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steddielations · 4 months

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Steve acts on instinct.

There’s this guy in all black walking in front of him, he’s too busy looking down at his phone to notice, but Steve doesn’t trust that lamppost. He’s been going for daily runs, he likes to keep it simple during the off-season, and that post has been getting more rickety every day. Now it’s swaying dangerously in the wind and he knows it’s about to tumble.

There’s no time to call out to the guy, so Steve just plows forward and tackles him out of the way.

They fall in a messy heap and Steve unfortunately lands heavily on top.

“Holy shit! What the— ugh!” The guy heaves in pain and Steve hurries to scramble off of him.

“Sorry, that post was about to fall on you, man. You alright?”

Pieces of grass stick to the guy’s long hair as he takes stock of Steve and what happened. With a labored breath, he surprisingly jokes, “Guess I’m lucky the best football tackler alive happened to be right behind me.”

It’s sarcastic as shit but Steve smiles with a tug of amusement as he offers his hand. “Baseball, actually.”

“You’re in the wrong league, man,” he lets Steve pull him to his feet and groans on the way up. “Well, nice to meet you, Baseball, you pack a hell of a first impression. I’m Eddie.”

Steve would appreciate his ability to joke so soon after taking a hit, but people are starting to gather around. There’s already phones pointed at them that probably caught the whole thing on camera. Steve’s used to public attention by now, knows the press is going to have a field day with this and he hates causing a scene, but he wants to make sure Eddie is okay.

“Just Steve is good. You wanna…? This way,” he gestures toward the sidewalk and thankfully, Eddie seems just as eager to get out of there too, shuffling next to Steve as they round the corner.

He’s wearing so much metal jewelry, it’s like a costume, the jingle jangle of his every step accentuating how shaken up he seems. They get far enough behind a building and Steve stops to have a real look at him and… well he’s interesting to look at.

It’s like he hopped off the album cover of an 80s rock band, or one of Steve’s Bon Jovi posters that he hid under his bed in high school. Way too much leather and way too much hair for the California sun, all disheveled with grass and dirt.

“You sure you’re okay? Here, you got a little…” Steve’s hand hovers until Eddie nods that it’s okay from him to pluck the grass from his hair and lightly brush the dust from his shoulders. Eddie watches him the whole time, his eyes big and dark, an intensity in them that Steve can’t quite read but he can feel. “Didn’t hit your head or anything, did you?”

Steve lowers his hands, stepping back a little when he realizes how close they are. Eddie’s eyes follow him, a slight quirk to his lips that makes Steve feel the heat of the sun a little warmer on his face.

“I’m touched by your concern, sweetheart, but my brain has been through worse damage than a little bump.”

Steve frowns at the ladder, but the first bit definitely makes him feel the heat. He’s admittedly a bit out of practice but he can still recognize a come on. One that he definitely invited with all the touching and indulgent looks.

Then Eddie starts profusely thanking him for the whole ordeal, asking to treat him somewhere nearby for lunch. It’s not that Steve doesn’t want to, he’s very interested actually, and thankful that out of all the jewelry Eddie’s sporting, there’s no wedding ring. That’s why he’s reluctant because he’s all sweaty at the moment. Not to mention, he didn’t finish his run yet.

“Surely saving my life was enough cardio,” Eddie jokes lightly and Steve snorts.

“I saved you from a minor concussion, maybe,” and okay he’s gotta accept now.

The place is small and unassuming, burgers and sodas type joint. Steve’s likely to be recognized there, which he doesn’t mind meeting fans in public just preferably not now, it might be jarring for Eddie.

He heads for the booth tucked in the back corner, the most private looking spot that Steve had his eyes on too. They get a round of sodas from the waitress and right away, Eddie starts thanking him again.

“I noticed that lamppost wobbling days ago,” Steve sparks a conversation instead of accepting any more thanks, “I was planning to let it fall on me so I could sue the shit out of the city.”

He’s pleasantly startled by the big cackle that gets out of Eddie, “Any chance to stick it to the man. I admire that.”

“‘Course I would’ve really stuck it to ‘em and donated it back to the community,” Steve adds.

“Giving the people’s money back to the people, imagine Big Brother’s horror. Noble guy.”

Eddie seems to bubble with contagious delight that doesn’t match his whole leather and chains thing at all, but it fits into the somewhat magic of him. It's a wonder to Steve.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Eddie ventures, a glint of recognition in his eyes that Steve’s seen a thousand times. He doesn’t ping Eddie as much of a sports guy and he’s not vain enough to assume everyone knows who he is. Eddie’s probably seen him while flipping the channel past ESPN or something. Or maybe an ad for that Netflix thing he did documenting last year’s season.

“I think I’d definitely remember you.”

Steve didn’t mean it as a come-on, just that Eddie’s appearance really isn’t forgettable, but he can tell by the wicked little grin Eddie sports that it was taken as one. Steve likes that even better.

“Have you ever modeled, or anything? You’ve got the looks for it.”

Biting back a smile of his own, Steve shakes his head. “I bet you say that to everyone who saves your life.”

“None of them were half as good looking." That sounds concerning but Steve’s distracted by Eddie swirling his straw in his drink, regarding him with a long look. “Really though, I just feel like I’ve seen you before.”

Steve’s done a few covers of Sports Illustrated, but he doubts Eddie has ever picked up a copy of that, so he shrugs. “Must’ve been in your dreams.”

Eddie laughs softer this time. “You trying to sweep me off my feet or something?”

“Already did.” Steve leans back, enjoying the way Eddie’s eyes follow him.

Conversation sparks and it never really dies out. Eddie just grabs topics out of thin air, talking about the city and what they like to do and movies and his amazement that Steve knows all about D&D because he’s a nerd magnet. Eddie’s personality spills through everything he says like it can’t be contained. He’s talkative in a good way, not to a point where Steve can’t get a word in. He listens intently, has a way of putting all his attention onto Steve like he’s the most interesting person he’s ever spoken to.

It’s surprisingly easy to relax. Not because Eddie has a super calming presence or anything, his energy is just all-encompassing, it’s hard for Steve not to get sucked in and hang on to every word he says. It’s one of the rare times in public that he’s not hyper-aware of everyone around him and too paranoid of having a photo snapped and taken out of context to even enjoy himself.

That happens a lot, being one of the only professional athletes who’s open about his sexuality. The media is extremely invasive with his private life. If he’s seen with any guy friend, there’s a whole press storm about Steve Harrington’s “secret beau” within the hour. It’s ridiculous and he tries so hard to keep his lovelife under wraps that maybe he’s been neglecting it entirely, at least that’s what Robin says.

Of course, that’s when his phone lights up with a message from her. His heart sinks a little when he sees the title of the article she sent to him. He quickly shoots her a text and locks his phone without reading it.

“Everything alright?” Eddie notices the shift in Steve’s mood right away.

“Yeah just,” he sighs, bracing for the inevitable part when Eddie realizes Steve isn’t worth the hassle of all this, “Someone filmed us earlier and now it’s all over the press. I’m really sorry, I totally get it if—”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, it’s fine. I figured that would happen,” Eddie brushes it off, but Steve shakes his head.

“I don’t think you understand, it’s—”

“Wanna bet?” Eddie smirks for some reason, “I’m fine with it, I promise.”

He tosses a chip into his mouth and picks right back up with the story he was telling.

Steve is stunned for a moment, wary that maybe Eddie doesn’t fully grasp how deep this goes. But he stays there with Steve, seemingly thrilled to keep talking with him even when a family comes in and keeps staring their way, obviously building up the courage to come over and ask for a picture. Eddie’s acting like Steve’s the only person in the room and that’s enough to assure Steve that he’s really fine with it.

He’s so locked into Eddie, he barely registers when the older son from the family’s table finally wanders over and asks for a picture.

Steve is in the middle of wiping his face with a napkin, about to greet him when suddenly, Eddie pops up and asks Steve to excuse him for a minute.

“C’mon little man, let’s do it,” he says and much to Steve’s confusion, the teen excitedly goes with Eddie to his family’s table.

Steve watches, utterly baffled, as they start snapping photos and expressing what big fans they are and Eddie takes it with such bravado, laughing and chatting like he’s with a group of friends.

What the— Steve grabs his phone, opening the article Robin sent him at lightning speed.

At first, he wonders how the press was able to find out Eddie’s full name so quickly, then he sees the words "troubled rockstar" and "recovering star" so many times, it becomes abundantly clear.

Oh.

He’s not so worried about the troubled part, everyone has their shit and he doesn’t read into any of it. Those are Eddie’s stories to tell Steve if he chooses, not some tabloid. But the rockstar part connects a lot of dots that have come up in the last couple of hours since meeting Eddie and—

Yeah, just. Oh.

Part 2

#what if they’re both secretly famous and clueless about each other #this is called ‘Upstaged’#part two soon #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #stranger things #steddie ficlet #rockstar eddie munson #baseball player steve harrington #famous steve harrington #meet cute #saved your life trope #famous eddie munson #rueswriting

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wesstars · 7 months

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heaven on earth (ii)

wednesday addams x fem!reader (mostly gn, only term used is “girl friend”)

summary: your friends-with-benefits situation with wednesday isn’t so friendly anymore, but if you could only uncover your own eyes, you might’ve noticed. wc: 5.5k tags: explicit, MINORS DNI! all characters involved are 18+. kinda ooc wednesday, painfully oblivious reader, bad fluff, fluff to smut, top!reader and bottom!wednesday, semi-public (car) sex, mild blood, biting, mild overstimulation. a/n: not sure how I feel about this lol. special thank you to 🕷️ anon for her ideas and workshopping <3 comments/asks welcome, as always!

read part one here! this can be read standalone, but is intended to be a continuation.

masterlist

For the fifth time, Wednesday slapped your thigh to get your attention. “Turn it down.”

