’s a pain in your cheeks from smiling so hard. “That’s reassuring.”

Eddie jumped up, offering you his elbow. “Whaddya say, kid? Care to cause some chaos and debauchery with your new pal?”

It’d be easy to say no. To allow yourself to return to the shell you’ve built around yourself in order to protect your heart in a way no one else would.

But you didn’t hesitate. Linking arms with Eddie, his scent invaded you—nicotine and weed and…vanilla? Whatever the combination, you’re sure it was uniquely and perfectly him.

“Whatcha got in mind?”

Eddie could have said anything and you’re pretty sure you’d have agreed. “Oh, sweetheart. Just you wait.”

“Mama! Do we have any straw’bies?” Maggie asked from the kitchen.

The smell from the chemicals you’re cleaning the shower with make your head throb and the sweat on your brow itches you for the ten millionth time.

Deep breathes. Deep breathes.

“No, Mags. C’mon, get your shoes on. As soon as I’m done here we’re going to the store.” You throw the yellow gloves down into the sink, giving them a quick rinse.

The weekend has brought some seriously good progress. Friday you’d managed to get Maggie registered for school, and start cleaning out the house.

Boxes of old newspapers and tchotchkes your father had kept sat stagnant, collecting dust and taking up far too much space. None of it mattered to you, so you’d trashed it.

All of it.

Saturday was spent taking trips back and forth to the Goodwill, hoping and praying your little car would survive after all the driving she did. You’d bought a few cheap gallons of paint from Melvald’s, this house was your home now—Maggie’s home. It was time to wipe the slate clean and create a place the two of you could fill with love and laughter and memories

“Mom?” Maggie mumbled, mouth full of banana as she watches you slink into your jacket.

You grabbed your keys. “Yes, angel?”

“Can we get ice cream? Wouldn’t that be a fun way to ce-bre-late me going to big girl school tomorrow?”

I need to find a damn job.

You do some quick math, adding and subtracting based on what you had left in your savings, and what you’d set aside for bills.

You drop to your knees in front of your daughter, getting right down to her level to place a big kiss on her forehead. “Of course we can. Good idea, Maggie-moo.”

Her dimples were so deep from her big wide grin, you poked a finger in each of them.

“Moooom!” She laughed, swatting your hands away.

“Whaaaat? I just love you! Now c’mon, we gotta go get your asparagus.” You hold the door and Maggie jumps onto the porch.

“Ice cream!” She shouts, making a mad dash to the car.

You chuckle. “Right, right. Ice cream.”

The store is a mere 10 minutes drive from home. If you ask Maggie, she thinks 10 minutes is the perfect amount of time to throw an impromptu concert from the back seat—room for encore included.

The moment your hands grasp the shopping cart, Maggie’s arms are up. “Assuming the position, I see.” You smile proudly.

Scooping her up, you plop her right on her bottom into the cart. Maggie wiggled, gasping as the two of you strolled past the chip aisle. “Don’t forget! We have to get some snacks for school too!”

“Right,” you braked, and turned down it. “Let me guess, Doritos are the perfect school snack?”

Her eyes are wide, clearly overwhelmed at the selection the Pete’s Grocery has to offer. “Can we gets the cheese ones?”

“Sure thing, Sunshine.”

Shopping is entirely uneventful. It’s mainly you budgeting and planning on dinners for the week. Everything bought has to have more than one use or purpose, or you don’t get it. A few jars of pasta sauce, some spaghetti, a loaf of bread, peanut butter and jelly. Chicken, canned corn, strawberries and bananas and a few boxes of mac n cheese. No the shopping spree Maggie thinks it is, but you’ll make it work.

“Alright kiddo, now the piece de resistance…the ice cream section!” You use your best announcer voice as you scoop her from the cart, and let her roam free.

She squeals. “Mom! There’s so many kinds!”

You watch her, taking in how the littlest things in this life make her the happiest you’ve ever seen her. You’re so engrossed in your daughter, you almost don’t hear it. The familiar tone that had engrained itself in your memory, the sarcastic “Sure, Robin.” that had been a staple in his vocabulary since High School.

Any calm feeling you’d had vanished, stomach churning inside you. “Mags,” you called in a hushed tone. “Maggie! C’mon, baby, just choose—“

The voices were an aisle away, and moving closer to you.

Maggie was in her own world, running back and forth to different doors in careful deliberation.

You could feel yourself start to tremble, calling her a bit louder this time. “Maggie-moo, please hurry—“

“Ho-ly shit.”

Of course Robin was the first to say something. She stood with her mouth agape, Steve perplexed next to her. When he’d followed her gaze, the two bags of chips he was holding fell to the floor.

He called your name like he was unsure. Questioning if the ghost in front of him was really his friend from all those years ago.

“Mommy! I founded the one I want!” Maggie screeched as she barreled toward you, clutching a box of Bomb Pops to her chest.

Your two old friends’ eyes went straight to your daughter.

Robin’s eyes were so wide, you thought they’d burst from her skull. “Mom?” She questioned.

Steve followed her up with, “No freakin’ way.”

Maggie chucked the pops in the cart, and stood by your side, your arms instinctively reaching for her. She must have followed your eyes, because soon, she too was in the middle of the staring contest the three of you had started.

She was quiet for a moment, studying them, and it wasn’t that long before she started giggling the tiniest bit. She covered her mouth, making herself laugh with whatever joke was rolling around in her little mind.

Maggie walked up to Steve as she laughed, and smiled her big toothy grin at him. “Hiya, Cheeseball!” She spoke through her giggles.

Robin’s laugh caught her so off guard she started coughing, and Steve was all smiles. “Excuse me? Who told you about my nickname?”

Maggie laughed, “My Mommy! She said your name is Steeb and you’re a real cheese ball!”

“Steve, Mags. Steve.” You were laughing, thankful for your daughter for saving you and for easing the tense moment you were seconds away from having to address.

“Nope, uh-uh. He’s Steeb now, from this day until his last.” She looked at you, get big smile taking up her face. Her eyes were soft, softer than they’d been moments ago. She looked back to Maggie, “And who’re you?”

Pride filled Maggie’s voice, “My name is Maggie and I’m six years old, but I’ll be seven soon! Mommy telled me birthday is Star Wars day.”

Robin’s brows pinched together, “Star Wars Day?”

“May the 4th.” You and Steve answered in unison.

The hazel-eyed boy looked at you, offering you a small smile.

Robin went back to talking to Maggie, asking her about Star Wars and her why she chose Bomb Pops. Steve walked over to stand next to you.

He plopped the chips in the top of your cart, and without any hesitation, pulled you in for a hug.

“God, I missed you.” He whispered into your hair.

You could feel the emotion squeezing your throat, “I missed you so much, Stevie.”

He held you a few more seconds, using Robin as a distraction. “Is…is she—“

You gripped him tighter, “Not here. Please not here, Steve.”

Steve Harrington was many things, but dumb wasn’t one of them. A bit of an airhead, and clueless sometimes, but not dumb. He’d seen it immediately, the resemblance between the two of you, and the one of Maggie and his other friend.

Steve let you go, looking over your face. “Does, um…does he know?”

With shame in your heart, you shook your head. “No, and I need to keep it the way.”

The for now went unsaid.

Steve nodded. “You haven’t ran into him yet then, I take it.”

“No,” you whispered. “I don’t even know what would happen if we did. Can’t think about it, not right now.”

Maggie approached the two of you, yanking Robin by her arm. “You were right, Mom! I do like this Robin lady.”

