#his drag name was something like Miss Fortunate as a joke on poor unfortunate souls but my friend said it was TOO CHEESY

[honeynclove]

TELL EM ABIUT YOUR OCS

HIHIHIHIHIHIHI THANK UOU FOR ASKING ASTER :DDDDDDDD

ok SO the one who’s been on my mind recently is my twst oc named emerald :D

who tumblr has not met yet I don’t believe?? ANYWAYS he’s

based on Morgana from the little mermaid 2

but is also mildly based off of Vanessa from the first movie and the fact that Ursula is based off of a drag queen.

his name is emerald bc octavinelle all have color names technically and i already had an oc named Verde. So! Emerald :D

he uses Em as a nickname

as far as I’m aware Morgana is younger than Ursula? But Emerald doesn’t feel younger than Azul to me? Idk they might be the same age and emerald was just the one born after.

who knows??

Anyways! he’s apart of the pop music club and is a fan of rock music

he also has his own little group based on Morganas side kicks that perform in the mostro lounge

in my mind hed be the lead singer of both but I’ve played around with him playing the keyboard or whatever other random ass instrument the pop music club could need.

and he does drag often! just for funzies idk he’s cis but prefers to dress gnc bc it’s fun for him bc he enjoys it and idk I love gnc men love myself

BI ICON ‼️‼️‼️

HIS HAIRCUT IS CALLED A JELLYFISH/OCTOPUS CUT!!!!!!

he’d probably be in the film studies club if the pop music club didn’t exist

But he’s really not the best actor

Hes a octavinelle student so yeah he’s good at all that shady stuff but you hand him a script and he’s stumbling and fumbling with his words

much prefers musical performances and this is mildly a call back to how the little mermaid prequel is about music

SPEAKING OF WHICH

he has a older friend/mentor/inspiration based on Marina Del Ray from the prequel who’s also a drag queen and is in his 4th year

Has Big Plans that Might lead to an overblot I haven’t thought about it that much I just know it happens so he can serve in OB form

he and azul are siblings obvs

their relationship is kinda strained? idk emerald kinda resents azul after being compared to him and feeling less compared to azul

but he still loves azul and all

idk they bicker a lot

is always getting scolded for not wearing his uniform properly but it’s not like he’s serving tables so

he is always serving tho ☝️☝️

he used to have a childhood crush on Floyd but that might’ve just been bc I was in my Floyd era at the time

IDK THANKS FOR LISTENING TO MY YAPPING

#💕!- asks #twst oc #twisted wonderland #twst #my art <3 #<- bc it’s the first time I posted the image of him #his drag name was something like Miss Fortunate as a joke on poor unfortunate souls but my friend said it was TOO CHEESY #idk I thought it was funny #cheesy is naming her Miss Unfortunate #BUT IDK #I’ll probably find something cheesier #could’ve gone with Morgana if I wanted to just slap you with it #HERE I AM YAPPING AGAJN #octavinelle #octavinelle oc #🪸!- emerald ashengrotto

[childofthenight2035]

Dance With Me

A/N: my friend said she likes lay so i wrote this for her

Pairing: Zhang Yixing x g!Reader

Summary/Prompt: Your friend drags you to dance classes.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: None

-

               “Dance classes?!” I yelped as my friend dragged me by the hand to the Arts Center Building. “No way! Let me go!” I pulled my hand away and tried to run, but she hooked her arms around my waist, preventing me from moving. “You know I can’t dance!”

               “Hence the classes,” she replied in a matter-of-fact tone, rolling her eyes.

               “Don’t be stupid!” I cried, panicking, trying desperately to free myself from her strong grip. “I’m gonna make a fool of myself!”

               “And I’ll be there to watch.”

-

               I stood beside my friend in the classroom reserved for dance, clutching her hand for dear life, sweating profusely.