You huffed a laugh, and figured it was time. You were playing your ‘obnoxious’ pop playlist, full of mostly Taylor Swift and random Korean bands. It was collaborative with Enid, and likely one of Wednesday’s least favorites. Lowering the volume, you tossed Wednesday your phone.

“Alright, it’s your turn.”

The two of you were driving back from a day trip to a nearby town—actually, you were supposed to be driving back the rest of Enid and Co, also, but while Wednesday was beyond ready to leave, they all wanted to stay and do something called a “holy trinity.” How someone could have so much alcohol in so little time was so bizarre to you, but then Wednesday, of all people, rolled her eyes and downed three shots in just as many minutes, and seemed no worse for wear.

Seemed was the key word there—not a quarter of an hour later, she’d grabbed onto your arm, grip slack, and her eyes were becoming unfocused, roving all over your face only to miss your eyes and tack onto somewhere lower.

You’d coaxed her to eat something after that. Post French fries and buttered bread (she’d kill you after she knew you’d made her eat such unrefined food,) as well as a bottle and a half of water in, she’d mostly walked it off. You figured it was time to get Wednesday home. As far as you knew, the rest of your friends were still out, though you’d made Yoko promise to text you when they were leaving and when they got back. The windows were open in the car; the wind lifted Wednesday’s fringe off her forehead. You glanced over to where she was gingerly operating your phone, punching in letters on Spotify. Your heart twisted.

You didn’t really want to admit that weird feeling you had the first time, and all the rest of the times, you saw Wednesday. It was a sort of jittery one, with a swoop in your stomach, that made you want to prod her into a conversation. You’d gotten quite a bit more than you’d bargained for, from that first fateful kiss in the classroom, to every secret, heady rendezvous after. The last time you two had been intimate—fucked, in your bed—had left an indelible mark, natural as a shadow settled neatly in your chest. The bickering and play fights had only made things worse, and you knew you had to ignore it all, for Wednesday. To keep things the same, because… something’s better than nothing, right?

You supposed that “something” was where you were right now. Being her ‘girl friend,’ with a space in between, sex and unrequited feelings included, was the best place that you could ever be with her. You had those close moments with her that you could cherish, but also that emotional distance that Wednesday undoubtedly wanted. Perfect. Your childlike sentiments were ones that you were likely to carry in your heart, deep down, for fucking forever. They were never going to see the light of day.

Lilting piano filled the car, shoving images of you and Wednesday seated together before the keys into your mind. Your phone dropped back into your lap.

“Nocturne? In E minor.” You blurted out before you could stop yourself.

“I’m surprised you know.”

“Hey!” Indignant, you nearly shot something back that was sure to start one of your bickering matches again, when an unfamiliar sound rang through the car, lovely as the music, but something you’d never heard before.

“Did you just laugh?”

Wednesday’s mumbled denial was covered up by your own laugh, bordering on hysterical as your heart picked itself up and started racing.

“Do not insult me like that,” Wednesday grumbled, rubbing the hem of her sweater between her fingers. “Focus on the road. Dying with you in a car crash is too pathetic to even consider.” Though her words were sharp as always, her even tone had something in it that, if one wasn’t careful, could be mistaken as gentle.

You snorted again, unable to stop laughing. “And if a double decker bus…” you sang, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel. Wednesday’s glare nearly sliced you clean in half, and you were smart for once, shutting up immediately. She wasn’t laughing anymore, and some part of you mourned that.

After Chopin played Liszt, Liebestraum no. 3, and you wondered if Wednesday knew how to queue on Spotify. You followed the winding road up the mountain. You’d be back at Nevermore soon, but selfishly, you didn’t want this to be over. It was an odd time, with no bickering, no siege, no sex, and who could blame you if you were feeling particularly, disgustingly, sentimental? Blame the Liszt.

Turning the car off the road, you pulled into a deserted vista point. Carpe diem, you thought, throwing caution to the wind and the car in park.

“Why have you stopped?”

“Weds, we’re looking at the sunset.”

“I do not need to see it, it happens every day—”

“Oh, come on,” you laughed, unlocking the car doors and stepping out. With the wind whipping around you, blowing your hair every which way, you ducked to peek into the car. “Humor me, I guess. Don’t you feel sorry for me, or something?”

She gave you a pointed look. “I do not.” But she followed you out the car anyway.

Leaning on the hood, you looked out at the scene as she joined you. Spiky evergreens stretched out across the stony slopes, with the last vestiges of snow clinging to the tops. The sun stretched its longing light into the rapidly darkening east behind you, pulling taut the shadows and blanketing everything in an aureate shine.

You glanced over at Wednesday—despite her earlier protest, it seemed as if she was tolerating this. The tension around her brow was gone, and her arms hung relaxed by her sides. The silence wasn’t rare, but it felt reverent anyway. Your heart adored her in her outfit; it was something your mind refused to register. She was in black knee high boots, made of some leather you couldn’t pronounce, an inky dress, flowing in the wind, down to her thighs, and a soft deep gray sweater. There was a sort of bleeding sentiment, beginning to seep into your everyday life, into wondering what Wednesday would think of the book you were reading, imagining her reaction to Bianca’s quip, overthinking her hand clutching your sleeve in the courtyard.

You deliberated, vaguely, what it would be like if you tumbled down the mountainside, into those trees—would the wood be cushioning or bruising? It was a serious consideration, with all that you were feeling. Those damned feelings, ones that Wednesday would undoubtedly scorn, made you kick up the gravel underfoot in frustration.

Beside you, Wednesday cast an uninterested look over you at the noise, silently judging. A beat passed. She grabbed the collar of your shirt, wrinkling it, and pulled you into a bruising kiss.

“I am going in the car. The back seat. Be not afraid.” She retreated, and gave a little smirk, one reserved for the golden light and dark trees.

It was purely unfair, as the blood rushed from your head to pool in your stomach, making your heart work overtime. Stumbling to the back seat, you’d barely sat down before Wednesday reached over to the console and locked the doors. She’d taken off her boots, leaving her legs clad in white socks scrunched around her calves.

She climbed into your lap without preamble, squeezing your hips with her thighs. The car roof meant she had to duck her head just a bit, giving you the perfect opportunity to press your lips to hers. Having Wednesday on top of you was the kind of thing that made your head spin. And spinning you were, down into that deep unending abyss where there was only the smell of hot sugar, pine, and iron.

The Midas touch of the setting sun made Wednesday seem even paler, from her exposed knees to her small hands, glowing like some ethereal being. She kissed you as if she could wrap her teeth around you, like searching for sweetness in the corners of your mouth. Sure enough, there was something about her, a sense of urgency, that threatened to take in all of you.

“This dress is nice,” you murmured, pushing it up her pale thighs, rubbing away the red marks her boots left on her calves. Your hands continued upward, to the light dampness of her inner thighs.

“You said you liked it last time.” Wednesday immediately glanced away, as if she hadn’t meant to say those words. There was a faint flush to her cheeks again, but the two of you were fogging up the car windows.

You ignored the pulsing in your stomach that traitorously screamed she wore this for me? “It’s enchanting,” you said. “Like a witch of the wood.”

You nosed your way into the nape of her neck again, a favorite spot of yours, unable to stop your stupid mouth from running. “I adore it…” You pulled her tighter to your lap, skimming the seam of her underwear at the juncture of her thigh. “Can I touch you, Wednesday?”

“Get on with it,” she said, breathlessly, indulging you with a quick quirk of her lips.

Skimming the back of your hand up between her thighs, you sent your other hand to palm her chest through her dress. You felt her through her panties, the fabric soft and smooth from her slick. Dipping your hand below the waistband, you wasted no time finding her clit. Her breath came down hard—it was her tell, you knew, even when her face remained mostly impassive.

She was sensitive today, back arching with a small gasp as soon as you touched her. Hand shooting past your head, Wednesday grabbed onto the headrest, hard enough for the leather to creak. Her outstretched arm was right next to your head, and you couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss the inside of her elbow.

She sighed, unfurling tendrils of a storm in smooth skies. “You have all of me,” Wednesday said, something soft.

You press a kiss to Wednesday's forehead, equally soft, as you curl your fingers again. “If only, Wednesday,” you said, unthinking.

Wednesday froze, squeezing her other hand on your shoulder hard enough to leave pretty bruises under your collared shirt.

You pulled back, cocking your head. “What is it?”

She furrowed her brow at you, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, then glanced away quickly.

“What’s wrong?” Your fingers traced another circle around her clit.

“Stop asking.” Her voice was firm, but it had a waver in the middle, like she’d almost changed her mind.

“I’ll stop asking,” you whispered, “if you tell me what’s up.” Her eyes were glazed over with a sheen not unlike her slick that coated your fingers, something shiny and sweet.

“You’re hopeless,” she said, not even a second before she clapped her hand over your mouth.

What an Addams wants, an Addams gets, you surmised, blinking quickly. You rubbed your free hand up and down her thigh, trying to soothe her, but she only moved her hand to grip your jaw, her intent the sear of fire through the underbrush.

“I do not like repeating myself,” she said quietly, “so listen closely.” She shifted closer to you on your lap, car leather squeaking, settling on her knees so your nose was in her collar. She reached down and gave you a handkerchief from her pocket. Knowing what she meant, you pulled your fingers from her warmth, feeling a hard lump in your throat. “And make no noise.”

You nodded. She looked wild on top of you, hair mussed from your make out session, the apples of her cheeks a dusty rose.

“Honesty colors me,” she said by way of explanation. “And you talk too much, so this is how it will have to be.” She seemed to think for a moment, biting her lip. Her burgundy lipstick contrasted so starkly with her gray sweater, as if she was the only screaming color in a black and white world. She might hate that, you mused absently. Maybe she was more a whirlpool of the blackest black, sucking in all of the color and light around it so that you had no choice but to be drawn in, to the only real thing you’d ever known.

