#led zeppelin also lazy

[matoitech]

that i havent draw blue in a linkin park shirt yet it actually shocking like when i’m not busy with five thousand things i gotta do that

[waynes-multiverse]

Time After Time – Chapter 1

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, angst, Soldier Boy being an insufferable ass, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), post S3 alternate ending, enemies to lovers & slow burn, set partially in 1942

Word Count: 6.0k

Posted on Patreon March 1, 2025

A/N: Weeee, so excited to finally share the first part of this series with all of you! From mortal enemies to classic romance, crazy and angsty time travel theories, and a glimpse behind the green suit (in both ways), we're gonna have a lot of fun with this one 😉💕

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Chapter 1: Of All the Gin Joints...

“Move, or I’ll move you.”

Annoyed, you huffed a sigh and lifted your feet off the coffee table, shifting a few inches to the right, so Soldier Boy could pass by with a deep grumble. You rolled your eyes back slightly when he plopped down next to you on the worn, old couch in the office of the Flatiron Building.

“A ‘please’ wouldn’t hurt you every once in a while,” you muttered with a glare at the supe.

“Disagree,” he huffed.

When Butcher and his team tracked you down and recruited you almost a year ago, you surely hadn’t signed up to spend your days with a fossil from the past century. All they had wanted you to do was find the weapon that could destroy Homelander. That weapon turned out to be Soldier Boy.

And you had found him, freed the man from forty years of Russian torture without receiving so much as a ‘thank you,’ and helped the team take down Homelander, who was currently powerless and safely locked up in a CIA black site. Now, you were still here – as was Soldier Boy.

To your dismay, he wasn’t just the most powerful supe on the planet, especially after his own son’s steep fall from grace, but he was also the biggest motherfucking asshole that ever walked the earth.

Soldier Boy was obnoxious, loud, rude, sexist, racist, lazy, arrogant, selfish, cruel, deceitful, complacent, vindictive, inconsiderate, paranoid, ruthless and unsympathetic. Honestly, you’d need a whole dictionary just to get through every single character trait you hated about that man.

This morning he’d been particularly belligerent as soon as he had set foot inside the office and Hughie bumped into him, causing Soldier Boy to spill his iced latte. To be fair, the guy had just been standing in the doorway like a moron for a full three minutes – he’d stared at you the whole time, probably thinking of new ways to torture you.

Today marked your 30th birthday of all things, so it was only natural your over six-feet playground tormentor would be present for the occasion.

“Led Zeppelin, huh?” he noted with an arched brow, eyeing your choice of outfit. You mostly wore band shirts from tours you’d been to from your time traveling adventures.

“Yeah, I got it for my twenty-fifth birthday. I went to Zeppelin’s first tour in 1969. Only wear it on special occasions,” you told him with a smile.

In some rare moments, it was actually possible to have a normal fucking conversation with him. You hoped it was one of those. Aside from his grumpiness in the morning, maybe he’d decided to give you a break on your birthday.

“Oh, yeah, right…” He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Happy fucking birthday, I guess.”

“That is so sweet of you, thank you,” you replied wryly.

He knew what you were doing. His smile rose – and then morphed into a provocative smirk. “So, thirty, huh? How’s that feminist bullshit working out for your biological clock, sweetheart?”

“Don’t kill him,” Annie reminded you of the office mantra with calm in her voice as she sat behind you at her desk, causing Soldier Boy to snort a laugh.

“Isn’t it time for your nap, gramps? You’re sundowning,” you retorted instead with a teasing smile.

You took his taunts lightheartedly. After all, you didn’t think you’d have to worry in that department – much like him. For some reason, you didn’t age… a lot. At least, it was slower than the average supe and human. You figured it might have to do with dropping in and out of wormholes. You had aged just fine as a kid but it progressively began to slow around your sixteenth birthday – the first time you’d traveled through time and jumped to Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged show in New York of December 1993.

You remembered your parents had been fighting behind the broken and yellowing partition slider of a trailer you had called your home. You’d lain on the pull-out bed with your headphones on and a Walkmen, trying to drown out their screaming. You listened to that record and wished you could be there – and then you were.

You’d found your ruby slippers.

To this day, you still got ID’ed at every bar, club, and liquor store alike. Soldier Boy had never been carded. He’d once claimed it was because he was famous, to which you’d almost spat out your drink and told him the wrinkles didn’t lie. Least to say, that little joke hadn’t flown well with the supe.

“You know, doll, if you ever need that tension to disappear from your shoulders, I’m right here.” Soldier Boy smirked cockily at you and spread his legs a little further apart. Not a day passed by when he didn’t hit on you either – or anything with tits, really. “Just say the word, and I fuck it right outta you. I do like ‘em older, you know, so I don’t give shit. But if you wanna get cracking on this baby thing, we better fuck on this couch right now.”

“Please don’t,” Hughie pleaded in a high-pitched sigh, glued in his spot next to Annie.

“No, thanks,” you scoffed and scrunched your nose in disgust. “You’re a fucking pig.”

“Hey, c’mon, I know you want to,” replied Soldier Boy without an ounce of self-reflection, his smirk only widening as his hand crawled up your thigh. “Bet you’ve been waiting for a big dick like mine, haven’t you?”

“Get your fucking hands off of me!” You slapped his fingers away, huffing in frustration.

Not even your kindergarten bully had been this fucking annoying – and that kid threw a dodge ball at your face and broke your nose.

Fortunately, while your own powers were on the fritz, you still had some superhuman strength. Sure, not as much as Soldier Boy, but if he shoved, you could at least push back enough for him to leave you alone.

For, like, five seconds.

Soldier Boy laughed loudly at your rejection. “I do like ‘em feisty,” he murmured with a sultry voice, invading your space even more as he shifted closer on the couch. Lion king on the prowl. “You know, you’d be less useless if you spread your legs every once in a while.”

Jumping up from your seat, you rounded the table to bring space between you and face him properly. It was always smarter when he was in your view at all times and you could watch his brazen hands with an eagle eye – the same hands that currently began to roll a blunt on the coffee table.

“Hey, if it weren’t for me, you’d still be frozen solid in a box in Russia,” you bit.

“Well, we’d like to think we would’ve found him eventually, love,” Butcher threw in from across the room, the sly grin on his face telling you he was enjoying the show.

“See?” Soldier Boy sneered complacently. “Fucking useless.”

“You’re fucking useless!” you yelled, anger surging through every inch of your body. “No one fucking likes you! You don’t have friends, you don’t have family, and everyone in this room fucking despises you – just like your old team!”

Slowly, he rose from his spot on the couch, nostrils flaring, his sheer height imposing as he towered over you like the Empire State. A part of you was glad there was still a piece of furniture between you – even though that wouldn’t stop him in the slightest.

“You take that fucking back,” he snarled, one hand balling into a fist by his side while the other pointed a warning finger at you.

However, you stood your ground, crossing your arms in front of your chest, a challenging look in your eyes but a subtle swallow in your throat. “No,” you said defiantly and bristled. “I’ll drop you into the fucking Jurassic era where you belong, fossil. Watch you become a T-Rex’s fucking chew toy.”

Soldier Boy’s grin boldly widened, green eyes shimmering daringly. “Do. It.”

“Oy, simmer down, kids,” Butcher assuaged but didn’t even bother to glance up from the newspaper in his hands. Instead, the Brit leaned back in his chair and threw his legs up on the desk, settling into a more comfortable position.

Soldier Boy threw him a dismissive look, annoyed at the interruption, before his attention turned back to you with a spiteful sneer. “You know, if I were you, I would’ve used those powers properly. I would’ve gone back and fucking killed baby Hitler or some shit.”

You scoffed a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, not surprising you would’ve killed a fucking baby,” you retorted dryly.

“See, this is why you’re a fucking failure,” he taunted and stepped closer, his face only inches away from yours now. You could feel his hot breath against your skin. “Those powers were clearly wasted on you, doll. Women are too fucking soft.”

You snorted, shaking your head. You didn’t even know why you still argued with that asshole. He’d never change. And you sure as hell couldn’t say shit like:

What d’you know? You’ve never seen a war zone from the inside, you fucking bigoted coward. 

“I’m not soft,” you insisted instead, narrowing your eyes to a glare.

“Prove it.”

“I wouldn’t hesitate to go back in time and fucking kill you!”

At this point, you wouldn’t. You really wouldn’t fucking mind at all.

However, Soldier Boy only laughed in your face like you were the bug about to hit his shield. “Oh, you can certainly try, sweetheart. But you can’t, can ya? ‘Cause you’re fucking broken. Like I said, useless,” he reiterated harshly, his sneer widening when his hand reached out and clasped your chin between his fingers. “Don’t worry. I’ll find some good use for you. Especially for that mouth.”

Furiously, you thwarted his advances once more. “I said don’t fucking touch me!”

“Yo, Soldier Boy, c’mon! Leave her alone now,” MM warned, finally getting fed up too. He usually avoided the supe to the best of his abilities, only snapping every once in a while when the asshole took it too far.

This time, MM only got involved because Hughie kept sending him frantic looks of panic during your heated exchange, probably worried you’d antagonize the supe so much he’d detonate the whole building.

“Mind your own fucking business, punk,” Soldier Boy dismissed the intervention, his venomous eyes still fixed on you.

The anger was storming through your body and closing your throat with a tight chokehold. You could barely breathe as your chest heaved and your ears rang. It was always worse when you got angry. Unfortunately for you, Soldier Boy had a way of pushing your buttons and setting off your triggers.

Your superpowers had the ability to control and bend time – or at least they used to. You had mostly used it to stop the clock and get an extension on your homework deadlines. But technically, you could also travel through time.

Once you had found out how that worked, well, you quickly became addicted. You went to concerts of bands that didn’t tour anymore, you’d shamelessly make money on Wall Street and placed bets on football games, and sometimes, you even ate dessert twice.

It was all about the little things.

But that all stopped when you accidentally cast yourself into the Middle Ages and almost got burned at the stake for witchcraft. For some reason, your powers wouldn’t work until the last second – you figured extreme distress had been a factor.

When you closed your eyes at night, you could still feel the scorching heat underneath your bare soles and smell the smoke reaching your nose and lungs.

Afterward, you didn’t want to use your powers any longer – not that you could. PTSD was a real bitch sometimes.

You had lived quietly and alone in a cabin near Montréal for years. After your parents found out they couldn’t make money off of you, they kicked you to the curb. And when you knocked on Vought’s doors, asking for help, they told you not to use your abilities – before they tried to kill you. That was the moment you’d realized you might be more powerful than you’d initially surmised. Until then, you had only used your powers for your pleasure and the occasional personal gain.

So, maybe, Soldier Boy was right when he said you had never used your gift wisely.

