#starry night diner

[m0usekat]

all of the fab killjoys collect rocks (and other shiny things) but jet and poison do it competitively. they go out of their way to get the coolest rock and make ghoul and kobra vote on it 

#they have a corner dedicated to rocks at the diner #the transam has so many rocks in between the seats and in the doors and the glovebox and on the floors and- #hcs #party speaks #jet star #party poison #the kobra kid #kobra kid #fun ghoul #ttlotfk #starry night #supernova #ghoulish #snake eyes

[hedgehog-moss]

The great thing about having no internet for a couple of weeks is, you get so much stuff done. I've made great strides in my fight against invasive plants in the pasture!

^ This large rock used to be lost in a sea of broom, you couldn't even see it.

It's a lot more fastidious now that I'm uprooting plants one by one with the root slayer instead of clearing the whole area with a brushcutter, but hopefully they'll no longer be able to sneakily bide their time underground and then grow back even stronger from their intact root system.

I took some in-progress pictures—don't these invasive plants look like a retreating army?

We've had a tiny bit of April snow—I don't know if I can call it that, the air just felt icy and wet and tangible, if I opened my mouth I could feel snowflakes fly into it but nothing was actually falling on the ground. It felt like being repeatedly enveloped then dismissed by clouds that had made plans to drop their snowflakes elsewhere.

But every time I saw Pandolf he looked like a starry night, so there really were snowflakes in the air!

It felt very satisfying to come home with my face and hands all numb and warm up by stuffing entire wheelbarrows' worth of broom into the wood oven then throwing a match. Ever since I've learnt that this plant attracts ticks, burning it has felt like defeating two enemies at once. I listen to the lovely little crackling sounds of a broomfire and picture hundreds of ticks popping like popcorn.

My animals didn't enjoy being stuck inside snow clouds all day—I saw the llamas use their shelter for once, and Pandolf politely asked to come in and sit by the fire instead of staying out to collect more snowflakes in his fur, so I think they were all already in spring mode in their minds.

Merricat also (less politely) asked for shelter, but Merricat treats every instance of wet weather like a national scandal that I personally failed to prevent.

Even the hens wanted to come sit by the fire, and when I said no (you are hens), one of them ignored me and walked in, resolutely, clucking for the younger hen to follow her, like "let me teach you how it's done".

You know when you want to eat a crêpe in a crêpe restaurant in Paris and the waiter looks baffled that you envisage to buy food in his food establishment and he says no that won't possible, and you're like these people over there are having coffee they're almost done we'll just wait inside for their table!, and (with mounting horror) he says no no no if you really insist on giving us your money then you must wait in the street for the privilege, and watch the diners through the window like little orphans, and then your more assertive, confident friend militantly walks in anyway, encouraging you like, come on he's not gonna call the police, we're about to pay 12€ for 1 crêpe I think we can wait inside thank you very much—because a dismissive aristocratic aplomb is the only attitude that'll get you a table in a crêperie in Montparnasse sometimes? It was pretty much this dynamic. Between me and my hens.

#crawling along #my internet came back this afternoon! i had lost all hope #the icy snow clouds solidified the little particles of internet in the air (i think)

[some-bunniii]

Lucifer meeting an artist reader

・❥ The King of Hell admires your paintings

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

x: reader is g/n :) no use of pronouns or y/n

warnings: some raunchy details of your painting & mild swearing

When you arrived in Hell, the first thing you did was scream.

Where were you? Why was it so hot? What happened to your bed?!

“You’re in Hell, kid.” A blue bat-faced man had broke the news, as you stood helpless and confused on the street.

Hell? Like, demons and dark satanic magic kind of Hell?

That couldn’t be right. Were you that bad of a person to deserve such a fate? Did the few times you passed the Salvation Army donation bucket without dropping a coin damn you to this place?

Your death was fuzzy, a trail of shattered memories that could only give you bits and pieces of your final days. Did you go quickly in your sleep? Maybe, you hit your head so hard it caused you some kind of post-death amnesia?

Whatever had happened, you were here now with no way out.

During your first few days scouring for answers, you began to notice that Hell had an eerie similarity to life above ground. There were clubs, casinos, concerts. Heck, even TV! Sure, the things broadcasted were dark and sometimes disgusting.. but at least you had something to watch.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all? At least, compared to being thrown into dark, fiery pits for all of eternity like some cruel game of sink or swim.

Minus the people, of course. Most of them were pretty bad. Your first day watching a man get shot in the chest and lines of cocaine across tables in a diner made you decide to stay away from the streets of the city.

Which meant you had to get busy making a life for yourself. It started with working odd jobs as a bartender or a bell-hopper. You’d scrap together enough money to head to the nearest art supply store, and fill your bag with paints and charcoal pencils.

“You an artist or something?” The clerk had asked you as she scanned your items, taking note of your vast amount of diverse tools you were slowly collecting every time you stopped by.

“I usually paint, but yes, I used to do all kinds of mediums professionally when I was.. alive,” You had whispered that last part out with a pang of sadness, the reality of your situation still a fresh wound in your mind.

You had found an ad for an art studio, ran by a demon named Alexandre. You had showed him a few of your pieces, some pretty landscapes, a rendition of the Starry Night Sky which you had replaced the backdrop to be Pentagram city instead of whatever little village it was originally, and a self portrait.

“You got talent, i’ll give you that,” He had hummed, as his eyes scanned your paintings with intrigue, “But the subject? Not really what we’re looking for.”

“What do you mean?” You had asked, confusion evident in your voice.

“We’re in Hell, demons ain’t into pretty ponies and happy, little trees. They want more— eh how do i put this — sinful behavior?”

“Like…?”

“Like tits or anything that can be turned into a kink. They like blood and guts, and dead people splayed around. Dead angels too. Stuff like that.”

Tits? Dead people? You didn’t have much practice with that! At least not enough to make a career out of it.

But you had agreed anyway, this was your only shot. You stayed up late into the night, sometimes even into the early mornings, perfecting your skill when it came to much more risqué visuals. You would buy stacks of pornograohic magazines, flipping through for poses to memorize.

Slowly, you began to master the craft, and your time at the studio increased as you finally settled into life in Hell.

All you had to do was churn out painting after pastel after acrylic in the little cramped room you now called home. Alexandre would then take your pieces and sell them to the highest bidder. You’d get a percentage of the commission, using the money for whatever necessary.

Seeing as you could be mugged at literally any point in time, or anywhere for that matter, you made sure to keep a large sum of cash locked away in a double-bolted safe.

“You know Ozzie’s, that club down in the Lust Ring?” Alexandre had approached you one day, excitement in his eyes.

You shook your head as you sat behind the easel, your brush an inch from the canvas.

“Run by Asmodeus, one of the literal seven deadly sins?”

You shook your head once more.

“Fuck, you still have a lot to learn. Well, he really likes your art. He wants to buy a bunch of paintings for his club, and he’ll drop a shit ton of cash too. Ya think you can handle it?”

Your eyes had widened when he told you the exact price this sin guy was willing to pay. You had jumped from your seat, shaking his hand in profuse thanks, before scurrying off to gather more supplies.

And for a time, that’s how it went. You’d sell your steamiest paintings to Asmodeus, and other private commissions you took one after the other.

Apparently, your painting hung up in Ozzie’s was getting a lot of attention. Especially from a certain spider demon named Angel Dust.

After hearing Charlie’s decision to look for another member of their staff— someone who’d be in charge of decorating the premise with promises of love and tranquility up in Heaven— Angel Dust had taken a few snaps of your work with his phone, before showing it to Vaggie and Charlie. He had complimented your work, claiming it was ‘the best’ oil paintings he’d ever seen.

Although, in his line of work, he probably hadn’t seen many to compare yours so.

“ls this what we want in our hotel?" Vaggie had asked, motioning to a woman on the canvas that was drenched in sweat and white fluid, her private parts exposed to the audience as she posed suggestively on a stripper pole.

To which Charlie has responded, "I think it's... unique! You can definitely see she knows how to, um, really bring the scene to life! l'm sure she'll be open to creating our vision!"

Your phone had rung one night, with a voice on the other end begging you to come to her hotel and at least hear her offer for a new job.

Which lead you to the Hazbin Hotel, a slightly run down building that obviously needed more work. Inside and out.

“Oh my gosh! Hi there! My name is Charlie, and this is my hotel! it’s such a pleasure to meet you!”

“Thanks.. but I don’t see many guests around.” You had told her, your eyes darting around the lobby as you absorbed your surroundings.

“Well, we’re still trying to get our name out there. We’re not just any hotel, we’re a hotel set on redeeming sinners!” She exclaimed with pride.

“Redeem?” You had asked her, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

She shook her head vigorously, “This hotel.. it’s going to be amazing! We’re going to turn Sinners into well.. non-sinners! They’ll be rehabilitated, and have morals! And honor! Heaven won’t be able to do anything but welcome them as angels!”

This idea had sounded a little far-fetched when you first heard it.

“You’ll be in charge of making art that reflects such views! Something that will make Sinners go, ‘Wow! Now that’s where I want to go!’”

“What’s in it for me?” You had asked.

“Well you’ll have your own room, and your own little studio too! I’m sure it’s much bigger than the one you already have. Plus we have a bar, and good company!”

You turned your head to the small crowd of demons a few feet away. A pornstar, a gambler, a snake guy with weird little walking eggs, and a really creepy man in a red coat that shot you a wide smile with eyes that seemed to stare right through your soul.

This was good company?

You contemplated her words, thinking deeply. Did you really need to leave the studio you were already a part of? You already had a room and place to paint, anyway.

Charlie must have noticed your hesitation to accept before quickly adding,

“Anddd you can sell your pieces here too! Plus, you can keep a hundred percent of the earnings.”

You perked up at that, the money made from your art would be... all yours? And, you’d get a breather from the drawing people having sex? That didn’t sound so bad after all!

“Deal!” You had reached out a hand, shaking hers with delight.

It had taken you a day or two to map out the interior of the hotel and figure out what could go where. You began to slowly brainstorm, what could make a sinner stare at a canvas and want to redeem themselves?

During your time on earth, you studied many artists through history. Most notably however, were those from the Renaissance. You remembered walking through the Sistine Chapel when you were younger,

staring at awe of the paintings of winged angels and heavenly skies.

You perked at that thought. That was it! The inspiration for your paintings, an ethereal perspective on what one would find in heaven. The feelings of bliss and care-free joy.

You spent your first few days in an undisturbed area of the hotel, it was a large room on the farthest side of the lobby. It must’ve been a guest room at one point, but other than a bed and few cushions that the ‘Radio Demon’ had placed for you, it was empty.

It was quiet enough that you could sit there, undisturbed, as you drew upon your memories and vast knowledge of histories in art as you slowly began to bring your ideas to life. Slowly, the room also took form into being yours, personal knick-knacks and stacks upon stacks of blank canvases waiting to bring your visions to life.

At the end of every day, you'd come out with your hands covered in charcoal and paint, your hard work on full display.

You had even grown closer to the other residents in the hotel, beginning to see them as more than their initial appearance. Even Alastor, who still kind of gave you the creeps, you had regarded as someone you could speak to without hesitation.

You’d sit on the couches with Angel Dust, drowning in popcorn as you watched whatever was on TV for the night. Sometimes, you’d sit with Husk at the bar as you listened to his stories from his days at the casino and as an Overlord.

It was there, when Charlie had summoned the courage to call her father, Lucifer, the King of Hell, to come visit the hotel and decide on getting her that meeting with the higher powers in Heaven.

Upon hearing about Lucifer's impending visit, you felta mixture of nerves and excitement. You've heardstories about him-his charisma, his power--but you never expected to meet him, let alone showcase your art to him. Would he even like them? He's no doubt seen much more beautiful sights.

As preparations for Lucifer's visit got more chaotic by the minute, you found yourself back in your Atelier, quickly cleaning up your room and berating yourself for any little mistakes you found in your paintings. Each stroke of the brush carried with it a sense of urgency, a desire to impress not just your friends at the hotel, but also the King of Hell himself.

The current piece you were working on was your most intense one yet. It depicted that of an almost nude man, flying high in the skies. His back was faced towards you, his face hidden from view. He was faced towards the sun, which bathed him in a warm glow. Arms outstretched, knees curled in, it seemed as if the angel was going to give the sun a large bear-hug.

It wasn’t until you heard loud commotion in the lobby did you realize Lucifer had arrived. Quickly dropping the brush you were holding, you sneaked down the stairs and quickly neared the archway of the lobby.

Peaking your head out, you canned the large room. Until your eyes locked in a pale figure. Lucifer.

He was beautiful, definitely held the looks of an angel that fell from heaven. His light blonde hair curled elegantly around his face. The candles from the chandelier above basked him in an ethereal glow, as though he could replace the sun itself. Just like the angel from your painting.

His eyes reminded you mostly of a snake. Calculating and cold, but holding so much wisdom and depth. There was a slight sadness there as well, as though itate at him slowly, consuming his soul. It was masked incredibly well though, and you only caught a glimpse before it disappeared.

