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This video will help you learn how to play an easy fingerstyle guitar cover for Moon River sung by Audrey Hepburn.
The tab is arranged to be beginner friendly and quick to learn, while still sounding good on its own.
🎸 You can buy my PDF tabs with either my PayPal or Patreon links below:
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#audrey hepburn#moon river#moon river guitar tab#audrey hepburn guitar tab#classical guitar#guitar music#black and white#moonriver#fingerstyle guitar tab#easy guitar tab
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10 Easy BLUESY Blues Riffs For Beginners - Classic Riffs Guitar Lesson With Tabs
#guitar lesson#guitar#blues guitar#guitar riffs#tabs#guitar tabs#riffs#easy guitar#beginner guitar#blues#easy blues#Youtube
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i love playing bass
#its so funny to me idk#but its also not easy to get right if the song is fast so#switching from guitar ive never saw so many 0 on tab
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learned how to play two songs including their solos on guitar tonight weeeee
#txt#thjs is good bc guitar is the one im worst at#i figured out how to play nirvanas version of the man who sold the world by myself#the little riff and the solo#it’s an easy one. and i looked up the tabs later and they were on the wrong strings but it sounds#the exact same so who cares#also didn’t know smells like teen spirit was easy to play
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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers
CHAPTER THREE — EDDIE MUNSON COMMITS TREASON (BREAKS UP a CAT FIGHT)
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summary: you deal with the fallout of your fight at steve harrington's party... in the passenger seat of eddie munson's van. so much for pretending you didn't exist to one another, huh?
content warnings: as always, MINORS FUCK OFF, because we have *deep breath* implied fantasy smut, lots of swearing, confused yearning, themes of threat, heavy snark, another mention of the drink tab which i feel like is/was gross
word count: 7.2k
Dear Dio, Tommy Iommi, Gary Gygax, Pee-wee Herman, Ronnie Ecker — forgive me for what I’m about to do.
I know I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life. Like the time I lit all my hair on fire and spent middle school with a buzz cut. Or the time I almost trapped myself in a spread eagle with my own handcuffs. Or the time I got my arm stuck in a wall for an entire afternoon when I was trying to rescue a feral cat.
I’ve done a lot of stupid shit. But the stupidest among it all has got to be saving this girl from the bare knuckle wrath of Carol Whatsername. You know the one.
Tonight, for whatever reason, this insane ex-rich chick has decided to teeter on the edge of a pool of boiling hot lava and for whatever reason, I feel like it’s my responsibility to yank her back.
Which sucks, because she’s a total bitch to me.
Even if she just told everybody Tommy Hagan had crabs and has been cheating on his girlfriend in such a deranged way that it almost made me pop a semi.
Anyway. Tell my guitar I love her.
The world around Eddie slows to the tick of a football game replay as you let the last incendiary word you speak to Carol bounce around the goddamn Roman amphitheater Harrington’s back yard has become.
This is insane. What he’s watching is insane. Like, he knew you and your dumb little court of Hawkinsites bickered back and forth, but you’re the last person he’d ever expect to air their dirty laundry like this.
It’s incredible to watch the fascist leadership that he and the rest of the social nobodies have suffered under for so long rupture in real time.
What’s even more incredible is how little hesitation there is on his part, shoving through the crowd when he sees Carol leaping for you. Eddie’s nearly jostled backwards by some slobbering roid heads— they’ve already called CAT FIGHT! and a crowd is clamoring. But Eddie’s got years of thankless equipment lugging behind him, giving him deceptively strong arms.
And thank god, because you are not an easy girl to hold onto.
Carol lands a decent punch to your face, slamming with a dull knuckle-on-cheekbone crunch that makes all the onlookers, including him, go ooof! You stagger back in a state of shock (though, c’mon, you heard what you said just now, right?) and Eddie takes his shot just as you dive forward to retaliate.
He grabs you under the arms so you can’t like, elbow him in the fucking nose, a pale imitation of an illegal wresting move that Al Munson had forced him to learn at the tender age of seven. His dad had fancied himself a wrestling manager at the time— you can imagine how that worked out.
But Jesus, can you ever squirm! Your body writhes against him—stop—hips bucking—don’t go there—as you try to get free. He doesn’t even think you realize who’s dragging you away from the screaming harpy, otherwise you’d probably turn your fury on him.
He takes full advantage of the rage blackout and manhandles you through the party, earning a baffled look from Steve Harrington, who’s finally graced his own party with his presence. A pinch-faced Nancy Wheeler lingers behind him, but then again, Wheeler’s always all pinch-faced.
“What the fuck?!” Harrington breathes, exasperated.
Eddie struggles against you struggling, just about dragging you over the front doorstep. Trust this guy to be upstairs in a domestic dispute, missing all the action while getting no action.
Even in the chaos, Eddie will never pass up an opportunity to fuck with Harrington.
“You gotta start hidin’ your bath salts, man! Chicks are going crazy in there–Evil Dead type shit!”
—
“You’re dead, Lacy! Monday morning, you are fucking dead!” Carol screams down the hallway.
“It’s a date, bitch!” you screech, Munson’s nelson hold on you stronger than your thrashing. With a lot of work, he manages to haul you as far as Harrington’s front yard before you wriggle out of his grasp. You shove him, hard, all white hot and punch drunk and regular drunk on top of that.
He yelps, high and frightened. You weren’t expecting a noise like that to come out of a surly-looking dude like him.
So you do it again.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you spit, and Munson flinches.
“Cutting you off!” he exclaims, this half-yell, half-laugh. It stings, the way he’s looking at you– like your anger isn’t anger, like it’s just amusing to him.
“Well, who gave you the right? Who died and made you my parole officer, Munson?!”
“Oh, I’m not– but I also didn’t feel like being woken up at home when the cops come looking for you after you go all Raging Bull on Carol. You haven’t been around the park long enough to hear ‘em, but those sirens really perforate the eardrums!”
Your jaw sets itself stiffly and you bind your arms over your chest. Unfuckingbelievable. “I would’ve, you know,” you breathe, seething, “Beat her up.”
Munson’s dark eyes glide over you, like he’s checking you for concealed weapons or signs of a zombie bite— you avoid his gaze entirely, staring square into the middle distance.
You promised that he didn’t exist to you, yet here he is. Driving you off the road. Breaking up your fights. Existing.
“Yeah, I know you woulda. You’re scary,” he says. You shrug, and he reaches to massage his shoulder. “And strong. Shit.”
Your eyes flick over to him, but you don’t feel bad. You don’t feel bad because he’s grinning at you now and despite yourself, despite everything that’s transpired and the everything about him, you’re trying your hardest not to grin back. Adrenaline and vodka are still burning a hole in your chest.
“Stay out of my way, then.”
“Noted, but,” a couple of steps from Munson’s end closes some space between you. He’s peering at your face, right where Carol clocked you. A hand reaches out, angling your chin closer to the Harrington’s glaring porch light with his fingertips. You stiffen and squint, performatively wary, but you don’t stop him. You just let his eyes pan over you, looking anywhere but into them. “You might need a little first aid first. And a ride home.”
“I was actually planning on carjacking Hagan,” you say coolly, the smile you were trying to beat away edging its way across your face. Munson releases your chin and the spot where his fingers were buzzes. It’s just the cold. It’s just your slutty librarian outfit, you tell yourself. You have to swallow in order to speak again. “Seems like fitting payback.”
“Jesus, sweetheart, what did I just say about cops?”
—
Eddie tolerates your eyes rolling back in your head when he props the passenger door open for you, helping you into the cluttered van with an outstretched had.
See, I’m not the kind of asshole who doesn’t open doors for girls wearing stilts for shoes.
Those things were not made for clambering into a vehicle like this, sure, but they’re– nice. For what he knows about shoes, which is nothing. They make your legs look more… leggy, and for whatever reason this is making his brain soft.
In your other hand is a cold can of High Life, which is the closest thing to an ice pack he could nab. That bruise blooming under your eye is going to be nasty, and he’s a little curious how you’re gonna look with it. You, with nary a hair out of place on a bad day, with a big ol’ purple shiner in a place that’s hard to hide.
Gunning out of Harrington’s hood, a silence settles between Eddie and you. The radio hums in the background– a mainstream station for once. He thoughtfully figured that an aural assault by Sabbath would kinda rub salt in your wound.
He’s thoughtful, but he’s not not nosy. So, of course he’s gonna ask–
“That whole… verbal smackdown back there,” Munson starts after clearing his throat. “With Tommy H and everybody.”
On your end, the adrenaline has worn off and the numbing effects of the booze have amped up. You feel loose and warm, apart from the beer can cooling your bruise. There are twice as many streetlights streaming past you as usual. This is going to blow later– if you don’t blow chunks first.
“All that about your dad pimping me out?” God, I mean, Hagan couldn’t compose a written sentence to save his life but maybe he had a future in speculative fiction. Did he just come up with that on the fly? “Take a wild guess, Munson.”
Eddie recoils in his seat– gross. Gross. “Not the– the shit with Tina and Carol and–”
“Oh, the crabs? Yeaaaah, that’s true,” you slur, “But I rejected Tommy waaay before I knew that. Call it my brilliant instinct. And then he has the nerve to call me frigid, which– trust me, I’m anything… anything but.”
Munson seems a little surprised at this. You can see it in the way his eyebrows dart under his curly bangs.
But you’ve had your share of disappointing experiences with the blandly acceptable boys in your circle– it’s par for the course, it’s part of advancing in the field. You can’t throw your cat into the street completely, but god forbid you be choosy about the boys you want to copulate with. The ones you’ve hooked up with, all unremarkable and perfunctory, always seemed so smug afterwards. Like they’d conquered something.
But from Eddie’s purview, you always held yourself like you were above everyone else; not just the underclassmen and the social rejects, but even your own friends. He’d watch you sometimes, because it’s hard not to watch you. He’d wait for the few flickering moments you let your guard down, when you thought no one was paying attention as you sat at the lunch table or walked the hallways. So achingly unamused by the guffawing, the backslapping, the forced camaraderie of your forced high school persona and your forced high school friends. Then, one of them would say something like, Right, Lacy? and your brow would unarch and you’d be right back in the groove with the rest of them, giggling dumbly and glossing your lips.
He always wondered how you did it, tolerated it. And why.
“Now, far be it from me to agree with a shithead like Hagan–and I don’t, before you get scary–but I kinda get where he’s picking that up,” Eddie winces, throwing a glance to you, glassy-eyed with your head against the window. You’re looking at him with narrowed eyes, eyeliner smudged. Even that look could cut down a man with twice his ego. “You’re a little bit frosty. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day– which, y’know, could be–”
You absolutely do not let him finish the thought.