“You’re stupid,” Wednesday started, matter-of-factly. “Just like everyone else.” You nodded, used to this sort of thing by now. “But your particular brand of stupidity is showing its truth.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, arms automatically going around her waist while you leaned back to look at her. Where she was going with this, you had no idea. You only knew that that whirlpool was making its way closer and closer to you.

“At first, our… arrangement was indeed purely physical.” She paused. “But things have changed, quite drastically. I do believe I’ve reached a… point of no return, but I have since found a balance.”

Wednesday locked her eyes on yours, unflinching. “I give myself to you time and time again-” the words were unfamiliar from her mouth- “yet, you seem to give no indication that you know. ‘If only?’ It’s nearly laughable.” She gave a huff, though her gaze was contemplative. You cocked your head, mind uncomprehending, mouth dry.

“You have my heart, beating or still.” Her words rang quiet in the car. Your own heart started up again, with all the betrayal of a thrumming bass. You tried to push it down, but it didn’t erase the reality of what Wednesday had just said—did Wednesday ever lie? She was good at it, sure, but you’d long learned that Wednesday’s word was her end. “And it appears as though you are completely unaware.”

“Unaware?” You broke her rule, and you could see the tick of annoyance in her eyes. But you plowed on anyway. “Are you saying that you have my—that I don’t know that I have your—that you like me?”

“My devotion is more than that,” Wednesday said casually, “but it may be that you’re unable to handle that at this time.”

Sure enough, you could feel your body informing your mind that you were hyperventilating, Wednesday’s weight on your lap the only thing keeping you from shooting off to Saturn.

“I don’t—” you struggled for your words, the usual wit you showed while bickering with Wednesday, the strategy you’d used to defend Jericho, absolutely nowhere to be seen.

“Need I pull stars from the sky to prove myself to you?” she said, raising an eyebrow in amusement, as if she wasn’t blowing through every poorly stacked defense of yours. It would be just like Wednesday, for every word of hers to be devastating and world shifting. No one knew Wednesday Addams and remained unchanged—that was just the kind of person she was, romantic as murder via blade. Perhaps to her, your wide eyed reaction was enough of a damning confession. “You’ll be the end of me, but what bliss that would be.”

“Um,” you started, eloquently. “You’re… you’re not thinking straight,” you rasped out, mind freezing. You could feel your back stuck to the seat, unyielding. “You’re—”

“If I didn’t know you and your oblivious tendencies, I would think that it is almost insulting of you to doubt me.” She gave a small sniff, chin held high. “You think that just because you do not recognize my words, means that I am not in a right state of mind?”

In one fluid motion, she pressed her forehead to yours, and cradled your face between her two cold hands. Your name felt like salvation from her lips; “believe me, I’m wide awake.”

Your jaw went slack, and you were sure you looked as much a dumbass as you felt.

“I intended for my… vulnerability,” Wednesday’s voice wavers on the word, “to be a sign for you, but either you are just that unobservant, or you are unwilling to admit to what is right before your eyes.”

“I’d never not pick up on something on purpose, Weds.” Your brain was wading through a thick mud, unable to turn at the speed that Wednesday wanted.

“Does that mean that you are willfully disregarding the way I show myself to you?” Finally, in her words, you were able to see the exact vulnerability that she had alluded to.

“No, I’d never, I just… didn’t want to hope,” you said, embarrassed. “Romance isn’t your thing.”

“It’s not,” she replied simply, quietly. “I understand your reservations.” Wednesday’s hands held an imperceptible tremble, but her gaze was strong.

“No—of course I—” your throat tightened, but you felt the weight falling from your shoulders anyway. That was something you recognized. “Of course I like you.”

The silence rang yet again, and Wednesday’s eyes widened, the onyx of them turning warm as molten metal. The exact expression in them was hard to place, but it calmed you, in the wake of speaking aloud something you’d been afraid to admit to yourself.

A thought occurred to you, more clear than any you’d had since Wednesday had opened her mouth. “Even if we’d never—if we never have sex again, I’d still l—like you.”

Despite the way you stumbled into and over your words, Wednesday’s dark eyes on yours grew warm, pupil blurring into iris; the corner of her mouth gave an upwards tick.

“In the cracks of light,” Wednesday whispered, reverent as prayer as her fingertips traced your cheekbone, “I see the heaven on earth I’ve won with you.”

She kissed you then, and you couldn’t hold back any more. It was something like pure relief—though your mind still didn’t quite comprehend Wednesday’s confession (confession!), your heart broke the dam, pulling you down past inhibition. Spiraling to Wednesday’s gravity, it was as natural as breathing to give in.

Wednesday, all knowing as always, must’ve seen the way your resolve broke. She slid her mouth against yours, open and hot, unhurried but eager. The car leather under your thighs was as warm as Wednesday on top of you—not even she was immune to the rays of waning sunlight, it seemed.

“You know,” you muttered, between capturing her lips, “it’s just like you to say all that about moving heaven and earth. Most people just say ‘I like you.’” It wasn’t a complaint by any means; with your hands on her waist, you’d have it no other way.

“As I said, it is more than that.” She took a breath, completely steady and confident, now. “You consume me, completely.”

“And you, I,” you said softly, as if you could do anything but agree to her heady desire. “I’ve got you, Wednesday.”

Her forehead dropped to your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around you. It took a moment for you to realize that in her silence after your words, she was grinding down, near imperceptibly, into your lap.

“Mmm, my love,” you murmured, the significance of the endearment not lost on you, “look at you.” Sliding a hand up her back to her hair, you felt her braids through your fingers. You ran your hands down once more, under her sweater to feel the muscles around her shoulder blades. The heat you felt through her dress from where she was pressed to you, through your trousers, was something out of a darkest dream, unable to be forgotten.

Wednesday leaned up again, eyes sharp as a lance, to brand you with a kiss. She bit your lip, breaking through skin, and you grinned at the pain. It was hard and harsh, comforting like the thin edge of a knife. You felt the blood seeping into the seams of your teeth, rain in scorched earth. Intoxicated, you seemed to float closer into that sweet and dark whirlpool.

“That hurt, Wednesday…” you leaned in, voice dropping. “I wanna…” There was a beat of silence where you could only taste the copper in your mouth, sweet as you knew the slick between her thighs to be. You shifted your grip to her hips, bruising, and the soft little moan Wednesday gave in response spurred you on. “I wanna hurt you.”

You did, helplessly. Of course, you would rain hell on anyone that so much as lifted a finger against Wednesday, but to hold her trust that came with pain—you wanted that from her, to know when she hurt, when she wanted to hurt. Whether it was holding her back from the edge, or flying and dropping together to the bottom, bodies crashing against one another, you wanted it. Like something out of a classical myth, with wings of wax or blood, you would burn and be burned to feel the weightless warmth of that golden light.

There was no hesitation for Wednesday, just a look in her eyes that you’d come to know intimately as hunger. “Hurt me.” Her voice was low, nearly fond, in your ear as her eyes tracked the blood collecting on your lips. She leaned towards you and licked, tongue to your teeth, translucent saliva mixing with the burgundy. “I want it to hurt—I want you to hurt me.”

When she leaned back, her lipstick was stained with your blood, and it made you want to bleed if only she was the one taking it. You leaned your temple to her jawline, eyes burning at the sun through the windshield. Your hands continued once again up her thighs, just as reverent as before. The two of you never could do anything by half—you were always Wednesday’s. Realizing it, speaking it aloud, confessing or not, couldn’t have changed that. Despite that, as you rocked back and kissed the blood off Wednesday, you felt as though you were on your knees, professing everything you were. Giving one last cheeky swipe of your tongue on her lips, you went to tug Wednesday’s panties down. She followed your lead easily, tossing the expensive garment somewhere to the side.

“My sweet girl,” you sighed, something possessive curling in your words. “What would you like?”

“Everything.” There was a devout way about her utterance that had your hands shaking with the desire to fulfill her. “Touch me.”

Crossing one arm around her to clasp the back of her neck, you brought her face close to yours, the tips of your noses brushing.

“Everything? How much can we do with ‘everything’ when you’re so sensitive, angel?” On cue, Wednesday’s eyes slipped shut as you drew a finger along her pussy to find her wet and wanting.

“Don’t you think you should be the one to answer that?” Her voice, bold and challenging, shook up your stomach like champagne. You were completely, utterly ruined before Wednesday Addams, and it was a nearly celestial ruin, so bright and beloved it nearly hurt.

You didn’t hesitate, slipping your finger in and grinding your palm on her clit. You didn’t miss her knees sliding further apart, that elusive grin gracing her face as she tipped her head back. Only her tight hold on your shoulders kept her from falling into your lap. Your mouth tasted of iron, such a contrast to Wednesday’s burnt sugar sweat on your tongue as you licked a stripe up her jaw to bite her earlobe. Drawing every small sigh out, you took your time, curling your fingers the way you knew she liked. You squeezed your hand, heavy where her shoulders met her neck. The jagged breaths she took in response made you crave more, and your stomach burned with contentment when she let you press another finger inside of her.

Wednesday’s half lidded eyes tracked down your neck, hunter to the scent of fear, leaving a shiver in her wake. It was inexplicably easy to discern what she wanted, even as she threaded her hands in your hair, something tingling and distracting.

“Go ahead, I know you want to.” Like blood rushing back into white fingertips, her soft lips were on your neck, undoubtedly leaving a smear of lip stain that you’d have to be chastised to wipe off. Almost as if she’d read your mind, she was sucking at your skin, impatient. Already you could feel the raised welt, and the way her tongue soothed the strain.

“You’re mine,” she breathed out, harsh despite the way she was panting with every twist of your fingers.

“Yeah,” you whispered, the haze of being Wednesday’s blurring your every action. “I’m yours.”

You curled your fingers, and had to bite down a moan as her teeth sank deeper into your neck, a cause and effect that you’d kill for. You swore as she set sight on your jawline, the sweet shock of her hot tongue making you shiver.