After your flight from Vought, you lived under a fake name and took up online college classes in physics and history to understand your abilities better and avoid grave mistakes.

And boy, time travel was a fucking bitch.

Years of study could be summarized to this, however: If you even so much so as killed the wrong fly in 1783, the whole world could go extinct.

Or in Vought’s terms: If you accidentally fucked up history, it might fuck with their business and money.

That was the reason why they had been trying to get rid of you for the longest time – until Butcher showed up on your doorstep. You had no idea how the Brit could’ve found you or even known about your powers in the first place. After your escape, Vought had kept your existence quiet. They knew if the wrong people found you, it would end direly for them.

Wrong people like William Butcher.

At first, he wanted you to go back in time and, in his words, “kill the chubby, little cape cunt.” Needless to say, you had declined. Even if Homelander was the worst creature to ever walk this earth, excluding his sperm donor, you wouldn’t kill a baby. You wouldn’t kill anything or anyone, really.

If anything, you could be classified as a bit of hedonist – or “a fucking hippie,” as Soldier Boy once had put it. Which, granted, was probably a trait you both shared. Although, Soldier Boy took the whole fucking cake and ate it, too. At least all you ever did was steal a tiny slice every once in a while.

In the end, you had never asked for these powers. You were just trying to make the best out of a bad situation.

But when Butcher then asked you if you could at least “hop back” to retrieve the weapon that had neutralized Soldier Boy in 1984, you finally told him you were essentially useless.

A part of you wanted to help, though. While you had closed yourself off from the rest of the world, you had still followed the news. You knew it had gotten bad out there. You could see Homelander spinning out of control and threatening to burn the world. You knew soon enough your house would burn, too.

You knew the monster needed to be stopped.

So, you offered Billy Butcher the only thing you could – a glimpse into the past, so he could find the weapon in the present.

And you did. You saw how Soldier Boy’s own team had despised him so much they handed him off to the Russians during an ambush in Nicaragua – but they hadn’t killed him.

The diabolical smirk on Butcher’s face had scared you. You knew he’d realized in that moment that you could be valuable after all. So, naturally, he threatened to give up your location to Vought if you didn’t join his team.

And well, here you were.

You’d traveled to Russia, you’d freed Soldier Boy, and you’d defeated Homelander. But even after the job was done, you stuck around.

Hughie, Annie, MM, Frenchie, Kimiko, and even Butcher – they had all sort of become your friends. And they protected you, even though Vought had sworn they were done hunting you. No one trusted Stan Edgar, and you knew he would probably still rather have you buried six-feet-deep if he ever got the chance.

So it was nice to know the whole team stood behind you. Well, all but one.

Part of the deal with Edgar had been a request to keep Soldier Boy away from Vought’s business. The guy was smart enough to know he wanted nothing to do with the ticking time bomb, either.

“And what are we supposed to do with that wanker, huh?” Butcher had asked as all of you stood in a very breezy office at Vought Tower – which had still been under heavy construction after the fallout.

“Let him play hero, keep an eye on him, and I’m sure we’ll have no issues, Mr. Butcher.” Edgar had smiled cunningly, his eyes flickering to you. 

Afterward, you had decided to pack up like Maeve and finally live your life. You’d even applied as a physics professor at a small college. But then Soldier Boy made his own request: Either you’d stay, or he’d walk. And if he had walked, your deal with Edgar would’ve fallen through.

Soldier Boy was a bully. In fact, he could teach master classes in it. You didn’t think there was one good bone in his body. So far, you could count the times the guy had actually been nice to you on one hand – two fingers to be exact.

The first time had been the very first night you’d spent together in that rundown motel after he’d killed Crimson Countess. You took over the nightshift of babysitting while Hughie and Butcher took a snooze in the adjoining room. That night, Soldier Boy had shown you a glimpse of a human being.

“Well, currently, there are two working theories on time travel: The closed loop theory and the alternate timelines theory,” you’d explained after he had asked you how actual time travel worked. Most people gave up after a minute, but he had still been in it after five.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Well, lemme see…” Musingly, you had pursed your lips and thought for a moment. “Terminator came out in ‘83, right? You’ve seen it?”

His lips had slowly risen to a smile. “Yeah… Actually one of the last fucking movies I watched before the fucking Reds got me.”

“Right.” You’d nodded. “Still remember what happened?”

He’d scoffed and rolled his eyes a little. “I’m not that old…”

“Well, it’s been forty years since you’ve seen it…”

“Schwarzenegger comes from the future to kill that blonde chick,” he’d summarized with a cocky smirk that should’ve proven to you he wasn’t demented.

“Yeah, remember the soldier who came back to save her, too?”

“Oh. Yeah, that guy…” His nose had scrunched slightly. Of course he’d be rooting for the killing machine. “What about that fucking wimp?”

“The Terminator was supposed to kill Sarah because her yet-unborn son would defeat the robots in the future, but the soldier who came back to save her is actually the baby’s father.” There had been no way you could’ve explained it any simpler than that. “So, the Terminator actually created the circumstance, which made him go back in the first place. That’s a closed loop. Does that make sense?”

He’d nodded slowly, his brow creasing heavily in concentration. “Yeah, I think it fucking does…”

For hours, he’d asked you questions about your powers, and when he was through all of that, he even asked you about your life, what you did for work, and how you ended up here. And you’d figured he was trying to schmooze up to you to use you for his gain – or maybe he’d just been coming down from all the drugs he’d taken that day.

Either way, after what you’d seen the Russians do to him, you could understand why someone like him might want to turn back time and get a redo. The unpleasant images, the inhumane torture he’d endured, actually caused you to have sympathy for the supe.

For a second.

When you’d tried bringing it up and be his friend, he had quickly shot you down. He’d been an even bigger dick since then, as if the sheer thought of someone seeing his weaknesses scared him.

Yes, a little, gray mouse like you apparently fucking terrified the biggest and strongest elephant in this world.

Honestly, you didn’t know why the supe had insisted on your presence. Maybe he just needed the perfect victim to antagonize as he passed the time. Sometimes, you did feel like the new Black Noir of Payback.

There’d only been one other incident where he’d shown something remotely resembling kindness:

He’d complimented you.

A real, sweet compliment – and he’d actually meant it – and he hadn’t hit on you in the same breath.

One night, a few weeks ago, Annie and Frenchie had dragged everyone of you to a karaoke bar to “decompress.” Even Soldier Boy tagged along and seemed in somewhat good spirits all night – there’d been no heinous taunting, only the usual flirtatious teasing.

One of those flirtatious attempts had been a dare for you to sing.

“Oh, c’mon! One song,” he’d begged and shifted closer to you on the small leather sofa in the corner of the bar. “How about something from the fucking 80s? Like Cyndi Lauper! I’m sure you’d like that, huh?”

“What, you want me to sing ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’? Really? You?” You’d arched a brow at him.

He’d chuckled, and it’d been a sweet sound instead of a mocking one. “Hey, look, I’m all about the girls having some fucking fun,” he’d said coolly before a lick of his lips turned him a bit more serious, mysterious even. “How about something a little slower… Time After Time!” He’d grinned proudly and raised his expensive whiskey glass to your cheap beer. “That’s fucking perfect for you!”

And then you actually went on stage and sung. You weren’t a bad singer, either, but you were by far no Mariah. However, you could see Soldier Boy watching you intently the whole time with that strange look he sometimes carried whenever he was staring at you – something he did quite often.

In fact, he’d stared at you pretty intensely when he’d first walked out of his cryo-chamber, too. It gave you the creeps the same way that naked homeless man had once done in a subway after 1 AM. And then, he had fucking detonated, which had freaked you out so much you’d accidentally disappeared back to New York with a five minute time difference forward – the only time you’d actually managed to travel into the future.

But after your performance, Soldier Boy had passed you on your way down from the stage and intercepted you by placing a tentative hand on your arm.

“You have a really beautiful voice,” he’d said and even gifted you a small but genuine smile.

“Thank you.”

Sweetly, you’d even mirrored his smile after no other insults or advances followed. You’d been practically baffled. As you had glanced at him more carefully, though, you’d noticed something gleaming in his eyes, almost melancholic. You’d supposed after 104 years, he had probably been experiencing a ton of déjà vu.

“You okay there, gramps?” you’d checked with a bit of a teasing smile, and maybe that’d been your mistake.

“‘M fucking fine,” he’d huffed. He’d suddenly turned cold again, the hard lines on his freckled face crestfallen. He’d spun around, marched out of the bar, and ditched you there on the spot. 

So, that was what you had done for the past few months – babysit Soldier Boy and keep the bomb from exploding. Which brought you back to this exact moment:

“What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Seriously!” you snapped, feeling the fury overtaking you. “What the fuck happened in your life to turn you into such a miserable, toxic, overbearing, narcissistic, insufferable piece of shit?!”

“Insufferable?” He scoffed as if your words didn’t affect him, but you could see it was starting to get to him. “You’re the one who’s fucking insufferable, doll. Probably because you haven’t been fucked in a while by a real man.”

Exasperatedly, you gripped your temples. “Oh, it all trickles down to that, doesn’t it?” you deadpanned. “You sound like a fucking broken record, gramps!”

“Oh, you wanna fucking jump on me badly right now, don’t you?” he gritted through his pearly-white teeth, a challenging smirk playing on his plush lips as he leaned closer, his face only inches away from yours now.

“Please, it’s not gonna fucking make me like you more. Your dick’s not a magic eraser,” you bit sharply, your voice low and poisonous. “God knows you fucked your last girlfriend for years, and she still fucking hated you.”

Growling, he bristled, his jaw ticking. Mentioning Crimson Countess always hit a nerve. You knew as much.

“You’re just a drug-addicted loser with daddy issues. Nothing more, nothing less,” you nonetheless continued bitterly. “No one likes you! And believe me, asshole, I fucking hate you!”

As you looked up at him, you could tell he was close to exploding. Kimiko even desperately tugged on your arm to drag you out of the blast zone – not that it would’ve mattered.

“Butcher…”

Hughie’s panicked voice and wide eyes reached the Brit, who finally got out of his chair and slammed the paper on the desk.

“Oy, you two! Fucking stop it!”

And somehow, that had miraculously seemed to work. Soldier Boy managed to snap out of his temper tantrum, his breathing steadying, his smirk reappearing.

His lips twitched as he dipped his head and whispered into your ear, “You’re not fucking worth it.”

His thick fingers trailed up your hips before he grabbed your waist and pushed you closer to his body. You tried to shove him away, but this time he used his full strength on you to keep you caged.

“Get off of me!”

“Butcher!”

“Oy! What did I fucking tell you lot?!”

Kimiko tried to pull you away harder, but that only made Soldier Boy chuckle more.

“I said stop it! Get the fuck off of me!” you yelled louder, and he finally let go with a cunning laugh.