“It’s caaaalled being aloof, Munson,” you drawl, shuffling your shoulders against the passenger door and pulling a stray thread from your skirt with a sharp snap. “Playing hard to get, duh? Leave them wanting more? You wouldn’t get it because you’re so goddamn big and obvious all the time…”
“Obvious!” he brays, letting his jaw hang open with theatrical flair, “Obvious! Lacy, you wound me, I–”
“Obvious,” you bark back, “Obvious like a neon sign, obvious like a circus tent, obvious like– like– look at me, look at me, I’m a weirdo!” Your Munson impression, complete with devil horns, is a little dorkified but it shuts him right up. That loose little tongue of yours has trasmuted your mood from wrath to barbed silliness. “So obvious you wouldn’t know that kind of subtlety. Not if it hit you in the face.”
A familiar tune whistles from the radio, distracting you. “… or cause you’re a virgin.”
“Okay—!“ Eddie starts, immediately assuming the position of point guard. His hackles are raised, but to be honest, he’s so willing to let you ramble on. It’s the first time he’s heard you talk this much, ever, save your little tête-à-tête by the lockers the other day.
Eddie doesn’t want to stem the flow just yet. He’s not thinking about it too hard.
“Oh shit, do you hear that?” Like a Virgin pumps from the tinny speakers and you reach to turn it up, your head drunkenly bobbling on your neck. Eddie winces; it’s so weird, watching you like this. It’s like dream logic. It’s like opposite day. “Munson’s a virgin! I’m gonna touch him for the very first tiii-iime! Munson’s a vii-iir-gin—“
“First off, no I am not and no,” he audibly swallows, positive you didn’t realize what you just sang, “no, you are not, ‘cause— well.” He clears his throat. A flare of heat burns around his collar. “I’m not the type to bone and tell.”
“Bone and tell.” You guffaw, a sound so unbecoming yet so endearing coming from you, and slump back in your seat. That tight little skirt you’re wearing rides up about an inch and a half. “Sounds like something a virgin would say.”
Eddie huffs; no way around this. You’re fucking with him, and it’s the indefatiguable male ego that’s not going to let him let you win.
He fucks, okay? Or has fucked, prior to this.
Not that there’s anything wrong with not fucking.
But he’s done it.
Eddie’s eyes dart between you and the road, and you’ve got him like a stuck pig with that expectant glare. His eyes linger on your exposed upper legs for a half a second.
Christ, you’re annoying. It occurs to him that wants to bite the soft flesh of your thigh and hear you squeal about it, but you are annoying as hell.
“Fine. Fine. You wanna know?”
Your head lolls against the rough upholstery of the seat and you bat your lashes at him. “I really wanna know.”
And Munson will tell you, you know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.
“Nicole Summers.”
“Bullshit. Nicole Nicole? My Nicole?”
“Nicole Nicole. Nicole, formerly yours. The only-girl-meaner-than-you Nicole. It was tenth grade,” he snorts bitterly. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life.”
“Nicole told us she got her v-card stamped by a board waxer in Maui.”
“I’ve got a lot of side gigs. You don’t know about me.”
You snort too, despite yourself. That’s a lot of despite-ing tonight, Lacy. You sit up in the seat a little, interest catching. Flame to a candle wick.
“How was it?” you press.
Munson furrows his brow, like duh. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life, I just told you.” A beat. “Until— …Cass Finnigan.”
Now, an encounter like that is less surprising, but still you holler, “Bullshit!”
“I’d say the same shit if it hadn’t, y’know, happened to me,” he stage whispers, “In this van.”
Your eyes widen, a flicker of a grimace sailing across your face. You wonder how he pulled that off, but all that comes to mind is the start of a bad porno– Cass meets him at that dingy little bench out back of the school to pick up and he’s, I don’t know, test driving some of his new supply and offers her a toke. She’s all, why the free samples, Munson? and he’s all, I only let the prettiest girls test the product. And because Cass is notoriously insecure–who among us, girl–she’s all, who, me? and he’s all, come back to my van, and she’s all, but I’m going steady with Mikey B, and he’s all, I won’t tell if you won’t and then he fucks her in the ass.
Because Cass is saving the first hole for marriage and you know that. You’re the kind of person people tell things to.
What you don’t expect is a weird pull of… envy. Why, in this imaginary scenario, had he never invited you back to his van? Well. You know why. But you’re drunk, so logic begone. “When did all this go down?”
“Uh, right before school got back,” Munson answers, kind of apprehensively. He could be lying, you figure.
“Well, Cass has been having a weird year,” you mumble, meaning to think that rather than say it. You know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.
“What’s that supposed to imply exactly?” Eddie says, an edge in his voice. He can’t help the way something in his chest flares; like he forgot to wait for the other shoe to drop with you, and now it’s dropping.
“It stands to reason that she’d wanna, like, do something stupid,” you explain, and you know how it sounds. It’s mean. But honestly, you’re so drunk, and so past the point of attempting to spare people’s feelings.
“Like hook up with the local freak,” Eddie finishes for you, tone flat. You couldn’t not put him in his place, could you? Not that he thought Cass liked him or anything, he could feel her (literally feel her) going through the motions like a social experiment but– God, a little delusion doesn’t hurt now and again.
“Exactly!” and even in your inebriated state, you can feel the tension in the air, hanging between you like a balloon full of noxious gas. Rather than cut it, you want to poke at it, unfeeling as to whether that’ll make it worse or better between you and the boy in the driver’s seat. You hike yourself up further, leaning toward him, pulling the can of High Life from your face.
Munson’s profile is this beguiling mix of hurt and irritation, lit by the scuzzy orange hue of the passing streetlights.
“What, did you want me to act impressed? Did you want me to lie to you?”
“What? No– look, I know what girls like that– think of me, but,” Eddie’s voice shrinks in his throat, making him sound completely pre-pubescent. He notices you lean forward in his peripheral vision, like you have to strain to hear it, “that doesn’t make it any less shitty.”
Oof. He did not need to unleash that little piss-shake of earnestness right now. He mentally steels himself for a ribbing from you, a cackling, piercing laugh like you let out before Carol punched you.
“Of course it doesn’t!” you froth, “Just like it doesn’t make it any less shitty when guys act like they’re settling a bet with their buddies when they hook up with me.” You cross your arms to your chest with a quickness, slamming back into the seat. “Bet you couldn’t make it with Lacy, she’s got a combination lock on her pussy. Fuck you, dude.”
That coaxes a bark of a laugh from Munson, which makes you giggle a little in turn. It’s a weird feeling. It’s not quite relief; more like satisfaction. One point to Lacy, you made him laugh.
“Combination lock, huh?”
“Allegedly.”
“Bet none of those losers even know how to crack a lock.”
Your head tilts in his direction, forward this time. “And you do?”
Munson’s eyes flash at you, a dangerous orange glint sparkling in the darkness of his irises. “My criminal skillset is pretty diverse.”
He pins you down with this look from the driver’s seat and for a heartbeat or two, and you let him. Just long enough that a stab of sobriety sneaks in– and you can’t deny it, but you wish it didn’t.
You’re drunk.
If you can stay drunk, all bets are off.
If you can stay drunk, whatever you do doesn’t matter, because you were drunk.
You could reach over and press your fingers into the soft denim between his legs, make something hard there. You could squeeze the thickness of him over his zipper and kiss the shock of alabaster skin on his neck, where his pulse goes all jackrabbity under your touch. You could make him forget he ever heard the name Cass Finnigan.
And it would mean nothing.
And you wouldn’t have to justify it, because you were drunk. That’s what you’ve always been taught.
But you uncross your arms and you pull at the hem of your skirt and look to the road, just as the van swerves into the trailer park. Munson doesn’t take such a hard turn at the corner this time, probably wary of your risk of ralphing all over the van if he does. He pulls into that negative space between your trailer and his and instructs you to wait in your seat.
“Trust me, the descent out of this baby is much trickier than it looks,” he assures you, jogging to the passenger door, a jingle of keys and pocket chains and belts on leather, “and you’re way too gone to make it in one piece, princess.”
So he holds his hand out again (“M’shitfacedlady,”) and gingerly you take it, and it becomes very apparent very quickly that your legs have turned to rubber on the drive home.
“Oh, shit!”
Your attempt at gracefully exiting the van is ruined by an unsteady ankle, sending your weight right into Eddie Munson’s chest. Luckily, he was braced for it– just about.
“Told you you couldn’t make it without me,” he breathes as you clutch a handful of his Metallica shirt, vision quadrupling. He’s warm, and you suddenly realize that you’re freezing.
Trembling.
“Stop flirting with me,” you hiss to one out of the four Munsons in front of you. “I need to go to bed.”
Eddie forces himself to bite back another double entendre, which is a shame, because they’re doing an awesome job of covering up how goddamn nervous he suddenly is. He moves his arm to your waist, helping you haul ass to your front door. He’s got to keep one arm outstretched behind you in case you lose your balance again– which you almost do, a couple of times, wavering around like a dashboard Jesus.
He watches you like he’s trying to commit this to memory, the rare case of you being so beyond your usual composure. He’s even got to intervene after the first five minutes, making unlocking your front door a two idiot job.
Eddie’s about to wave you off and disappear to scream and something else into his pillow when he sees you take a dangerous lunge into the darkness of the trailer. “Woah, girl–”
But you recover, in a kind of brainless way, taking a measured Bambi-like step forward. One after the other.
Fuck. He can’t leave you like this.
You’re gonna trip and brain yourself on a Fabergé egg or whatever the fuck it is you and your mom have in there.
“Uh– Lacy?”
The trailer is eerily quiet. You feel like you’re trespassing in your own place. Boxes of out-of-place, too-expensive ephemera are still strewn everywhere, but you navigate the maze of them like it’s nothing. Sense memory. You don’t even entirely register that Munson is following you inside, that he’s frantically whispering after you, until you reach your bedroom door.
A coldness shoots up your spine as you turn on him. You didn’t invite him in here, did you?
“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask for the second time tonight. This time, it comes out a little fearful.
Eddie picks this up, right where you’ve erroneously dropped it. His chest gets a little tight. You didn’t think he was trying to–?
“Making sure you lie down in the recovery position, that’s all,” he throws his hands up in total surrender, Scout’s honor, all that shit. “I’m not tryin’ to pick any locks tonight. I swear.”
“I don’t need your help, Munson,” but just as you twist the doorknob, you keel over through the door, hitting the floor like a lead balloon.
“Yeah, you keep telling me that,” he blearily smirks down at you, “And yet.”
But Munson’s not such an asshole about it that he just leaves you there. He hauls you up, again, and you stagger towards your bed, flopping face down on top of the comforter. He says some variation of okay, well, that’s how you choke to death on your own vomit, Jimi Hendrix and bullies you into the recovery position.
“Don’t freak out, I’m just–” and Munson sits gingerly on the edge of your bed, taking one of your high heeled feet in his hands.
What the fuck, you mumble, either aloud or in your head. But he’s fiddling with the tiny buckle at your ankle, gently undoing it. Another chill runs through your body but you don’t move, not an iota. You just… let him do it. His hands on your aching feet aren’t a totally unwelcome touch. He’s being featherlight about it, almost afraid to touch you even though he had no problem sheepdogging you into bed.
