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munson-blurbs · 25 days

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Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: What started as a quest to prove Eddie's 'manhood' ended with a gesture that had you hurtling towards your future--ready or not. (5.4k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, parental conflict, poverty, lots of bees, mention of parental illness, brief mention of sex work, finally some actual physical contact between them, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter five: float like a butterfly

For the first time since you’d started working nights, you didn’t dread the sound of your alarm ringing. You’d always appreciated its stillness, with only city noises and the occasional guest puncturing the perfect silence. There were some nights where you didn’t speak a word for the full eight hours of your shift; you just read or wrote or daydreamed until the clock struck six.

Except for last night, of course, when you’d passed the time by talking with Eddie and minimally contributed to wallpaper removal. Your mind flickered back to the way he’d placed his hand on yours. The sensation of his palm, calloused but warm, lingering a beat longer than necessary.

The whole moment could have been deemed unnecessary, in theory. Surely he could have modeled the action on his own and then handed you the tool so you could imitate him. Was it truly to show you how to scrape off glue, or did he have a more gratuitous intention?

Shaking your head, you eschewed the idea almost as quickly as you’d considered it. He was just being polite, a rarity among most of your male guests. Maybe that's why you were so hyper-focused on it; years of clipped conversations and crude comments had you mistaking kindness for something more flirtatious.

Speak of the Devil…

Eddie stood in the lobby, his guitar case slung across his back. He kept one elbow perched on the desk as he spoke to your mom. Whatever he said was making her laugh, a genuine one that brought a light to her eyes. She noticed you first, and when she waved you over, Eddie turned around to see what caught her attention. His smile shifted from open-mouth to close-lipped, more thoughtful and discreet without losing any of its charm.

Slinging your bag off of your shoulder next to the desk, you feigned a casual demeanor and asked, “What did I miss? Serenading my mom?” You nodded towards the guitar case, biting back a smile.

Eddie shook his head, his curls falling in his face. “Tried to make a couple bucks down at the subway station.” He shrugged, shoving his hand in his pocket. “Not enough for a ticket home, but it’s a start.”

Home. Obviously he was going home. New York had nothing for him, had chewed him up and spit him out like he left a bitter taste in its mouth. He had no reason to stay.

Oblivious to your disappointment, Mom laughed again. “Mr. Munson–”

“Eddie. Mr. Munson is my uncle.”

“Eddie,” Mom quickly amended, “was just telling me about the time he ripped his pants while he was on stage.”

Rosy red seeped into Eddie’s cheeks, evidently not expecting your mom to share that information with you. “And that was the last time I wore leather pants,” he said. “Lesson learned.”

Deeming this conclusion insufficient, you inquired further. “How exactly does one rip leather pants?” You stifled a giggle, just imagining him feeling a sudden breeze mid-concert.

“Well, ya see,” he started, crossing his arms over his faded Metallica t-shirt and smirking, “I’m what’s known as an enthusiastic performer. And as such, one might find that leather can be quite restricting.”

“So…you got really sweaty and they ripped.”

Eddie hid his face behind a curtain of curls, all but confirming your suspicions. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Heiress,” he warned with a smile, cocking his pointer finger in your direction.

Mom took that as her cue to leave, quickly clasping your hand and excusing herself. Thick tension set in without her there as a buffer. Her presence prevented any conversation from dipping too deep into flirtation; now, there was nothing stopping it.

Except, of course, the looming fact that he was a guest. And like all guests, he was a temporary fixture in your life.

“The new wallpaper didn’t come in yet,” you blurted out. Dad had insisted on ordering it from a family friend, saving money but forgoing the promises of timely delivery afforded by bigger suppliers.

Eddie shrugged, unbothered by the information. “I know.” He placed a cigarette between his lips and held out the pack in offering, but you shook your head. Without missing a beat, he put his own cigarette back and returned the box to his pocket. “Your mom was saying how excited she is for you to finish your classes and take over the motel.”

Panic flooded your lungs and constricted your breathing at the potential crisis he might have inadvertently caused. Did Mom seem upset? Her usual signs were noticeably absent: narrowed eyes, set jaw, lips painfully taut in a silent roar: we’ll discuss this later.

There was none of that. She was laughing. Happy. Not a hint of disappointment. Yet anxiety still hooked its claws into your skin, a stinging reminder of the anvil dangling over your head.

“You didn’t say—”

“Not a word.” Eddie waved away the thought. “Just smiled and nodded.”

Your chest went concave with relief, and you had to stop yourself from reaching out and pulling him into a hug. His arms held a surprising strength, as evidenced by his wallpaper removal abilities, and you wondered how they would feel wrapped around your waist. Did he hug tightly, not letting go until all of the air had been squeezed from your lungs? Or did he prefer a softer, lazier embrace, one with a hand free to stroke up and down your back?

Why did it matter?

“Is there a reason you haven’t told them?” he asked. The sound of his voice invaded your senses, pulling you back to reality in an instant. “I mean, they seem nice enough.”

Stooping down to grab your notebook, you nodded in agreement. “That’s part of the problem, I guess.” Your teeth scraped along your tongue as you considered your words. “If they were shitty, I wouldn’t feel so bad about letting them down.”

“Letting them down?”

You nodded, feeling that familiar pit that formed in your stomach whenever this subject arose. “Yeah. I can’t be a social worker and run the motel. And if I don’t stick around, they’ll have to close this place for good.”

Eddie breathes out with a low whistle. “Pretty high stakes.”

“You can say that again.” Resting your elbows on the desk, you buried your head in your hands. “How did your parents react when you told them you wanted to be a rockstar?” you asked, your voice slightly muffled.

He took so long to respond that you looked up, wondering if he’d up and left while you weren’t watching.

“My dad’s, um, not in the picture, and my mom died when I was a kid,” he finally said, using his left thumbnail to pick at the right.

“I’m sorry.” And you were: for his loss and for prying into his history. Mortification bloomed and prickled sweat under your arms, and you clenched them to your sides in a feeble attempt to hide any forming stains.

“S’okay. I mean, you didn’t know, so…” his shoulders moved up and down, his mouth drawn into a forgiving half-smile, “now you know.”

Now you know. A little slice of him, presented to you like one of the cakes the local bakery kept locked behind a pane of refrigerated glass. The ones you admired as a kid, reveling in their perfectly smooth icing and intricately piped pastel flowers. They’d always seemed too delicate to touch, so you’d skipped over them in favor of sprinkle-laden cookies.

Logically, you know that the cakes were made for consumption. All you needed to do was ask for a taste. But you could never bring yourself to ruin their beauty. Not then, and not now.

And so, as always, you stepped away and chose the easier path instead.

“Did you really rip your pants on stage?”

Eddie’s nose wrinkled at the sudden subject change, but he recovered quickly. “Sure did. Split right down the seam.” He puffed out a short laugh through his nose. “Poor Gareth got an eyeful that night.”

“Are you sure that isn’t the real reason you left the band?” Picking up the nearest pen, you poked the capped end into his forearm.

He play-winced, rubbing the spot the cap touched, and shook his head. “Nah, this was my high school band. Corroded Coffin.”

“Sounds ominous.”

“Oh, yeah. We were terrifying.” Eddie widened his eyes in mock-horror. “The backbone of Indiana’s satanic panic, actually.”

You raised your brows. “Impressive.”

“Mhm. We only broke up because our bassist went to college out of state. Princeton.” He lowered his voice at the name as though relaying confidential information.

“Not the Ivy Leagues!” You pressed your hand to your heart, clutching metaphorical pearls.

Eddie grimaced. “I’m afraid so.”

“I’ve heard Princeton is known for their demonic studies program, so that tracks.”

This is nice. This is easy. No mention of schoolwork, or the motel, or parents—or lack thereof. You could do this all night.

A throat clearing followed by a hacking cough took you both by surprise. Peering over Eddie’s shoulder, you found Phyllis standing in the lobby doorway.

“There’s a wasp nest outside my window,” she said, tugging up one drooping shirt sleeve. The odor of stale cigarettes grew stronger as she walked closer to you and Eddie; even if she quit smoking today, the pungency would always cling to her.

Uncapping your pen, you reached into the desk drawer and grabbed the stack of Post-Its. “I’ll make a note to get some insecticide spray tomorrow,” you promised, poorly curbing your exasperation.

If it isn’t one thing, it’s another.

The older woman didn’t put up any argument, but Eddie was obviously displeased. “Like hell you will.” He glanced around, pent-up energy overflowing as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “You got a baseball bat around here?”

Your “Uh, no,” overlapped with Phyllis’s nonchalant, “Yeah, of course,” and she left to fetch it.

A sigh escaped you, hinting at your mounting irritation. “Eddie, absolutely not,” you insisted. “Just wait till I get the spray and you can do it then.”

He clicked his tongue with a note of condescension that you didn’t particularly appreciate. “Don’t worry about it, Heiress. I’m from the Midwest; our wasps are like your rats. This’ll be nothing.” When you remained unconvinced, he adopted a teasing grin. “I don’t tell you how to do your nerd stuff, do I? So leave me to my man stuff in peace.”

You nearly choked on your own saliva. “Your man stuff?”

“Yes. Very strong and burly.” He flexed a bicep for emphasis and you threw your hands up in defeat, trying to ignore the soft fluttering in your stomach at the vein bulging through his skin.

Phyllis returned with the bat, the wooden neck clenched between arthritic fingers. “It’s right around the side,” she told Eddie. “Just look for the giant nest. And don’t forget to give this back when you’re done; I’m working tonight.” She thrust the bat into Eddie’s hand and padded back to her room, slippers thwacking against the linoleum.

Eddie twirled the bat, threading it through his fingers and catching it smoothly. He smiled, unable to camouflage his pride. “See? I got this.” His grasp was determined without a hint of tenderness, a stark contrast to the way he’d held your hand the night prior. Tucking it underneath a denim-clad arm, he took a deep breath and pushed through the front door like he was preparing for battle.

You watched him leave, shaking your head. Evidently, he had a point to prove, but you doubted the chances of his success. Part of you wished you could leave the desk to watch him in action. Another part was relieved that you had the excuse to avoid witnessing this disaster as it unfolded.

As you predicted, not even half a minute had passed before you heard Eddie yelping, his footsteps thudding towards the motel’s entrance. He flung the door open with enough force that it smacked against the wall, scrambling to slam it shut behind him. His chest heaved under his jacket as he tried to catch his breath.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He swatted around his head at some lingering wasps. “Son of a bitch!”

Sucking your tongue to your front teeth, you bit back an I-told-you-so. “How’s your ‘manhood’ or whatever?”

Maybe that wasn’t much better than outright gloating, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Eddie made a closed fist with only his middle finger sticking up, and he winced almost immediately. “I think one of those little fuckers got me.” He cradled one hand in the other as you walked towards him for a closer inspection.

Sure enough, a stinger was poking out from the side of his forefinger.

Phyllis came shuffling back from her room, pink lipsticked mouth pursed in concern. “Jesus, kid. Were you trying to piss them off?” The loose skin under her neck wobbled when she chortled. “You swung at that nest like you were Babe Ruth!”

Through a tense smile, you asked her to get a soapy washcloth so you could clean out the wound before it could spark an allergic reaction. “Unless, of course, that interferes with your man stuff,” you said to Eddie, all-too happy to throw his words back in his face.

“Fuck off.” A traitorous chuckle broke through his stoic exterior despite his very real pain. His eyes followed your movements as you grabbed the first aid kit.

You took his warm palm in yours, gently turning it to assess the afflicted finger. The stinger was lodged under his skin, already turning the surrounding area an angry red.

“Oof, he really stung you good, huh?” Your tone was all sympathy; you figured he’d gotten enough jabs from the wasps.

Eddie gritted his teeth as you gingerly scraped at the stinger with the edge of your notebook, taking care not to squeeze out any of the venom. You tightened your grip to keep his hand in place, feeling the soft but steady thrum of his heartbeat between his wrist and his thumb’s tendon. It had a melody of its own.

Slowly, meticulously, you eased the stinger out from where it was wedged.

“Sorry,” you said softly, noting the way his eyes clamped shut as you drew out the stinger and brushed it onto the desk.

“S’okay.” He managed a small smile, one you returned without hesitation.

The night was still for a moment before he spoke again, his voice soft but eager.

“Tell me more about Izzy.”

Apparently, you weren’t the only one with a penchant for rapid subject changes.

At once, your head was filled with memories of her: the pigtails held in place with thick rubber bands, the popsicle juice-stained pink t-shirt, the giggles that melted away your stress from a succession of ungrateful customers. He said something else, but you were too engrossed in your own thoughts for the words to register.

“Hmm?”

“The little girl you helped.” Eddie cocked a quizzical brow, suddenly worried that he’d remembered incorrectly. “That was her name, right?”

You nodded. “She was only there that one day. I didn’t see her again.”

Her mother was probably too embarrassed to stay any longer and found another motel. If you could go back in time, you would have reassured her, maybe even offered to watch after Izzy while she worked. You might have informed her of programs where she could find a job that didn’t put her or Izzy in harm’s way.

Eddie continued talking, for some reason persistent in his quest for answers. “But you said she talked to you while she was drawing. About her favorite stuff?”

Phyllis returned with cloth before you could answer him, and she rested it on the desk with a sigh. “I’m gonna head out,” she said, pointing at Eddie, “but my bat better be in my room before I get back, Yogi Berra.”