His attitude toward his daughter made your heartmelt, it was obvious he cared about her in the way heacted and spoke to Charlie, even if his absence didn't speak so fondly of him.

As Lucifer and Alastor butted heads, you quickly scurried back to your room. You had hoped to finish your work-in-progress by the time he arrived, but the struggle to get those damn angel wings to be anatomically correct was a pain.

You hurriedly continued your work, trying to calm your nerves by busying yourself with the painting in front of you.

Charlie's voice broke you out of your concentration soon after, multiple footsteps closing in on where your room lay. You shot up from your seat, and stood up straight, ready to meet the man of the hour.

You couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation mixed with apprehension as they approached your make-shift gallery.

Charlie, Vaggie, and— wow, he looked so much better up close— Lucifer stepped through the doorway.

“Dad, this is the newest addition to our staff! They are in charge of helping to inspire our future guests through the power of art!" Charlie proclaimed with glee, pulling you by the arm towards her father.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, your majesty. I apologize for being so messy, I was just finishing up another painting." You had greeted him softly.

"Don't worry, you look great," He assured, a gleam in his eyes, "and the pleasure is all mine, anyone who is willing to help my little girl is someone worth meeting,"

You stood there for a moment. Unsure of where to go next, before you felt a slight nudge from Charlie that pulled you back to reality, "Why don't we take a look at your paintings? I promise you, Dad, they are amazing!" She squealed softly.

Beckoning Lucifer forward, you took him through each painting. You described your feelings for each piece, and what made you choose them for the hotel.

You rambled on and on, and Lucifer never said anything, he just listened as you spoke.

Which made you nervous, what was he thinking? Did he like them, or was he just waiting for you to stop talking so he could quickly escape to something of more interest to him? The thought made sweat dribble down your forehead.

To your surprise, Lucifer's reaction to your art was not what you expected. Instead of dismissing it as mere frivolity, he studied each piece with genuine interest, his expression thoughtful and contemplative.

He mostly stayed quiet, but once in awhile would throw in a joke here and there if he noticed anything of interest in the paintings.

His goofy nature that you caught onto watching him earlier was barely evident though, unlike when he was trying to impress his daughter.

After finishing the small tour, you turned to him in anticipation. Your hands nervously rubbing together, as you shot a glance to Charlie, and she gave you an uncertain look. You both held the same question in your gaze: What is he thinking?

"These paintings.." Lucifer began, his voice low and melodic, "Are different than most i've seen down here, not just some scandalous display, but with real meaning. They evoke emotions long buried, memories of a time before.. all this."

His words caught you off guard, and you found yourself nodding in agreement, unable to tear your gaze away from his intense eyes.

The one he was staring at in particular was a recreation of The Garden of Eden by Jan Breghal, a painting that depicted the place where humanity was birthed, and where it fell.

“Does it look like.. how you remembered?" You had asked slowly, if anyone could validate the truth in your work, it would be him.

"Actually, this is much prettier. The real deal doesn't do your painting justice," He replied, "It was so boring, just green on green."

Also," He added, "An unfortunate lack of ducks. Humanity should be grateful that I got them out of that forest, so they could see something actually worthwhile.. and with ducks."

You giggled softly at his words, have you ever met someone that seemed to love ducks as much as him?

As Lucifer continued to explore the room, you couldn’t help but notice the way he lingered on certain paintings, his fingers tracing the delicate lines with reverence. It was as if he saw something in your art that no one else did, something profound and personal.

Perhaps your choice of baby-faced angels, and ethereal landscapes brought back memories of his time in Heaven. Hopefully, that wasn't a bad thing.

When Lucifer finally turned to you, his gaze softened, a hint of something unreadable lurking beneath the surface. "You have a rare gift," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "To create beauty in a place like this... it's truly remarkable."

He looked at you for a moment, before a smile crept onto his lips. He was Lucifer, he knew exactly what you meant. It's what drove him to manipulate Eve to eat from the Tree of Life in the first place.

Was he finally getting a glimpse of the good free will brought to humanity? Was there actually meaning in his past actions that sent him to the depths of Hell?

His gaze narrowed in on the canvas behind you, and he slipped past you. "What is this?" He asked with intrigue, pointing towards your unfinished painting.

“My final piece. I've been working on it for days, but I just can't get the wings right.. believe it or not, i've never actually seen angel wings in person." You said that last bit as a joke.

His smile sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. For the King of Hell, it was surprisingly warm, and kind.

Then an idea struck you, but you tried to desperately to push it down. Except it seemed like the only time you could ask someone with angel wings to let you use them as a reference. How many fallen angels were in Hell, anyway?

"I'm so sorry if this is out of line, but. could I, um, borrow you for a little bit? I've just been having trouble drawing the wings correctly and you, well, have them?”

His eyes widened, and his chest puffed slightly at your question. He shot you a toothy grin, “Paint me? Why didn't you mention that earlier?! I have the perfect figure for such a thing.”

Behind him, Charlie rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile on her lips. You smiled too, you should've known he'd have no problem with it, he was the embodiment of pride after all.

He plopped down on a stool before you, and removed his overcoat. Beneath what seemed to be a red and white gatsby vest that hugged his frame perfectly. Jeez, he was almost too good looking.

He stretched out his large wings, folding the otherfour behind him, only revealing the two much largerones. They were breathtaking, truly. They looked so fluffy too!

You guided him on the exact position you needed them to be in, before making your way to the canvas and getting to work.

Assuring the group you only needed to get a visual on the canvas, the actual work you would do on your own. Slowly, you traced the frame of his wings, etching out the soft lines of his feathers and the curvatures of its form.

You could only imagine how soft those feathers were and what it would be like to curl around them like a pillo-

You shook your head to rid those thoughts. Why were you thinking such things about Lucifer like that? It's not like he would even want to let you go anywhere near him or his wings.

Would he?

You continued your painting, trying not to meet his gaze as you would occasionally peak your head from behind the large canvas to get another good look at his wings.

There was a moment when you two did lock eyes, and he sent a half-lidded smirk in your direction. Thankfully the large object between you two helped hide your growing blush. He was obviously just trying to get you worked up, you assured yourself. Just like he did with Alastor. In a different way, of course.

"This reminds me of when Charlie was younger" Lucifer began, filling the silence, "We sat for a good few hours trying to get a family portrait painted and she would just not sit still!”

“Dad.. please, not right now." Charlie growled out in embarrassment, her cheeks flushed. Vaggie only smiled beside her, listening intently as Lucifer filled everyone in on her younger years.

“lt got to the point where I had to summon her favorite toy to get her to stop squirming, everything was smooth sailing after that.

"And what was her favorite toy?" You inquired softly behind the canvas

“A rubber duck! Like the ones you play with in the bath? She could not get enough of it whenever it squeaked. One time the squeaker broke, and I went to my workshop and crafted her a magical one that meowed instead! Haha!"

Okay, this family really has a thing for ducks!

“She hated it, but that only inspired me to keep making more. Sometimes, we'd sit together on the work bench, and I would just come up with ideas like confetti-spitting, or color changing ducks. She wasn't too good at speaking at that time, so every time she'd laugh that was my clue that she liked it!"

It was sweet, the way he rambled about his daughter. He never spoke of himself or his accomplishments, despite embodying the sin of pride. It was almost like his only pride was his best creation, Charlie.

He continued, the room full of jokes and laughter, even from Vaggie, regarding Charlie's life as a youngling. You listened intently to his stories, his voice dripping with amusement as he recounted story after story.

lt was so sappy and you loved it. Which made you grumble quietly to yourself, why did you have to have a thing for DILFS?! Concentrate on the painting!

After a moment, Lucifer's eyes turned back to the paintings around him, his gaze scanning each painting once more. "I've noticed that you seem to have a repetition in your work.. not that that's a bad thing!" He quickly corrected.

“But in all of your paintings featuring angels, there's always a swan swimming or resting nearby. Do they hold any significance, or are they just a passion for you?"

You looked up from the canvas, and also traced the angelic figures across the room. He was right, with the images of the divine beings also came the appearance of the large, white water fowl. Lying lazily beside the angels, or swimming across pools of water as the care-free beings danced and frolicked.

You contemplated for a moment, before speaking truthfully.

“I just think Swans are elegant and ethereal creatures. They embody the purest of souls, untouched by the taint of sin that consumes the world, just like how their feathers remain untouched from the waters they glide on"

Lucifer's eyes lit up slightly, drinking up your words.

“Plus," You continue, "they mate for life, and allow themselves to just.. decay once their significant other departs from the world. It's very romantic, and love is one of the purest emotions in the world."

Lucifer wasn't looking at you when your eyes met his again, his stare was far off. Past the room entirely, as your words echoed through him. There it was again, the glimpse of sadness that he tried to hide so painfully well.

“Does such love like that exist?," he murmured so softly you had to strain your ears.

There was a few moments of deathly silence before Charlie piped up, asking her father something about heaven. You tried to listen, but your mind was stuck on his words. Lucifer was in heaven once, and he still didn't fully believe in such things?

If there weren't others in the room, perhaps you would’ve asked him.

It took a few more minutes before you were able to wrap up fully, but you had no regrets of asking this man for help, the angel on the canvas actually looked like he had wings, not just stumps of white tuft.

You got up from your seat and walked towards him, noticing that Charlie and her girlfriend were not present anymore. It was just you and Lucifer in theroom now.

“Well, thank you, Your Majesty. You really helped me out here, and it'll go a long way to make the hotel look even better"

“Please, call me Lucifer. The formalities are only for subjects, not friends," he replied, "l did really enjoy getting to see your paintings, you are quite a phenomenal artist. I wasn't lying when I said your work was different from the rest. If only you were around for those family portraits."

You were so taken aback by his praise that you only shrugged it off, like it was no big deal. Even though, coming from the King of Hell, it was.

Glancing behind him, you saw Charlie and Vaggie whispering to each other in the hallway outside of the door. You assumed they probably wanted to finish up so they could get him to agree to the meeting with Heaven.

lgnoring his previous statement of formalities— he was the king, you thought, you weren't going to just pat him on the back and say 'see ya! —you lowered your head and bent down to curtsy, just like you were taught when you were younger, placing your hand slightly in front of you.

Usually, you'd use that hand to shake or grasp the other person's, but it felt wrong to treat this powerful angel like any other man.

Suddenly, you felt the soft touch of fingers gliding across your hand. In confusion, you looked up at those golden eyes and that charming smile. Trying to get a glimpse of what he was thinking.

His hand gripped yours gently, and with a bow of his own, lowered his lips, and pressed a soft kiss your knuckles.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you feared to blink, soaking in his beauty for as long as you could before he had the chance to pull away. You wanted to say something, but your tongue was refusing to work as your mouth opened and closed silently.

When he finally released your hand, he adjusted his hat and turned towards the door. Leaving you standing there, your face burning hot

He cleared his throat, and turned his head slightly, his eye catching yours. A playful smile dancing on his lips.

“l look forward to our next portrait together, hopefully where I am the motivation behind your strokes. Not just these dull wings."

And with his words hanging in the air, you were left alone, with the growing itch to press your face into a pillow and squeal.

——————

awww man, my first fic! I was trying to make this more dating-centric, but i couldn’t stop writing for their first meeting and it got too long haha! If y’all like this one enough, i’ll make a dating version!

let me know what you think 🙏 i reallyyyy appreciate all comments and criticisms!!

wonderful art i commissioned by DawnDrawnS on twitter! <3

#Hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hellverse #OOC Lucifer? #He just ain’t as goofy #But I HC he’s only like that around Charlie :) #fanfiction #writing

[lovebugism]

hi hi hi!! I love you work so much! I was wondering if I could request "secretly holding hands while standing beside each other at a bonfire" with eddie?? 🤍🤍

i had an idea and ran with it so it's a wee bit different from the original prompt, but i hope you like it! — you and eddie try to keep your relationship a secret at the senior class bonfire (secret relationship, cheerleader!reader fluff, 1.5k)

fictober leftovers (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Wearing your cheer uniform to the Hawkins High bonfire was a bad idea. Not ditching it to hang out with Eddie was worse.

You’re left constantly looking over your shoulder for him, eager to break away from the mindless conversations and find meaning in the autumn in the boy everyone called a freak. 

You think you’re being subtle about it until Tina Burton cuts herself off mid-sentence to ask, “What are you looking for?” She sounds annoyed with you, borderline offended ‘cause you aren’t hanging on every word she says.

She’s captain of the cheer squad, so you fluster like you’re being genuinely scolded. “Hm? Oh— nothing. It’s… It’s nothing,” you stammer and look down at your feet, toeing at the tall grass with your white sneakers.

She squints past you, unconvinced. “Okay…”

When she starts rambling again, you try hard to pay attention. None of the words make any sense, though. Your brain noise is too loud. It’s all just Eddie Eddie Eddie.

