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hitlikehammers · 2 months

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on the radio

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness, love beyond the boundaries of what it even meant to love before the spring of ‘86 ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar!eddie, teacher!steve, rockstar husbands, tour dates coincide with summer vacation because Eddie can't sleep without his Stevie thank you for your cooperation with this policy, soul-deep love, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day fourteen: Love is being late to work because you can’t ever say goodbye in a reasonable amount of time (@sharpbutsoft)

more codependent rockstar!husbands of the je ne regrette rien variety, you say? oh, well, I mean: I guess ♥️

Steve can fucking taste freedom, he swears.

He looks at the list of student records he needs to close out to transfer to the high school before he can pack away the last of his office and sign the hell off for the school year—and start the summer tour cycle with his husband through the Midwest, up and down the East Coast, and then they’re fucking breaking Europe, got signed on to a couple festivals, and Steve is goddamn vibrating with excitement and shit, just: are there parts of your heart that like, fit together? Like bones where they connect and shit, or is it all just one piece?

Steve thinks is more like one piece, but he is gonna go with that it’s more like stitched together or something, just so he can fucking say exactly what he feels, which is that his whole goddamn chest—heart and ribs and lungs and all the other fucking bones and shit there—all of it’s seriously bursting at the seams just with so much fucking pride, okay, because his Eddie’s goddamn made it. This dream of his isn’t just gold records; it’s a plane across an ocean to play for tens of thousands of people who don’t even all speak their language and that’s…that’s just like…

Steve’s so goddamn proud he’s split between wanting to scream about it from the top of the school and maybe sob about it with all kinds of sappy declarations peppered in as he messy-cries, so: bursting at the seams. Heart in his chest so full it’s primed to just explode like a goddamn confetti cannon.

Though time has kind of served as testament to the fact that that sensation’s less exclusively about Eddie’s music, or his success, and more just about Eddie.

Eddie, and loving him beyond the boundaries of any understanding Steve ever had about what it meant to love before the spring of ‘86.

He’s almost through the ‘V’s at the end of his alphabet of names when he notes the time—shit, he almost missed it.

He reaches for tiny radio in the corner of his desk that literally just lives there for the purpose of Eddie and the boys doing interviews on local stations every so often, and tunes it in 93.9.

…elcome to most of the infamous lords of midwestern metal, Corroded Coffin, the DJ’s introducing and good, Steve sighs and flips through his…fifth-to-last folder—just in time, he can listen to the interview the guys are squeezing in before hitting the road, then he can get home while the band’s getting their flight to the first venue in Chicago, they’ve got a couple of days there and he and Eddie are planning to look at some houses; Erica’s out of high school they’re ready to make the leap, and Steve will take the 6:10 flight and head straight to the show like the often do, it should work perfect; it’s great to have you guys back but Jeff, I gotta ask, the maybe most…colorful?

You can say obnoxious, Lenny, if anyone knows, we do, Jeff’s shooting playfully, and Steve snickers, distracted by closer folder-number-five and flipping open number-four.

I would never, the DJ gasps theatrically to laughter, and Gareth’s muted holler almost like he’s here! and then he continues on; that does open the line of inquiry, though: where’s your notorious frontman, Mr. Munson?

Steve’s hand slips on the folder; he barely catches it before it falls to the floor.

Eddie…Eddie’s not, not there?

Steve tries to talk down the adrenaline response that’s never wholly died at the idea of the love of his fucking life gone missing, and worse, the idea of something happening to him while unaccounted for: Jeff was playful. Gareth was teasing. They have to at least have known somethingabout Eddie’s absence, Steve talks down his racing heart to something just a little anxious as he listens for clues, and doesn’t have to mine little hints or anything even, it’s clear and plain:

Eddie’s got a sore throat, so like the diva he is, he’s resting it before showtime, Dougie chiming in and yeah, two points to that: one, the only reason Eddie’d have a sore throat would have been fine by sun-up, yeah, and it was, because Eddie was all sunshine and manic energy when they parted ways that morning, and then two: Steve actually knows these guys well enough to be able to tell when they’re talking out their asses.

And Doug is maybe the worst liar of the three on-air.

Steve’s chewing hard on his Bic, trying hard to keep a level head about this: if anything drastic had happened, he’d have heard, they all have his office number, they all know where he is, it would—

Steve startles when he hears rubber squeaking down the hall outside the office; as far as he knows, though, he’s the only person here—everyone else takes at least a week free from this place after classes end, but Steve has a timeline, and a flight to catch, so y’know: sacrifices must be made and whatnot.

He barely gets to turn in his chair to consider getting up to check when the culprit and his perpetually-trashed Reeboks skids to a halt in the doorway.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie beams at him, a little breathless, hair a fucking mess but smiling so big, those dimples popped so deep: shit, if Steve’s heart hadn’t been quick already, that’d fucking do the trick.

“Eddie,” Steve stands, and meets him in the middle where Eddie’s already crossing to him, kissing him immediately and hungrier than the maybe-five-hours since the saw each other really fucking merits. “What, you, why aren’t you at the station?”

Eddie’s eyes flick to the radio as he clocks the question and of all the reactions Steve could predict from him, the fake-sheepish grin with the glimmering fucking eyes?

Probably could have guessed that one.

“I forgot something.”

“You forgot something?”

“Yeah, something important,” he nods fervently and Steve frowns.

‘Babe, you could have called, I’m meeting you at the arena, I could drop it with security if needed to,” he offers, argues: but not really, and not like it fucking matters, because here Eddie is, and the boys were planning to run straight to the airport from the interview, both of which are in the city but Steve’s not, and Eddie’s gonna have to be fucking quick, here, if he doesn’t want to be late for his goddamn flight; did he already swing by the house for whatever it is he needs, it—

“Nope,” Eddie pops the denial like a bubble; “can’t leave it with security.”

Steve squints at him, because now it’s a puzzle. Now it’s Eddie being…kind of a little shit.