He nodded, absently massaging the nape of his neck. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” One burgundy-painted fingertip pointed at Eddie, then at you. “I like this kid.”

How do you even respond to that? An honest, ‘me, too’? An overly sarcastic, ‘he’s alright’?

You opted for a small, unassuming smile and the reminder to be safe, which was absurd when you really thought about it. Phyllis had been doing this, as she put it, “since my tits were above my belly button,” yet you were telling her about safety.

Bringing your attention back to the sting, you clutched the sopping wet washcloth. Phyllis apparently hadn’t wrung it out; water dripped down the side of your fingers and splashed onto the floor in an uneven plop-plop-plop.

With an abundance of care, you swiped the cloth over the sting site. It was already starting to swell, the skin raised and angry.

Eddie reflexively pulled away, the tension evident from the way his front teeth formed grooves in his lower lip.

“Fuck, that hurts.” His free fist pounded into the desktop with so much force that, for a split second, you worried that he might leave a dent.

“I know, but we have to clean it out,” you said.

He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath; you weren't sure you even wanted to know what he said. “Yeah, yeah.” He winced as the frayed fibers grazed him again. “So…Izzy?”

“There isn’t much to say,” you answer honestly. “I mean, she just told me she loved McDonalds french fries and Muppet Babies. Especially baby Fozzie Bear.”

“Anything else?”

You thought back for a moment. “Her favorite animal was dogs, but only the little ones. She said the big ones scared her because they barked too loud. Oh, and her favorite color was light purple.”

The memory is bittersweet, bathing you in both comfort and a dull ache. It was almost six years ago but the little girl had made herself at home in your mind. You thought about her on a daily basis, wondering if she and her mom were still bouncing from motel to motel, or if they’d found a permanent place to settle. Every ounce of optimism you possessed worked to help you believe that they were safe and that she didn’t remember when safety wasn’t guaranteed.

“I knew it.”

You looked up from applying calamine lotion, dabbing the pink-stained cotton ball over any excess dripping off of his finger. “Knew what?”

“I knew you’d remember everything she told you.” His thumb relaxed and fluttered down until it rested on yours, the pad of his finger on your knuckle.

You reached for a Band-Aid before realizing that opening it required two hands. With more hesitation that you anticipated, you let go of him. “And what makes you say that?” You wrapped the bandage around his finger, careful not to press too tightly around the sting. “There. Good as new.”

Eddie smiled his appreciation. “I, um, had a similar experience when I was a kid.” He swallowed, picking at the Band-Aid until the adhesive side began to bunch up. When he allowed himself to glance at you, he saw you looking back at him, silently encouraging him to tell his story.

“My mom got sick when I was in kindergarten. The treatment made her tired and nauseous, like, all the time; when she wasn’t sleeping, she was throwing up.” His eyes clouded over and his voice cracked slightly; he cleared his throat and continued. “I was at school one day, and the social worker asked me if I had anyone at home who washed my clothes for me. And when I told her no, she asked me to bring any clothes I needed cleaned with me the next day. So I did, and after school let out, she took me to the Laundromat.”

If you told him that he didn’t have to keep talking, he'd stop. He’d wipe away any residual tears and excuse himself, and you’d once again spend your shift alone. And so you didn’t say anything, just stood there as his gears turned in recollection.

“She had this game: she’d hold up a piece of clothing and ask if it goes in the ‘lights’ or ‘darks’ pile, and she would get faster and faster until I was laughing too hard to answer.” Eddie exhaled a short laugh and swiped his tongue over his top teeth. “The whole time, I’m thinking that it’s all fun, that this is a normal thing that every kid did. I didn’t realize until years later that it was because my clothes smelled, y’know?”

Sheepishness colored Eddie’s face in pink splotches as he shifted from man to boy and then back again.

“Anyway, your story about Izzy kinda reminded me of that. And she might not remember your name or even what you talked about, but she’ll remember someone being there for her. Someone who didn’t act like she was a bother or a charity case. Just a kid who wanted to play.”

His words left you without any of your own. There was so much to digest; chiefly, your newfound glimpse into Eddie’s past. And though you’d only ever known him as an adult, you were still picturing him as a child. He sat atop a counter where others folded their clothes, his brown eyes–looking even bigger than they did presently, given his small stature–gazing up at the woman in wonderment as he giddily sorted his laundry.

And then, of course, there was the delicately embedded compliment. The reassurance that you had been a positive force in Izzy’s life, even through one brief encounter.

It was the only part that you could elaborate on without intruding on his privacy. He’d shared something so personal, and while you were desperate to learn more about him, you didn’t want to barge past the boundaries he had so carefully constructed.

“Yeah, I…just wanted her to feel safe, I guess.” You’d devised a plan while you drew flowers and Care Bears in case no one showed up to find her. Everything had to be done so that she remained in the dark about the situation’s severity; you’d have Mom or Dad check the room, only calling the authorities if Izzy’s mom was unresponsive—or worse.

In the end, there was no need for you to worry. Her mother was alert and Izzy herself was none the wiser that anything was wrong. You hadn’t even told your parents about the situation despite their potential involvement. Eddie, of all people, was the only other person who knew.

He nodded and reached over, giving your hand a subtle, tender squeeze.

“You did.”

Reassurance drifted through the air and clung to you like the sharp scent of tobacco on his jacket. Receiving compliments wasn’t your strongest suit, so you pivoted topics to avoid stretching the ensuing awkward silence any further.

“The calamine lotion should help with the itching, but you can take some Benadryl if it’s still bad.” Rummaging through the first aid kit, you searched for the medication but only managed to scrounge up a bottle of expired ibuprofen. “There’s a pharmacy a few blocks down. They’ll have some there.” A little mom and pop shop that sold candy and cheap wine in addition to different over-the-counter medicines, it had been a community staple since before you were born.

The corners of Eddie’s eyes crinkled, lips turning upwards in amusement. “An heiress, a social worker, and a nurse? What can’t you do?”

That was a loaded question, and you were relieved that it was rhetorical so you wouldn’t have to list all of your shortcomings. You settled for flipping him off with an accompanying smile of your own.

“I should probably get that bat before she gets back,” he said, glancing towards the older woman’s room. He lowered his voice and continued. “She kinda scares me.”

“Oh, I definitely would not get on her bad side,” you agreed. “Phyllis’s wrath will make that wasp sting feel like a walk in the park.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” His laugh was music that stirred up a desire to dance, to be carried by the melody like a strong gust of wind, and then he was out the door.

Immediately, you were inclined to find something new to talk about when he walked back in. You’d had two days of companionship and had been spoiled by it; the thought of another night in solitude suddenly seemed lonely.

You couldn’t ask about his parents or the social worker who’d taken him to the Laundromat; that was too personal, too soon. Same with his old band. But music–his favorite songs, musicians, albums–that might be safe enough to explore.

The door opened and brought with it a cool evening breeze. Eddie returned much more confidently than he had the last time, Phyllis’s bat slung over his shoulder.

“Apparently, I actually managed to knock the nest down,” he reported, sounding as surprised as you felt.

He stifled a yawn, denim creasing at the elbow when he lifted his hand to cover his mouth. It was then that you noticed the way sleep tugged at his eyelids, dashing any remaining hope of having a conversational partner this evening. Asking him to stay awake for you was just selfish.

“I’ll see you around, Heiress. Let me know if there’s any more man stuff you need from me.” He rapped his knuckles on the desk twice in quick succession and started towards his room.

“Night, Eddie.”

Opportunity slipped through your fingers as he walked away, the sound of his footsteps eventually too muted to hear. You shoved your disappointment beneath the surface. Eddie wasn’t your friend; he was a guest who happened to be friendly. Asking him to stick around and chat would be unprofessional.

If he happened to stop by the desk while you worked, you could make small talk. Otherwise, it would be business as usual.

Minutes were hours and hours were days. Another trucker needed a room for the night, and you checked him in around four o’clock.

You thought about the certainty in Eddie’s assurance that Izzy had felt safe with you. He didn’t know her; he barely knew you, and he wasn’t even there when it all happened. Yet his approval illuminated from the inside out and you replay it over and over.

You did. You did. You did.

Izzy was safe with you and she knew it. If you swallowed your fears and forged your own path, you could help other kids just like her. But it would come at a steep cost unless your parents could somehow miraculously afford to hire a new employee.

Your stomach turns just imagining the motel’s windows shuttered, a For Sale sign propped up in the door, ready to be snapped up by a major hotel chain for a mediocre sum that would barely pay off the overdue bills. It haunted you.

How long could you do this? How long could you push off your own dreams in favor of your parents’? At what point did you cross that fine line between selflessness and martyrdom?

Exhaustion crushed your body, strong enough to overpower the churning anxiety. Still, your sleep was fitful, and you woke up before your alarm feeling wholly unrested. Achiness radiated through your bones as you dragged yourself out of bed.

You knew what you had to do.

Dad noticed your earlier departure, so used to you leaving at 1:45 every day like clockwork. His brows pinched with perplexity as he determined whether he’d forgotten about a change in your schedule.

“Just running an errand before class.”

His confusion faded, replaced with a grin. “Thought I was losing my mind.” The way he stood under the lighting accentuated the gray flecks in his hair and mustache and solidified that he was, in fact, aging. His eventual retirement loomed closer, more of a when than an if with each passing day.

“Can’t lose what you never had,” you teased weakly. Dad met your joke with a wink; if he had picked up on the falter in your voice, he was gracious enough to ignore it.

You took a slight deviation from your usual route, walking past the bus stop and turning the corner until you reached the mailbox. It beckoned you, taunted you, sneered at your cowardice. The stamped envelope mocked you tenfold; innocuous on the surface but held the weight of betrayal.

It contained your admissions letter to NYU with the “accept” box marked and a deposit check that nearly drained your savings, ready to go.

The mailbox hinge creaked open so loudly that it seemed to echo. All you had to do was drop the envelope down the chute and pray that you made the right choice.

Regret surged through your veins the moment the envelope left your fingertips. You acted on instinct, shoving your hand back down the box to reclaim your letter, but you knew it was a fruitless effort before you’d even failed. It was already lost in a sea of bills and birthday cards.

“Shit!” Yanking your arm out before someone accused you of mail theft, you tilted your head back in an attempt to stop the impending tears.

With one stupid decision, you’d heaved a shovel into the dirt and begun digging a grave for the family business.

What the hell were you thinking?

As though it had a mind of its own, your foot swung out and smacked against the tin drum with all of your might. It took a beat for the pain to hit, the throbbing in your toes matching the reverberating metal.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You didn’t care who saw, who heard. Anger and self-loathing bubbled over like boiling water and scalded you in shame. Everything was so far out of your control, and you couldn’t rein it in. The world kept spinning fast, faster, too fast—

“Kicking it won’t make the mailman show up, y’know. ‘S not like rubbing a genie’s lamp.”

Eddie stood on the other side of the mailbox. A plastic bag dangled from his hand, the box of drugstore brand antihistamine peeking through its translucence. His playfulness morphed into concern when he noted your dewy lashes. “Heiress? You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” You swiped at your cheeks and sniffed back the mucus that collected in your nostrils. You probably should have been embarrassed that he’d caught you in such a state of distress; maybe you would be once the dust settled.

He wrinkled his nose dubiously. You couldn’t blame him; why would he be convinced when you were assaulting mailboxes and swearing at the air?

“Seriously. Just having a bad day.” And it was going to get even worse if you missed your bus—again. “Thanks for asking, though.” You managed a grateful smile to prove your sincerity.

Grabbing your backpack from its spot on the ground, you zipped it back up and hoisted it over your shoulder before starting back towards the stop.

“Hey, wait a sec.” Eddie called out to you, shuffling over until he was by your side. “You, uh, your makeup…” He trailed off bashfully, raising his thumb but stopping before it touched your skin. “May I?”

You nodded, breath hitching as the pad of his finger grazed just below your eye. He gently rubbed, tongue poking between his lips while he focused on removing the smudge without hurting you.

He was close, almost too close for comfort. There was a small cut on his chin where he must have nicked himself shaving, and you forced yourself to stare at that instead of his wide eyes.

“There…we…go.” He held up a mascara-stained thumb as evidence. Without thinking, you pressed your own thumb to it. The knuckles of your remaining four fingers slotted between his until you pulled away.

Eddie laughed, apparently amused by the odd gesture. “I’ll take that as a thank you.” He wiped the residue on his shirt, not caring if it left a mark. “Don’t miss the bus; wouldn’t want you to be late for your nerd stuff again.”

“Mhm.”

You harnessed all of your strength to unglue your feet from the sidewalk. Your body operated on autopilot to its destination while your mind only thought of the heat that leapt from his thumb to yours, or maybe yours to his.

It was cyclical, you surmised as the bus approached, with no clear beginning or end.

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yuri-is-online · 5 months

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Sometimes the Wallpaper is Just Yellow: A Heartslabyul Color Analysis

This research was inspired by this post by @mothman-files! I am so sorry for @ing you please let me know if you want me to remove it and I will do so ASAP. Thank you for sending my head into a tail spin, I've learned a lot of stuff.

After reading mothman's musings, you might be thinking to yourself like I did: "hey, there is something familiar about red, blue, yellow, and green color coding." And it is, as mothman correctly points out in the notes of their post it is an extremely common trope in anime. The reason was both exactly and not not at all what I expected after I resurfaced from this little detour I took from fic writing.