When a muffled heavy metal bass starts to blare in the distance, it feels almost like you’ve willed him.

This time when you glance over your shoulder, you see Eddie’s van swing haphazardly into a gravel parking spot. The music comes to a sudden halt when your boy hops out of the driver’s seat, bathed golden from the amber streetlights.

You’re grinning wide the second you see him, smiling harder than anyone ever has before. He catches you all but sparkling at the sight of him, and when he flashes you a crooked grin, you have to look away before you burst entirely.

Chrissy sees your smiling cheeks and the way you hold the expression between your teeth. She nudges you and teases, “What’s that look for, huh?”

You don’t have the words to answer her, so you just shake your head and try to hide the brightness of your beaming.

You glance back again, still trying to be lowkey about the whole thing, and find the rest of Eddie’s friends filing out of the back of his old van. He’s still looking at you, with a smile as wild as his frizzy curls.

He nods over to the empty woods in a silent plea to get you alone.

With a fluttering heart, you nod back at him. 

“I’m gonna, uh— I’m gonna get some more cocoa,” you announce suddenly, cutting Tina off mid-sentence and scurrying off before anyone can stop you.

You make sure no one’s looking when you duck past the drink table and head towards the blackened woods. You’re not as scared as you probably should be when you step through the tree line. You figure there’s not much of a reason to be — not when you know Eddie’s out here waiting for you, anyway.

The boy grabs you suddenly from behind. You squeal into the starry night, giggling while he laughs into your shoulder.

“Took you long enough,” you scold, shoving him with a playful hand when you turn around to face him. “I’ve been waiting on you for forever.”

Eddie shrugs with a lopsided grin. “I’m a rockstar, babe. I’m fashionably late— it’s my thing.”

“Right,” you monotone with the roll of your eyes.

You look too pretty not to kiss. Eddie leans down for a swift peck, then grows quickly drunk on the hot cocoa-peppermint chapstick mixture in your mouth. He ducks down again, this time for something more languid.

His plush mouth presses and lingers against yours, innocuous still. He tastes like nicotine and diner food. If domesticity had a taste, you think it’d taste just like this.

Eddie parts from you with a drunken hesitance, wearing your blush pink lipstick on his swollen mouth. Something primal swells in the pit of your stomach. It feels almost like you own him. 

His chocolate eyes squint at your mischievous grin. “…What?”

“You have my lipstick all over your mouth.”

It makes him smile, too. He feels more like he’s yours now that he’s got evidence of you. He’d wear you all over if he could. He doesn’t ever want to wipe it off.

“Metal,” he mumbles all boyish, with your rosy lipstick smeared along his mouth.

His crooked grin ebbs when he notices you shivering. His bushy brows pinch in concern. 

“You cold?”

You shrug and cross your arms over your chest, hugging yourself for warmth. “Yeah. I’m used to it, though. Normally, I’d wear tights under my skirt, but I figured I’d get too hot during the bonfire…”

You trail off when Eddie starts to shrug off his leather jacket.

“No, Eds.”

“What?”

“You’ll be cold!”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you’ll get sick,” you whine as his arms wrap around you to put the black cloth over your shoulders. It almost fully conceals your green and white cheer uniform.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Eddie chuckles. “Here, put your arms in.”

You listen but complain the entire time. “You’ll get sick, and you won’t be able to play at your shows, and the bar will be so boring without you.”

Eddie scoffs. If Corroded Coffin couldn’t play their Tuesday night shows, it would just be another Tuesday night at the Hideout. Nothing would change except their seven-to-nine slot being empty. He loves that you think so highly of him, though.

“Well, the only other option is you getting sick and Hawkins losing their best cheerleader. And what would Jason Carver do without you cheering on his mediocrity, huh?”

You roll your eyes with a grumbled “Shut up…”

He smiles again and leans in with the intention to kiss you stupid.  A tree limb cracks sharply in the distance before he can. The two of you stumble back from each other on instinct.

Jason Carver appears from the darkened woods, scarier than any psycho-killing maniac that could be roaming these woods at this very moment.

“Speak of the devil, and the devil appears,” Eddie lilts under his breath.

“Jason,” you sigh, breathless for a reason you can’t name. “What are you… What are you doing here?”

“Tina said she saw you walking into the woods… I wanted to make sure you were alright,” the blonde boy answers with a squint to his stone-blue eyes. His gaze darts between you and Eddie, like he’s trying to make sense of the two of you.

The wild-haired boy scoffs and rolls his eyes. How fucking chivalrous, he thinks bitterly to himself.

“Is this freak bothering you?” Jason asks you, a sense of protectiveness coating his words.

He says it like you’re not wearing Eddie’s jacket. Like Eddie’s not wearing your pink lipstick on his mouth.

Still, you smile kindly and shake your head. “Nope. I’m okay.”

“Yeah,” the brunette boy shrugs with a crooked grin. “We’re just talkin’, Carver.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, freak,” Jason bites back.

“We’re fine,” you intervene, voice wavering in fear of the situation becoming bigger than you can handle. “I’ll be back in a flash. I promise.”

Jason’s eyes narrow one last time at Eddie before he ultimately decides to leave.

You let out a shaking sigh when he’s gone.

Eddie laughs. “What a fucking idiot…”

Jason’s got so much muscle in his arms that there’s nothing left for his brain. He still thinks he’s hot shit — star quarterback, free ride to a fancy school — why should the prettiest cheerleader in school be off limits? He still thinks he has a shot with you, no idea that you’re already Eddie’s.

“We should go back out there,” you announce when it gets too quiet. “If Tina’s talking, she’s already gonna give me shit for disappearing.”

“Do you wanna go first, or should I?” Eddie asks. It’s muscle memory at this point. The scheming, the hiding — it’s all the two of you have ever known.

Still, you shift your weight on your feet. Your hands wring together as you draw mindless shapes in the dirt with your sneakers. “I don’t know…” you murmur with a shrug. “We could go together, maybe?”

“Together?”

“Yeah. I mean, we don’t have to, but it beats Jason always intervening when we’re together ‘cause he thinks you’re kidnapping me or something.” 

The laugh you let out is halfway forced. You find yourself so suddenly fearful of rejection. Maybe Eddie doesn’t want to be public with you. Maybe he’s hiding because he doesn’t want people to know he likes you.

The boy melts. His features soften as he nears you, wide palms rubbing at your arms in a feeble attempt to keep you warm. “Are you sure you wanna do that, babe?” he wonders with a trembling laugh. “If people know about us— it’ll, like, fuckin’ destroy your rep.”

“I don’t have a rep.”

Eddie’s brows raise. His dark eyes sparkle expectantly.

You’re on your way to being prom queen — with Jason fucking Carver right beside you as king. Everyone knows it. And you know it, too, so you concede with a sigh.

“Well, I care more about you than some stupid reputation, okay? I deserve to spend time with my boyfriend without having to worry about what everyone else is thinking.”

Eddie grins. His heart swells with so much warmth he’s slightly fearful it might burst. He’s never felt prouder of you — prouder to love you. Despite feeling distantly undeserving of your adoration, he nods in response.

“Alright, then… Let’s go break some fucking necks.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #st drabbles #eddie munson drabble #event: fictober!

[andkisses]

♡ a good way | beomgyu ♡

despite the director casting you and beomgyu, your best friend, as the romantic leads, you both promise it won’t change anything between you

♡ beomgyu x gn!reader | wc. 9.1k ♡ genres/tropes: college!au, friends-to-loves, theater!au, hurt/comfort ♡ mentions of/warnings: injuries, lmk if there's anything else ♡ a/n: this is a rewrite of a fic i wrote and posted YEARS ago; unfortunately it was eaten up when i accidentally deleted my blog :’) it was originally for joshua from svt; i changed some of the times in the fic from the original, so if it’s a little wonky that’s why :’) pls enjoy ! <3 at the time it was my longest fic, now only second to roman holiday ^^ a/n 2: apologies for my absences ! i had some health issues even tho it was supposed to be my break :') im doing well now ^^

♡ masterlist ♡

It was strange. Weird. Practically unfathomable and there must be some kind of mistake. The play had those two characters as romantic leads. The ones who slowly turn to look at each other, catch the starry glint in the other’s eye before slowly leaning in, before slowly closing their eyes, before slowly feeling their heartbeat accelerate because oh heavens this is it—before slowly kissing each other for the first time with such tender passion some members of the audience start to cry.

Those roles were not ever meant for the ones who have been friends since seventh grade, where one of them accidentally tripped and tossed their lunch all over the other, rendering the former an apologetic mess and the latter slightly smelling of garlic for the rest of the day. Not for the ones who stayed up far too late binge watching whole seasons of anime because they finally turned in that big project and it’s in fate’s hands now. Definitely not friends who are each other’s best friends, always. Never them.

But when the director swings back to the two of you, the mischievous and excited glint in his eye is unmistakable. His giddiness even bubbles over and he repeats himself, happily gazing between you and the best friend of 8 years standing beside you. “Beomgyu, Y/N, you will be the best two leads this stage has ever seen.”

You don’t want to talk about it. You avoid it for as long as possible. Have every conversation about everything else possible except the one topic that actually needs discussion. The trees outside are slowly losing their crunchy leaves, littering the ground with crimson and gold and sprigs of chocolate in between. They rustle and fuss when walked over, and shuffle down the street in a hoard of warning, proclaiming threats of the bitter winds of winter that would soon approach and engulf everyone whole.

Some mornings, you can see remnants of late-night frost on window panes, icy designs laced over the glass in the early morning hours. The grass glistens and shimmers with frozen dew, and the sidewalk is slippery enough to encourage walking slowly or bypassing concrete altogether and walking through the dead leaves. Some nights, you can see your breath curl as you wait outside the diner, a translucent white beast disappearing into the night. As night draws darker earlier, the air grows colder, like a mysterious ghost. One moment, you’re warm—the next, a bitter chill sprints around you, immersing everything in a coldness that drills past your layers and settles into your bones.

But you’d wait a thousand years in the cold just to walk him home. You’d wait forever if it meant seeing him one last time before the day ended and blurred into the next through a series of dreams and quiet darkness.

Beomgyu is one of the last few people out of the diner; he never closes, but he stays as long as he can, helping out and cleaning before his boss gets angry and tells him to “go home! Don’t you have homework?” When he steps out onto the street, making sure to close the door behind him, he’s safely bundled up in a black pea coat and a plaid woolen scarf that, when wound up, nearly encompasses his neck, chin, and even the bottom tips of his ears. When he sees you waiting for him again, he smiles, eyes lighting up like firecrackers and his grin is so warm it starts to defrost your bones, slowly but surely.

“You know you don’t have to wait for me?” he says, falling in step with you as the two of you began the chilled trek back to your apartment.

“Yeah,” you shrug, “but then who will make sure you don’t get lost on your way back? Or, I don’t know, get eaten by a star-monster?”

“A star-monster?” He quirks his head towards you, raising his eyebrow in mild but amused confusion.

You nod your head. “What if the stars gang up on you and snatch you right off the face of the earth and you disappear into the sky? And no one knows or can save you because I wasn’t there? Hm?”

A bitter chuckle escapes his lips. The white curl of his breath fills the air in front of him before it fades, taking the bright look in his eyes with it. “Then I guess I wouldn’t have to be a part of the musical, would I?”

Silence washes over you like a breaking wave—it hurts and stings, knocking everything away and tossing the tiny ships around into chaos. The only sound now is the brush of the wind skirting the leaves down the street with you and the distant city noise. The heels of your shoes hit the pavement in time together, and your breaths slowly start to match up. But something’s off; you feel it in your heart and your bones begin to ache again as the cold ice returns once more, spreading their chilled fingers across them.

Somehow, you find your voice, but it’s quiet and small. “It couldn’t be that bad, could it?”

Beomgyu shrugs, looking anywhere but you. He throws his head back and stares up at the night sky, where the stars kindly twinkle back at him, almost as a promise of we’d never steal you away. You look up, too, but all you see is a menacing darkness that you’re not sure you can get rid of. It feels like it’s bearing down on you, pressing down on your head, your shoulders, and your heart. With it comes a dark doubt, one that oozes into the cracks of your armor and makes you start to question things. It beckons out the dangerous thoughts—the what ifs—and coaxes them into the light and forces you to acknowledge them. What if... this changes things. What if... it ruins things. What if...

“Y/N?”

Your gaze drops back down. Beomgyu stands a few yards ahead of you, in the light of one of the yellow streetlamps. You must have stopped while lost in thought, slowing down until you ended up stuck in between two lamps, in the shadowy part. “Hm?”

He shakes his head. “You just stopped walking.” He turns toward you completely and quickens his pace until he’s beside you again. The look on his face screams of concern, of wondering if his best friend is fine or if it’s something he can’t fix. He reaches out to take your hand in his. “Is everything okay?”