               There were about twenty people in the class and two instructors, a man and a woman. They looked nice enough, but I was still scared out of my wits. The instructors had divided us into boys and girls the minute we stepped in, because our arrival (fortunately or unfortunately) made the ratio even. We were going to take numbered lots to determine our dance partner. My friend went up to the box and drew her number without hesitation, flashing me a smile as she returned. I pursed my lips and glared at her, walking stiffly forward. I drew a lot, praying that at least he would know how to dance.

               Six. Who the hell has six?

               I crumpled up the tiny piece of paper, praying against hope that it wouldn’t be that boy who was almost a head shorter than me.

               The instructors began counting off numbers and pairing up the students. When they called ‘four’, my friend jumped to her feet and rushed over, waving at a tall, messy-haired man with pointy ears, who smiled jovially at her and started chatting. I was so engrossed in watching them that I didn’t hear the instructors call my number.

               “Six? Who got six? Girls, I’m asking you! Six!”

               “Oh!” I snapped back to what they were saying. “Sorry!” I quickly got to my feet and my eyes landed on the young man who had risen as well.

               Oh, damn, I suddenly thought. Then- wait, why would I think that? Stop it, Y/N!

               But he was incredibly handsome. His face was framed by dark hair and when he smiled at me, dimples formed in his cheeks. His eyes sparkled. I wondered how I could have missed him when I arrived. I must have been too terrified to notice.

               “Hello,” he said quietly as I walked over to sit next to him. “My name’s Yixing. But you can call me Lay.”

               “I’m Y/N,” I replied, nervous, but this time for another reason. He flashed his dimples. I suddenly felt a sharp jab in my lower back. I turned around with a murderous stare at my friend seated behind me. She glanced at Lay’s back, then grinned and winked at me.

               “Shut up,” I whispered.

               “What?” Lay asked me.

               “Oh. Um, nothing. Never mind.”

-

                 “What the hell are you doing?” I hissed at Lay out of the corner of my mouth, continuing my repetition of the dance steps that we had been taught.

               “I’m doing the step,” he muttered in reply, kicking his legs around in a horrible mutation of the dance. He panted, “Am I not doing it right?”

               I huffed. “Well, I must say, I never thought there would be someone who danced worse than I did.”

               “Is there a problem over there?” One of the instructors called, walking over to us. “Any difficulty with the steps?” I shrugged, showing him my version. He grunted, satisfied with it and then moved over to Lay, who (the poor thing, he was doing his best) did it his way. The instructor’s eyes widened as if he’d seen a ghost. Then he cleared his throat and proceeded to teach him the step, speaking gently and clearly as if Lay was three years old.

               I could hear my friend giggling behind me, but I chose to ignore her.

-

               Three weeks. That’s how long I’d been going to dance classes. Lay could have the credit for that. Even though I would have awarded him with ‘Worst Dancer’, Lay was simply amazing. Hopeless at dancing, but as a person, he was wonderful. He made jokes, asked me what was wrong if I looked upset, buzzed around taking care of me when I had a rather hard fall one day, and just made life so much more colorful.

               He texted me jokes and called when he felt like hearing my voice, or so he said. I noticed the rising frequency of the calls, but didn’t comment. He would hug me from behind or tickle me when I needed motivation to smile, and he even let me poke his dimples.

               I knew I was falling for him hard and I was powerless to stop it. My throat went dry whenever I saw him and I was conscious of my heartbeat steadily increasing. Being dance partners, we were often in close contact. I had memorized his scent- a mix of cinnamon and forest pine. It was heavenly. Even though he was clumsy, I looked forward to being in his arms every day, for an hour, at least. When I looked into his eyes, I got the vibe that he was so madly and passionately in love with what he saw…But that was crazy, wasn’t it?