“Took you long enough,” she muttered darkly—it seemed she was satisfied with the state of your neck, since you could feel the skin throbbing pleasantly. She leaned back, proffering her own throat.

“I was always yours,” you said easily. “I can just…” you trailed off as your sharp teeth met her skin in the spot you knew she liked, making her cry out, “show you better now.”

Wednesday’s hands tightened in your hair, pulling a broken gasp from your throat. Her smirk, challenging as she took in your reaction, only spurred you on. It was pure selfishness, when you grinned lazily as she tugged. You gave as good as you got, though, each curl of your fingers and shift of your hand had her trembling.

She was close; you could feel it in the uneven cadence of her breath, almost as erratic as yours. Pulling the collar of her sweater aside, you worked your tongue against her jugular, her pulse tempting and honey sweet in your mouth. It was nearly tangible between your teeth, soft and solid, the pounding of her pulse, just milliseconds away from your own.

“C’mon, Wednesday,” you whispered in her ear, “just like that.”

Her breath stuttered, climbing up higher to the returning lump in your throat. It was always a marvel, the way that Wednesday was so incredibly responsive to you, your touch or your words. The hard catch of her lip between her teeth made you grin, and you reached out, tugging it free. You leaned in to kiss her forehead as you slipped your thumb in her mouth instead, your fingers never stopping.

“Wednesday.” She turned her glossy eyes towards you, and it was the closest you’d ever seen her to coming without really falling. “Let go.”

At your words, she gasped, and you could feel her cunt pulse around your fingers as she came. Her teeth bit into your skin and her eyebrows knitted together ever so gently—you loved to watch her come undone. She was all soft moans and flushed cheeks, open in a way that she hardly ever was otherwise. It unfurled something bright and warm in your chest, spreading out into your fingertips. You felt as hazy as she looked, the smell of her spilling into the air and undoubtedly lingering in your chest.

“That’s perfect, love, you’re so good for me.” You shushed her as she panted, eyes unfocused beneath her mussed fringe, but searing into yours. You continued your palm on her clit, holding her tight as her body stuttered. You moved your hand to cup her face, smoothing over unshed tears along her waterline.

“You’re…” Wednesday gave a low groan as you hit that sensitive spot inside of her again, none too gently.

“Yes,” you answered gently. “You’ll tell me if you want me to stop, won’t you?” She nodded, eager, as she pushed her hips into your hand, even though it made her whole body shiver.

“Fuck—”

You hummed in response, feeling her cunt open even easier now that she was impossibly wetter. As you worked a third finger into her, Wednesday’s spine went rigid, a whining, desperate sound you’d never thought you’d hear breaking from her throat. She grabbed your hand, and her palms were damp. Her grip on your wrist was tight, just as much keeping you from progressing as it was keeping you from pulling away. You leaned in by her ear. “Does it hurt?”

She gave a jerky nod, jaw clenched and lips parted. You would turn a storm on its head for those ways that Wednesday strayed from her control, especially when you were the one guiding that meandering path. Pressing the heel of your hand into her clit, you laughed, small and indulgent, as she clung tighter to you, a strained little cry escaping.

“Good girl, Wednesday… you’re taking it so well, aren’t you? You’re taking me so well, darling…” Fisting the front of her sweater in your hand, you pulled her off balance, tugging her close so her lips fell to yours, easy as breathing. Swallowing every single prized whimper that fell from her, you kissed her slow. Wednesday was already sensitive, but this was intense for even her, you could tell. Her breath came shakily against you as you pulled away, having smeared her lipstick to your content. Fingers sliding punishingly against her clit, your laugh rumbled low in your chest as she keened, soft and just a bit pleading.

“Very good, Wednesday, my love,” you coaxed. Her gasp, more like a sob, washed over you in a satisfaction that made you shudder. The slick from her previous orgasm clung to your hand, making it easy to keep up your punishing pace. Her tears shined like sea glass in her lashes, as devout to the cause of ruining her cheeks as the dusk outside was to darkness. You had no idea how much time had passed, only that if she asked, you’d stay right here with her until daylight again.

“I’m—” A whine rose from her throat, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“You can do it, baby-” your thumb circled her clit as your fingers found their way impossibly deeper into Wednesday- “just for me, okay?”

“Okay,” she repeated, mindlessly. This world where Wednesday let herself trust you to take care of her was one you could live in, drown in, make your home in. You raised your hand to the juncture of her neck and jaw, heavy and comforting. Reminded of every time Wednesday had put her hand in that same place on you when you were on your knees in front of her, more intimate than anything, you tugged on her wrist, instantly missing her hold in your hair. Intertwining your fingers together, you held your hands together in between you and Wednesday.

Without a warning, her fingers tightened around yours, so hard that her knuckles turned white. You could see that how hard she came took her by surprise, too—eyes wide open and pupils blown. It was breathtaking, you thought, just how much tension was in her, all tense shoulders and choked cry. Her nails dug into your skin, her grip tethering you from dropping off with her. It stung, and you loved it, the maroon of your blood welling up just enough to smear her fingertips.

Wednesday’s head fell into the nape of your neck, nuzzling like she could find the world’s secrets in your skin. Hand still in hers, you wiped away the smeared burgundy around the corners of her mouth with your thumb pad, fingers lingering.

“That was devious,” she murmured, words blurring around each other.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you chuckled. She nodded, somewhat resolutely. You eased your fingers out, tucking them surreptitiously into your mouth. The gesture didn't go unnoticed by Wednesday, but she only narrowed her eyes.

Even in her post-orgasm daze, Wednesday looked dangerous. Her fringe was all over the place, getting caught in her eyelashes, and you could finally attribute the pink in her cheeks to something a little more than the fogged up windows. Surely, this was heaven on earth, having Wednesday with you, steady as planetal orbit. You shifted her to sit sideways in your lap, making sure her knees didn’t burn from the leather. She was watching you, carefully. It was almost as if she was trying to memorize you, the studious way she looked at you, like she was the sole messenger for a world that wasn’t allowed to take you in. It made your heart pound, finally in accordance with your head. You let her take her time in your arms, rubbing her shoulders. The little press of her lips was back, something you had adored for something dangerously similar to ‘forever.’ She seemed content in a way she hardly ever was, the haze in her eyes clearing as she studied you.

“You’ve changed a lot since I met you,” she commented, not unkindly.

You looked down into Wednesday’s face, at the night air drifting through her hair again. You could feel the sting from the little crescent shaped marks that her nails left. It was a warm contrast to her cold hand in yours, clasped between you. “You changed me, Wednesday.”

wednesday: you have bewitched me, mind, body, and soul… i love, i love, i love you.

reader: huh?

a/n cont’d for those brave souls that made it this far: yes, wednesday’s dress has pockets. isn’t that wonderful?

I’m SO BAD at writing fluff. plus, reader is the most unreliable narrator to unreliably narrate. should’ve put “painfully oblivious” as a warning for part one too.

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

masterlist

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spectrum-color · 8 months

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So we all know GRRM, like all authors, took a lot of inspo from real life fairy tales, religion, and mythology. There are a ton of parallels but I picked out a few to put in this poll

Propaganda: Before anyone says anything, I know a lot of these are dark spins on the original. I’m not trying to say Littlefinger is a handsome prince or whatever. Also note that some of this is based on either things that haven’t happened yet but are highly likely to happen in Winds/Dream up to and including being confirmed by GRRM.

Arya and Jaqen as Hades and Persephone-the young maiden of spring is found by the lord of the underworld, who gives her an object (in this case a coin) to trick her into being trapped in the world of the dead. When she leaves home, winter comes, but when she returns, so does spring.

Sansa as Rapunzel-a princess locked in a tower by an evil sorceress (or just queen) who is spirited away by a man who wants to marry her. Strong focus on her hair as a symbol of her identity.

The Brotherhood Without Banners as Robin Hood and his Merry Men-a band of outlaws who defend the common people against corrupt authority figures. This one is really self explanatory.

Cersei as the evil queen and Margaery/Sansa/eventually Dany as Snow White-a vain, cruel women terrified of her beauty fading and being replaced by a younger woman who outshines her, so she tries to destroy her perceived rival, ultimately leading to her own downfall. The girls in Snow Whites slot are the popular choices for the identity of the YMBQ and the one Cersei is currently convinced it is.

Jaime and Brienne as Beauty and the Beast-a double subversion. Jaime is handsome and Brienne is ugly, but when they meet she’s brave and kind while he’s selfish and cruel, so it’s the beast who helps the beauty be better.

Lyanna, Rhaegar, and Robert as Helen of Troy, Paris, and Menelaus-a beautiful woman fiercely desired by two powerful men, she either runs off with or is kidnapped by a prince, leading to her (soon to be) husband retaliating by starting a tragic war.

Stannis and Shireen as Agammemon and Iphegenia-a king and commander sacrifices his daughter to the gods to win a war. Bonus if this ends up causing Stannis’ downfall.

Lady Stoneheart as Demeter-a mother wanders the land bringing destruction and misery as she searches for her daughter(s.) When her daughters return to her, spring comes.

Cersei and Jaimes children as the emperor wearing no clothes-the emperor walks around naked insisting that he’s a wearing magic invisible outfit, but everyone is afraid to tell him the truth until finally a child points out that he’s wearing nothing at all. See: everyone pretending not to notice that Cerseis children are the result of incest with her brother, and Ned finally realizing the truth when his 11 year old daughter points out that Joffrey is nothing like Robert.

Bran as the Fisher King-the Fisher King is a character from Arthurian myth. He is the guardian of the magical holy grail, protecting it so it (and power) does not fall into the hands of the unworthy. Notably, he also has a deliberating injury to his legs or groin (depending on the version.) Of course the endgame Bran of the show is a blatant rip-off of Leto II from Children of Dune, but I think the Fisher King sounds more like GRRM would do.

