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piratefishmama · 1 year

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Forgiven not Forgotten | Prompt

Steve Harrington was eleven years old when he learned what Homophobia was. It wasn’t through other people making jokes, it wasn’t his parents, who actually found Steve’s little crushes cute as all hell, his mother joking around about how he’d make the perfect little housewife someday as she had him helping with dinner, Steve wearing his own adorable little ‘head chef’ apron as he struggled with the garlic press, her comments made much to his father’s exasperated amusement.

Nobody ever made him feel bad about it. The crushes. Nobody ever put him down or made him feel like it was wrong. Kids didn’t care until close minded grown ups made it a thing. Kids minds were wide open ready to be shaped. It wasn’t a bad thing...

Until Eddie.

Eddie was one of the bigger kids on the playground. Quiet and mysterious, he came to Hawkins halfway through the year from places unknown, his hair buzzed close to his scalp, now growing back thick, brown, and soft enough for Steve to crave touching it. He’d never seen Eddie up close, they didn’t share any classes but… from a distance he was clearly very pretty. With big dark eyes, soft cheeks, and a cute nose, he was perfect.

Steve was sure he’d caught sight of dimples once. DIMPLES.

Lynda Harrington was about five minutes away from being done with dimples, Steve talked about them that much.

Eddie didn’t talk much, he had no friends to speak of, kept to himself in the playground, either reading an impossibly thick book with a pretty picture on the front that Steve couldn’t quite make out, sat under the jungle gym, or laid under the jungle gym scribbling things into a black notebook covered in stickers and scribbled paint marker marks.

He carried a big guitar case sometimes, and Steve occasionally caught him coming from the music rooms, but he’d never heard him play. He wanted too, but hadn’t quite worked out how to make that happen without being forced to talk to him.

And that. That was just far too scary.

He was an older kid from seventh grade, and from what little he’d heard him speak, he had a nice southern twang to his accent that made Steve’s hands all clammy and his chest feel so full of butterflies that he feared he’d float away.

Too scary basically. But he could watch from afar! Afar was safe. Afar was—

“Hey trailer park FREAK!” Oh boy. The biggest kids. Eighth graders. Eddie was just going to the jungle gym, notebook in hand to get a little light doodling in, when they descended upon him. The sporty kids that dominated in dodgeball, the mean ones that picked on the nerds, the popular ones his parents had told him to steer clear of.

“They’re bad influences” his father would say. “Just focus on your classes and keep your distance from those troublemakers.” Steve was happy to do just that. He had a couple of friends but… he kept to his studies and steered clear.

Eddie was quiet, he had no friends, he hung out in the same place every day doing the same thing, he was an easy target. Steve looked for the teachers, any teachers, any grown-ups, but they were all busy elsewhere, Eddie didn’t have any friends to stand up for him, anyone to back him up as the big kids descended, shoving him against the jungle gym’s climbing net, he barely even complained, just told them to leave him alone, which obviously they weren’t going to do, leaving Steve with a choice to make.

He could stay there, where he was, and keep watch from a far as his crushes notebook was stolen, the panic kicking up a notch from Eddie as he rushed forward to try and get it back, demanding “Not my notebook!! Give it back! Please give it back!” To no avail, the two flanking the main bully just shoving him back against the netting while the main bully roughly ransacked through the pages, uncaring as to the damage he was doing despite Eddie’s continued cries for him to stop, he looked again, any adult, any adult would do.

How had no adult noticed yet?!

Steve found himself crossing the distance before he could even think about it, just in time to watch Eddie be thumped in the gut by the biggest of the three, “trailer trash nerd” spat down at him, his torn notebook thrown to the floor, papers torn free from the seam falling out across the woodchip floor, Steve was too late to stop the worse of it but— he could do something.

“Hey!” All three eyes were on him, Eddies not included, he was too busy clutching his gut and trying to reach for his book at the same time “U-uh… uhm” Steve turned his head and holy shit hallelujah “teachers coming! Better scram before she catches you!” She wasn’t even coming, she was just there, close enough that it made a difference.

The boys got out of there, each one pushing the other to move faster to get out of dodge before the teacher came. At least Steve hadn’t had to stand up to them, just… make them leave. They were probably about to go anyway, given they’d already done enough damage to put their point across.

Eddie was right there, nursing his wounds, trying to gather his papers up, so close, Steve could feel his palms clam up, his heart beating a thousand miles a minute. He pushed through, bending down to pick up a scrunched up ball of paper, he gently began unfolding it. It was nerve wracking, every second he spent in Eddies presence, the boy watching him hesitantly, big dark eyes rimmed red with unshed tears, brown. His eyes were brown. Steve gulped down his own saliva.

“You should uh… you should ignore those guys.” WORDS! He managed words. Okay. He could do this.

“Yeah? What’s it to you?” Eddie was upset, he probably didn’t mean the bite to his tone, it was okay, it’d be okay.

“I just… I mean, it’s not bad, y’know. To be like… nerdy and stuff, you shouldn’t listen to them. They’re just jealous cause you’re… y’know, creative and uhm… an smart, an really talented at drawing and—and people really like that.” He offered the creased paper back as Eddie rose to his feet, wrecked notebook tightly clutched in his arms, he took it back, not quite snatched but… it wasn’t taken gently.

“Yeah, what people? So far things ain’t exactly been makin me feel welcome here.” He shoved the paper full of… god Steve didn’t even know, but Steve knew they were doodles of some kind, winged things, and skeleton monsters, they were cool! Eddie could draw! Steve couldn’t draw, he could barely make stickmen work, the legs were always mismatched lengths, and the arms were never coming from the same point of the stickman’s stick body.

“I mean…” Steve fumbled with his own fingers, warmth decorating his cheeks, pinking the tips of his ears this was it! He could do it, he could tell him, and it’d be fine, and maybe they could hold hands or something, that’d be neat “people… people like me… I—I like you, I mean… I like you a lot and—and I just… I was just wondering if—if maybe—”

“Ew” Steve stopped dead, eyes snapping to the other boy, the other boy who looked at him with an icy disgust that wrapped its frozen claws around Steve’s heart and clenched “that’s gross. Boys can’t like other boys, that’s so fuckin weird!” Weird? It was weird? Steve looked around him, panic filling his very being, from his head to his toes every inch of him felt wrong all of a sudden, his heart beating faster and faster only this time it wasn’t good “and they call me a freak, freak.”

His small fist connected with Eddie’s face without thought, right in the nose. Instinct to fight rearing its head for the first time in his life, panic replaced so swiftly by an anger so unlike him he was consumed by it, and the resulting pained cries filled him with a sick sense of satisfaction that he enjoyed far more than the panic, than the sense of wrong in himself at Eddie’s words.

He didn’t say anything else to Eddie, he just, left him there by the jungle gym, crying in pain holding a bleeding nose. His book dropped to the floor, ruined papers strewn across the woodchip.

And his dimples?

Never to be thought of again.

—Until the boathouse in '86 when everything went to shit for the fourth time in a row.

Part 2

#PirateWrites #ForgivenNotForgottenFiclet #Steddie #Post!S5 #Mentions of Kas Eddie #Hurt/Comfort #Miscommunication

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yellowjestertfs · 3 months

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The Billionaires secret

“Hi there. Find what what you were looking for?” I ask in my customary upbeat yet soul-dead customer service voice.

“I think so. Going to give this one a try.” She says handing me a copy of a book called The Billionaire’s Secret from the romance section. I can see why she picked it, on the cover a man in a suit lay on a bed with the buttons of his dress shirt undone showing off his impressive six-pack and strong hairless chest. Brownish red eyes smolder seductively outwards from a masculine face. High cheekbones, soft lips, and a wide square jaw adorned with black stubble that connects to a short-styled head of black hair.

“I’m Bridget by the way,” she says, obviously a bit embarrassed to see me eying up the cover. “Oh, and this is Dan.” She says gesturing at the man standing a few paces away, engrossed by some mobile game on his phone.

“Nice to meet you, Bridget.” I scan the book. “That will be $17,” I say.

She glances over at Dan, he doesn't seem to notice so she retrieves her credit card from her purse and taps it against the machine. “I don’t know why I expected him to offer.” She tells me in a conspiratorial whisper “He’s broke. I mean not that it matters to me, but it would just be nice to date a wealthy man or one who at least pays attention to me.”

Customers often confided in me. I wish I could say it is because of my open honest face or charismatic demeanor but it probably had more to do with a book I once ate about a bartender people told all their secrets to.

I look around. There are a few consumers browsing the book shelves and my manager is sitting at his desk in the back, no one close enough to notice. Bridget seems sweet, too sweet to be with a man like Dan. Poor girl just wants to escape with some fiction, so why not indulge her a little.

“Did you get a chance to check out our books on sale?” I ask Bridget diverting her attention away. She looks over at the shelf I pointed at giving me enough time to crack my knuckles, take a deep breath, and begin.

I place my hands over the cover of the book and it springs open, the pages start to turn themselves slow at first then speed up. Words start to flow from the book as the pages flip past. The letters lift from the page like a sticker being peeled, floating into the air to spin around me. They form a cyclone of black ink as the pages that flip by are left blank.

I feel the lines as they flow off the paper. The first line reads. “Kustav tower is 400 stories tall, rumor has it, it’s smaller than Dane Kustav’s dick.”

I directed the words towards Bridget’s boyfriend. The ink splashes into him, absorbing into his gray hoodie but leaving no mark. None except for the fact that his basketball shorts start to thrash like a wild animal is trapped inside. Dan didn't look up from his phone even as his dick doubled and then tripled in size to match the one described in the book Billionaires Secrets.

I tried to be sparing with my abilities. Fiction is great so long as it stays fiction, otherwise you have evil robots or sparkly vampires running around. Still, every once in a while my heroic urges will take over and I am called to help someone with my power to bring words to life. Bridget is one of those people.

More words flowed off the page. “Dane Kustav is well dressed at all times. One would be hard-pressed to ever see Dane not in a suit. If one did see him without a suit, it would be in the bedroom where they would be very, very hard pressed indeed.”

The words spin around me once then drift over to Dan again on an invisible wind. This time his clothes were affected by the words. His grey hoodie which he wore with the hood up, melted off his body, the threads unwinding then rebinding themselves into a far higher quality dress shirt and black jacket complete with a blue tie. His shorts became black dress pants and his sneakers a pair of brown loafers. The outline of his much larger dick was clear in his new tighter pants. A few seconds passed with no changes then, slowly his tie undid itself and each of the buttons on his dress shirt opened so that he was sporting a matching look to that of the man on the cover of the book. Unlike the cover, however, Dan lacked the chiseled face or body to pull off the open shirt. His slight gut and saggy, hairy chest made the outfit look awkward rather than sexy.

Bridget looked up from the sale rack and glanced at her half-nude boyfriend with a chagrined glance. In her mind, he was always dressed in the finest clothes even if he still acted like a man-child.

“Dane Kustav towered over everyone be that in stature or in business.”

I directed the words into him. Dan shot upwards, his modest 5’10” frame becoming a proud 6’3”, clothes growing to match. And though it wasn’t visible Dan’s head was also filled with business smarts he had lacked before. The game on his phone shifted from Fruit Ninja to Hey Day.

The pages continue to flip, their words leaving the page to float in the air under my command.

“Dane Kustav's muscles were like that of a brass statue, smooth, hard, and golden. Each curve could only have been sculpted by the hands of an artist for nature could never make anybody so perfect.”

I look over at Dan’s soft pudgy body. Not the words I would use to describe him, at least not yet. I float the sentence to him.

Instantly Dan’s belly flattens. One by one his abs pop into being as if pushed out from the inside like one of those pop-it toys. His man boobs visibly transmute from fat to muscle, perking up and then growing into a strong chest like that of the man on the cover of the book. Inside the sleeves of his dress shirt, his arms thicken into a pair of round vascular biceps while his legs below do the same. A tan, like oil spreading over water seeps across his body until his exposed muscles really looked like sculpture bronze turned to life. The few hairs that had looked sloppy before now lent his body a rugged masculinity.

Bridget looks at her boyfriend with a new lust. Her hands start to roam his abs and chest but Dan, still on his phone, only bats them away.

Man-child indeed, a man in the body, a child in the face and the personality. I divert my attention back to the flipping pages looking for words I could use to fix that. The book is reaching the end, and the main character, assistant to the billionaire, has finally seduced her boss in a very steamy scene. High-class writing it is not, but at least it gives me plenty to work with.

“I ran my hand down his sharp square jaw.”

I throw the words at him. The shape of his face shifts to be more masculine.

“He looked at me through squinted sexy amber eyes.”

His eyes shift from a pale blue to an amber so rich it almost looked red. He finally looks up from his phone and deep into Bridget's eyes. She returns the stare with a smile.

“He brought my hand up to his cheek, I felt each bristle of his short sharp stubble.”

Dan moves Bridget's fingers up to his face which is now covered in a sexy two days' worth of growth.

“Then he kissed me with his soft sensual lips hard enough to make me weak in the knees.”

The words flow off the page and into him. His lips grow pillowy and pink and interlocked with Bridget’s. He wraps his muscular arms around her, keeping her steady as she collapses into him.