“Alright, you’ve had your bloody fun, mate. Why don’t you take a bit of a time-out now, huh?” It was the most Butcher could do as far as an intervention went. Everyone in the room knew Soldier Boy couldn’t be stopped.

“Fine,” the supe relented with a roll of his green eyes, but then his gaze landed back on you.

You hated to admit that he had gotten to you, but it was hard to deny when your whole body was trembling and tears stung your eyes.

“Fucking Christ on a cross, are you actually gonna fucking cry now?” Soldier Boy snorted condescendingly.

“Fuck you. Leave me alone,” you snapped with what little strength you had left and wiped the burning tears out of your eyes.

“Exactly why I said you’re fucking useless. This is the problem with women. Can’t even take a goddamn joke,” he ranted. The more he got to you, the more pleasure he took out of it. You could see it by the vicious twinkle in his eyes. “You keep talking how everyone hates me, but what about you, huh? You’ve got fucking no one, too. Your own fucking parents didn’t want you, and I don’t see an army of men lining up to take care of you, either.”

“Shut up!”

“Wanna know why? ‘Cause you’re a broken, useless, stupid, weak–“

“Stop it!”

But he didn’t. You couldn’t even hear the words properly anymore as they strung together into one explosion of abuse. Your vision blurred, and the ringing in your ears only got stronger.

“C’mon, fucking show me what you can do! Prove to me you’re not fucking useless! Do it!”

“I said fucking stop it!” you screamed loudly till he fell silent.

And then, poof. You were gone.

Soldier Boy blinked at the suddenly empty space before him. Knitting his brow, he shrugged your disappearance off only a second later and plopped down on the couch with an exhaustive groan.

“Fucking finally… Took her long enough,” he commented dryly and stretched out on the small two-seater, sighing blissfully.

“This isn’t fucking funny,” Hughie threw in, the anxious expression on his face only causing Soldier Boy to roll his eyes once more.

“Relax, squirt, she’ll be back,” the supe quipped, snickering. “Probably.”

“Y/N’s got PTSD, okay? She can’t control it,” Hughie argued, placing his hands on his hips in upset, his gaze scolding. “You know, you’d think you of all people would be a little more sympathetic to that.”

Soldier Boy’s eyes glowered darkly. “What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t have that shit. I told you.”

“You know, kid’s right,” Butcher chimed in, catching the ancient supe’s attention. “I’d be a little more worried if I were you.”

“Why? Not my fucking problem. And like I said, she’ll be fine,” he reiterated with a careless grumble.

“I’m sure you’re right, mate,” Butcher replied with a conniving smirk and a casualness that made the supe wary. “Let’s just hope our little Y/N doesn’t take your advice to heart about the proper use of her abilities. But if I were bloody you, I’d hope old-me watches me back.”

Soldier Boy snorted a laugh of amusement. “Oh, I’d like to see her try,” he replied arrogantly and stretched his spine with a yawn. “Well, anyways, I’m taking my fucking nap now. Just wake me when she gets back. I’m not fucking finished with her yet…”

Hughie and the others hurried around Butcher’s desk, their voices only whispers as not to disturb the grumpy supe, and the Brit knew by the worried looks on his team’s faces that he’d have to deal with this bloody problem now.

“Butcher, what are we gonna do?” Hughie asked, eyes still wide and kind heart surely beating a marathon on his sleeve.

“Yeah, how are we gonna get her back?” Annie agreed, calmer than her boyfriend, questioningly folding her arms and arching a brow.

“Mon dieu, what if she changes the timeline, Butcher? I don’t want to wake up speaking German,” Frenchie threw in.

“And I don’t want fucking slavery back,” MM added.

“Oy, calm down,” Butcher spoke with placating hands. “Y/N’s a smart girl. She knows more about this shite than anyone of you. I’m sure she’ll fucking figure it out.”

“What if she doesn’t, Butcher?” Annie pressed.

“Well, then, let’s hope worst she does is kill the snoring cunt over there.” Butcher smirked devilishly and gestured to Soldier Boy fast asleep on the couch as if he were hoping for that outcome. “God knows I’d be bloody fine with it.”

It took less than a second, a blink of an eye, but you felt it immediately, knew instantly what had happened as gravity itself stretched out its tentacles and wound them around your limbs, tearing and tugging until you ripped at the seams and atoms spilled out of you.

There was a stark drop in temperature – that was the first thing you’d noticed. Goosebumps formed within a beat on the bare skin of your arms, the biting cold making you not only shiver but fear for your life.

Please don’t be the Pleistocene... Death by saber-tooth? No, thank you.

But to your relief, you heard a strange, but familiar set of sounds around you – animated chatter, chiming bells and closing doors, and the occasional low rumble of a car. Your heart was pounding a furious and relentless rhythm in your ribcage as your eyes fluttered open and warily scanned your strange surroundings.

You’d landed on a street, your feet safely planted on a sidewalk. Glistening white snow covered the pavement in a thick veil, the sky a dull gray blanket above. Icicles hung from lampposts with patriotic banners flying in the chill, proclaiming messages to buy war bonds and save scrap metal.

Huh…

Powdered flakes swirled around you as a streetcar clattered past you on a cobbled street, the sound muffled by the snow. Storefronts and shops lined both sides of the road, shoppers bustling by you in coats, hats, and scarves. Your brow furrowed softly at the row of parked, snow-covered cars that looked a tad… old.

Oh no…

You had definitely traveled back a smidge, but luckily not as far as the Middle Ages again. Judging by the moderately busy street, you assumed you were at least still in New York City. A paperboy was shouting loudly further down, but you couldn’t understand him from the distance. The only word that was plastered everywhere was war.

World War I or World War II, maybe?

Wherever – or whenever – you were, you couldn’t get stuck here. Your short-lived fascination with your new environment was then quickly replaced by a rising panic in your throat.

You had to get home somehow.

Squeezing your eyes shut as tightly as you could, you tried to wish yourself back – unfortunately, you didn’t possess your pair of ruby slippers anymore that you could simply click. The more you tried and failed, the more anxious you became, and you knew a full-on panic attack was just waiting for you around the corner.

“Whoa! Hey, careful…”

With your hands on your knees, you bumped backwards into a man, your lungs constricting so much they barely let any air pass. You spun around, eyes wide and body trembling as a set of hands landed gently on your shoulders and waist for support.

“Miss? Are you alright?”

What little breath you had got caught in your throat as you stared into an all-too familiar set of outlandishly green eyes.

Soldier Boy.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

It was a reflex at this point to slap his hands away and keep them as far from your body as possible. Of course the guy couldn’t leave you alone in any era.

Admittedly, he was hardly recognizable, though. While he was just as tall as his 21st century counterpart, he wasn’t as broad. Instead of the signature green outfit, he wore a long, black wool coat over a three-piece suit and a checkered flat cap. His hair was maybe an inch shorter, his beard replaced by a clean-shaven face. And while Soldier Boy surely didn’t look a 104, he didn’t look as young as the guy in front of you either. No furious lines from decades of anger management issues decorated his freckle-dusted face yet.

Maybe your reaction was ill-advised, considering the power he wielded. You figured any past version of the supe was even more ruthless than the current one you’d gotten to know. Moreover, you didn’t have the advantage of being spared because you had saved him from an ice box.

To your surprise, however, there was no detection of malice or offense on his features. To the contrary, he seemed strangely taken aback by your aggressive response, his hands swiftly shooting back as if your very skin was made out of scorching coals. They raised in surrender.

Surrender. 

Well, that was new. He had never, ever, ever done that before. Did you land in some alternate timeline where Soldier Boy was a nice guy?

“I-I’m so sorry, miss. Please forgive me… I was just checking if you were okay,” he stammered and forced a reassuring smile, his hands still held high in good faith.

“Just stay away from me. Leave me alone, okay?”

You backed farther away from him, your eyes desperately flickering around for an exit. Your voice jittered in sync with your body before you bolted down the street and sought shelter in a dark and quiet alley.

“Miss! Wait!” he called after you, his hands picking something up in the snow that you’d dropped during your flight. “You’ve lost your–”

His brow furrowed as he twisted the thin, rectangular device in his hand, his thumb wiping bits of melting snowflakes off the sleek, black glass. As he glanced more closely at it, it lit up brightly and vibrated in his hold. He startled at the unexpected tremble, almost dropping it into a pool of mud by his shoes. Fuddled, his gaze lifted down the busy street in search of you.

“What the hell…”

▶️ Chapter 2: Is This the 40s?

I think his curiosity is piqued lol... What did you think of his 1942 version vs. the, uhm, less nice future dickbag? 👀

Coming Up:

Ready to fend him off, you were surprised to find his grip wasn’t strong by any means. It was barely a brush before he dropped his hand again and looked at you remorsefully.

“I’m sorry! I just-… Please let me help you,” he reiterated with imploring green eyes. “Look, you clearly seem lost. Just tell me where you live, and I can get you home safely, okay? C’mon, you can’t do this to me.” He tried to loosen you up with a charming smile and a puppy dog look. “If you leave like this, I’m going to be up all night, worrying you’ve died of hypothermia out here.”

And my God, he seemed sincere! No wonder he had gotten attention from women like a goddamn bunny in a petting zoo.

Musingly, you then chewed on your lower lip and assessed the man in front of you. The people who strolled by you threw you the occasional weird looks – you’d chosen a bad day to wear a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans.

Admittedly, you could use a little help here. Maybe if you were being careful with the timeline – and him – you could risk it.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt 1.:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@impala67rollingthroughtown @star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @little-diable @kr804573

[trashcakery]

fadelstyle headcanons bc why tf not

Style has already apologized (wholeheartedly and with tears) for ambushing Fadel’s support group sessions.

Every Saturday, they make breakfast together, trying new recipes, flavors, etc. They also almost always fuck it all up because Style is too distracting in an apron.

Style listens to heavy metal now.

Fadel often naps with his head on Style’s lap, and Style plays with his hair while he sleeps.

Fadel and Style’s dad watch 70s/80s shows together, leaving Style completely left out. They actually have nearly identical 80s rock CD collections too.

Style asks Fadel about his ex often. His personality, their time together, what Fadel loved about him. He’s even suggested they take flowers and visit his grave together. When you’re ready.

Fadel has yet to win an argument.

Saying no to Style is literally impossible for him. He’ll frown, sulk, look pissed, but never actually say no.

Fadel has bad days, lows that become debilitating. His past crashes down on him, but Style is always there. Gentle. Quiet. Giving him space, but also taking care of him. Helps him in the shower. Brings him food. Takes it away when Fadel refuses to eat. Brings it back. Holds him while he sleeps.

They love shopping together. Fadel loves the way Style glows when he tries on new clothes.