And Steve doesn’t even begrudge him the momentary panic before; he’s too adorable. Steve’s too fucking in love.

And now he’s curious.

“You kissed me goodbye.”

“Oh, always,” Eddies almost offended by the suggestion he could have forgotten that. As in: ever.

“Said you loved me.”

“Bigger than the universe,” Eddie says exactly what he came up with that morning, like he does every morning, some new outlandish way to describe the scope of his affections and Steve rolls his eyes but eats it up every fucking time; “and the universe is always expanding so I love you bigger than what it’s expanded to since this morning, too.”

Steve can’t help but kiss him for that, because; well.

Because.

“What the hell else then?” Steve asks, because Eddie has a fucking timeline here and then his husband’s grin stretches slow, and sly, and then he’s drawing Steve in, and kissing him deep, licking as far as he can reach and wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist tight, knocking him a little off balance by design and Steve goes with it, because he fucking loves it, and then—

“Goddamnit, Edward,” Steve growls between them into Eddie’s shit-eating fucking grin as he smacks Steve’s ass, again, and keeps his hand there to squeeze while he pecks at Steve’s lips with feeling.

“It’s good luck, baby, for the journey!” Eddie protests between kisses. “It would curse the whole shebang if I left without showing the appreciation duly accorded to a goddamn masterpiece,” and then he leans in and goes deep one more time, draws a moan out and drags it slow from Steve’s lips before breaking away to declare emphatically:

“Unthinkable.”

And Steve…Steve fucking loves this man bigger than the whole expanding fucking universe or whatever, so he kisses him back until Eddie’s the one moaning, then pushes him away, kinda hard.

“Get out of here, you fucking lunatic,” but then he’s quick to drag Eddie back for one last kiss to mouth against him: “have a safe flight, I’ll see you tonight.”

And Eddie smiles against him, and makes to actually listen, but.

Not before Steve slaps that ass as it makes its way out the door.

Turnabout’s fair play.

Or whatever.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

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7grandmel · 2 months

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Todays rip: 02/03/2024

One-Winged DJ

Season 7 Featured on: The Year of Grand Dad Sound Selection [Side A]

Ripped by duuzu, digboye, COCONABE, l4ureleye, Netyasha Roozi, Jiko Music Performed by Chase Beck

youtube

You may have noticed that I try to keep an air of suspense when doing posts on the King for Another Day tournament such as Thank You, Everybody!. That is, of course, to not spoil the victor of Season 4 Episode 1's year-defining event - but at this point, it's a bit of a fruitless endeavor to try and uphold. Because DJ Professor K's victory celebrations haven't just been contained to his awarded day-long takeover during Season 4 Episode 2 - the takeover that gave us incredible rips like AIN'T NOTHIN' LIKE A CHUNKY BEAT, 88811, Ska Cha Cha (Rotten Mix) at an absolute breakneck pace during the SiIvaSummer All-Star Festival. Because during that takeover, a new flame was kindled - a flame by the name of Jet Set Radio Evolution.

Hideki Naganuma's style of sample-filled funk music is DJ Professor K's headlining ripping source, the one most closely associated with the game that the character originates from. Yet its a style that can be expressed in so many ways, not needing to be derivative of any prior existing songs from the two Jet Set Radio games - September, for instance, is able to sound authentically Naganuma-esque whilst being built off of a song as far away from his style as possible. Jet Set Radio Evolution, then, is an entirely made-up game - its name and logo deriving from a declined proof-of-concept, but its "soundtrack" completely made up by the SiIvaGunner team. This is far from the first fake game on the channel, and not the first one to be done without much of a shred of irony (Kirby Rip Attack is due for coverage on here) - but, notably, its a fake game born specifically to keep DJ Professor K's impact on the channel alive in the Seasons past his takeover. And, well, it took a few Seasons, but during Season 7, the team started going truly ham in utilizing its true potential.

There are a number of these Jet Set Radio Evolution rips I want to cover on here, both ones from DJ Professor K's takeover and from its revitalized usage during Season 7 - but to me, it was One-Winged DJ that really showed just how much flexibility rippers have with Naganuma's style of music. One-Winged Angel has long been seen as a sort of legendary track to rip due just how extensive of a song it is, a song that has a distinctly menacing feel to it that I can't imagine is easy to translate into a rip. Rips like One Winged PSYcho - V.S. Sepsyrop feel like absolutely herculean endeavors, and during Season 7 in particular we saw an absolute tidal wave of rips using it, as if it were just any other meme source in the channel's backlog and not this legendary 7-minute long work of art. Hen'yoku no Piraman was the first of these I covered, and while One-Winged DJ is likely far from the last, it still manages to feel like it sticks out from the crowd in just how dense of a sound it has - likely a result of how many people contributed to its creation.

There's the obvious highlight, of course: Chase Beck, the voice of DJ Professor K himself, returns to the role with new lines to supplement the original choir in latin of the original song, and it immediately gives the rip a charm to it, especially all these years after the original event and after Chase Beck's last "needed" performance as the character had long since passed. Before that even gets to kick in, though, its hard not to notice just how many different parts of Jet Set Radio's soundtracks are utilized right from the beginning: a bassline and voicelines echoing That's Enough, samples and pacing from Sneakman, the interlude's melody broken by the noise and chaos of The Concept of Love, and all throughout using small little sound effects and one-second samples from all over the games' soundscapes.

This is the kind of rip I could sit here and dissect for pages on end, yet I believe the point has been made abundantly clear already. In a Season already FILLED with celebration of every part of SiIvaGunner's life, One-Winged DJ is an absolute flex of a celebration, reminding us all of why DJ Professor K truly earned his win whilst showing just how much there is to still be done within the ever-appealing Naganuma style. I'm beyond proud of the rippers involved in how this rip turned out, and hope that the Jet Set Radio Evolution rips continue to impress into Season 8.