“I warp my fingers into his jet-black quaffed hair as I prepare for him to take me.”

His hair gains a stylish cut and is dark as pitch, body hair and stubble do the same. Bridget greedily runs her hand through his new dark dew.

“He smelled like sports deodorant, woody cologne, and sex. I wanted nothing more than this man to take me.”

The bookstore fills with his scent. I am surprised to find myself turned on by the whole thing. I have reached the end of the book, the final page.

“It was then that I learned the billionaire's secret.”

This was the good stuff. I leech the words off the page and send them to Dan, or rather now, Dane.

“His secret wasn’t that he was hot, or rich, or could make any girl swoon.”

Their kiss intensifies. Dane started to undo Bridget's blouse.

“No, the billionaire's secret was.”

Suddenly Dane pulls away.

“The billionaire was gay.”

“Sorry Bridget,” Dane says taking a few steps back and looking at her with sudden realization. “I don’t think I can do this.”

His eyes wander over to lock onto mine, rich amber orbs seeming to really take me in. He winks. “You thought, I think that could work. What are you doing after this?” He asks smoothly “Want to go get coffee in Paris on my jet? My treat.”

#male tf #male transformation #musclegrowth #straight to gay #tf

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steviewashere · 3 months

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In the Fire of the Sun

Rating: General CW: A dementia fic, that's as much of a warning as I'll offer Tags: Established Relationship, Married Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Future Fic, Wedding Anniversary, Steve Harrington Has Dementia, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Falling in Love Over and Over Again, Yearning, Pining, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Inspired by The Notebook (2004)

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is a fire that never goes out." (in the most metaphorical sense possible)

💕—————💕

Eddie shuffles through the carpeted hallway of this center once more. He comes in right as it opens for visiting hours. Eight in the morning, sharp. Every single day. And has been doing so for the last few years.

Why?

Simple. Steve’s there.

Has been, actually, for the same amount of time Eddie’s been visiting. They’re both in their late seventies now. Time has treated them nearly equal. Aching limbs. Wrinkled and spotted skin. Grey hair. Crows feet. Though, time gave Steve one extra thing that Eddie will fight God about.

Dementia.

It’s ravaging him little by little. And Eddie bears witness. Began with the minor forgetting, always soothed by words and gentle touches, the praise. And then it was bigger things. Confusion and getting lost and mood swings that were almost unmanageable. It all felt so rapid, even if it was slow. But Eddie was there. For every moment of it. And still is there, just…Not in the same house anymore.

He hates coming through the center, though. It’s so clinical and sterile and depressing. Well, technically it isn’t. The rooms are done all nice, filled with furniture and soft blankets and beautiful fake plants that Steve can water if he feels the need to. But it’s not their house, which was painted by the people they love, filled with knick knacks of their lives, photos of their child and their grandchildren and all their friends. Though, Eddie supposes he shouldn’t complain, if Steve is mostly comfortable here. There’s a few things for Steve to interact with, hobby wise. A piano, some knitting circles, board games, but mostly music. It’s nearly poetic, to Eddie, that music is what dementia patients seems to cling onto the longest. It’s especially poetic considering Steve fell in love with a musician.

Sometimes, while Eddie is here, he’ll play music for everybody. The nurses and doctors and patients alike. Still able to share his gift, even in the face of something so…not dark, exactly, but challenging. Because any moment with Steve is pleasant—even if he doesn’t remember most of the time.

Eddie gets his visitor badge. A little sticker for his shirt. He’s taken up to Steve’s room and waits in the doorway for permission to go in. It could be a bad day, but based on the soft smile received from the nurse, it’s one of the better days. Meaning, Steve’s less irritable, still long term forgetful, but lovely.

Steve looks over to him. The hazel eyes that Eddie fell in love with nearly sixty years ago, soft and glistening. His forehead prominently wrinkled. Hair thin, but mostly there, a light silvery grey. He’s got better hair than Eddie—that can be admitted, his hair is just like Wayne’s now, gone with the wind. At least time hasn’t taken Steve’s beauty.

“Hello,” Steve greets, polite and sweet. His voice is slightly garbled, deep and velvety.

“Hello,” Eddie parrots. He holds out his right palm for Steve to take. Smiles softly when he does so. “I’m Edward,” he introduces, “though you can call me Eddie.” He taps his sticker. Loves the way Steve’s eyes still track his every movement, even with something so simple and mundane. The nurse hangs by Steve’s shoulder, nodding at Eddie when they lock eyes. Eddie smiles bigger at Steve, letting their hands drop. His palm tingles from Steve’s ever glowing warmth. “You must be the Steven Harrington I’m always hearing about,” he says.

Steve visibly grimaces, which is a good sign. A great thing. He groans. “That tastes awful in my mouth,” he states. “Though I can’t—How come that tastes bad?” He looks over to his nurse, but doesn’t get an answer.

“Oh,” Eddie mutters. “I’ve heard some people call you Steve, does that sound okay? Shorten your name like mine?”

He nods. Relaxing. “That sounds great.” Steve smiles. And Eddie is like a sunflower in the face of the sun. Yearning to reach out, to touch, to feel and hold. But he knows that he can’t, or at least shouldn’t. “So…Eddie, you’re a visitor?” His finger taps on Eddie’s chest, on the white word: VISITOR. Eddie blossoms. “You came to visit me, I’m assuming. What are we going to do today?”

Eddie bites back his grin. Steve’s finger is still on his chest. He wonders if Steve even remembers putting it there, part of him hopes that he’s doing it on purpose. He hums, thinking. Though he’s got planned, “We’re going to take a walk outside, if that’s okay. I brought some music for us to listen to while we look around. It’s a pretty day outside, a little chilly, but the sun is bright out there. What do you think?”

“I like that,” Steve enthusiastically says. Which makes the good day even better. “Though I don’t know who you are, you have really good ideas. You seem like a really nice guy.”

“Y’know, I’ve heard that before. From somebody you might know,” Eddie says, offering out his hooked arm. Almost dances in place when Steve wraps their arms together. “He’s a good guy, too. Really good looking. Very kind. Think you’d like him.”

“You should bring him with next time,” Steve says. They make their way down to the front doors of the center. Arm in arm.

“Maybe I will,” Eddie says, even though the guy is already there. “I will if it’s a good day.”

The day really is beautiful. Leaves littering the ground, browns and dark greens, many of them bright yellow. A good color. Everything is just…good. There’s a little concrete path on the side of the center. Nestled really nice to a small creek. It’s quiet.

Steve is a comfortable weight at his side. They step in tandem. Feet matching each other. Eddie makes them stop at the end of the path, walking out to a grassy clearing, standing out watching the subtle ripples in the creek.

“It’s pretty,” Steve murmurs. “Reminds me of fish. For some odd reason.”

“Mm,” Eddie hums. “Makes me think of fish, too, funny enough. The guy I told you about?” Steve nods beside him. The slow up and down bobbing of his heavy head. He’s still got glasses after all these years, they’re kind of crooked. Eddie itches to fix them. But Steve stares ahead of himself, at the water, a little crinkle between his eyebrows. An instinct in Eddie says, Soothe. But knows he shouldn’t. Knows he can’t kiss that away, not anymore. He takes a deep breath to reground himself. “Well,” he begins. “That guy is my husband. Or…No, he still is. He really likes to go on adventures. Loves doing things in silence. And when my dad—“ He means uncle, but that doesn’t matter. “—when my dad was still alive, we’d go out and fish. My husband and I, we’re too old to fish comfortably now, but he was always better than me. Earned him my dad’s respect, tell you that.”

“Your husband sounds fun,” Steve says, smiling with it. “Y’know, I have this friend—“ Eddie perks up at this. Usually, there’s nobody that Steve talks about. But if he’s willing. “—She has a wife. I don’t remember much about her, but I’ve heard she’s sweet.”

Robin, Eddie knows. Of course. He can’t wait to go home and call Robin to tell her all about this. “I’ll have to meet them some time.” He moves his palm from where it hangs loose at their hooked arms, brings it up slowly, and settles it on Steve’s bicep, squeezing. Steve doesn’t move away, thankfully. “Do you want to listen to some music?”

“Sure,” Steve mutters. “I just hope you have good taste.”

Oh I have the worst, Eddie thinks, you’ve told me that before. He walks them over to a nearby bench, still staring out at the water. It’s glistening ripples, the few birds that swoop down to rest, some stray leaves. Pulls out his phone, looks at their playlists he’s left the same over the years. Finds Steve’s. And clicks shuffle. “I think you’ll like this one, actually,” he says.

The first song to play is Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are”, their wedding song.

Beside him, Steve hums, settling back into the bench. His eyes are closed peacefully. A small smile to his lips. Face soft in the glow of the sun. Eddie is a sunflower, a sunflower, a sunflower. He aches so bad to trace his fingertip down the bridge of Steve’s nose, on the curve of his lower lip, to kiss him and dance with him and hold him like there’s no tomorrow. Like there’s no tomorrow where he comes back, a stranger.

“I’ve heard this before,” Steve whispers. His eyebrows furrow. He’s still smiling, but he’s focusing somewhere on something. And Eddie wants to comb his fingers through Steve’s brain, pet over the diseased areas, pat the memories, nestle the good that Steve remembers. “I see a face in my head,” he says. Asks, “Can I tell you what I see?”

“Sure,” Eddie whispers as soft as possible. “Tell me all about this face.”

Again, Steve settles. Shimmying further into the bench, taking Eddie with him. They lean back. Like sitting on their couch, watching reruns, eating Chinese takeout, gossiping about their neighbors, gazing at their daughter painting messy pictures of their love—pink and yellow splatters on the coffee table. (Eddie thinks about how those dried paint stains never left. How he never cleaned them. How Steve never complained. He’ll go home tonight and look at them. He will weep.)

“It’s a man,” Steve starts. “He’s white. Clean shaven. Got this bulbous nose and pretty pink lips. Kind of pouting,” he murmurs, chuckling to himself. Eddie snorts beside him. His eyes burn a little. “Dark, dark brown hair. Wavy around his face, kind of frizzy. But it looks like it’s been styled back into a bun, his bangs curled inwards.” Steve takes a deep breath, sighing dreamily. “His eyes…Wow, Eddie. These eyes are probably my favorite thing I’ve ever seen. So deep, big, almost like a deer. They’re shiny with tears. But he smiles at me, I’m warm.”

Eddie squeezes at Steve’s bicep again. He takes a stuttering breath. “The way you describe him…He sounds like a—“

“A painting,” Steve finishes. “He says something to me. Calls me Stevie. Calls me baby. That…I like that.” His eyes flutter open. And he swings his head to the right, looking directly into Eddie’s. “I like that, but there’s also a number there.”

“What’s that?” Eddie kindly asks.

“Fifty. I don’t really know why—Hey, wait a minute,” Steve rushes. He sits forward slightly. His eyes widen. The arm still wrapped with Eddie’s squeezes in a vice grip. “Your eyes…I’ve seen your eyes before.”

Eddie perks up. It’s happening again. Doesn’t occur all that often, especially in the last few months. But sometimes, sometimes his belly flips and his chest flutters and he’s taken back to the clearing that Steve confessed his love in—twenty years old, his eyes alight with passion, hair flopping all over the place. Him beautiful and peaceful. And, yeah, that’s what Eddie sees in front of him now.

“I’ve seen them before,” Steve whispers. He raises a hesitant palm to the side of Eddie’s face. Landing gently. Cupping, warmth radiating from him. He’s still a furnace. He’s the same. The Steve that Eddie fell in love with, he’s here and still inside there, he’s in the palm and in Eddie’s chest. He’s here. Steve inhales sharply. Clarity in his eyes. How he tells a story with just his pupils, the quick darting, the tears that pool in his waterline—Eddie will never know. “Eds?” Steve calls out.

A part of Eddie crumbles to his feet. He hasn’t heard that nickname in so goddamn long. He bites back the sob that wants to tear through him. Instead, places his free palm over the back of Steve’s. Thumb tickling his knuckles. “Hi, Stevie. Hi, baby,” he murmurs back. “How are you, love bug?”

“Eds,” Steve breathes. “I—What are—You look different.” He chuckles, it’s congested, it’s wet. “Is it our anniversary? Please, is it—“ Eddie nods in the hold. Steve sighs, crying slightly with it. There’s so much ache here, it hurts in the sweetest way possible to even have his simple touch. “God,” Steve softly sobs. “I’m sorry that I forgot. Please don’t be mad at me. I promise I tried to remember.”

Eddie squeezes where he’s still touching Steve. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he breathes truthfully. His chest seizes, that sob yearning, creeping. “Just sitting here with you for our anniversary is enough.” I’ll always be here to help you remember, he doesn’t say.

The way Steve relaxes, the relief rushing through him is enough for Eddie. Every single day with Steve is enough. Even in the moments where he’s completely lost in the world, somewhere dark and cold and lonely. Even when he gets angry and lashes out, slamming his palms on Eddie’s chest. Even if every time it makes Eddie physically pulse and hurt. He hurts. He’s a sunflower, a sunflower, a sunflower.