Yes, they’re both freaks. Yes, it excites them to do it in public, grabbing at each other’s necks, indulging in chest play, roleplay, you name it. But their biggest turn-on, especially for Fadel, is actually being domestic. Being soft and vanilla, even. No, because think about it— Style has probably had his fair share of sleeping around, experimenting, partying, going wild. Fadel, on the other hand, has always felt burdened by his body and its needs. His teenage years, his early adulthood, none of it was normal. He never got to experience sweetness. Never got to take his time, to feel wanted, to feel loved. To him, sex was always transactional, until his ex, who 'left' the moment Fadel showed vulnerability. So yeah, they love being wild. But what they love more is being at home—lazy morning sex, showering together, taking it slow, looking into each other’s eyes. It’s actually so sweet and heartbreaking.

After months of nagging, Fadel finally folds and teaches Style how to use a gun.

Style knows how to use a knife very well. (Don’t ask how they found out.)

Fadel practically lives at Style’s house, spends 80% of his time there.

Style’s dad is teaching Fadel how to fix his car. “What do you mean you’re marrying into our family without knowing these basics???”

Fadel whimpers. :)

Style has proudly stolen and cut up at least ten of Fadel’s t-shirts, including a vintage 1970s Led Zeppelin Rules America tee that he spent half his savings on when he was 16.

Style loves taking Fadel’s fingers into his mouth when they have sex, because it drives Fadel insane. :)

One time, while they were just hanging out in Fadel’s room, Style asked, “So when did you start finding me attractive?” Fadel’s face went beet red. Style, being the menace that he is, kept pushing, until Fadel finally blurted: “Yes, I found you attractive the moment I saw you. Yes, I thought about you while I was alone. Yes, of course I fucking did. And yes, it happened here—where else would it happen?” A smirk. “So you liked it when I lay on my stomach for you in the sauna… like this?” Style rolls onto his stomach, looks up at Fadel exactly like he did that day. “Tell me, what did you think about? Did you imagine my face?” “Shut up." “Did you imagine they were my hands or mouth?” “Style.” “Did you call my name?”

They both smell amazing. Fadel wears deep, earthy colognes. Style wears fruity, flowery ones. He also goes crazy for lip balms so Fadel buys him a new one every time he goes to the grocery store.

“Hey, you really need to stop being so trusting.” “He said his cat was dying.” “Style, he was literally trying to steal your wallet.” “But he showed me a photo. :( He had one leg missing.” “…Jesus fucking christ.”

[luvashli]

DANCING WITH GHOSTS

SYNOPSIS -> After a painful breakup, Y/N and Jake struggle to move on, haunted by memories of their love. She clings to the life they shared, while he tries and fails to forget her.

PAIRING: nonidol!ex!jake x fem!ex!reader

GENRE: oneshot, exes to lovers(?), angst

STARTED: 1/23/2025

STATUS: complete

WC: 2.6K

Note: this story is based on the song “Ghost of you“ by 5 seconds of summer, I advice you to listen to it while reading :)

Also I wrote it for a friend of mine, cause she is a huge 5sos fan hehe.

Click here for the song

The house was too quiet. The kind of silence that didn’t offer peace but instead carried the weight of memories. Every creak of the floorboards echoed like a whisper of the past, tugging at your heartstrings in the cruelest way.

It had been months since Jake left, yet his presence lingered in every corner. His laugh still bounced off the walls in your mind, his touch still warmed the spaces he used to claim as his own. You stood in the middle of the living room, the coffee table still bearing faint scratches from one of his clumsy stumbles.

Your eyes fell on the couch, where the two of you had spent countless nights. There was a time when his arms were your home, his heartbeat your favorite melody. Now, the silence swallowed you whole.

"Here I am waking up, still can't sleep on your side..."

You muttered the words under your breath as you wandered into the kitchen. His coffee cup still sat at the back of the cabinet, untouched since the day he left. You didn’t have the heart to throw it away, even though the lipstick stain you once teased him about had faded with time.

If you closed your eyes long enough, you could almost see him. Jake, leaning against the counter, his messy hair and lazy grin the first thing you’d see every morning.

"If I can dream long enough, you'd tell me I'd be just fine... I'll be just fine."

But you weren’t fine. You hadn’t been fine since he walked out, his words cutting through you like shards of glass.

You didn’t blame him, not entirely. You were both too young, too dumb, to know what love truly meant. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

The rain was pouring outside as you decided to clean up the bedroom. You hadn’t dared to touch most of his things, but today, something in you urged you to. Maybe it was time.

As you pulled open the drawer, your fingers brushed against fabric. You tugged it out, your breath catching when you saw it—his old Led Zeppelin shirt. The one he wore the night he ran away from everything, from you.

You clutched it to your chest, the familiar scent faint but still there, like the last remnant of him refusing to fade.

"Cleaning up today, found that old Zeppelin shirt you wore when you ran away..."

The tears came then, hot and unstoppable. You sank to the floor, the shirt in your lap as you cried for what you had lost, for the love that slipped through your fingers.

Jake wasn’t faring any better.

He sat in his apartment, the dim light of the living room casting shadows that only reminded him of what he’d left behind. His phone sat on the table, your contact still pinned at the top, though he hadn’t dared to call.

He thought about you every day. How could he not? You were everywhere. In the songs he played, the movies he watched, the quiet moments when he was left alone with his thoughts.

He had tried to move on, but no one else felt like you. No one else made his heart race the way you did.

"We're too young, too dumb to know things like love. But I know better now."

Jake ran a hand through his hair, his mind replaying the last time he saw you. The hurt in your eyes as he walked away was burned into his memory, a reminder of the mistakes he couldn’t take back.

Back in the house, you stood in the living room, the old Zeppelin shirt now hanging loosely on your frame. It was far too big for you, but it felt like a hug from him, even if it was a ghost of what you once had.

You turned on the stereo, letting the music fill the empty space. And then, as if guided by some unseen force, you began to move.

Your feet shuffled across the floor, your arms wrapping around yourself as you swayed to the beat of the song.

"So I drown it out like I always do, dancing through our house with the ghost of you..."

The tears didn’t stop, but you didn’t care. You danced, remembering the nights you and Jake would spin each other around this very room, laughing and tripping over your own feet.

But now, there was no laughter. Only the memory of him, and the ache that wouldn’t leave.

Jake stood outside your house, the rain soaking him to the bone. He didn’t know why he was there, or what he expected to happen. But his feet had brought him here, as if they knew what his heart wanted even when his mind tried to deny it.

He peered through the window, and his breath caught in his throat.

There you were, dancing. Alone, but not alone. He could see it in the way you moved, in the way your arms wrapped around yourself. You were dancing with the ghost of him, and it broke his heart all over again.

"That my feet don't dance like they did with you..."

He wanted to go to you, to pull you into his arms and tell you he was sorry, that he’d been a fool. But he didn’t move. He stayed rooted to the spot, watching as you poured your heart into every step, every movement.

And when you finally collapsed onto the couch, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you afloat, Jake turned away.

He wasn’t ready to face you, to confront the mess he had made. But as he walked back into the rain, one thing was clear: he would never stop loving you.

And maybe, just maybe, someday he’d find the courage to tell you.

It wasn’t one singular moment that broke you and Jake; it was a collection of little cracks in the foundation. Tiny misunderstandings, unspoken fears, and the unrelenting pressure of life slowly ate away at the love you thought was indestructible.

Jake had always been the kind of person who wore his heart on his sleeve. He loved loudly, recklessly, and without hesitation. You loved him for that. But love, no matter how passionate, can sometimes falter under the weight of everything else.

It began with the arguments—petty at first.

“You’re always busy with work,” Jake had said one night, his voice tinged with frustration as you sat hunched over your laptop at the kitchen table. “It’s like I don’t even exist anymore.”

You sighed, trying to keep your temper in check. “Jake, I have deadlines. I don’t have the luxury of just sitting around and waiting for inspiration to hit like you do.”

His jaw tightened at your words. You didn’t mean for it to sound cruel, but it did. Jake was an aspiring musician, chasing dreams that seemed so far out of reach sometimes. You admired his dedication, but there were days when it felt like he was still a boy while you had to be the responsible one.

“I’m not sitting around,” he shot back, his voice rising. “Just because my job doesn’t look like yours doesn’t mean I’m not working hard.”

The argument spiraled from there. Neither of you really wanted to hurt the other, but the words came out anyway, sharp and biting.

Then there was the night you missed his big performance.

It was supposed to be a milestone for him—a showcase for local artists that could have opened doors to something bigger. He had begged you to come, to be there in the crowd cheering him on.

But your boss had called an emergency meeting, and by the time you made it to the venue, the show was over. Jake was sitting on the curb outside, his guitar case by his feet, the smile he’d worn earlier completely gone.

“Jake,” you said, out of breath. “I’m so sorry. I tried—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, standing abruptly. “Don’t bother. You didn’t try hard enough.”

“That’s not fair!” you exclaimed, tears stinging your eyes. “You know how much this project means to me.”

“And what about me, Y/N?” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Do I mean less than your job? Because that’s how it feels.”

You froze, your heart shattering at the pain in his voice. “Jake, that’s not true. I love you.”

“Do you?” he asked quietly, his shoulders slumping. “Because I don’t feel it anymore.”

The final blow came weeks later, during a late-night argument that neither of you saw coming. It wasn’t about work or performances this time—it was about the fear that had been building in both of you, unspoken and festering.

“You don’t even see me anymore,” Jake said, pacing the living room. “I feel like I’m just... here. Like a placeholder in your life.”

“That’s not fair,” you snapped, exhaustion and frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do you think this is easy for me? Balancing everything? I’m trying, Jake!”

“Are you?” he shot back. “Because all I see is someone who’s already halfway out the door.”

The words cut deep, but you refused to let them show. “Maybe you’re right,” you said coldly, your voice trembling. “Maybe we’re just holding each other back.”

Jake’s face crumbled, and for a moment, you wanted to take it back. But the damage was done.

“So that’s it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

And with that, he left.

The days following the breakup were a blur. You threw yourself into work, trying to fill the gaping hole he had left behind. But no amount of deadlines or distractions could stop the memories from creeping in.

Jake, on the other hand, buried himself in his music. His songs became darker, rawer, filled with the pain of losing you. He played at dive bars and small venues, pouring his heartbreak into every lyric.

Both of you pretended to move on, but the truth was, neither of you did.

You still reached for him in your dreams, only to wake up to an empty bed. Jake still caught himself glancing at his phone, hoping to see your name light up the screen.

And so, the two of you drifted further apart, held together only by the memories that haunted you both.

As you stood in the middle of the living room, his old Zeppelin shirt in your hands, the weight of it all came crashing down.

"We're too young, too dumb to know things like love. But I know better now."

You whispered the words to yourself, tears streaming down your face. You had loved him. You still did. But love wasn’t always enough to hold two people together.