-

               “What on earth do you mean, you can’t pick me up?” I hissed angrily into the phone at my friend. “I let you borrow my car and you…” I listened for a moment. “I saw him getting in with you! I- what? I couldn’t care less if he said that, okay? I want you here in ten minutes- What do you mean, take the bus? There aren’t any buses from here at this hour! I only stayed because you said you would pick me up…Walk?! Are you insane?!” I heard a sharp click at the other end. “Did she just hang up on me? Oh, I am going to kill her!”

               So I was stuck at the Arts Center and my stomach brought me to the vending machine I remembered seeing on the floor we had classes. I noticed the lights on in the dance room. Thinking some idiot forgot to turn them off, I pushed the door open and entered.

               Lay stood alone in the room and he jumped when he heard me come in. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

               I sighed. “Long story short, I got ditched, picked a fight with the vending machine and saw the lights still on here. What are you doing?”

               He shrugged. “Practicing.”

               I laughed. “At this hour? The Lay I know doesn’t practice so long.”

               He smirked. “There’s something I have to tell you. What you know is what I show. But it’s not me.” He pressed play on the stereo. “I’m Lay.”

               “I know you’re-“ I was cut off as the music began to play, a fast energetic beat. And then he started to dance.

               My mouth fell open. His movements were fluid and precise, graceful and easy on the eyes, in short, the air of a professional dancer. He was better than our instructors. Ten times better. He took over completely, the music surrendering to his body and soul and the ferocity of his determination. I never saw Lay as someone to fear; he was always the positive force. But this…this was a side of him I hadn’t seen before.

               “You little-“ I exclaimed when he had finished. He panted a little, trying to catch his breath. “You can dance so well and you’ve been tricking me all this time!”

               He laughed under his breath and held out a hand. “Dance with me.”

               I backed up. “After that performance? No way! I’m terrified!”

               “It wasn’t a question.” He pressed a few buttons on the stereo and soft music filled the room. He extended his hand, palm facing up. “Just follow my lead.” Slightly reassured by his eyes, I hesitantly placed my hand in his. He pulled me close to his body, one of his hands on my waist and mine on his shoulders. I let him lead as we swayed gently to the soothing melody.

               He spun me once and I ended up pressed against him, my palms on his chest. We had been this close before, but this was different…somehow. I looked up at him as he brushed away a loose strand of my hair with his fingertips. His palm slid along my jaw and brought my face closer to his.

               Before I could process what was happening, I felt his soft lips press against mine. My eyelids fluttered closed. I swear I almost melted. My hands subconsciously fisted his shirt as the kiss deepened. Suddenly, he broke away.

               “Shit, I…shouldn’t have.” He abruptly turned to the door as I stood there, frozen. Did…did he regret what just happened? But- it felt so real! Tears nearly pricked at my eyes.

               A hand slipped into mine. I looked up at his dimpled smile.

               “What I meant was, being the idiot I am,” he corrected himself, “was that we would be better off doing this somewhere else. And I can think of a few other things we can do. Come on.” He put an arm around me. “No way am I letting you go.”

#exo #lay #zhang yixing #fluff #dance with me #cute #dancing king #love #exo scenario

[redbootsthetimetraveller-archive]

Bea and I, With the Beatles Fanfiction Chapter 2

Same disclaimer as on the previous chapter.

About ten minutes later, this extraordinarily loud fart came from the back of the hall, halfway through the speech, and magnified because of the eerie quietness. It took two seconds for the entire hall to be laughing their socks off. There were even teachers trying to not die from not laughing up the front. The principal, though, was going a shade of purple with anger and embarrassment.

‘RIGHT! WHO WAS THAT?’ he yelled at the top of his voice, still going purple. The room fell dead silent, and I hid my book in case I was caught with it. Everyone was tense, and there was an air that we would be kept until someone owned up, and the person would not. But alas, a hand was held up, right at the back, and they immediately had every pair of eyes in the room upon them. ‘Jasper Kitchen. My office, at morning tea.’ Principal Summers snapped, and turned on his heel and walked back to the front. It seemed like every student wanted to burst into applause at that moment, but didn’t want trouble. Principal Summers went back to his dreary monologue.