“Okay,” Steve rasps. “Okay, Eds. Okay.” He leans into the warmth of their bodies, sides a single line. Connected. Stitched together by everything, the matter of the universe. “Happy anniversary,” he whispers.

“Happy anniversary, love,” Eddie murmurs.

They’ve got maybe five minutes before Steve is gone again. Back to Steven. To the stranger in his room. A guy who sees brown eyes in his sleep and is unsure who they belong to. They’ve got five minutes, but Eddie will treat them like lifetimes.

He’ll come back tomorrow. And they will remember. And he will ache. But he will love.

“I love you,” he says.

And with the last thirty seconds they have together, Steve sighs, all the emotions under the sun (and Eddie is the sunflower soaking up all that is Steve), “I love you, too.”

💕—————💕

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 26 #angst and hurt/comfort #bittersweet ending

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jo-harrington · 5 months

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You don't have time for Christmas.

Work and home and this friend in a crisis.

Work and home and, let's be honest, probably work again.

And before you know it, it's December 20th and you don't even have any decorations up. Barely anyone does. The neighborhoods that are usually lit up with lights and figurines enough to rival the Griswolds are noticably dark this year.

What holiday? What festivity? It's wake up and hustle and lay in bed in a dreamless sleep. Then wake up to do it all again.

You are a cog in a machine.

You don't know how to voice these things, your displeasure, the secret yearning for the pomp and circumstance and childhood whimsy for the holiday season that's tucked somewhere deep inside your weary body. You can't bring yourself to indulge in it.

You're tired.

You glance down the card aisle at the grocery store but don't stop to grab any for friends. You pick up a bag of peanut butter bells for your candy jar at work but then second guess it at the checkout. Gifts are bought with as much care as you could, but you can't even bother to wrap them as prettily as you usually would.

You can try again for Valentine's. Chocolate hearts with the crispy rice inside and roses for your coworkers. Something.

But this year, you don't have time for Christmas.

And he notices.

It starts with cookies.

He likes to bake--started with boxed cake mix and then you bought him a handheld torch one year so he could try his hand at creme brûlée after he watched a little too much Jacques Pepin on PBS--so it's not anything suspicious. No ulterior motives detected.

Only he's dug up the little handwritten notebook full of your grandma's favorite recipes. Grandpa's handwriting because he wrote it while she dictated. Cookies he's never tasted before himself but seemed to have nailed exactly the way she made them. The love he poured into the treats matched hers exactly.

He brings you a plate and a cup of cocoa when you come home and collapse on the couch.

You cry when you eat them. And he lets you.

Then he digs out the tree from the garage.

The one-car garage that you pay extra for doesn't fit either of your vehicles but fits all your crap. You both vow to clean up at some point and never do. He slogs through the boxes of old band tees that don't fit him and kitchen crap that you don't miss or really need, to get to the plastic 6 ft tree that used to have stickers to note which bough went in what slot but those are long gone.

He spends hours figuring it out and decorating it, and imagine your surprise when you come home to an otherwise-dark apartment illuminated by the fat, colorful incandescent bulbs that you're sure he spent a significant amount of time untangling. You'd both given up last year and went without lights. But there they are.

"What?" you drop your bag by the door. "What is this?"

"I dunno," he grins proudly. "Thought it would be nice. Get in the Christmas spirit. Saved the star for you to put on top if you want."

And you did. You wanted it so bad. Ever since you were a kid, you were the one to put the star on top of the tree.

After it's up, you marvel at the special care he's taken with the important ornaments. Fragile little wooden ones from your grandma, popsicle stick frames with baby pictures of both of you, a macaroni snowman that he gave his mom once-upon-a-time that his uncle had stashed away, and then a fancy hallmark one you got the year you moved in together.

They all have special places on the tree and tell a story of your lives, separate and then together.

You both lay under the tree that night, staring up at the glittering lights as you hold hands.

Finally it's Christmas Eve. Which to him really meant nothing, but to you meant the world. Christmas Days were spent with individual families but Christmas Eves of old meant a big dinner and time spent with your cousins and It's a Wonderful Life on the TV.

It's a tradition that got put to the wayside as everyone got too old and too tired. As you started getting scheduled to work, like this year. And it's almost worse this year, as you've done a stretch of you-can't-remember-how-many days, that you even turned down an invitation for the two of you from your mom for a small dinner with her.

You're exhausted by the time you get home and, more than anything, you're looking forward to the day off tomorrow.

Not the holiday. The day off.

Still, you remember to bring in the handful of gifts from their hiding place in your trunk. You don't really do gifts between the two of you anymore. Nothing big at least. Just a cheesy little thing. Something fun, not something serious. But you did a little more this year than you usually would--all of the OT you'd clocked for one, and too many things you saw that you knew would make him smile for another.

You try to tip toe into the house as quietly as possible so you can throw the boxes under the tree and shower but he's vigilant. He's been at the stove cooking for a while, and he greets you at the door as you shut it behind you.

"I thought we said no big gifts," he admonishes you and snatches the boxes from your hands. The wrapping paper isn't festive--just brown craft paper you stole borrowed from work since you wrapped on your lunch--but you managed to slap on some red and green bows from the drugstore that you grabbed the other day.

"They're not big," you explained. "I promise."

"Well neither are mine," he winked.

You slap a hand against his chest and then give him a kiss in greeting and thanks.

"One better be the RC racer I wanted when I was nine," he mutters against your lips.

"Hmmm, you're just gonna have to wait," you tell him. "And no shaking the boxes.

You're almost a little ticked off'; one of them is the RC racer.

You kick off your shoes as the smell finally hits you.

Dinner.

Thick and savory and fragrant.

Some kind of fish and roasted potatoes and the starchiness of a pasta and the tang of its sauce.

Recipes, again, taken from your grandma's little notebook. They stir something deep inside of you. That yearning you never voiced.

The weariness that's been slowly building within you finally comes to a head when you make it to the kitchen and see the pots and pans and two plates already portioned out.

An ice cold beer for him, and a Shirley temple, extra cherries, for you.

"Remember when you told me," he comes up behind you and his arms snake around your midsection, "that you and your cousins would sneak extra maraschino cherries from the fridge when your gram wasn't looking. And then she went to go get them for the pistachio salad and they were gone."

Your knees shake and you practically collapse against him.

"Speaking of which, there is a pistachio salad in the fridge for dessert."

"Why?" you sniff.

"Because that's actually my favorite, so sorry to your grandma's tiramisu." He pecks a kiss to the side of your head and rocks you back and forth. "But if you want to make that for New Year's Eve, I won't say no."

"No," you let out a watery laugh. "Why are you so good to me, why did you do all of this?"

"Because I know it's been a hard few weeks. Few months." You can feel him shrug. "Fuck, it's been hard for me too but...I know this is one of your favorite parts of the year and you just...haven't been in the spirit for it. So whatever I could do to make it happen for you..."

You turn in his arms and bury your face in his shoulder, in his neck, so he doesn't see your tears. Again. Worse this time as you begin to shake from your sobs. He shushes you, runs a hand over your back, and leaves kiss after kiss against your head.

"Baby, I'll do anything for you," he tells you, voice thick with emotion. "I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy," you whine against his skin. "I'm so...so happy."

"Good."

"Thank you," you repeat it over and over again until it feels like you're empty of all the void and indifference that have filled you for the past few months are gone. In their place just...love and gratitude for him.

"Merry Christmas baby. I love you."

"I love you too, Merry Christmas."

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson fic #it honestly could be anyone but it's him #christmas fic #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fic

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mangosrar · 6 months

Text

never say never.

matt sturniolo x fem reader.

warnings: smut. angst idk????

an: not proof read. more parts coming soon 😛😛😛

"matt have you seen my car keys" she hollered at him as she scurried around the kitchen.

"where are you going?" he asked as he peaked his head aoundd the door.

"i have to go home" she tilted her head and watched as he walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his hands on the small of her back, pulling her close.

"you dont have to go home, just move in with me" he brought his face closer to hers as her hands fiddled with the buttons on his dress shirt that was now creased and exposing his chest.

"i cant matt you know this, i need my studio" she told him.

"ill build you a studio here, hell id build you a whole art gallery if it meant i got to live with you doll" he moved his face to her cheek and planted a soft kiss there.

7 months ago.

just as she was bending down to press a display sticker to one of the signs, she felt a hard slap to her ass, spinning around she was met with violet smirking, leaned back against nathan. the two of them looked picturesque together. she wore a shimmery champagne dress while he wore a black suit.

"you look great rue" violet gushed.

"thanks vee" she wore a white dress tonight. it was a little more showy than she wouldve liked, low cut and short, but she had bought it last minute and didnt have time to change her mind. violet loved it, of course, she lived for dressing sexy.

"you did all this rory?" nate asked. gesturing to the room around them as he spoke. the place was heaving, every single piece of art in there was either already sold, or bring inquired for, thr room was decorated 'diligently' as her boss byron described. never once had that man complimented her so she was taking whatever she could get.

"yeah, worked my little ass of and byron wont let me display one piece of my art in here" she huffed out a breath rolling her eyes.

"Douch bag knows yours would sell for more than hes ever made" violet uttered.

she didnt even get the chance to reply before one of the artists was tapping on her shoulder making her spin around. "someone would like to make an offer on one of my pieces downstairs."

"oh yes of course" she turned back around. "drink, mingle, have fun. ill find you guys in a bit"

after an hour of running up and down the stairs, about half the pieces were sold and the place was completely packed. the smell of liquor wafted through the air, mixing with the loud conversations.

"hey rory" voilet called from across the crowd. she gently made her way through the sea of people muttering soft 'excuse me's to everyone. when she finally made it to violet she had a wicked smile on her face that made her suspiciously squint her eyes.

"what?" she asked apprehensively.

"nate has a friend here that he wants you to meet. voilets words were saturated with intent, but rory couldnt place it. she tugged on her arm, walking them across the room.

she could see the back of nate, standing and talking to someone. as he turned to face them she saw who she was talking to.

the man was taller than nathan, and more built. his stare was intense. shockingly blue eyes and a strong stubbled jaw. he had dark hair that fanned out around his head perfectly. he wore a flawlessly tailored suit, designer by the looks of it. she could see tattoos peaking out from under his sleeves onto his hands, gripping a hilariously small looking glass.

"sorry to pull you away from your fun, but this is my childhood best friend, matthew sturniolo" nate reached over, patting his friend on the back. "matt this is aroura jovans" he introduced her by her full name, keeping it formal for the time being.

matt stared cooly down at her, extending his hand. "nice to meet you aroura"

despite hating the sound of her full name, hearing it on matts tongue made her swoon. she had never seen a man so handsome in her entire life.

finding her head, rory reached out, placing her hand over his, the size difference was stark and it made his cock jump. "nice to meet you too Matthew" she replied looking up at him. "you can call me rory"

he had picked up on the colour of her cheeks when they touched. this bookish little sweetheart was the last thing he expected to find when nate invited him here. to say he was intrigued was an understatement.

now.

he continued his trail of kissed down her neck. her hands came up to tug on his hair, earning a hum from matt.

"stay here with me" he muttered as he sucked dark circles into her skin. she sighed and leaned her head back, giving him better access. she wanted to give in so bad, she wanted to let him have his way with her right now.

"i cant matt, i have things to do" her chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace as she desperately tried to keep it together, but matts groping hands and his mouth were proving to be a real challenge.

"let me take care of you baby" and before she could even protest. he had hiked her up onto the kitchen counter and shoved his hand into her panties, his lip between his teeth, eyes watching her face intensely. his fingers traced up her folds making him let out a low groan as he left light circles on her clit, pulling a shaky whine from rorys mouth.

"look at that honey, youre soaked" she couldnt help but whine at his words. his fingers quickened and his touch became firmer, prompting her head to lull back as she gripped one hand on his shoulder and the other smacked down onto the counter behind her. her hips started rocking in rhythm with his hand. he knew just how to work her.

"it would be so mean of me to leave you like this doll" his voice was patronizing and cocky. matt once again brought his mouth to her neck and licked a stripe up her throat, pulling a lewd moan from her.

"dont stop matt ngh- pl-" and before she could even finish her sentence, he cut her off by yanking his hand away from her and plopping his fingers into his mouth.

she stared at him wide eyed, mouth hanging open and the feeling of her approaching high fizzling out.

matt gripped her hips and pulled her off the counter, standing her back on her own, now shaky legs before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out her keys. he placed them in her hand before pressing a firm kiss to her lips.

"have a great day baby ill see you for dinner" and with that he was off, sauntering back off into his office.

matt returning to a normal life once he met aroura never seemed like anything out of the ordinary, business was well, he was going to dinner parties, he had fake manners, all prepared for a complete disregard for his past life. he wondered if the straw would ever come and he would return to his late affairs, then again he wondered if that straw had already been pulled. he knew he couldnt hide from himself much longer. his biggest enemy was the man he saw in the mirror. he was filtered with anger and disgust for himself. each day, in and out, he knew what rory didnt. surely the truth would come out, it was just a matter of when. every time his phone rang and her face came up he was sure this was it, thinking of some excuse or lie he could tell before answering and of course each time he was wrong, after a few months of him fighting with himself he gave up. realising there was no way she would ever find out. but never say never.

taglist: @christinarowie332 @biimpanicking @soursturniolo @freshlovehacker @urmyslxt @kitaysworld @kvtie444 @mattsd0ll @flowerxbunnie @itsjennarose @lovingsturniolo @mattslolita @chrisenthusiast

also if i forgot u from my taglist or u wanna be added lmk!!!!