How well do you know the colors of your oni? Because that's more important than card suits for this particular trope, but to make it all make sense I am going to go through each of the Heartslabyul boys one by one saving Cater for last. With that being said, pack your bags and grab some beans we are going to learn some meditation techniques.

Setsubun and the Beaning of Life

No seriously. It all relates back to beans. As a refresher for those unaware, Setsubun is a Japanese festival celebrated at the start February, the day before spring starts on the Japanese Lunar calendar. It is typically part of Lunar New Year celebrations today, and if you know anything about it from anime you probably know that it's that holiday where the Japanese throw beans at demons to chase them away so they can start the new year without their evil influences. What kind of evil influences? Well according to Buddhist belief there are five main ones that are referred to as the five hindrances: sensory desire (i.e. greed), ill-will (i.e. anger), disquietude (i.e. anxiety), sloth (i.e. unable to make decisions), and doubt (i.e. self explanatory).

Now why is this all relevant? Well I saw it repeated again and again, on some articles about Setsuban that the oni who appear during the festival are COLOR CODED and fucking finally thanks to this beautiful, beautiful person called Matthew Meyer (the Yokai Guy) on Patreon of all places! I found out why. Because a professor of History named Yagi Tōru said so and I am inclined to believe as he is the president of the World Oni Study Society! Which is a thing! And he has written textbooks?!?! I get that this might be a tangent but it is important to me you understand I am not pulling this out of my ass, there is scholarship on this I am not lying to you. So what are those colors?

Red Oni (Greed) Blue Oni (Anger)

The only reason I even tried looking at this angle was because of these two. Everyone say thank you to Aduece. You might have heard "the Red Oni Who Cried" folktale in an anime or two (My Love Story is the first that comes to mind for me) and it is thought to have spawned a sort of character trope in anime. There's a hot headed red coded character and their intellectual blue bestie, or maybe they're twins (FFXIV and Tokyo Rev jump to mind), one of them jumps first and the other asks all sorts of questions, both now and later. When I first saw Aduece I thought they were a clever twist on that trope because they're both trying to fit those color molds but... aren't really making it.

Ace wants to portray himself as an easygoing guy who doesn't think too much about things, but we know that's not true. He is extremely smart, he just refuses to put in maximum effort unless forced. I don't think it's too much of a stretch to classify him as greedy either, but when you are sharing the stage with Azul it can be easy to forget that greed isn't always accompanied by a great work ethic. Ace cheats at cards, makes a deal for a study guide he doesn't need, and sucks up to his senpai's all to make things easier on himself. What he actually needs to do is work bitch and when he does that and only then will he realize his true potential.

Deuce, poor ex-delinquent Deuce. He does think about things before he does them and constantly lectures Ace for just doing whatever he wants without thinking, but he is far from naturally intelligent and prone to outbursts of anger. As soon as he looses his temper, he also looses his rational thought, but he accepts that about himself. That's what allows him to discover his unique magic, he knows he has his own sort of intelligence and is determined to work on what he does not.

Green Oni (Sloth)

I don't really think it is revolutionary to say Trey is a bit of a slacker when it comes to addressing interpersonal issues. He finds it easier to try and keep the peace or manage the fallout than directly address the problem at hand, and he is resistant to doing additional work not assigned by his housewarden. Or required by the school, just look at how "excited" he was to be a starsender. If he was any more unhinged he would have started throwing hands. Sloth as a sin isn't strictly just about being lazy. Apathy, a lack of reaction towards something like say, your friend's control freak tendencies that is clearly him acting out his own trauma can qualify as sloth.

I would like to add, though, that I don't really think it was Trey's responsibility to tell Riddle he was going overboard. That should have been Crowley's job, but that's another post. For now just take green as a sign of dodging emotions and let's go.

Yellow Oni (Disquietude)

As pointed out by mothman-files, Cater is supposed to be yellow, but he is more often portrayed with reds and oranges, pinks even, than yellow. Like them, I don't think it is a coincidence he is associated with orange when that's what happens when you mix red and yellow together. Cater is taking on what he perceives to be the identity of his dorm, and he is extremely dissatisfied, disquieted, and anxious because of that.

Something I think should be considered, NRC freshmen are sixteen years old. Cater is a third year, he's spent around two and a half years at NRC, two and a half years that were relatively stable compared to what he tells us about his previous schooling. I think that he has some genuine dissonance in him that is getting harder for him to ignore because he has played this role longer than the ones he has played previously. Cater the Heartslabyul student, the NRC mage, that is who he is now, and I wonder if he knows how he got to this point or if he feels like he just woke up in someone else's body someday and doesn't know if he likes it.

What's worse is I think he does like his friends, and he is suddenly confronted with how little they actually know about him, what could be more anxiety inducing than that.

Black Oni? (Press X to Doubt)

I don't think Riddle is meant to be the black oni, but I do think it's interesting that the color black is associated with doubt and loss of ones convictions when that is essentially both the cause and color of an overblot. Idia and S.T.Y.X. seem to be focused on emotion + extreme magic use to be what's causing the blot... but the more I roll chapter 7 and all the reading I did for this post around in my head it seems to me that overblots like the ones at NRC seem to be tied to a loss of identity and the shattering of one's perceived reality.

I would also like to mention that I have no idea if any of the cited folklore has anything to do with Yana Toboso's mindset when she created these characters. She seems to be someone who does a lot of research and thinks deeply about symbolism, but this color coding and its associated vices can be found in a lot of anime. She could have just picked up on it from that.

I hope you found this descent into madness informative, and if not at least entertaining. Thank you for your time, I am going to go eat a cookie.

Semi Unrelated Fun Facts:

A lot of this brainrot was inspired by Amnesia, as I stated in a post I already made, but I also was thinking about the song YELLOW by Yoh Kamiyama which I don't fully understand the meaning of, but think it is supposedly about being trapped in a false reality from some of the things I've read.

Back to Amnesia, the yellow diamond in that Visual Novel (I haven't watched the anime adaptation because they did my man Kieth dirty) is the yandere route. Which made me start to think about how often yellow is used as a color for characters with identity issues, like Sailor Venus from Sailor Moon and Amu from Sugo Chara! and led to... this mess

According to this thing I found while trying to look for the professor Yagi Tōru he has a son who is a male voice actor???? I don't have time to look this up someone else do it please.

Please check out the Yokai Guy. You can join his patreon for free, his art is lovely and he saved my sanity. I cannot read Japanese so I almost didn't bother saying anything about this because I knew I wouldn't be able to provide an academic source for it, and that's important to me as someone who has a love of history. Also he has a kick-starter up for an illustrated book of folklore, did I mention his art is lovely?

And lastly a lovely hello to @somany-fandoms-solittle-time who kindly asked to be tagged in this post (つ≧▽≦)つ I hope you liked it.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #cater diamond #trey clover #ace trappola #deuce spade #riddle rosehearts

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

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Imagine being the one who releases Morpheus. - Part 4

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [ENDING] [ALT. ENDING] || Sandman-inspired playlist

[TW: blood, graphic depictions of an injury/illness]

The burning wood in the fireplace cracked pleasantly, reminding one that the cold sea breeze no longer had them in her grasp. In a way, it was that very same freezing wind that made one appreciate the warmth of the fire. The quiet cracking was a nice change from the loudness of the shore.

The inside of your house looked more like a workshop or a laboratory rather than a place where someone lived. Sketches, manuscripts and pieces of newspapers covered most of the walls. The spots where the old flowery wallpaper was left uncovered, had drawings and inscriptions written in chalk made on them. Looking at the seemingly chaotic groupings of all things strange and deranged, one may experience doubts as to the owner's sanity: it was either madness that drove them among cults, botany, astronomy and unsolved crimes or pure genius yet to be recognized. But as it is with all matters that toe this fascinating line, the final decision, whether one was a genius, a madman or a bit of both, belonged to the generations yet to be born; eyes that were yet to blink and tongues that were yet to speak.

"What is this?" Morpheus asked hesitantly as he looked around the room. He deserved a generous portion of understanding for that moment of anxiety: the last time he witnessed those symbols, he ended up imprisoned for a decade. It was only natural that he should react like that. Additionally, the jars with strange contents and dubious labels couldn't be comfort-bringing.

"A monument of my desperation," you answered as you tried to bring even a fraction of order to the papers cluttering your desk. A new, unread newspaper lay among your notes and old books. The front page's headline read 'Louisville theft still unsolved' in bolded letters. "I studied the occult and alchemy to find out what curse my father had put on me but to no avail. Years I have spent chasing after my own ailment, an answer as to what tragedy awaits me around the corner of tomorrow. The question, however, I have left unanswered."

"You have given up," he stated. Despite having no knowledge of your life during those years, Morpheus appeared surprisingly certain in his judgement.

"Yes..." you drew out your answer. Perhaps it was at that very moment that you finally understood it. You nodded your head slightly before continuing. "Yes, I have. But then a new endeavour occupied my mind, one that wouldn't render my studies useless, a waste of time. I wanted to find you."

Momentarily, his attention deviated from the jars, drying plants and unintelligible diagrams only to focus on you. It was a lovely sentiment in all of its romanticism - that the moment your paths diverged, both of you worked to make them cross again and all of that because you were simply curious about one another. Standing under the night sky diagram you had hand drawn in chalk on the ceiling of the room, perhaps it wasn't a stretch to call the two of you starcrossed. There was, however, a certain sadness to that statement: stars, as it befits their whims, align in a specific way only once in a long while. Maybe, just maybe, the gods that watch over stars were going to be merciful towards Dream and you.

Morpheus was standing with his back towards the fireplace. The flame made him cast a long shadow over the old, stained carpet that was already there when you moved into the house years ago. With that bright, dancing halo he appeared both heavenly and hellish like frostbite that feels so cold it burns like the hottest fire. But in all of those contradictory extremes, he never appeared dangerous or you simply couldn't perceive him in that way. Perhaps he was like that fireplace in your house: a raging flame consuming everything in sight but still contained enough to not feel scared of turning away from it. "What for?" he asked in a low voice. For some reason, his tone appeared angered as if he wasn't quite keen on you succeeding in your quest.

"Do not grow anxious, my dear stranger," you spoke mildly with your hands clasped together as if some part of you wanted to beg him to not treat you like a danger waiting to happen. There was something painfully lonely about a man who saw betrayal and ruthlessness in every pair of eyes he encountered. "My heart never harboured any malice towards you. I wished to find you only to ask how you've been doing, whether all those years when you were stripped of freedom had corrupted any goodwill you once had." Unable to help your empathetic nature, your mind began conjuring all possible pain and misery he was forced to endure. Your gaze fell to the floor, for a moment admiring the hue of the flames dancing across the old carpet. "It is beyond my imagination to fantasize about what torment such cruelty must do to a human," you added quietly.

"I am not human."

"I know," you looked back at him but only for a moment. Morpheus had a curious habit of staring at you, maybe at everyone else too, in a very intense way and you found it difficult to hold his stare each time you wanted to or felt like you should. "But that doesn't necessarily mean you're invincible."

Suddenly, a piercing pain struck the left side of your chest - the same area where the blasphemous mark stained your skin. A fit of dry, suffocating cough shook your entire body. Weakness overtook your body and you would have fallen hard to the ground had Morpheus not caught you. Careful and anxious, he lay you on the nearby sofa with a washed-out floral print - it could be roughly his age. With the continued cough came spatters of blood that now stained your clothes and the antique day bed. Terrifyingly quickly, your eyes became bloodshot and a thin streak of crimson run down from your nostril. If Morpheus could get any more pasty white, he surely would have as such cruel magic was unfamiliar to him.

"The shelf..." you strained as your shaking hand vaguely pointed at an antique dresser filled with jars and tins that once sparked fear in Dream's mind. "Madrake... thyme... rosemary... throw in... in fire." Trying to desperately catch a breath, you wheezed between each word, a sickly whitening resounding in your constricted throat.

He didn't know what any of those plants looked like because he never had to. At that moment, when he opened the glass doors of the dresser with enough strength to tear them off, it all went down to the legibility of your writing and whether or not you had labelled the containers correctly. How funny it truly would be - to die because of one's own inattention in their own house like tyrants and heirs do; to suffer the consequences of one's actions with the mercilessness of gods of death. Morpheus rummaged through the dresser, throwing away any jar or tin that was not labelled as mandrake, rosemary or thyme. Perhaps, if you were a little further away from the line between life and death you'd feel a little upset at his carelessness.

When he finally found the correct herbs, Morpheus did not bother with maintaining correct proportions and so he simply opened the jars and threw all of their contents into the fire. He could, of course, dispute your orders as he was a king - not a simpleton to boss around. However, Dream knew better than to disregard a witch when black magic was at play.

The fire suddenly became purple and doubled if not tripled in its size and ferocity. Its flames licked the ceiling but never dared to set it ablaze. Just as swiftly the violet hearth returned to its original form and no change in its appearance could ever suggest something akin to supernatural had taken place inside that fireplace. With the blaze red and contained again, you gasped for air as the pain momentarily subsided. Although only minutes had passed since the curse sunk its teeth into your innocent skin, it felt as if it was the very first time in your life that you took such a deep breath and felt no unbearable, stinging pain. What a blessing it was, to be a victim only occasionally and not constantly.

Morpheus crouched next to you, remaining at your eye level. If you focused your exhausted mind, you could nearly see his face clearly. "Is this the curse your father put on you?" he asked quietly. But, truthfully, he didn't seek an answer. His question was more of an expression of disbelief. And how curious that disbelief was - that the King of Dreams found something unimaginable.