“You could do anything to me right now,” you hear yourself saying. “No one would even know. No one would even care, I bet.”
It’s meant to sound like you’re goading him, or even flirting with him, but it comes out sounding pitiful. You cringe, your hands creeping up to cover your face.
“I’d care.” Munson’s voice is a tiny mumble– you know he’s just defending himself, but it kind of sounds like something else. He slips your right shoe off and sets it on the floor next to your left one. He hesitates for a moment before getting off your bed.
“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”
“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”
“Have a fun hangover, Lacy.”
–
You do not have a fun hangover. You wake up late Saturday afternoon after Friday’s bacchanal and don’t emerge from your room save from the occasional bathroom trip to puke up what little dignity you’ve got left. Sunday morning is when your mom hammers on the door and drags you to the kitchenette after confirming that you’re still, y’know, alive.
“This is your game face, hm?” she says, pulling at your chin to examine your violet bruise that seems to have developed its own heartbeat. She doesn’t hold your face the way Munson did, gentle and searching, just tugs into the sparse light streaming into the dingy kitchenette.
You attempt to steel your jaw, but your bottom lip is starting to waver.
“What happened?” your mother asks, and beneath all the jagged broken glass, there’s a tiny sliver of tenderness.
Call it your pride, but you don’t reach for it.
“I went out,” you say tightly, “and I made a fool of us.”
She hacks up a scoff through her smoker’s cough and disappears into her bedroom, leaving you alone to pick at a cold waffle. The few moments of consciousness you’ve had since Friday night have been spent trying to piece the party together– you remember clearing the better part of a bottle of cheap, cheap, shitty vodka with Robin Buckley’s help (weird), you remember getting into it with Hagan and Carol and getting wailed on. You remember getting a ride home with Munson, but the finer details of that are fuzzy.
You think, and this is a thought that turns your already 180’d stomach, you let him into your bedroom, but you can’t be one hundred percent sure. All you know for an absolute is that your shoes came off that night, and you would never bother to take your shoes off after a night like that.
So somebody must have.
Meanwhile, Eddie’s been having a hell of a meanwhile.
Fact of the matter is that you managed to detonate a nuclear bomb at Harrington’s party just under an hour after your arrival, which has got to be some kind of world record. It was also a world record for how little product he’d managed to sell during one of those parties, because he was preventing the manslaughter of a teenage girl– could’ve been you, could’ve been Carol. He nearly wishes he let that fight play out, as he stares into his empty wallet.
Eddie’s gotta busy himself somehow, gotta do something– weirdly, he’s not in the mood to make a whole lot of noise. It’s not such a terrible day for working on his van, so he slams his toolbox on the ground and gives a couple dozen casual glances toward your bedroom window.
Your blinds still aren’t fixed. That’s got to have been shitty when you woke up with a splitting vodka headache and a shiner the size of Canada.
Eddie keeps finding excuses to pace back and forth in perfect view of your window. Not in a peeping Tom sort of way, but in a way where he’d kind of like to see any sign of life from you. Even if you just rose from your bed like Nosferatu and gave him the finger. Then, he could relax.
“Ed,” a gruff voice comes from the makeshift trailer porch, “fuck’re you doin’.”
Those dulcet tones would belong to his beloved Uncle Wayne, who, ever since his hours got cut at the plant, has become unbearably observant of Eddie’s every movement. Wayne’s not a neglectful kind of father figure, not like his blinders-wearing real dad is, so he actually gets concerned when Eddie’s acting out of sorts.
“Engine,” Eddie mumbles, pivoting fast like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t, “Engine’s making hinky noises.”
“Sounded alright last night,” Wayne levels him instantly, “when you came home.”
“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” he twists an oily rag in his hands, avoiding Wayne’s stony stare.
“I was up.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. God, whenever Wayne susses him out, it’s like drip torture. He’s slow as molasses with the confrontation on purpose, making Eddie sweat and out himself on every little fuck up he’s ever made. “You go in there?”
Chin jerks towards your trailer. Eddie’s shoulders shrug towards his ears, head tilting back. “Wayne, it’s not– she was real drunk, like blotto, I just–”
“You steer clear of that one.” It’s the definite nature with which Wayne says it that makes Eddie’s stomach drop. No prelude to it, no I know, kid, you were just tryin’ to do right by her. Nothing.
“Wayne–”
“She ain’t what you think she is. Not if she’s anything like her bloodline.”
He says this like the realization hasn’t hit Eddie like Carol hit you on Friday fight night.
He says this like people haven’t been saying the same thing about Eddie for years.
–
Monday morning comes and you’re still somewhat suffering. A headache nags at your temple, but you pin that down to anxiety rather than an extended play of your hangover.
It occurs to you that you should dress as down as possible today– realistically, of course, as you’d never be caught dead in sweatpants. You need comfort, you need something that feels like a well-worn blanket so you opt for a deep burgundy sweater dress that actually belonged to your mom in the 60s.
You’d found it in the back of her closet when searching for a belt you knew she’d stolen from you and pulled it out. Mom! you chirped, How cute! How come you never wear this?
Oh, God, she’d cringed, batting the garment out of her way as she passed you in a cloud of Shalimar, Just throw that ratty thing out for me, would you?
But you didn’t. You kept it tucked away in the back of your closet and took it out when you needed it. When you needed to bury your face in it. Substitute it for a comfort she refused to give you. Which you realize is terrifically sad, but so’s life.
The warm red is a distant cousin in the color family to the bruise under your eye. That bruise, it’s a glaring reminder of what a fucking loser you’ve become. The old you, the real you would never have stooped to that level– never had let them drag her down like that. But now you’re the kind of girl that screams and starts fights at parties, you guess.
Your rage feels ugly in the cold light of day.
You’re locking the door of the trailer behind you just as Munson emerges from his humble abode and it’s nothing short of awkward. Like you’d both seen each other naked or something.
You both stand there, in your relative doorways. His mouth gapes like he’s about to say hi, say something, and a memory comes back to you. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day. No one likes that. No one wants that.
Regret stabs at you.
“Can you see it from there?” It’s the only thing you can think of to say, because you’re sure as fuck not saying hi.
“What?”
“The bruise. Can– can you see it from over there?”
Munson sort of half-snorts. “Not from here–”
“Ugh, thank god.”
“--but this is like, over fifteen feet away.”
You roll your eyes, which hurts a lot, thanks guy, and walk toward his van.
“Now?” you say, waving a hand under your eye, right where you’ve applied and blended and applied and blended a criminal amount of concealer. Munson leaves about a foot of space between you, on purpose, and you crane your neck back, on purpose. Reinstating the forcefield between you.
“Oh yeah, you can barely even see that you got your ass kicked.”
“It’s not even eight in the morning, Munson. Do you really want to start your day with a knee to the balls?”
“You’re right. That’s usually an after-dinner activity,” he grins and jerks his head toward the van. “Need a ride?”
Need a ride? Like it’s the most ordinary, everyday thing in the world, Eddie Munson offering you a ride to school in his deathtrap of a van. Your stomach pulls at the sense memory of being in there on Friday night, and what you’ll look like getting out of it in the parking lot of Hawkins High.
“No,” you say, shaking your head, definite and resolute. “I’m walking.”
He scoffs. “C’mon. It’s too late to start walking now. You’ll be late for first period.”
You scoff back, imitating him. “So what?”
“You’re never late for first period.”
“I can be late– how the hell do you know I’m never late for first period?”
“Because, dummy, I’m always late for first period,” he tells you, yanking open the passenger door, “And I sit behind you in History, and you’re always there when I come in, leaning back with your nose in some dumb book and your stupid hair all over my desk.”
It’s true– you are always reading in history, because Kaminsky can’t teach for shit and you’ve already read ahead on the coursework anyway. You liked to rub that in his face by pulling out some unprescribed literature during class. Plus, no one you really care about is in your class, so you don’t have to worry about getting made fun of for having your nose in some dumb book. Illiterate jocks would never try that shit with you– nobody there would.
Until now.
And it’s true that Eddie Munson sits behind you, and barrels in like an idiotic excuse for a hurricane with some idiotic excuse for being late that you always scoff at, because does he ever get tired of his own bullshit. But after that brief cameo appearance in your day, you really do forget about him.
Until now.
“So?” he says, all expectant.
And you consider it for a second, you really do– but you don’t think you can handle the blowback of leaving a party with Eddie Munson on Friday then turning up with him on Monday. Going to the same class. Where he sits behind you. It’s just… overexposure.
The same realization must hit him, because all of a sudden he’s slamming the door shut with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever. Your tardy slip, babe.” You can’t help but think he sounds a little wounded.
But fuck it. Fuck it! Since when do you stand around feeling sorry for Eddie Munson?
Before you know it, the van roars out and leaves you in the dust.
You don’t make it to school until after second period, because that so-called bus route a fifteen minute walk from the trailer park must not even exist, so you forge a note from your mom in the parking lot.
As your fountain pen hovers over the paper, brainstorming an excuse, you consider pulling out the big guns– say you had to attend visitation day at the penitentiary. Use this disaster to your advantage for once; but you pull back. Scribble something about a doctor’s appointment and dot your mother’s ‘i’s with eerie precision.
You make quick work of dropping the note off in reception– the uptick of being the kid of the town’s gossip beacon is some people still feel sorry for you. Some people weirdly include Janice, Principal Higgins’ secretary, who snatches the note from you before you can even reach the actual receptionist’s desk.
“I’ll file that for you, dear,” she says, all coo-cooey with an unwelcome hand on your shoulder, “How are you and your poor mother doing these days? And your,” her croaky voice drops to a whisper, “dad? How is… he being treated?”
You blink at her, gripping the fountain pen in your hand. “Do you know what a shiv is, Janice?”
Just then, the bell trills and you take your leave, stepping out into the linoleum.
Someone calls your name from down the hall. You crane your neck to see Ronnie Ecker jogging toward you, paper in hand.
Now look, you’ve never had a problem with Ronnie Ecker. You can’t say you’re particularly fond of her but she’s smart; she keeps to herself and she was a decent lab partner during your junior year of dissecting frogs together. Squeamish, but that’s why you were there, to handle the scalpel. As much of a social outcast as she is, she’s not nearly as odious as the rest of them. That’s pretty goddamn remarkable amongst the Hawkins student body.
She is also, you’ve come to notice, a resident of Forest Hills trailer park.
“Hey!” she says, “Um, I noticed you missed first period and Kaminsky was handing our papers back so I figured you’d want yours…”
“Why is everyone so obsessed with me missing first period?”
“Huh?”
“No– nothing,” you huff, taking the paper from her. A solid B on A+ material– told you Kaminsky couldn’t teach for shit. He’d be hearing from you about this. “Thanks for this, Ronnie.”
You start down the hall but notice Ronnie’s keeping in step with you. “I also just wanted to say– I heard about what happened Friday. And I think it’s sick, you standing up to Hagan like that. Asshole needed to be put in his place.”