Jake, drenched in rain outside your house, couldn’t stop thinking about the last thing you said to him.

"Maybe we’re just holding each other back."

He wondered if it was true. Or if you had only said it because you were scared—just like he was.

As he walked away, his heart ached with the knowledge that no matter how far he tried to run, he would always find himself coming back to you.

Jake thought she would help him forget.

He met her at one of his gigs, a girl with a warm smile and a laugh that filled the room. She wasn’t you, but maybe that was the point. He was desperate to move on, to stop seeing your face in every passing thought, to stop hearing your voice in every song he sang.

At first, she was a distraction. Her presence was easy, uncomplicated. She laughed at his jokes and told him his music was amazing. She never argued with him about late nights or missed texts. She was everything you weren’t.

And yet, she wasn’t you.

The first time Jake realized it wouldn’t work was when she sat beside him in his apartment, humming along to a song he had written.

“That’s beautiful,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Did you write it for someone?”

Jake hesitated, his fingers faltering on the guitar strings. “Yeah,” he said softly, his mind immediately going to you.

She didn’t ask for more details, but the guilt that weighed on him was suffocating. He was using her, trying to patch a wound that only you could heal.

One night, she invited him out to dinner. He agreed, thinking that maybe if he gave it enough time, his feelings for you would fade.

But as they sat across from each other, her laugh ringing out, he couldn’t help but notice how different it sounded from yours. How her smile didn’t reach her eyes the way yours did. How her perfume wasn’t the one he’d memorized from all those nights you fell asleep in his arms.

He was quiet the entire night, his mind drifting back to you. To your shared moments, your arguments, your laughter.

By the end of the evening, she looked at him with sad understanding.

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?”

Jake’s heart sank. He couldn’t bring himself to lie. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

She gave him a small, bittersweet smile. “Then go to her, Jake. You’re wasting both our time trying to convince yourself otherwise.”

The walk to your house was long, the cold night air biting at his skin. He had no plan, no idea what he would say when he saw you. But he couldn’t go another day pretending he didn’t still love you.

Jake’s thoughts raced as he approached your front door. His heart pounded in his chest, each step heavier than the last.

What if you didn’t want to see him? What if you had moved on, just like he had tried to?

But the thought of not trying—of letting you slip away for good—was unbearable.

When he reached your door, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the wood. The light in your living room was on, casting a warm glow that reminded him of all the nights you spent curled up together on the couch.

He could hear faint music playing inside. It was one of his songs.

Jake swallowed the lump in his throat and knocked.

The sound was soft, tentative, but it was enough to make your heart stop.

Inside, you froze, your breath catching as you stared at the door. No one else knocked like that. No one else could make your pulse race with three simple taps.

Slowly, you stood, your legs trembling as you approached the door.

When you opened it, there he was. Jake, drenched in the cold night air, his hair slightly messy, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy, but not empty. It was full of everything you had left unsaid.

“I couldn’t do it,” Jake finally said, his voice shaking. “I couldn’t move on. I tried, Y/N. I really tried. But it’s always you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the weight of his words sinking in. “Jake…”

“I’m sorry,” he continued, stepping closer. “For everything. For leaving. For not fighting harder. I was scared, and I let that fear ruin the best thing that ever happened to me.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. Your heart was a mess of emotions—anger, love, sadness, and relief all blending together.

Jake took another step forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me it’s not too late. Please.”

And in that moment, you didn’t care about the past or the mistakes or the pain. You only cared that he was here, standing in front of you, asking for another chance.

You stepped aside, letting him in.

Masterlist

Open taglist

If you'd like to be tagged in future updates for my other storys, let me know by:

-> Sending me a message or

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[shadow-0-8]

bands I think cod characters like(it’s just music I like) 😛

Hesh: RHCP I can’t stress this enough, its perfect 🥵

Woods: this one is so basic, but CCR, he def loves Green River.

Adler: he’s basic and just likes what he hears like twice, so the Doors and Led Zeppelin, he also secretly likes a few Blondie songs, but he’s taking that to the grave

Graves: someone else did a review on him and it was so good, and I can’t find it, but I can’t compete, so I surrender 🏳️

Laswell: she definitely loves Stevie nicks, and Fleetwood Mack by extension

Soap: something like the Killers, a lil dramatic but def lighthearted sometimes, oh and Green Day

ghost: the Smashing Pumpkins, fallout boy, and the Cranberries, lots of dramatics.

Price: Queen. I’m being lazy, but he’s likes Queen,

Keegan: Probably ABBA, Rihanna maybe, and some Muse

Gaz: Elton John, Hozoer, and maybe the Lumineers, he seems like he likes more low key and modern music

[beetles-sanban]

Playlist #4: Numbuh 4 / Wallabee Beetles

In response to this ask. Listen to Wally's playlist here! Content warning: some songs and images mentioned below may contain mature themes.

THEME: Fiery When Angry, Fiery When Happy, Fiery When In Love

VIBE: Wally is a fiery guy, which is just another way of saying that he's brooding, intense, emotional. He's also a guy with an edge of mischief and devilishness. That said, I wanted a playlist that captures all versions of his intensity. So, predictably, he has a playlist that's heavy with all sorts of rock music that were meant to capture the intensity of his anger and excitement, but there's also a sprinkling of alternative rock, alternative rap, alternative pop, and alternative R&B, which are meant to capture the brooding, lava-like emotions he has bubbling beneath the surface. Lastly, a lot of the songs have an edge of danger and mischief to them, meant to capture Wally's naughty and dangerous side.

IMAGES: Wally in a fiery environment (Billie Eillish, Bob's Burgers), Wally banging on drums (the whole energy of this music video: Song 2 by Blur), Wally with his boys (Good Will Hunting, Peaky Blinders, or Suicide Squad), Wally chillin' with Hoagie (Fight Club, Amy Poehler), Wally wreaking havoc (opening sequence of Trainspotting, Fight Club ending scene, Guy Ritchie movies), Wally in a fight (Good Will Hunting fight scene, Malcolm in the Middle fight scene), Wally brooding at 3am while laying in bed staring at the ceiling or on his rooftop staring at the starry night sky (the girl i haven't met by Kudasaibeats).

FIRST: Play with Fire by Sam Tinnesz & Yacht Money. While I don't think this song captures the entirety of Wally's vibe (it leans too hard on his edgy side), it was definitely the first song that came to mind when I first started working on Wally's playlist. Dangerous and naughty, just like our guy!

HIGH: Wally's high-energy songs are pretty straightforward in the sense that they're hardcore and chaotic - the type of songs you'd listen to if you're feeling intense and ready to fight. That said, the most exemplary songs for Wally's high-energy mode are Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana, Local God by Everclear, Song 2 by Blur, Back in Black by AC/DC, Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin, Cherry Bomb by The Runaways, and Bad Reputation by Joan Jett & The Blackhearts.

LOW: Wally's low-energy songs are really interesting because they're so multifaceted. All are pensive in a way, but the difference lies in what he's being pensive about. Some songs are pensive about morality, so he has a songs like all the good girls go to hell by Billie Eilish or Look What You Made Me Do by Taylor Swift, where he openly embraces his devilishness, but then he has a song like Gangsta's Paradise by Coolio, where he reflects on the consequences of living a dangerous life. Other songs are pensive about life in a lazy and mundane way, so he gets chill songs like Clint Eastwood by Gorillaz, Self Care by Mac Miller, and Coffee & TV by Blur. And then there are the songs that are really, really quiet and pensive - like Where is My Mind by The Pixies and the girl i haven't met by Kudasaibeats - meant to represent Wally's quiet, stoic, emotional moments. Lastly, some of the songs are pensive about love and attraction, so he gets songs like Creep by Radiohead and Do I Wanna Know by Arctic Monkeys, where he's a bit greedy and jealous in his attraction, or songs like Willing to Trust by Kid Cudi, and Attention, Wanted U, and Yeah Right by Joji, where his emotions are deeper, more poignant, and ultimately more loving.

RANDOM: Boys Will be Bugs by Cavetown. This song is hands down the most random addition to this playlist because it is SO NOT the vibe of the playlist. It's so cute and wholesome! And mind you, there's literally a Taylor Swift song in Wally's playlist, and even her song was neither cute nor wholesome. But selfishly I added this song because it's such an embodiment of being a teenage boy, and despite Wally's intensity, he, at the end of the day, is just a teenage boy. A good guy, no matter what he or others think of him. So, in a way, this track was my way of grounding the intensity of Wally's playlist. It was my way to keep him connected to the overall vibe of my AU which, at the end of the day, is meant to be happy, loving, and wholesome.

FUN FACTS: I don't have any Australian bands in this playlist, but similar to Nigel's playlist, I added a lot of British artists as an indirect homage to Wally's Australian background. Also, fun fact, Joji is a renowned Japanese music artist, so it was a lowkey way for me to connect him with Kuki.

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— WHOLE LOTTA LOVE

SUMMARY : beau finds a way repays the reader after taking care of him when he’s injured, but also to apologise for worrying her. but most importantly, to prove he was okay.

PAIRING : beau arlen x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : nsfw (18+), smut, mostly fluff, PAIN (but physical)

WORD COUNT : 2.5k

A/N : title from led zeppelin’s song. I love beau, he’s so boyfriend-shaped, I wanna squish him. it was so worth staying up late every Wednesday just to see him. anyway, what an ending, right? LMAO XX

Bright light from the bathroom door shone on Y/N’s face when Beau stepped out after his shower, despite being quick to turn the light off, Y/N woke up. Groggy, vision blurry, and voice filled with sleep she murmured Beau’s name as he made his way to her in the darkness.

She sleepily turned to her side to face him when he chuckled softly, a lazy smile on her lips at the sound. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake ya,” he murmured. The bed dipped under his weight and he hissed softly as he got comfortable in the bed. Worried, she rubbed her eyes and squinted her eyes to try to see his silhouette with only the light from the moon that seeped through the big window of their room.

“You okay?” She sat up, twisting her body to turn the lamp on. The white light illuminated the room, allowed her to see him with his eyes closed and his face exhausted. Her expression softened, from worried to compassionate, she reached out to touch his face and he opened his eyes slowly. His thick lashes fluttered against his cheeks, his green eyes heavy with sleep, only lulled faster by the gentle brush of her fingertips along his cheek and bearded jawline.

“I’m okay, go to sleep, sweetheart,” he reassured her. His thick fingers wrapped around hers and he brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly. His dry lips gently pushed against her soft skin, tickling her a little with his beard.

She bit her lip, her eyes moved down his body, the sweatshirt he was swearing had ridden up, exposing his hip bone and waist where there was a giant bruise coloured his skin like a dark purple blotch of paint on a canvas. She felt her stomach drop and she inhaled sharply, felt queasy just imagining the pain, her heart skipped a few beats and he looked down to where she was looking.