Your heart swells, but it still feels as if it will break, shatter, crumble at any time or place. It feels like porcelain, that if it isn’t handled with care and marked FRAGILE, it will ruin to the point that nothing can fix it. You know what question you have to ask; it’s weighing down on your tongue and you’ll have to force it out.

You gulp, and you can feel your hand shaking in his. Beomgyu’s eyebrows knit together, his starry eyes trying to search for what’s wrong. For what is in need of helping. You stare back at him, garnering the courage to ask the question that’s been plaguing you since roles had been assigned. “The show–it won’t change anything between us, will it?”

And then, he does something unthinkable.

He laughs.

Beomgyu lets go of your hand and bends over in half, practically cackling at the idea, whisker dimples on full display. When he stands back up again, he’s still laughing hard enough he crinkles into your frame, resting a hand on your shoulder and burying his head into your neck, an arm resting across his stomach. His body shakes with laughter, and it’s infectious. A grin slowly spreads across your face, and then a giggle works its way out until the two of you are both laughing like fools. You may be between two lampposts in the shadows, but there’s light where you are.

When the laughter finally subsides to gentle smiles, Beomgyu takes your hand again and tugs you close. He starts walking again, pulling you along, swinging your arms between the two of you. He knocks into your shoulder jokingly, and the both of you smile harder.  “Of course not,” Beomgyu says. His smile is pure, assuring. The hand in yours is warm, stable. “Nothing will ever change us.”

Seventh Grade.

The auditorium was full of anxious students, the buzz of noise telling the story of those who were waiting for their turn to shine on stage. The lights were turned on as bright as they would be for a performance, and the stage was decorated with real props from last semester’s performance, a steampunk rendition of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. No one thought the director could pull it off, but when the curtains closed for the last time that first showing, everyone was left starstruck and a new round of students was inspired to try out for the next performance.

A loud clap from the director thundered through the auditorium, signaling for attention and shocking you into your seat a little further. The red fabric bristled against whatever skin your sweater didn’t cover. Outside, the harsh winter weather pummeled the barren landscape, the dead, empty tree branches getting whipped by the bitter, unforgiving wind. The light dusting of snow made everything brighter, almost to the point it hurt to look out the windows at the white world. Inside, however, was full of warm tones and warm breaths. The heat of the auditorium practically had you sweltering, making you wish you had worn layers instead of a bright green sweater. The threads around the collar began to itch at your neck, and you tugged at the hem in search of relief. You really wanted to be here. You really wanted to audition. But the number of people and how long you’ve waited has started to play mind games with you. What if they don’t get to you today? What if they skip over you entirely for someone else? Someone with more theater experience from prior years than you, a complete newbie? What if—

“Hey, uh, is this seat taken?”

You looked up, still fiddling with your itchy collar. It was the boy from the day before—Beomgyu. The one who had accidentally tripped over someone else’s backpack and thrown his lunch all over you. He looked like a complete wreck, one hand holding onto the wrist of the other arm, his dark brown hair falling into his eyes as he struggled to even look in your direction. You shelf your own nerves and offer up a kind smile and pat the seat, which he hastily filled.

It’s quiet between the two of you for a while afterward. On stage, more students rotated through songs and performances, some spectacular and others a little lackluster. It was beginning to become monotonous, and your mind started to wonder if you had gotten here earlier, would you have already auditioned by now? But then something happened. A student walked on stage, introduced themselves politely, and then began to blow everyone and every other performance out of the water. The way they moved, spoke, sang—everything they did was captivating and you felt yourself leaning forward in your seat, drawing ever nearer to the practically perfect audition. There was no music playing in the background, but their vocals and stage presence was more than enough. The entire auditorium erupted in applause when the student on stage finished.

“Wow,” you breathed out. You’d practically fallen out of the chair—feet standing on tiptoes, elbows on knees, chin rested in your cupped hands with a shimmer in your eyes. That. You wanted to be like that. Bewitching, enchanting, and utterly spellbinding.

“I know right?” the boy whispered beside you. The two of you turned to look at each other, and somehow, in the back of your mind, you registered he was sitting the same way you were, looking completely and utterly enraptured with the previous performance. He stared into your eyes—the first time, you noted—and you could see the stars, like a secret milky way full of wonder. There was a serious note in them. “Let’s both do our best so when we grow up, we can be that good.”

“No.” You shook your head, and Beomgyu’s face collapsed into confusion. You shook your head again, this time with a mischievous grin spreading across your lips. “No, when we grow up, we’ll be way better.”

A murmur ripples around campus. Sophomore year of college, and all of high school behind you. You’d think you would be used to it by now, the way quiet words spread around so sneakily but somehow always managed to make their way to your ears, too. But when the girls in the bathroom see you and slyly turn away, whispering how you and Beomgyu have the romantic leads, how of course they do, you can’t help but feel the knot in your stomach form and twist your insides until you feel pressure on your heart as well. Until it feels like you’re about to burst and spill everywhere. You want to spin at them, throw your hands out, and tell them how it’s not like that! That there’s nothing between the two of you except for friendship, the purest of kinds! Stop thinking that way!

But the wiser part of you, the one that’s been through high school, knows that they would just nod their head and try to hide their smirk. You can’t change their minds; they’ll always be thinking and imagining what they want.

Outside, the halls teem with people trying to get to their next class or break. You debate on stopping by your locker near the theater—you won’t need your books again until you go home thanks to rehearsal, but it would be out of your way to get there, on the opposite side of the arts block. But your books are heavy. Really heavy. Like shoulder-breaking, premature back pain-inducing heavy. You find that your feet have started to take you through the crowds to your locker before your mind decides on the plan itself.

In middle school, your and Beomgyu’s lockers were practically as far as they could be from one another. Yours by the gymnasium and near the arts building and the theater. With your mismatched class schedules, you only got to see each other at lunch and for theater. As your friendship grew, he would let you borrow locker space. It got to the point where you basically co-owned each other’s lockers; everything for classes on his side of the building was in his locker and everything for classes on your side was in yours.

By the time high school rolled around two grades later, the two of you were inseparable. As were your lockers. His at one end of the hall, yours at the other end on the opposite side. This only caused trouble junior year, when the two of you had such a bad falling out you could hardly bare to walk past one another’s locker let alone the other person. You would end up taking roundabout ways to your own locker, which worked until you ended up running into him one day without warning.

But you don’t have that problem now. As you walk past Beomgyu, who’s standing by his locker talking to another theater kid, you lightly slug his shoulder. You turn to walk backward and catch his reaction, and he’s staring back at you with fake confusion and his arms thrown up in the air. “You’ll pay for that!” he calls after you.

“Yeah, yeah, sure I will!”

You reach your locker, a happy smile on your face, glad your best friend is the kind of person you can beat up on. You spin the lock with precision, ready to open the door, slam your books inside on the shelf, and hurry to the theater for rehearsals. You can’t wait to see what strange exercises the director would have up his sleeve today; last time, he had everyone stand on the steps in the audience and each time they recited a line correctly, they got to move up two steps. First to the top wins; you and Beomgyu tied for first.

When you pull out the lock and swing the door open, what you see ruins your mood instantly. The crisp, white, inch-thick script stares back at you with quiet remorse. Remember me? it seems to say. Don’t forget about me. You’re almost afraid to touch it, knowing exactly what it holds in its pages even without having read a single line. If your fingers were to graze it, it’s as if an electric shock would shoot out and stop your heart from ever beating again. A tiny part of you wonders if, if your heart really did stop beating, would Beomgyu come to your side and rescue you?

Or would it be like the other night, with a sharp, bitter laugh and a mild happiness over a forgotten kiss.

You’re jostled out of your stupor by a neat punch to your arm, and you fall back into your locker with a metallic clang. When your vision focuses back on the real world, you see Beomgyu walking away from you towards the theater with a confident smirk on his face. He throws out his hands, his smile growing even wider. “I told you, you’d pay for that!”

You’re smiling too, now, and you hurry and grab the script and race after him.

It will all be okay. The two of you had already talked about it, how nothing could change between you two. Regardless of what the girls in the bathroom would dare to say in front of you. Regardless of what anyone else on campus or your major are thinking. Regardless of the script that burns slightly in your grasp, the crisp paper threatening to cut tiny slices into your delicate skin. You and Beomgyu—inseparable best friends for the rest of time.

It would always be that way. No play, no roles, no romantic leads, would get in the way of that. You’d promised each other you’d be each other’s best friend, always.

Freshman year.

Sunlight streaming through the loosely drawn curtains was what woke you, lit patterns playing across your face. Your back ached from sleeping on a couch at a crooked angle for who knows how long. You stretched and tried to pull at your sore joints, attempting to return them to pre-crooked status. The room was still dark; the lamps were all off and the only other source of light was the television, where Netflix was playing some random anime you don’t remember ever selecting or talking about. Vague memories float up to the surface slowly as you finished waking up: you and Beomgyu had turned in a big semester final project that neither of you had thought would be finished on time but somehow managed to pull off. Deciding to get take out and stay up as long as possible watching as many seasons of anime as you could fit in and—

“Boo!”

Your scream echoed through the small dorm and you pulled at the blanket on top of you, trying to hide behind the soft, comforting quilt. On the other side of the couch was Beomgyu, laughing so hard he nearly rolled off onto the shag carpet rug. You half thought about being kind, and warning him to be careful because if he fell he could hit his head on the coffee table, but the other half said he scared you and deserved whatever happened next.

“How could you be so mean!” you whined, reaching behind you to grab a pillow to throw at your best friend’s face. “How long had you been planning something like that?”

Beomgyu paused his laughter to think. “Probably since I woke up about ten minutes ago. It would have been more elaborate, but then you woke up and I ran out of time.”

“You’ll pay for that, you know,” you muttered, drawing the blankets closer against your chest, where inside your heart still beating faster than usual.

“Even after helping you with that project and pay for dinner? On a college budget?” He paused for another moment, resting his chin between his thumb and the rest of his fingers. “Wait, pay for dinner... seems like I’ve already paid for it, Y/N.”

“Beomgyu!” You lunged forward, diving towards his end of the couch. Instead of a successful attack, you landed squarely in his arms, where he proceeded to tug you tightly against his chest. Escape, you soon realized, was futile. You’d have to talk your way out of this one. “Beomgyu, let me go. Now!"

“You know, you sure are whiney when you wake up,” he commented, rustling the hair atop your head. Your heart was still beating quickly and you were convinced the flush of your cheeks was due to large bouts of boiling hot rage streaming through your veins. “And why should I?”

“I would be in a nicer mood if you hadn’t scared me!” You tried to wriggle your arms up and pry your way out, but his grip was solid still, strong and warm. Since when was he ever this strong? His cheeks, you noticed, were warm and rosy as well, but that was from laughing too hard, you were sure. Why else would they be flushed?

“You may have a point…”

“Of course, I have a point! Now let me go!”

Mischief swam around with the stars in your best friend’s eyes. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, planning something you could only hope wasn’t entirely embarrassing. One eyelid dropped shut, and the smirk on his lips was unmistakable. “I will, but only if you pay for breakfast. From somewhere nice,” he rushes to add. “Student union doesn’t count.”

You released a terse sigh, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Fine! Deal! Now, release me!”

His arms slid away and you rolled over onto the floor, gently landing between the couch and the coffee table. The carpet was rough against your bare arms, but you were glad to be freed from Beomgyu’s death grip.

He was situated on the edge of the couch, chin resting lazily on his forearm, his eyes filled with mild shock and awe. “Really?” he gasped, as if he couldn’t actually believe you’d agreed. “Even if it’s the overpriced brunch food from the boutique down the street?”

You sighed, staring back at him.  “Yes. Even the brunch food from the boutique down the street.”

A moment of stillness, then...

“I’m glad we’re best friends," he said plainly, no hesitation in his voice. His dark eyes had warmed to a welcoming honest color, the kind some people could describe as home. The air around the two of you was still, a precious silence that quietly begged to be broken softly. Outside, the morning birds began to sing their late winter tune, beckoning spring to arrive as soon as possible. The sun filtered through the tiny windows brightly now, filling the dorm with warm yellow like that made everything feel nostalgic. Like the perfect ’80s movie.

When you found your voice, your words were soft but not timid. They held the same amount of honesty and weight as his had. “Me, too. We’re best friends, always.”

A soft smile played at Beomgyu’s lips as he echoed your promise. “Always.”

The walk back to your apartment is chilly. Even though the sun shone brightly ahead, the first freeze of the season the night prior plunged your town from late autumn into early winter. What few leaves remain on the trees might as well be frozen on, and the rest of the dead ones scattered around on the pavement, crunchy husks of their former selves. It’s daylight, but you can easily imagine if darkness were shrouded around you, your breaths would be rising out in front of you in vague translucent puffs. Cold describes everything in sight.

Beomgyu is close by your side, nestled in that ridiculously oversized scarf of his. Christmas is a while away, but you’re already planning on getting him a nice, Beomgyu-sized scarf, probably a deep brown to match his eyes.