Well, there’s only one person she could have heard the nitty gritty of that news from. You know she’s trying to flatter you, but all you feel is a flame of embarrassment, plus a touch of anger– even though the news has easily circulated the school hallways by now.
Along with the rumors of you taking Hargrove, Buckley and Munson, and not in a fight.
“Well. Y’know. I was pretty wasted,” you attempt to brush it off and you see Ronnie deflate a little.
Like you’re not the blazing hero someone made you out to be.
“Okay, but is it true you had a threesome with Billy Hargrove and Robin Buckley and Robin was wearing the Tigers mascot suit?”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.”
–
Classes pass in a monotonous blur, like most Mondays, but worse. That would be thanks to the extra shot of dread that’s served with your cafeteria meal of a wilted salad and soda. Last week at lunchtime, you at least had a tenuous standing with your former circle– you could still sit between Tina and Nancy Wheeler and suffer Tina’s thinly veiled jabs at you with a semi-placid look on your face. Nancy would look at you with eyes full of pity, and you’d want to punch her face in, but you’d be fine.
But now, as you stand in the cafeteria swirling with people and catch the death glares from your old table (save for Nancy and Steve Harrington, who just straight up refuse to make eye contact with you), you’re just about ready to snap.
Your flight instinct tells you to toss the tray out of your clammy hands and run, and keep running, until you disappear into the woods behind the school, never to be found. Your body becomes mulch before anyone remembers to look for you. Maybe you make really good fertilizer and a couple of pretty weeds sprout up from where you die.
Your bruise, under its flaking layers of concealer, throbs twice– as if to say, don’t you fucking dare.
You make a confident beeline for the table, chin tilted and eyes set in a stare that could be categorized as withering, if only it was trained on anybody in particular. You grab a chair that some dumb underclassman is about to sit in and drag it with you, legs screeeeeching across the waxed floor.
Who gives a shit who you were on Friday night.
“I can sit here, right?” you say, and place your tray on the table next to Ronnie Ecker.
She just stares at you for a hot second. That’s too long to stay standing in uncertainty, so you settle your stolen chair at the table and sit next to her.
Ronnie isn’t the only one staring, however– the rest of these dorks, all in their matching t-shirts with Satan’s fiery head emblazoned across them, are watching you with their mouths agape.
“Is this a prank or something?” one of them, a curly-haired freshman, says.
This question is directed toward their fearless leader, decked out in denim and leather at the head of the table. That is to say, the direct opposite end of the table that you’re sitting at.
“That’s no way to greet a lady, Gareth,” Munson says, feigning coolness but you can tell he’s a little flustered. The dead giveaway is in the way he misses his mac and cheese with his fork, the way his solid gaze double-blinks. You’ve thrown him off game– and because he’s impossible not to overhear sometimes, you know that game is all he’s got going on at this table.
There’s that feeling again– point to Lacy.
“To what do we owe the pleasure?”
This is Munson’s version of what the hell do you think you’re doing, but you choose to ignore him. It’ll drive him insane, and you know that, glaring red warning sign that he is. Instead, you flash a smile at the freshman that almost makes him pass out, Cupid’s arrow struck straight through the heart.
You cross your legs and angle your body toward Ronnie– and by extension, in the direction of your old table. You can see Carol burying her face in Tommy’s shoulder, the both of them on the verge of losing bowel control with laughter. Laughter at you.
Who gives a shit who you were before Friday night.
“So, Ronnie,” you say, taking a sip of your Tab, “You get up to anything fun this weekend?”
author's notes: let me get ahead of everything and say yes, i am absolutely fucking with the timeline. suspend your disbelief, my beautiful babies, and enjoy steve, carol, tommy and ronnie ecker still being in high school because I SURE WILL. but on an absolutely serious note, thank you so much for all the support and each and every note you’ve put on the chapters so far. i seriously, seriously appreciate it. now, the notes:
- you think eddie munson doesn’t fuck with pee-wee herman heavy? you think he didn’t watch this movie in reefer rick’s, high out of his gourd, and think oh yeah i love this freak? get REAL! RIP paul reubens, this one’s for you. specially every time i mention a handjob
- eddie munson also has charlie kelly disease
- speaking of iterations of always sunny characters, much like frank reynolds, there’s not a get rich quick scheme al munson hasn’t tried. we’ll get into that a little more… later
- admittedly, the whole ‘face eating on bath salts’ thing didn’t gain traction until the 00s, but if hawkins is going to be ahead of its time in anything, it’s fucked up shit happening to people!
- did you notice how i blended eddie and lacy’s povs in the van? i’m going to continue doing that in moments where they’re on a similar ~wavelength~
- jimi hendrix did unfortunately die of asphixiation, but instead of thinking about that, watch this sick video of him playing guitar that eddie definitely has committed to memory
- RONNIE ECKER KLAXON. i know that in flight of icarus she’s described as tall, but that hasn’t stopped me fancasting her as ayo edebiri in an eddie munson wig
- at this point, you might be thinking damn, everyone sure seems to hate each other in this story. like, why is nancy wheeler catching strays? i’m here to remind you it’s the 1980s and teenagers kind of suck. play the track
- thanks again for all the love! you can keep this crazy train going by liking, commenting, reblogging and generally showing me the same kindness you’ve shown me so far. love u my little hellcats
#published by powder#in progress#hellfire & ice#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x f!reader#eddie munson fic#stranger things fic#e. munson by powder
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Congrats on 5K!!! You deserve it!!!!!!
Would you ever write about BBF jake and Baby B meeting? When did they meet? How did they meet? What was it like? Did they like the other right away? If you are planning in addressing this in the main story, or just don’t want to write it, please feel free to ignore this :)
Thank you babe! Yay a BBF request!! I always imagined them meeting when Bradley and Jake were in high school and Baby B was maybe 3 or so years behind. I think that, even though he likely wasn't physically attracted to her at first, Jake immediately found her to be interesting. Basically, she very quickly became someone he admired and respected. So, without further ado, here you go. Hope you enjoy!
5k Weekend Bash Drabbles
Brother's Best Friend - How They Met
Jake Seresin x Reader
You’re sitting with your brand new, middle school boyfriend on your brand new, middle school bed spread that’s recently replaced your Little Mermaid quilt. You’ve got NSYNC posters all over your walls and you’re very proud of the overall aesthetic you’ve created in your room. Your personal space, which, like always, is rudely infiltrated by your annoying brother the moment he gets home from school.
A sudden crash – Bradley bodychecking your door – makes you and your boyfriend jump apart in a panic even though all you were doing was holding hands. The next moment, Bradley waltzes into your room without even a knock.
“Door stays open, remember?” he reminds you with a shake of his head, giving your brand new boyfriend a dirty look.
“Get out!” you yell, throwing a stuffed dinosaur at his head.
Bradley ducks and the dinosaur lands in the hands of the dreamiest guy you’ve ever seen. Obviously, this is a new friend of Bradley’s, because you would’ve remembered seeing that face before. He enters your bedroom after Bradley, looking around with a smirk. The guy is gorgeous, of course; he’s in high school, unlike your brand new middle school boyfriend.
You glare at the two of them. “Newsflash: this isn’t a public park. You can’t just barge in here with your friends.”
“I wouldn’t have to barge in here if you kept your door open like you’re supposed to,” Bradley says, shrugging nonchalantly.
“Ever heard of privacy?” you bite back grumpily, heading straight for your brother and shoving him back the way he came. “We’re busy.”
“Doing what?!” Bradley exclaims with a laugh as you push him and his friend out the door.
You give your brother a withering look. “Doing it, obviously. Not to mention all the drugs.”
Bradley’s cute friend snorts trying to hold back a laugh while Bradley stares at you in outrage. “Door open,” he warns, backing away and then heading to his own room down the hall.
His friend lingers at your door for another moment, watching you with amusement. He glances over your shoulder at your brand new boyfriend before looking back down at you. “Meth?” he asks casually.
You blink at him in surprise. Is Bradley’s smoking hot high school friend joking? With you? “Well, yeah,” you respond with a completely straight face. Humor is, thankfully, one of your strong suits.
“Jake, you coming?” Bradley calls. “I found the tabs, man.” He’s waving around his acoustic guitar in the doorway to his room.
Jake nods at Bradley and then glances back at you. “Take it easy, Baby Bradshaw,” he says.
“Actually, it’s - ” but Jake walks away before you get to tell him your name.
5k Celly
#lena’s 5k celly#BBF blurb#jake seresin#top gun blurb#asks#lena talks back#top gun fanfic#top gun#brother’s best friend fic#bbf#hangman#hangman series#hangman fanfiction#hangman x reader#top gun hangman#hangman blurb#hangman drabble#jake seresin blurb#jake seresin drabble#top gun drabble
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Looking While Lost
There was something about him. Something pure, unpolluted by the LA way.
He hadn’t been influenced by the alley way women, with sharp claws and easy smiles that lured men like him in and spit them right back out, never quite the same.
He hadn’t laughed with men who wanted to see how much they could take from him, men who saw the hope in his eyes like dollar signs to deposit in the bank.
No.
Izzy Stradlin was clear eyed and beautiful. Unsullied by people who wanted too much from him. He had managed to escape all of that and just care about the way his fingers strummed his guitar and how his cigarette tasted on his tongue.
Sure, he liked to party. He liked drugs and whiskey, and the way it all tasted on his tongue right before he buried himself in whatever women was waiting for him. Because he was just famous enough now that finding willing women was easy to do. Almost too easy, if he was being honest.
Nothing challenged him anymore.
Songs came easy. Cash came frequently. Fame. Fortune. Creativity.
He had it all.
But it wasn’t enough.
Fuck, why wasn’t it enough?
Tapping his fingers on the sticky bartop, he ignored the way people were glancing at him. He was too young to be drinking at 1pm on a Tuesday at some dive bar in the middle of nowhere America. This was the local haunt to men who had lost their jobs and hopes. The place where the banded together, all in their solitude but with familiar faces who didn’t judge their failures because they were carrying their own.
And there he was, just out of place.
The full glass landed in front of him, the bartender hesitating for a second before he just put the bottle of whiskey down, sick of refilling the mans booze.
Izzy’s eyes skimmed over the liquid before nodding in appreciation, pulling the ashtray closer to him, tapping his cigarette on the edge as he sipped heavily on his scotch.
Fuck.
“Dad?” Eyes all looked down at their glasses, no one wanting to look at the dark haired girl who was pushing light into the dingy bar.
She stood in the doorway, her foot keeping it propped open as the men all avoided looking at her. None of them wanting to face the light that was shining in or seeing the way that the young girl was looking around.
Izzy looked up, knowing it wasn’t for him and being too curious for his own good to see what was going on.
And fuck, was she beautiful, in the most hauntingly heartbroken way.
All big dark eyes, and soft sadness in her frown. The way she looked at the bar, like she knew where her father should be and yet he wasn’t there to disappoint her. Her teeth bit her lower lip and Izzy suddenly knew that nothing that he drank would taste as good as the way that soft pliant mouth would.