Dany as Moses-a leader who has prophetic visions, who after performing a miracle, frees her people from slavery and leads them on a harsh journey to a new land. Notably regarded as a critically important figure by a monotheistic religion.

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #lyanna stark #rhaegar targaryen #robert baratheon #jaime lannister #cersei lannister #sansa stark #tommen lannister #joffrey lannister #myrcella lannister #arya stark #jaqen h'ghar #danerys targaryen #margaery tyrell #shireen baratheon #catelyn stark #I almost put jon as cinderella #but I feared the flame war it could kick off

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raggedytiger · 2 months

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ragatha/agatha and pomni/penny human hcs!

(r)agatha:

is an english teacher!

yes she still loves horses. she used to ride them, & she loves old western movies.

owns cowboy hat and boots.

analytical and loves long & winding conversations.

has a very happy cat named sandwich.

patches her own clothes, doesn't have kids but if she did she would embroider their names into their belongings.

she still plays cello, she loves music in general, probably sings like an angel.

can't do any mathematics.

can drive, but like a lunatic. somehow has never had an accident though, so it's fine.

probably has a cute little baby blue/yellow car now, but definitely had a beat up offroader truck at some point that got put to good use. or maybe she still does, i'm not the boss.

total lesbian, a bit of a heartbreaker but not intentionally (women just keep falling for her)

goes to town/neighbourhood/community meetings. likely is/was in a knitting circle

absurd number of quilts in her home

pomni/penny:

is an accountant as we know, and cannot cook for shit as we know.

no pets she can barely take herself for walks. is more similar to a cat, but had a dog growing up. would love a collie or a dalmatian probably.

would name the dog something stupid like Thermometer Johnson.

she can drive, but nervously.

really quick thinker, like impressively, unless she's under HUGE amounts of stress. is literally always thinking at 100mph.

no sense of interior decor or personal style. all practical, kind of butch. really does kill a suit.

very much lesbian but not fully to terms with it. probably had short-lived relationships with men in which she was 'content' but didn't really care for it. seeing agatha as agatha for the first time was probably a crazy punch to her little gay heart. not to mention the cowboy gear.

autistic

watches 90s anime to wind down

listens to every single genre of music. passes a lot of time with headphones in, slowly making her way thru the entire world's discography

owns no band merch or anything though she just listens

can't sleep without a fan on, thunderstorm 12hr audio, blackout curtains, weighted blanket, water nearby

does not sleep a lot

both of them (going to call them pomni and ragatha for convenience):

didn't immediately recognise one another. i havent got an exact idea of how they reunited after getting out, but there were tears.

bonded in a very rare and unique way - they got to revel in the newfound joys of real life again. they got to eat delicious food, go on long, unobstructed walks in the real sun, be warmed by it, chew on ice cubes and shiver at the pain, listen to each other's heartbeats, listen to real music, read real books, smell soaps and flowers and sauces. they went to the supermarket together and read all the labels, and bought one of each type of fruit to try between them, and smelled all the candles, and touched all the blankets. spent a lot of time holding hands and kissing and i'm sorry to say, probably having sex, because holy shit, i'm real, you're real, we're real

now live together in ragatha's apartment, after pomni moved out of her small and confusingly-furnished flat.

both of them feel inadequate from time to time. this is resolved by a stern-but-loving talking-to.

sandwich likes pomni very much. pomni doesn't really get cats, but loves sandwich a great deal, and enjoys letting her sleep on her lap.

ragatha is very pleased to see her girls getting along.

ragatha cooks, pomni chops the veg. she often doesn't fuck it up

pomni cleans a lot as a 'thank you for letting me live here, i love you'. she's very much acts of service, ragatha is words & physical touch <3

they watch a lot of movies together. depending on how long they've been stuck, they might have culture to catch up on

ragatha wants to have a house with a garden one day. pomni starts germinating seeds from their fruit & veg like a weird science experiment. ragatha is delighted when she is presented with a baby tomato plant.

clothes are shared. ragatha's are bigger, but most of pomni's are ill-fitting anyway so it can go both ways. ragatha likes to dress pomni up in different outfits and have her do a little fashion show. pomni pretends not to savour the confidence boost.

pomni starts sleeping more

#ok im tired so thats it now. BYE #tadc #pomni #ragatha #the amazing digital circus #buttonblossom #tadc pomni #tadc ragatha #jesterdoll #ragapom #tadc headcanon #ragatha x pomni #pomni x ragatha #tadc hc #tadc humanization #human versions

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whiskersz · 2 months

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oh I have a request what is you do a story about reader x Adam where she is seen like a swan 🦢 beautiful, elegant, and graceful while Adam is Adam and both are together and everybody is like seriously what does she see in him? And she’s like “he makes me laugh 🥰” then shows Adam stuff his face all in a messy manner and looking goofy while reader looks at him with love

This request was so cute! Thank you for dropping it in my inbox, hope I did it justice :3

Divider : benkeibear

Adam x Graceful! Fem! Reader

Your high heels made a clacking sound as you walked across the street; your flowy dress made many heads turn, just for Angels to be stunned by your beauty once they saw you.

Saying you weren’t used to this would be a lie, as every day many individuals would comment on your beauty and grace; you were quite modest about it though, always thanking them but never bragging about all the attention that you received.

This wasn’t what your day was going to be about though; in fact, Adam was.

You were going on a date with your boyfriend, and you were thrilled about it; you two hadn’t been able to go out for a while, since he was quite busy with shows and whatnot during that time of the year.

You always tried to be there for his gigs, but usually he was busy with band outings afterwards or he was too beat – and quite sweaty, too – to go out for a romantic date with you.

And when he wasn’t busy with gigs, he was too caught up in more confidential matters with Sera. Things regarding Hell, you guessed. So naturally you allowed him to have some chiller dates with you in the weekend, prioritizing his desires a bit.

But this time you two had planned a whole day out together, with the first stop being a restaurant to eat some lunch.

Finally reaching your destination, you stopped in your tracks and fixed your hair to look as pretty as you could for your boyfriend. Not that he would notice if you had a hair out of place, he always called you stunning even when you were in your nightwear and you had just woken up, but you still wanted to look your best for your special day.

You checked your phone, and saw a message from him that said he was going to fly there to get there faster. You were about to reply when you heard a strong flap of wings from above you.

“Hey babe!” he descended from the sky, snaking an arm around your figure and kissing the top of your head. He was wearing his mask, as always when he was in public, but you really didn’t mind.

“Hey Adam! We arrived at the same time,” you pointed out as he tucked his wings under his arms. You noticed he was wearing his usual robe, but as the wind blew it around a little you could see his spiked combat boots underneath.

“We did, wanna go in?”

“Sure!”

You chatted about this and that as you entered the fancy restaurant, the carefully designed decor catching your eye immediately. He even had to ask you if you were listening as you got caught up staring at the luxurious furnishings.

A waiter welcomed you and lead you to your booked table near a window overlooking a beautiful garden, you could touch the bush of white roses outside if you leaned out a little, if you wanted.

You didn’t need much time to choose your orders; both of you decided to go with your favorite food as a treat, Adam’s being ribs, and as soon as the dishes arrived you dug in. You made a mental note to leave a positive review to the restaurant as even the food tasted heavenly.

“Holy shit, these ribs go hard as fuck! Want one?” Adam asked between bites, picking one up with his free hand and handing it to you. You grabbed it helping yourself with your cutlery, and chuckled at your boyfriend’s behaviour.

You were just about to take a bite out of the rib when you heard something that you probably shouldn’t have;

“...I wonder what she sees in him?”

You turned around swiftly and caught the two Angels commenting on your relationship red handed; one of them had the appearance of a sheep, fur pristine and styled into ringlets, the other resembled a cat.

They immediately averted their gaze when yours fell on them, but you still shifted so you could face them better.

“Well, he makes me happy and makes me laugh. Isn’t that enough?” you stated with a kind smile, no malice in your words, and pointed at Adam with your fork. The two girls grimaced as they looked at your boyfriend, hands dirty and mouth stuffed with ribs; he was enjoying his lunch so much that he hadn’t even noticed the food had left a stain on the sleeve of his robe.

“Suit yourself...” the sheep Angel commented once again, and it was Adam’s turn to reply.

“You’re damn lucky I’m busy eating ribs and being on a date with my girlfriend. Do you even know who the fuck you’re talking to?”

“The first man, Adam.” You finished his sentence fondly.

The Angels shivered; you’d dare say you never witnessed anyone leave a place faster than they did that restaurant.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #x reader #adam x reader #adam x you #adam hazbin hotel #adam hazbin #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam #adam one shot #hazbin hotel

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ghouljams · 5 months

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And of course, Witch does notice him. She probably kind of hates him at first for always disrupting her prayers with his languid, confident footsteps as he enters her house under the guise of asking for a very specific remedy. She hates the way her stomach twists every time she sees his rugged face. She hates the way her mind goes blank for a second when his soft, yet commanding voice echoes in her ears.

And she despises how she can’t help but silently gush at every single one of his gifts. How she always puts them in places she just knows she will always see them, and how comforting their sight is. How she feels her gaze soften even just a little bit when he breathes a sigh of relief as she bandages his wounds an massages his sore muscles. How her shoulders suddenly feel heavy with worry every time he tells her he is about to leave for another expedition, barely managing to steel her voice when she tells him to come back in one piece (after all, it’s always a nightmare to rummage through the heavy northern snow to find the ingredients needed to take care of big injuries). How she immediately goes to ask the Gods to watch over him, her hands clutching the necklace he once gifted her.

And, most of all, she loathes the way she loves him, her mind distracting her with many thoughts of him when she has to tend to her duties. She is down bad, and he is too. It’s only a matter of time before they both crumble in each other’s arms under the delectable tension these feelings weave in between them.

Just a little headcanon. Mii is inspired. We love characters who can fit in multiple AUs.

Mii do you wanna just take over for me because holy shit. I literally sat up and rolled my shoulders let's fucking go, I gotta write some fic, I'm inspired but I don't think I can match that because GOD. The mutual pining.