The blood on your shirt was the price of his freedom. If that was the fate of someone who took his side on their own accord, was it not also his affair? Morpheus could have stopped you that day and yet he didn't. Was he not, at least partially, responsible for those crimson stains? Priests often say that 'idle hands are the Devil's best friend' and Morpheus, in his convenient passiveness towards your brave though foolish choice, had both of them; he made a decision of making no decision and you were the one who suffered the consequences as if you weren't human but a figment of Shakespeare's imagination. He knew that if he lets your suffering continue, if he doesn't even try no matter the odds of success, he too could become of Shakespear's fantasy: as though he was the true Lady Macbeth, your blood wasn't going to wash off his pale skin, forever screaming into the void "He could! He could! And he didn't!"

And yet, you never spoke a bad word about your father, at least not to him. Should you not grieve this unfairness? Seeth at the greed and violence of the one man who was supposed to love you above all creation? Your father sentenced you to a cruel, painful and excruciatingly long death and you fed mallards on a winter morning. At that moment, for the first time since he met you, Morpheus finally saw you for what you really were. If you had no fury for such injustice, he was willing to lend you some of his. Oh but his rage... it was aeons old, rotting inside a heart that never dared to acknowledge its severity. It was fury audible in storms that drowned ships and felt in earthquakes that swallowed entire cities.

"Thank you," you whispered to him. "I suppose it's quite rude of me to faint on a stranger." Your words came out a little slurred.

"We are not strangers. Not anymore. You have seen to that." Although he never specified that, you knew he didn't necessarily mean saving your life.

"Good." Your gaze was hazy, vision becoming blurry as restful sleep forced itself on your eyelids. Despite that overwhelming exhaustion, a soft smile entered your face and Morpheus wondered if you gave that kind grin to everyone or only him. "I heard it's a bad practice to let strange men into one's home."

Seriously considering just coming up with a nice title and making this into a mini-series and not a thousand parts of one imagine... Thank you for all the kind words and support!

Tagging people who were interested in a follow-up: @rosaren2498 @jessiboobdbdb @chantzmar @lexi-anastasia @bisexualunicronrunningloose @farintonorth @oo0lady-mad0oo @all-bi-myselfs-blog @piperstofu101 @magic-magnoliaa @kotonei-molyneux @wheresmyboo @supermegapauselouca

#the sandman fanfic #the sandman imagine #the sandman netflix #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman #the sandman x reader #the sandman x you #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless fanfiction #dream of the endless x you #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #morpheus imagine #morpheus x you #morpheus sandman #morpheus x reader #morpheus

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i-cant-sing · 2 years

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Why do you make me this??😭

You make me go wild with the yandere Shiratorizawa.

But since i'm a bad bitch, i managed to imagine MC pulling the deep secret card:

Ushijima: You can't leave now, if you do it i would have to punish you.

Reader: Then do it, i'm terminally ill, if you keep stoping me from go to the hospital i'm gonna die more soon than later, and you can't do anything about it.

That not only would leave Ushijima staring trying to process everything that you said, the entire gym would go silent, as reader leave to go to their treatment in the hospital.

Ohhhh but now you're being carried to the hospital in Ushijima's arms, and you already know the entire team is gonna be present at all your doctor appointments like your own personal entourage.

Now that you've mentioned you're actually terminally ill, you have now cemented in their minds that you really are a "frail, little kitten" that needs their help.

Ushijima knows your medicines and checkup schedules like the back of his hand. He's forcing them pills down your throat, dragging you to appointments, intimidating you into doing a healthy amount of exercise.

I guess the one thing that would be really different is that no more spanking from Ushijima. Some other form of punishment that is very mild. Or maybe something that is more on the humiliation side and not on the pain side. Like scolding you in public, treating you like a little child, doing EVERYTHING for you (stuff like washing your hands, to spoon feeding you baby bites so that you don't choke).

The team takes turns watching you throughout the day, and especially at night because their so paranoid that they need to make sure you're still breathing when asleep. More often than not, they even make you sleep in their room (you'll get the bed, but it's hard to enjoy the luxury when they're staring st you.)

Now while he doesn't punish you very often, Ushijima does narrow his eyes when you're being "difficult". "What do you mean you're 5 minutes late to taking your meds? What do you mean you don't wanna do leg stretches and skip your physio? No Y/n, you must do this. Now stop being sp fussy." Then again, Ushijima can't blame you for being so careless. You are just so helpless without him, he needs to protect you from everyone and everything, including yourself. So things that he thinks are "detrimental" to your health, they're getting snatched away. "No, your Nintendo switch is also being taken. And your laptop. And your phone. And Oikawa's jersey. I don't care of he's your favourite, his jersey is harming you. Here, take my jersey. I've washed and ironed it so it's warm and clean for you."

And you know the whole "pulling you onto their laps" thing? Yeah, maybe that was rare before. But now? 9/10 times you're sitting in someone's lap, usually Semi's, Tendou's or Ushijima's. One big arm slung around your waist, pulling you back and up when you try to get up. It's even more infuriating when they're talking about you like you're not there, just shushing you or pushing their chopsticks past your lips as if feeding a child, whispering you to settle down and not get "fussy". If you fall asleep in their laps from their boring conversations, then so be it. At least now everyone gets a new wallpaper for their phones.

#yanderes ushijima wakatoshi #yandere ushijima x reader #yandere ushijima wakatoshi #yandere tendou #yandere semi #yandere shiratorizawa #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu ushijima #ushijima x reader

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arudoe · 4 months

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Ok, first of all I have to say that I love your art style, it's just so comforting idk how to explain it but it's really really really nice

Also I saw your bruise wallpaper hc and you are so right, but which other hc do you have of them??

OMG ueueue thank you so much that is so sweet of you 😢😢

and also im soo glad you liked my silly hc hehe because i have so many its not normal actually

i made a post the other day with some of my hcs (this one) but i have plenty more!! so um enjoy 🦈

- they are both autistic (i infected them /j)

- my jay is transmasc ! (cole too sometimes depending on how i feel)

- they dont rly do petnames only like mean nicknames that are said with very much love and affection (like dummy stink fartface yk…)

- i feel like they do everything together like train play video game even when theyre doing separate things theyre tgt… like its always cole AND jay and never just them seperate… always team up for missions and everything… when they arent together the others will go wheres your other half haha stuff like that also they bicker all the timr and never say anything to each other but when the other isnt around they always talk so fondly about each otjer and 😭😭 it makes me wanna puke /pos

- they have very different music tastes (i hc jay listens to kpop and cole to 80s rock & new wave) and theyll always talk about how bad the others music taste is but secretly they actually like it… (jays kpop playlist got a save once and he was trying to figure out who it was and cole was like whoever it is has the worst music taste in the world) (it was cole who saved it) (also vice versa)

- they play every game and watch every show together and when one of them starts something without the other they get offended 😭😭

- speaking of watching cole cant handle anything scary at all but sometimes jay will somehow convince him to and always puts on the scariest stuff because he thinks its cute when cole jumps 😭

- jay still sleeps with his plushies so when they cuddle jay is spooning his plush and cole is spooning him and sometimes cole lays on jays chest

- they playfight and wrestle a lot and sometimes get seriously hurt while doing it

- they play dancing games tgt… like just dance and ddr

- also i think jay deffo dances to stim (totally not self projecting here) and his dance moves are always a bit silly so cole will copy them and jay is like are my making fun of me >:( and cole is like yeah maybe i am

- on the topic of stims they deffo mimic each other a whole lot in the sense theyll copy each others vocal stims and it annoys the hell out of everyone else because theyll say the same silly phrase over and over again for weeks 😭😭

- i also hc them both as chronically ill (jay is hypermobile and cole has arthritis) and sometimes after especially hard training days they will give each other back rubs/massages…

- they arealso borh very smart separately but when you put them together they become super stupid and lose all their brain cells

UMM okay this is kinda long so ill leave it here i have like a million more but id sit here forever writing them so 😭😭😭 once again im rly happy for ur question im kind of obsessed with them if u cant tell but um yea… enough yapping from me… adios..

#ardosyapping #bruiseshipping #IM KIND OF EMBARRASSED POSTING THIS HAHA #but its okay i love them sm…#ty for ur question op gives you a high five

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vampirethin27 · 3 months

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Blog Intro

⚠️TW!!: This Is An ED Blog. I'm Not Here To Be Harmful, Just Finding A Community, Scroll or Block If Uninterested⚠️

Hi! My name is Elliott, I'm 19 (it's my birthday as of posting this 🥳🎂🎉), and I've had disordered eating patterns for about a decade now and have been on ana blogs and things of the sort for like 7 years. I've had the blogs, the journals, the calculators, the screenshots as wallpapers, all the fun stuff

Name: Elliott (Lia/Eli)

Age: 19

Birthday: February 3rd

Gender: Genderfluid

Pronouns: Varies Between She/He/It, Usually Present Semi-Feminine No Matter What Though

Sexuality: Bisexual

Mental Diagnoses: Anorexia, Bipolar, Anxiety, Autism (😎), and probably PTSD, I haven't checked but reputable sources keep telling me to

I also have POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome), which is a chronic illness that basically spikes me with adrenaline when a positional change happens, like rolling from my left to right side in bed or going from sitting down to stand up, and other stuff like my vision blurs and I run out of breath easily. Look it up, there's so many random fucking things that can be POTS and you'd never know it it's insane

Anywho, now for the actual fun stuff!

My Stats

Weight

Height: 156.6cm

HW: 142lbs

SW: 105lbs

CW: 99lbs

LW: 97lbs

GW: 95lbs

UGW: 90lbs

Measurements

Thigh (R): 52cm (20.4in)

Thigh (L): 51.5cm (20.25in)

Hips: 82cm (32.25in)

Waist: 64cm (25in)

Underbust: 72cm (28in)

Bust: 83.5cm (32.75in)

Overbust: 80cm (31.25in)

Wrist (L): 15cm (5.75in)

Wrist (R): 15cm (5.75in)

Bicep (L): 24.5cm (9.5in)

Bicep (R) 26cm (10in)

My Current Favorite Thinspo

KEY

(for those of you who are maybe new to ED Tumblr and aren't sure what I'm saying)

Ana: Anorexia Nervosa

Mia: Bulimia Nervosa

Coe: Compulsive Over-eating disorder

Ednos: Eating disorder not otherwise specified

BED: Binge eating disorder.

ED: Eating disorder

SI: Self injury

AnaMia: Having both anorexia and bulimia

Pro-ana: This term infers being pro-active in the ED community, usually online. It does not mean promote ED's in any way, shape or form.

Thinspiration: Collection of thin looking peoples pictures, used to inspire those with ana/mia. Can also be text scenarios/imagines

Anorectic/Anarexyc: One who has anorexia. There's a billion variants of it

CW: Current weight.

HW: Highest weight.

LW: Lowest weight.

GW: Goal Weight.

SW: Starting weight.

GW1: First goal weight. (implying a GW2, etc.)

UGW: "Ultimate"/Final goal weight.

IP: In patient.

BMI: Body Mass Index.

And Memes <33

I can't fit more photos than this, but that's the rundown of me!

I'm currently on my way to eat dumplings, sushi, and sashimi for my birthday dinner because I have a sushi obsession.

It has resulted in an adjacent raw fish obsession because... well, here's a list of things that make my POTS symptoms worse (food wise)

• spice

• sugar

• gluten

• dairy

• eating too many carbs in a day

• eating too fast

• eating too much

• not eating often enough

So I avoid most things, specifically bread when it's unnecessary and dairy all the time

Also, last thing I swear, EGGS AREN'T DAIRY

THEY'RE NOT

WHO THE FUCK PUT EGGS IN THE DAIRY SECTION???

Hydrate or Diedrate, have a good my birthday <33

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bunnakit · 3 months

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wip wednesday sunday 🌸

thank you so much for the tag @kinnbig my love!!

so i have a few varieties of wip, i'll break them into categories

GIFS 🌸

i've been working on an oat gifset since like november and i just get too excited about things from currently releasing shows i haven't gotten around to finishing yet but i'm still very much working on it

ai di highlight gifset (kiseki: dear to me)

chef guy gifset (bake me please)

fav scene per episode (kiseki: dear to me)

shinpeach nc scene (bake me please)

FICS 🌸

this is the day i left you (titdily) chapter 2 (kiseki: dear to me, chen yi x ai di)

better off alone chapter 3 (kiseki: dear to me, chen yi x ai di)

one more time chapter 3 (not me, gumpayok)

the lyrebird king chapter 4 (original novel, ariescaius)

guyoab omegaverse oneshot (bake me please, gift for @sparklyeyedhimbo)

maybe someday touch hold me like a knife and the secret again, someday

ART 🌸

i really don't share my art here much because i'm incredibly self conscious but i'm currently in the process of making bl related emotes for my little bl friends server (and if i make a public bl server ill put them there too ofc) and making a reference for a new vtuber design/persona for the rare instances where i do stream on twitch. i also started a little project FOREVER AGO to make a wallpaper of dinraal, farosh, and naydra (legend of zelda botw and totk) in the zonai style and it's just kinda... sitting there.

i also really want to make a few art pieces of the kiseki dear to me crew and what pokemon teams they'd have but it's a daunting project i just haven't brought myself to start yet.

i'm terrible at tagging and i don't want to bother anyone so if anyone wants to do this consider yourself tagged (and pls tag me bc i wanna see!)