Her eyes landed on him for a second, glancing over him like she was seeing how much he didn’t fit in here before she was looking past him, towards the bartender who was shaking his head at her.
“He didn’t come in, girlie. Still owes a tab from last week. Maybe check down at the pool hall?” It wasn’t unkind how she was spoken to, but there was a hint of pity in the bartender's voice that he watched the girl prickle at like she couldn’t handle the shame that the man was causing her.
And Izzy hated seeing the way she tensed, wanted to tell her that it wasn’t her fault.
But she was storming in, pulling out her wallet and tugging out bills as his eyes widened, feeling the heat of her rage billowing off her as she slammed down the money as the men all watched her, curious.
“This should take care of it.” She challenged but the bartender had the good grace to not say anything, only taking the money and slipping it into the till that probably could be in a museum as an ancient artifact.
Izzy was pushing up as she walked out, settling his own tab with too much money as he followed her like she was somehow going to make the ache in his chest go away.
Two blocks down she turned, hands in fists, eyes glaring at him as he paused, realizing that she knew that he was following her.
“I’m not at the club. I don’t do dances outside the club. So whatever stupid fucking thing that is about to leave your mouth, swallow it down buddy.” His eyes were on her, lazy as the looked her up and down and then smiled as he shoved his hands in his pockets.
“What club?” The soft huskiness of his voice made her pause, “Because if you’re dancing somewhere I’m suddenly very interested in going to see the way you move that body.” Her mouth formed a scowl.
“I’m working tonight at the Sinclair. Stage time is 10PM,” She stepped forward and he realized that she had no idea who he was, which sent a tingle of delight down his spine, “I don’t know if you’re going to be able to afford me.”
He smirked, a shrug of his shoulders as he looked at her, tasting the way her minty scent tinged the air. Spicy and sweet in his nose making him want to bury his face in her neck, lick the taste right from her sweet skin.
“Why don’t you worry about finding your daddy, pretty girl, and let me worry about being able to afford you?” Her skin bristled, and right before she told him off a door opened, a man spilling into the street.
Her head turned as she watched him lean on the back of a gold Buick, his mouth opening to spew vomit out. And then she crumbled, her shoulders caving in as she sighed out and rushed towards the older man.
Looks like she found her father and Izzy found his latest obsession.
#izzy stradlin#izzy stradlin fan fiction#izzy stradlin fanfic#izzy stradlin imagine#izzy stradlin fanfiction
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PLZ TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU LNOW ABT THE GHOULS AND SPECIFICALLY WHICH INDS TO OBSESS IVER
(I’m Negatusing myself and getting second hand love for this band)
EASY PEASY ok so........ im gonna give u a run-down on the current ghouls n my babies aether n sunny MWAAHAHA
EVERYTHING'S BELOW THE CUT BC IT'S GONNA BE LONG AS FOOK
dewdrop (or sodo/sodomizer, depends on who u ask) ^___^
he's the lead guitarist + a fire ghoul (during era 4, he was the bassist + a water ghoul [the position in the band corresponds with the element] which is why his name is dew)
he's one of the bolder ghouls. he's usually on the stage front n center and he's a little bit hotheaded. he's known for making a lot of sexual gestures towards the other ghouls and the audience, like his infamous jerking-off-confetti-thing. he also teases the other ghouls, especially aether when he was still in the band. they used to get in guitar duels and they'd throw picks at each other. he's very soft with rain, contrary to the way he is with everything else. he's very rough when he plays the guitar and there was a concert where he ended up bleeding all over the guitar because of how hard he was playing it. he's also often taking hits of swiss's vape (aka the Ghape). in short, he's an evil, stompy, satanic little SHIT.
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phantom :3
my sweet beautiful shithead......... he's the quintessence ghoul / rhythm guitarist who succeeded aether (he is also my favorite) (next to rain ofc)
certified papa harrasser. he does these super dope (and super hot) tricks with his guitar. there isn't much information on him because he's newer but the fandom has given him the roll of the annoying little brother. some people see him as rain and dew's love child LMFAO he interacts with them the most, especially dew. im talkin getting on his knees for the demon. and i get that!!!!! he's kind of a slut ok............
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rain <33
HE IS MY FAVORITE FUCKING GHOUL im getting a tattoo of him eventually i have the perfect thigh piece......... ANYWAYS he's the bassist / water ghoul n he's actually the reason i wanna learn how to play the bass..........
in comparison to the other guitsr ghouls, he's a lot more laid-back. but he is not shy........ he may seem it but he fucking flourishes in the spotlight. im begging you to open a new tab, go to youtube, and watch his opening solo for con clavi con dio. anyways :3 just look at him......... my sweet sweet demon........... i love him so much
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mountain xD
AHHHHHHH he's the drummer / earth ghoul.........
since he's all the way in the back with his drums, he doesn't interact with the crowd too much. he's pretty shy and he NEVER wears shoes when he drums. at least not that i've seen xD he also gives his drumsticks away at the end of every ritual......... personally i headcanon him to be like, the most tranquil ghoul (until he drinks. then he's a menace.) i also feel like he does a lot of nice things for the ghouls but they don't usually notice since he keeps to himself more often than not. also it's very fitting that his name is mountain because he's FUCKING TALL
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swiss.......
he's a multi-ghoul (hence the name SWISS); he does backup vocals n plays guitar n a couple percusive instruments
if u thought dew was a menace.......... u have NOT met swiss. he's well known for being fucking feral. im talkin dry humping the stage and his guitar. he also does this thing where he violently shimmies his shoulders at papa. he's one of the most social ghouls and he takes every opportunity that he can to come onto stage and interact with the other ghouls AND the crowd. he's a little nuts but in the best fucking way possible..............
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ok now we're moving into ghoulette territory........ starting with my favorite, MAMA CIRRUS ♡___♡
she's one of the two air ghoulettes n she's the lead keyboardist!! she also does the keytar solo in mummy dust and occasionally does backing vocals/percussion
oh my god my cape-wearing wife someone restrain me before i start saying inappropriate things... she's super duper affectionate and jumpy like she has such a cute personality?? she literally SKIPS BACK TO HER SPOT after her solo..... she's so fucking sassy too......... she's so sweet and so beautiful I LOVE HER SO MUCH I CAN'T
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cumulus MY BELOVEDDDDDD
she's the other air ghoulette n plays keyboard as well as doing backing vocals :33 pls listen to the live version of per aspera ad inferi that's on spotify it is so good.........
she's very affectionate towards the crowd and often waves and blows kisses towards them. she's also CRIMINALLY underrated. why do people not talk about her!!!!!!! she's so fucking precious and she has a beautiful voice WHERE ARE MY CUMMYLUST FANS AT
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aurora!!!
she is so gf it hurts......... also the current multi-ghoulette yippee!!!!!! she plays tambourine, does backing vocals, and she hangs out with swiss...... a lot..........
ok yeah maybe her and swiss have something going on 🙄 (waiting for them to drop the movie i need to see them making out on stage). she's very giddy and she's full of energy all the time. she's also super social n bubbly (N TWIRLY) and often interacts with phantom and the other ghoulettes as well as swiss. she's also like, the shortest in the whole band, she's like 4'11 IT'S SO CUTE THOUGH. she's also the current fill-in for sunny but im crossing my fingers that we'll have 4 ghoulettes instead of just my 3 weed-smoking girlfriends (/ref)
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oki now onto the portion of the post where i rant about the former ghouls from early era 5 </3
aether
he's the former quintessence ghoul / rhythm guitarist and GOD they did him so wrong i miss my banana man 😞
he's most well known for throwing pics at dew :3 he also REALLY liked bananas. he was physically the most beefiest ghoul which is how most people could tell him apart. like look at those arms........ AND HE KEPT HIS FUCKING SLEEVES ROLLED UP he knew what he was doing. im so sad he's not in the band anymore I MISS HIM SO BAD
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and finally, sunny :')
look at her........ she's the former multi-ghoulette n she played tambourine and did som backing vocals
she's also criminally underrated i feel like no one talks about her....... she's so fucking quirky like she's just so fun and silly and i love watching her onstage. i believe she's coming back actually!!! from my knowledge, she only left temporarily because she's on broadway but she hopefully should be coming back (i hope)
#asksies :33#timi!!!#gave me a chance to rant about my fav band ever...........#ghost#the band ghost#ghost bc#dewdrop ghoul#sodo ghoul#fire ghoul#phantom ghoul#quintessence ghoul#rain ghoul#water ghoul#mountain ghoul#earth ghoul#swiss ghoul#multi ghoul#cirrus ghoulette#cumulus ghoulette#air ghoulette#aurora ghoulette#sunshine ghoulette#multi ghoulette#nameless ghouls#nameless ghoulettes
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Ash teaching Y/N to drum or seeing them drumming and feeling proud
Loved this request <3
Enjoy!!!
Drummer Boy
Pairing - Ashton Irwin x reader
Warnings - none
Word Count - 3583(!!!)
~
You couldn’t believe your life had ended up like this. An incredibly fortunate twist of fate brought you into what you had only dreamt of as a child. A pop star's partner. You had run into Ashton Irwin at a coffee shop while he and the rest of 5 Seconds Of Summer were on tour. It had been purely coincidence, and honestly an embarrassing experience that he loves to remind you of. You’d turned around too quickly, rushing, looking down at your phone, and collided with him. Luckily he’d found the fluster amusing, and continued to come in.
That coffee shop had always been one of your routine trips in the morning, and after conversation after conversation, he’d finally weaseled his way into getting your number, and things had spiraled from there and here you were, waking up, albeit alone, in his bed, all of your stuff covering half of the walls and dressers.
And he was a drummer, no less. You’d always had a thing for drummers. Maybe it was the easy workout they get, or maybe it was just the fact that you’d always had a thing for members of the rhythm section. You know what they say.
You’d slid out of bed and had walked down to make coffee in the kitchen, not feeling like going out today. Wandering into the home studio that Ashton had created while working on Superbloom, you sat down at the small stool behind the piano. You knew a few of their songs off the top of your head, playing a slow rendition of Lover Of Mine when an idea popped into your head.
You decided to create a cover of Lover Of Mine just for Ashton. Valentine’s Day was quickly approaching and you thought it would be super sweet to do. Although, you didn’t quite know how to play Ashton’s drum part. So, you would leave that for last. You knew how to play guitar, piano, and bass, so you’d record those first. Ashton had shown you enough on mics to know how to professionally create a demo, instead of just recording and doing overlays on your music app on your phone.
Picking through specific tabs, you decided to start with the bass ones to record because they’d be the most suspicious to be caught recording. Ashton already knew you knew how to play Lover Of Mine on the piano, so that wouldn’t be a surprise, and the chords for the song aren’t the only song using them, so guitar could be played off easily. However, the bass tabs were unique so that would have to be the first one that was recorded.
You’d always had a love for the bass guitar. The other half of the rhythm section had always called your name. It wasn’t too difficult to quickly get used to the movement of tabs and the adjustment of holding the instrument, and it wasn’t hard to quickly record the beat of it. Listening over the track many ,many times until you decided that it was good enough for you to move on, you quickly made sure it was saved so you wouldn’t lose all of your work. Not like it would take a while to redo it, but still. More hassle with not enough time in the day.