When the laughter died down, it was then Robin asked the question looming over the four of you.

“So, and pardon-my-french Little Miss M, but what the hell are you doing back in Hawkins?”

And with that, the floodgates opened.

You told them about what you’d been up to the last seven years, and what brought you back. Granted, you kept everything very Maggie-friendly—meaning most of your words were very PG friendly.

It was a weird feeling, admitting to all of the half-truths you told yourself, and how you had to push them out of your life. You wanted to tell them anything but the truth. To spare their feelings and the thought that you too could just as easily abandon the people who, at one point, were some of the most important people in your life.

"That's...that's heavy shit." Steve breathed.

You nodded, fully aware of the hanger-ticking-timebomb Maggie was becoming.

"We'll, uh...we'll catch up soon. Gotta get the grouch dinner."

"I am not a grouch." Maggie crossed her arms, and turned away.

"Of course you're not! You're just a girl who knows what she want." Robin high fived Maggie, and your heart melted.

You hugged them both one more time before loading Mags back in the cart, "Stop by anytime," You said with a smile. "You know where I live."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #ootw

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carolinelikesdinner · 9 months

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Fablehaven dash board simulator

🧚🏻 fairy-fire Follow

Ughhh does anyone else just not want to do the jack-o-lanterns this midsommors eve?? Like we do it EVERY year give us a breakkk 😭😭

#im too pretty for this #like atp just let them break in

5 notes

🥀 Dark-unicornDeactivated27465 Follow

Unicorns be like "you can't darken your unicorn horns you're soiling its purity" and then give away theirs 💀

#of course mr light makes right i'll be sure to take your advice after you got stuck in prison for hundreds of years

52 notes

🌻 flowerpetalwings Follow

Please stop scrolling!

Please sign this petition against fairy broking. I know multiple fairies who haven't seen their families since they were sold to a preserve. Please share if you can, people need to know about this

#petition #awareness

5,989 notes

🐐 newel69 Follow

If anyone has any spare batteries please DM me or @doren-deez-nuts420 ASAP

🎾 doren-deez-nuts420 Follow

2 notes

🪨 hugo28838 Follow

jdjddhuueu8383)$;smjs€]ism shdiidixl,c

589,103 notes

🧏🏻‍♀️ naiadDeactivated477465 Follow

Heyyy 😉😏 if you're looking for a good time, why don't you hop in the fairy queens pond? Hundreds of girls ready for you to dive in head first 🥰💕😳🥰🤫

7 notes

🌫️ bubda5 Follow

bubda eat yahtzee dice

#bubda need medical treatment #bubda in icu

3 notes

🎆 Humbuggle-offical Follow

Next round of The Titan Games on the 28th at 9:30 AM Magic Standard Time! I'll see you there!

♑️ virgil87 Follow

So excited!!!

#cant wait!! #need to bring my notebook this time lol #i forgot it the other day

123 notes

#fablehaven #dragonwatch #unreality #tumblr dashboard

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fungalittleweirdo · 3 months

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PLS JULE, DONT EAT MIKEY!!! PLS, HE’S MY MAN. I REQUESTED FLUFF OF READER AND MIKEY WHEN HE REALIZES/STARTS GROWING HAIR. MAYBE PUT A JELLIE LEO(lol bald) IN THERE FOR FUNZIES. PLEASE JUST LET MY HUSBAND GO. CRYING AND SOBBING ON MY KNEES.

I WON'T EAT MIKEY I PROMMY !!!

this has been in my drafts since february 16 i'm so sorry riley

hey at least you saw everything i have written since then !!

anyway–

No Longer A Skinhead

"Hm, feels different," Mikey sits up and hops out of his hammock, adjusting the tie of his mask after he scratched underneath it, then begins his routinely stretches. He sits down on the floor, spreading his legs and pointing his feet, reaching over to do his usual ballet stretches for when he wakes up. His phone rings and he reaches for it, accepting the video call he was getting from you.

"Good morning, sunshine~" he sing-songs, propping his phone up and continuing to stretch, holding his arm across his plastron and switching.

"Morning Mikes, you told me you didn't have patrol last night, so I hope you slept well," your voice echoes from his phone, then a sizzle comes on from you making breakfast. Mikey hums in interest, stretching for a right split while he said he slept fairly easy.

"Whatcha makin' for breakfast, honey?" He laughs, switching to his other leg after a moment. You look up from the pan of eggs, holding up your spatula.

"Just regular eggs and bacon, toast is coming along nicely," You turn around to check the toaster oven on the other side of the kitchen, seeing your toast is almost done.

You look back at your phone to see Mikey getting up from the floor and leaving his room, the door clicking shut as he steps away from the subway car. He seems to be heading for his own kitchen, judging by the way the brick colour changes behind him. You've been to the lair so many times you can tell where the turtles are even on a regular audio call with them, just by the echo of their footsteps.

"What might you be making for breakfast, chef?" You ask playfully, taking a sip of your warm beverage you already made for yourself.

"I think I'll go for banana pancakes! Leo went to the Caribbean the other day and got a boatload of bananas somehow, so now we gotta get rid of them before they all get too ripe," Mikey scratched his head, feeling as though it's the fifth time his scalp has itched since waking up. He paid no mind to it, going on to make the pancake batter at the kitchen counter.

You turn back to your eggs and bacon, finding they finished cooking and you put them on your plate, turning to retrieve your toast, and grabbing a fork from the silverware drawer. Then you grab your phone, propping it up in front of you after you sit down at your tiny dining table. Mikey smiles at you warmly for a brief moment before going back to making pancakes, your heart beating just a little faster. You start eating while watching Mikey cook. The comfortable silence lasts until you hear the voices of Mikey's brothers over the call, laughing and bantering about whatever turtle guys their age talk about.

"So you know that trick I tried on the ramp the other day? Yeah, no, that was sick–" Leo's voice echoes through the kitchen and Donnie scoffed in retaliation. You could see Raph thumping behind Mikey like a zombie, grabbing the kettle to make some tea. Your heart warms seeing your friends having a regular morning, wishing they could have a break like the one they had last night every day. But Casey and April could only take so much vigilante-ism as humans with full time jobs in New York City. So you get it.

You spend the rest of your breakfast on video call with Mikey, Not only spending time with him but his brothers as they greet you through the phone, including you in their conversation while they have delicious banana pancakes together. After they finish, Mikey walks away to lead you back to his room, going on to get his art supplies ready. You think of how to approach your plans for the rest of the month for a moment before speaking your mind.

"I'm going out of state for a few weeks, I won't be reached through anything," you start, chewing your bottom lip. Mikey looks up from his sketchbook, giving you a curious look. "I'll be back on the thirtieth. That's Lou Jitsu night, right?" You pause, waiting for Mikey's response.

"Yeah, be there or be square!" He grins, looking back down at his sketchbook and continuing to draw. You smile softly, leaning forward to get a good look at him.

"I have to get ready for work now, so I'll see you in a few weeks, yeah?" You fiddle with a thread in your pyjamas, then get up from the couch to stretch. Mikey scratches his head again and reaches for his phone with his pencil in hand.

"Yeah! I love you! And stay safe! You know I'll find out immediately if you're not safe, okay?" Mikey smiled, but it was one of his intimidating smiles you built immunity for over the years, so you know it just means he's serious.

"Okay, I promise I'll be safe," you smile back, oozing affection so contagious it shoots another arrow through Mikey's heart, his intimidating smile washed away by a giddy one. You wave and hang up the call, then go back to your bedroom to get ready to go to work.