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sexiestpodcastcharacter · 7 months

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Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 1

Propaganda

Gable (Campaign: Skyjacks):

7ft tall sulver-haired thembo of a fallen angel. was the literal sword of god until they killed him! reasons slightly unclear but probably sure to forbidden queer love! super caring for their friends. has one friend they have known for hundreds of years who they HATE but are bound to by the red string of fate. their sword is a part of them, they can sheathe it into a tattoo. they start out indistinct at the edges but as they have continued on through the campaign they have become more and more distinct. they became a flaming engine of justice to kill their friends shitheaded older brother who was following him. they have learned enough necromancy to allow other fallen angels to die, even though they typically cannot. they fly giant birds in to battle.

7ft tall beefcake wielding a sword as tall as they are. vengeful sweetheart

Imagine now: a fallen angel with beautiful gray hair and very big muscles. Now imagine them with a 9 ft sword. Now imagine them as a helmsperson of a pirate ship in a flowy deep-v pirate shirt. Now imagine they're dumb as a fucking rock. And finally, imagine that they killed god. Here, you have made Gable Skyjacks: sexiest podcast character of all time.

7ft tall nonbinary/genderfluid thembo fallen angel sky pirate who wields a buster sword. silvergrey hair with black/gold streaks as they regain feathers/memories of before their fall. back is covered in tattoos that hide the scars of their shredded off wings. killed God. toxic exes with lucifer. they are the keeper of several giant war birds who occasionally crave human flesh. they enjoy getting rowdy/smoking rope with their boys. they collect rocks that they think are neat. When anyone admits they are attracted to them, Gable trips over their words and absolutely swaglessly ends up sounding stupider and sexier by the end of the conversation; the will they/won't they and teasing they dish out to these (un?)lucky few is palpable. Sometimes the buster sword is on fire. They are immortal, they are cringe, they are trying to atone because they believe they are the reason the world is ruined.

Hector Hu (Friends at the Table: Bluff City):

A priest. A radio DJ. A conspiracy theorist (but many of the conspiracies are probably true). A spy. Regardless, they're charismatic as fuck. Black and Filipino and looks like an older Toro y Moi. Omega love, y'all. Ω🫶

#Round 1 #Gable #Gable Skyjacks #Hector Hu #Campaign: Skyjacks #Campaign Podcast #Friends at the Table #Bluff City

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dj-carni · 1 year

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GTA V - LOS SANTOS UNDERGROUND RADIO DJ SET

#dj set mix #djset #dj mix #djing #gta v #gta los santos underground radio #technomusic #techno house #house music #soundcloud

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angstics · 1 year

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the foundations of decay (2022) x vampires will never hurt you (2002)

FIRST SINGLE

Gerard Way: ["Vampires Will Never Hurt You"] will always be my favorite recording of the band, because it was the first. Having little money, or for that matter the songs, to complete a full-length album, we hopped in a van and headed to Nada Studios.

(may death never stop you booklet, march 2014)

["Vampires Will Never Hurt You"]'s recording was so passionate that, despite being intended as a demo, My Chemical Romance decided that they should use it on the album. It would go on to become the central cog of the record they were about to make, I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love. It would be the album that launched their career.

(not the life it seems, sept 2014)

[Under the /audio tab on mychemicalromance.com, there is a table of titles and downloadablable mp3s. At this time, there is only one audio file listed for "Vampires Will Never Hurt You". Below the table, it reads: "From our forthcoming full length album on Eyeball Recordings, due out this summer. This is a rough mix of the song. The final mix will appear on a summer sampler and the full length. Recorded March 3rd, 2002 at Nada Studios in upstate NY."]

(mychemicalromance.com, arch. june 2002)

[Alex Saavedra] gives a lot of the credit to the influential local DJ and scene stalwart the late Mario Comesanas. He used his Under the Stars slot on the South Orange, New Jersey college-radio station WSOU to air "Vampires" for the first time. Comesanas, who was also first to play Thursday on the radio, remembered the response was overwhelming. ‘The reaction was ridiculous – I knew that there was something special here,’ he said. ‘When we counted the requests, there was so much more for them than there was for any other band at that time.’

(not the life it seems, sept 2014)

Frank Iero: I think the first time we really recognized the power of social media was right around the time Thursday was being signed, Midtown was signed. Basically, all our friends from Jersey and Long Island were getting record deals. And My Chem had really just started. We recorded one song because that’s all we had the money for at that point. And we put it up on Myspace immediately and were like, “Hey listen, we’re gonna do a record soon once we get the money. But this is like a sneak preview kind of thing,” and once we put that up, there were literally major label A&Rs calling the practice studio. How they got the number for the practice studio, I have no idea.

(stereogum.com, march 2020)

Frank Iero: This is just something we figured out like... last week when I was hanging out with everybody. The first song we ever wrote and put out on the internet, like, our first single was a song called "Vampires Will Never Hurt You" and it was a song we wrote at the practice studio and recorded and put it out. And we were like, "If people like it, then... they'll let us know through this song and we'll get enough money that we can record," right? So that's what we did. That song was six minutes long. And the last song we put out ["The Foundations of Decay"] is six minutes long. Kinda crazy.

(two minutes to late night, august 2022)

Frank Iero: No one has bigger balls than us right now… I pulled out songs that like… Can you rip a song like a song that we did in 2001 and never released? […] You feel like a badass when you can do that. You feel like a musician then. Like the musicianship and the artistry, that can’t be fucked with."

(one life, one chance, oct 2022)

"favorite" / "couldn't be happier"

(mikey way and frank iero on instagram, may 2022)

STORM

Gerard Way, about recording "Vampires": We started moving the drums out to the van and I was surprised to see what it looked like outside. The sky had become dark blue and jet black and the wind was so strong we thought Mikey was going to blow away. Trees were whipping around and a huge storm was rolling in, but it was strangely warm and felt very comforting. Then I knew my vocals were going to come out just the way I wanted, I could feel this weird excitement.