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melonminnie · 1 year

Text

Heart stickers ! (Yan! Valentine family x Veronica’s sisterReader) platonic

tw: slight yandere behavior

- appearance is the same as Veronica Enjoy! Mwah this is pt one (?) dunno I got tired but I have ideas tho this is a draft fyi!

“Where are you going?” The girl questioned, holding onto Gabriel’s clothes, if he didn’t know any better he’d guess that it was Veronica herself talking to him.

But the boy learned the difference between the two of you, you were younger than her by a few months, while Veronica didn’t have the slightest bit of divine power you on the other hand did.

Gabriel stared at the girl dumbfounded, she’d been sent with him to the valentine household, Her sister silently hoping she’d get killed while living there. “Oh I was going to enter the church” the mumbled, “I can enter with you then!” The girl smiled and held his hand.

Ah, the other difference between the two of you is that, What ever you do or say, makes the atmosphere uncanny in some way, creepy even. While Veronica held the opposite effect.

Gabriel once again stared at the girls gold eyes and let her, he let her drag him wherever she wanted, he didn’t want to protest.Yet to him this was absolute torture.

“Y/n let go” he frowned making it obvious this Time, “Hm, okay” yet she smiled brighter this time, was it to ease this awkward situation?. Why were you smiling.

He disregarded his thoughts and shoved past the girl in hurry, “what did I do?” She muttered under her breath, her eyes trained on him as she watched him leave.

“All I’ve done is act nice to him yet he still treats me like shit!” She whispered, even more, louder this time, her eyes down casting to the floor as she continued walking. “I’ll have to be stuck with him for a few years or so... I don’t even want to be here anymore” she sighed. It was clear that she was sulking.

Y/n returned to her room instead of following the boy, if she did she would’ve probably made it even more awkward and she couldn’t risk it at the moment, “Nothings going as planned, I’m doomed! I’m gonna end up dead!” She cried, She already knew that her own sister didn’t want her, nor did the church want her so that’s why they sent her.

For some reason the two siblings have always had this unspoken rivalry between each other, “I wanna go home” she sulked staring at the wall.

The next few weeks had passed at this point, It was the same routine everyday, it’d be her trying to make conversation with Gabriel then him refusing and then she’d be left alone to do whatever.

“This is so boring!” She sighed, yes it was true that she’d been sulking every day for the past weeks but she had nothing to do, the stuff she had to do was so easy that’d she’d finish it in no time.

The blonde stared out the window, After giving it some thought she decided to go walk in the garden out of boredom.

In a few minutes outside her good eyes sparkled with excitement, she was hiding behind a tree why? , Because she’d just ran into a fairy.

or that’s how she’d like to think, her pink hair was so pretty, it was like she could disappear at any moment.

She never spoke to her though she’d observe her threw the background it was something she’d do to fill her time.

One day she’d brought some food with her to continue this weird task she’d put her self up to, She opened the bag a little too loud when she felt someone staring at her.

She’d been found out. She would run away but then she’d get screamed at by Gabriel which she couldn’t have, she also wasn’t allowed outside when she wasn’t doing anything but here she was.

The blonde looked at her food instead, she didn’t look at the girl when she heard twigs break, nor did she stare when she saw two pair of shoes in front of her, simply she was too afraid.

The pink head knelt down and gave her a piece of paper, she didn’t move after she gave her the paper she stayed still waiting for an answer.

‘Why are you sitting here alone?’

That’s what was written on the paper, the girl looked up and met the fairy’s pink eyes, she smiled at her before standing up to her full height and extended her hand to help her up she gladly accepted.

“Miss.. what’s your name?” Y/n spoke her gold eyes staring at the fairy, she quickly scribbled out her name on a piece of paper before lifting it up.

‘Aria’

Her name is really pretty, The girl thought, she thanked Aria and continued following her not knowing what to do.

Aria led y/n to a more quieter place instead of seating on the floor there was a cloth covering it so that you clothes don’t get dirty.

the siren knew that you’d been watching her for a while, you didn’t think she was oblivious now did you?

I was gonna add the rest but idk How too so bear w me rn

#-Azuwritess #becoming the villains family #manwah #manhwa #fanfic #yandere #yandere Manhwa x reader #manhwa x reader #historical manhwa #tristan x reader #the siren #Becoming the villains family x reader #yandere x reader #platonic

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wandasaura · 3 months

Note

i decided to be nice and not individually send every thought i’ve had in the last hour, you’re welcome babygirl.

reader:

- getting a drunken tattoo during the mommy and daddy don’t know they went out request

- wrecking (minorly) with daddy on the bike

- getting high asf and causing mischief w/ yelena while mommy and daddy are out and them coming home to absolute chaos

- run away reader run away ready run away reader

- car breaks down on the what was it? 40 minute drive? to westview from campus in the middle of the hottest summer ever, thanks global warming

- breaking something in the house or something along those lines and losing her shit because her real mother would kill her for something like that

- slipping while running around the pool after mommy has literally punished her for doing that previously. hurts herself, could break something, cries like a baby while wanda just sighs with her hands on her hips with that “i told you so look” until she can’t stand not holding babygirl

- someone gets sick (hurt/comfort) or baby gets sick and get literally everyone sick, rip squad

- mommy and daddy finally realize how few actual meals reader eats and institutes the sticker chart to earn stickers and eventually a super special treat

- mommy and daddy make reader get life360 or an airtag attached to her after running away so much

- 👹

i was waiting to answer this until i finished what i needed to do. but okay let me ponder all of this:

— r would get a henna with monica and be absolutely distraught when she wakes up the next morning and there’s a mini palm tree on her hip bone. it would take natasha literally holding her down on the bed to get her to see it’s literally only temporary

— never going to happen, absolutely not. if natasha has even the slightest bad feeling she’s calling wanda to come pick you up. she’s a reckless driver, but after her accident she’s reluctant to even get on the bike but she knows that you adore it so she does it for you. she’s not willing to risk your safety even if she knows that logically nothing would’ve happened had she kept you on with her

— after the first time you get high yelena offers to show you an actual good time, more so you stop associating weed to ill practically greening out lol. she makes you wait half an hour between hits, slaps your thigh when you take a hit too hard/deep. she’s a total mother hen which is funny considering she’s the most chaotic person you know. when you’re high enough, you and her try and make wandas cookie recipe bc you’re properly suffering from the munchies and guess who walks in right as you drop flour all over the floor… wanda and natasha who had been out at a business dinner that you’d willingly elected not to attend. you practically fling yourself at natasha and giggle about how wanda’s face is as red as her hair.

— she accidentally knocks a certificate off the wall when she tries to open up the window in natasha’s office. it’s only a small crack in the frame, but her mind sends her back to a place where any minor infraction was punishable. she’s an inconsolable wreck when natasha gets home but it’s reassured that it’s only a frame and it can be fixed.

— no because r would eat absolute shit and wanda doesn’t know whether to rush over and assess the damage or reprimand her for once again running next to the pool, but when he notices the blood that’s slowly tainting the pavement she’s at your side in minutes trying to calm you down

— the little bug gets a bug and she’s down bad. it’s only a day before natasha gets sick too, and wandas the last man standing. she never thought having two girlfriends would become having two whiny and clingy toddlers but alas she’s found herself in a position that’s not at all dissimilar. you’re clinging to her whenever she’s around and natasha’s whining for kisses despite turning her head away everytime wanda tries to give her one. “don’t kiss me, you’ll get sick too” and wanda just rolls her eyes because natasha’s fever is so high there’s no doubt she’ll forget by time she’s better. you and natasha get better and a week later wanda is sick… which nobody wants

— they compromise and let her have coconut shrimp and literally nothing else for dinner because apparently that’s “the only thing that i’m going to eat, my brain has been demanding it all day”

— no because i think it would come into play when natasha has to leave for another business trip! she’s suggests the life360 so you know where she is and that she’s safe if she can’t text back right away… and it does come in handy when you inevitably take off again

it is fucking brutal trying to type in the rain

#yail: asks #a: 👹#answered.#𝒶𝒸𝒸𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 ꔫ

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revelingrexan · 29 days

Text

a silly screenshot edit i made of one of my favorite moments :)

...because i organized my bank accounts and wanted to give one of my cards a special cover!!

a brief note about applying the sticker to the card: the directions said to line up the sticker to the opening for the chip, but it went better for me when i lined the sticker up to one of the long sides of the card. (but of course make sure the sticker would be in the right part for the chip)

bonus behind the scenes on my making the pic under the cut :)

_____

i tend to make several lineart layers when doing REALLY CLEAN lineart so i can more easily erase overlapping lines. (the first screenshot has lines that "overshoot" because that gives nice sharp corners and line width variety, but i need to erase the extra parts of the lines)

(i like these screenshots because Lucifer looks extra clowny with the outlines' colorfulness)

i realized on this project, since the final lineart is just going to be black anyway, that i can use different colors for each layer and then LATER make the lineart black. (realized it after already making some lineart, so you see some black here) that way, i can easily know what layer everything's on, instead of going through a bunch of layers and clicking them off and on to find a specific part

SO, RIGHT. VERY EASY TO THEN GET BLACK OUTLINES: JUST SET BRIGHTNESS TO ZERO. i usually use a program called FireAlpaca, and the way you do that there is: Filter > Hue… > drag the Brightness cursor all the way to the left

in this screenshot, you can see some of the effects i added to Lucifer to give him the nice shadowed look that Hazbin Hotel has, as well as where i covered Charlie at the tip of Lucifer's hat lol

i included my layers on the right of the screenshot to show how i set up the outline layers in the final version: as you saw above, i named my outline layers with the color used for them, then, once i was done with the outline, i placed the "outline before color change" folder above the base black "outline" folder. that way, if i later notice a mistake, i can simply turn on the colored outline folder and i'll see what color that part of the outline is and jump to the necessary layer, rather than going on a quest turning off and on a bunch of layers each time

since i duplicated my outline folder before changing the outlines in one of them to black, the base outline folder already has the color names included in the layer names

NOT ALL DIGITAL ARTISTS USE AS MANY LAYERS AS I DO LOL. I GO WILD WITH THEM SOMETIMES. MANY OF MY PROJECTS HAVE WAY MORE THAN 80 OR EVEN 500 LAYERS. people just tend to figure out what works for them. i wouldn't be surprised if i end up using fewer layers in the future. or a lot more. or go either way depending on the project

so, yeah, this is a screenshot edit, so i traced the main part of Lucifer's body. for the background, i used two screenshots. had to cut together and cover some stuff. here's the two screenshots unedited followed by a scribbled version to make things work lol and then the scribbled version that includes some extra touch ups/covers

and some screenshots i took while working on this, when i unexpectedly got some cool-looking versions :3 first one reminded me of Day of the Dead looks (he DOES need to be more colorful to be more accurate) and the second is just rad

ANYWAY probably the most helpful thing to most people would be the colored outline thing talked about at the start lol, the stuff i bolded. that was IMMENSELY useful and i love black outlines more than ever XD

#hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #screenshot edit #i feel like there's something else i wanted to mention under the cut but i'm forgetting lol #oH. IT WAS ABOUT CHANGING THE IN-PROGRESS COLORED OUTLINES TO BLACK LOL. GOT IT WOO #rexan's art #i got the sticker like two months ago and i STILL sometimes take my card out only to look at it XD #one of my best purchases ever lol #(it was about $15 in the U.S. and that includes shipping. i really wanted a Lucifer card)#(so worth it)

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calisources · 5 months

Text

TAYLOR JENKINS REID BOOK QUOTES. all sentences are taken from various of taylor jenkins reid's books. mentions of sex, marriage,cheating, divorce, soulmates and heartbreak. change names, locations and pronouns as you see fit.

"People think that intimacy is about sex. But intimacy is about truth."

"When you realize you can tell someone your truth, when you can show yourself to them, when you stand in front of them bare and their response is 'you're safe with me'- that's intimacy."

"I had absolutely no interest in being somebody else's muse. I am not a muse. I am the somebody."

"Never let anyone make you feel ordinary."

“Men often think they deserve a sticker for treating women like people.”

“Don't ignore half of me so you can fit me into a box. Don't do that.”

“I’m under absolutely no obligation to make sense to you.”

“It’s always been fascinating to me how things can be simultaneously true and false, how people can be good and bad all in one, how someone can love you in a way that is beautifully selfless while serving themselves ruthlessly.”

“Sometimes reality comes crashing down on you. Other times reality simply waits, patiently, for you to run out of the energy it takes to deny it.”

“Heartbreak is a loss. Divorce is a piece of paper.”

“I spent half my time loving her and the other half hiding how much I loved her.”

“I think you have to have faith in people before they earn it. Otherwise it's not faith, right?”

“When you're given an opportunity to change your life, be ready to do whatever it takes to make it happen. The world doesn't give things, you take things.”