Your out-of-state trip passed, you're exhausted, and you desperately want to stay home to lay in bed for three days. But! You made your promise to attend Lou Jitsu night as soon as you got back, so you left your bags at your place and immediately went to the lair in your PJs, making sure no one saw or heard you open the manhole cover closest to it. You feel a sense of comfort wash over you when you see the familiar drain of clean water, walking over to the vault door and opening it carefully, knowing all the security precautions Donnie had put in place. You walk around, heading toward the voices you hear in the projection room.

"Leo, what are you wearing?" Raph's annoyed voice bounced off the brick.

"My new trademark pegasus onesie! I got that unicorn one years ago but it has holes in it now, so I bought a new pony onesie that suits me better. It's so fuzzy and high quality, it was totally worth the price."

"A wasteful investment, dear brother. You could have gotten the Jupiter Jim Atomic Lass and Atomic Lad statuette set from Japan with that money."

You step into the room to find Leo flaunting himself as if he was on a runway wearing what indeed looked to be a pegasus onesie, the zipper zipped up just under his pectoral scutes and a hood covering his bald head. Your eyes flicker between Raph, Donnie, April, and the Caseys, but you can't see Mikey in his usual spot.

"Hey guys!" You make your presence known and everyone looks at you, immediately smiling and tackling you for a hug. You lay on the floor laughing, patting and poking everyone to get them off you as you get up from the floor, rubbing your lower back. Raph reaches out to you in worry.

"Sorry' bout that, did we hurt you too bad? We jus' missed ya," He smiles sheepishly and you shake your head.

"No! No! You guys are fine! I... I'm wondering where Mikey is," you look between them all and see that Leo had an annoyed pout on his face, arms crossed and walking away.

"He's probably in his room," Casey Jr. said, a knowing look on his face, "grooming himself to be presentable tonight."

You quirk an eyebrow at this, stepping away from everyone with a nod.

"You guys mind if I go check on him?" Everyone gave you the go ahead and you left the projection room to head down to the boys' bedrooms downstairs. You distinguish Mikey's in the darkness just by the subway car's lights being on, approaching it to knock on the door.

"I'll be up in a sec! Have you ever heard of patience–" Mikey opens the door and stops in his tracks when he sees you. You look up at him with bug eyes and a dropped jaw, reaching up and stopping, breath caught in your lungs in hesitation before Mikey gave you a nod. Fingers tangle through the short locks, feeling how soft and well taken care of his strands are. You watch his hair wrap around your fingers in wonder, reaching up to hold his face.

"Heh... I wanted this to be a surprise for when you got back..." Mikey smiles shyly, eyes flickering away from you. You pull him in for a kiss, his face warming quickly as you continue peppering kisses on his cheeks, then moving up to his scalp.

"Oh my gosh, Mikey, you look so pretty!"

You continue to dote on him, his giggles echoing around the lair as you hold him close. His heart beat out of his chest, knees feeling weak as you kiss him again, this time with a lot more vehemence. More fervency. More passion. You continue babbling about how handsome he is until someone cleared their throat behind you, turning to see Leo with his arms crossed and a portal behind him.

"I'm still more good looking than him though," Leo scoffs, smirking and leaning down to be eye-level with you.

"Last time I checked, you weren't the one growing hair," you pulled Mikey into you protectively, kissing the side of his head. His cheeks warmed again and his eyes shined brighter from your skin contact, tingles running through him. Leo rolls his eyes, gesturing toward the portal so that you all could walk through and start Lou Jitsu night.

Mikey held you close throughout the whole movie marathon, never seeming to wipe that grin off his face knowing you love him even with his new look.

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt writing #rise mikey #rise mikey x reader #future mikey #no beta we die like gram gram #fluff

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crimsonxe · 8 months

Text

Me: Seeing Evermorrow and Dust Queen that look interesting -excited hopping in my seat-

Also me: Seeing that in the first the shitlord Syto is listed as a "casting aid" and that the obnoxious know-thing CRWBY bashing piece of shit that is Celtic is voicing Roman in both -nearly breaking my neck from shaking my damn head so hard-

In what fucking world do either of these shitlords that have shown everything except being fans of the show have any ground to be involved in any fan projects? Like these aren't even "questionable", they are straight up shitbags that have gone after CRWBY themselves.

Lets go over it:

They bash the show

They bash CRWBY

They fail at having a grasp on the damn show, characters, and relationship within as they fail repeatedly at understanding things in it and stating blatantly wrong or biased bullshit about it.

They have shown themselves as sexist & homophobic

They have shown themselves as disgusting assholes with bloated ego's that aren't deserved at all

Celtic doesn't even fit as a voice for Roman

Celtic who has obnoxiously and ridiculously stated how he's a better writer than the actual RWBY writers. I can't remember if he actually name dropped them, but honestly it wouldn't be shocking if he did. The guy that thought up "faunus heat cycles"; Velvet x Cardin; Cardin having an "actually a good guy deep down" angle; asspulled Roman back to life & linked him to fucking Oz as if that works in any damn way; did a sauna scene to have fanservice; had Blake essentially become a cop; Ilia getting harsher judgement; decided Shay D. Mann deserved an entire character arc (biggest insult is that creepass having a romantic relationship with Raven who is sooooooooooo damn beyond his level its unreal); repeatedly shoves the femme MC's behind males; etc thinks his ass is a better writer.

As aside: -pulls camera to full face cam- Celtic if you run across this, you aren't at all. You're not even close, you're just another incel chud peddling in right-wing-isms that lead to disgusting ass elements in your bullshit.

Celtic has a history of problematic elements within his "Ruining RWBY" bullshit

Syto tried to poison the well going into v9 via realizing what everyone else did in that Bees were coming and him trying to paint the pander angle that ignores the 10 years, 9 volumes of work put into BB leading up to said vibes people had about their becoming official.

Syto who tried to do Cherish his AU spinoff and failed; tried to do his own project w/o anything to do with RWBY and failed; and scurried back to another RWBY AU project

Syto who basically dived into the idea of Yang being an airhead party girl throwing out her entire true self. Not to mention his redesign sexualizing her in the exact aspects one would expect from an incel shitbag. Barely anything there waist, barely anything there top, massive cleavage.

Like these shitbags should be nowhere near fan projects. Don't give them normalization as if they aren't what they are.

#rwby #rant #evermorrow #dust queen

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swiss-mrs · 6 months

Note

bestie… what does clubbing with goth and/or post-punk steve look like in your eyes? 👀 i would like to know

BESTIE

Not you opening the floodgates to us sending back and forth requests 🤭

Fun Lil #Swiss Fact: Back in Summer of 2021 my friends and I were trying to club/bar hop in a city/state we weren't familiar with and after 3 failed attempts (including crashing some rando's all-white party [I was in head to toe black]) we stumbled into a goth club and had the time of our lives.

I was in my little big titty goth girl era, so I just so happened to be in perfect dress code LMAO. This request has singlehandedly removed me from my pop girly mode and straight back into 80s/90s alt girl.

Haunted Haus

Steve Harrington x Goth Club Owner!Reader

Word Count:

Warnings: Good Music ✌️🤪, Steve-isms (some bad flirting, not so discreet looking, but also some not well hidden nerves), a lil angst👀, a single, '90s reference (just ignore), Reader being an absolute goddess.