#wip wednesday #bunn talks #bunn wips #kiseki: dear to me #bake me please #not me the series #manner of death #bunn art #kinnporsche

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fuckmeyer · 9 months

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hoo boyo so i'm the small writing human o/ *waves*

thank you for your response and i just took the time to read through your Jacob black's life matters and how smeyer killed him and i found it super interesting. (also it literally excites me seeing the quotes with the page numbers🤤). -----anyway back on track now. so i've always hd a liking for twilight since i watched the movies when they released (i would have been like 10..?) because i generally like the genre it falls in to. back in feb i watched all the movies again with my mum and she owns all the books so i started to read Twilight and pretty much loved it (i'm easily pleased). it took me like three weeks to get through it which is pretty average for me (attention span..) but then when i picked up New Moon i could barely put it down. i read it in 4 days which is the fastest ive ever read a book by a looong shot. i kind of fell off with reading eclipse... it took me almost 2 whole months to get through which just shows.

i think in hindsight one of the reasons i actually love New Moon (book) more than the rest is that there isnt really a 'set in stone villain' (twilight has james, eclipse has the newborns//victoria, then BD has the volturi. i suppose edward is the only thing that could class as a villan that book but thats not my point i think i enjoyed it more because of the time we get to spend with bella and jacobs characters . . . (quick side note that i watched the movies after finishing the books and new moon has no justice i feel like it washes over the effect jacob had on bringing bella "back to life" so much. so upsetting)

anyhoodles. i think i enjoy Twilight to set up B&E, then New Moon to set up B&J, then as you say in the crit Eclipse just kind of forces you to choose. and it makes sense. after just watching the movies i cant see a way in hell anyone would be team jacob---but having read the books its a whole different story. but then again... smeyer.... yeah.

sorry this has been such a long ask and doesnt really have a question involved, feel free to not post a response as i understand it's long:')

as a last note while i think of it i think that Eclipse for me fell off in that i didnt particularly care about what it was doing. i liked reading about bella and edward in twilight and then bella and jacob in new moon and i just didnt really care for most of eclipse. but maybe thats because i fell in love with bella and jacob from new moon and then had the character sabotaged.. heavy sigh. i think it says a lot that ive had a fan art of bella and jacob walking along the beach as my phone wallpaper since i read new moon so that says it all really.

i apologise once again for the length of this. ---if you wanna see the fan art wallpaper ill find it and reblog it so its at the top of my page.

p(p?)s. i'm glad it's sunny there! it's rained here the last couple days :c

hello tiny writing human! glad to have you back :)

glad you liked the analysis! & the books. New Moon is my favorite too, & i definitely agree with you that part of the appeal is the internal struggle Bella faces. we do get Victoria in the background & the werewolves, but really the whole book is about Bella learning to cope with 1) being a human in a supernatural world 2) her grief of being alone [i.e. without Edward] in this new world. watching her pick up the pieces of her life & build something new & beautiful & imperfect with Jacob was cathartic & relatable - v much a triumph in a series so rooted in the fantastical.

& it's hard to watch Eclipse become this struggle between two boys. because really, it's not about Edward or Jacob. Bella's choice is about whether she wants to give up everything for this cold, "perfect," monstrous, immortal life; or, whether she wants to stick around & build something warm & human & imperfect & finite with Jacob.

by twisting Jacob's character from the symbols of sunshine & values of humanity he represents into a bad-boy supernatural love interest competing with Edward for Bella's affection, it erases some of the characterization that we have come to expect & love in Jacob. because when Meyer positions him as a love interest, he's not embodying the traits as a friend; he's embodying the traits of what Meyer thinks is formidable love interest and rival to Edward: confident, cocky, aggressive, persistent... Jacob becomes nothing more than a 2000s-era (& before) trope of how men in our society "should" act towards women. so, everything we came to knew about Jacob was morphed into this friend/lover hybrid that just didn't work for who he was. he is Jacob...but he is not our Jacob.

(& the movies did him even worse because the "slice of life" B/J scenes we get were mostly cut.)

anyway, thanks for coming back & letting me rant about one of my favorite characters & my fave book :)

#i'm keeping an eye peeled for the fanart :)#too bad about the rain but hopefully you get some sunshine soon!#cheers~#asks #edward cullen #jacob black

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vixensofsorrow · 26 days

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Demolition Lovers - Ⅲ how can you say I go about things the wrong way?

DISCLAIMER: This fic is a long slowburn with multiple chapters, still being updated. also on AO3 my masterlist (all the chapters are linked there) PAIRING: young!Carol Denning/fem!reader OVERALL SUMMARY: An exploration of your and Carol's relationship through the years. CHAPTER SUMMARY: Things get out of hand at a house party. CHAPTER TAGS: party, angst, argument, jealousy, little bit of fluff, complicated feelings, developing relationship, underage drinking, CW: vomiting A/N: sorry for the delay but I lost my glasses and had to buy new ones </3 also with the easter break ill probably drop the next chapter sooner than this one

You banged on the door of Dana’s room. You wore a weird assortment of clothing you tried out in an attempt to come up with something to dress in for the party, and so far it was nothing good. “Dana!” You yelled out. “I know you’re in here!” You could hear some shuffling and chatter, and Dana finally stumbled to open the door, dressed even more unusually than you were: an oversized t-shirt, cheetah-print sweatpants with one leg rolled up to her calf, and a tank top around her neck.

“What do you want?” She panted, leaning against the door, brushing sweat off her face.

You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow at her. “You still got some vodka, wine, whatever lying around?” Your sister slowly closed the door, but you caught a glimpse of someone on her bed. Looks like Dana was consummating her not-so-yet marriage.

“There.” She handed you a bottle of Malibu. “Now scram!” Dana slammed the door in front of your face before you even got the chance to thank her.

As your pleased self was walking back to your room, you heard the doorbell ring. You scurried downstairs, hiding the liqueur behind your back, and opened the door with an excited smile.

“You’re aware that this...” She tilted her head and gesticulated towards the bottle that was apparently peeking out. “… It’s not doing anything.” Denning pointed out, slightly out of breath.

“Oh, bite me.” You put your arms in front and let Carol inside. You noticed her red nose, slightly blue-tinted hands, and sweaty face as she took off her bag, beanie, and jacket, stuffing the beanie inside one of the sleeves, ready to head to your room.

“Did you walk all the way over here?” You once again glanced at her hands, and she must’ve noticed because she put them inside the pockets of her jeans as you two walked up the stairs.

“Oh yeah. Barbie was playing dress up, folks at Debbie’s practice.” She scoffed. “It’s such bullshit! All she does is twirl ribbons and dance around. How hard can that be?” Carol ranted over the sound of giggling coming from your sister’s room.

“Who knows, maybe the risk of busting your kneecap is as high as in soccer, they just want to keep an eye on her or something.” You poked fun and managed to get a chuckle out of her, and you walked into your room. As you sat on the bed and set the bottle of Malibu down on the floor, Carol still stood in the doorway, taking in the changes that had happened to your bedroom.

“Damn, this is a whole different room than what I remembered.” She slowly closed the door, sat on a chair, put her legs up on your desk, and dropped her coat and messenger bag on the floor.

Suddenly, some childhood memories came back to you; the rug you played with dolls on, whom you’d always make kiss each other or cut the hair off of, the stacks of books that were taller than you, or the floral wallpaper covered in paint splatters of various colors.

“Yeah… uh. Rooms and... and people change.” You furrowed your brows and sighed, picking at a scabbed pimple. Why the fuck did you say that? You swiftly walked over to your closet before you could see Carol’s reaction to your awkwardness, and you started browsing through the clothes again in hopes of finding something that could work.

“I was just about to ask if you were going to go out in that.” Carol broke the silence and stared you up and down, flashing you a soft smile while she chipped away at blue nail polish.

“Oh, fuck off.” You scoffed playfully and rolled your eyes as you pulled out a maroon dress and turned to Denning, holding it up in front of you as if you were trying it on over your clothes.

“So, what do you think?” You smoothed out the wrinkles and slightly adjusted the garment. She put her legs down and slightly leaned in on the chair, parting her lips. There was a familiar glimmer in her eyes, the same one she used to give you when she particularly liked something you drew. She muttered something, her face turning a vague shade of the color of your dress.

“I mean, shit.” She chuckled, her eyes darting off for a moment. “It, I mean, you look really good. Just lose the, uh, shit, you know…” Carol gesticulated around your legs and upper body, “…the, the rest.”

“You got it, boss.” You could feel your face warming up as well, laughing through it as you walked out of her sight to get dressed.

Sometimes, during certain late nights, especially the ones in the summertime, with your window open and the smell of cigarettes lingering and mosquitoes flying into the room, you'd lie on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, lost in thought about how Carol looked like and acted, now that the two of you were all grown up.

Surprisingly, so far, she has somewhat met your idealized expectations. But what if it was once again one of those restless nights when she would hijack your mind, and you were just visualizing a day you’d want to experience with her?

In juxtaposition, during those nights, you never thought about the vulnerable side of Denning. Seeing her be all embarrassed and dropping the confident facade just for a moment made you feel slightly uneasy because, after giving it some thought, you were sure that after all this time, this was all actually real. The possibility of her abandoning you without a word again was actually real. This Carol was human, not some rosy fragment of your imagination.

You weren’t dreaming this up, nor was it some twisted trick your mind was playing on you. She was all real, breathing, and she was back here, in West Virginia, with you, in the same room you used to play in, sitting by your desk, looking at the posters on your wall.

Your brooding was interrupted by the bedroom suddenly being shaken by the loud bass of a rock song as you struggled with the zipper of your dress. Carol looked up from the boombox she was fiddling at, slightly turning the volume down.

“You need help with that?”

“Oh, no, no, I’m good.” You reached behind your back again in an attempt to get a grasp of it, using all the flexibility you had in your arms. Denning raised her eyebrows and sucked in air through gritted teeth, still looking at you.

“Yeah, right. I don’t think you are.” She insisted, and you admitted defeat. Her firm hands swiftly brushed against your bare back. The sensation of her now warm palms sent a slight chill down your spine, right as she zipped up your dress and the cold metal hit your shoulders.

“Thanks.” You turned to face her, twiddling at the clothing.

“No problem, I couldn’t stand looking at you twisting your arms like you were being exorcised or somethin’.” She joked and rubbed the back of her neck, cheeks faintly flushed.

It was around quarter to nine PM by now, and the both of you were ready to go. Carol’s slightly too big, dark denim straight-leg jeans were tied with a brown leather belt around her hips, the blue flannel that reached her midriff complimented the black turtleneck. On her feet, she wore dirty combat boots, and of course, the large glasses that hid the eye makeup she spent the last 20 minutes on.

“I’m gonna go ask Dana if she’s gonna give us a ride real quick.” You messily threw on layers of necklaces. Carol murmured an “Alright” while adding final tweaks to her hairstyle, and you scurried to your sister’s room.

Whatever noises came out of her bedroom an hour ago have calmed down. All you could make out now was Fleetwood Mac and Dana speaking with some guy. You knocked on her door once again, wondering what attire she was going to surprise you with this time.

“Yeah?” Well, that was quicker than you expected. Dana was dressed plainly now, in flared jeans and a hoodie. That’s a shame. You slightly peeked into her room, trying to get a look at the man in her bedroom. You managed to catch a glance of a thin man with medium-length blonde hair, and you were sure that this was the infamous Jeff. You turned your attention back to Dana before she could realize what you were doing.

“Can you give me and a friend a ride to this one party?” You bit your lip and made eye contact with her.

“Jesus fucking Christ, get your license alr-“

You interrupted her. “I’m not even 16 yet, dumbass.”

“Let me complain, jeez!” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll give you a ride, but I’m not doing this for you, you know. I have to drop Jeff off anyway, so. ”Dana shouted at her fiancée to get dressed. “Be downstairs in 10 minutes.” She shut the door, and you went back to your bedroom, told Carol to hurry up, stuffing the Malibu bottle in your bag.

The car ride was slightly awkward, to say the least. You could tell that Dana wasn’t in the best mood, and her fiancée kept on talking her ear off. She attempted to make small talk, mostly with Carol, which then also made her grumpy since she was asking many questions, mostly about Barb. The two of you exchanged exasperated looks, and you mouthed, “I'm sorry.” Carol shrugged, probably expecting to be bombarded with questions, especially the ones regarding her more liked sister.

As time passed, Dana could tell that the younger Denning didn’t really want to engage in conversation anymore and let it go. Whenever the run-down car hit a speed bump, the radio would stop playing for a moment, leaving everyone in uncomfortable silence, only broken by Jeff bothering his soon-to-be wife.

After what seemed like ages, you finally arrived at Nicole’s place. The mid-century modern two-story house surrounded by the woods, along with a few cars of your classmates in the driveway, served as the only source of light in a wide radius. As the both of you walked towards the front door, you could already smell the sweat, alcohol, weed, and cheap perfume of teenage depravity.

“Thank god your sister knows when to shut up, I swear if I had to hear another “Oh, and what about Barb?” I’d explode right here and there.” Carol spoke up amongst the loud gossip and even louder music, squeezing through the crowded hallway.

“Oh yeah, that’s one of her better traits. Not like she has many, though.” You snickered, making your way to the kitchen.