“Passion is...it's fire. And fire is great, man. But we're made of water. Water is how we keep living. Water is what we need to survive.”

“If she knew how often I was thinking about her, she wouldn't feel lonely.”

And my heart breaks for every single version of me that didn't end up with you.”

“No matter who you choose to go down the road with, you're gonna get hurt. That's just the nature of caring about someone. No matter who you love, they will break your heart along the way.”

“When you think of me, I hope it ruins rock 'n' roll”

“No one is just a victim or a victor. Everyone is somewhere in between.

“People are messy, and love can be ugly. I’m inclined to always err on the side of compassion.”

“Confidence is being okay being bad, not being okay being good.”

“How were you supposed to change- in ways both big and small- when your family was always there to remind you of exactly the person you apparently signed an ironclad contract to be?”

“You're all sorts of things you don't even know yet.”

“We love broken, beautiful people. And it doesn't get much more obviously broken and more classically beautiful than Daisy Jones.”

“We live in a world where exceptional women have to sit around waiting for mediocre men.”

“Just because something isn’t meant to last a lifetime doesn’t mean it wasn’t meant to be.”

“It hurts to care about someone more than they care about themselves.”

“Family is found...whether it be blood or circumstance or choice, what binds us does not matter. All that matters is that we are bound.”

“Nobody deserves anything,”

“It shouldn’t be wrong, to love you. How can it be wrong?”

“Isn’t it nice … once you’ve outgrown the ideas of what life should be and you just enjoy what it is.”

“Our family histories are simply stories. They are myths we create about the people who came before us, in order to make sense of ourselves.”

“I am absolutely positive that I need you more than I’ve ever needed another living soul,”

“If there are all different types of soul mates, then you are one of mine.”

“And taking pride in your beauty is a damning act.

“Must be nice. To be able to be weak. I wouldn’t know.”

Better just to stay in the now and focus on what you can do better in the future.”

“Forgiveness is different from absolution.”

“There’s no room for you in my life anymore. And I don’t owe it to you to make any space.”

“That's what you do when you want something. You don't look for reasons why it won't work. You look for reasons why it will.”

“It's the ones who never loved you enough that come to you when you can't sleep.

“Just because you can live without someone doesn’t mean you want to.”

“History is what you did, not what you almost did, not what you thought about doing. And I was proud of what I did”

“Alcoholism is a disease with many faces, and some of them look beautiful.”

I used to care when men called me difficult. I really did. Then I stopped. This way is better.”

“The truth often lies, unclaimed, in the middle.”

“I guess what I’m saying is it’s not all luck. It’s luck and being a son of a bitch.”

“But a good life is knowing people care about you, knowing you can take care of the people that count on you.”

“There was finally enough air within her for a fire to ignite.”

“Everything that made Daisy burn, made me burn. Everything I loved about the world, Daisy loved about the world. Everything I struggled with, Daisy struggled with. We were two halves. We were the same.”

“Love and pride don't mix.”

“I’m cynical and I’m bossy, and most people would consider me vaguely immoral.”

“When you find that rare person who really knows who you are and they still don't love you... I was burning.”

“Fate or not, our lives are still the results of our choices.”

“I have changed over time. That’s what people do.People aren’t stagnant. We evolve in reaction to our pleasures and our pains.”

“We are two people who are madly in love with our old selves. And that is not the same as being in love.”

“It’s a hard business, reconciling what the truth used to be with what the truth is now.”

But she was always the person I loved the most. She was always the person I would choose.

Water is how we keep living. Water is what we need to survive. My family was my water. I picked water. I'll pick water every time. And I wanted Daisy to find her water. Because I couldn't be it

“My heart hurts when you hurt because you are my heart.”

“You don’t need to find the perfect thing all the time. Just find one that works, and go with it.”

“You can only forgive yourself for the mistakes you made in the past once you know you’ll never make them again.”

“I'm not perfect. I'll never be perfect. I don't expect anything to be perfect. But things don't have to be perfect to be strong.

“We loved each other and we lost each other. And now, even though we still love each other, the pieces don’t fit like they used to.”

“What's that saying? Behind every gorgeous woman, there's a man sick of screwing her? Well, it works both ways. No one mentions that part.”

“The Chosen ones never know they are chosen. They think everyone gets a gold carpet rolled out for them.”

“Your whole world can be falling apart, she thought, but then Springsteen will start playing on the radio.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,”

“...if you redeem yourself, then believe in your own redemption.”

“I want to be with someone who lives for me. I want to be with someone who considers me the love of her life. I deserve that.”

“No one goes around throwing caution to the wind unless the wind is blowing their way.”

“You are happier to have known him than you are sad to have lost him.”

“Love is forgiveness and patience and faith and every once in a while, it’s a gut punch.”

“It seems as if you see me exactly as I wish to be seen. There is no greater gift than that.”

“I've seen a lot of marriages where everyone is faithful and no one is happy.”

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt

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dracoxmalereader · 6 months

Text

Draco x Male Reader Headcanons Pt. 2

Summary: This part is all about what it's like to date Slytherin resident barbie princess Draco Malfoy. Fourth to fifth year. Does get a little angsty (?) towards the end, but it ends on a bittersweet note. Nothing that won't be addressed in part 3. <3

Part 1 | Part 3

Word Count: 808

Clinginess times infinity once you two start dating.

He can't publicly parade you around as his boyfriend for obvious reasons, but he certainly does keep you within arms reach as much as possible.

It takes him a while to warm up to affection because he's not used to it,

But once he does warm up to it, he practically hangs off of you like a koala whenever you guys are alone together.

And even when you're not alone, he tries to show subtle forms of affection.

Will nudge your pinkie finger with his if you're standing in the back of a crowd together,

and 'accidentally' touch your forearm whenever he passes you on his way somewhere.

Absolutely loves the appeal of doing something so secretive

He really just likes keeping secrets with you

He gets even more possessive over you, and his teasing gets less mean and more cheesy.

"You wimpy little Hufflepuff" → "Every Slytherin needs his Hufflepuff"

If you're not pureblood, he stops using words like "mudblood" altogether, even when you're not around.

And if anybody comments on how much closer you guys seem?

"What, you jealous? Who doesn't want to be around the Draco Malfoy?"

He is an absolute sweetheart to you no matter what because Narcissa did NOT raise a bad boyfriend.

He goes to her for every piece of advice he could ever need.

She's quite caught up on the mysterious Hufflepuff her son is obsessed with.

If you were an obnoxiously devoted Slytherin fan before? You're completely insufferable now.

You make the members of the team hand-embroidered robes with their numbers on them and put stickers all over Draco's broom that he totally doesn't show off to his teammates at every given opportunity.

Pretends to be embarrassed or grossed out when you do nice stuff like that for him or the team.

Fails at doing so because he's bright red the entire time and starts stumbling over his words.

You go to every game with green and black facepaint on to show your support, and even make an effort to get there early and hang around after to see Draco.

You start getting picked on by both houses because of it,

Slytherins because you're the "soft little Hufflepuff that's obsessed with Malfoy"

Hufflepuffs because you're the "house traitor with Slytherin family"

Hufflepuffs are especially hard on you about Diggory's death in the tournament too.

Even the other houses think you're a little odd for so loudly supporting an 'enemy' team.

When Draco finds out though he's LIVID.

Tells his dad on anyone that talks smack about you when he's around to hear it,

they're all getting an earful from McGonagall by the turn of the week.

He spends a ridiculous amount of his holiday break at your place with your family,

Who absolutely adore him and have accepted him as one of their own after you introduced him as your boyfriend.

There's a toothbrush and comb in your bathroom for him, he's there that often.

His dad gets suspicious, and if you're pureblood he just tells him that you're really good friends.

If you're not, best believe Draco lied and told Lucius you are.

When the school year ends, he makes his mom help him pick out a parting gift for you.

Gets you expensive stationary to write to him with, and stickers like the ones you put all over his broom.

You two almost get yourselves caught because he won't stop trying to sneak in just one more kiss before you guys part.

Over the summer Narcissa absolutely refers to you as "the cute little Hufflepuff that keeps writing to Draco"

His dad doesn't realize that said 'cute little Hufflepuff' is you, probably thinks you're two different people if he remembers you at all.

Narcissa, however, has her suspicions.

Over the course of fifth year you two get in more and more arguments as Umbridge takes over the school.

Draco is too caught up in the power trip being in her good graces he doesn't notice every time you get another scar on your hand from one of her 'detentions'.

You don't hesitate to start ditching quidditch games and practices to bandage younger students' black quill wounds, too.

You figure you'll wait for him to come to his senses but he doesn't,

not until Umbridge is out of power, then he comes crawling back and asking how you two drifted so far apart.

You tell him off for how he'd acted,

He tries to argue with you,

So you tell him to just break up with you if he's not going to at least apologize.

He doesn't break up with you, of course.

He does, at that point, realize he was in the wrong and apologize.

You don't fail to notice how much slower his letters are over the summer, though.

It's like 2pm and I haven't slept, so let me know if there are any spelling/grammar problems I overlooked while I was proofreading.

It's getting so tense now I almost feel bad leaving tumblr stuck here till tomorrow when I can make a cover for part 3 🤭

I wanted to post a little drabble or two also today </3 what a shame. Maybe I'll make a cover for the drabble I have in mind on picsart on my phone but I'm warning anyone who reads that it WON'T be pretty. I cannot for the life of me do anything on mobile. I don't even know why I bother having a phone.

Draco Malfoy the man you are <3

#draco x male reader #draco malfoy x male reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco x reader #harry potter fandom #tagging is hard #lmk if there's any typos #or goofs

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unique-high · 8 months

Text

Sunscreen | Mingi x Blk Fem Reader

a/n: wrote this for myself cause I'm a little sad and in my feelings. I discovered this lovely song on Spotify called sunscreen and fell in love with it. lyrics are worked into the fic. sorry for any mistakes.

With every break-up, it always seemed like it was your fault. Your recent breakup had been no different from the rest. You felt numb when it suddenly ended. You thought of every single thing that could make your ex look like a bad person in your eyes, but he wasn't a bad person at all.

But you needed him to be.

When people ask you why it ended, you'd shrug, saying, "I don't know." because you really didn't know.

One minute he was here talking about marriage and how he would cry when you walked down the aisle. And the next he's storming through your apartment collecting his things, shoving them into his duffle bag, saying how he couldn't do this anymore. All you could do was cry and beg him not to go. He still left.

Now it's 2 am. You're in your bathroom listening to Erykah Badu while drinking warm red wine from a paper cup. You stare at your hair clippers, turning them on and then cutting your hair. It was freeing in a way you always did this after every breakup. Making you feel less light, but that numbness will still linger for about two more weeks, maybe even months.

So you move through your life without ever really thinking of your ex until something suddenly reminds you of him all over again. Like how when you hear his favorite song that you two would sing while drunk late into the night or when you run into some of his friends and you try your hardest not to ask them how he is doing.

These days were always a little harder.

After when you thought it was okay to actually move on, you get dressed up. Put on your favorite red lipstick and your favorite perfume.

The singles mixer was at a karaoke bar. You signed your name getting a sticker that read: ‘Hello, I'm Y/n’.

You smooth the sticker on to your black Chanel blouse while you order a drink. There were some people already up on stage singing some Taylor Swift song that you heard one time at the grocery store. Cruel summer.

Once you had your drink, you sit back watching everyone as they talk. Remember, you came here to have fun, and meet someone new.

From across the room, you see a guy walk in. He's awkwardly smiling, greeting anyone who walks by him. He slaps on his sticker and you squint your eyes in the dimly lit karaoke room to see his name tag. But all you could make out was ‘Min’

He slid down beside you. You pretend not to notice him. He leans towards you spooking you.

“Y/n's a cute name.” He says with a smile.

With the brim of your glass to your lips, you mutter, “Thank you.”

You glanced at his name sticker. ‘Hello, I'm Mingi.’

The host of the mixer came around encouraging those who were just sitting to get up and have fun. Mingi holds a mic for you. You stare at it before shaking your head.

“I can't really sing.” You say.

“Karaoke is not about how good you can sing. It's about having fun. Sing with me, please?”

So you take the mic. Go up on stage with Mingi. The song Mingi picked was The Black Eyed Peas My Humps. Mingi sings and dances on stage. Everyone was cheering him on. He grabs your hand getting you to dance a little. You're hesitant to sing at first but you sing having fun, but when Mingi twerks, you burst into laughter midway through the song.

You just met the guy and you couldn't help but imagine yourself with him. And it felt nice.

I want someone to remind me to wear sunscreen. And take my vitamins when it slips my mind.

You could imagine Mingi peeking his head out of your bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth as he reminds you to not forget to put on sunscreen and to take your vitamins as you're rushing about the kitchen trying to grab your tea mug, keys, and bag so you could head the door.

I want someone who knows how I like my coffee and wants to share a bed from morning to night.

Then you couldn't help but imagine him in your kitchen early in the morning, with messy brown hair and shirtless. He would know how you liked your coffee in the mornings. It would take him a week to get it right and when he does, it's worth seeing your smile and telling him he tastes like heaven. Then Saturdays would be your favorite again. Mingi would want to sleep in with you on his days off. And on the days he comes to your place late after work, sharing your bed at night with you would become his favorite thing.