Reader/Unnamed Character Description: No Descriptions Beyond Clothing, No Mentions of Age, Race, Ethnicity, Height, Etc., No Use of Y/N, She/Her Pronouns, Mentioned as "woman" and "madame", Bodily Descriptions kept minimal/gn

Synopsis: Steve may be in a chokehold by the abundance of hot goth girls in media rcently and decides to indulge in the dark and alternative scene irl.

××××💀❤️💀💀❤️💀💀❤️💀××××

Steve sat in the driver's seat of his BMW, gripping and twisting his hands around the wheel. The car sits stagnant in the grassy parking lot as minutes pass. "Come on, Harrington. You got this." Steve says for the millionth time, this time finally releasing a hand from the poor steering wheel to reach up for the review mirror, abruptly adjusting it to make eye contact with himself. "You got this." He uses his other hand to point at his reflection. Steve drops his hands to his lap as his gaze is taken from himself and to the paper sitting on the passenger's seat.

It was a flyer he'd stumbled across, or more accurately Robin stumbled across.

"I found the perfect thing for you." She burst through the door, taking Steve off-guard. He gave her a skeptical look, shifting his weight to one side, not really amused.

"And what is that, I ask regrettably."

"Ooo, that's a big word." Robin quips back a little too easily, causing Steve to roll his eyes, but Robin pays no mind as she averts her gaze to the paper in her hand.

"Haunted Haus, Goth Night." She flips the paper around to shove the front side in Steve's face. He jerks back, just out of reach. "Found this little baby." Steve’s brows furrow as his eyes adjust to try and read the text on the paper being held far too close to his face. "This may be your chance to find you a Hex Girl." Steve snatches the paper from her grip and gives her an unimpressed look, but Robin remains unfazed, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the counter with a smug look.

Steve props himself on one hand as he leans his weight against the counter with one foot crossed in front of the other. He looks down at the paper in his hands, reading off the provided information and address. "Isn't that the old creepy church looking building?"

"Yeah, the one right outside of town." Robin confirms. "I did a little investigating, and turns out someone bought the cursed thing and turned it into an 'unconventional' night club." She replied, lifting a hand to place air quotes. Steve huffs in response. "As far as I've heard, it's pretty underground but also pretty popular."

"Oh yeah? And who have you heard that from?" He raises a brow, looking over invisible glasses over at Robin. She scoffs in offense.

"I have my sources." She rolls her eyes at Steve's continuous skeptical look. "Look, you obviously still aren't having much luck here, and now that you've officially developed an interesting niche," Steve scoffs again and rolls his eyes at her subtle jab. "I'm just trying to help."

"Where did you even find this?" Robin stands up straight and shrugs.

"Sources." She replies nonchalantly.

Steve lets out a huge sigh before ripping off his seatbelt and throwing the car door open.

As soon as Steve's white nikes hit the field and he stood to full height, it was like the cool night sucked all the warm air from his lungs. He stares up at the gothic structure ahead of him. Even from the back of the lot, you could hear the music flooding from the open doors. It was quite shocking to see the number of people attending, at least to Steve. There was no way there was this many people in Hawkins who were into this scene.

Steve stepped away from his car just enough to close and lock the doors behind him, beginning his tread to the club. The closer he got to the front door, the more he started to feel his heart thump against his chest. He's no stranger to parties by any means, but all his experience was exclusive to house parties and school dances. Since graduation, he honestly fell out of the party scene almost completely. He wasn't in college, and the thought of attending a high school party after graduation made him cringe. This was an exciting new venture for him.

Just as he clears the last row of cars, he gets a good view of the small crowd just outside the doors. People who, outside of their clothing and makeup choices, seemed like unlikely friends. People of all races, ethnicities, and statures all gathered together. It was odd to Steve to see such diversity, but it was refreshing.

He suddenly became a little self-conscious by his own outfit choice. Though he was in the standard all black getup, he was severely lacking the accessories, leather, and/or face paint, and it became extremely obvious as soon as he cleared the lot.

Resting on the doors of the entrance was a scary looking man and a brutish, equally scary looking woman. The man leaning against the left door was tall, a whole head above Steve. His arms were crossed, showcasing the muscle on muscle he was packing. His unamused, grey eyes pierced through Steve with one simple glance. There was no telling how he was able to keep going, but the striking gaze didn't stop Steve's body from moving forward.

Just as his foot met the cement of the sidewalk, the lady on the right side, nearly equal in height to Steve, took as step forward and held her hand up. Steve’s eyes met her green ones. Steve stopped in his tracks, waiting for the woman to speak first. Before she uttered a word, Steve could see her eyes track up and down his body with a keen gaze. "You here solo?" Her deep southern accent through Steve off.

"Yes." He dares to glance back and forth between her and the guy to the left. Once Steve's eyes land back on her, he lifts his chin in fake confidence. "I am." The woman's eyes squint slightly, seeing right through his confident facade. Steve's eyes flit back to the man to find steel eyes staring back with their ever-present empty glare.

"You won't be causing any trouble now, will ya, son?" She asks, bringing Steve's attention back to her. He raises a confused brow. Why is he being singled out? His eyes nervously bounce around.

"No? I'm just here for the..." He trails, gesturing to the lively club behind them. "Why? Do I look like trouble?" His confusion slightly over taken by his sassy tone. The woman steps aside and gestures toward the club.

"G'on." She says before stepping back to her 'post' by the door. Steve stands in place for a few more seconds, still a little thrown off by the interaction. The woman gives him a look as if to dare him to test her patience, and Steve takes that as a sign to get moving.

Steve cautiously walks through the doors, side-eyeing both bodies occupying the entrance, the man's eyes following him. Steve begins to question what he's gotten himself into.

Once he's officially inside, the lights and music are quick to overwhelm his senses. It's dark within the confines of the building, but the red strobe lights cast an intimate, sensual, almost sinister glow over everything. "Nice hair." A voice just barely over the music brings Steve out of his trance. He looks towards the voice to find a short woman behind a pedestal with a raised brow. Her hair was dyed black with short bangs and curled wisps of short layers just above her shoulders. Her skin was as pale as the moon, and her nails were chipped and painted red. "$3.00"

Steve stared at her as he fished in his pocket for the cash. Thankfully, he remembered to check the entry price on the flyer before leaving home. He plops the bills into her outstretched hand before receiving a short nod as an 'OK for entry'.

Steve walks further in, stopping at the top of the short set of stairs that lead down to the main floor. Being slightly above gave him a slight vantage point to get a quick scope of the club. Again, what did he get himself into?

Steve took each step one at a time, pausing on each one as he looked around. There was nothing but black clothing and flowing fabrics on the dance floor, limbs moving in every direction to the mixture of synth, bass, and fast drums. A few years ago, Steve would've viewed this crowd as a bunch of weird freaks in a derogatory sense, but now, Steve just sees the opitome of freedom.

Steve cringes at the thought of his younger self. If only he was as carefree and comfortable to just be himself from the beginning, instead of being so judgemental and close-minded, maybe he could look back fondly at his youth. Well, no time like the present. He buried those thoughts and moved forward, deciding to plant himself at the bar for starters.

Moving through the crowd, he had to dodge arms and legs. Most of those dancing were doing so with their eyes closed, truly doing so as if no one was watching. His head was on a swivel as he walked, not only to make sure he didn't accidentally get hit but also cause he had this itching feeling of being watched.

Steve looked over his shoulder towards the door, but neither the 'security team' nor the wispy haired girl were paying him any attention. He continued to look around the crowd. Maybe someone from town was there and spotted him, but no. He couldn't find eyes on him anywhere.