People were crashing into each other, which often almost led to drunk bickering. You looked over to the dimly lit living room, so crowded that even a short glance made you feel suffocated. It was even harder to imagine dancing in there, but a lot of your peers were doing so to Girls on Film. You liked that song, whoever picked it had good taste, although the main theme of the party was definitely the hyped-up shouting. The fireplace shelf overflowed with alcohol of a higher quality; next to the bottles was a clearly staged photo of Nicole’s family and a flower vase, all of which will most likely be gone, or at least shattered, by the time it’s morning. Couples stuck tongues down each other's throats, spilling drinks out of red plastic cups, too distracted with making out to notice, and if it was someone squeamish the booze landed on, a squeak of disgust was guaranteed. Now, it was just a game of time to see the first fistfight, sex, vomit accident, or gag on a keg.

Overall, the definition of chaos.

“Come on, we need to get wasted for this, L/N.” Carol suddenly yanked your hand, and when finally in the slightly more peaceful kitchen covered in colorful string lights, you leaned against the counter full of snacks, sodas, and booze and pulled out the liqueur, taking a few swigs. You handed the bottle to Denning, who winced as the warm alcohol burned her throat.

“So, would I be correct if I said you’re more of a weed person?” You laughed, taking back the Malibu and drinking some more.

“Shit, you got me.” She sat on the counter next to you, reaching for the bottle.

“Man, where the fuck is everybody?” You raised your head, observing the lively crowd in the hallway.

“In the living room, probably.” She handed you the liqueur again, turning to face you.

“No, like, I mean Veronica or Jennifer, or someone from the team.” Your eyes squinted.

“Whatever, fuck ‘em.” A drunken blush slowly appeared on her face. “You know, we can have fun without them.” She spoke up, just as a plate shattered on the kitchen floor.

“Totaally.” You walked over to the stack of plastic cups, avoiding the fine china pieces on the floor, and poured the rest of your drink into two cups. “Here, let’s go.” You gave Denning the other one, threw the bottle in the trash, and with your tipsy confidence, left for the living room.

Everything felt more bearable now, and you couldn’t stop grinning. The smoke-filled living room turned a shade of gray. Some girl from your Biology class danced on the coffee table, surrounded by a group of people with all eyes on her. Someone yelled out, Turn that shit up! and got themselves a round of applause in approval. As you and Carol stumbled further into the room, bumping into people now and then between taking sips of the alcohol, a female voice screeched, “Watch where you’re going, cunt!”. Your friend sloppily yelled out “Fuck you, slut!” and threw up a middle finger, reaching her arm around your back, while you cackled to the point of your ribs hurting, getting away from the other girl without a bigger fight.

The realization of what was playing hit you just now. “Carol, I fucking looove this song!”. You took the last sips from the cup and threw it on the floor somewhere, people already stomping on it. “That guy was right, TURN THAT SHIT UP!” You cheered, the alcohol warming up your body and buzzing your mind. Your singing voice blended in with the sounds of the party, and you held hands with Denning, jumping around and headbanging to the rhythm of the music. Some of the liqueur spilled out of Carol’s cup, and you took a swift break to let her finish the drink, immediately going back to the dancing.

“I never, ever thought I’d be happy about...” She broke out into laughter, “Moving somewhere, moving back especially, especially back to this shithole!” She blurted, short of breath, over the loud noises.

“You don’t even knooow” You hiccuped. "Don’t even know how, how happy I am that you’re back!” Carol showed off her dimples in response, her droopy eyes briefly making eye contact with yours.

“All that sweet talk, it’s gonna make me-” Before she could finish, a teammate shouted out your name. The two of you stopped dancing and turned your attention to where it was coming from, and you could see Veronica running towards you, trying her best not to fall.

“Engie, I’ve been looking everywhere for your ass!” She handed you a drink.

“I, I’ve been here the whole time, daaancing, and having fun, and dancing.” You took it and slowly moved your body to the rhythm of a new song, glancing at Carol, whose expression turned sour.

“You’re lucky, Jennifer called a meeting or somethi-”

Denning interrupted her. “Engie? What’s, what’s the story behind that?” She looked at the both of you.

“Riiight, okay, so it’s this whole thing, it’s actually quite funny...” Vee took a sip of the alcoholic concoction. “It’s ‘cause Y/Ns position on our team is, uh…”

“Central midfielder.” You swept in, and Veronica nodded her head. Carol snatched your cup, gulped the whole thing down, and chipped at her nail polish, barely any of the blue left anymore.

“Ohhh, yup. And then, uh, central midfielders are called engines or something, I don’t remember why, but uh, well, it’s just this soccer thing, and it just stuck.” Someone gagged, and a girl backed away as she loudly complained, Seriously? On my shoes?!, the crowd next to the blonde humoring her.

“Good to know, Veronica.”

Vee widened her eyes, and her jaw dropped in shock. “Yo, holy shit, we got an, uhh, medium on our hands!” She looked around for others’ reactions, but you drowned her out as Carol leaned in closer.

“Y/N, I need some fresh air.” She whispered.

“Alllright. Vee, we’ll see you around!”

“You’re friends with a fucking medium, dude!” Veronica exclaimed, waving, as you and Denning sloppily walked out of the room.

Even though it was cold outside, many of your classmates took the party to the backyard with a set-up of a few cars and a bonfire. You could see Amber making out with her boyfriend on the grass and Gina smoking weed out of an apple. There were more people, but at this point, your vision blurred everything into an impressionist painting. You took deep breaths, attempting not to vomit with each one, and slowly sat down, holding onto Carol.

“Shiiiit, my world is spinning around and shit.” You lain down, staring into the sky and tree crowns.

“Same, me too, but it’s kinda sweet.” She sat down and lit up a cigarette.

“So, what cigarettes do you smoke, hmm?” You giggled.

“Here, maybe you can guess, hmm?” She leaned over, her hair hovering over your face. She put the cig in your mouth, and you took it into your fingers, taking a drag. Carol sat back down, awaiting your answer with a grin.

“Weeell, hm, I’m going to guess, Newports?” You turned to the side, looking at her.

“Nuh-uh. Sorry, Engie. Pall Mall’s, the menthol ones.” She shrugged, and you rolled your eyes, scoffing. After a short pause, the both of you burst into laughter, enjoying each other's company, accompanied by fire ambiance and gusts of wind. You could stay like this forever, just you, Carol, a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter against the world. There was something special about this moment, but you couldn’t exactly place a finger on it. You stared at the backdoor and noticed more and more people coming, all of whom were chanting Zach! Zach! Zach! Denning took her cigarette and furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, still facing you. With more people walking out, you could make out said Zach, covered in sweat with his shirt off, and his muscular buddy carrying a keg.

“Fuuucking hell, a kegger?” You sighed, and Carol turned her head back around.

“Dude, dude, ‘I’ve never seen one of these in real life, only heard about it from Barb or movies.”

“I kinda don’t like ‘em, kinda grosses me out.” The group had set up the keg and began hyping up Zach. LET’S FUUCKING DO THIIIS!, animalistic yelling broke out.

“Come on, let’s see this insanity. Maybe we gonna get lucky, come on. And maybe he’ll puke on his precious tight-ass jeans or somethin’.” Carol cracked up just at the possibility of it happening, and you couldn’t lie that you’d enjoy that too.

She helped you get back on your feet, and you dashed towards them, trying hard to keep your balance. You squeezed to get in front of the circle that formed around the keg. Rachel and Veronica waved at you, and you waved back at them, Carol unable to control her guffawing.

Chris took Zachary by his legs and held him up, and the drinking game began. Zach! Zach! Zach! Zach! People cheered on, someone else kept count of how many times he chugged it down. After around 20 chugs, Zach pulled away from his friend and fell on the keg, everyone laughing at him. He collected himself quite quickly and stood up, pumping his fists in victory as his buddy patted him on the back to the sound of applause.

“So, WHOOO WANTS TO GOOO NEEEXT?!” He announced, pushing his friend around like an ape.

“Fuck it, I’ll do it!” Ronica exclaimed. Rachel said something to her, trying to hold her back, but she nudged her and walked over to the keg anyway. People around her were gasping or cheering her on, including you and Carol, too intoxicated to be aware of how bad of an idea it would be.

“Alright, Vasquez!” Zach smirked at his posse. “Let’s give our soccer star a biiiiig standing ovation. LETS FUCKING GOOO!” His hyping-up skills worked, and everyone started clapping.

“This one is for the mythical, uh, mythical medium with Engie over there! Uh, also, go Scorpions!?” Vee smiled and pointed at Carol, and the whole routine went down again; Zachary held her by the legs, people chanted, and someone counted her gulps.

“Zach, enough!” She cried out, spitting out the alcohol. He put Ronica down, and she immediately fell on her knees next to the keg, her shirt, and chin covered in sticky malt ale. Your smile faded, and you picked at your face. Carol glanced at you and chuckled, but stopped the moment she had a longer look at you.

“How many?” He asked.

“Uhh, like, 16?” The crowd started booing, and Zach made misogynistic remarks, acting like a clown to entertain his other douchebag friends.

As soon as Veronica started vomiting, you and Rachel ran towards her, meanwhile, everyone else realized that shit got serious, had their final laugh and left her alone.

You stood behind Vee, holding her hair back, as Rachel went to the kitchen for water. No one was saying a word, with Carol awkwardly stuck in the middle of the whole situation with nowhere to go or no one to talk to. Your teammate brought the water and gave her sips while you comforted Veronica. The worry was so overwhelming that you didn’t realize that Denning left, only noticing after Rachel pointed it out.

You were drunk, confused, cold, and stressed out.

“Shit, shit, shit. Rachel, uh, I’ll help you take her to the bathroom, but, uh, I need to look for my friend.” You got up, almost stumbling, and everything started spinning again. You swallowed hard, holding back the stress as best as you could, as a heavy pit feeling grew in your stomach.

“Sure, don’t worry. Let’s get her cleaned up.” Clearly, Rachel was sober, or just slightly tipsy, able to handle the situation maturely. The two of you carried her under your arms, your eyes lingering around in an attempt to find Carol; she wasn’t in the living room, dining room, hallway, or kitchen. You thanked Rachel once again for taking care of Vee, and you stumbled around the house.

The intoxication reached its peak, the world around you fading to obscurity, your view narrowing to one point. Your heart sped up, to the point where you could feel your veins pumping blood into it. Everything moved so fast—way too fast, while your body was stuck in slow motion as you held onto walls, staggering.

Every time you tried to ask someone if they had seen Carol, the bass thrummed into your eardrums, each time more and more overwhelming, leaving you without an answer. You walked into the living room once again, this time full of dread and fear. You bumped into people, mumbling apologies here and there, getting nasty looks from those who noticed. The ringing in your ears drowned out everything else, the thick smoke felt like being underwater for too long, and you weren’t sure if you would make it to the backyard at this point, but you pushed through. Some people might have asked you if you were fine, but it didn’t register at the time.

Finally, you slid the glass door, and just as you stepped outside, a chill went down your body, and you wretched on the ground, your legs wobbly.

You felt slightly better now, but too weak to walk, and still all you could think about was Carol. What if you passed by her but just didn’t notice? You weren’t ready to go back inside, currently, it seemed like the worst idea. The music outside was loud enough.

You sat down, further away from the vomit, and took deep breaths, trying to calm down. The cold air hitting your face gave a sense of relief, and you grabbed the weeds, pulling them out from stress. Soon, patches of grass formed around you, and your palms were filthy with dirt and pieces of grass stuck to them. You stood up, ready to continue looking for Carol. You ran towards the bonfire, falling now and then, hoping that somebody was still around.

“Gina! Gina! Oh my god!” You panted, and she looked at you concernedly with bloodshot eyes.

“Heeey, what’s up?” You could feel people staring at your disheveled self, but it didn’t matter. You won’t even remember this tomorrow.

“Uh, have you, you seen a girl here? Or somewhere, well, she has these big glasses. Really big glasses, and, uh, a blue flannel, and maybe she also has a beanie on, oh, and she smells like ci-” Gina cut you off.

“Hey, chill.” She put her hand on your shoulder. “Yeah, I saw her somewhere around here, I think she went in that direction.” She pointed to a large tree.

“Oh god, thanks a lot!” You yelled and sprinted in the direction Gina gave you, trying your hardest not to barf or trip again. You could barely hear the music anymore as the figure sitting under a tree got clearer and clearer with each step you took.

“Carol, hey Carol!” She didn’t say a word but raised her head. The moment you reached the tree, you immediately slid down next to her, your heart and head pounding, still sitting in silence.

You weren’t sure what was happening or why she wasn’t saying anything, but you felt slightly better knowing that you had found her. What if something bad happened and she was too stunned to say anything? Here it was again—the ringing in your ears and a pit in your stomach.

“Are you alright?”

“Oooh yeah, I’m fucking dandy, fuckin’, feeling amazing.” Carol scoffed in an exaggerated, high-pitched tone. You drew your eyebrows together, eyes darting around.

“Did something happen? Something bad?”

“Oh, right, right. Yeah, it kinda did. Like, you know, someone threw me to the curb. You know, and it’s funny, ‘cause it was the same person that, hmm, invited me here.” She paused, widening her eyes, smiling insincerely. “And it’s hilarious, ‘cause she knows that I don’t know nobody here.” She gesticulated aggressively, slurring her words, and lit up a cigarette. You were so out of it that it took you a while to realize that Carol was talking about you.

You jerked your head back, staring at her. “What’s your damage? I, you saw Vee, she needed help. And, and you could’ve helped too.”