‘He’s not in our year, is he?’ Paul whispered to me.

‘No, I think he’s a few grades below us or something. He’s no older than Arthur.’ I replied, also in whisper. Principal Summers finished his speech, and had still not turned back to a natural colour. A few announcements were made, and we were dismissed for first class. For Bea, Paul and I this was Geography, and for Ringo and John Mathematics, and George had English. We bid each other farewell until morning tea, and headed to different parts of the school. Rather than having Mr Putnam, we had a substitute called Miss Russel. She clearly didn’t know much more than us about it, and looking at her we could tell she was probably a sports teacher. She read out the roll and had trouble with my surname.

‘von Harreson… no that’s not right. Elizabeth von Ha…?’

‘It’s von Harrelson, Miss.’ I corrected her.

‘Rightcha.’ She said, and continued on with the roll. I began drawing in my book.

‘She might see that. She’s gonna be more observant than Mr Putnam.’ Bea said to me quietly, as she sat to the right of me. We had worked out how to write without bumping into each other; right-handed on the right, left on the left. And then switch hands when the teacher is looking, because if I don’t I’ll get the cane. Unfortunately, as I was pretending to write notes I didn’t notice that Miss Russel had turned around.

‘Miss von Harrelson, come up to the front please.’ She said while turning a page over. The room took a breath at that moment, and I paused before standing up and walking from the mid-back of the room to the teacher’s desk at the front. ‘Hold out your hand.’ I instinctively held out my right. ‘No not that one, the one you were using.’ She said, sounding slightly flustered. I did, and she hit me hard with the cane eight times. Eight has always been my unlucky number. I tried not to swear lest I get more caning.

‘Fuck she’s got a strong arm.’ I said quietly to Bea. ‘If she sees my handwriting she’d not be able to read it.’

‘Which hand?’

‘Either, they’re both illegible.’ I said slightly smirking. Class went on another long, boring fifteen minutes, and then we were released from that hell of a class. I grabbed out my morning tea of chocolate brownie, hiding my prized treat. It was the first thing I didn’t burn or undercook, which is why I don’t cook, but we needed morning tea this week and Amy was working. I put my coat on, and braved the cold with the gang.

‘Paul here says you got caned!’ Ringo said. ‘What for?’

‘Got caught writing.’ I replied.

‘I getcha. Bloody annoying, isn’t it? You two can’t help it.’ he said.

‘Hm.’ I replied, and tried to unwrap my brownie with my frozen fingers.

‘Hey, lemme help you with that.’ Paul said.

‘Err… thanks.’ I said, hoping he wouldn’t try and steal it.

‘Ah, lucky you!’ he said with a wink, handing it to me.

‘What’s she got?’ George asked. ‘Is that BROWNIE?!’ he exclaimed. George loves his food.

‘You’ve got brownie? You gotta share, man!’ John said.

‘No! My food!’ I said, trying to be serious, but failing and we all ended up wandering around the school. We were nearing the football pitch, and a few hardy souls were trying to have a match amongst the snowdrifts. Suddenly, one of them didn’t quite stop the ball and it came rolling towards us. I stopped it, and kicked it. It went quite far, but the goalie hadn’t really been paying attention and so didn’t realise until it was fractionally too late that the ball was actually going to go into the net. It hit the back net and bounced out again, and several people cheered, and I high-fived everyone. It was time to go back inside again, and the heaters barely heated the rooms, but we weren’t allowed to wear our coats. Bea and I had Sewing, my definitely least, and worst, subject. I would try and fix my gloves in this class, it wasn’t like I was going to finish the handkerchief set we’d been assigned to do anyway. That half hour dragged on for way too long, but it got slightly better because next we had English with Mr Wright, whose profession used to be an author until the war, but now he just settles on teaching English and making bad puns. His classes were always quite enjoyable, as the first twenty minutes were always reading, and the next forty minutes were usually interesting. He’s one of the more popular teachers. The next hour long class was Civics, which could be interesting but was generally boring. Once again, Paul was in our class for this. It was one of the ‘mildly interesting but boring’ lessons. As soon as we were released for lunch, we sprinted as fast as we could to put our stuff back and get in the queue for lunch. Fortunately, Paul, Bea and I got into line rather quickly, and got the measly ration of four fish fingers, fried bread, some chips and a bottle of orange juice, a rare luxury. We sat at our usual canteen table, waiting for the rest of the gang. George got in not too long after we sat down, and came to sit with us, but in silence as he was already eating. Ringo and John came rushing in two minutes later, and as they came over to sit down, Jasper Kitchen walked in, to immediate applause. John even went and patted him on the back. Turns out, he only got off with twenty cane lashes and extra homework for a week.