(mychemicalromance.com, arch. may 2002)

(foundations of decay, may 2022)

SWARM

What's all this nonsense about bats??? The band likes bats. Who doesn't? If you've seen the band live you might have heard Gerard mention something about turning into one or unleashing some sort of swarm of them. "Unleash the fucking bats" is something they say to each other seconds before starting the set to get themselves pumped up. This all started back in Jan '02 when the band finally came together and started playing together with an intensity none of them had ever known. That fateful night they rocked together so hard that a "rock portal" opened up and out flew a swarm of giant bats. No shit.

(mychemicalromance.com, arch. may 2002)

Some rumours I have heard is that you guys like Bats, what's the fascination with them, is it the Will Haven song BATS, or you just like the species? Gerard Way: Haha...the whole bat thing came about at an early practice when Mikey joined and we finally gelled. Our energy just came together and a giant heavy metal vortex opened up and out flew a swarm of bats. We all saw it. It was like an awakening. After that we accepted bats into our lives. It was also while we were playing "Vampires Will Never Hurt You" so it probably had alot to do with that.

(anemicmagazine.com, 2002)

So, the whole vampires, bats, bloody stuff. Where did that all come from? Gerard Way: I probably haven’t ever said this in an interview, but the whole “unleash the bats” thing came from a Birthday Party song called “Release The Bats.” [...] The whole vampire thing [came up when I thought], “Man, nobody writes songs about vampires. How cool would it be?” I thought it was kind of risky or ballsy to play a rock song or a hardcore song that was about vampires.

(starsandscars.com, april 2004)

(foundations of decay, may 2022)

#my chemical romance #mcr #mcr: 2022 #tho ive had this idea for a week but i constructed all the quotes and photos and Realizations last night #i didnt plan to color code her. but. well #mcr: research

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voxyldy · 1 year

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youtube

12.12.2022

[Bangtan Bomb]

“Kim Eana’s Starry Night” Special Host V - BTS [방탄소년단)

Source: Bangtan TV 📺

#taehasmysoulinhispocket #bts #v #TaeHyung #starry night #kim eana #DJ Host #my prince #my sweet potato #triptych #mint choco line #내 고구마 #프린스태는 #radio show #december 2022 #Youtube

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jayessar · 5 months

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This video came out two years ago, so I can now bring it up without people jumping me in the public.

Not only it's just not good, the worst part of it is the shocking amount of uncredited art, especially considering that the author credited their sources.

It's just disrespectful, plain and simple.

So, I decided to find and credit every author I can, since I can't stand this sort of thing.

Either way, let's begin.

Instead of timestamping where specific artwork appeared, I'll just write in which section they appeared.

jgr vs jsr - https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/15837155

pots is playable - https://www.tumblr.com/jsrf-inside/138005975042/so-i-made-potts-the-dog-giant-d-i-was-messing (have no clue if it was posted on the actual jsrf-inside blog, so yea)

different names for different releases - https://www.pixiv.net/en/users/652648 (author deleted the art, but it is their)

In the same section appears edit of artwork made by Lesean Thomas for Girls of Gaming volume 5

tier 2 - https://www.deviantart.com/lordwong/art/Gummmm-3191374

jsr billboard in blah blah blah - https://konkonkonna.tumblr.com/post/105559062635/cosmicremix-i-know-im-not-the-first-person-to (this is a reblog, author wiped their blog)

the scrapped wii game - https://vgboxart.com/view/35875/jet-set-radio-future-wii-cover/

https://www.deviantart.com/jocelynada/art/Dreamcast-136486127

tier 3 - https://www.deviantart.com/lordwong/art/This-is-Corn-3264351

dj k rap - https://www.tumblr.com/sulkymonkey/634633936856907776/dj-professor-k-jet-set-radio

cube's original design - https://www.deviantart.com/theinfamousmrd/art/Cube-Jet-Set-Radio-169727501

beat has whatever condition - https://www.deviantart.com/fryguy64/art/Beat-Jet-Set-Radio-316764100

ereki shirt - https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=2068703416545342&set=a.864913143591048.1073741829.864559183626444 (take the speedpaint too https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OPuXCyd9ZAY)

tier 5 - https://www.deviantart.com/parororo/art/Jet-Set-Radio-Mew-491206262

coin died - https://www.tumblr.com/dedtoot/629700991997050880/them-art-is-based-on-this-unused-texture

clutch is coin - https://www.deviantart.com/royto-krowler/art/Clutch-Jet-Set-Radio-Future-119256643

gorillaz noodle thing - https://web.archive.org/web/20151025040607/https://tremendousrexx.deviantart.com/art/Jet-Set-Radio-The-GG-s-Radio-Days-540098911 (woow author deactivated IMAGINE THAT)

nb noise tanks - https://www.deviantart.com/tabu123/art/Noise-Tanks-514955886

tier 9 - https://www.deviantart.com/eisu/art/GG-on-the-Go-27875236

So yeah, that's all i could dig up. If you know the source for more images, or noticed a mistake in this post, then please tell me and I'll edit the post.

What's the moral of the story here?

Respect artist's work!

Just because they are uploading pretty images for free, doesn't mean that you can just take them all willy-nilly. As a fandom based around an art based game, that has a lot of issues with crediting its own developers, we should know better.

Special thanks to my friends, saucenao and the Hokuto no Ken OST that was blaring while I searched for art lol.

#jet set radio #jet set radio future #info

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denim-mixtapes · 2 months

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Not Another Moment to Waste (Hot Summer Night Part 3 of 4)

Word Count: 5k Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader Tags: EXPLICIT SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI - Rockstar/Radio DJ AU, canon divergence, set in 1992 and Eddie has more piercings and tattoos than ever, thigh riding, semi public sex, unprotected p in v sex (do not do this), light spanking, pet names instead of y/n (sweetheart, doll, baby), quickie in a broom closet (the smut scene is VERY BRIEF, this is a set up for a 4th and final part that is all smut no plot).

Summary: An emergency at work and a request direct from Steve Harrington lands you in Indianapolis, working before the Corroded Coffin show, and Eddie Munson fulfils his promise to take you backstage and show you a good time.