“What’cha thinking about?” His voice, clear as crystal, cuts through the air like a sharpened knife, but it doesn’t startle you. It’s warm and inviting against the bitter winter weather, a gentle fire among the cold.

“What I’m gonna get you for Christmas,” you reply, burying your hands into your coat pockets. The pavement scuffs beneath your boots, the walk back home growing boring. As you crossed the street where you two used to part ways freshman year, him to the left and you to the right, you remember when he said his parents told him they were moving during high school. How distraught the two of you became, only to find out he was moving in across the street from your house. Now, you split the rent for a two bedroom apartment. “How about you?”

“To be completely honest, I’m wishing I had remembered my gloves this morning, because right now, my hands are extremely cold.”

You laugh, a bright chuckle, and pull your own hands out of your pockets, staring down at the grey gloves cloaking your fingertips. You hold out your hand towards him. “Want to take one?”

Beomgyu scoffs. “And let you suffer from an equally terrible fate as myself? I think not. At least one of us needs to live.”

You laugh again, throwing your hands back into your pocket. “Fine, be that way.” You cut in front of him, dashing over to the short decorative stone wall running as a divider between the grassy park and the sidewalk. In a quick hop, you’re walking along the top as it gradually slopes higher to the point your feet are even with Beomgyu’s waist.

He stares up at you as you hold your arms at length on either side of you, a small frown playing on his lips. “Be careful,” he warns, the tone of his voice surprisingly stern, something he rarely treats you with. When you look down, you see his brows creased as he follows your pace.

“Yeah, okay, dad,” you laugh, finding the bitter look on Beomgyu’s face amusing. The stone wall beneath your feet is sturdy, and your balance is just as solid. Years of strange theater exercises had brought you that. You can even see your apartment down the street; you’d walk all the way atop this wall, taller now still, and show him.  You’ll get to the end and hop off dramatically and tease him for worrying. He keeps pace with you perfectly, still by your side even if there’s distance. The look in Beomgyu’s eyes tells you he wants to reprimand you, take you by the waist and set you safely on the sidewalk before scolding you on every reason why you shouldn’t have done that. But you don’t need him to. You’re perfectly safe with no reason to worry and—

You’ve misstepped.

Your foot is too far from the center, closer to the edge of the stonewall than you had anticipated. There’s not enough foot on the edge to save it. Your impressive balance is misplaced even further as your arms circle widely at your sides, trying in vain to regain some semblance of stability. You can feel yourself pitch sideways, your feet finally coming out from beneath you, and now you’re looking up at the crystal blue sky.

There’s not a cloud in sight, odd for this early winter day, and for the shortest of moments, it’s like you're falling through the atmosphere. The cold wind biting at your cheeks is caused by your descent. The screams you hear are just the air rushing past your ears, calling your name, not anyone else. The clunk of bodies hitting the pavement is just an illusion.

Your vision snapping to black is just a mistake, a cruel trick of fate, like the dark doubts that swarm around your head when you’re all alone. The blackness is almost welcoming, and you succumb quietly.

Twelfth Grade

Four weeks.  Just under a month. Your life had gone from bold with color and emotion to two steps from dead and lifeless. Subjects you’d once enjoyed, now dull and monotonous. Walks to school were boring. Lunch and free period were non-committal. You’d skipped theater more than your fingers could count; you’d gotten an email from the director asking if everything was okay.

But it wasn’t. Nothing was.

Because it had been four weeks, just under a month, since you’d talked to your best friend.

What you’d even been fighting over, you couldn’t remember. That entire night is a fogged mess in your memory banks, existing but inaccessible. You know it’s there, but your brain, or maybe your heart, refuses to replay the details for you. The only information it relays is that there was a fight, and somehow some kind of words were said that ended in hot tears and storming out of houses with no goodbyes, take cares, or any sign of always.

Life since then had been weird, like you had shifted from one plane of existence but the world didn’t shift with you. Like a blurry camera shot, where one part of the image is in focus with fuzzy edges but everything else is shaken and smeared like thick wet paint.

All the love and joy theater had brought you since seventh grade was gone, five years nearly shattered to pieces inside your nearly-broken heart. You had no idea when the light would return, or if you would ever act again. It was so closely entwined to him, it physically hurt to walk near the theater or even think of certain plays.

Just like it hurt in the classes you shared. Sitting across the room from each other as far as possible, as opposed to right next to each other and sharing looks and soft smiles. The other students and even the teachers were left in a mild tailspin of confusion. There was never a scene made, nor any words spoken. Glances weren’t exchanged anymore. You never looked in his direction; your heart would ache far too much to handle.

Different pathways were even chosen to get between classes. You didn’t want a chance encounter in the halls, you couldn’t handle it. You guessed he couldn’t either, because you never saw him. There were never any accidental meet ups by your lockers, either.

Your plan had been to skip theater again and take the bus home, riding it around until it dropped you off last. You wouldn’t have to see him, it wouldn’t have to hurt, for that day at least. But you were running late, another teacher asking if you were okay needing brushing off. You needed to hurry and stop by your locker to retrieve your books. The bus was leaving soon; if you wanted to leave, you’d need to rush.

The halls were empty, everyone either in their after school clubs or outside waiting for the buses. You hurried to your locker, fingers anxious to spin the code in, grab your books, and leave. You reached inside, ready to retrieve the books by their spine and disappear from this place for what would feel like a short eternity. The hall was too bright, too empty, too--

“Y/N?”

Your heart skipped a beat, head whipping to the side. Beomgyu stood mere feet from you, but he might as well have been a thousand miles away. There were no longer any stars in his eyes, no warmth or cheer. They were sad, dark pits of self-doubt. They were muted screams, begging for help but not being quite loud enough. The dark circles under his eyes pleaded as well, and the downturn of his lips was what sent your stoic, bored, “I can make this” facade spiraling downwards.

You reached forward instinctively, wanting to cup his cheek with your hand and gently rub away the dark circles with your thumb, but you froze midway. Your voice even hitched. “Beomgyu... you look…”

“Awful? Dreadful? Like hell?” he filled in for you, and you couldn’t help but nod. Your chest was tight, almost to the point you wanted to clutch and tear at your heart to find relief. And the way your best friend was standing, shoulders slumped and body looking one strong wind from caving in like a fragile house of cards, it seemed like his heart was aching, too.

“What happened to us?” you asked, voice quiet and quivering. The hot buildup of tears began behind your eyes, making the edges of your vision blur together in a mass of sad, muted tones. “Why did we—”

“I don’t know,” he answered quickly, anxiously, as if he doesn’t speak fast, he’ll lose you again. He took a tender step forward, leaving only a few feet between you, but it was still too much space. You missed being side by side, close enough to bump into each other’s shoulders or elbow each other’s sides. Beomgyu took another tiny step towards you when you didn't move back. “What were we even fighting about?”

“I don’t know.” You felt like one step away from crumbling inwards, clasping in on yourself and all the way to the cool hallway floor. Your hands were shaking now at your sides, and you gripped your hoodie hem to prevent the shivers from racing up your arms and shaking the rest of you until you shattered into tiny shards. The moment your fingers curled around the soft hem was when you realized: it was his. You’d thrown in on that morning without even thinking. Now, all you could notice was how strongly, how nicely it smelled like him. You took in a solid breath of air to prevent the tears from spilling over, but it was shaky and unconvincing. “Whatever we were fighting about, it’s not worth this. I miss you, Beomgyu.”

His eyes were still empty, no stars in sight, but now they were glossy with tears. His chin quivered, and his lips moved to say something but couldn’t. His fingers curled and uncurled around the leather strap of his messenger bag. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “I miss you. So much it hurts to breathe, so much I can’t stand to look at you in class or else I feel like crying. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Please, please, forgive me and be my best friend again. I don’t think I can take life without you anymore.”

The both of you lunged forward at the same time, wrapping each other in a hug. Your arms clung to his neck while his encircled your waist, holding you close. Warm, salty tears finally spilled over, running down your cheek and onto the soft denim of his jacket. By his shaky breaths, you figured he was crying, too. “I don’t want you not in my life anymore either,” you managed, hoping somehow that you’d made sense.

Beomgyu laughed in your arms, drawing you even nearer. “Good, because I really didn’t want to have to explain to your father why I was standing under your window with my guitar instead of just letting myself in like usual.”

You laughed too, but the kind of broken laugh where you find pure happiness just after harsh sadness. Your heart swelled with joy, knowing that Beomgyu was still yours. The time you’d spent apart, not talking or goofing around or shoving each other playfully with stupid grins on both of your faces, had been life-draining. You’d never get it back, even if you spent forever together. You never wanted to go through anything like that ever again.

Beomgyu nestled into the crook of your neck, words whispered so quietly you knew instantly that they were just for you. “We’re each other’s best friends, always. Right?”

You wrap your arms around even tighter, a true smile on your face for the first time in weeks. “Right. Always, Beomgyu, always.”

The apartment is quiet. The shades are drawn open, allowing late afternoon sunlight to spill in and swim around on soft carpet floors, bathing them in warm yellow light. The television in the corner is on but mute, the news airing with no noise. The heater kicked on a minute or so ago, filling the house with nicely warm air. Outside, soft baby snowflakes begin to fall out of the sky, the first snowfall of the season. If the sound had been on, you would have known that the weatherman said the snow was no reason for concern—it wouldn’t accumulate to the point it was dangerous. Just a light dusting, something to make the outdoors look nice and wintry.

But you are unconcerned with whatever the weatherman’s words may be or the consequences of the snow. There are more pressing concerns.

Your voice warbles as you pull out the first aid kit from above the washer and walk back into the living room. “Beomgyu, I’m so so sorry, I—” You bite down on your lower lip to prevent yourself from crying; there wasn’t time for that now.  The white plastic lid snaps open, and you pull out the gauze, the alcohol wipes, and the bandages with shaky hands. He sits on the edge of the couch, one hand bracing himself on the cushion, the wounded one resting tenderly on his lap.

You lower to stand on your knees and reach out to take the hurt one in yours. You stare down at his split second knuckle, an ugly gash that would surely scar no matter how kindly or tenderly you treated it. Caused because of your stupidity, your recklessness. Caused because you tripped or slipped or something and fell off the wall. Caused because he risked his safety to catch you. You feel your heart break, knowing the scar would be your fault, forever, and you can’t ever fix it no matter how hard you try.

There’s no going back, or rewinding time to try again.

Beomgyu winces as you wipe at the cut with the alcohol wipes, and you mutter sorry after sorry. It’s beginning to not even feel like a real word. You can feel your chest heaving, one step away from a total breakdown as you swim through deep and measured breaths. Guilt pours over you like a thick syrup, sticking to every surface and threatening to drag you down and drown you whole. It fills into the cracks of your armor, bubbling up inside you like a witch’s brew. As you place the gaze and wrap the bandages around his hand, your breaths are coming shallower and shallower, your ability to keep it together fading. When you tie the bandages into place, you let go and drop to sit on your heels, all energy gone. Your head hangs in shame, and you wish you could crawl away and hide somewhere until further notice.

Which would be easier if you didn’t share a damn apartment.

However, your best friend won’t let you.

“Hey,” he calls, his voice soft and soothing. His healthy hand curls under your chin, gently begging you to look up, and you comply. His eyes are calm and filled with stars again,  and other emotions you can’t quite place. He smiles kindly, and you can feel your heart shatter at that instant. Right now, you don’t deserve that kindness. Your shoulders spike up and tears begin to spill over. Beomgyu’s face collapses into concern, and he slides off the couch to sit on the floor next to you, legs crossed.

When he places his hands on your shoulders, you try to shake them off. “Please, just...” Your voice falls away. How could you ever apologize for what happened? You knew you shouldn’t have, and yet you did. You knew he seriously disapproved, even if he didn’t voice it totally, and yet you continued. You knew, deep down, that you were getting cocky, and yet you didn’t stop. You had plans on teasing him, mocking him for his concern. The guilt presses down and down, crunching against your head, your shoulders, and your heart until you could scarcely breathe. Quiet sobs heave against your frame, from your torso down to your whole body. You could tell, soon, that you’d simply shake apart into fragments that could never be pieced together again.

You injured your best friend from your own stupidity.

“Hey,” Beomgyu says again, and this time, he reaches for you and pulls you into his lap, safely tucking you under his chin. You don’t resist, and even if you wanted to, you doubt you could have done it past all the crying. He gently rocks you back and forth, rubbing your back, soothing you as one would a small child. Once your sobs have subsided, and your breaths return to a semi-normal state, he speaks again. “I don’t hate you for what happened, if that’s what you think. I could never, I…”

You pull yourself slightly from his grasp, enough to stare at him at eye level, coming out from underneath the warm spot of his chin and neck and shoulder. The emotions swirling around amongst the stars in his eyes are new and unusual to yet, and some part of you feels at home with them. Your voice is quiet, almost hesitant, when you talk. “You... what?”

Beomgyu takes a breath, as if steeling himself. "I have something I need to tell you."