Shaking off the feeling, he gets to the half empty bar and leans one elbow on the bartop. He looks over to a girl just a seat down from him with gel spiked bangs and a messy, half updo similar to Elvira's. Just as she's handed her drink, she turns and makes quick eye contact with Steve. He tilts his chin up at her with a slight grin, but it must've not been as smooth as he had hoped cause all it did was get him a once over and eye roll in return as she walked away sipping through her straw.

Steve doesn't drop his grin until she's disappeared back into the crowd, and the bartender addresses him. He orders his usual before turning away from the bar and leaning back on his elbows, scoping out the club again. He sighs.

"Just don't pull that same cheesy crap you try on the girls that unfortunately find themselves here." Robin says.

"Hey, it's not-"

"'That bad.' Yes. Yes, it is, Steve. It IS that bad, and quite frankly, it's just as hard to watch." She deadpans. Steve scoffs, offended, shifting his weight as his eyes look around, trying to find a rebuttal.

Steve scoffs out a short laugh, shaking his head at himself. He doesn't know how or why, but ever since Nancy, it just seems like he's lost all 'game', and that loss is really not helping when it comes to moving on once and for all.

The bartender returns, setting the glass down next to Steve, causing him to turn and rest his forearms on the bartop. They exchange nods before the bartender goes back to work, and Steve takes his first sip. Soon, Steve finds himself getting lost in the liquid contained within the glass.

Was he ever really as 'smooth' as he thought? He never seemed to have such an issue with 'charm' before, but then again, he was never really himself back then. Not since her. He was always able to seamlessly put on this charismatic, flirty facade before. Everything he did was the same persona that won her over. When he let it falter, she left him, but now that he's trying that guy back on, it doesn't fit quite right anymore.

A part of him should be grateful that he's found a friend group that is willing to accept him for himself, all his good and bad, his true self, but when it comes to his love life, he can't help but wish he could be that guy again. He's been alone for so long now, and it's lonely.

He just wants someone again. In the beginning, that someone could've been anyone, but the more time he's spent alone, the more he's started to think he couldn't take that someone just being anyone. The idea of him 'peaking in high school' scared the ever loving shit out of Steve.

His fingers fiddle with his glass, spinning it round and round in his hand. He glances down at his fingers through the glass, metal reflecting through. Shit.

His heart suddenly feels heavy at the thought of his fallen friend. Steve retracts his hand slightly from the glass to stare down at the ring on his index finger, a thick silver skull. If only he could see him now. As if he could hear his laugh, Steve turns his head to the right. Out of the corner of his eye, he could've sworn he saw that cheesy grin staring back at him, but he's instead met with a row of empty seats. Steve furrows his brows. If Eddie were here, he would've loved this.

Steve lets out a humorless huff of a chuckle through his nose. He wants to laugh at the thought, but it just feels heavy knowing he's not here to actually enjoy it.

Before Steve can get too deep in his head, he feels an odd sense to look behind him, so he does. He turns his head to glance over his shoulder, only to be caught in awe. Just opposite from him was the woman of his dreams walking down a flight of stairs, staring in his direction. Jesus, you were gorgeous. He couldn't tell if you were actually staring right through his soul or just so happened to look towards the bar.

Adorning your body was a long black dress with a slit up the side, stopping at the top of your thigh. Your legs were covered with sheer black stockings that had delicate, intricate lace patterns. The leather of your black corest reflected the red lighting, absolutely sinful. Though your dress was lowcut, your neck, shoulders, and arms were covered in a black lacy fabric that flowed out at your wrists. Your red bottom, black heels topping off your entire look.

You stalked down the staircase with a dark elegance that could move mountains. You are the definition of the kind of woman men would go to war for. You must be the queen of the underworld if there is one, and God, did Steve feel some type of way about it.

Unlike Steve, the sea of bodies seemed to unconsciously part ways for you as your eyes locked in on Steve. Steve was the only one in this very spot at the bar. There was no other logical reason for you to be looking that direction besides looking at him, but he still left as if he was not the object of your gaze, not even when you were standing right in front of him.

"Nice hair." Steve scoffed. If he had a nickel for every time he- Oh God, you're on the move again. You maneuver to step around him and claim your spot next to him at the bar. Steve watches you place your 'usual', getting a 'Yes, madame' in response. Steve can't help but raise a brow slightly at the formality, but his face drops when you turn back to face him. "You're obviously," your up and down gaze burns through Steve's skin. "New."

Steve suddenly feels as if he was standing naked in front of you. He'd been 'once-overed' at least four times since he's gotten here, but your eyes make him question if he actually remembered to put on his clothes. When there's a bit of a silence between you two, Steve clears his throat to try and regain his voice. "That obvious?" He holds a slight grin on his lips, but his eyes bounce around nervously, a dead give away of his true inner turmoil.

You raise an amused brow, "Well, to be fair, we don't get many well-tailored suit jackets and non-distressed jeans, but the all-black is at least a start." A glass is placed at your side as you finish your sentence. You give the bartender a quick smile and a thank you before he nods and moves on. Steve's hand self-consciously goes to tug at the lapel of his jacket. He tries to think of a witty, charming come back, but you continue before his mind can catch up. "So, are you here to find a girl to fulfill a fetish, or are you finally coming out of the suburbian closet?" You bring the glass up to your mouth. Steve tries to answer but is too focused on your red colored lips around your straw.

"I, uh," he clears his throat, looking away. He hopes you didn't, but you definitely caught him staring. "The second one." You let out a small giggle.

"Well, that's better than the former, I guess." It's a little bit of both, but Steve would be damned if he admitted that aloud. "Let me guess. Popular boy in high school, couldn't be caught being 'weird'?" You tilt your head in a way that Steve couldn't help but feel was both a bit condescending and also adorable.

"Right on the nose." He leans his forearms on the bartop again, grasping his glass in both hands to discreetly try and cool his sweaty palms. You lean on the bar right next to him. The scent of you overwhelms his nose, replacing the stench of alcohol, evermore heady and dizzying. The fight against gravity had never been so tough on his knees.

"Cute." You state simply, bringing your straw back to your lips and taking another sip. Steve looks over at you, a bit shocked. He was completely ousted from the crowd around him. He's the outsider here. The one trying and failing to fit in. He didn't think this whole 'loser boy' thing would be what got him brownie points, but to hell with it. If it works, it works.

"So," He leans up a little bit to adjust himself to face you, leaning more prominently on only one arm. "Are you a regular here?"

Your brows raise, "Repackaging 'come here often', I see?" There wasn't much room between that sentence and the next, but it was just enough for Steve's stomach to drop to his stomach, already feeling the rejection incoming, but it didn't come. "You could say that." You shrug nonchalantly. "It is a nice space and all." You add. "I haven't seen you in these parts." You shoot back a bit more dramatized, fully leaning into the cheesy line delivery.

Steve looks around, nodding and fixing his jaw as if he got caught red-handed for something. "Touché." A smug grin grows on your lips as you take another sip of your drink. He turns back to look at you, you already holding eye contact. He swallows down the saliva that builds on sight. "This is my first time here, first time at a party type event in a long while, actually." He admits.

"Well, I'm glad I could be here for your first time." You reply seamlessly, fully aware of the innuendo. Steve huffs out a chuckle. His face warms both at the thought of what you're insinuating but also at the slight embarrassment of it all. "Tell me. Are you here because you like the music or is it something else?" The way you adjust yourself has Steve screaming 'something else' in his head, his eyes following your every movement as you turn.