“I would like to get to know you more,” Mingi says as the two of you walk off the stage. At first, you didn't know what to say, too scared that if Mingi eventually knew the real you, he'll be gone too.

But I'm stubborn. Selfish. Easily Jealous at times.

It's hard being you. Now you start to see why things never worked out with anyone else. You were just being yourself. What's a relationship when you couldn't be your true self? So what if you're stubborn? You've been that way since you were five. Selfish. Because you're the eldest daughter who had to be a parent to your younger siblings when your mother didn't feel like being a mother. Being easily Jealous comes from the time in 11th grade when your ex-best friend was far prettier than you, and got all the boys. These things made you into who you were.

I'm hard to love and I just want someone to try.

Of course, you weren't the easiest person on earth to love. But you think that came from your father. You tried your best to make your love easy, to make it comfortable for others to want to lean into. It was the opposite, though. At the end of the day, all you wanted was someone who would try. That's all you ask for.

You let Mingi in a little that night at the mixer. What could it hurt? The worst that could happen is you're crying into your pillow a couple months from now because he breaks up with you.

Ending up in your bed naked by the end of the night with Mingi wasn't supposed to happen, but it did. You'll regret it in the morning when he sneaks out while you're still asleep. So right now, while he's sleeping, you stare at him, counting how many breaths he takes.

By morning, you're a little groggy. You didn't expect to be pulled into Mingi's naked body. He's still here.

I want someone who knows that I'm not made for mornings and doesn't scold me for smoking when I drink.

Mingi doesn't try to pull you out of bed with the talk of breakfast and getting your day started early. Mornings weren't meant for you. And he somehow knew that. By the afternoon, Mingi is still at your place. He's wearing a pair of your sweat pants that go above his ankles. You make lunch for the two of you. Sometimes you like having a smoke during this time of day with a drink. Mingi isn't bothered by it. He doesn't try to scold you telling you how bad for your health it is. He doesn't know you to tell you what's good or bad for you. You liked that, though.

I want someone who can ground me when I'm too high. Light up the dark side of my head.

There were days when you floated on the surface of your mind, not really here, you functioned like you were on autopilot most days. It's been two weeks now. You knew Mingi's last name and all his favorite things. He spends nights at your place on the weekends. He noticed you weren't being yourself, he'd stroke your back, speaking to you softly. Sometimes being in your head all the time makes you depressed. Because you would find your ex still lingering there. Mingi sits and listens to you talk about your ex.

"I want to hate him, Mingi. But my heart won't let me."

Mingi kissed the top of your head. He understood what you were going through he's been here before too.

"Sometimes it takes a while for our hearts to want to let go. It's normal. You just haven't had the time to grieve for the loss of your relationship with your person."

He knew it was going to take you some time to heal and he was willing to wait to for you.

I want someone to share my coffee and sunscreen. My mornings, my stories and my bed.

Two weeks with Mingi turned into two months. He moved into your apartment. His toothbrush had a permanent spot next to yours. You had someone to share coffee with in the evenings. Sharing your sunscreen with Mingi became a daily thing.

You told Mingi all your stories from like the time you were ten and your pet cat Frankie brought you a dead mice, and how you when turned thirteen and your mom forget your birthday and tried to make it up to you by giving you a hostess chocolate cupcake she got from the gas station.

And lazy Sundays cuddled up with Mingi felt nicer than anything in the world. You liked having someone to share your bed with again. Mingi got comfortable with you in a sense he knew you better than your ex had.

Mingi tried with you.

That's all you ever wanted from someone was to try.

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spaceagebachelormann · 1 year

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im back hehehehehe could i get some headcanons of like. dating mischa. or ricky- either one- i <3 them sm

dating mischa and ricky

pairings: ricky potts x gn reader, mischa bachinski x gn reader

warnings: mentions of the rollercoaster disaster

a/n: i’ll give you both because ily liz <3

masterlist

Ricky Potts

okay so

UHHHH

he’s really sweet!!

100% randomly comes to your house and signs something like “wanna go stargazing”

you WILL say yes.

when you’re stargazing he doesn’t actually look at the other stars, because his star is beside him <3

you best believe his cats love you

they love you more than they love him

sometimes they just walk straight past him to get to you <3

i like to think he has a thing for noses, so when he’s close enough he’ll just lean in and kiss it so gently <33 or poke it

i feel like he gets tired really easily and stays up until like 3am

and because he loves you and he feels comfortable with you he leans his head on your shoulder and falls asleep!!

during the cyclone disaster, my man was holding your hand so hard and trying to keep you (and himself) from falling out of the cart

long story short it didn’t work and you fell together

back to the sweet stuff!!

you know all of the zolar lore and characters and give him stickers for his crutches

between classes he runs (runs??? he gets to you as quickly as he can with his crutches) and hugs you so tight

calls you the most random things ever

turkey-chicken-leg, monkey-love-drop (ofc <3)

im sorry but he would have called you kitten at one point. joke or not he 100% would have once. someone had to say it

i do think he’d call you love though

he loves you!! so much!!

penny aka his bestie has had to listen to him talk about you for hours

he’s very clingy!! constantly touching you in some way or is always near you

lightly hits you with his crutches when you say something outta pocket or questionable

your parent(s) LOVE him

he has that “anything for you love! <3” mentality and your parent(s) can tell this!! they know hed do anything for you and it’s why they love him!!

omg binge watching movies that take place in space with him <3

he gets so absorbed into the plots and points out every little thing

he’s so cute

will CRY (happily ofc) if you learn sign language for him

oh!! you’d also have a way to communicate from across the room if you can’t speak directly

like you’ll be visibly uncomfortable or tense and he’ll give you a concerned look or something to ask if he needs to come over there

i think he would be really protective, glaring at anyone who makes you uncomfortable and sometimes protectively putting a crutch or arm in front of you

incorrect quote!!:

Ricky: you want some leftovers?

Y/N: what are leftovers

Ricky: you’ve never had leftovers?

Y/N: no, im not a quitter

Mischa Bachinski

dear lord

the most overprotective soul ever

has body slammed ocean for looking at you weirdly…

will fight someone for you

just ask

also has that “anything for you love! <3” mentality but it’s more aggressive like “ANYTHING for you, love.”

oh he definitely uses you as an armrest

i like the idea of him and his s/o having a mean/nice dynamic

he’s mean to literally everyone except you

he’s also the type to put things on a shelf you can’t reach just so you have to ask him for help

sometimes he just picks you up in the middle of class and runs away while the teacher is screaming at you guys to come back

only listens to you

ocean: mischa no!! | mischa: mischa yes!! | y/n: mischa no | mischa: mischa no.

writes autotuned songs about you

okay but like imagine being his sweet sunshine s/o and one day someone pisses you off enough that you actually yell at them and he’s standing there with his jaw dropped and eyes widened

whispers over to noel “i love them.”

noel whispers back “i know.”

randomlt shows up at your house

if he can’t get in through the front door he scarily climbs through your window

SLEEPOVERS ARE A MUST!!

secretly the little spoon when you cuddle during sleepovers but don’t tell anyone

smiles into your neck, but pretends he doesn’t even though he knows you can feel it <3

it someone talks smack about you

well….

they mysteriously disappear that night

and when they come back they don’t even look in your direction again

he’s actually very sweet with you!!

holding your hand, cupping your face, whispering sweet little nothings in your ear <3

brings you alcohol on your birthday…

incorrect quote:

Mischa: *kicks the door down looking panicked*

Y/N: what did you do?

Mischa: nobody died

Y/N: WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT???

#mars writing 🧈#ride the cyclone #rtc musical #rtc x reader #rtc #ricky potts #mischa bachinski #x reader

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rancidpancakebatter · 10 months

Text

Another Way to Fly-[P.P.] | Chapter Five

Pairing: TASM!college!Peter Parker x female!college!reader

Summary: You've been dating Harry Osborne for three years. You love him...but maybe not as much as you once did. Maybe not enough.

AU Where Norman isn’t as sick- he’s just an asshole- and Gwen didn't go to Oxford. Harry is functioning as an apprentice at Oscorp (He graduated with a master's in two years because of his studying abroad). You, Peter, and Gwen are all seniors at ESU. Because Peter isn't Spider-Man and Norman isn’t dying, the whole “Goblin” thing is scratched from the record, so Peter and Harry are besties.

Prompt: Based on an ask for my 200 Follower celebration

Word Count: 4.8k

Content Warnings: Swearing, Implications of sex, drinking (of age)

Previous | Chapter List | Next

A/N: I promised @tarzinnia a messy, drunk reader and I feel I delivered

You were pissed. So very, very pissed. While it’s true that irritation is not an unfamiliar feeling to you, honest and true anger didn’t come to you often. Not like this.

About an hour ago, Peter texted the group chat to let everyone know that May had moved the dinner so that everyone could be there. She rearranged her whole evening and future evenings to make this work. And your boyfriend replied, in a matter of seconds, to say he couldn’t come. He had a lot of extra work as future CEO that he had to take care of. Then when he came home, you asked if he could take just one night off.

Of all the responses you expected, shouting wasn’t one of them. Being called insensitive and ungrateful was nowhere on your radar. However, since Harry brought those to the table, you didn’t feel guilty calling him a bad friend and selfish. That prompted him to then comment on how you were shellfish too, and how you had no problem taking his money but gave nothing in return. You had to put down your eyeliner so you could list on your fingers all of the things you do for him: doing the dry cleaning, cooking his food, cleaning his apartment, going to the galas, entertaining his father and playing hostess to any other guests that come by unannounced, etcetera.

That maybe wasn’t the best thing to say- especially when he stormed out of the bathroom where you were getting ready- but you didn’t feel the least bit bad about it. You could hear him slamming cabinets and cursing downstairs and decided that you had no interest in Peter meeting you here and that you would go to him. Paddy encouraged your unplanned departure, agreeing that men can indeed behave like toddlers, and wished you well on your night out.

Peter and Gwen lived in Queens still because Peter didn’t want to move too far from his aunt. Their apartment was nice. Nicer than yours ever was. Even if Harry liked to call it shabby, suggesting instead that everyone hang out at yours. Or his, as he made very clear tonight.

The cab stopped in front of the brick building, and you all but bolted up the stairs, nearly tripping on a step. You opened the panel next to the locked door, your finger trailing down the buttons until you saw the smiley face sticker Peter placed on the buzzer to their door. You hit it a few times before you hear the door unlock.

When you arrive, Gwen is the one to greet you. Her hair is perfectly pulled back by her headband, and her ponytail bobs as she welcomes you in with a hug. She squeezes you tightly, rocking you back and forth in her grasp. Then, as if remembering that you’re still in the doorway, she pulls away, pushing you in the door and ushering you over to the couch.

She settles down next to you, hands tucked between the thighs of her jeans. “So, how’s your week been? Catch me up to today.”

You set down your bag as you settle deeper into the cushions. When you think about it, this week has been a bit of a shit show. There were some bright moments, but not as many as you would like.

To recap: Last Sunday, you were at a fundraiser listening to piggish men comment on your body and your life. Then you went home and slept in your bed. Alone. Then Monday, life was grand until Norman, who is another piggish man. Tuesday was surprisingly uneventful, but then yesterday was very overwhelming. And now today. You spent all day studying and then got unjustly screamed at and insulted by a man who isn’t piggish, but for some reason was behaving in that way.

You sigh, the weight of it just now starting to hit you now that you’ve slowed down. “Eh, there’s not much to report. Just class and chores. What about you? Harry told me about your breakthrough; that’s amazing!”

Gwen ducks her head, always shy to talk about her amazing accomplishments. “Thank you, it was a lot of hard work, but hopefully, one day our discoveries would change the world. I mean, imagine if this discovery leads to the cure for cancer or something!”

You love that she’s always so passionate about her work. She truly loves science. It’s incredible to you that she can be so smart and also so humble. You imagine that’s why Peter and Gwen work so well together. They have so much in common, so much common ground to build on.

“That’d really be something,” you tell her, your exhaustion leaking out.

The conversation lulls, and you take the opportunity to look around. The place is half vacant. Boxes crowd around the walls, and suddenly you remember why. “When do you move again?”

“A few weeks, maybe sooner,” She says, moving non-existent hair out of her face and bouncing her leg. “I dunno, I wanna go sooner- just so I can get settled before classes and starting my new job- but…”

A pang of sadness washes over her features as she tinkers with her cuticles. You don’t say anything; not quite sure if you want to have such a deep conversation right now, but hoping that Gwen would feel safe confiding in you, should she choose to.

“…I’m just worried about Peter.” She eventually says. You place a hand on hers, a silent confirmation that you’re listening and care. “Look, I know he’s a big boy, and he can handle himself. But…can I tell you something?”

You nod your head.

“I think…I think he’s not happy with me.” You look at her with shocked confusion, “I think he wants to be happy with someone else, I mean.”

You open your mouth to reassure her, but she cuts you off before you can start.

“No, I know, he loves me- but there’s been this change. I swear, we’re more like roommates than romantic partners. We kiss and stuff, but it’s just- It’s not the same. And I’m scared that when I move, long distance, across countries isn’t going to be enough. And I’m worried he’ll start to hate me before he ends it.”