"Need?" you echo, head quirking to one side in confusion.

He nods, staring straight into your eyes. When he speaks, his tone is something you’ve rarely ever heard before. “Need. My chest might burst if I don’t get this off it, and that wouldn’t really help me graduate. Or tell you this. So... and seeming we might as well have almost died…” You roll your eyes at his dramatics, and Beomgyu seems hesitant, but only for a moment. Years of going up on stage have prepared him, but you can tell in this instance, he’s honest, 100% himself, and your best friend, not some actor playing a character for some play. 

He takes another breath before: “I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes grow wide, a small gasp escapes your lips, but he doesn’t stop.

“No, that’s not right. I know I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you for a long time but this... this is different. I want to keep you safe, to wipe away any of your tears. Seeing you sad just... tears at my heart. It hurts. Whenever you're sad or upset, I feel the same way, even if it’s just words over a text message. I really did feel like I was going to die when we had that fight. Living without you was unimaginable, but I had to go four weeks without you. Without your voice, your stupid jokes, your laugh. I guess I was in love with you then, too, I just didn’t know it.”

Words escape you, any witty comeback gone. You stare at him, the honesty in his eyes, thinking you’d see him differently after his confession. But you don’t. He’s still Beomgyu. He’s still your best friend. He’s still your Beomgyu.

One of your hands raises, and you tap yourself on your sternum. “Me?”

Beomgyu rolls his eyes now, as if he expected some kind of response like this. “Yes, you. I mean, who else would look up at the night sky, invent a star-monster, then worry about it taking me? I’ve wondered if I was really in love with you, like really actually in love with you. But when you fell and I caught you and you blacked out and I didn’t know why... Y/N, I was so worried. I could feel my heart breaking and I knew that if you never woke up, I wouldn’t ever be the same again.”

He’s mere inches from you, arms around you, body heat radiating off in such pleasant ways you feel okay with melting straight into the floor. His hands move from around your back to ghost around your face, like they want to caress you but are too afraid you might shatter like a fine porcelain under his touch. And his eyes—damn, his eyes. Every star, every galaxy, stirring together to create a beautiful milky way, a gaze so firm and caring you feel as if you’ll never look away. That if you somehow managed, too, you’d feel as if you were missing something dear and important.

Your heart flutters in your chest, its beat stuttery against your wrists. Oh, how on earth did you get here?

Maybe it was when one was so starstruck by the other they stopped watching where they were walking and dripped over someone’s strewn out, overstuffed backpack. When the other offered up a seat beside them during the audition to help settle nerves. Maybe it was when they woke up next to each other after having fallen asleep after binge watching an entire anime season or two, with Netflix on some other autoplay show, one was wondering how the other could look so soft and delicate just after they wake. When the other was happy that they were in each other’s lives. Maybe it was when they declared they’d always be friends, best friends, but now always seems to be more weighty and mean a little more than before.

Maybe, just maybe, this is when they slowly turn towards each other, catching the starry glint in the other’s eye. When they slowly lean forward, ever closer, to the point they can feel one another’s soft breath. When gazes go from eyes to lips and back. When heartbeats slowly start to be harder and louder. When you feel like you might be the one crying because oh heavens—this is it.

But there are things those plays never mention, things the audience can never detect.

They never mention how the palms of hands become sweaty, or how automatic it is to take a soft breath before another pair of lips meets yours, a touch so delicate you finally understand what all the hype is about.

How nice it feels to have two hands cupping your cheeks so gently, their little fear of shattering you gone, or how your own hand curls into the fabric of his shirt as if it’s second nature, the most right thing in the world.

How tantalizingly dizzy a first kiss is.

How soft lips are, how soothingly warm to the point you wouldn’t mind if they were all you felt. How tender goosebumps trail down your spine until something begins to pool in your stomach.

How, even though you’ve become utterly breathless, you can’t stop at just one, because now something that's been building and growing for years has unlocked.

Hands that trail from cheeks to ghost over the nape of the neck, sliding down arms softly to then find purchase at your waist. Kisses, more warm, tantalizing kisses that leave you craving for more. Kisses that roam from lips to chins, then trail down the jaw to tease and nip tender patches of skin on necks, only to return to corners of lips for more wholehearted, dizzying kisses.

You’re warm, almost hot, but it’s so pleasant. What exposed skin you have tingles with feeling, with a craving touch and affection, too. The two of you rest your forehead on one another’s, breath still shallow from all the kisses exchanged, hands softly interlocked with fingers entwined, or as much as one can with bandaged knuckles. He finds his voice first, though even it is soft and a little hoarse. “I should have done that a long time ago, huh?”

You giggle and snuggle closer, nestling into the crook of his neck. You place a kiss underneath his chin. Beomgyu rubs even patterns on your back with his healthy hand while you take the bandaged one in your own, cradling it gently. You pull it up to your own lips, kissing where each knuckle is softly. When you look up, you see the stars glowing in his eyes, brighter than anytime you’ve ever seen them. 

Beomgyu sighs, eyes softening at the corners. “I guess the kiss in the play won’t matter anymore, hm?”

You lightly slug in him the shoulder, a love-filled smile playing on your lips. He smiles back in a similar manner, his eyes lighting up with happiness. “Oh, and I guess this means you love me back, too.”

People fill and mingle around the diner, looking for an open seat among the crowds of customers. And older couple swoops in as soon as you vacate the booth, not even caring that your dirty dishes were still neatly stacked at the edge awaiting pick up. But you didn’t mind. You push through the doors to wait outside while Beomgyu paid. Even though there’s a small crowd at the counter, you knew exactly which one he was. Beomgyu wore his light blue jacket, the one that accentuated all his features nicely. You’d have to make sure that whatever Beomgyu-sized scarf you bought matched that jacket. He needed to wear it as often as possible.

The first official date was almost over, but you knew there would be many more to come. 

Once he’s finished paying, Beomgyu makes a beeline for the door, carefully navigating around all the people crowding the entryway. “Is it always this busy?” you ask when he rejoins you.

Beomgyu shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess so. But knowing you, the most gorgeous person ever alive, would be there waiting for me was very motivational.”

You do little to hid your smile.

He takes your hand in his, interlacing your fingers as if it were second nature. Maybe, it was, and you two had just been trying to ignore it. This walk from the diner back to your apartment had been done countless times before, but this one is special. And now, you think, it really is your apartment. 

Beomgyu starts to casually rub gentle circles onto your skin with his thumb. “It’s the perfect kind of weather for me to take off my jacket and give it to you to keep you warm, you know.” He then takes a deep sigh and throws his head back. His next words come out playfully clipped. “But, someone had to be smart and wear their jacket.”

“Well, you’re not dating a fool,” you chuckle. When you notice Beomgyu pouting, eyes downcast away from you, you laugh again and poke him in the shoulder to get his attention. “Thank you anyway, Beomgyu, for always thinking of me.”

He turns back to you, all smiles. “Darling, I don’t think I could stop thinking of you even if I tried.”

“Ew, gross.” You laugh, white curls of breath forming in front of you. But, unlike last time, there is no cold or ice in sight. No dark thoughts and doubts plague you tonight. You’re delightfully warm and happy.

“Ew, gross yourself,” Beomgyu mimics, throwing his tone to match yours. “I’m cold too, by the way. So I guess thanks for thinking of me by thinking of yourself. God, you’re like the smartest person ever.”

As the walk home continues, so does the conversation. "Our parents seemed pretty happy when we told them, huh?" Beomgyu mentions, a smile playing at his lips.

“Maybe they planned it,” you muse. “Maybe the director was in on it. They wrote it all together because they decided it was now or never.”

Laughter fills the air, and even in the dark spots between the lampposts are filled with light.

You nudge your shoulder into Beomgyu’s, garnering his attention. “Can I ask you a question?” When he nods, eager to hear what you have to say, you continue. “Why did you throw your lunch on me that day in seventh grade?”

“That was an honest mistake!” he exclaims, eyes filled with desperate honesty. The blush along his cheeks as he looks away is readily apparent. When he looks up, his eyes are filled with sincerity. “But sitting next to you on audition day wasn’t.”

A soft smile plays at the corner of your lips. “I’m glad I got there late, then.”

“Me, too.” A moment of silence falls between you, but it’s comfortable, like an overtly fluffy blanket made just for two. Afterward, Beomgyu is the first to speak again. “Okay, I’ve confessed something from our past that’s mildly embarrassing yet still endearing. Now it’s your turn.” He turns to you with a mischievous grin on his lips.  "’Fess up, darling."

It takes a small instant, before: “Oh! You know that time we stayed up all night and watched anime after that big project? When we woke up the next morning, even though you scared the hell out of me, I thought you were pretty cute.”

Beomgyu’s eyebrows quirk up, his grin grows wider. “Cute? Me? You thought I was cute?”

Pink blush rushes to your cheeks before you smack him on the shoulder. You drop his hand and quicken your pace. “You were cute, you’re not anymore.”

Beomgyu races to catch up with you, takes your hand again, and bumps into your shoulder gently. “Of course I’m not cute anymore. I’m handsome.”

You make a fake gag. “Oh, please!” There’s no sense of lightness when you shove his shoulder.

“Hey, now,” he says, rubbing his shoulder with his free hand, another fake pout on his lips. “Be nice to your boyfriend.”

You scoff. “Is that what you are now?”

“What else would I be? More than friends but not a boyfriend…” Beomgyu’s eyes brighten as he lets go of your hand and snaps his fingers. “Aha! Your husband!”

You shove him with two hands this time. The idea of being with him like that is overwhelming to the max. “Fine, you’re my boyfriend, then.” The word feels foreign on your tongue, but you can easily imagine them growing comfortable. Your best friend. Your boyfriend. Your Beomgyu.

He slings his arm over your shoulder and pulls you close as your apartment slowly grows larger in the distance.  He leans his head over and rests it gently on yours. “I guess I lied,” he mutters, and you pull back confused even with his eyes on you, rich and loving. “I told you the play wouldn’t change things between us.”

A smile slowly spreads across your face. “But... we changed in a good way, right?”

Beomgyu answers you with a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, caressing your shoulders kindly and pulling you just a little closer. “Yeah, we changed in a good way.”

#kdiarynet #kwritersworld #kflixnet #k-labels #txt fluff #txt headcanons #txt scanarios #txt imagines #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu headcanons #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu imagines #fluff #angst #scarios #imagines #all #prose #txt

[ghost-proofbaby]

Hi Ghost! Mega congrats on 3k!! 🥳can i get a filthy martini with eddie munson? Maybe with some sneaking around fun? Thankyou!!

thank you so much!! ngl, i'm very proud of this one. i definitely got carried away, but i swear the smut is there, somewhere amongst the 3k+ words!!! this is really just one long love letter to eddie munson. hope i did your idea justice! also got heavily inspired by taylor swift's song "cruel summer", but what's new?

come party with me!

summertime and stardust (eddie munson x fem!reader)

warnings: smut, p in v, raw dog heathen prevails (aka unprotected sex). also a lot of references to mythology. my bad. i think i got too much prose all over my smut. oops.

Hawkins was always boring in the summer, and maybe that’s how the two of you ended up in this predicament. It was a sweltering wasteland of quarries that had started drying up long before July even arrived, and twenty four hour diners that were occupied with waitresses that made it very clear that they were sick of seeing yours and Eddie’s faces before even a week of freedom. Half of the usual hangout spots the two of you had considered hidden gems were quickly overrun by the middle-schoolers and freshmen that now had nothing but time on their hands (Eddie had taken the loss of the Arcade badly). So it was no surprise that you two ended up here, at the shore of Lover’s Lake, side by side on a blanket that Eddie had kept in the back of his van. 

“Which one is that one?” you ask, lifting a finger to trace out a constellation winking down at the two of you. 

“Orion,” Eddie immediately answers, hardly having to squint to make out the stars as you were, “Want to hear the story behind that one?”

“Is that even a question?” 

This is how the two of you had spent the last hour. On your backs, gazing at the stars, exchanging stories and theories that did not belong to either of you. Tales of Greek Gods and Goddesses, smartass remarks and make-believe when one of you couldn’t identify the constellation. There’s nothing else but you, Eddie, and the cicadas this far out of town. A buzz of relief and tranquility to bask in. Every so often, you could make out the lake water lapping at the shore not far from where both your feet rest, Eddie’s stretching past the blanket. 

It was nice. Every night you had spent out here had been very nice.

You turn on your side to listen to Eddie ramble about Orion, somehow both eloquent but still unfairly funny in his side comments of his opinion on the tale. He makes it very clear that he finds Orion to be deserving of losing his sight - “Seriously, fuck that dude!” - and you can only watch on, entranced by the boy and his starry eyes. 

“I think the version where Artemis murked his ass is pretty good, but I also like the idea behind Gaia sending a Scorpion to kill him, because then they’re opposing constellations and sh- Are you even listening to me?” Eddie pauses when you bring a hand up to his chest, fingertips dancing over the damp cotton of his t-shirt. 