"The music." He replies shortly, still checking you out. He blinks away, trying to control his wandering eyes. He clears his throat, "A... friend of mine was really into heavy metal, and one rabithole after another landed me here." You hum out a response, nodding to confirm your understanding.

"Too heavy for you?" You quip back. Steve scoffs out another laugh, shaking his head and looking down at his glass, a few strands off hair falling into his face.

"I guess you could say that. It wasn't bad, just wasn't quite my vibe." He glances over at you, finding your eyes oh so easily once more. "This fit me better." A genuine, intrigued smile slowly grows on your face.

"So, is your friend here with you tonight?" You already could tell he came here solo, but you couldn't help but ask for confirmation. As soon as you did, though, something in his eyes changed, that little glimmer that was barely there to begin with was stomped out like a dying ember. Steve pauses a second before responding.

"No." You immediately regretted bringing up what must be a sore topic. "He, uh, he couldn't make it." Your smile long faded, but you couldn't stop your brows from quirking up slightly in curiosity.

"That's too bad." You say with a slight kind smile, trying to lighten things up. "Maybe come back next Friday, Metal night." Your smile widens hopefully with your suggestion. It brings a small one to Steve's lips but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Maybe." And you both leave it at that. A few beats go by before you try and change the subject.

"Well, since this is your first time and all," you start, leaning in on the two words with a small brow wiggle. "Would you like to dance?" Your question seems to throw Steve through a loop. You just asked him to dance?

"I, uh, yeah! Sure, of course." He stumbles a little, but overall excited, trying to play it cool. His little 'nonchalant, cool guy' facade fighting with his seemingly more natural 'playful and charming' attitude causes you to squint with a knowing smile. It's a bit comical how you can see right through him.

You finish the remainder of your drink by omitting the straw and drinking from the glass. Once the glass is placed back on the counter and stained red with lipstick, you grab his hand and start leading him away from the bar.

You don't get too far before your path is interrupted by the towering, grey eyed man from the front door. Steve's heart weighs down on his stomach at the sight of the man. He just looks like he could kill. "Pardon the intrusion, madame." His deep Australian accent cuts through. Steve furrows his brows in confusion once more at the reoccurring formality. "There is a matter that requires your attention. It won't take up much of your time." You look up at the man who looms over you even in your heels. You sigh.

"I will be right there." You reply. He takes a step back to give you space, but maintains a close enough distance to lead you away once you're ready. You turn to Steve with an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry. Would you mind giving me just a moment?" Steve is a bit stunned.

"Yeah, sure..." He trails, confused. You give him a smile.

"Save me that dance, will you?" He melts at your smile, thoughts clearing of any and everything just at the sight. He nods mindlessly. Your smile grows in return before you release his hand and turn to follow that security guard who came for you.

Steve watches you leave and can't stop himself from looking you up and down. Once you're out of sight, Steve makes his way back to the bar, returning his grip back to his sweating glass.

×××

Just as you said, you wouldn't take long, but the few minutes Steve had to wait felt like an eternity until you arrived back beside him. "I'm so sorry. You ready for that dance?" Steve stood up straight and turned to face you. Every time you appeared, it was like a God sent. You were ethereal in a way that Steve couldn't quite put into words.

"Y-yeah." But he made no move to get to the dance floor. You close the distance between you both until you're toe to toe. You cock your head to the side, silently questioning him. His heart feels like it'll beat out of his chest, the air wafting your scent straight back into his brain. "Why does everyone keep calling you 'madame'?" He manages to get out. He's not sure that was the question he meant to ask, but that's what came out. You sigh, pouting like you've been caught.

"Fine, I guess that cat's out of the bag." You shift your weight to jut out one hip. "I'm the owner of this place." Steve's brows shoot up. He wasn't expecting that. Maybe a manager or something, but the owner?

"You're the owner?" He repeats the question outside of his own mind. You let out a soft chuckle, grinning proudly.

"The one and only." After a few stunned seconds coming from Steve's end, you reach out for his hand again, stepping back and pulling him with you, leaving his now empty glass behind. You gently guide him away from the bar once more before turning to properly lead him to the dance floor.

Steve's mind floods with more follow-up questions and conversation starters, but there you go again, 'walking away' though with him in tow. His eyes find themselves glancing over your figure again. He wants to continue a conversation with you, to get to know you and all other secrets you're hiding, but as soon as you're away from the safe haven that is the bar, music overpowers all other noises on the dance floor.

You settle on a good spot for you and Steve, ample room for the both of you, but also a safe spot to be experimental, not really knowing if he has any dancing experience. The look you give him forcefully removes the air from his lungs. You start moving and flowing to the beat effortlessly, keeping your movements tame and fluid. Steve's eyes follow your hands as they run up your thighs, your hips, your waist, and eventually in the air.

At first, he's left there just watching you dance, but the show doesn't last too long before he feels your hands on his, pulling him close to follow your movements with his body. He slowly joins in with gentle swaying of his hips with yours, leaving his hands where you placed them, at the base of your waist. You allow your arms to move freely, the fabric of your sleeves flowing along with them. You throw your head back, allowing the music to take over.

The whining of your waist and gentle roll of your shoulders sparks electricity through Steve as he stares down at your body in all its glory. He can't stop the heat from rising within him.

Eventually, your eyes return to him and force his gaze to meet them. You give him a look before bringing your arms down gently to caress the sides of his neck and face. Steve couldn't pinpoint if it was the dancing, the alcohol, or you causing him to sweat so damn much.

You reach a hand up to run through the front of his hair, pushing his damp bangs out of the way. His eyes flutter to look down at your red lips, painfully watching the way they smirk. You tug on his hair, causing his head to get thrown back a bit. His eyes close, and his mouth falls open, and he has to fight the urge to moan at the feeling.

He continues to sway to the music with his eyes closed and head thrown back, just as you commanded, and as predicted, it had the exact effect you wanted. He gets lost in the music, lost in the moment.

Steve was instantly knocked into a state of bliss. He felt equally invincible and nonexistent. Nothing could hurt him. He was just here with you. Nothing else mattered. A weight was lifted off his shoulders that had been weighing down for so long he forgot it was even there. Now that it was gone, he felt weightless, like he would float away if you weren't there to ground him, if his grip on your hips loosened, if your hands on his neck left him. He was in pure euphoria.

Steve couldn't tell you how long you two stayed that way or how many songs passed, but suddenly, the tempo slowed, and the music quieted slightly. Your hands found their way to his cheeks, tilting his head down to no longer be thrown back. As soon as his head was facing forward, those pesky strands of hair flopped down again. Steve's eyes remained closed, so when you reached to run your hands through his hair again, the feeling of your fingers against his scalp felt like they were massaging directly against his brain. He felt lightheaded at the touch.

"What's your name?" Even through the ringing of his ears from the unknown stretch of loud music, your voice still flooded in as if you were speaking directly into his mind.

"Steve." He replies softly, not ready to leave his nirvana. You smile softly.

"Steve." You repeat. He was fine until you said his name. Now, he wasn't too sure how long before his legs gave out from beneath him. "Regrettably, the night is coming to an end." At this Steve's eyes open, though remaining half lid.

His eyes bore into yours, causing your soft smile to widen. You tilt your head as if trying to get a better look at his eyes beneath his eyelids. His eyes open up a bit wider at your small action. He looks away from you to let his eyes wander the room.

The dance floor has half the amount of people on it. The bartender is wiping down the bar top and glasses, and the two security guards are talking with the wispy haired girl towards the front doors. You move your hand higher on his cheek to grab his attention.