Moving on to the guitar part, you remembered the main reason you liked bass better. It was easier. The guitar chords hurt your fingers as the thin strings dug into them, and the chords made annoying buzzy sounds, but eventually you got the hang of it. You’d been playing guitar for years, but you still weren’t a huge fan of it, or amazing at it. It just wasn’t your best instrument. That’s okay though, you mastered the few simple chords fairly quickly, almost finishing the guitar part just as quickly as the bass tabs.
This left the piano and drum parts left. Knowing the piano version by heart, you moved back over to work on it quickly. You got caught up in it, enjoying the way that the keys pressed down under your fingers and the pedal amplified the gentle sound. Piano has always been a way to relax and let stress roll off of you. It was like Ashton’s drumming. He used it as stress relief as well. But piano felt different, in a way. There was gentle piano, like Lover Of Mine, and then there was your angry songs, like Take Me To Church, with the trauma-filled lyrics and the pounding beat to it. You sat, recording the piano parts, letting yourself get lost in the melody, and the lyrics rolling through your head.
Drums. The drumming part was gonna be hard. You didn’t know drums. But you were going to try your best to get it done. It might take a few days, and you might have to ask Ashton for help, which you would have to try really hard to not raise his suspicion about it. He had a creepy way of always knowing what was going through your head, and while this may help most of the time, right now it definitely wouldn’t.
Luckily, he took a lot of interest and fun into showing other people how to play his favorite instrument, so you knew a little bit. But not nearly enough to learn a full song, so you spent hours googling and tinkering with it trying to figure out how it would all come together. You relistened to the studio track and the live versions of Lover Of Mine, trying to figure out just how important the drumming was to the song. (Obviously, it’s very important, but you were weighing your options of seeing if it would sound remotely similar or close enough without the drumming in it. That way you could just leave the drums out and you’d be more likely to get away with keeping this secret until Valentine’s Day, and you wouldn’t have to ask Ashton for his help.)
You slipped headphones on to listen to the track while trying to match the sounds on the instrument in front of you. Time was quickly passing by, as you kept the song on loop, slowly working part by part to make progress through the song. You’d gotten about halfway through, completely oblivious to your audience.
Ashton was standing there, leaning against the doorway. He’d decided to not make you aware of his existence yet. He’d been standing there for quite some time, watching your frustration and your moments of elation when you finally matched them and got some of the notes and beat right. He knew he’d taught you most of what you were using, but it also made him super proud that you were even attempting on your own. It shot fondness straight to his heart, knowing that you were trying to figure out and enjoy the instrument he built his entire life on, the one thing that he loved the most, second only to you.
He didn’t yet recognize the beat you were attempting to play, but that was fine. He didn’t need to know everything. There was enough he could figure out with just watching that he didn’t want to disturb you. He did wonder why you didn’t just wait and ask him for help when he got back, but shrugged it off. You didn’t have to tell him everything, and he’d always admired your strong sense of independence. It was only when your forehead lines started to crease in frustration and your mouth turned into a thin line in anger, that he decided to step in. Your back was to him, the door being behind the drum kit. He didn’t want to scare you, so he walked up and gently placed a hand on your shoulder.
“Do you need some help with that?”
Despite the gentle touch, you were still a bit startled, not expecting him to be there. You quickly pulled off the headphones and switched off of the tab showing the Lover Of Mine tutorial, hoping desperately he hadn’t seen it. You weren’t quite so lucky. He didn’t say anything about it, but he had a small smile on his face that clearly showed he’d seen it. You were happy he didn’t ask questions. Instead, he just reached for the drumsticks in your hands.
“May I?”
You nodded, and let go of them, letting him take them from your grip. You stood up and let him take the stool. He sat down and started to play the song. You had taken a seat on the couch across the room, listening and watching the way he easily hit all the correct notes, all the right rhythms. You were slightly jealous of his ability to easily pick up any single instrument that he tried. You’d never been able to do that. But at the same time it was a talent that you admired in him. Among other things, of course. But it was definitely at the top of the list. He finished the song, smiling.
“That the one you were going for?”
You nodded.
“Yea.”
“Any specific reason?”
“Nope.”
He cocked an eyebrow.
“You sure? You shook your head oddly fast for it to be a coincidence.”
“I’m sure.”
He smiled. You knew he could tell you were lying about it, but he didn’t seem to be too hurt. He was many things, but a fool did not happen to be one of them. He knew there was some secret you were holding, but he wasn’t offended by you not wanting to tell him. He’d always respected your privacy when it came to things you didn’t want to tell him, as long as you weren’t holding back hurtful things. However, he did want to help, if you’d let him.
“Alright then. Come over here, I’ll teach you to play it.”
About an hour later, you’d pretty much mastered the song. Thank god. You knew full well that you wouldn’t have been able to do it without him, but you were also incredibly relieved that you didn’t completely spill your secret and surprise for the upcoming week when he walked in. Thank god he never asked any questions, and didn’t push you to answer anything you didn’t want to.
“I think you’ve got it!”
You smiled. Finally.
“I think so too. Only took forever.”
He laughed, a real laugh, not one of the chuckles he forces out in interviews when he’s uncomfortable. That made you so much more relieved.
“It actually didn’t take that long. I expected more time, to be completely honest. Not like I mind. I love spending time with my two favorite things to do.”
You gave a playful glare.
“You really chose that wording?”
He laughed again.
“Sorry babe. Couldn’t resist.”
“You definitely could.”
It was just banter, there was no legitimate anger behind your words.
Now, you just had to wait until the next day when he wasn’t around so you could record the drum part without him being suspicious over what you were up to. Which turns out, wouldn’t take that long. Just the next day, he walked into your doorway and gently knocked on the frame.
“Hey love?”
You looked up from scrolling on your phone.
“Yea, what’s up?”
He gave a soft, yet sad smile.
“I have to go to the studio for a few hours. I know that we were supposed to spend today together, and I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright! I know you guys have a lot to do, with the album release coming up and all the promo. No worries!! Just text me when you’re on your way back okay? We can take a rain check for now.”
He walked over and hugged you.
“I don’t deserve you.”
You rolled your eyes.
“You deserve me and more. Go get your work done. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
You were really happy actually, that he finally got out of the house. Not because you didn’t want to spend time with him, but Valentine’s Day was tomorrow, and you had to be able to finish the cover before that morning. Now you would have the opportunity to finish the drum part and the singing part in your short time alone. And that was exactly what you got done. Still remembering the way and rhythm of the drumming, you knocked that out first. You barely made any mistakes and got it done in just a few takes, quickly overlaying it with all of the guitar, bass, and piano cover parts, making sure that it sounded satisfactory to gift. It did.
You were incredibly happy with the way it was sounding so far, and moved on to start recording the lyrics. You truly enjoyed singing, and had almost gone into it as a career. It was still a heavy secondary part of you. Because of that, you were heavily critical of your own voice. You couldn’t stand listening to it back, which was going to make the recording of it so much more difficult. You recorded triple the takes of every single instrument you’d recorded already put together. You hated the way they all sounded, and you knew in the back of your mind that it was really just your anxiety speaking and that they all sounded fine. However, that didn’t stop the perfectionism in you, so you continued to do take after take until you were satisfied with the results given.
Finally, you were happy with it, and you moved on to making sure that everything sounded good when it was overlaid and mixed together. It was fairly easy to make sure that all the instruments sounded good, and you decided to just leave it there. You thought the acoustic idea gave it more authenticity and you wanted to keep it that way. It felt more real, more loving. You liked the feeling of it and you hoped Ashton would too. Your phone dinged, right as you were thinking about him, with a message from the devil himself.
“Hi love, be home in 10. Got everything done, tomorrow is ours!”
“Sounds great. See you soon! <;3”
You quickly finished up everything you were working on, and made sure the demo was saved, but hid it under a folder of other recordings, hoping he wouldn’t look into that specific one later that night. Right as you finished closing everything off and making sure that the drums didn’t look touched, you heard the door open. You slipped behind the piano, pulling up some of the current songs you’d been working on in your free time, gently beginning to play them and waiting for Ash to walk in on his own. It didn’t take him long at all. He came and sat in the room with you, seating himself on the couch and simply listening. The longer the song went, the more a smile grew across his face. As the song drew to a close, you met eyes and smiled back at him.
“I love listening to you play.”
The smile remained on your face.
“I could say the same.”
A ton of songs were covered that night, singing, playing, mostly soft loving ones for the upcoming holiday.
Waking and sitting up the next morning you let out a small sigh of relief. You’d kept the secret until Valentine’s Day. Admittedly one of your favorite smaller holidays. You liked the special days, the ones filled with love and care, even if you both received and shared that same amount of love and care every day. You wouldn’t have settled for less, but you’d never felt like you settled for anything with Ashton. He was truly above and beyond anything you’d ever asked for. You couldn’t wait to show him the gift you’d made him, but you were going to have to wait a bit, for two reasons. The first being that he wasn’t even awake, and the second one being that you had another thing for him. It wasn’t as huge as the cover, but you’d gotten him sunflower seeds to plant in the backyard, knowing he’d been wanting to for a while, along with a card.
He shifted next to you, rising. His arm reached out, grabbing yours and pulling you back down to lay next to him.
“C’mere. It’s too early.”
You laughed.
“It’s 10:00, goofball. Get up.”
He shifted, making eye contact.
“Still too early. Not moving yet.”
“Happy Valentine's Day to you too, lovely.”
He lifted himself up to press a soft kiss to your lips.
“Happy Valentine’s Day. Give me another hour and I promise to woo you.”
You laughed.
“Fine. I’m getting up though.”
He pouted. You relented.
“Okay, I’ll stay for a bit.”
Watching as his breath evened out, you waited until you were completely sure that he was asleep. Once you were positive, you slipped out of bed to go set out his stuff on the counter, minus the demo. Doing this, you realized it would make more sense to do it in your home studio room, so that’s where you decided to do it. You moved everything into there, and smiled when you realized Ashton had had the same idea.
Walking in, there was a vase of flowers sitting on the piano bench, a note taped to them, and a card with your name written in cursive on the front. Deciding to open the card later, you read the small note.
“I set this up last night after you went to bed. If you’re reading this alone, I probably begged you to let me sleep a bit longer because I hate waking up early. I love you!!! Don’t open the card without me please. <;3”
“I see you found my note.”
You turned around to see Ash standing in the doorway, hair all ruffled and clearly having just gotten up.
“I did. It’s been less than an hour though, I’m shocked to see you awake.”
“The bed got cold without you. Happy Valentine’s Day. Wanna open cards? I got you flowers, obviously.”
You smiled.
“Absolutely.”
Cards were opened, and Ashton had the biggest smile opening the small packets of sunflower seeds.
“I can’t wait to plant these.”
You laughed.