[AO3] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part4 COMING SOON]

yes that is a photo of hozier in the header no i do not want to elaborate it just WORKS okay

When Eddie Munson promised to bring you backstage at the next corroded coffin show, you half took it as an empty gesture. Nothing more than a few pretty words murmured into your ear while still high off the adrenaline of a quick fuck in a bar bathroom.

It was great while it lasted, sure, but you were just another girl in another city and at the end of the day, Indianapolis was the next city on the list. A new city with new groupies and new distractions. He’s already probably forgotten about you, or at least moved on.

So when you’re catching lunch before getting ready for work, you’re surprised to get a page from your station manager marked URGENT.

Shouldering your way into the phone booth outside of your favorite deli, you dig out change and dial his office number with a huff.

“WKZT, this is Gary,” his gruff voice echoed through the pay phone.

“Hey, it’s me, what’s the situation?”

“Yeah, so,” he clears his throat uncomfortably. “Change of plans. Dave’s wife went into labor early so he can’t make the trip out to Indy for the Corroded Coffin gig tonight. Now normally I would send someone else in his place but we got a call from Steve Harrington specifically requesting that you make an appearance.”

You huff, rolling your eyes, “Gary, I’m not– I don’t do live events.”

Your boss grumbles, a heaviness in his voice that suggests he isn’t happy about this turn of events either, “Like I don't know that. Do you think I’d send you if I had any other option?” There’s a long pause on his end followed by another grunt of disinterest. ��Look, Jimmie is going too, he can handle all the on air shit without his co-host, but I need someone there running tech shit. Just make sure nothing goes awry with the broadcast and then you’re scot free, free to enjoy the free concert with damn good seats thanks to Harrington.”

He can clearly hear the rattling of the phone booth as you hit your forehead against it, contemplating. On one hand, if the band’s management was sending for you, it must mean something good, right? But on the other, you have to spend two hours in the van with your unbearable coworker Jimmie – both ways – and work a live event, something you have absolutely no experience in.

As if he could sense your hesitation, Gary continued, “The station will put you up for the night, so you won’t be headed back late at night, and you’ll be paid for the mileage. Please, kid, we need you.”

“Mileage and the bonus event pay Dave would have gotten?” You push.

There’s a long pause before he gives in. “Fine. But you have to bunk with Jimmie in that case.”

“I guess I’ll take it,” you mumble, thankful for the tiny victory at least.

Your boss exclaims on the other end of the line, a sound of relief and uncharacteristic gratitude. He tells you to get packed and get to the station as soon as possible, you have a long drive ahead of you and an earlier call time than usual.

Packing.

A task much easier said than done.

Normally for work trips in the past, you only threw in the essentials. Jeans, station-branded tee shirts, a blazer for professionalism, and comfy, worn in combat boots. Now, staring into your wardrobe, you’re overthinking everything.

Harrington requested that the station send you. That must mean that Eddie was asking for you, that maybe his whispered promise of pulling you backstage for another roll in the hay had some truth behind it after all. The thought has you squirming in anticipation as you stare down your clothing.

A look at the clock reminds you of your time crunch, and you throw a few options in a bag, hoping for a quick trip and some time to freshen up in your hotel room before you have to head to the concert.

About an hour into your drive to Indianapolis, you’re starting to wonder if Eddie Munson is actually worth all this trouble.

Jimmie Page was exactly the type of man that made you feel like you didn’t belong in this industry. He changed his last name earlier on in his career in the hopes that daft women would confuse him with the musician of the same name. Everything he did and said was calculated, strategically planned to garner attention from the opposite sex, and he was cocky in the fact that it often worked. Not on you. From the moment you started at the station, he saw you as a challenge, but finally after years of turning down his advances (and more than one threat to call HR) he instead started treating you like ‘one of the boys.’

That’s how you got here now, in the passenger seat of the vinyl-wrapped station van, listening to him tell you stories as if you were just one of the guys. Crude, vulgar, accompanied with hand motions that jerked the steering wheel nauseatingly. You’re honestly not sure you prefer this to getting hit on.

By the time you make it to your hotel to check in, through the suffocating elevator ride, and into the dimly lit room, his voice is practically white noise roaring in your ears.

You throw your duffel onto one of the beds (thanking Gary, Dawn, and all that is holy that there are two of them), and start digging through it, tossing clothing items and makeup products on the bed in order to start getting ready.

There’s a low whistle behind you, the sound piercing you between the eyes to awaken the headache that this man always seems to cause.

“That’s a lot of face paint there, honey.” The endearment is sour on his lips, churning your stomach in all the wrong ways. His eyes turn to the scrap of leather in your hand. “Short skirt too. You hoping to attract some metalhead wannabe tonight? Maybe a greasy little merch boy? I can see how that would seem like the next best thing to the ones up on stage just out of reach in your eyes.”

Oh if only you knew.

You bite back the snide comment and push past him roughly, making your way to the bathroom.

“Just trying to blend in, asshole.”

“Well,” he shouts to be heard through the bathroom door, “we can’t all be prudes like you. So don’t you worry about me if I don’t show up back here till mornin’, yeah?”

“I should be so lucky.” You mumble to your reflection.

—

Thankfully, the broadcast goes off without a hitch. You stay in the van manning the equipment while Jimmie parades around outside, interviewing passerby, giving out stickers and tee shirts, and asking them to introduce the next song. He even manages to catch Gareth before he heads backstage and gets him to give another shout out. It isn’t a long show, they never are at live events, which you’re thankful for, and soon enough you’re both packing away work and heading inside the venue.

You’re worried you’ll have to spend the whole evening with your coworker, but when the usher scans your badges, you’re separated. You are told to stay put for a moment while Jimmie is led to his seat in the press area, off to the side and a little further back than desirable, and he looks at you with a furrowed brow that you only reply to with a shrug.

Thank. Fuck.

The usher speaks into a headset and tells you to wait there, someone will be there to collect you momentarily.