You can’t hide the small smile tilting your lips as you nod, biting back giggles, “Oh, absolutely.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, arms crooked up to rest behind his head, biceps straining against the worn sleeves of his t-shirt. You resist the urge to just bury yourself into him, curl against his side and press, press, press until the two of you conjoin, never to separate again. 

“You’re such a fucking liar,” he lowly chuckles, eyes looking back up to the sky as your fingers begin to trace patterns higher, now skimming his barely-exposed collarbones. 

This is how it usually goes. He’s watching the sky, you’re watching him. Waiting for the right moment. Waiting for the change. 

Everyone in town knew that the two of you are friends; it’s not a secret. You’d met in school, partnered for a chemistry lab, and the rest was history. Everyone knew that you were the first person Eddie showed every new Corroded Coffin song to, and everyone knew Eddie was the last person you spoke to at the end of every day. And surely, they had to know to some extent, that you both reserved your summer nights for each other. 

The change is what they didn’t know. 

Steve and Robin would tease you two when you’d come into Family Video, a new thriller or horror movie always in hand at the checkout. Dustin would make gagging noises when Eddie would dramatically bid you farewell before Hellfire Club would commence, making endless jokes about his wife returning from war, how lonesome he would be now as you walked through the door and out of his sights for the next several hours. Even Mike, even Max, even Joyce, had made off-handed comments about your attachment to each other. 

But they were all always joking. They never saw any purchase in their words, their relentless teasing never serious because they couldn’t fathom a world where those jokes were actually correct. 

They could never fathom the nights you and Eddie would end up cuddling each other while studying, pressed together too tightly to leave space for friendly speculation. They could never fathom the way Eddie would drag you into the darkest corners of the arcade, his hands tight on your hips and your breath brushing his cheek as he nuzzled his way against your neck, teeth and lips alike nipping at you in desperation until you caved and gave him a chaste kiss. They could never fathom the way Eddie had been holding you to him by the end of these nights spent by the lake, pressing his body into yours and reveling in every whimper that was only his to hear. 

No, they couldn’t fathom that half of the story. They knew you two were close, but they didn’t know just how intertwined your lifelines had become with the boy lying beside you. And that was fine, you didn’t care for them to know about those sacred moments laden with secrecy. All you really cared about was that the boy before you was all your summer nights and all your starry skies, brimming with clandestine glances and whispers of worship in moments alone. That was enough for you. Here, in your bubble of privacy by the lake sans persistent cicadas and gentle waves, he was yours. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Eddie murmurs, bringing a hand up to yours that continues to explore his body innocently, intertwining your fingers with his before resting them over his heart. 

It was drumming in his chest – you could feel each beat perfectly, breaking through the Iron Maiden logo and against your skin. After a few moments, your own racing heart synced with his, a quiet rhythm coursing through your veins. You hope he could feel it, too. 

“Just thinking about how it’s just us out here,” you whisper back, voice low and careful not to break this moment. All of the paths, all of the dead-end streets you had both endured, just for moments like this, “How it’s always just us.” 

You mean more than the fact that you never invite anyone else out on your endeavors, but Eddie takes it that way anyway, snorting. 

“You wanna start inviting the guys out here?” he jokes through more laughter, making you attempt to break your hand free from his in order to smack at his chest. He doesn’t let you, though, only tightening his fingers’ grip on yours, “Think that Gareth would like the show? Or maybe Jeff?”

“Stop,” you whine, starting to fight him with your whole body now, still trying to get your hand free. You nearly roll on top of him, your giggles now joining his, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

He doesn’t reply as the two of you continue to wrestle. At some point, he takes his free hand and begins to tickle you, making your giggles turn into awful screeches, echoing in the warm, stale air around the two of you. You twist and twist and twist, trying to get away from his merciless grip. You’re no longer holding hands, him now utilizing both to attack your sides before moving toward your armpits.

“Don’t!” you gasp out, realizing what he was about to do. He’s on his side now, you flat on your back as he begins to hover over you, “Edward Munson, don’t you dare!” 

But he does dare. And even as you’re slapping at his shoulders, even when he overexaggerated how much your knee knocking against his thigh hurt, even when the weight of him presses you down into the blanket and threatens to bury you into the soft dirty of the small-town beach, you know it in your heart – there is no where else you’d rather be in this moment. 

The compromising position that results from the ridiculous tickling and wrestling is welcome, Eddie’s body heavy between your legs as his torso drapes over yours. Your face-to-face with him, now looking in those dazzling brown eyes for constellations rather than the sky above. 

His grin from the entire interaction has begun to ache, but it doesn’t falter as he bumps his nose to yours gently, “I’m sorry. I get it, I know what you mean. It’s always been just us,” he pauses before scrunching up his face, rearing up to continue to tease you before he playfully mocks, “You and me against the world, baby.”

You smack at his chest with fruition this time, making a soft oomph fall from his lips that pass over yours, “I was just trying to be sentimental, you dick.” 

The grin finally falls away, but the corners of his eyes stay crinkled, “I know.” 

When his lips finally meet yours, it’s like a breath of fresh spring air. You’re no longer in Hawkins’ muggy summer weather, instantly transported somewhere far away where the sun is just warm enough for comfort, where the breeze is just soft enough to wrap around your shoulders like a favorite blanket, where every strawberry is the sweetest and nothing will ever hurt. 

The world can be cruel, both in heat waves and hurting souls, but he never is. He’s a sanctuary – he’s your sanctuary. 

His sickly sweet kisses continue, taking your breath away in a willing way, leaving both your lips shades of summer blooms and spring flowers. His tongue is a welcome prodding, almost as if tending to your garden as he tries to get the two of you even closer. It’s not possible, but it doesn’t stop either of you; chests crush together as foreheads clash, and you yearn for a world where you could just curl up beneath each other’s skin, clamber your way into his chest and nestle right beside his pounding heart.

Only Artemis knows that he’s already made residency in yours, decorating your ribs and lungs with his flowers of adoration. 

Between desperate breaths and needy hands, hips beginning to roll and curse the clothing you two have yet to get rid of, you silently wonder where the two of you will end up in this lifetime. You hope it’s amongst the stars. You hope your constellation can find his across the night sky. 

 “Baby,” he begs. You don’t know what he’s begging for – for closeness, for your legs to fall further open and welcome him home, for you to swallow him whole with all the love pounding just beneath the surface of you – so you can only kiss him back with more urgency. 

The urgency follows through both of your movements. Urgency is what removes his shirt, your hands shaking as his chest is exposed to you in the moonlight. Urgency is what unbuttons your shorts, prickles of thorns when his fingertips make contact with your nude hip. Urgency is the slip of his hand into your panties, fingers curling and swirling in every right pattern to have you preening against him. 

“Off,” you plead with him once he has you down to just your underwear and him just his boxers. Your palms rack down desperately over the waistband before trailing down to his bulge, fevered movements earning more purpose as you press down on him and elicit a moan. 

He recovers his composure, only to shake his head down at you, curls ticking your cheeks, “Ever heard of a thing called patience, sweetheart?” 

“Fuck patience,” you immediately argue, pulling yourself back from his lips fully, eyes meeting and lips slick with each other’s spit, “We have the entire summer to be patient, Eddie. Just… Just fuck me. Please.” 

You awakened something in him with those words, you saw away whatever restraint he was holding onto so tightly. These nights always ended the same way, but they never felt the same. 

Familiarity waits in the shadows as each graze of his skin against yours ignites something new in you. New flowers, new petals, new budding growths that scream that this can’t last for just the summer. Whatever this is, as he removes your panties and his boxers, is not just a coming and going on the seasons. It’s not just a constellation only to be seen in the quiet of the night by two lovesick fools sneaking off to observe it. The heat of the summer that frizzes both your hair and his repeats it, the cooler breeze that rolls off the lake behind you guys encourages it. It may have taken the summer to tend to it, but this is only the beginning of it. Not the end – never the end.

And he fucks you like he knows it, too. He can hear the whispers of it all, telling him to pull you closer, telling him to take his time as he pushes into you and feels your walls stretch around him. It isn’t quite patience, it isn’t quite cruelty. It’s just you, and it’s just him. 

“Fuck,” he moans out once he’s fully sheathed inside you, cock pulsing as your wetness tightens on him. Really, it’s a shame that no deity will ever experience the devotion you feel pouring off of him as his mouth falls open for you, as his head rolls back and his eyes flutter close. He’s devoted to you – he’s yours just as you’re his, “Always so wet for me, baby. Always so good.” 

He finds a familiar rhythm to have you both gasping and groaning, and it still feels brand new. The way you feel him deep in your stomach, the way your thighs quiver and his abdomen tightens. It is all always new and it is all always euphoric. 

If you lift your eyes to find the stars above you almost winking at you, you can feel that he’s not fucking you as you’d requested; he’s making love to you. He is confessing his past sins and he is professing that he’d spend the rest of his days here, inside you, against you, with you. 

The roll of his hips don’t stay slow for long, though. You both know the love is there, and you both know what the two of you need. Eventually, soft confessions and loud professions become slapping of skin on skin, teeth knocking as you try to keep your lips on his. You swallow every moan and he grabs every mewl. You can feel his hands on your waist, your hips, your thighs. He is everywhere all at once, and it still isn’t enough. 

It’s not enough until his movements stutter, until his voice has grown hoarse from calling out your name for only the two of you to hear. Your nails rake down his back at some point, and you know that come tomorrow night, beside the lake, you’ll be tracing fading red lines that spell out a clear message: he belongs to me because he chose me. 

Your walls flutter around him and he knows without you saying a single word other than ramblings of his name that you’re close.

“Cum for me,” he’s begging again, lifting above you and looking down with wide, wet eyes, “Fuck- I- Please cum for me, baby. Need you to cum. Please.” 

You whine out in response, head tilting back into the grass around the edges of the blanket, consumed by him. Your ears ring as your vision blacks, the last image you see being his face contorted in pleasure, and you can’t decipher whether it’s the lake again that you hear or simply your own waves meeting his shore. 

The echoes of his voice surround you. 

“Just like that, sweetheart.”

“Doing so good for me.”

“Always such a good girl.” 

When his own high has its hold on him, his head is falling to your shoulder, his nose buried into your sweet spot behind your ear as you listen to every grunt and moan. He holds you painfully close, like he’s scared that maybe this is the end. You ponder bruises in the shapes of roses forming on your hips as he buries deep in you and he paints your walls with warmth, with devotion, with something unspoken only between the two of you. 

He collapses on top of you in the afterglow. Savors the moment, lets his lips pucker against your salty skin slick with sweat no longer just from summer. His own hair is matted at the knape of his neck, his cheeks, his forehead. 

You can’t help the laughter that bubbles from your chest. It’s overflowing, mingling with the still crying cicadas. He lifts his head and glances up at you, smiling shyly. 

“What?” 

You continue to laugh, unable to answer him, as he pulls out and cleans you up with his t-shirt. If you weren’t so delirious with unbridled delight, you’d scorn him. 

He doesn’t bother with redressing as he rolls to his original side of the blanket, laying on his back and wrapping his arms around you to pull you into him, “What’s so damn funny, my beautiful girl?” 

You think Artemis, maybe even Orion, would smile down at the sight of the two of you. Perhaps Gaia is sending her well wishes to the love-stricken look you two exchange in the form of a breeze that doesn’t bring more heat, only relief, only sanctuary. 

“We are not inviting Gareth or Jeff out here, ever,” you finally explain breathlessly, “This place is for just us, Munson.” 

He joins you in your lingering giggles, his chest shaking with them more than he vocalizes them as your cheek finds his heart and presses into his cheek. 

Whatever this is, label or not, is good. And it is only the beginning, never the end. Whether the others will ever know or not, the two of you always will, and that’s all that matters for the time being. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, holding you just a little bit tighter, “Always just us, you heathen.” 

He brings a finger to your chin, tilting your face up. When he kisses you, it tastes like summertime and stardust, just as it should.

#3k celebration #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #got very carried away i am so sorry #I TRIED I SWEAR #i love eddie so much it aches #not edited what's new #taylor swift inspired WHAT'S NEW

[twst-the-night-away]

[ TWST FAN EVENT ] Disorder Up!

This event is now CLOSED! Thank you to all the participants!

If you still want to draw your favorite character/OC/Yuusona in a diner-inspired outfit because of this event, feel free! Tag me so I can see it.

Summary | Story: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Strap on your roller skates, fire up the jukebox, and let’s rock ‘n’ roll! It’s time to make things right at the Old Sage Diner!

Who can participate? Everyone!

Which characters can I use? Yuusonas, NRC OCs, RSA OCs, or canon characters are all welcome!

How can I participate? Write fics or vignettes, draw fanart, create character cards, edit sprites, make playlists, you name it!

What are the content rules? Keep it PG-13, and check out the outfit notes so that your character won’t get the diner shut down by the health department.