There are small things you do to prepare for men to come home. There are big things too, of course, you bind winds with your staff, you ask the gods for protection, you bless the wives with their husband's safe return. But the small things... You change out the furs you wear, return the silky pelts to their usual hanging place so you don't seem too fond of the man that gifted them. The same with your buckles, your brooches, your necklace. You twist a thin silver band around your finger, like a branch from a willow tree it always strikes you as too delicate to come from a viking. There's no filigree to it, not stones, no patterns, it's simple and well loved.

You do these small things because you loathe the man they represent. He's a distraction from your duties, he clouds your judgement, pulls the spirits from you. He watches you with such bare affection in his eyes that you wonder how it would be to be his wife. How it would feel to wake up every morning to those hands cradling you. Only to have him leave you, the same way he always does.

The gods whisper to you as you sit in front of their alter. Dissonant, clouded by the spirits that guard their realm. Chills wrack your body, your mind far away, drifting through the different planes searching for some new prophecy or vision that might keep your man somewhere closer. (They come to you in dreams, and tell you of new lands, new people, force you on to the elders and tell them to send out a party. You'll never be free of this awful wanting.)

The spirits pull your head back, arch your back painfully to look at the intruder in your temple. "You're always in such a rush to get back here," They tell him, voices overlapping, "is she really so special to you?"

"Of course," Price breathes, his shoulders heaving to compensate for his run to the temple from the shore. His feet carrying his heavy body to stand behind you, what are a few steps when you're at the end of them? He watches as you jerk forward and spit henbane seeds from your mouth, coughing and sucking in breaths to shake the trance. He crouches, his hands reaching for your shaking form. Völva don't live long if there's no one to care for them. It's the spirits, the elders say, no living creature can hold the dead without joining them a little each time.

Your fingers scrape the floor, nails digging into the wood and furs that surround the alter. Hands touch your back, familiar enough to make you shiver and tip your head to look at the man you always send so far away from you.

"Welcome back," He tells you, his voice so soft it feels like a blow. You look away from him, fix your eyes on the carved wood of Freyja's statue.

"I should be telling you that."

Price hums, his hands leave you. It's freezing without their warmth. You're frozen without his warmth, doomed to this until it takes you the way it takes every völva. Stuck, until Hel calls you home. You hate this man, you shouldn't love him the way you do. He shouldn't entertain your affections the way he does. He shouldn't encourage them.

"I brought you something." His furs rustle behind you as you collect yourself. You hear the leather cord of a pouch open and you sit up with a sigh. When he doesn't follow up or press anything into your hands you turn to ask him what he's brought. He presses a berry against your lips and like a fool you take it. It's a slightly bitter burst on your tongue, crushed gently by your teeth into something almost sweet. You eye the pouch in his hands, the bright red and orange berries inside. You feel yourself soften a little, smiling when you meet his affectionate stare.

"Rowan berries," You half ask, your voice feels lighter, gentler, "Thank you." It sticks like a knife in his chest. Something so simple makes you look at him like that, like coming home. Gods what he wouldn't do for you.

He's never seen you use any of his other gifts, doesn't even know if you've kept them. Price had thought something edible would go over well, easier to make sure you were satisfied with it. You reach for another berry out of the bag, the thin strip of silver around your finger glinting in the firelight. His ring. The first thing he'd gifted you, when he'd been overcome by the need to have any foothold in your life. You look up at him through your lashes, pop another red berry in your mouth with a questioning hum.

"Are you alright?" You ask, deft fingers reaching to inspect him, "You're not injured are you?" The concern in your voice might kill a weaker man, surely no one can hold up under your care. Not when you look at them like that.

"No," Price chokes out, gritting his teeth as your fingers brush his skin, "No injuries to report, we've got a healer now so-"

"You don't need me?" You smile when you say it, like a joke, but there's sorrow in your eyes. Price can't stop himself from cupping your face, your soft skin under his rough hand is intoxicating. It makes his heart clench painfully. Can't you see he's trying to ease your burden? Are you truly so wrapped up in völva that you've lost sight of any other value you might have?

"What would I do without you sweetheart?" He whispers. There's a pain in your eyes he can't name. It hurts to see you turn away from his hand. To see you smooth your hands over your dress as you stand, offer him your hand to help him up. You smile, some mask closing off your eyes from him.

"Well, we might as well go and greet the men," You pull on your duties like a well worn cloak, more völva than person when you pluck your staff from the ground, "do our jobs for the elders."

It's a reminder to both of you. The spirits aren't the only ones that keep their eyes on you. Price nods, and follows you out of the temple, pressing the pouch into your hands as he goes.

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scary-lasagna · 5 months

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hii!! Can we get some Brianxreader fluff and nsfw headcanons pls?? Tyᰔ

Here's some spiecy flavored things

Patchwork [Brian x Reader]

"I don't know how you managed to get so beat up every week." You shook your head in dismay, tossing a bloody antibacterial wipe in the trash.

"I'm just a little adventurous, that's all." He simply shrugged off your worries, and you knew he was trying to make you feel better, but it only heightened your concern.

"Adventurous is drinking Redbull instead of coffee in the mornings, not scraping your leg open falling down a flight of stairs." With a sterile popsicle stick, you dipped it in the ointment, and gently applied it to the dotted scrapes along the major wound.

"To each their own." He only smirked, "I told ya you didn't have to take care of me."

"I want to." You looked up at Brian, your head tilted and your hair slightly messy, all with a stern but caring look in your eye. You wanted to continue, but decided against it, shaking your head slightly and focusing back on his leg.

It hasn't been a ridiculously long time since you first arrived at the manor. Your Operator announced your availability, looking for some quick souls to trade for your labor when Slender caught wind of it. Times were rough, and humans don't heal quickly. Last thing he needed was one of his proxies to catch an infection or loose too much blood in one sitting.

You haven't been away from your Operator for this long in a while, however the break from constant work is nice. You were thankful that Slender picked you out in a room full of Medic-talented proxies, somehow sensing your need for a little vacation. You didn't work everyday, mostly because the proxies didn't go out everyday. But the miniscule work that you did do, were little patches and band-aids such as Brian tripping down the stairs.

Not that you minded, most of the proxies weren't terrible looking. Not that any of them seemed available, but they were still nice to gaze at, especially Brian and how much charm he radiates.

You glance up at him, allowing him to give you his lopsided smile. You pretend not to notice you're blushing and grab a bandage from your kit. You start binding up his leg.

"So...are you doing anything tonight?"

Holy shit.

"Um, no, why?" You asked with a fake sense of obliviousness. You hoped he didn't catch onto your overly cool tone. You fumbled with the bandage and it disobeyed, unwinding around his leg.

"A lot of us are going out to the firepit tonight? Was wondering if you wanted to come along." He asked with a good handful of hope.

Your heart sank a little. Did anyone here really like you enough to want you to be there? "I-I'm not sure. I'm not much of a social gathering kind of person."

Brain laughed, one of those kind that lets you catch a glimmer of his personality. "Neither is anyone else, but we all bring food and let Toby talk our ears off until we get tired." He smiled down at you as you finalized the bandage, "C'mon, I'm not gonna take no for an answer, you need to get out of the house somehow."

You huffed and pursed your lips, looking up at him with a playful glare, "Fine." And ignoring his victorious fist bumps, you pack up your kit and stand up with a few cracks of your knees.

He steps uncomfortably close inside your little personal space bubble, gazing down at you. Bastard knows what he's doing. "I'll see ya' at six."

#not exactly fluff #but just a cute lil interaction #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta blog #brian thomas x reader #hoodie x reader #creepypasta x reader

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ghostlykeyes · 6 months

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Hooray! Requests are open! And I rush like the wind into your abode with my idea! How about this idea? Heartsteel!Kayn x Gothic singer!Reader? Reader is the leader of the Gothic rock band the band. In their video, as well as in the songs themselves, there is a lot of gloom, mystery, and also a lot of creepy themes. There are a lot of cemeteries, abandoned buildings, etc. And in the main life Reader likes to visit cemeteries and abandoned buildings (just like me. Because there you can relax from the hustle and bustle of the city. Peace and quiet). In the clips, Reader often acts as a vampire. I would like to know the dynamics in their relationship) Thank you very much!)

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GIF by thedemonlady

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HEARTSTEEL KAYN: GOTHIC/SINGER PARTNER HEADCANONS ♡ Gender Neutral ♡ Light to mid-NSFW sprinkled throughout... couldn't help myself (but I KNOW none of you bonk-deserving DEGENERATES mind much 0-0 ) ♡ TW: Slight Sexual Content ♡Keyes write less than one thousand words about Kayn challenge (GONE WRONG) (GONE SEXUAL) (TOTALLY IMPOSSIBLE)

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KAYN

Yone's the one who "introduced" you to Kayn, in a way. After seeing one of your music videos, Yone had a feeling Kayn might like your style and sent him a link. What Yone didn't foresee was Kayn becoming instantly fucking obsessed with you. But how was he supposed to resist? You, with your blood red lips and your black lace everything and your haunting, creepy voice...how could Kayn be anything but instantly, painfully in love?

Since your group was much smaller than Heartsteel, it wasn't hard for Kayn to get you to notice him. Sure, maybe the guys teased him for DM'ing you around the clock and turning up at all your shows like a damn groupie until you told him he could take you out sometime...but he's the one who bagged the goth hottie in the end, so who's the real winner?

Kayn keeps a mini silver bat keychain clipped to his bag, a constant reminder of you. Even though your aesthetic is gloomy and, frankly, a little ominous, he still says that your little bat is his good luck charm.