Turns out, someone is Dustin Henderson himself, dressed exactly as you would have expected in a Weird-Al-inspired patterned button down, jeans, and an oversized sport coat, flanked by two more men in actual suits that you don’t recognize.

“(Y/N), Hi!” He greets, taking your hand and shaking it with both of his, comically vigorous. “So glad you could make it.”

“Uh, hi,” you return his fond gesture, but point over your shoulder in the direction of the press area. “Am I not…there? I thought this was a press badge.”

“It is, technically, but Munson wouldn’t have it.” Henderson turns and starts walking, confident that you’ll follow. Which you do, eyes trained on the short mess of curls in front of you. He keeps talking to the open air in front of him, gesturing wildly in a way that suggests he’s never been able to keep his hands still. “I don’t know if you’re aware, young lady, but you’ve made quite the impression on our frontman.”

Your face twists in confusion as he ducks down a quieter hallway, away from the noise of fans and merch tables. “Young lady?” You scoff, “What are you, nineteen?”

“Twenty-one.” He corrects coolly over his shoulder.

Holding up your hands in defense, you stifle a laugh and continue to follow him down another hallway and through a set of double doors.

They lead you right up side-stage. Beside you sits a rack of guitars, you recognize Eddie’s iconic red Warlock, as well as another deep emerald green number he’s known to favor and a simple wooden-body acoustic. Curtains obscure your view of the growing crowd and offer you cover from their view, but your vantage point offers you the perfect line of sight across the stage, if not a little bit skewed because it’s from a different angle.

Smoke pours in from the fog machines underfoot as the opening band plays their set, guitar techs and various venue employees shuffle around you to do their work but you’re never made to feel in the way.

Dustin gestures to a pile of rolling trunks and equipment cases and smiles kindly, “more than welcome to take a seat throughout the show, but I like the view from here best. Steve and I will be around if you need anything just let one of us know.”

You nod and thank him with a sweet smile, a little overwhelmed at the special treatment, but then there’s a ruckus from behind you and Dustin is rolling his eyes and running off toward it, trying not to seem as frantic about the commotion as he clearly is.

And then you’re alone.

You enjoy the opening band, feeling the music as much as you’re hearing it, the nearby amplifiers thrumming along with the beat, and soon enough the frontman is introducing the last song. The commotion around you grows louder, more excited as more people filter in. Across the stage in the other wing, Jeff sees you and raises a hand in a kind wave, which you return happily. There’s no way you could stop yourself from looking around for a familiar head of hair framing that signature cocky smile. Peeking over your shoulder, you don’t see anyone you recognize except for Dustin, and across the way you can see the rest of the band, but Eddie is nowhere to be seen.

Until hands grip your waist from behind, making you yelp.

The sound of the opening band introducing Corroded Coffin and the roar of the crowd are syrupy in your ears at Eddie’s proximity. His hands squeeze where they hold your waist with a sense of familiarity you didn’t expect from him, and his words cut through the dull white noise around you when he murmurs in your ear. It’s a soft, pointed greeting of, “sweetheart.”

“You treat all your interviewers this special?” You tease, turning in his grasp to gaze up at him through your lashes.

“Definitely not.” He lets out a dark chuckle, one hand leaving your waist to grab roughly at your jaw and pull your face toward his for a hurried kiss. The hand still on your waist travels south, splaying wide over your ass, his long fingers teasing at the hem of your skirt that doesn’t land much lower than the crease of your cheeks. His voice lowers even further, “but then, they don’t all look nearly this good in leather.”

Behind him an impatient guitar tech clears their throat, and Eddie smirks. Your lips just barely brush his as you breathe, “break a leg.”

It’s with a dark chuckle and swift swat where his hand was resting on the swell of your ass that he mutters his own, “thanks, angel.” He finally detaches from you, much to your dismay, and allows the guitar tech to adorn him with his beloved Warlock. Onstage, The Freak matches the energy of the crowd with the bass-heavy introduction to Upside Down, and blanketed in the sounds of cheering fans and his first grungy, prolonged chord of the song, Eddie stalks backward slowly toward the stage. Eyes dropping from yours to take in your figure appreciatively, at the very last moment before he breaks onto the stage he adds on, “but all the luck I need is standing right there in a worn out pair of Docs.”

It’s lame. It’s so lame that you can’t stop your eyes from rolling at his sentiment, but as he turns to run out and greet his fans, he catches the flush creeping up your neck.

—

The show is electric. A whirlwind of wicked instrumental solos and Eddie’s powerful vocals, of the roar of a pleased crowd, fabricated smoke and sparks from cheap pyrotechnics, warm stage lights and adrenaline and speakers rattling your chest. Every time Eddie casts a sidelong glance your way, bathed in red stagelight and sweat and pure sex, you return the look with a dramatic blown kiss or an encouraging gesture, thinly disguising the way that every single one of those looks settles right between your legs.

After a show stopping first half of the setlist, allowing a moment for the deafening roar of the crowd to settle on the room, Eddie slings the Warlock to hang off his back as he approaches the mic stand, cupping both hands around it to speak in a hush.

“What do you say we give these goons a break?” He asks, voice low and sultry. There’s a hesitation in the crowd, but it’s filled with unsure excitement. Even you find yourself leaning in, waiting to see what he’s got up his sleeve. “What you you say, we make this a little more intimate between you and I? Huh? Would you like that, Indy?” The smile that lights up his face at the enthusiastic screaming from his fans is so boyishly gleeful and out of character that it almost catches you off guard. For a moment, you catch a glimpse of the teenager he was before the murder charges. Before the bandwagon accusations of a hometown that was always against him. Before the loss of a dear friend. The teenager who played DnD and covers-only gigs with these same friends, dreaming of doing exactly this one day. He chuckles into the microphone, then, gaze lingering on you through kissed lashes, he croons, “well then why don’t you allow me a moment to slip into a little something more comfortable and I’ll be right back.”