“That’s nothing,” he reassured her, reaching to lower the sweatshirt so it went over his sweatpants. “I swear, I'm fine, okay?” He sounded a little irritated and she frowned, one part of her feeling hurt by his tone and the other part of her still concerned with the strong urge to help him.

“I… I was just gonna…” she stuttered and paused to push down the hurt she was feeling to focus on what she wanted to say. “I have something for it, Beau. You don’t have to be in unnecessary pain,” she said more confidently.

Guilt from both the hurt on her face and her kindness despite it made him give in and nod, allowing her to take care of him. He looked away at first, eyes cast to the side out of shame before he looked up at her pouty lips and her sad eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised earnestly, rubbing a hand down his sleepy face, “I had a bad day. I shouldn’t take it out on you. You’re just being sweet. Go ahead and fetch it, darlin’.” He groaned when he started to sit up, her body instantly twisting up inside at the pain he must clearly be feeling, a wince on both their faces as he settled against the headboard. He chuckled when he looked at her and he grabbed her hand, tugging her forwards so she’d come closer before she left. “I love you, Y/N,” he murmured, a weary smile on his lips, waiting a few seconds while her eyes scanned over his face.

“I love you, too, Beau.” The crease between her brows disappeared and her lips were no longer downturned, a relaxed expression now in place of it. She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, nuzzling her nose against his hairline, she could easily smell his shampoo. “I’ll be right back.”

He nodded, watched her get out of the fluffy bed to walk into the bathroom. He let his head rest against the wall, his hands going to the hem of his sweatshirt to lift it up, taking it off all the way. He made it into a ball and put it between their pillows.

Looking down while biting his lip, he inspected the large bruise. He was lucky he didn’t break a rib. He was only happy Y/N wasn’t scolding him the way she usually did, and since Jenny already did that, he didn’t think it was necessary to be told again that he needs to be more careful.

He just couldn’t let the guy get away, so he went all in instead of waiting. He didn’t want to take the chance that the man would continue to hurt people. He made a hard call and really it went well, he caught the bad guy, got him locked up and now everyone was safe again to continue their lives.

He was definitely not doing that again though. The bruise covered most of his side and it was ugly, with dark purple splatter-like colour surrounding the main bruise. It was painful as hell and he probably should have had it checked out, but he was too stubborn to admit it was something a little more serious than he let on.

Y/N came back with a tube of cream and a pill bottle after a while of him listening to clutter in the bathroom. She must have been on her toes, body stretched out to reach the objects in the medicine cabinet. She was so cute. He smiled at her, matched her good mood because he was home now. This was his safe space, his happy place was with her. When he had bad moods and tough days, he could just be here and all of that evaporated.

She returned to his side, frowned and bit her lip in concentration as she also inspected the bruise. She shook her head in disapproval, but didn’t say anything when she popped the cap off and applied the white cream to her fingers, hesitating slightly when she came close enough to feel the heat emanating from his body.

“It’s okay, I can handle it,” he reassured her, reaching out to squeeze her thigh. She exhaled and nodded, then very gently she smeared the cream on his bruise. He tensed up, pressed his lips together in pain when she moved her fingers along the purple skin, trying to ignore the way she couldn’t breathe knowing he was in pain.

She was gentle with him and he eventually got used to the pain, his stomach was still tense and he squeezed the pillow in his hand, but knew it would feel better after she was done. His skin tingled under her fingertips, eyes tracing the circles she drew on his body trying to evenly spread out the layer of cream that would relieve the pain and heal his bruise.

“There,” she huffed out a breath and wiped her fingers on the flimsy shirt she was wearing.

“Thanks,” he murmured, staring down at the bruise that now has a light layer of white over it like melted frosting on a cinnabon. He relaxed too, his body deflating now that that was over.

“No problem.” He watched her reach over to the water bottle she had beside her on the bedside table and then heard the pills rattle when she handed them to him. “Take two,” she instructed.

“Yes, ma’am.” He took both, carefully opening the pill bottle he tipped it over and let the pills spill over his hand, returning the rest so only two remained. He put both in his mouth and drank water to swallow easier, drinking some more just to remove the thirst he started to feel.

He placed both bottles on his side, wiping his mouth to clear water droplets. He turned to face her, worry still knitting her brows together despite the little smile on her lips. She couldn’t hide it from him, even if she wanted to. Even the fact that he knew her brain was working like a whole factory of chaos and future possibilities was clear in the way her eyes scanned the rest of his body for any other injuries.

“Hey,” he called softly. She finally looked at him, actually focused on him when he started to shift so he was now facing her while sitting back on his legs. “I’m alright, okay? I promise, I won’t do anything reckless.” The word again hung in the air, but neither of them addressed it. He tucked her hair behind her ear, his knuckles gently brushing along her cheek, warm and soft.

“Okay,” she conceded, closing her eyes at his touch.

She opened her eyes when he started to thread his fingers through her hair, holding the back of her head with his eyes glued on her lips. When she whispered his name for no reason other than being flustered, he looked up at her. She closed her eyes instinctively and he started to move forward, his beautiful lashes resting on his cheeks when he closed his eyes and tilted his head to kiss her properly.

The kiss was soft and loving, he pulled away just a centimetre to peck her lips over and over. Only stopping to nibble on her lower lip when she smiled, her hands finding his wrists to keep herself grounded. Clouds of love and adoration filled her head so she could only focus on everything about him, leaving her light and puddle-y as he gently parted her lips with his tongue.

The minty taste was enhanced by their tongues sweeping past each other, slow and soft making them both moan into the kiss. He was pushing against her slightly, eventually pulling away from the kiss breathlessly so she’d fall onto her back with her legs still crossed. Her back arched for her comfort and he hummed softly, his hand going underneath her shirt to slide his hand along the arch. Her chest started to rise and fall faster, her skin flushed with excitement, a reaction following the speed of her heart from his kiss.

He pushed her shirt up, little by little, and first revealed her underwear to him. The black cotton covering what he wanted from her at that moment just to prove he was okay and that he loved her so much for how she took care of him. The higher he went the more he was able to see, until she shivered and the shirt bunched up above her breasts, her nipples tight and erect.

“You’re so beautiful, darlin’,” he whispered, slipping back into his Texas accent. He leaned over her carefully, trailed his lips up starting from the waistband of her underwear, slowly moving between her ribcage to her breasts. She carefully straightened her legs out on the bed, let him straddle her hips when he wrapped his lips around her nipple, his tongue flicking the bud.

“Fuck, Beau,” she moaned. The tingly sensation between her legs multiplied, followed by heat that spread with arousal when he sneaked his hand down to her underwear, and teasingly moved his fingers along waistband. His breath tickled her skin, his beard was scratchy but felt so good against her skin, and his teeth gently tugged when he slowly started to drag her underwear down her legs.

He hummed softly against her. One of her hands began tugging at his hair and the other moved to tease her other nipple. She panted when he pulled away from her, sitting back on his legs again to bend her knees, slowly slipping her underwear off her legs. He let her legs relax on the bed, feet flat, and flicked her underwear to the side, letting them hang at the edge of the bed without even looking.

“You’re always looking out for me, huh?” Beau asked, grinning down at her to see her smile again. “Take the shirt off, yeah?” He carefully moved off the bed and pulled his sweatpants and boxers down at once, watching her naked body, now that she discarded the last article of clothes on her body. “You really are so lovely, honey,” he murmured, climbing onto the bed again with his hand jerking his cock slowly.

“Beau, are you sure?” She asked suddenly, her eyes drifting away from his busy hand to the bruise on his hip. He knew what she was talking about, but he chose to play dumb, moaning louder than normal when he swiped over the leaking head of his cock and stood between her legs. She got flustered, her eyes snapping back up to his adorable face.

“Yeah, darlin’,” he nodded, grabbing her ankle, “you’re so sweet, so carin’, and a million other perfect things.” She raised a brow at his words, blushing, but otherwise confused when he placed her ankle on his shoulder, and lifted her hips up. “Don’t give me that look. ‘Course I’m sure that you’re lovely.” He had the cutest, stupidest smile on his face and she simply rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head slightly. She was still mindful of his bruise when he placed her close enough to him that his cock was rubbing through her wet folds.

“That’s not what I meant,” she whispered, letting him press the back of her other thigh against his with her knee bent over the unbruised side of his hip. Beau bit his lip, his cheeks red with a blush, and didn’t respond when he pulled back slightly, the head of his cock gliding through her slick warmth until he was pushing against her entrance.

“Sweetheart, I want this, okay?” He reassured her, slowly, breathlessly pushing every inch of himself into her fluttering walls. “Don’t… fuck, don’t worry. I’ll be careful.” He bottomed out inside her, moaning softly at the feeling of her around him, his stomach clenching with excitement.

He pulled his hips back slightly, the light of the lamp pouring over her body, allowing him to watch himself pull out of her, slowly so that they could both feel every inch of each other. A pleased sigh rolled past her lips, her excitement clear in the way her pussy quivered around the tip of his dick. His hair fell in front of his eyes, messy and slowly drying from his shower.

Beau pushed himself back into her, teasing her first before picking up the pace. He rolled his hips carefully, hissed softly when his efforts began to make the sting in his hip worsen. He ignored it, played it off like the sound coming out of him was due to pleasure, which it partially was, but the faster he thrusted into her the more it hurt. The sting spread across his side, but he could already feel his orgasm building up as he watched her take every inch of him.

He leaned over her, hoping to ease the pain on his side, and allowing him deeper into her cunt. She moaned softly, holding his face to kiss him, soft and loving she pressed kisses across his cheeks and his jaw too, lazy pecks scattered across the freckles that covered his skin. Deep and gentle thrusts slowly built up their orgasm, breaths heavy, muscles tight with each movement, pressure building up until they both came with whispered praises and soft grunts.

taglist

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do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[lil-melody-moon]

Melody, my dear? Tell us 10 songs that remind you of 10 different people in your life 🤍

10 songs that remind me of 10 different people... I hope you don't mean people I know personally, because I will mention someone I don't know, dear Anon <3

Love Ain't for Keeping by The Who - I hear it and I think of Keith Moon right away. Could be because that was the song that made me listen to The Who or it might be because of the lyrics that I associate with my feelings to him or maybe both, it's hard to tell.

Total Eclipse of The Heart by Bonnie Tyler - I associate this one with my mom. She's a big fan of Bonnie, heck we both are, but this is the first song I heard by Bonnie and the first song that mom played for me when I was tiny. So that's my mom's song <3

Tea For One by Led Zeppelin - dad's favorite, he goes bonkers when he hears it, as in the volume goes up and there's no way somebody will turn it lower. Also the first song by Led Zeppelin dad wanted to show me and he kind of did. I just wasn't swayed by it until I grew up enough to let this masterpiece carry me with its notes.