The words were spilling from her mouth like vomit. You got the sense that she hadn’t talked to anyone about this, that this fear had just been building and building until the dam wall finally broke.

She looked surprised herself, like she hadn’t expected to say it at all. But now, it was brought into the dim light of her living room, illuminated by a lamp in the corner. You took a deep breath, processing all she had said. You’d be lying if you said the topic of Peter and Gwen splitting up hadn’t been discussed between you and Harry- curious quandaries made behind the fortified walls of his apartment- but you never expected to have the conversation with either of them.

You decided to better phrase the hopes that you had told Harry. You wrapped her hand in yours, so she could feel the sincerity in your words.

“I think you should do what feels right for you. Leave when it’s right for you. You have worked so hard to get to where you are, and you still have so much farther to go. If you and Peter are meant to be, you’ll make it work.”

Gwen’s eyes rimmed with tears, and her smile was shaky, but she pulled you in for a hug- one you hesitate to label as desperate.

“Thank you,” She sniffles, then wipes at her eyes, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so heavy.”

You laugh it off, “What else are friends for?”

She changes the subject, deciding to tell you about all of the wonderful things she did this week. Sometimes you wondered if you had the same twenty-four hours as hers. It was incredible how much could happen in three days.

She makes you some tea, and you get two sips in before Peter walks in the door. “Honey, I’m home!”

He lifts his head and sees you on the couch. You watch him panic as he checks the time on his phone, then relax, then grow confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I got bored studying,” You say, which is only partially a lie, but still a pretty grand omission.

Peter raises his eyebrow at you but says nothing, walking through the living room to greet his girlfriend. You pull out your phone, giving them the illusion of privacy, and pull up the post Peter had shown you earlier. You can’t find when Dog Water is performing, but the where is intriguing to you. It’s a dive bar called Brandy’s Bandies. You scroll through the reviews and see a few things that catch your eye.

There aren’t many, only twenty or so, which tells you it’s a pretty “underground” place- making it a lovely contender for “the bar.”

All the pictures make it look more like a pub than a bar, but there’s a certain grunge that makes the place feel special and inviting to only a few

They have a Thirsty Thursday deal that you don’t fully understand how they make money on, but you aren’t about to try and give them business advice.

“Hey, Peter?”

When he reemerges from the kitchen, you suggest getting food at the bar, instead of making another stop, and also the possibility of leaving sooner since they might be performing as a surprise opener- which means they could play at any time, “and it would be terrible if we missed them.” Peter agrees only when you show him the menu that proves this place has an actual kitchen, not just pretzels and assorted nuts.

When you see the oak entrance and some punk rockers smoking cigs outside, you finally take a breath. Peter opens the heavy wooden door for you, and the place is decently packed. You feel Peter drift closer to you, as if on instinct.

“I’m getting a drink,” you say just over the hubbub of the room.

Peter follows you as you navigate the crowd and find the bar. The bartender takes the card you hand him and smiles brightly when you tell him to keep the tab open. When he returns with your drink, Peter decides to get one too, and you tell the bartender to put it on your tab as well.

It’s not like it’s your money anyway. And if Harry thinks you’re selfish, you will be, for tonight at least. Which is why you haven’t answered any of the numerous texts he sent you. Nor picked up the phone at any one of his calls.

The drink goes down easy, and you feel your nerves start to loosen. It’s not long until you order another one. Peter looks at you with a quizzical brow, but you wave it away, taking the other drink from the barkeep.

It turns out you were wrong; Dog Water was not opening. However, this created an excellent set of circumstances in which everyone rushed to the stage on the other side of the room when the announced bands started playing, leaving plenty of room for you and Peter at the bar. You sat in the high chair, twirling about as you sipped from your straw. Peter’s camera sat untouched on the polished wood as he leaned against the countertop.

“Hey,” You shouted over the music, “You can go. I’ll stay right here.”

Peter made a face that told you he was really against the idea of leaving you alone.

“I’ll be fine!” You reassure. “I promise not to leave this spot unless I have to pee and not to drink anything unless handed to me by this man.” You said, pointing at the bartender.

Peter still doesn’t seem convinced, “I know you wanted to get some cool pictures tonight- go on, I’ll be fine. Just come back to get me when Dog Water’s coming on.”

When Peter returns, you’re pretty drunk. He, of course, doesn’t know this because he couldn’t see all the dirty glasses you racked up behind the bar, nor the shot glasses. You hated that your mind was so polluted, and sought the assistance of liquor to clear it. Your plan was working for the most part. You were bobbing your head along to the music and thoroughly enjoyed most of it: You turned off your phone after Harry called for the sixth time in a row, and you had built a rapport with the bartender, letting him mix an assortment of drinks for you to try, because why not? Currently, you were sipping on a long island iced tea, and it wasn’t half bad.

When you looked out at the crowd, occasionally, you would catch a glimpse of Peter. You see his curly hair jumping around in the group, or his beat-up Converse as he snaked through people to get a different angle. Sometimes you would just see his camera high above everyone’s heads. Sometimes you would lock eyes and you would send him a little wave that he would return.

He grabbed your arm and helped you off the stool, then used himself as a battling ram to get to the front of the stage. It seems Peter had made some friends too, most people just let you by, no problem.

Your shoes were sticking to the floor, spilt drinks now known to the steel-toed boots you wore. The air was thick with sweat and the rambunctious screams of the concertgoers. The crowd had thinned quite a bit once the headliners got off stage, but now that meant you were surrounded by true “dog-heads.” That’s not really what their fans are called, but you and Peter thought it was funny.

When they came on, nothing else mattered. Not your horrendous week. Not your terrible fight. Not Gwen’s confession. Just your favourite band in all of New York, and your best friend at your side to enjoy it with you. You were sure to lose your voice by the end of this, screaming along to every word they sang as Peter did the same. Their set didn’t last more than forty-five minutes, but they promised to perform here again because “we love this crowd!” You felt a bit of inflated pride knowing that you, as a crowd member, made this an enjoyable experience for them.

But maybe you were right to think so because they signed their set list for you, and Peter got a pick. They rushed off stage, and soon everyone flooded out of the building. You and Peter meandered back to the bar, taking a seat where you had before. You both started rambling about how awesome they were and the new song they played tonight. Your mind was sufficiently blown, and Peter was grinning from ear to ear. The bartender slid him a drink, one you told him you thought Peter would like. But before he could take a sip, you asked for a shot of something strong and expensive.

“Can you make his a double? He needs to catch up.”

The man laughed before passing a tall shot glass of amber liquid to Peter. He sniffed it and winced, which you scolded him for, “You know smelling it only makes it taste worse!”

Peter rolled his shoulders back, clinked his glass to yours, then shuddered as the liquid went down his throat. You, on the other hand, took it like a champ, wiping away some drops that escaped to your lips with your tongue.

“Peter,” you declare, “we don’t have class tomorrow, and I think you should get really drunk with me tonight.”

He thought about your proposal for a moment, then agreed, asking for another shot.

About an hour later, you were both pretty shit-faced. Peter was a lightweight, so it never took much, and you had a head start. Now you were loosey-goosey in body and mind. But you had forgotten the carnal rule of recreational substance use: It makes your feelings bigger. This isn’t a problem when you're celebrating because you’re excited, so drinking just makes you more excited. But when you’re hurt and maybe more than a little insecure about your relationship, it makes you say stupid things from your unfiltered thoughts.

You were sipping on some beers now, watching the little drops of water race towards the counter as they dripped down the bottle. You were thinking about Harry. You were thinking about if he was still mad or not, and if you had a place to sleep tonight. You thought about what kind of messages you would see if you turned on your phone. Would they be apologetic? Or would it be the end? Had you finally pushed him to his limit? Then Gwen filled your mind.

I think he’s not happy with me.

Peter seemed happy to you. They seemed happy together. The way he dotes on Gwen and cares for her is something out of a romance novel. They always smile when together.

I think he wants to be happy with someone else.

The thought is wild to you. You’ve only known Peter and Gwen as extensions of each other. They were a pair, inseparable. Like kittens who bond at the shelter. They can’t be separated because a part of them lives with the other. It was always Gwen and Peter.

“Are you happy?”

The words shock Peter. As did your oddly solemn tone. “Yeah, I’m happy. Are you?”

You shake your head, “I don’t want to talk about me.”

Peter turns now to face you, giving you his full attention. Even if you didn’t want to talk about it, he was there, present and ready to listen to whatever you said.

“Why are you happy?” You asked.

Peter thought about his answer, taking a sip of his beer to contemplate.

“Well, life is pretty good. I have great friends and good grades. My job is okay for now, and my solo career is finally starting to take off, so I might be able to quit The Bugle soon.”

You lean your head against your hand, ignoring the discomfort in your elbow as you rested most of your drunken weight onto it.

“What about Gwen?”

Peter looked at you confused, taking another swig, “What about Gwen?”

You sigh, fingers spinning the bottle in front of you. “Does Gwen make you happy?”

Peter’s looking at you, but you don’t recognise the face he’s making. It’s hard to tell if it’s pity, concern, or anger. But you know there aren’t any of the good expressions on his face, so it must be a bad one.

“Of course she does.”

He says it so simply. Like he doesn’t have to think about the answer. Does Gwen make him happy? Of course.

You wonder how Harry would answer. You’re not sure, and the thought makes you a little queasy. It finally dawns on you why Gwen’s words were haunting you. You felt the same way.

Was Harry better off without you?

You’re not sure you want Peter to answer that, so you ask a different question. “Do you ever think you’d be happier with someone else?”

Peter’s face changes again, and you can’t read it either. You think there may be a sadness in his eyes. Or maybe you’re projecting.

He takes a long sip from his beer, then looks at you. When his eyes meet yours, you feel full. Like he was pouring into your cup, and it was overflowing. His eyes looked like gooey chocolate, and you wondered if that was because the man in front of you was so sweet himself.

“I try not to think about it.” He held your gaze, and you felt like he was looking for something in yours. You hoped he found whatever it was he was searching for.

You hummed, taking a sip from your drink. You realised you were sad and wanted Peter to hold you, but that felt wrong for some reason. Usually, you wouldn’t think twice about it. You would flop your head on his shoulder and let him sling an arm around you. You would wrap yourself in his arms and let his hug slowly put you back together again. But something in your mind was telling you the comfort you sought from your friend wasn’t appropriate. Though you refused to dive deeper into the thought, afraid of what you might find. You distracted yourself instead by trying to memorise the bottles the bar had on display.

“Hey,” Peter said, bumping your shoulder with his, “what’s with all the questions?”

You sighed, tracing circles in the puddle of condensation on the counter, “Just…thinking.”

“That’s dangerous,” he joked, “What about?”

Peter had moved closer to you. He was now leaning in, his ear brushing against your shoulder. Your heart leaps when you notice.

“Life, I guess…” You meant to end it there, but when you talk to Peter, you never want to stop. You want to tell him everything. “...and Harry.”

Peter gives a hum similar to the one you let out before. When he looks at you, you feel like glass. He can see everything you think and feel. You’re sure he can read your thoughts and understands them on a deeper level than even you. If his gaze pierces you any deeper: you may shatter.

“What…what about life?” His drunken lips struggled, but the heart was there.

“Like, I don’t know if I’m doing it right. I had all these dreams and stuff, and I’m not even sure if I’m chasing them anymore.” It was impossible to keep your mouth closed. “And I feel like so much of my life has been devoted to Harry, and I love him. I love him so much. But I’m lonely. And I don’t even think he likes me anymore. Or if I really even like him, and I-”

“Whoah, whoah, woah,” Peter drunkenly cuts you off.

The weight of your drunken rambling finally hits you when your lips stop moving, and you think you’d rather drown yourself in the cup in front of you than face your friend after what you’ve said. Then you remember that he’s Harry’s friend, and you feel even worse.

“Your life is so cool,” he tries to reassure.

When you don’t brighten up, he slings an arm around you, and you collapse onto his shoulder. Your stomach turns when you realise this is more comforting than anything Harry could have done for you. Even on the best of terms, his touch- his hold- never warmed you like Peter’s did.

“Soon, you’re gonna graduate. Then you wanna get your master's, and I’ll do that too! I got approved for the scholarships I needed to pull it off, so you won’t be in it alone. You’ll never be alone. Okay?"

You wrapped your arms around him, embracing the hug, swallowing down the guilt, and indulging.

“As for the Harry stuff,” At the mention of your boyfriend’s name, you bristle. Neither of you comment on it. “It all comes down to one question: Are you happy?”

That was a terrifying thought. A thought made more terrifying than your drunken state. You shot out of Peter’s arms, too distracted to notice the shock and confusion on his face. Probably because that was supposed to be an easy question. Like with Gwen.

Does Gwen make him happy? Of course.

Does Harry make you happy? ….Maybe.

You hated that answer.

….Maybe.

It makes you happy when he’s happy to see you. It makes you happy when he compliments your cooking, or your outfit, or your hair. It makes you happy when he makes you feel special. But more so, you just like feeling that way.