Soundtracked by house music, an outburst of applause and excited hollering, all four of them run off the stage toward you. Mirroring their excited energy, you high five the guys as they run past you toward Steve and Dustin who are waiting with bottled water and encouraging grins. You expect Eddie to follow suit, but he beelines for you, handing off the Warlock to the guitar tech with his wicked smile trained on you. Before you can process what’s happening, he’s on you, taking your face in both hands and smacking a hard, hurried kiss on your lips.

Breathless and sweat slick and warm, he asks, “enjoying the show?”

“Mmm,” you hum, pressing your lips together in a tight smile and nodding as much as his hold on you would allow. “Very much. They love you out there!”

Still rushed, not wanting to leave too much dead air on stage, he pulls away and shrugs out of the denim battle vest he’s been wearing all night. Tugging at the collar of his torn up black tank top, he tears it off and throws it over your shoulder to another stage hand. You’re only given a brief moment to appreciate the sight before another shirt is tossed back. “Oh, they ain’t seen nothing yet,” he growls, clearly referencing the crowd but directing his energy right at you. He dons the new shirt, a black and white baseball tee boasting the logo of – if your research is correct – his high school DnD group the Hellfire Club, and takes the acoustic guitar being thrust into his arms. Behind the wall of speakers, the crowd has started to chant his name and he basks in it, grinning. “Time to go bare my soul,” he sighs, winking in your direction and turning in place to run back out to his adoring fans, the first few notes of Wake Up ringing through the sound system.

Somewhere between the first and second encore, you’re sent for again. The band had run off to the opposite end of the stage, much to your disappointment, but as you watch their close knit huddle fondly, it’s Steve’s turn to sidle up beside you.

You draw a breath to greet him, but the chant of Master! Master! Master! From the crowd demanding Eddie’s infamous cover of Metallica’s Master of Puppets all but drowns you out. Chuckling, you lean in closer and shout, “is it like this every night!?”

“Hm,” Steve muses, “not always. But we’re so close to our hometown, Indy crowds always deliver.” A beat of quiet passes between you before he continues, “I was asked to bring you back to the green room, if you want to follow me.”

“Uh, sure, yeah,” you concede, craning your neck as you follow him to watch them take the stage again.

Through more corridors and ducking around venue employees, you follow Steve Harrington back past the line of fans and wannabe groupies claiming they know this person or the other to try and make it backstage, toward the irritated security guard who waves Steve through with ease. From the line you can hear gripes from girls in too-tight shirts fresh from the merch table, who even is she? and what’s so special about that one? and why does she get to go back there!? As much as you wish it didn’t, pride swells in your chest at their jealousy. As you pass the guard adamantly telling someone that a press badge doesn’t get them past this point, you turn and let out a surprised laugh at the WKZT polo shirt and Jimmie’s shocked guffaw of your name.

You offer him a cocky smile and the briefest wiggle of your fingers before turning back around to continue chasing after Harrington.

There’s a few people milling about when you arrive at the green room. A girl you recognize as Gareth’s girlfriend, if tabloids are to be believed, a couple more girls that look like they were plucked from the crowd to join the band post-show, a few roadies waiting to break down, and you think the girl in the corner is Robin Buckley, long time friend of both Eddie and his management team. She’s sipping on a glass of champagne probably provided by the venue and scanning the pages of a thick paperback, keeping away from the chaos.

Steve gestures widely to the room without any additional words, catches Robin’s eye and gives her a brief salute, and heads out unceremoniously. As the door slams shut behind you, all eyes turn to you with interest, everyone curious about the new arrival. The girls quickly realize you aren’t one of the band members and lose interest quickly, Robin gives a polite wave, but returns to her book, and you’re left to stand uncomfortably in the doorway. That is, until maybe-Gareth’s-girlfriend smiles comfortingly your way and moves the throw pillows off of the other half of the loveseat she’s perched on, offering you a seat.

“Thanks,” you mumble, tucking your feet under you as you take a seat and tugging at the hem of your skirt to make sure you remain decent, “I probably look like a fish out of water here, huh?” You laugh at your own expense.

“Nah, you just look a lot like I felt after my first show on tour, happy to be here but a little lost” she waves you off, brown eyes sparkling with kindness. She tosses a curtain of rainbow colored box braids over one shoulder and offers you a hand to shake, “I’m Kiara.”

Shaking her hand, you offer a broad smile in return and introduce yourself.

“Oh!” She perks up, leaning toward you excitedly, “you’re the radio host from last night, right? The guys could not shut up about you all day today! Well…some more than others.”

Your cheeks color at her suggestion that Eddie was the one doing most of the talking, and you rub awkwardly at the back of your neck. “That’s me,” you chuckle, “so Eddie’s uh, mentioned me?”

“No! Not like that!” Her burst of a laugh is downright musical, and she’s physically waving off the comment with a manicured hand in the air. One hand lands on your arm and squeezes comfortingly. “Well, yeah. He’s Eddie. Of course he did, but I meant all the guys! Jeff said it was one of the best radio spots they’ve ever done. Gareth was practically glowing when he mentioned that you featured his solo. They were all impressed.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you let out your own laugh, “well, I guess that’s good to know. They were a pleasure to have on the show, really genuine.”

The cushions behind you dip with the sudden weight of Robin Buckley’s crossed arms, leaning in conspiratorially. “But….one more of a pleasure than the rest, right?” One brow raised, even she can’t take herself seriously, snorting with laughter at the color draining from your face. “Ah, I’m just fuckin’ with ya, kid.” She tousles your hair affectionately, “it’s been a while since Munson’s been this smitten. I’m pleased to meet the girl behind the voice.”

Robin and Kiara talk around you, but those words dance around in your head.

Smitten?

No. That’s impossible.

He met you yesterday. Well, okay, technically you’d met once before. That show at the Hideout in his hometown was years ago, though. There’s no way he remembers you, no matter how much you may have flirted back and forth.

Then again, he didn’t have to invite you back, or specifically call the station to request your presence.