Hysteria by Def Leppard - song I associate with @jimmysdragonsuit13 She brought me into Def Leppard and this one just makes me think of her each time I hear it. I love this song btw, but shhh...

Hey Joe by Jimi Hendrix or any other song by him - makes me think of Anja. She loved Jimi to death, actually the last fic that I wrote for her was with him, she loved it a lot. One big happiness for her in the last few weeks <3

Lazy by Deep Purple - this is @fiammee song. Whenever I hear Jon Lord playing I think of her and her amazing drawings I've seen published here. She's really talented, go check her blog out!

Tangerine by Led Zeppelin - I associate this with @groovyysav Not only for her deep love to Robert Plant, but the vibe of it I somehow associate with the vibe she gives. Country peacefulness with a lot of love and yapping <3

Boris The Spider by The Who - this is a stupid association, but our friendship is stupid as well, so @juliearchery107 that's the song that makes me think of you because of your arachnophobia XD

Love Never Dies by Julian Lennon or any other song by him - @peaceloveandstarrs is such a big fan of him that it's difficult for me to not think about her when I hear his songs.

Girl's Eyes by The Who - and maybe that's a bit not by the rules of the ask, but I can't help it. This song hit me like a train when I heard it and so, this is the me song, as in, I think about myself when I hear it. Simple lyrics, nothing too big of a song for this band, but I've never felt so called out by a song. So it gets a spot here <3

[bakafox]

The DOWNSIDE of watching younger folks discover older music as a main form of entertainment this week is of course the inevitable "It's such a shame all good music ended in the 90's" types of comment.

My good gender neutral bitches, there was amazing music before the 70s, 80's 90's or whatever you're calling the golden age that you never heard of just like you're whining the younger kids haven't heard of Led Zeppelin or Queensryche, and there's some fucking amazing music still being made in 2024 if you are willing to look and listen, both by old bands who got started in your heyday of choice and younger artists.

FFS, I don't actively look much for new music. I'm just a lazy bottom feeder who waits until a lot of people are talking about some artist or group or album around me until I get around to looking into them, and I find ones I like just as much as my older favorites in their own special ways. Hell that's how I even find out about older musicians I'd never even heard of before, like the 'kids' I'm watching do reactions are.

Absolutely loathe the 'everything today is tainted and awful and lazy and we can never enjoy amazing shit like when I was young,' sort of worldview.

And am admittedly BAFFLED by people who seem to never want to get out of a single genre, too, admittedly. I mean, I like some genres more easily and wholeheartedly than others, a majority of what I listen to is 'rock' of some subgenre or other, but I cannot picture a life without also listening to some classical, folk, R&B, jazz, even country.

Calling modern music a desolate wasteland because there's no exact clone of Layne Stacy making grunge music with clones of Jerry Cantrell & the other members of Alice in Chains just is the weirdest shit EVER. Do these people know any joy at all?

[vinylspinning]

Rumplestiltskin: Rumplestiltskin (1970)

"I'm Rumplestiltskin but I'm not a fairy tale; I'm on Bell Records ..."

So read 55-year-old promotional materials advertising this mysterious U.K. hard rock band named after the old Brothers Grimm fairy tale (correctly spelled Rumpelstiltskin, by the way), but were they truly capable of spinning musical straw into gold?

Well, I'm sure a few overzealous record collectors would want you to think so, but take it from me: the largely forgotten quintet's cunning attempt to mimic the suddenly profitable heavy rock stylings of Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, and others was highly suspect.

First you should know that singer Peter Lee Sterling, guitarist Alan Parker, keyboardist Alan Hawkshaw, bassist Herbie Flowers, and drummer Clem Cattini were all seasoned session musicians with prior experience playing pop, soul, rock, you name it, through the 1960s.

But here, they concealed their identities behind Groucho Marx mustaches and pseudonyms -- Peter Charles Greene (*), Andrew Balmain, Jeremy Eagles, Jackson Primrose, and Rupert Baer, respectively -- to throw first-generation metal-heads off their scent.

And masterminding all of this subterfuge was producer Shel Talmy (The Who, The Kinks, etc.), who probably hustled Bell Records' old fart A&R staff about this manufactured group and then was too lazy to even flesh out a convincing backstory story in the liner notes.

Heck, even the comic strip covering the album jacket deals in conniving impresarios taking people for a ride, but enough about these shenanigans -- let's talk about Rumplestiltskin's songs, which tend to be both creatively and structurally flawed ...

For starters, guitarist Parker sounds like he was just discovering fuzz distortion on the nasty riffs of "Make Me Make You," but he's zooming up and down the neck like Jimmy Page within a few minutes, before the group breaks down into a subtle and sultry blues.

Clearly cobbled together at very short notice: this first cut sets the tone for a lot of unfocused songcraft and disorderly arrangements (see "Mr. Joe (Witness for the Defence)" and "Squadron Leader Johnson"), often salvaged by undoubtedly capable musicianship.

At their best, Rumplestiltskin get in and get out before they can get themselves into trouble, just like their deceitful namesake: locking into a catchy groove on "Knock On My Door" and noodling efficiently on their eponymous instrumental.

But the tired old psychedelic formula of first single "Pate de Fois Gras" and sleepy, workmanlike, space-filling blues and soul clichés of "Poor Billy Brown" and "No One to Turn To" showed minimal effort and commitment.

And how could it be otherwise, when these same musicians were also plying their covert trade under similarly shady monikers like Hungry Wolf and Ugly Custard, while simultaneously performing on albums by Olivia Newton-John, Gerry Rafferty, and Serge Gainsbourg?

Maybe if they'd committed to Rumplestiltskin, more music fans would have tried to guess the band's name (sorry, couldn't resist), but instead even fewer took notice of their second LP, Black Magician, when it was released in '72 by German label Bellaphon.

p.s. -- Also in 1972, singer Stirling -- now calling himself Daniel Boone (?) -- enjoyed a cheesy M.O.R. hit with "Beautiful Sunday."

More Obscure Early '70s Heavy Rock: A.K.A.’s Do What You Like, Alamo’s Alamo, Asterix’s Asterix, Atlee’s Flying a Head, Bang’s Mother/Bow to the King, Birtha’s Birtha, Blackwater Park’s Dirt Box, Bloodrock’s Bloodrock 2, Blues Creation’s Demon & Eleven Children, Bolder Damn’s Mourning, Boomerang’s Boomerang, Buffalo’s Volcanic Rock, Bull Angus’ Bull Angus, Cactus’ Cactus, Captain Beyond’s Captain Beyond, Charlee’s Charlee, Copperhead’s Copperhead, Cradle’s The History, Crushed Butler’s Uncrushed, Curly Curve’s Curly Curve, Fanny Adams’ Fanny Adams, Flied Egg’s Dr. Siegel’s Fried Egg Shooting Machine, Flower Travellin’ Band’s Satori, A Foot in Coldwater’s A Foot in Coldwater, Fuse’s Fuse, Gift’s Gift, Hard Stuff’s Bulletproof, Haystacks Balboa's Haystacks Balboa, Head Over Heels’ Head Over Heels, Heavy Cruiser’s Heavy Cruiser…

Even More Obscure Early '70s Heavy Rock: Highway Robbery’s For Love or Money, Incredible Hog’s Volume 1, Jericho’s Jericho, Jerusalem’s Jerusalem, Jody Grind’s Far Canal, Kahvas Jute’s Wide Open, Leaf Hound’s Growers of Mushroom, Lucifer’s Friend’s Lucifer’s Friend, May Blitz’s May Blitz, Night Sun’s Mournin’, Nitzinger’s Nitzinger, Orang-Utan’s Orang-Utan, Pink Fairies’ Never Neverland, Pluto’s Pluto, Poobah’s Let Me In, Power of Zeus’ The Gospel According to Zeus, Road’s Road, Sky’s Don’t Hold Back, Sir Lord Baltimore’s Kingdom Come, Steel’s Steel, Stray’s Stray, Stray Dog’s Stray Dog, Tapiman’s Tapiman, Tempest’s Tempest, Thundermug’s Thundermug Strikes, Tiger B. Smith’s Tiger Rock, Tin House’s Tin House, Titanic’s Sea Wolf, Toad’s Toad, Trapeze’s Medusa, Truk’s  Truk Tracks, Tucky Buzzard’s Tucky Buzzard, Ursa Major’s Ursa Major, Warhorse’s Warhorse, Warpig’s Warpig, Weed’s Weed, White Witch’s A Spiritual Greeting.

[toastbane]

hiii world i made a new oc group, not for any fandom, just some guys chilling. They're called The Driftwood Six, and they're just some teens living in a garage just outside the worlds tiniest seaside village (UK, so not quite golden sands and turquoise sea).

I haven't finished their drawings yet because I'm lazy, but here's what i've done.

yeah, so a bunch of gays with free will and a garage. So wonderful. Definitely gonna end in an explosion. Rey is the leader, but not the mum of the group, that would be Dia, and Lars is just a twink, Harry is a himbo, Arlowe has too many brains and does dumb stuff with them, and Norman is basically a human cryptid. Also Lars and Harry are... well not dating. But Lars has been crushing on Harry for the past year and a half, and Harry is just so dumb and doesn't realise that Lars likes him, or that he likes Lars. Also, Rey does actually listen to Nirvana, they aren't just wearing the t-shirt because it looks cool. Their garage has a permanent backing track of Nirvana, AC/DC, Guns'n'Roses, Queen, Bowie, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin and The Beatles.

[kaz-identified]

houseofmcallister presents

Enemy of my Enemy

Pairing: Uldren x Young Wolf

Category: One-Shot

Genre: Fluff

Rating: 13+

Warnings: No major warnings apply

Word Count: 951

Summary: Enemy of my enemy is… also my enemy?

they/them pronouns used for the Guardian. we're inclusive here.

author's note: I'm so abnormal about them it's probably not healthy. also arguably a reader insert cause you are the guardian?? whatever.

Enemy of my enemy, never been a friend to me.

There is an old saying from before the Golden Age. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”Most things from before the Golden Age had rotted into obscurity, meaningless memories of a past long dead, like old bones of interest only to historians and those who mourn its loss personally.

Unfortunately, this particular memory of the time long before was frustratingly still applicable.

The Guardian is a capable fighter, a worthwhile ally in the hunt for the House of Wolves. An ally if only by a common enemy because he’d be damned if they were anything more.

Uldren hates the Guardian, despises everything about them.The way they tilt their arm up when they grab their gun, it’s such a needless “trick”. Just hold your hands steady, and you won’t tilt the sights.

The way their gauntlets are so dented and scarred. Just take a bit of time to buff out your armor, it wouldn’t even take that long, it’s just lazy.