Of course Kayn knows that you scream in your songs—he listens to them religiously, after all—but the first time he heard it in person? Holy shit, he got chills. He knows he shouldn't interrupt your band practice. It was already nice enough of you to let him sit in and listen. But he can't. fucking. help it. "That was the hottest shit I've heard in my life," he tells you after you finish the song. "You're so fucking cool." When the band takes a five-minute break halfway through rehearsal, Kayn tugs you into the nearest bathroom and shows you just how sexy he finds you. Needless to say, you get a bit more screaming practice than you bargained for...

Typically, Kayn prefers the stage to the crowd, but even he can admit that being in the audience at your shows is a really fucking good time. The low, moody lighting, the smoke machines belting fog across the stage, groups of your fans proudly sporting plastic fans and screaming the haunting lyrics to your songs? The atmosphere is fucking impeccable. Plus, in a crowd like this, he can easily get away with going full Rhaast. (He's even started a mosh pit or two...or more. Probably best not to keep track.)

Kayn's favorite part of your vampire-ensemble? A pair of silver tooth caps, shaped like fangs (naturally). When he steals you away from rehearsals or pulls you into a dark backstage corner after a show, Kayn's quickly licking his way into your mouth, tongue dancing along the edge of the metal. "Bite me," he often growls into the edge of your ear as you're kissing down his neck. At first you thought he was kidding, so you'd always give him a light nip and then find your way back to his hungry mouth. But, one time, he smacked your ass as you were working the soft flesh of his neck and you, surprised, really bit down—hard. The way Kayn squirmed into you, panting and whining as a dark bruise started blossoming to the surface of his neck, told you that's definitely what he'd been wanting all along.

Since Kayn's been in the industry for a long time, he's a lot more used to dealing with paparazzi than you are. Whenever you come to him for advice on dealing with the cameras and harassment, he scoffs, instantly annoyed. "Oh, those fucking assholes? If you get in their faces enough, they'll back off." Don't worry, though, he'll do the 'getting in their faces' part for you. If you're out with Kayn and the two of you start getting mobbed, he's not afraid to elbow a reporter or two, or break a few camera lenses. Your management is pissed by the bad press, of course, but it's done wonders for your privacy.

Kayn's favorite pet-name for you is his 'baby bat'. He often calls you that after you do something cute. "Ugh, my baby bat," he says, squishing your cheeks with his hand and planting a kiss on your puckered, smushed-together lips. "So fucking adorable."

Your music taste has earned you the great honor of sharing a Spotify account with Kayn. You're the only person he'd ever even consider allowing to add songs to his playlists, or influence what music the algorithm spits through the radio while he's driving. Just don't steal the account while he's listening (he gets pouty).

Whenever the two of you are hanging out Kayn tries to snag your notebook, flipping through for a glimpse at your newest song concepts or music video ideas. He can't help being curious! You're one of his favorite artists (the fact that you kiss him a lot helps with that), so he's always eager for a sneak peek at your next creative endeavor. Your brain fascinates him, and he can't wait to see what ominous project you put out next.

Anytime you've got a photoshoot, count on Kayn to show up. He loves to see you in full vampire-mode, looking flawless in you Tim-Burton-esque makeup and your platform boots. He's got an eye for edgy photography and iconography, too, so he's a great person to draw inspiration from (even if he tends to annoy the photographers—he's not afraid to tell them if their photos are shitty). Some of his best photo ideas? A boudoir-esque shoot centered around a velvet-lined coffin, a Halloween photo-set with charmingly-poorly-carved jack o' lanterns (carving credits to Heartsteel), a birthday party in a graveyard. Not all of his ideas are so extravagant, of course, and some of his best are the most simple. He's taken a simple shot of his neon eye that you loved so much, you made it the cover art for one of your singles.

Kayn has you saved in his phone under a black heart and a bat emoji.

While the graveyard might be a little too quiet and still for his tastes, Kayn's glad to accompany you on trips to abandoned buildings. He's committed arson in explored his fair share of old warehouses and factories, so he knows what to expect when the two of you break into an abandoned building on a date. He's got a full toolkit—flashlights, a crowbar, lockpicks. Whenever you've got to smash a window or crack a lock to move forward, Kayn eagerly volunteers to clear the way. "You know, since I'm a gentleman," he smiles, sweeter than sugar as he kicks down a door. (You have to physically restrain yourself from rolling your eyes at that.) The two of you spend hours wandering through old buildings on your days off, brushing through years of old, quiet dust. When it's time to leave, Kayn breaks a bottle of spray paint out of his bag. He always tags the building before you clear out, one little symbol for each of you; his Rhaast-grinned Heartsteel icon, and a bat next to it.

#heartsteel #heartsteel headcanons #heartsteel kayn #kayn #heartsteel x reader #kayn x reader #kayn/reader #sheida kayn

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yurigalactica · 9 months

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honestly my favorite thing about los campesinos as a whole is how each song feels so similar and familiar, and yet, each song is so distinct from the others and invokes such a hyper-specific emotion. like to tundra? the melancholy acceptance of our own mortality. coda: a burn scar in the shape of the sooner state? how you feel when you're crying on the floor of your shower at 1am with the lights turned off. the time before the last time? sobbing as you drive home in the pouring rain, but make it cinematic. hung empty? the feeling of exploring a brand new place, a new chapter of life, and the excitement coupled with creeping unease that comes with it. she crows (documented minor emotional breakdown #4)? sitting in a dimly lit diner far later at night than anyone should be out, reflecting on your life and everything that brought you to this moment, looking back on all of your successes and failures and everyone who's loved you and hated you and everything in between—and accepting them all and being proud of how much you've grown and how far you've come. we are beautiful, we are doomed? the feeling of being a teenager, of being rebellious, of doing all the things you're told you shouldn't do just because it's finally hit you just how fleeting life is and how badly you want to live when it feels like you're on the brink of dying. this is a flag. there is no wind? the very essence of apathy, of feeling trapped in your own life, of wanting to break free and be undeniably yourself but feeling like that's downright impossible. glue me? the feeling of being held in the arms of your dearest love, the feeling of being surrounded by something safe, something familiar, something that feels like home.

holy fuck i love this band

#los campesinos #los campesinos!#music stuff #my los campesinos brainrot has come back someone send help #thunder talks

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daily-classical · 1 year

Video

youtube

#alan hovhaness #outer space #astronomy #classical music #symphony #american music #concert band #symphonic band #wind band #wind symphony #wind orchestra #wind ensemble #holy minimalism #spiritual minimalism

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thisapplepielife · 5 months

Text

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

Paint It, Black

Prompt Day 9: No Upside Down AU | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Referenced Drug Use | Tags: AU, Corroded Coffin, Established Relationship, Eddie & Gareth Are Best Friends, Motel Room, Road Manager Steve Harrington Has Had Enough, It's Like Herding Cats

This is set during my fic Tuesday's Gone With the Wind, but this can be read alone. All you need to know is Corroded Coffin is a struggling band on the road, and Steve Harrington, Eddie's boyfriend, has recently taken a job as their Road Manager.

1990 Fresno, California

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

What the actual fuck?

Steve can't even believe what he’s seeing. Can’t fathom it. It’s madness, absolute fucking insanity. What on earth has he signed up for? This isn’t normal. None of this is normal.

"What the fuck are you two dickheads doing?!" Steve finally shouts, unable to modulate his tone even a little bit. He’s a goddamn babysitter. No, being a babysitter would be better than this. Kids don’t know any better. These two assholes definitely do. Goddamn. Fuck.

Eddie barely turns to look at him, and that just makes Steve even madder.

"Eddie, look at me!" Steve yells, and Eddie turns to look.

"Hi. What are you doing?" Steve asks, though it’s very fucking obvious what they’re doing. They’re painting their motel room black.

Eddie doesn’t answer, but Gareth does. "Eddie has a thing about orange and green," Gareth says, like that’s a fucking excuse for this. Gareth keeps painting the wallpaper of the dingy motel room.

"Stop it!" Steve yells, and they both freeze for just a second, then their brushes are moving again.

He’s quitting. He’s going home. He can’t manage these people. They’re crazy. This is crazy.

"That’s…that’s not even how you paint a wall!" Steve screams at Gareth.

And don’t even get him started on the ceiling. That’s just bullshit. They’re gonna get arrested. Like, for sure. They need a lawyer on retainer, but they can’t afford a lawyer. And they definitely can’t afford to pay for these kinds of damages.

"Looks like it's getting painted to me," Gareth says, slapping more black paint on the wall.

"Do you know how much this is going to cost?" Steve snaps, putting his hands on his hips. He tries to guess, and can’t even come up with a number that seems plausible. They’ve ruined the wallpaper, the carpet, the bedding…the ceiling. The goddamn ceiling.

Eddie’s standing on the desk, which, also ruined.

"Hey, assholes! What are you on?!" Steve yells.

Because it must be drugs, there's no other excuse for this kind of behavior. Or they're psychopaths, and he doesn’t think that’s true. He loves Eddie. He’s kind, and sweet, and fucking unhinged, apparently.

"Little coke," Gareth says, "that's all."

"That's all? That's all?! Where are Jeff and Goodie?"

"They’re at a bar. They didn't want to go to Sherwin Williams with us," Eddie says.

Why would any store sell these two dickheads two gallons of black paint? It was never gonna be used for good. Never, ever.

Where's the satanic panic when you need it?

"You two dickheads are explaining this. I don't have the words to even try," Steve snaps, but he knows that’s not true. He’ll take care of it. That’s what they’re paying him for. He’s not sure this is the job for him. He loves Eddie, but this is stupid. Cocaine, no cocaine, they both have to know better. Have to know you can’t just paint a motel room because it has a fucking ugly color scheme.

He gives himself a few minutes to calm down, and then heads for the front desk and asks for the manager.

"I’m Steve Harrington, road manager for Corroded Coffin. We’re in room 420. Two band members have painted the room partially black," Steve says, unable to believe he’s actually saying these words. "I’m sorry. We’ll pay for the damages."

They go back and forth. When the manager demands to go see the damage, Steve gets there and takes the brushes away, and sends Eddie and Gareth outside to wait. They are definitely banned from this motel for life.