“I was hoping you’d be excited. I know you love sunflowers.”
“You’re my sunflower.”
“Don’t be cheesy.”
He rolled his eyes. You gave him a side hug to placate him.
“I have one more thing for you.”
His eyebrows raised in questioning.
“Okay. Should I be scared?”
You gave a playful glare.
“No. You should be excited.”
Grabbing the headphones, you handed them to him.
“You have to put these on.”
He gave a skeptical look.
“I’m scared.”
You gave him a hit to the arm.
“Shut up and put the headphones on before I revoke my gift.”
He laughed.
“Fine, fine. Don’t play some creepy sounds.”
You didn’t dignify it with a reply, you just reached over and clicked play on your cover. It didn’t take him very long to realize what was playing in his ears, and his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.
“Babe-”
“Listen now, talk later, yeah?”
It didn’t take very long for the song to finish up, and his face was adorned in such a huge smile.
“You like it?”
“I loved it.”
“Thank you.”
“Wait a minute- that’s what you were learning the drums for?!”
You laughed.
“Yes. I had it all planned, I already had the guitar and bass and piano recorded before you got home. You came home earlier than I expected, and I had to accept your help and hope you wouldn’t ask too many questions. Luckily, you didn’t, although I could tell you had quite a few spinning around in your brain. You made my job amazingly easy when you had to disappear for a few hours to the studio for the next day, giving me all the time I needed. You almost caught me recording the vocals though, I had just finished saving, overlaying, and mixing it with all the instrument tracks when you walked in. I was terrified you’d see the nervousness on my face when I quickly moved over to play the piano right as you entered the room.”
He shook his head, shock and amusement on his face. He couldn’t believe you’d pulled this off right under his nose. Well, maybe that was a lie. You definitely had the guts and the persistence to pull it off, and you definitely contain the ability to create the element of surprise. The thing he was mostly shocked about was the fact that you didn’t have the ability to keep a secret for the life of you, so he was floored that you were able to keep this quiet and continue to work on it for two days. Although, I suppose it is easier when he wasn’t even there.
“I can’t decide whether to laugh, cry, or kiss you.”
You took a few steps closer to him.
“I’m good with all three, but I’m especially down for the last one.”
“I figured you would be.”
He smiled, pulling you a few steps closer for a long kiss.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, I love you.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, I love you more.”
#5sos#5sos fic#5sos x reader#5sosfam#5sos angst#5sos fluff#ashton irwin x reader#calum hood x reader#luke hemmings x reader#michael clifford x reader#boyfriend ashton irwin#drums#drummer ashton irwin#valentines fic#holiday fic#love#fluffy#cute moments#making up for being mia#love you guys#anon asks#anon requests#5 seconds of summer#lgbtq authors#lgbtq fanfics#new add to masterlist#drummer boy
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This video will help you learn how to play an easy fingerstyle guitar cover for Californication by the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
The tab is arranged to be beginner friendly and quick to learn, while still sounding good on its own.
🎸 You can buy my PDF tabs with either my PayPal or Patreon links below:
https://paypal.me/SimpleGuitarTabs
https://www.patreon.com/simpleguitartabs
#californication#rhcp#red hot chili peppers#Californication guitar tab#guitar tabs#easy guitar tab#fingerstyle guitar#fingerstyle guitar tab#rock#simple guitar tabs#Easy Guitar Tabs#classical guitar
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EASY! How to play the rock and blues scale ( pentatonic ) guitar lesson, with tabs in the video for easy learning.
#guitarlesson#guitarlessons#tabs#guitartabs#blues scale#pentatonic#easy guitar#beginner guitar#guitar scale#rock guitar
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In case she isn't playjng it bc she doesn't know the chords (this is a joke)
#swifties#taylors version#taylornation#taylorstans#i love you taylor#taylor swift#taylurking#the tortured poets department#marys song campaign#ttpd#Marys song (oh my my my)
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This year I've tasked myself with learning an average of one new piece on the guitar every two weeks, or 26 total pieces in 2024. These are mostly intended to be rhythm guitar pieces for vocal accompaniment so they can be simple af if lead or fingerpicking feel inaccessible, but I've promised myself to give lead and fingerpicking at least a solid effort for each piece regardless. Super pleased to declare the first cover accomplished a paltry three days into the year!
Acoustic guitar cover 1/26: Skylight, by Pinegrove
This song is WILDLY easy to pick up if you already know open chords. You can get into some fun stuff with Cadd9 and Em7 but you fully do not have to. The whole piece is in 4/4, and the only weird thing is that sometimes a chord carries on for a bar longer than you'd expect. To make life even easier, the band has posted the chords to their website, so there's no staring at various free tabs and wondering which one is the closest.
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Hi ink, would you be wiling to write a Rain/reader fic where the ghoul and the reader have a cute moment together, where rain teaches the reader to play guitar?
okay I had to look all of this up since I’m still kinda new to Ghost and the ghouls (mainly who played what during what era and who was who). since this request is for Rain, he’s going to be showing the reader how to play bass. shoutout to this post for helping me in my time of need so I could piece things together and also giving me an idea for this fic. I also used this video for the bass tabs for the song
You had known Rain for a few years now, having originally met him when you noticed Sodo wasn’t lugging around his old bass and was instead carrying a fantomen. “Oh, yeah. We got a new ghoul,” he told you, tail gesturing to the new summon you had passed by a few times. “He’s uh… kinda quiet, but he plays good.”
“I thought you played bass?” You had cocked your head at him, your brows knit together.
He rolled his eyes at your comment. “I play both.” And he said it with such a tone that it sounded like he was calling you stupid. “Alpha’s contract finally ended, he didn’t want to renew it; I took his place.”
“And we got Rain.” He nodded.
“And we got Rain,” he parroted. “How about you go talk to him? I’m sure he’d love to meet our helpful little human.”
And you did. You walked right over to the ghoul and introduced yourself, telling him that you helped the other ghouls get ready for upcoming rituals and kept track of inventory. And Sodo had been right: Rain was shy. He was a gentleman, but he stumbled over his words in the beginning. You thought it was cute.
As time passed though, it was like watching a flower bloom. Your once shy, soft-spoken water ghoul was becoming more confident, and not just on stage. You saw how he initiated conversation with the other ghouls and started to make jokes. You loved it. You loved seeing his smile and hearing him laugh with the others. Even now that he was starting to get comfortable with the others, he kept you involved. You were the first one he sought out whenever he wanted company or wanted to go somewhere. And of course you would agree. You loved spending time with him and getting to know more about him. It seemed that no matter how much time passed, you two still got to figure out something new about each other.
And tonight was no different. It wasn’t uncommon for you two to spend time together in his room. Hell, it was where you had found him most of the time to begin with, the poor ghoul having been too shy in the beginning to spend time out in the common area with the others. You had been laying on his bed with him sitting next to you, the two of you exchanging stories of your time at the abbey. He noticed you looking at his bass after a while.
“Do you play?” he asks you.
“Nah. Sodo offered to teach me, but we never got around to it,” you explain. You see his tail flick before he gets up, crossing the room as he gently takes his bass from the wall mount. He’s smiling when he climbs back onto the bed, motioning for you to sit up.
“How about I teach you?” You can tell he’s excited, his tail constantly moving behind him as he hands the instrument over to you.
“I’m not sure how good I’ll be,” you laugh.
“Practice makes perfect, right?”
You smile at him. “Right.”
He had walked you up and down the scales first, sitting beside you and pointing out the strings you needed to be on and where your fingers should be positioned. He kept you on track, his index finger gently tapping your knee in a rhythm as he softly counted one two, three four over and over.
When you felt like you had the basics down and a decent understanding on the notes, he decided to move on. You two had decided on Cirice, saying that, not only was it well known, the beginning would’ve been easy to teach you.
“Cirice is played in 4/4, which is also called common time,” he explains to you. “It’s just four quarter notes for every measure. And in the beginning, the bass has a seven-measure rest.”
“So you just sit there and count to twenty-eight before you start playing?” you tease, earning yourself a soft laugh from the ghoul.
“Sort of. During the rituals, I listen to the guitar, and then Mountain’s cymbal kinda… counts me down. I know I enter just before he hits it a ninth time.” You supposed it made sense, the little cues they all looked for from one another. He uses his claw to point at the string. “Then it’s half notes. 7 for two beats, then 9 for the last two.”
He does this, walking you through it slowly. You didn’t realize how slow the bass part was. Instead of letting you go on, he has you repeat the first few measures of you actually playing the song to get a feel for it.
“Then on the next part, you slide your hand up the neck from 9, and to 1.” Though you’re still holding the bass, Rain still makes the same gesture with his hands. You follow as best you can, having to redo it a few times before you finally get it down. That proud smile he gives you when you finally do it makes your stomach do flips.
“Does it always stay this slow?” you ask him. He shakes his head.
“Well, not as slow as this. Even before Papa starts singing, it picks up a little bit,” he tells you. You give him a smile, handing the bass over.
“Could you show me?” He’s hesitant but finally takes it. You notice how, instead of his claw tapping like it was for you, his foot just barely taps in that same one two, three four beat.
You can hear him softly humming the song as he plays, probably to also help keep on track. But you notice how the notes are faster, especially when you hear the first “can you hear the rumble” and watch as his hand bends so fast to string together three notes before he goes back into the normal position.
“I didn’t know you had to do that.” you comment, catching his attention.
“Yeah. It’s not too bad, though.” he laughs softly. “You know, practice and all. Really, that’s the only like… complex part. Everything else is pretty straightforward.”
You watch him as he plays, softly singing with him as he goes. You’re both staring at the bass, watching each string he plucks. You notice he picks his head up finally.
“Can’t you see that you’re lost?” He holds your gaze as he sings to you and you don’t even register that you’ve stopped. The bass still making some noise, though it’s softer than his voice was. His hand slides up the neck as he continues. “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”
But he doesn’t pluck the cord for the next part. You don’t know who leaned in first but his lips press against yours when the next note should’ve hit. It’s slow, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. He shuffles, setting the bass down on his bed as he reaches out for you. One hand is on your cheek while the other gently holds the base of your neck.
You’re both silent when you pull away, his eyes lidded as he stares at you. You let a smile dance across your lips.
“I don’t remember that happening during the rituals,” you tease softly. He laughs.
“The other ghouls wish that would happen.” There he is, the blossomed flower you loved seeing.
Your thumb strokes his cheek. “Well, if all practices with you are gonna be like this, I’d love to have more of them.”
“It doesn’t have to be just practice,” he tells you softly. “We could do this more. Whenever you’d want.”
“Rain, are you asking me out?”
You can see how the panic takes over in his eyes. “I-I mean, if that’s something you would want. You know, I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Like, I feel like we just click and-”
“Rain.” He looks at you, lips pursed together. “I would love to.”