“And you could’ve stayed with me, Y/N! What if something happened to me too?” She took short, aggressive drags, puffing the smoke in your face. “And, and, your other fuckin’ friend was there, you don’t need a fucking team to help a wasted girl.”

“Oh, you know what? Fuck off! She’s my friend, not some wasted girl. And, and friends, friends take care of each other, and that’s what I did!” You spoke up, standing up too fast, leaning against the tree. “Well, also, now, now you fucking know how it feels to be abandoned, or, or neglected, ignored, whatever the fuck without a word!” You kicked at the tree and groaned, storming away. Carol stood up as well and followed after you, not letting the argument go.

“Oh, what the fuck do you mean now?” She caught up to you, her warm alcohol breath close to your ear.

“You know what I fucking mean!” You stopped walking and turned to face her, yanking the cigarette out of her hand.

“Oh, no. Please, please enlighten me, Engie.” Carol crossed her arms and flared her nostrils.

“You know, Care, you basically decided to drop out of my life without saying a word when we were kids. I called you, I called you, I called you, I called you and you never fucking answered!” You pointed the cigarette at her, your voice strained and breaking from all the yelling. The wind messed up your hair, and you took a drag from the cig.

“Oh, come the fuck on. It wasn’t that serious.” She snickered, shaking her head. “My mom just changed the phone number one day and didn’t tell me about it, that’s it. It’s not that fucking serious!” She snatched the cigarette away from you and put it out on the ground.

“That’s, that’s one bullshit of an excuse, color me impressed! You knew my phone number, you knew my sister’s phone number, the house phone number—I even fucking wrote them down in your journal! I know when you’re fucking lying, and you’re fucking lying!” You shouted at her so loudly that you could feel your neck tendons poking out. The immense anger made you sick to your stomach, and your eyes started watering, even though you tried your hardest not to cry. You had a feeling that all of this, it wasn’t a good idea, but you were too drunk to make good decisions.

Carol’s eyebrows were twitching, and she made direct eye contact with you, stepping closer. “You know what? Yeah, okay, I am fucking lying.” Her breathing grew faster. “I stopped calling ‘cause, because, it was fucking pointless anyway, but you, you wouldn’t fucking get it.” Her voice trembled as tears started forming. “All you reminded me of was my childhood, when, when Barb and I still got along before she became a bitchy attention whore! Before that fucking brat, before Debbie swept in and took over the family!” Carol took off her glasses and brushed away the tears with shaky hands. You tried to say something, but she continued. “You, you only care about what you experienced, but what about me? WHAT ABOUT ME?! Do you have ANY idea how lonely it was? Every time, every time without fail, whenever I’d make a new friend, it all went to shit in the end anyway, because Debbie would come in fucking it all up because we had to move again for her stupid fucking competitions!” You didn’t know what to say. Carol hid her face in her palms, letting out a creaky scream that turned into wailing. “Meanwhile, meanwhile, you were here, with your friends, going to summer camp... While I was probably just... You probably forgot about me.” Her jaw was shaking, and she kept on staring at the ground, tears falling, exhausted from the emotional outburst.

“Carol, no, no. Wait, how could I ever forget you? I’m, I’m serious. You were my best friend, Carol. I always, always kept you in the back of my mind!” You chewed on your lip and picked away at a scab, turning your head away, crying quietly. “I thought about you, like, I thought about you a lot. I missed you so much, I promise, I’m not lying. I missed you.” You faced her again and she looked up at you with puffy, bloodshot eyes, chapped and quivering lips, before walking away without a word.

You wanted to tell her that she should wait up or just shout her name, but you just stood there, like a coward, unable to move, staring off into the distance with tears smearing mascara all over your face.

Did you really fuck everything up so suddenly? Just god knows how many hours ago you danced with her, lied down on the grass, grinning from ear to ear, and now, possibly, your last interaction with her was a stupid drunken argument that fell out of proportion. You’ll have no one to blame but yourself if she won’t want to talk to you ever again.

#oitnb #orange is the new black #carol denning #fanfiction #fanfic #lesbian #ao3 fanfic #carol denning fanfic #carol denning x reader #reader insert

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deatherella · 1 year

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WiP

I'm sure you've all noticed it's been awhile since I posted much of anything. Ever since my family and I were sick over Christmas and the week before and two after, I've just had no get up and go. I start things and leave them sitting half done. The sets I posted this month were mostly half finished projects from last year.

My irl projects are getting the same treatment. I just get distracted at almost everything. And I'm sick of feeling like this. Might be the winter blues, but this lack of productivity started when I was ill.

My Wallpaper of the Week sets are parked in "Walls" in Homecrafter waiting their turn at getting finished. I have some done but never made swatches or previews.

So, coming soon are:

More wallpaper and floors.

4to2 Soloriya sets. Quite a few are part done over here.

4to2 13Pumpkin's latest sets - cute desk set and her new dining set. One is almost done. Haven't decided whether or not to make the desk as the mesh is with the two shelves above it as one mesh or separate into a desk and one shelf. I just see visions of me breaking the mesh repeatedly trying to put slots on the shelf. Maybe a omsp a the two heights. Any feedback on that is helpful.

More deco sims. Around a dozen sets by REIGNINGSIMS. a family in the park set that someone requested, (found a rug mesh that would work great for the blanket on the ground, too), neutral props deco sims set 2.

Some military funeral stuff that I started making for last July's theme at GoS about the 70's. Made a military coffin, folded flag, flag to put over the coffin and portraits for an easel,

Surprises for you all for an upcoming HellHasSpoken event.

Valentine's goodies. Just little things mostly.

There may or may not be templates ready for bodyshop. Can't remember.

I'm just slow as molasses these days, hopefully this slump in life will end soon and I can finish my irl and sims projects more readily.

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lorei-writes · 1 year

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Goodbye, 2022: year in review.

I never truly fancied summaries, yet this year I've been craving to write one. Perhaps because all things which happened were rather... Unexpected? It almost feels as if I crashed through a surface of a mirror and entered a different world. My health, my family, my goals and obligations -- for the most part, so many things I thought to be set in stone turned out to be birds which merely decided to perch on a branch for some time. I was thrown, sentenced to exist upside-down.

I think it showed in how this blog operated this year. It was definitely full of new experiences and experiments.

All editions of @flash-exchange ran this year were a team effort. It was a big change to adjust to, but it would be impossible to ever regret it. @nuttytani & @cheese-ception are the best co-ducks (aka staff members) I could be working with. I can't wait to see just what we can come with in the future.

Anna is the first OC I've created that I have further plans for. Generally, my OCs live for the story, not the other way around. The story ends, and so do they -- Elisa, Magdalena, Maria, and some which didn't even get a name, they don't generally occupy my mind once I finish writing. Anna is different. There are more stories with her than the ones I've written down as of now, and I hope to eventually put them to paper.

I started drawing again! I used to draw portraits. I never thought I'd have enough skill to draw two characters kissing, digital art or not.

Samurwise Advice -- the first collaboration event of this kind I contributed to. Asking @the12thnightproject whether she wouldn't want to maybe collaborate with me was a thought that followed me around for entire days on end. It seemed impossible at first. After all, why would she? The very idea behind the concept of the event isn't even mine, it's hers. She's probably busy. She probably has better things to write. Can I even collaborate with somebody this inspiring? -- And then she agreed, much to my disbelief and joy. It was an utter blast.

Canva fever. It just so happens that one of the perks of working with @nuttytani is seeing her prepare graphics, and she's the absolute Queen of Aesthetic. She introduced me to Canva and so, I've started making wallpapers, banners, and just generally having lots of fun with putting together simple designs!

One or three shots? I feel like my stories this year were somewhat unusual overall. They definitely felt too long to contain within a single one-shot more often than the year prior.

That's weird, but I'm writing them either way. On the topic of weird -- I think I explored things I didn't necessarily dare reached before, even if sometimes I retreated as not to dip into genres I wasn't ready to try. Gen Fics, Slavic demonology combined with retelling of a Greek myth, grief and dealing with an illness, but also experimenting with form, sneaking music into words, parallels in construction of a story itself.

And lastly:

Slow down. Some weeks I posted daily or nearly daily. But I'm things other than what's visible online. It's good to focus on them too.

Perhaps falling ill (and then more ill, this time not chronically so) was not so bad after all... Farewell, 2022. What a year have you been...

#update #personal

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girl2000-online · 11 months

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Hello May!

Here is my May desktop wallpaper!

Done with school for the semester! Sort of! I have to finish three classes this month and hopefully quickly. I'd had a lot of motivation issues and some wonky issues with my medications (Wellbutrin is a tricky mistress). I'm excited to publish my reading list for the summer and maybe even a few of my journal spreads. I'm trying to get a job as a librarian's assistant this summer or at least a bookseller but we'll see what happens. I'm feeling mixed emotions from being at home. I come from a loud-yelling family and I don't like to yell or be yelled at. I have a few doctor's appointments coming up soon too to get bloodwork to see if I still have Lyme disease. Or, how much Lyme disease I suppose. Now of course maybe my immune system is secretly hyper-defensive and has destroyed it from my body. But, I think oftentimes when someone says "chronic illness" what they mean is "an illness that is chronic". People do really like to ask me what having Lyme disease "means". Which is just sort of embarrassing. I don't really like telling people about the way my body is just sort of ouchie and uncomfortable all the time. Especially because it earns sympathy but not empathy. Like if I'm out of practice for a single week my muscles will atrophy and it's like me telling someone that makes them more confused. And I certainly am not an expert. I mean, I am still the idiot who got too depressed to treat it at all the past year. Except for maintaining the anti-gluten diet. I do still have that going for me at least. Gluten rash is NOT very sexy, I assure you. And bodily inflammation is no fun either.

On another note, my interpersonal relationships are going oddly well. Maybe not odd. Perhaps that's my own insecurities talking. It's just nice that my relationships are going well and that I'm doing well enough to notice it.

Current Meds: Lorazepam & Adderall

Current Fave Song: Would've, Could've, Should've by Taylor Swift

Relationship status: Still in a relationship! We've broken my personal record! Eight months with me running for the hills!

Most recent movie watched: Well probably not MOST recent BUT I just watched 'How to Train Your Dragon' with my friend Nick!!

Something new I've tried recently: Rockclimbing! It's so much fun! I only have a total of four hours under my belt right now but oh my goodness it's the best!!

12:50 pm May 16th 2023

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ofmermaidstories · 2 years

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sweet merms, please don't feel pressured to answer my other ask! <3 re: that /specific/ aesthetic you're talking about, i totally get it—it's such a vibe!!! i wish there was a name for it? the only thing that comes to mind now is like, expensive bimbo (all that dior can't be cheap...) LOL. i love the mix of classy and kawaii and kidcore/retro/nostalgiacore. it's so interesting and your collages are all beautiful <3 and above all, i LOVE the amount of pink in it!!! from an ex-pink hater, flishy<3

The closest thing to a name I’ve seen for it in my travels is coquette, but like, it’s not really… encompassing this new breed of it that i’ve seen, floating around the place LOL. Like, if i had to sum-up what i’m talking about in a moodboard, it’d be this:

Expensive bimbo is such a good title for the visuals of it. 😭 Because it really does delight in that—shopaholic, I’m a Barbie Girl <3 kind of superficiality, and yet like, again, the examples i’ve seen will contrast those with… a pack of tarot cards kept in someone’s purse, or 1950s books about getting your wife a lobotomy. Beyond the merging of the esoteric aspects (the tarot cards, the “im just a gemini girlie that’s why i lie <3” astrology), I find it can really verge on like, romanticising mental illness? Like, “omg, I’m such a Sad Girl TM, I slept until 3pm and all I’ve had for sustenance is a iced vanilla latte and a cigarette because i’m trying to ascend to God”—

I sound like I’m making fun of this, but I swear I’m not. Depression is a reality for so many of us, and as someone who has their Sad Girl hours and also like, really resonates with a lot of this Expensive Bimbo/Coquette aesthetic, I think that’s why I find this melding of them so fascinating? Because I am an expensive bimbo, lmfao. My skincare cabinet is filled with expensive, luxury brands that I buy on a whim—and i’ve always been a Pink Girl TM LOL, if that hasn’t been obvious. My favourite colour to wear is like, this soft strawberry-milk pink and I’ve recently come to the horrifying realisation that men will go out of their way to be nicer to me, while I’m wearing it LOL. I don’t even think it’s like, an attraction thing—I think the pink is just that striking, and disarming, that people immediately associate it with like, soft, squishy friendliness and then respond to it in kind (irritating; like i’m not inherently worthy of friendliness outside of whether or not i wear the colour pink???). Because I buy myself flowers, often, I’ve made friends with the florist there and as a result she always makes a fuss of wrapping my flowers for me so I now have a collection of ribbons that I either cull through reusing them for gifts or like, wear in my hair. i’m way too old to LARP with ribbon ponytails, but here we are!!