It doesn’t make you happy when he ignores you. It doesn’t make you happy when he blows up on you. It doesn’t make you happy when he disregards the things in your life as “less important” and then makes you go to fuckin’ galas and fundraisers and ribbon-cutting ceremonies (though that was only once and not completely unbearable). It didn’t make you happy that he dressed you like a doll. It didn’t make you happy that you were always so self-conscious around him. It didn’t make you happy that the only sweet touches you got were to instigate some sort of sexual favour.

Not like with Peter and Gwen. Peter touches her face, just because he wants to. He kisses her head and her cheek and her hand and her temple and her forehead and…and the crown of her head.

And Peter’s done that to you too. And when he did you felt more butterflies in your stomach then than you had in the last three years. And you wanted that again. The butterflies, the comfort, the love.

Except Peter didn’t love you. He loved Gwen. And you were his friend.

And that made you unhappy too. But that was harder to admit.

“Look,” Peter tried cautiously, “It’s okay if you’re not. I mean, I love the guy, but he can be an ass sometimes.”

An ass, yeah. He could be an ass. But you could deal with an ass. You couldn’t deal with losing all of your friends and changing your whole way of life just because he could sometimes be an ass.

“I’m happy!” You shout out. Peter’s eyes widen like saucers at your sudden outburst, and the few patrons (and the bartender) also look up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. But I am. Happy. I’m happy. With Harry.”

You wished that had come out a little more convincing. But instead of dwelling on it, you take another sip of your drink, wanting to fill your mouth before anything else spewed out.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- look it’s none of my business.” Peter offers you a kind smile, and you break a little.

“No, it’s- you’re fine. Honest.” You quickly reassure. “You’re just lookin’ out for me.”

He still seems a little worried, so you tilt your bottle towards him and gently tap the necks together. Peter smiles softly, and you take a sip together, then reached for your phone for the first time tonight. As soon as the device woke up, it started pinging aggressively, each missed notification making itself known. Almost as if your phone was mad at you for ignoring it. But it wasn’t. Harry was.

Peter wanted to ask desperately why you had turned it off at all. And if he had to guess, it was Harry blowing up your phone, but he was just as curious about that as he was about the other thing.

The last message to roll in simply said: I’m sorry.

You think about responding, or if you even should. You would have to read through all of them. That sorry could have been for his behaviour, but it could also be a, “I don’t love you anymore, get out, I’m sorry.”

You weren’t ready yet.

You set down your phone again, your mind too preoccupied with sudden revelations to handle Harry as well.

“Do you ever-”

You close your eyes, embarrassed by how you acted and even more so for all the things you’ve already said. But now your lips won’t stop. You wish they would fall off instead. But Peter is looking at you like you are the most wonderful thing in the world; like every word you share is a gift. It makes you wanna cry.

“It’s possible, isn't it? It’s possible that you could meet somebody who's perfect for you, even though you're committed to somebody else.”

You wish you could squash the hope you’re sure in your eyes. You wish you could silence the fluttering in your heart. You wish your brain would stop chanting, yes, yes it is.

Peter seems upset by your question. His eyes dart around the features of your face, his smile turning more and more into a neutral expression. You were watching him slowly cut himself off from you, and it hurt like nothing else ever has.

“No,” He said firmly, looking away from you. “No, see, I think if you're committed to somebody, you don't allow yourself to find perfection in someone else.”

His words stung, but not as much as the hollow look in his eyes after he said it, a possible look of disgust on his face that he chased away with a swig of beer. You think it could be because he can see the guilt on you. The way you shirk away. Or a judgmental one. Knowing exactly why you asked and thinks you’re disgusting for it.

It never crossed your mind that the look was one of shame. Knowing that his words were true, and that he was terrible for it. For looking at you. For wanting you, when he had Gwen. Who was great and wonderful, but not you.

Tag List: @actuallypeterparker, @athenxt, @andrews-lovr, @barbecuetiddy, @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @preciousbabypeter, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @supernerdycookietrashblrr, @tayswiftlovebot, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz

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lumine-no-hikari · 26 days

Text

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #131

I tried to have a normal day today. And this time, it worked out quite nicely.

I brewed a nice tea today. This time, I combined my vanilla-rose black tea with the strawberry rooibos; of all the teas I have, I think you'd like these two the best. This one starts out a shade of amber:

...You will also see Mogwai on the windowsill, being very cute, as Mogwai is wont to do.

I'm really glad that I was able to figure out how to photograph the subtle swirling in the water as the tea brews; I think it's a really neat effect, and I'm glad that it's one that I get to witness as a result of the glass mug:

Once it brews for a while, both kinds of tea end up resolving into a shade of red:

...And you'll see that by this time, Hoshi has taken Mogwai's place on the windowsill, as Hoshi is wont to do. It's nice outside, so the windows are open today.

From here, we add the honey and cream; the swirls made by the cream were particularly mesmerizing today, and I'm glad I was able to snap a good picture of it for you this time:

...If nothing else, I really wish I could share this part of my day with you. I think you'd like it a lot if you could be here.

Once that was done, J and I took a short walk around where I live. I tried to take a few good pictures for you; it's not much - just some flowers and some ferns in various stages of sprouting, but I hope you'll like these:

After this, J and I watched some Zeta Project together, and that was very nice. And then shortly after that, I went to meet with a friend and her little son at the local nature discovery center. I haven't really had an excuse to go there in a while, so I took some more pictures, just in case there might have been anything you might like...

This is a tree that they just... have. The whole thing and its whole root system is visible for all to see; one of these pictures has a tiny chipmunk statue, if you look hard enough:

I also met two turtles. This one is a common musk turtle; it's very excited about something:

...This one is a painted turtle. This one was perhaps slightly more chill:

...I also found an adorable book full of owl stickers:

...I love owls (especially barn owls!) a lot, but I did not get them. I did not get them, because I cannot be trusted with stickers. Even if I were to put them somewhere, the fact remains that I'm dyspraxic; I WILL put it on wrong, and I will be instantly filled with regret as a result, and then I will try to fix it, and end up destroying the sticker in the process (it's really very sad). And that's even if I make it far enough to the point where I can decide conclusively what I wanna put it on.

Hey, Sephiroth? Do you like stickers? Have you ever had stickers? If you had stickers, what would you get stickers of? And where would you put them? I wonder.

I did, however, get a cardinal plush that I found in the gift shop, in honor of our recently-passed feathered friend, as written about in yesterday's letter. If you squeeze this plush, it makes cardinal sounds:

...Maybe, at least in spirit, the one that died in my hands can live at my house if he wants to, where he can sing to his heart's content without worrying about his safety. My house is a good house; I hope he'd be able to feel the love and joy that permeates this space.

Finally, after that, J and I went to the local food co-op in order to hang with Br. There's a lounge space there and tasty food; so Br was over there doing her homework. It was pretty neat to hang out! J got some kind of hibiscus drink that smelled kind of like cinnamon. For whatever reason, hibiscus and cinnamon are, so far, my least favorite food smells. I don't know why. I know I should like them. I wish I did like them. Alas.

So of course, this meant I had to try it. I'm a little weird like that; sometimes I'll try things that I know I won't like, just for the sake of having the experience, especially if it's a thing that most people enjoy. Or sometimes I'll try things I know I hate, just because I know that my tastes do occasionally change. J felt it necessary to record the whole thing, and it was pretty funny. So here, maybe this will make you laugh:

Oh right. From the co-op, I got all the ingredients I need to make an epic breakfast, and a bunch of other tasty treats, too. I didn't take pictures of it though, because I wanted to leave it as a surprise and make it for you tomorrow! So look forward to it, okay?

...The last bunch of days have been really weird. So today I tried to have a normal day, and I succeeded.

This is all I have for today. It's nothing inspiring or insightful or profound, and... I think I'm pretty relieved about that, actually.

I love you. I'll write all about a good breakfast tomorrow, so please stay safe so you can read about it, okay?

Your friend, Lumine

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aphroditesswan · 9 months

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New request if that's okay with u :)

Can I request a fem!reader or gn!reader where they are insecure abt there face since they get random pimple, so they cover there face with a face mask.

Fandom: assassination classroom

Character: Nagisa

Platonic or romantic is fine either way!!

Have a nice day/night

ignore him

nagisa shiota x fem reader

warning: insecurities, karma akabane. need i say more.

summary : you wake up with a nasty pimple on you one day and decide to wear a mask to school until it clears up or you’re able to pop the nasty thing.

genre : fluff

notes : can u tell that i HATEEEE acne. bane of my existence i swear. this can be seen as platonic or romantic!! no mention of crushes or an established relationship, just nagisa being his sweet self.

requested : yes!! thank you omg ur like my favorite requester EVERRR i love ur brain

waking up with acne was the WORST. the most dreadful thing that’s ever happened to you.

okay, maybe not but it’s still terrible.

you had school today, it was only tuesday so you’d have to sit the entire week with a big gross zit on your face.

you searched frantically for something, anything to cover the stupid thing up. you were ever so conveniently out of the cute heart and star shaped acne stickers that could at least pass off as an accessory and no make up could cover this up.

finally you found a face mask, and while it wasn’t the most flattering thing right now, it would have to work.

you put it on, rushing out the door since you know the walk up the mountain would be dreadful.

once you finally got to the top, catching your breathe, kayano called out to you as she started to speed walk up to you.

“hey! you’ve never looked so tired while walking up here, whats-… what are you wearing.”

she looked at you with a blank expression, staring at the black doctors mask that covered your face.

“what do you mean?” you asked, playing it cool. or dumb.

“you’re joking right?? you’re way too pretty to be wearing that thing, take it off!”

she reached out to your face, you promptly backing up. nagisa and karma were strolling in only a couple steps behind kayano, both also taking note of the mask on your face. karma could care less, nagisa was just confused.

“why are you even wearing that thing??” “no reason!”

“what are you hiding under there!!”

kayano asked, and suddenly karma was interested.

“oh so you got something to hide? c’mon, take the mask off.”

he smirked, a rather scary expression as he reached out to you and again, you backed away.

“what the- stop that, you look like a predator!”

“like,, an animal?” nagisa asked, sincerely hoping you did not just say karma looked like a pedophile.

“no.” “sigh.”

nagisa just shook his head at your comments, plus the usual bickering between you and karma since he was an ass and you liked to give him the occasional taste of his own medicine.

you went through the day with minimal teasing, ready to go home and spend almost all night getting rid of this pimple. as soon as the bell rang, you sprang up, you would’ve been out the door if it wasn’t for korosensei grabbing you with one of his tentacles, holding you back while he finished his statement. you pulled out the anti korosensei knife, going to hit him but he shook you around, knocking the knife out of your hand.

“patience is a virtue, children! it seems that’s something we’ll have to work on, ms.[last name].”

you rolled your eyes, korosensei putting you down once everyone began to actually leave.

you hurried down the mountain, eager to get home when nagisa stopped you, holding onto your shoulder to bring your steps to a halt. it freaked you out a bit how he was able to get there without you even hearing him.

“slow down! are you okay? you wore that mask all day.”

he asked, frowning in concern. you sighed, crossing your arms under your chest.

“i have a pimple that’s it, i just really wanna get home and take care of it.”

you spoke, nagisa nodding in understanding.

“here… you just leave it alone when you get home and i’ll be there in a bit! i’ve got something for you, don’t worry.”

he smiled at you and it was his turn to rush off, leaving you a bit confused.

you finally got home, changing and showering as quickly as you could but oddly enough listening to nagisa when he told you to leave it alone. after a bit, there was a soft knock at your front door. you answered of course after confirming through the peephole that it was nagisa and he bowed before entering. he had changed out of his school uniform but it looked as if he hadn’t done much other than that. he had a small bag with him but it looked pretty full.

“i hope you didn’t wait too long, i did tell you i’d bring something though. here, give me a sec!”

he took his shoes off, looking around a bit before taking your hand and dragging you to your bathroom and to the mirror.

he placed the bag on the counter, reaching into it to pull out the craziest variety of skin care products, along with what looked like a list.

“here we gooo… this is a kind of… instruction manual. it just tells you how to layer your products and stuff.”

“oh wow… how do you know all this?”

“uh, my mom mainly. but uhm, why do you think my skins so clear all the time? i know most guys don’t do this, but me and isogai have gotten karma and maehara in on it so far! don’t tell anyone, but it’s really the secret to how isogai gets all those compliments.”

nagisa continued to speak as you watched in astonishment, seeing him take out container after container along with a serum or two.

“don’t worry, i’ll show you everything this time around.”

he smiled at you, washing his hands and drying them before he touched the products and your face at that. he motioned for you to sit up on the counter, and of course you did. he seemed to be oddly good at this, not that you were complaining. it was nice to have someone who could teach you this stuff and hopefully you wouldn’t have to worry about a pimple for a long time.

#assassination classroom x reader #nagisa shiota #nagisa x reader #nagisa shiota x reader #assassination classroom #ansatsu kyoushitsu #nagisa fluff #nagisa shiota fluff #assassination classroom fluff #assclass fluff #nagisa shiota headcanons #nagisa headcanons #assassination classroom drabbles #assclass drabbles #nagisa drabbles #nagisa shiota drabbles #assclass headcanons #assassination classroom headcanons

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