They want to have them arrested for vandalism, and Steve thinks that’s a fucking fair assessment of what happened here. He talks them out of it. Offers to write a big check. They finally agree, and tell him to get their shit out, and never come back.

Jeff’s camera is in its bag, so Steve takes it out and films the damage. They might need this, if they end up slapped with a lawsuit.

The band doesn’t have this kind of money, not at all, so Steve gets out his personal checkbook and pays for the damages. If he doesn’t do that, he’ll have to pay to bail Eddie, and Gareth, out of jail, and he’d rather Eddie not have something so stupid on his record.

He packs up everybody’s shit, and when he gets outside with it, they are both sitting on a curb, as far from the lobby as they can get. Smoking a cigarette, passing it back and forth. Steve snaps his fingers, and points to the van. He has everybody’s shit piled on a cart, and they are gonna load it all up. Then they have to find Jeff and Goodie, because they’re gonna stumble back to a motel they’re no longer welcome in.

Eddie’s hands are a little shaky, Steve can tell he’s sobered up, and now he’s embarrassed. Or worried. Both, probably.

Gareth crawls in the backseat, seemingly unbothered, as always. Figures. Steve gets in the driver’s seat, and Eddie climbs in beside him.

"Do you still love me?" Eddie asks, looking at him, hair in his face.

"Unfortunately, yes," Steve says, and reaches for Eddie’s black paint-stained hand, kissing his knuckles.

"How 'bout me? Do you love me?" Gareth asks, sticking his head between them.

"No, never. Sit back," Steve snaps.

Gareth does.

"I’m sorry," Eddie says, and Steve is pretty sure he means it.

"I know," Steve says, "but that’s the end of that. We can’t afford to damage rooms like that again."

"Did we have enough to settle up tonight?" Eddie asks, looking worried.

Steve nods, "Yeah, it’s taken care of. Don’t worry."

"Thanks," Eddie says, "we won’t do anything like that again. I swear."

"Good. Thank you. I’m not paid enough for that kind of headache," Steve says, and it makes Eddie smile.

This is a terrible job.

But Eddie's here, and Steve's pretty fond of him. So, he'll stay.

Notes: This incident was mentioned in Wake Up Time, but I thought it'd be fun to get Steve's POV on these two dickheads for once. In Tuesday's Eddie had mentioned their property damage in this documentary segment:

Eddie Munson, Rhythm Guitar & Songwriter "Our tours were a clusterfuck before Steve whipped us into shape. The property damage alone. Bunch of assholes, we were. He eventually broke us of it, it just took a while and a lot of money."

And this is that story, lol.

This idea is based off these lyrics from a Willie & Waylon song:

And there's a motel out in Fresno Where neither one of us can go back You had a thing about yellow and green So you painted the whole room black

Which is total Eddie and Gareth BFF vibes from this universe. (I changed it to orange, to match the Hawkins HS colors.)

And I've said it before, and I'll say it again, this gifset is the perfect embodiment of Road Manager Steve's energy.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

#steddieholidaydrabbles #no upside down au #corroded coffin #steve harrington: road manager #gareth & eddie #tuesday's gone with the wind #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #corroded coffin fic #stranger things #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddieholidaydrabbles

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unholyverse · 8 months

Text

waterparks // marvin magazine issue #10

(full transcript under the cut)

Waterparks

WORDS by HOLLY SOLEM

PHOTOGRAPHY by DANIEL PRACOPCYK

Waterparks are places you go for fun; both pools and slides and the gloriously buzzy, pop punk band featuring members Geoff Wigington (lead guitar), Otto Wood (drums), and singer/guitarist Awsten Knight, whose neon energy matches his hair. Their music leads you down sonic chutes and up rainbow ladders with four albums, countless tours, millions of listeners and a recent signing with Fueled By Ramen, the label under which they are about to drop their highly anticipated 5th studio album. MARVIN had the good fortune of catching up with Knight—who is busy prepping for a European tour, a US tour and the release of the band's new album—to talk about all that goes into creating the bubbly world of Waterparks.

The new album titled Intellectual Property features eleven legit bangers filled with anthemic choruses. psychedelic experimentation and hooky melodies all polished to a sheen. There are hints of megalithic rock bands like Muse, inspiration from The Beach Boys and the pop punk sounds we have come to expect. But as for the "pop" part, this record goes in hard with collaborations with the likes of blackbear and songwriter/producer Julian Bunetta.

I love pop music and we got an offer to write with this dude, Julian, who has credits on 95% of One Direction's discography. I fucking love One Direction. I don't want to be dramatic but let's say I've got a top 60 favorite songs, I think four or five are One Direction songs. And Julian's written on all of them. I was just like, 'I want to do what I do but with him too.' And then I made "FUNERAL GREY", "BRAINWASHED", and "FUCK ABOUT IT", with him.

For this album, the band brought in more outside alliances than on previous albums, with Knight saying. "I think I was more open to [collaborations] on this album. Other people's opinions and thoughts and stuff like that. Normally, I don't really love writing with people that I don't know very well because it can feel very sterile. You walk in and they're like, 'what do you want to write about? You're like, 'oh fuck'—because it's a personal thing." And when it comes to getting personal, Knight is also realizing that to his surprise, the more personal he gets-the more vulnerable lyrically—the more universal the message.

I feel like I used to be kind of freaked out by [vulnerability], especially earlier, on album one. I was really nervous about it and it sounds so lame in retrospect but I didn't even want to do any acoustic songs. I liked burying myself a lit- tle bit behind a big instrumental. [The song] "21 Questions" for example. I sent that along with all the other demos to Benji because I wanted his opinion and he was like, 'this is one of the best ones.' Those wind up being the favorites, which seems counterproductive because songs are supposed to be relatable. And I never feel like I'm being relatable but I try to be less selfish with the writing. I want this to be for someone else.

When Knight refers to "Benji" he is talking about Benji Madden, one half of legendary pop punk duo Good Charlotte. Benji, along with his brother and bandmate Joel, manage Waterparks after discovering them on YouTube and DM'ing them on Twitter back in 2015. Knight received the news of the Maddens' invitation to fly to LA for a meeting while working as a babysitter who gave guitar lessons.

I called the guys and we're like, 'holy shit.' So we all went and bought swimsuits because…California. And yeah, that was it. After we met them, we went back to our hotel and were just like, 'what is happening? A week ago we were still passing out flyers outside of other people's shows. And we're right here, right now. This is the weirdest shit.'

A literal dream-come-true for Knight and the band, who eventually would make the move to LA from Houston while missing its Tex-Mex and Thai food, and of course, his family. But when it comes to the weather, he's all about California. He doesn't even mind the earthquakes. He was in a rooftop hot tub during one and actually found it rather exciting. For a man who has toured the world, there's a bright-eyed innocence and almost childlike wonder to him. His seeming lack of cynicism is as refreshing as freshly fallen snow which he admits he only saw for the first time not that long ago. But now, Knight talks about having stress dreams as he and the band get ready to embark on a European leg, followed by an extensive US tour.

Here's the thing, I like to play shows and I like to meet people. The other 22 hours of the day, I like having my space. I'm pretty particular, you know what I mean? I like my zone where I can sit and just do stuff. You go from peace and quiet and doing what you want all the time to sharing a small living space and a bus with twelve people. It's basically having twelve people in your living room for two months. And you're just like, 'ah, but the shows are great' as long as the shows are fun and everyone is having a great time, that makes it worth it to me.

He's also superstitious. Around his apartment there are crystals, there are obsidian and selenite wands in front of all the mirrors. He has a healer-type person come in and energetically clear his space, insisting he throw away objects that may have "dark entities" attached. "I'm luckier than people I know. They're like, 'why is the light always turning green when you go to it? Why do you always get the front spot at the store?' I'm like, it's because I don't split the pole, you know? Can't split a pole when you're walking. There's a bunch of superstitions. But I follow them and I'm crazy lucky."

In addition to music, he recently penned a well-received book of personal essays called, You'd Be Paranoid Too (If Everyone Was Out to Get You). He plans to write a novel next and has also started a clothing line called HiiDef. that fabricates small collections that sell out fast. His enthusiasm for the line is on par with music. "If everybody made the songs that I wanted to hear, I wouldn't have to do this. The same thing applies with clothing." Passion abound, he is all smiles when discussing plans for the future of Waterparks.

How do I get to the fucking moon? I think anyone who hears this album is going to love it. Cause I think it's incredible. I'm looking at the songs right now. I'm just like, 'man, straight slappers.' Even the last song, which I know wouldn't be a single or anything-that's probably one of the best accomplishments of a song that we've ever been able to pull off. I see this album in plaques on the wall. All right, we're manifesting now.

He names his goals out loud, as one is meant to do when calling them in, mentioning things like how much he'd like to play the Redding and Leeds Festivals at sunset. Then he pulls up the Waterparks US tour schedule online while musing, "I want one of those big "Sold Out" things across all the dates. It's getting there dude. Yeah, actually, it's going crazy right now." In real time, he seems to discover that the banners that cross nearly all of the show dates do indeed read, "Sold Out". And then it's clear. Awsten Knight is lucky. But luck is really about preparation meeting opportunities and he has definitely shown up to the game prolific and prepared. Five albums in, it's clear that Knight and Waterparks have only just begun.

@waterparks

#i scanned this big ass magazine and photoshopped it back together after i found out you could buy this digitally so you better reblog #awsten knight #otto wood #geoff wigington #waterparks #i.zip #anyways story time #only reason i bought this is bc i saw this at barnes and noble at the mall and it was wayyy cheaper than if i got a physical online #$25 instore vs $30 online + $20 shipping which is INSANE but the fact that this is the size of my torso is even more insane #it's just some puff piece like the rest of the shit you'd expect from a rich people magazine that brands itself as punk #and that josh madden shilled his way into again lol

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