‘That’s not too bad for what he did, lucky bastard.’ John said as he sat down. ‘What’ve you got next?’

‘Well, it’s German for us, and then we all have Music until the end of the day.’ Bea said. ‘And I think George has Sport, and you?’

‘Well, I’ve got a free lesson, and I’m buggering off somewhere.’ John said. ‘But poor Ringo here has Science with Mr Gibbs!’ Mr Gibbs was this grumpy old shit of a teacher who was only still teaching because Principal Summers doesn’t want to lose his twin, or so the joke goes. We managed to get through our lessons, trying to work out how to swear in French (we’d already worked out German), or trying to work out how to get out of the class. One thirty came around, so Bea, Paul and I started running to Music, which is one of the only classes we ran to. Not many people were in the class, so the classes comprised of two grades. There was Bea, Paul, Ringo, George (who got special permission to join us, there weren’t enough in his grade), John and I, as well as Cyril Acker, in John and Ringo’s grade with Terry Garfield. In our year there was Belle Seward, Errol Hawkins, Graham Carpenter and Derrick Streets. Then the teacher, by far the best teacher in my opinion, and I guess the gang’s, and probably was the most qualified, Mr Eldridge. The class was in the new ‘Arts Wing’, which was much better than the shitty 1920’s classrooms of the ‘Academics Wing’ or the post-war slap-dash updating of the gym, and was actually not crap. Basically what happens in that class is we bugger around, doing stupid little songs and practicing for a gig or something, because we (I say we, because we sometimes go on stage with the boys and we’ve gone on one tour with them, over in Blackpool) were a band called the Silvers. It’s not the best name but it works.

‘So, what’s the lineup for Saturday?’ I asked, fiddling with my flute. The Silvers had scored a gig at the Cavern Club on my birthday.

‘So there’s a few songs…’ John showed me the list, as he was the band leader. He just was.

‘That’s not going to cover a night’s worth! You’ve gotta play for four hours!’ I exclaimed.

‘There’s one song we haven’t shown…’ Ringo started, but was glared at by George.

‘Y’know, if you’re short of songs, we could write some!’ Bea suggested.

‘That’s not a bad idea! Paul and I have already written some, so we’ve had experience, and you’re good at poetry, Lizzy, so it won’t be too much of a stretch for you, but I dunno about you guys though, just have a crack.’ John said, sounding slightly excited. ‘Use your books and rip it out later.’

We all sat with half the school’s guitars, three of them, and Ringo grabbed out his sticks, Paul tried to claim the piano but didn’t quite get it as Cyril Acker pushed him out of the way. John immediately began strumming away, George was experimenting with riffs and Paul began writing away. Bea also began busily scribbling. I put my pen to the paper, and soon started writing.

Some days, I hope to be far away.

Not right here or near, not today

If I stay here my mind might fray,

How I long not to stay.

‘That’s shit.’ I said to myself.

#fanfiction #paul mccartney #John Lennon #George Harrison #ringo starr #Bea and I with the Beatles fanfiction