The door slamming open, rattling off the wall with its force pulls you from your thoughts. At the open doorway, flanked by his friends and band members, Eddie Munson lets out a hearty, “That’s how you put on a fuckin’ show!”

Hoots and hollers fill the room around you as the band filters in, adrenaline pouring off of them, filling the space quickly and wasting no time in pouring themselves drinks and passing around an overstuffed blunt. Gareth fills the space on the loveseat between you and Kiara, making you stand in response to make more room for him. Your conversation was all but over, anyway, and you’ve set your sights on Eddie across the room, who made a detour for the mini bar before making his way to you. You decide to meet him there, instead.

He’s bent at the waist, leaning with one arm on the door of the fridge, peering into it as if to look for some hidden prize. He closes the door as you approach, leaving room for you to slip between him and the minifridge and perch atop it. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he holds back the fond smile, forcing a more nonchalant look onto his face.

“What’s a girl gotta do to get a good drink around here?” You ask, reaching out to toy with the tattered collar of his Hellfire shirt.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purrs, leaning in close. You anticipate a kiss, leaning up and into him, only for him to change his course and continue on past you, reaching high onto the shelf above your head to pull down a bottle of bourbon. Uncapping it, he takes a swig for himself, then, grin turning wicked, notches the mouth of the bottle under your chin to tilt your pout up toward him. “I can think of a few things.”

His eyes follow the drag of your tongue across your lower lip, breath steady but shallow, and you take the moment of distraction to pluck the bottle from his hands and take a swig of your own, your smirk self-satisfied and cocky as the amber liquor burns your throat.

As he passes, the Freak mumbles to “get a fuckin’ room.”

Nearby, Jeff also groans out, “or at least let us get to the beer, man.”

Eddie’s shoulders slump, eyes rolling in an annoyed gesture, but the predatory smile never falters. He raises an eyebrow, staring you down, “good idea boys.” He steps back, holding a hand out to help you up, and as he ushers you out of the room with an arm wrapped heavy around your shoulder, he adds, “think I may do just that.”

Your ears burn at the attention, but you hide your smile in the soft cotton covering his chest and follow blindly down the hall. He peeks into a couple doors, finding them occupied or locked or otherwise insufficient. You're squirming in his hold by the time he opens another door at the end of the hall to uncover a supply closet, he hasn’t even touched you and yet you’re on the verge of melting into a puddle of anticipation and longing. It would be pathetic if you didn’t know for a fact he was in the exact same boat, pent up with adrenaline from a good show.

He doesn’t suggest it outright, but he peers down at you with a questioning brow, lets the door swing open and make the suggestion for him.

With a sly smile and no second thought, you press the bourbon back into his hand and lead the way into the closet, letting your eyes adjust to the darkness. He joins you quickly with a hint of pride shining in his eye. One final pull from the bottle and he slams it onto one of the shelves, freeing his hands to crowd you up against the door, your cheek pressed into the cool metal, and push your skirt up and over your hips. Impatient fingers swipe through your folds and you both groan. You, at the contact, the tease of sweet relief after wanting for so long. He, at the realization that you haven’t had panties on this entire time.

“Fuck, baby,” he huffs, retreating to make quick work of his belt and jeans, shoving them down just enough. You whine at the loss, drawing a dark chuckle from the man behind you. He fists his cock, lining up with your entrance, pausing just before giving you what you want. “Thought I would’a needed to warm you up at least a little,” his hips snap forward, driving into you with one swift motion and pulling a desperate moan from the back of your throat. “Should’ve known you’d be ready for me, the way you were practically fuckin’ me with your eyes all night.” He grips your hip with one hand, the other propped on the door beside your head, and starts to build a rhythm. Steady but quick, wasting no time.

“Can– fuck, Eddie–” you interrupt yourself when he hits particularly deep, and a peek over your shoulder at the shit eating grin on his face confirms that it was definitely on purpose. You groan, letting your forehead fall against the door again, “can you blame me? Y’looked so damn good out there, you were–” Another pointed piston of his hips cuts off your compliment with a guttural moan, and you concede, deciding now is not the time for talking.

“That’s it, Sweetheart,” he urges, mouthing at the nape of your neck, the hand on your hip sneaking lower to rub sloppily at your clit. He takes in your shaky breath, the hitch in it at his touch, and urges you closer to release. It’s over almost as quickly as it started, not your usual gradual build, but rather a startling wave washing over you with a cry. Eddie grunts his approval into your hair, following quickly and spilling inside you.

You stay that way for a moment, both of you breathing slowly and getting your bearings, until a drunk little giggle escapes your throat, sandwiched between your lips and your forearm where you rest your head.

Running a hand down your spine gently, Eddie hisses as he pulls out, then swats playfully at your ass. “What’s so funny?” If he was actually bothered by your laughter, he didn’t show it.

“Dunno,” you giggle, moving as if through molasses as you stand to right yourself, pulling the skirt back down and smoothing wrinkles from your top, “just really glad I agreed to come tonight.” You decided to bite back the tease, to not call attention to the fact that last night he practically promised you the night of your life, only to end up with a quickie in the broom closet. Not that you’re complaining, the man knows what he’s doing, but…

As if he can read your thoughts, he reaches out for you, drawing you into him with a firm hand on the small of your back. He swallows your protest, licking into your mouth with a smug satisfaction to make sure you know he isn’t going anywhere.

“Oh, you thought I was done with you?” He asks, dimples practically twinkling with the mischief they hold.

“Well, I…yeah?” You can’t come up with the words, so you just nod dumbly. “Baby,” he noses at your temple, kissing a tight smile into your hairline before dropping his tone to murmur directly into your ear. “That was just blowing off some steam after the show.” Another kiss, this time to the spot just below your ear that he discovered last night, nipping at the sensitive skin lightly and savoring the gasp it elicits from you. “I plan on taking my time with you tonight, you better not be calling it a night on me already.”

#eddie munson/reader #stranger things reader insert #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson reader insert #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic

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