His eyes take in your face like it's the first and last thing he'd ever see. It causes your heart to warm. "Will I see you again, Steve?" Your voice melts through him. His lips part as he nods gently. His hazel eyes dance around your features with a small smile.

"I've never looked forward to anything more." Your soft laugh causes him to furrow his brows a little as he watches you.

"That was a good line." You approve. Steve scoffs, joining in with your soft laughs. He shakes his head, eyes bouncing around at nothing in particular before looking back to your eyes.

"It wasn't 'a line'." His eyes widen playfully as his grin widens, showing his teeth. "I mean it." His gaze goes from your eyes down to your lips. His head shakes again, hair bouncing as his small antic repeats itself. "You're quite honestly the most beautiful person I've ever seen, and I would really like to get to know you." You give him a genuine smile.

"You are quite the charmer, aren't you?" By now, it's only you and Steve left on the dance floor, the last stranglers leaving out the door, the music just loud enough to hear.

"Is it too much to ask for your number?" He raises his brows with a hopeful expression. You give him a big smile and drop your hands to grab his, leading him back over to the bar. You reach over the bartop to grab a napkin and a pen, writing down your phone number before slipping it into his breast pocket with a smile. Steve smirks, eyes dancing back and forth from your eyes to lips and back up.

A sharp whistle cuts through the venue, grabbing both yours and Steve's attention. The brutish, green eyed security guard waves her hand in a circle, signaling to 'wrap it up'. Steve turns back to you just in time to see your eyes roll in response. He bites back a smile, lifting an arm and offering his elbow. You loop your hand around his arm and begin walking with him to the door.

Just as you reach the entrance/exit, the three employees leave from their posts, heading to the bar to give you both some space. "You better give me a call, cool guy." You raise a brow, releasing his arm to turn and face him properly with your chin held high. He gives you one of the most charming smiles you've ever seen, resting his hands on his hips. His brows quirk up again.

"You better answer, gorgeous." You fight your flustered expression with much difficulty, ultimately failing. You roll your eyes to try and cover up your inability to hold eye contact with him right now. You shake your head, turning slightly back to the inside of the club. You look at him through the corner of your eyes. He raises another teasing brow, awaiting a response. A beat passes before you close the gap between you, lifting your hand to capture his face, dragging his face to yours and planting a kiss on his lips.

Steve's eyes nearly pop out of his head the second he feels your lips on his. His eyes just begin to blink closed as you slowly pull away from the short-lived kiss. Steve chases after you, not wanting the contact to end. He couldn't remember the last time he had been kissed. He didn't realize how touch starved he truly was until you graced him with your touch.

"Goodnight, pretty boy." Steve’s eyes open back up to find you've made your way back inside, hands holding open the doors as you bid him farewell. Steve’s mouth opens to say something, but nothing comes out, his eyes blown wide. All he can do is lift a hand to wave in response as you slowly close the doors.

"She sounds hot. Did you call her?" Robin asks, leaning over the counter with wide eyes. Steve scoffs with a sassy hand on his hip.

"Robin, I didn't get home until like 4am. I could just call her."

"Okay, well, that was Saturday. Today's Monday, and you still haven't called, dingus?!" She looks at him as if he's the biggest idiot in the world. He sputters a he tries to redeem himself.

"I'll call her today." Robin rolls her eyes, smacking her hand down on the stack of movies next to her before dragging them off the counter and into her hands.

"Whatever." She walks around the counter to get back to work. "It's the end of your shift. Clock out and give Morticia a call before I do." Steve's eyes follow her as she walks away until she rounds an isle and is no longer in view.

The entire drive home, Steve was racking through his brain thinking of different scenarios. "How was the rest of your weekend?... What's your favorite band?... How's owning a club like?" He talks to himself, practicing questions and answers. A part of him just wants to skip passed all the introductory questions and just get to the nitty gritty.

He craves to get to know you on a deeper level, on every level. He wants to share with you all his goals, all his fears. He wants to just spend more time with you. He yearns for your touch on his skin again, your hands on his neck, on his face, fingers in his hair, nails scratching his scalp, lips on his. He can't help but laugh at himself. He feels crazy. You've only met each other two days ago, and he's already aching for you.

He parks in the empty driveway, sighing. He's always been used to arriving to an empty home, but since graduation and his parent leaving him the house for his own, it has been even more lonely than before. He locks up the car and makes his way into the empty house. He hangs his keys on the hook by the door and makes a b-line to the phone.

Steve pulls out his wallet, taking out the folded up napkin he's been carrying around with him since Saturday. His heart races in his chest as he listens to the dialing, resting the phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he twirls the chord around his fingers. Just as he's about to give up and hang up with the phone, there's a distinct click of someone answering.

"Hello?"

×××

Hope you liked it, bestie☺️☺️😩 Not me making Steve a little hot and heavy in the club🥵

if it wasn't obvious, I'd do anything to run my hands through his hair 😩

💀❤️💀❤️💀❤️💀❤️💀❤️💀❤️💀❤️💀

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x black reader #steve harrington x black!reader

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pw-ps · 10 months

Text

[ Original Interview | Web Archive Mirror ]

Patrick Stump: "Prince Sounds More Like Backstreet Boys Than He Does Pantera"

August 19, 2011 | 11:46am

Fall Out Boy's Patrick Stump and his silvery pipes have struck out on a solo venture while the band is on hiatus. So far, things have headed far to the left of his group's hit-laden catalog of pop-punk. If his vocal hooks on Gym Class Heroes' "Cupid's Chokehold," the Roots' "Birthday Girl," Murs' "Bummed Out Blues," and his Truant Wave EP from earlier this year didn't already find your ears, let the record show that this guy can get soulful in his spare time.

Amidst his current solo tour, which stops at Culture Room on Saturday, the loquacious Stump called County Grind to discuss myriad typics, including his forthcoming full-length Soul Punk and its influences, talking James Cameron flicks with Pete Wentz, and how the Fall Out Boy well "dried up for a little bit."

County Grind: What would you say is the state of R&B today and also what is your favorite era from the past?

Patrick Stump: Those are great questions. I love getting asked that. I think R&B right now is fractured into two schools. There's either the hip-hop-esque R&B, where pretty much it exists for the club or whatever, or there's like the throwback history kind of R&B, which really pays a lot of homage to specifically '60s and '70s really organic kind of R&B. There are a lot of other artists who are messing with it, but for the most part I feel like on a grand scale there's a lot of those two things when you say "R&B" to people. It frustrates me because I was always a fan of the '60s and '70s. That covers a lot of ground as well. That's a mouthful already. One thing that I kind of miss is that I do miss a lot of the post-funk stuff that had such a really interesting effect on, before it intertwines with hip-hop, there's a lot of interesting things that happened with Prince, with James Brown and his influence on and that echo chamber that happened and Sly Stone and where that plays into funk and soul, if I had to pick an era. Ultimately, Minneapolis is my favorite thing, I really have this historian love for it. When I pick up a guitar, it sounds like a Time record.

Especially "Everybody Wants Somebody" from Soul Punk, might I add. I noticed that Prince vibe as soon as I heard it. I'm actually from that area, too. Who else are these soul punks? Do you see Prince as a "soul punk" performer?

Oh yeah. Absolutely. I think Prince is a great example of it. In a lot of ways I always felt a really strong punk undercurrent in somebody like Curtis Mayfield. It's obviously very different music, but I thought "Nobody's serious and it makes me furious," that's a punk-rock lyric. Eugene McDaniels, it's really proggy and fusion-y, but it has some really serious punk-rock-isms. I think everything post-Prince is really fused. I look at it now and you know the modern generation want to look at Janelle Monae or J*Davey, or Bad Rabbits. There's a lot of these artists coming up now who have very much of their own accord, this weird kind of fusion-y funk thing with a lot of punk energy.