Goldie brought up Mina Le and Shanspeare, who are like, two fashion essayists/vloggers. Shan’s latest video—which i’ve linked—is like, a break down of how the need to identify with an “aesthetic” has become really prevalent, thanks to social media but full disclaimer: i haven’t watched it. Social media has definitely given like, both easy access to these sub-styles/aesthetics, and a rise to them (like what tiktok was calling whimsigoth? The 90s, painted-smiley-face-sun aesthetic with royal blue walls and iron wrought beds and those crushed velvet dresses with the renaissance sleeves), and i think the way they splinter off and become their own micro-niche styles/aesthetics is just… i dunno!!! Telling, maybe, of how easy it is for us to consume information and media and then the very human nature to like, wanna mimic the stuff we like. I’d consider that deranged-yellow-wallpaper-my-boyfriend-is-a-demon-who-comes-for-me-at-night-expensive-bimbo-core thing i’ve been prattling on to be like, a micro-micro style, LOL. Because it’s so oddly specific! So many different interests and styles had to meet in the middle to create it. There’s a pretentiousness to it, right? Like, “oh, i’m languishing here on my daybed, eating cherries and reading Proust in it’s original French” LOL, and I LOVE IT. I can’t read French, but like, if I could you’d bet your ass I would also languish around and eat cherries while reading Proust, or whatever. It’s delightful: the indulgence and selfishness of it reminds me of why I’m so attracted to x Reader fics, lmfao, like—it’s so unashamed. It’s perfect. I love every inch of it, the good and the bad and the problematic. I think they should study it in universities: why do we have this performative need to collect all the things we like and present it as a lifestyle? As something aspirational? I love it so much. Ugh. Imagine it in a fictional sense??? The damage, a character like that could do???? UghHhHhh okay I can feel myself going off tangent so I’m gonna stop this here, but anyways thank u BYE.

#ofmermaidstories-asks #i feel like me explaining anything is just me going in circles because my stupid brain can’t do linear thoughts but like #hopefully someone gets what i was trying to express LMAO #floating rubbish island: mermaid spam #passion for fashion: the dress-up tag

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sol-emers · 1 year

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This story is also on Wattpad and you can find that, a tag list, and a master list is on the pinned post on my account. First three parts are linked below. I make all the gifs except for the one on part one so pls don't steal <33 - wren

Witching Hour

Summary: Twyla Addams and her twin gets sent off to Nevermore school of the supernatural and anything weird- they get exposed to new secrets, a mystery, and budding friendships, and romances.

Warning: murder, torture, kissing, mental illnesses

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TWYLA HAD SEPARATED from her family a while ago,

and had been led to her room by a quiet vampire named Yoko. Who had informed her that later she'd get her schedule after she was given a tour with her sister, via her sisters' new roommate Enid.

Who Wednesday was meeting presently.

Twyla could only imagine how amazing that was going.

Not that Wednesday wasn't a likable sort but- well she wasn't a likable sort.

Twyla was similar to her in that way but had her own personality that somehow attracted the people around her.

It might be because she keeps all- well most of her inner thoughts, in her mind. She doesn't go around challenging everyone around her unless she's in a mood or just protective.

Which is something Wednesday does often.

Twylas room was nice- though plain. She had her own ideas on what to do with it.

It was a spacious, long wooden floor with a nook space up a ladder.

The room did have some windows, though all of them were covered by a blind material that looked really good at keeping light out.

The walls were a grey color, except one which was white. It had a small note stuck with some tape saying 'wall prepped for wallpaper if wanted'

There is also a small bathroom painted white, with a circular mirror and a green tiled shower.

She spent her time looking through the drawers, making plans on what she wanted to do. Paint this wall here, add wallpaper, a rug, a desk, and maybe a couch.

Twyla walked to the last door in the bedroom finding a small closet that she could barely walk into. She swiped her hand across the top shelf only finding dust. It would appear no ones lived here for a while.

Or the last person was just really plain and lazy.

Her new uniform had been set out on the sink tile in the bathroom so she took initiative and changed. Both hers and Wednesday's uniforms had been tailor-made all black and grey.

Seeing as the two girls usually stayed away from color per family tradition.

There was a knock on the door that echoed in the empty room, "um- hi im Enid- im here with your sister, are you ready for the tour?"

Twyla sighed, having been enjoying the quiet. Though Enid sounded nervous and she knew her sister was unsettling.

While she was pretty much the same she figured Enid might have been looking for a type of escape.

Once she gathered the energy she left the green-tiled bathroom and opened up her door, only to see her sister alongside with a bright-colored girl with platinum hair and blue/pink ends.

She was smiling brightly and only faltered a second when she noticed the black and grey uniform, familiar pale gaze, and dark silky strands of hair let loose pin straight with a few strands of hair framing her face.

"Hi im Enid- um

Again im here to take you on your tour, and to get your classes."

Twyla eyed her for a minute. Switching her gaze to her sister right after.

"you sound pleasant," Twyla said almost whimsically, not paying too much attention to the girl and more on how funny it was Wednesday was paired with her.

"I'm Twyla, shall we?"

"yes, of course, let's go!" Enid said walking away already excited.

She took Wednesday and Twyla through all of Ophelia Hall, pointing out which room is who and how each dorm space all had a dorm mom or dad.

Eventually, the three girls had gotten to a staircase that they'd been walking down to what seemed to be the main part of the school.

"Nevermore was founded in 1791, to educate people like us. Outcasts, freaks, monsters,"

Twyla had to admit Enid was pretty good at this whole 'tour guide' thing she had going on.

As they stepped off the staircase Enid turned around and continued talking animatedly while walking backward.

"fill in your favorite marginalized group here."

Despite all her efforts Wednesday still remained unimpressed.

Twyla however hated to say the school (and enid) was growing on her. she mostly hated it in the first place because it was her moms' way of having her and Wednesday following her planned life for them.

It also didn't help they had tacky uniforms and are filled with cliques like every other high school around the world.

But the idea of just being herself here really didn't sound all that bad, plus Enid kinda has this magnetic personality that'll eventually pull you in, even if it takes a while.

Like Twyla figures, it would be that way with Wednesday if they decided to stay.

"you can save the sanitized sales pitch. We don't plan on staying here for long."

So far that didn't seem likely- and wherever Wednesday goes so does Twyla.

"why not?"

"This was our parent's idea," Twyla explained shortly after catching her eye on her mother, front and center in a picture of her and the fencing team.

Wednesday shortly noticed the picture as well, "oh look there's our mother smirking at us. They've been looking for any excuse to send us here."

"It's actually been annoying they keep bringing it up during completely different conversations."

"it's all about their nefarious yet completely obvious plan."

Enid- obviously happy she was getting some sort of gossip was smiling interested, "what plan?"

"to turn the two of us into versions of themselves." Wednesday finished.

Enid however wasn't done, "well in that case perhaps you can clear something up." she left the trophy case we were standing near and started walking head held high as she spoke.

"rumors been swirling around that you two killed a kid at your old school, and your parents pulled strings to get you off."

The twins looked at each other then Wednesday walked ahead, "actually it was two kids." Twyla soon followed, passing Enid as well.

"but who's counting?" she teased.

They walked forward till they reached the quad doors, Twyla who didn't really want to go outside hesitated for a moment before following after her sister, Enid close behind.

Once she caught up, she spread her arms and announced.

"Welcome to the quad."

"It's a Pentagon."

"the whole snarky goth girl thing might have worked for your guys' normie school but here things are different. Twyla, you're doing well though."

Was this a test of some sort?

"let me give you a wiki on Nevermore's social scene."

Enid said as she walked away this time Wednesday closely following after her, "im not interested in participating in tribal adolescent cliches."

"well then use it to fill your obviously bottomless pit of disdain."

Twyla couldn't help but find that funny, even if she didn't show it- she hovered close behind them not speaking much figuring this was a roommate squabble.

"There are many flavors of outcasts here, but the four main cliques are Fangs, Furs, Stoners, and Scales."

We reached a table area where there were obviously the Fangs sipping away at some red drink staring slightly at the three girls.

Enid gestured to them before informing us of what they were

cause it was just so hard to put together that the people drinking blood were the Vampires.

They walked forward some more before Enid announced the werewolves, who she mentioned were her species.

When they reached a stop once more this time Wednesday was able to make the inference, "im assuming scales are sirens?"

"you catch on quick. And that girl Bianca Barclay is the closest thing Nevermore has to royalty. Although her crowns been slipping lately."

She then pointed to a guy painting a mural of a raven on one of the school walls, "she used to date our resident tortured artist, Xavier Thorpe. But they broke up at the beginning of the semester. Reason unknown."

Twylas eyes caught Xavier's figure once he turned around slightly- and while she wasn't into the whole 'I've liked you from the moment I saw you' bullshit she had to admit he was a very pretty boy.

"fascinating."

"I know right? My vlog is, like, the number one source for Nevermore Gossip."

"oh well that makes sense considering your so good at it." snarked Twyla from beside Wednesday, slightly realizing she and Wednesday shouldn't have told her anything.

Seeing as she was kinda a gossip queen who probably shouldn't be trusted.

Twyla made a note of that in her head.

"Yo, Enid! You're not gonna believe the dirt I heard about your new roommate and her twin. They eat human flesh. And one of them is a ghost. And they totally chowed down on that kid they murdered. You better watch your back on that tour later."

Enid petrified, with her eyes wide, just stepped back revealing Twyla and Wednesday.

"quite the contrary. We actually fillet the body of our victims, then feed them to our menagerie of pets."

"They like the flesh with a little bit of lemon and paprika- kinda like fish. And im, not a ghost that would require me being dead."

He just stood there awkwardly as the realization sunk in that this was the tour.

"Ajax, this is my new roommate and her sister, Wednesday and Twyla."

"whoa- you two are in black and white."

Gesturing to Enid, "like a living Instagram filter-"

"ignore him. Gorgons spend way too much time getting stoned. He's cute but clueless."

Twyla wondered for a second if she was being literal- were they actually stoning themselves or were they getting stoned. By like smoking.

If so she may just have to make some Gorgan friends.

"it's a small school. There wasn't much online about you two. You know you should really get on isn't a snap and TikTok."

"I find social media to be a soul-sucking void of meaningless affirmation."

Then she walked away, Twyla almost did too but turned around last second.

"I don't mind social media just never really bothered with it- maybe you could teach me sometime?"

Twyla figured that trusting the gossip queen was a horrible idea- being friends with her couldn't.

She has access to all the gossip in the school and considering she was considering staying awhile, that wasn't a bad resource to have.

Enid lit up and smiled, ready to make Twyla her new bestie.

"oh im sooo down, maybe some weekend we could catch a bus to the weathervane over in Jerico and we can go over it then?"

"I'd love that," Twyla said with a straight face, before swiftly turning around and following her sister down the halls and back to the entrance doors where her family was waiting, already saying goodbye to Wednesday.

Pugsley's face lit up as he saw her and ran from staring at his sister to his other sister.

He smiled sadly at her waiting until she opened her arms to jump in them.

"I don't know what im going to do without you twi."

"oh- you'll survive."

She repeated and took his face in her gloved hands, "and if you don't, I swear on mom I will bring you back to life. Just to force you in a room with ten hungry lions."

He gulped slightly when during her threat her eyes melted from the brown iris and the rest of the white to a deep black which smoked out like a shadow- because well it was a shadow.

He nodded a few times sadly before rushing to Lurch to stay put till it was over since the sensitive boy knew if he stayed any longer he would cry.

Her dad walked towards her arms out, he grabbed her shoulder and head with each hand and said, "oh look at you my little poltergeist you'll fit right in im sure."

His goodbye however was cut off when Morticia cut in and asked to just speak to Twyla alone now that she was done with Wednesday.

He nodded understanding and kissed Twyla's head before heading to Pugsley who was waiting as well.

Her mother stalked forward, her beautiful gown dragging against the stone ground before she reached her daughter.

Once she got to Twyla. She reached out and grabbed her forearms shaking her head.

"Oh my darling Twyla, I've told you this a million times but im just going to tell you this last time. Ever since I was going here, with my twin I had dreams of showing my daughter this school- seeing her with her uniform and sending her off to one of the most terrible places I've ever been in. Then My Twyla died, and I just knew.

When I had you I looked into your eyes and I just knew. You are going to be exceptional at this school. And I hope you'd be open to friends, and falling in love."

Twyla stayed silent, keeping her composure.

Dammit, she was supposed to be mad at this woman.

"we'll see."

Morticia cleared her throat smiling softly at the ground before looking back up at her daughter "I got you something. As a little goodbye present."

She revealed a small velvet bag shed been holding in her hand this entire time and held it out to Twyla.

Twyla hesitantly took the bag and open it letting a necklace fall out delicately into her gloved palm.

It was a smoky quartz and shaped like a flower,

"This used to belong to your grandmother, she gave it to my twin who eventually was buried with it. I dug it up for you my darling, I hope you go through your school days and cherish it like I know she did. And maybe give it a different ending this time and don't die on me?"

Her dark eyes filled with tears, she reached out and grabbed her daughter's face and smiled tearily, "your sister has your crystal ball. I gave it to her, call if you ever need anything and I mean anything. Though there's no contact the first week- so ill call you two next Sunday.

She smiled one more time at the two before clutching her hands and walking to the car.

Wednesday walked up next to Twyla after and they watched the car drive off.

pls don't be a silent reader and tell me what y'all think 😭😭😭 and tell me do u guys want Enid with Wednesday or Ajax. Cause I personally like both same with Wednesday and xaiver, I kinda liked Tyler at first but then he got toxic and then turned into the hyde so ya know.

Twyla's face claim is Cindy Kimberly. She is who will show up in all my gifs and who is on the cover of the story on wattpad, though you all may imagine her as you wish.

Taglist: @itscheybaby @ahahanofanks

Part one, two, three:

Thanks for reading, see you soon!

- wren

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