#request#rain ghoul#gn!reader#rain x gn!reader#ghost#ghost band#fluff#you guys get to see mama Rabbit shittily try to detail bass playing#I forgot EVERYTHING I was taught in music class
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the ship thing looks like a lot of fun! lets do it!
so my name's blu, and i use "she/her" pronouns! i have dark blue hair and brown eyes, am 5'8", and wear way too many oversized hoodies and sweaters haha i'm your sterotypical enfj- the kind of mom friend who will very forcefully remind you to do some selfcare! i do love to talk about the things i'm into, and aren't afraid to stand up for what i believe in. for hobbies, writing is my first love, but i also love taking long walks and exploring nature or even just the world outside my window! i'm also a big music enjoyer! i'm a part of two bands- one where i play guitar and the other where i do bass! i love singing, too, and get incredibly into all my karaoke performances 😂 i'm not really sure what i go looking for in a partner, but i tend to gravitate towards shyer guys and relationships where i'll end up doing most of the talking as well as people who aren't afraid to talk about the deep things in life.
thanks emily!! can't wait to see what you come up with 😁
Thank you so much for the request Blu!! (also i have blue hair rn too!! 🥰💖)
I ship you with…
(Speirs Voice) Darrell C. POWWWEEERRRRSSSS
A song from my liked songs that reminds me of y’all - Sugar, Sugar by the Archies
How you met
Mkay SO
Your band came to Europe to play for the soldiers because morale boost
So Easy Company is sitting listening to your band and everyone is vibing and having a Lovely Time ™
Shifty looks up at the stage and sees you with your guitar and
He’s sitting with Talbert and Smokey and they see how he’s just staring and start teasing him a bit
Sweet baby laughs but starts blushing when Tab and Smokes talk about meeting her after the show
Like WHAT?? INTERACTING WITH THE MOST GORGEOUS GIRL EVER???
Before they know it though y’all are packing up your gear and it’s Now or Never
So Tab and Smokey being Tab and Smokey they each Grab an Arm and before the three know it they’re next to the stage
You’re still on stage just putting your guitar away when Smokey just goes “YOU DID GREAT TONIGHT!!”
But when you turn around all you see is Shifty all alone and frantically looking beside him
But honestly he's so stinkin cute how could you not go over and talk to him
Sweet baby just blushes bright red and stutters out
“H-how do you do ma’am, my name’s shift- I mean Darrell b-but everyone calls me Shifty,” he just looks down and sticks his hand out
You just laugh softly and shake his hand (asdf there was so definitely a spark but neither of you admit it)
“It’s very nice to meet you Shifty,” you get an idea when you look back at the stage
“Would you mind helping me carry my stuff back to the van?” 🥺👉🏻👈🏻
Shifty’s eyes brighten up and he’s like an eager golden retriever following you up onto the stage to get your things
Shifty’s able to relax a little bit thanks to you being so sweet and lovely and y’all have just the most wonderful conversation
Before you leave he definitely asks you to dinner and of course how could you say no
How he knew he loves you
I picture it happening when y’all are on a hike
You got to the top of the mountain and there’s a beautiful view, absolutely perfect for your picnic!
So y’all are having a lovely picnic just talking about everything under the sun
However you look over and notice that Shifty’s water bottle is almost full
Like siR YOU’RE ON A HIKE YOU NEED TO HYDRATE
“Shifty, you need to drink some water babe,” you say gently, holding out the water bottle to him
When he looks at you… the gentle but concerned look in your eyes, strands of your hair framing your face, the way the sun is shining on you, everything is just perfect
He leans forward and gently kisses you, placing a hand on your cheek
He slowly pulls away and just quietly says, “I’m in love with you…”
The genuine love and tenderness of the moment almost makes you want to cry so of course you say it back
Y’all go on that hiking trail every year now
A conflict that arose and how y’all resolve it
Ok so y’all are out at a bar maybe with friends after the war
Shifty offers to get the next round of drinks, so he kisses you on the cheek before going up to the bar and ordering
You glance over to the bar after a little bit and see Shifty talking to a girl??
It’s clear she’s trying to put the moves on him, the giggling, the Touching His Arm In That One Way
And Shifty just… lets her?
He’s even laughing along with her jokes (which you can hear and they ain’t great)
You could NEVER picture Shifty doing something like this, but you have no other explanation for what your eyes are seeing
The conflicting feelings start to feel overwhelming so you tell your friends that you’re going to the bathroom before walking as quickly as you can toward the restrooms
Shifty notices your brisk pace and gets concerned cuz you look really upset?? What happened while he was gone??
He follows you to the hallway with the bathrooms and gently takes your hand
“Is everything alright love??” he says so gently but also so worried
You debate telling him what you saw
Like on the one hand he’s never given any indication he’s like that
But on the other he was CLEARLY flirting back???
He sees the anxiety in your eyes and his concern just Doubles
“Sweetheart what’s wrong??” he gently places his hands on your arms while he waits to hear your response, praying he can fix whatever it is
“...why were you flirting with that girl?” you asked in a barely audible voice, tears welling up in your eyes
Suddenly Shifty’s facial muscles scrunch up
“Flirting? You mean with that girl at the bar?”
He laughs a little and shakes his head
“I was trying everything I could to get away from her, but I was waiting on the drinks and I didn’t want to be mean…”
You just breathe a sigh of relief and shake your head, relief washing over you
You both start laughing quietly before you plant a kiss on his lips
“I love you Darrell C Powers”
“Why do you always use my full name?” (it’s not because I always hear it in Speirs’ voice idk what you’re talking about)
Your Happily Ever After
Every morning he wakes you up with a kiss on your nose
If that doesn’t work he goes for your lips next
Sweet baby boy just does everything in his POWEEERRRSS Power to make you smile every day
It’s so lovely too because you're his Emotional Support Extrovert
You do all the talking when y’all need to do adult things like buy a car or do tax thingies
Y’all just balance each other perfectly and I would joke about it being gross but tbh it’s just goals
A silly headcanon about your relationship
So Shifty wanted to do something super extra special for your birthday one year
So he found this super cool and delicious recipe for your favorite flavor of cake
One catch - your boy has never cooked a thing a day in his life
So the night before your birthday (sweet boy wanted to surprise you) you come home and there’s smoke everywhere and you can tell it’s coming from the kitchen
Of course you race in and the first thing you see is Shifty standing on the counter fanning the fire alarm with an off-white apron
Which is weird because your apron is blue??
Yeah the kitchen was an absolute war zone
Cake batter everywhere, egg shells on the floor, flour sticking on every surface
Shifty sees you and quickly hops off the counter to hug you before he remembers the discombobulated state he is in
He just sheepishly smiles at you and says, “happy birthday??”
It was the most fun you’ve ever had cleaning up the kitchen
Thank you again for the ask Blu!!! 💙💙💙💙 (I'm sorry if i made too many jokes about how Speirs says his name it just lives in my head rent-free 🤣😅)
#ask#xxluckystrike#band of brothers#hbo#hbo war#easy company#band of brothers ship#darrell c powers#shifty powers#shifty powers x reader#help emily write#emily shut up#my writing
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Your new sanray fic is just wow!!! It's so so so good!!!! I am in love! But as a desperate person I have to ask. Can you imagine writing like a tiny happy end for them? The hurt no comfort is killing me.
honestly nonny,,, i’m not sure i can right now! i think i’d rather leave it up to canon & then write fixits if i don’t get what i want. as it stands pre-release i'm not even sure what i'd do about the mewray dynamic yet (i do have thoughts, though.) but,,,, for u, lovely, i can perhaps write a moment of peace from the past
(700ish words, t rating for implied sex, absolutely no editing ✨)
💜
“Hey, what do you think of this?” calls San from his place on the balcony.
Ray makes an offended noise on principle; he’d been having a very nice mostly-naked mostly-nap despite both his original intentions and the best efforts of San’s awful couch, and he doesn’t appreciate being roused. Still, he obligingly lifts his head enough to see San giving him his shitty puppy eyes through the sliding door.
He’d dragged an old wooden stool out there before Ray had started drifting, putting on headphones and starting to mess around with his phone and his writing notebook. He usually gets like this once they’re done and his clingy period is over, all energetic and eager to do things. Ray is never going to understand.
He’s comfortable enough here and so pleasantly sleepy that it’d be easy to ignore him, but San didn’t bother to put his shirt on when he’d gone outside and Ray still aches in the best possible way, so he supposes he might owe him one.
With a groan, he levers himself upright and pads over to the balcony in his boxers, slipping on a loose pair of San’s sandals on his way out. “What?” he asks, yawning.
“Do you think this looks good?” San asks, frowning down at the notebook he’s wiggling in Ray’s direction. “I just finished this draft.”
Instead of taking it, Ray circles behind him on the stool, noting with pride the red lines down the lean muscles in his back. “You look good, all scratched up,” he says, and watches with a smirk as San tries to pretend he’s not pleased.
Coming closer, Ray hooks his chin over San’s shoulder to stare down at the notebook. It’s full of guitar tab, with San’s spidery handwriting marking notes and lyrics in the unorganized way he tends to do it all across the page.
“You know I can’t read that shit,” Ray tells him, bringing his arms up and looping them under San’s to connect in front. He still feels a little clingy, probably since it hasn’t been that long, and San is warm and has a nice chest.
“Yeah, yeah,” San says, his voice vibrating against Ray’s skin. “I’m asking about the lyrics, not the notes.”
Ray, who had been forced to learn violin as a child and in retribution did his best to forget everything he’d learned as an adult, has very little music knowledge. He does always like San’s songs, appreciates how his voice fills the room and the movements of his pretty fingers on the guitar.
This one looks just about the same as usual, lyrically, all edgy and longing. “It’s good,” he says lamely, and nuzzles into San’s neck in apology before adding, “Shouldn’t that rhyme?”
“It doesn’t have to,” he says, in that slightly condescending but mostly earnest way he gets when he’s talking about the stuff he really genuinely likes. “There’s dissonance in that part, and the theme is about struggling with something, so it’s supposed to match.”
Ray leans even more of his weight on San’s back, trusting him to catch them before they overbalance. “What do you even need me for, hm?” he asks, a little sleep-slow. “You think it’s good already. Did you just want to hear me say it?”
“You said you were coming next week,” San retorts, but Ray’s got his number.
“You just like it when I tell you you’re a good boy,” he singsongs. “Don’t fish for compliments, it doesn’t suit you.”
“Asshole,” San snaps, and a moment later Ray feels a pinch on his side.
He yelps, flinching away from it without actually disconnecting from San, and shifts his hands up to twist one of San’s nipples in revenge. “Dick,” he says, laughing as San tries to get away from him without toppling off the stool. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“You’re lucky I’m cute,” San tells him, and he can’t actually argue with that without disparaging his own taste.
“Get up,” Ray orders instead. “Play the chords for me.”
“Now you’re interested?”
“Just do it,” Ray says, and he does, laughing.
#my fic tag#only friends#only friends series#i wrote this in notes app and didn’t get on desktop to check so if the formatting is fucky im sorry#this time featuring: more headcanons to be disproven!!!#anyway i hope this makes up for the pain a lil bit ✨#nonny#rowan asks
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