All of these people you mentioned all have huge bands that they're commanding to do this and you've made this album by yourself. How hard is it to get all of that together if you're working on the project alone?

I think it's a little bit easier, actually, because I got to explain it all to the people. One of the hardest things was to, because obviously I come from more of the punk end of things, where I cut my teeth. So I still feel like I'm hopefully achieving the same ends. Getting there, there's a lot of resistance to it in punk rock.

There's a lot of "Oh, R&B is for Backstreet boys," or something like that. Which of course if you've never listened to any R&B, I guess it sounds like that if that's your only benchmark for R&B, you know. Prince sounds more like Backstreet Boys than he does Pantera, but you're still talking about wildly different music. I think it was a lot easier to do it and show it to people than it was to talk about it.

One thing that I was really cognizant of early on was that when i wasn't listening to punk rock, I wasn't listening to the same stuff as my punk rock friends. A lot of guys were treated to country music, they grew up on it. I have no base in country music. I really have no idea. I've never owned a country record, to be honest. It's not something I dislike, it's just that I don't know that stuff at all. I never had a Metallica poster on my wall, never had the Led Zeppelin poster, or the Nirvana poster. Those weren't really things that spoke to me. It's not something that I disliked, it just wasn't as strong an influence on me as the Time, or Michael Jackson. You say pop, but at the end of the day Michael Jackson was an R&B artist who got huge, especially the 1970's Jacksons stuff that's crazy. "Blame it on the Boogie" is a really groovy song. I love the history of R&B. I love taking it from Nat King Cole to Ray Charles, to Stevie Wonder and watching that influences keep going.

What about your Chicago hometown hero R. Kelly?

Yeah, R. Kelly is in there, it's just tough to really separate man from myth.

He's definitely influenced me a little bit, I think, as a singer. It's really hard to mess with him. Love him or hate him, he's definitely has a lasting impact on modern R&B. When you put on Trey Songz's record, you know where he's getting it. When I hear something in modern pop-R&B that I dig, I still latch onto it. There are some records that come out that I really feel. I like to look at the lineage of it.

"This City" is a good local jam in the tradition of many. Kanye did one about Chicago as well, which I'm sure you've heard. Are there any other city pride songs that you can get down with?

One of the things that I really wanted to do was, that I wanted it to be pride, but I wanted it to be conscious pride. So that was something that I really thought about, like Stevie Wonder, or Bill Withers' "Harlem."

It comes from love, but I think those two songs are a lot darker. In both cases I think those guys really loved their cities. I was thinking broad. I started writing it, I looked at it and thought, "this could be a song about Chicago, I could take this all the way and have it be a big Chicago song." I was like, "Chicago has songs. I love Chicago, but Chicago doesn't need another song. Chicago has a lot of songs."

This needs to be everybody's song. This needs to be about every city. It needs to be about every aspect of a city. I wanted to be subtle with it.

I don't think it's really aggressive in its politics, but I wanted to say that I love my city unconditionally, here are the conditions. Every city has some stuff that's wrong with it. I was looking at Detroit and New Orleans, because these are places where they've been ravaged by either economic or natural disasters. People have the audacity to say, "Oh, they should just move." No they can't move! It's their home, it's their soul. Motown, come on. New Orleans, come on. I didn't even think of that until this conversation, how vital it is to music, music history. And that's world music history, too; how important New Orleans has been to the world, so you want these people to move? That's not fair. So I wanted a song for that. i wanted a song because it can happen anywhere, any city in the world. Everything's fragile and we all love our cities. That's where i was really coming from for that.

These songs, obviously since you're not working with Fall Out Boy, are these the sorts of things you were thinking about you have a chance to get these topics off your chest now, it's your album?

Absolutely.

It's one of those things where I love Fall Out Boy and I love they way we communicated. I love the way our lyrics were, but if I'm gonna do a solo thing, I have to validate it in some way. I have to matter in a way that Fall Out Boy didn't. Because Fall Out Boy mattered in one way, I have to find some other thing, I have to find a way to say it that is different from Fall Out Boy, If at any point I'm touching on something that I could have or have said in Fall Out Boy, there's no reason to do it. That was something that I was really cognizant of. I think the record ends up being conscious. I try to be socially conscious and positive about it. Those were the two big things that I wanted to be. I think that's one of the things that always made me more R&B than punk. I'm just as angry as any other punk rocker ever, but I'm still something of an optimist. I want the world to be better. It's not just "Fuck you. Anarchy."

When was your last conversation with Pete Wentz?

A couple days ago. We were talking about James Cameron movies. I was saying that I never liked James Cameron movies, I didn't think he was any good. Then I saw Abyss. It was jaw-dropping. I said "This is a great movie, I'm an idiot." I can never unilaterally dismiss somebody.

That's probably not the most business-related conversation you guys have had.

Yeah, we stay in touch. We don't really talk a lot of business anymore. When it happened, it was like he'd send me lyrics and I'd send him music back.

One of these days he'll send me some lyrics and I'll write some music and send it back to him and that'll be it. I think that well just dried up for a little bit, or that he needs to inhale for a little bit before he can exhale. Pretty early on in the band I considered everything an essential component and it all starts with Pete writing some words. That's how our process starts. If we don't get words from him, we got nothing.

What is your favorite lyric so far that you've come up with? What's your moment that you're most proud of?

That's tough, because I try not to think of it that way. There's a lyric on a song called "Coast" where I say "Pointing out trivia nearly broke me with tragedy, so you need to put me back together." It's kind of wordy and it's not really that poignant, but it's nice to have some kind of catharsis for once. I was being the voice for someone else's for a long time and I don't really get to say these kind of things, so that was nice. That's a lyric that sticks with me. Or, "Depression's a little bit like happy hour, it's always gotta be happening somewhere on any given night." It's acknowledging that we all get, especially when you're younger, it's easy to dwell on these things, but as you get older and have actual real-life stuff happen to you, that's when you get to know man problems, adult problems. That makes you appreciate the good stuff a little bit more.

I think it's a nice balance. I think we also have your "pin-looking-for-a-grenade" moments too, that are fun, vivid images.

I love playing with imagery. I have to restrain myself sometimes because that's all i want to write about and then you look at the page and say "This is all imagery and no substance. This doesn't say anything. I'm not saying anything about any of the characters or any of the places, I'm just having a love affair with words" it's always a balancing act.

There's a b-side called "Saturday Night Again" and all of it is imagery. If you were to ask me what the song is about, I don't even really know. It's almost a character study. I wanted this record to have some statements and one thing that I really wanted to play with is I wanted to take pop-culture paradigms, big things that you've heard a bunch of times like "This City," or "The 'I' in Lie," all of these songs. There's a drinking song, it sounds like a party, drinking song. There's a song that's about cheating, like a traditional R&B song about cheating, but I really wanted to infuse them with a lot more subtext than that. I'm talking bout these things. I wrote a drinking song about alcoholism, you know? I wrote a cheating song about what that actually does and cheating on yourself more than romantically cheating. On this record, one thing that Fall Out Boy never really did was write entirely in metaphor. That's something that I'm doing more of with this.

#patrick stump #soul punk #sp #mine #docs #just copy pasted this and reformatted it for easier reading. mostly for me but everyone should go here. now. if you haven't already

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