He hates the way they grow silent when analyzing a target. It’s so unsettling. Just… say things to your team. It makes missions more effective.

He tries to convince himself he hates the way they smile into the sunshine, tilting their head up just a bit to catch the light a bit more. He tries to convince himself that he hates how they lean in a bit when people speak to them, so quiet and so focused on listening. He tries to convince himself that he hates the way their voice rasps when they speak, unaccustomed to talking, quiet and rough, annoyingly so.

He’s starting to wonder if Mara is making him work with them because she’s mad at him right now. She knows how much he hates the Guardian.

“You don’t hate them, dear brother. If you did, you’d be quieter about them,” she had said when he raised issue with having to work with them again.

He hates that maybe she’s right.

Maybe the vain attempts to convince himself of how much he despises them aren’t working. But damn if he doesn’t try, taking every small flaw and amplifying it to infinity.

They walk too fast. They’re too confident. They’re so unsettlingly quiet so often. They’re constantly hyperactive. They’re so reckless on the battlefield. They have awful taste in music. What the hell even is Led Zeppelin? Their eyes are creepy, speckled with the Light, twining around the Iris like vines. Their smile is infuriatingly genuine. They almost never talk when they’re not on the field, preferring to let their Ghost do it for them. They don’t even have a proper name! What kind of hero doesn’t have a proper name?!

He repeats these small hatreds to himself, reminds himself of how they dance so stupidly at any given opportunity, how they drop the ground when they sit like their armor suddenly became too much weight to carry, reminds himself how they run about the Reef like a child every time they arrive.

And then they do things like this.

The mission had been complete, but the Guardian had insisted on staying behind just a bit longer because “the sun is about to set and it’s always so pretty out here.”

So, they sit on the ledge of a cliff, legs dangling over the edge, staring at the sky with rapt attention. And Uldren is standing a few feet away, impatiently waiting for the sun to set so they can get a move on already. He has things to do that aren’t… this.

“Stop sulking over there. I can feel your glare from here,” they call over their shoulder.

Uldren huffs. “I’m not sulking, I’m waiting.”

“Waiting, sulkily,” they counter, turning around to look at him. “Come on, sit down with me. Watch the sunset. Maybe seeing the glorious beauty of life will help fix that relentless hateful energy you have all the time,” they say and pat the ground next to them.

“I’d rather die,” Uldren all but hisses.

“Well, cliff’s right there,” they gesture. “Feel free to jump.”

He rolls his eyes and does his best to hide the hint of a smile battling its way onto his face. That was… a clever comeback. He has to give them that.

“Ah!” The Guardian cries, stumbling to their feet, pointing at him. “What’s that? Are you smiling?!”He bares his teeth at them. “No,” he growls.

“My god you were! And I thought you were allergic to happiness!” they tease, approaching him.

“I’m not, I didn’t smile, now go back to watching your sunset so we can leave. Please.”

They stretch their arms out, and shake their head. “Ah, I’ve seen plenty of sunsets before. And I got something way more valuable out of this,” they offer him a mischievous grin. “You have a pretty smile.”

He tenses, heat flushing his face. No, no! He doesn’t like them. They’re not even friends! They’re just an ally. Enemy of my enemy. They’re annoying and overconfident and only useful as a gunman and- and wow, they look pretty at sunset, the fading light catches beautifully on their face, glinting off their armor like paintings of gods and angels from before the Golden Age, like Ares with kinder eyes. No! No, don’t think like that!

They lean in, eyes teasing. “You know, you’re cute when you’re flustered.” He thinks his brain short-circuited for a second there.

They clap a hand on his shoulder, and begins to walk past them. “Come on, let’s get back, eh? I’d like to get back to the Tower before tomorrow.”

God, he hates the Guardian so much. Enemy of my enemy is my friend, but The Guardian is an enemy all their own.

Just discovered All Them Witches while porting this. Pretty good band.

ao3: houseofmcallister main account: houseofmcallister buy me a coffee!

Don’t repost my work or I’ll eat your shoulder blades! I do not consent to my works being used for AI training purposes.

[thatnerdyqueer]

Hi! My name's Em. I'm on Dharug land (I'm aussie), any pronouns, he/they are my faves. I'm a minor so don't be gross.

I'm queer (bi? vaguely a-spec? Maybe gay but who tf knows? definitely too lazy to find out which), and trans, and I have ADHD.

the guy in my header is Leonard Bernstein and my life aspiration is to become leonard bernstein minus the coke addiction 😍

I love:

musicals (falsettos, les mis, anything by Dave Malloy)

violin/classical music (conducting, singing, playing, listening etc)

acting (film and theatre)

writing (poetry, scripts, novels etc)

reading (classics, fantasy, scifi, poetry)

folk and jazz music (trying to play and listen to more, so recs are welcome)

also I love Queen, Hozier, Jeff Buckley, Florence + the Machine, Jacob Collier, The Beatles, The Last Dinner Party, Chappel Roan, Fleetwood Mac, Donovan, Led Zeppelin

I post about:

music, acting, writing

fandoms (books, music, tv shows and movies, musicals)

political stuff bc the world is cooked (or at least will be)

memes and shit posts ofc

being queer

please ask me abt stuff! Especially fave movies, books, plays, musicals, music, etc. I'm usually procrastinating something and could use the distraction

[finchers-ipad]

my favourite title sequences in Fincher’s films!!! (because i can :3, and they are cool and epic)

basically in almost all of Fincher films (not 100% sure about ‘Benjamin Button’ and ‘Alien 3’, but i cant find them online and im too lazy to check lmao) he adds a title sequence/opening credits which sets the tone of the film and gives the audience kind of a taster into what the film will be!! here are the ones i think are the best!!

‘The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo’ (2011)

i fucking LOVE this title sequence and it is the best one in my opinion. first of all, Karen O, Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’s rendition of Led Zeppelin’s ‘Immigrant Song’ is so cool and different, it really sets the tone of the film and kind of the tone for Lisbeths character. Fincher in the dvd commentary states “it’s (the song) so evocative of what i think Lisbeth is…not thinking, but you know sort of her marrow, what’s happening down deep inside her bones”

the CGI shots by Randy Sharp are stunning, Fincher describes the visuals as “what Lisbeths nightmare would look like”. but they also set up some of the main aspects of the film? such as the cables and keyboard for Lisbeth being a hacker, and the CGI people kissing representing the sexual themes of the film? i also like the font :3

‘Se7en’ (1995)

the main thing about ‘Se7en’s opening credits that i love is the use of the song ‘Closer’ by Nine Inch Nails. the song is remixed so it sounds more eery and unsettling which helps set the tone for the movie, with some of the only lyrics being audible being “you get me closer to god” at the end of the sequence, which i think mimics the religious ideas of Doe’s character.

the visual of John Doe creating his diary’s and slicing his fingerprints off add to the sequence being disturbing, and introduces the audience to the antagonist without us knowing, only when we near the end of the movie would the audience member put together what the title sequence ment and who was portrayed in it and that’s so fucking cool!!! especially on a rewatch. Fincher in the dvd commentary says “to me it sort of pictorially represented aberrant thinking and it was like a way to actually see on screen, aberrant thought”.

‘Fight Club’ (1999)

this opening title sequence places the audience in the narrators head, in his thoughts, from the beginning of the film. the Dust Brothers score sets a fast paced and modern tone (for the 90s) with the techno(?) music and the use of CGI. honestly i don’t have much to say about these opening credits, they are just fucking epic!!

Zodiac (2007)

the opening title sequence for ‘Zodiac’ follows two different scenes which are cut together; the letter from the zodiac killer being delivered to the San Fransisco Chronicle, and Robbert Graysmith arriving at work. this kind of sets up the two main things we as the audience will be following throughout the film, the zodiac letters and killings and the life of Robbert Graysmith over the same period of time. this sequence also gives us an insight into Graysmiths personality , in that he is a caring fatherand is kind of a ‘loner’ character at work. all of the text on screen also fades into the zodiac puzzle? or code that he uses and that’s another thing i love about it.

the score during the credits is kind of jazzy? i think (idk) but it sort of reflects the time period, 1969, as we also see on a calendar during this sequence. so Fincher has already established the time period, location and one of the main characters in this short title sequence. anyway cool and epic!!

Gone Girl (2014)

unlike the rest of the title sequences that i have previously mentioned, ‘Gone Girl’s opening credits are more low-key and quiet. they depict different areas around the town in Missouri where the story takes place in jump cuts. the quiet score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, which is mixed in with folly sounds of birds chirping, gas hissing and crickets making noise, all gives a ‘calm before the storm type of feeling’. especially with Nick at the end of the sequence, who is stood outside of his house with a kind of gormless expression, and looks back at the house with anxiety?

but yeah if you got down this far thanks for reading! 😭 ‘The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo’ is by FAR my fav it’s just so fucking good and engrosses you into the story within the first 10mins or so!!

[crosswordgf]

tagged by @preachersdaughtermp3 thank youu this is lovely 💖

last song: good times bad times by led zeppelin. pretty sure the last time i played music on my phone was yesterday when my brother put on his playlist during dinner. anyway great song :)

last movie: who framed roger rabbit. what if i told you this blew my mind more than like any recent movie with regards to just the inexplicable magic and mystery of filmmaking. i dont care about cgi how the fuck did they make this movie in the 80s!!!! perfect movie five stars

reading: the box by marc levinson for class. it’s non fiction about shipping containers so it’s pretty dry lol, just gotta get through it

watching: only murders in the building. just perfect cozy fall viewing!

consuming: had a teriyaki sub from subway 🥴

craving: oooh like a charcuterie/cheese board maybe….. i’m feeling fancy!

also feeling lazy soooo tagging @ all mutuals <3 feel free to do it and tag me i wanna see what ur up to :^)

[longeyelashedtragedy]

september 2023 favs

warning - the aynsley dunbar retaliation (i love the black sabbath cover of this, but this is the original and i think i like it more?)

also by them:

blood on your wheels

the devil drives (some filthy guitar!)

the stone roses self-titled as i often enjoy (fool's gold being the best of the album to me)

random old black sabbath demo, speaking of (their early days, when they sounded like a cross between led zeppelin and cream plus a little somethin extra and murkier, is my fav era)

human - the human league

jemi dardanet! jemi kosova! (lazy albanian studies win, i understand some of what they're saying hahaha)

more albanian wedding music

tea for one - led zeppelin (man i've been listening to this song for like...almost 10 years and i still just marvel at it) (also the weird fakeout of the intro that has nothing to do with the rest of the song)

confetti - cold cave (super throwback)

comfortably numb - pink floyd

me and julio down by the schoolyard - paul simon (i can't explain but if 10022 were a movie this would be on the soundtrack...probably bc it's gay and in new york lmao) (also may i add--i used to think this song was really annoying but it's grown on me)