How long does this event last? This event runs from August 24 to September 30, 2023.

How should I tag my post? Use the tag #disorder up! and be sure to @ me so I can find it! I’ll reblog all contributions and add them to the masterlist.

Is there a prize? Yep! I will draw a participant's URL at random at the end of the event and edit a TWST sprite in snazzy retro fashion just for them - their choice of character!

Story chapters open in Google Docs

Inspiration for Participants: Check this post out if you’re stuck! There are outfit notes, ideas for jobs, and story prompts to be found here.

Participant Entries

Character Vignettes: (coming soon)

Character Cards:

Ellis (@starry-night-rose)

Kimiko (slumberingprincessblog)

Melanie | Voice Lines (@twsted-princess)

Carol | Eiji (@fumikomiyasaki)

Marcos & Keres (@terrovaniadorm)

Kitsubine (@kitsuminyabu)

Faye (@cutiecrpze)

Ophelia (@abyssthing198)

Araiguma | Parker | Kaleena (@m-twst-ocs)

Minette & Taima (@jasmariswonderland)

Sylvie Rose (@lullamiine)

Themis (@achilleswritesstuff)

Alice (@sinjaangels)

Noko (@nonokoko-draws)

Yume (@comingyourlugubriousness)

Yumemi (@uraalice)

Fanfic:

Morning Shift | Afternoon Shift (@fumikomiyasaki)

Fanart/Canon Character Cards:

Joker & Savvy (@twstinginthewind)

Grim | Yuu, Grim, & Teddy (@yuus-sentient-teddy)

Epel SSR Waiter Wear (@discordychan)

Edits:

Ace | Cater | Sebek | Epel | Grim (@twst-the-night-away)

K (@k-looking-glass-house)

Playlists: (coming soon)

Card Background:

Feel free to use this background for your character cards! Please link back to this post so it can be credited. Thank you!

Image by Dean Moriarty from Pixabay | Vectorized by vectorizer.io | Edited for color & content by @twst-the-night-away

Questions? Feel free to send me an ask!

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland fan event #twst fan event #disorder up! #AAAA IT'S HAPPENING YOU GUYS #i hope people are interested in this and want to participate!

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 14B: Where Do We Go Now?

Soundtrack: “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” Guns N’ Roses, 1987 [click here to listen]

Now and then when I see her face She takes me away to that special place And if I stare too long, I'd probably break down and cry

- Guns N’ Roses, “Sweet Child O’ Mine” (1987)

Tucson || July 1988

It didn’t matter what Colum or the label or anyone else said – all recording studios looked the same on the inside.

Sure, there were always small differences. The really comfortable couches at Sound City in Los Angeles. Electric Lady in Manhattan still had the really cool paint scheme that Jimi Hendrix himself had designed. Muscle Shoals in Alabama oozed coolness.

But this studio, whose name he couldn’t and didn’t care to remember, nestled down a back street in Tuscon was…tired.

Almost as tired as Jamie.

The “quick three week tour” had stretched to eight weeks, with no end in sight. Theater shows had been upgraded to arenas. Playing to thousands and thousands of ecstatic fans. Pouring their hearts out night after night after night, and squeezing in radio promos and sound checks and business meetings during the day.

Fucking exhilarating.

Everybody wanted a piece of Print – their music, their story. Jamie still hadn’t granted too many interviews this tour, but the press ate up every word he said about sobriety and music and forgiveness. Insatiable for details about the woman he had met in rehab, and written all the new songs about, and refused to name publicly.

Print was making more money than they knew what to do with. The label had sprung for a private plane, and nobody in the band missed the rickety and smelly tour bus (except Claire, because it was still all so new to her, which Jamie added to the list of thousands of reasons why he loved her). Their hotel rooms were bigger. Catering in the dressing rooms was much nicer.

Fucking exhausting.

So many people wanted a piece of Jamie every day. Ian and Angus, to run through the new material that just kept pouring out of them. Colum, to talk ticket sales and adding second and third nights in each city. The suits from the label, who kept finding them in Dallas and Kansas City and Detroit, slapping Jamie’s back and pushing terrible ideas for duets with pop stars or contributing to a movie soundtrack or pleading to do the acoustic set in a special for MTV.

And on top of that, some dirtbag reporter from the National Enquirer had figured out who Claire was, somehow got a hold of her personnel file from the hospital, and tracked down her shitty ex-husband for an exclusive interview. Splashed her life all over the tabloids, complete with very grainy photographs of the she and Jamie together, holding hands, on a rare day off in Nashville when he took her to a few honky-tonks. The one saving grace was that thankfully, nobody at The Ridge had said a word about anything about her time there, or the time they shared together.

Claire took it all in stride. She always understood. Holding him in the bathtub of their suite in Denver as he shook from another panic attack. Smiling over a three AM hamburger at a diner in Topeka. Whimpering as he came off stage in Atlanta, sweaty and keyed up from singing about her, hoisting her in his arms for a long kiss against the lighting equipment at side stage, heart stuttering to see his eye makeup smudged against her cheeks.

The man he was on the last tour – unhappy, unfulfilled, so deep in an addition he didn’t care to acknowledge – would not recognize the man he’d become on this tour.

“In ’86, we played seventy eight dates. We had a number one record. I bought my house, and my motorcycle, and my car.” Quietly he sipped coffee in their suite in Seattle, watching the city wake up, running his thumb over Claire’s shoulder as she settled against him in front of the window.

“You had everything you had always dreamed of.”

He snorted. “I was a mess. All I could think about during every show was how to find a girl or a bottle or a baggie as quickly as possible. And the crew would always do that for me.”

The crew respected his – and Claire’s – request for no drugs or alcohol backstage this tour. What the techs and roadies and production crew did on their own time, in their own hotel rooms, with whoever they wanted to – Jamie didn’t care. But for everyone to help with, to respect, his sobriety was a gift. And he never stopped saying thank you.

“If only those reporters could see you now – Jamie Fraser swaggering off stage for an Evian.”

He smiled. “And to kiss this beautiful doctor who for some reason keeps following him around. Because he loves her, more than any man has ever loved any woman.”

He wanted to provide for her. To shelter and protect her. To never leave her side ever again.

She didn’t need him to do any of that, of course. They’d talked about it many times. But she wanted him to do that. And the fact that she chose him, kept choosing him…that was why they kept going. Kept each other sober. Kept holding each other up.

They’d agreed that this time on tour was for her to understand this part of him – and to help both of them decide how and where they would live once the tour was done.

Which is why the radio silence from Boston, four weeks after mailing the letter from Philadelphia asking, politely, just what the hell was going on…was so fucking crushing.

The stress of that – and the grind of touring – did make it just a bit more difficult every day.

Thankfully Colum had scheduled a week-long break at the end of the month. Angus was already planning a trip to Aruba with the two groupies, who truth be told had grown on the rest of the band. Ian was planning to spend the week with his wife, Jamie’s sister Jenny, and their kids.

And Jamie and Claire – well, they’d be getting married.

Only a few people knew, with good reason. Ian and Jenny, of course. Alec and Faith, in New York. Colum. Dougal MacKenzie and his wife Gillian, who had helped both Jamie and Claire so much at The Ridge. Uncle Lamb, who would officiate. And Claire’s friends Joe and Gail Abernathy, who had quite literally saved her life by getting her to The Ridge in the first place.

The service would be simple. Exactly what they wanted – what they needed.

And after that…well. They would truly be husband and wife.

But there was a lot to do – a lot to take care of – between now and then. Not the least of which was, wrapping up this recording session.

The time laying down acoustic tracks in Philadelphia last month was very well spent. They weren't so rusty. But the guys were eager to hear the songs in electric form. And since they were in Tucson, and Colum knew Bobby Higgins – who not only owned this studio, but who had also produced that really killer Ratt album in ’84…

“OK, Jamie.”

Jamie took a deep breath, and looked up through the glass at Bobby, hunched over the console in the control room.

“Ready for take two?”

Jamie looked left, to Angus – and right, to Ian.

“Yup.”

“OK – this is In My Veins, take two.”

Jamie grit his teeth.

Caught Claire’s eye in the control room.

She smiled.

He relaxed.

Angus counted in on his drumsticks, and then started the heavy beat like they’d discussed.

Four bars – and Jamie’s guitar and Ian’s bass joined in.

--

“That was really, really great, Jamie.”

Claire handed him a new bottle of water, cap already twisted off. He drank it in four deep gulps.

“I know you’re not shitting me. So thank you.”

Quickly she looked over her shoulder – Angus’ cheeks were being loudly kissed by the groupies, and Ian played around with his bass, and Colum and Bobby were deep in conversation in the control room.

“Where are you?”

She had pulled him away before, when the panic attacks were coming, and he knew she’d do it again right now if needed.

He wiped his mouth with the back of a sweaty hand. “About an eight out of ten.”

“Do you need a break?”

He met her eyes. “I need a meeting. Been thinking about my old friend Jack Daniels all day.”

“Did you see something?”

He sighed. “I’ve only played electric a handful of times since I got back from The Ridge.” He looked down at the gorgeous Stratocaster strapped across his chest, fist flexing. “I got this guitar because the black tone and white trim matched the label on the bottle. Stupid, I know. But it’s all I could think about today.”

“Not stupid. We’ll deal with it. You should call Alec. And I can find you a meeting.”

He leaned in, and kissed her forehead. “I love you. I’ll call him. And I need to sell this guitar.”

She nodded. “We’ll find a charity.”

He kissed her again. “I love you.”

She kissed him quickly, and returned to the control room.

Grateful that Jamie had turned away to talk to the guys, when Colum tapped her on the shoulder, and slid over an envelope postmarked Boston.

“Mail call. Do I want to know?”

She shook her head, folded the letter, and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans. “Is there a Yellow Pages I can borrow?”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #little bit better than i used to be

[nem0-nee]

[ DINER DATE ] - @windbornearchon (Juvia + Deuce)

[ SURPRISE KISS! ] - @br3adtoasty (Tom + Giacomo)

[ TALE AS OLD AS TIME ] - @starry-night-rose (Ellis + Malleus)

♡ VALENTINES RAFFLE: RESULTS!! ♡

This is... long overdue </3 But hey, I did it!! Thanks to these three lovely winners for being so patient with me ;v;

[ CHIBI WINNERS ] Please stand by! I'll get to y'all shortly ^^

This sheet keeps track of my progress! Check it out if you're wondering what stage your chibi is at.

[NOTE: Claims are closed; if your name has an unclaimed tag next to it, it's already too late :(]

Again, thank you to those who participated!

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #twst oc x canon #juvia yuyi espejo #deuce spade #tommel belinda #giacomo rondino #ellis clawthorne #malleus draconia #my art heh #raffle updates #[mini ramble ->] #RAHHH THIS TOOK SO LONG #i got so busy bc of scholarship apps and academics in general #plus art block...ahhahahahahh #BUT IT IS DONE!! and im so happy with how they all turned out #I may be tired but at least I'm happy :)) #had an art crisis because i forgot how color theory worked + forgot how to render #ANYWAY thank yall again <333

[littlewriterfullofwords]

Secret Santa is here! @xsweetelegantdisasterx I hope you were good this year🤔

Anyways, here's a present for you🎁

Parring: gn!reader x Amamiya Masaki

Summary: Being Cobra's sibling might be hard but dealing with outsiders? Different story

Warnings: harsh language

A/N: Hi, Aimee! Merry Christmas, I hope you have a great time with your family. I hope you enjoy my little present 🖤

"Long time no see!" The door to Naomi's diner opened widely as you walked in with a smile on your lips and a few wounds on your face.

"Finally." Noboru in two steps walked up to you and hugged you tightly, almost killing you with his love. "We were worried."

"As always." You laughed but coughed due to lack of air. "Let. Me. Breath."

Noboru immediately stepped back and smiled shyly. He might not look like that but he was strong, especially his hugs.

"So where were you?" Yamato, when Noboru moved, hugged you, more gently than his friend.

"Ah, everywhere." Your answer was very general. "Done some fighting. Met new people. Basic stuff."

"You always do your 'basic stuff' and come back in blood." Summarized Noboru.

"I hope it's not your blood." Finally, Cobra, who has been silent from the moment you had walked in, spoke up, making you all three look at him.

"Well...most of it ain't mine." You said with a proud smile. "Just random men in the Nameless City. No biggie."

Cobra said nothing, only rolled his eyes, but you knew he was smiling inside. He could look cold but come on, he wasn't a monster. 

"Sit." Noboru, who disappeared for a second, came back with a first aid kit and pointed at the chair. "You need to look like a person."

"Nah, I'm fine." You walked up to the bar to talk to Naomi, who greeted you with a smile and a glass of water.

"Sit." Before you took a sip, someone grabbed you by the waist and dragged to the chair where you realized it was Yamato.

"I haven't been here for two weeks and you all act as if I just came back from a war." Your eyes moved to Cobra who was looking through the window. "Calm down, guys. I can handle myself."

"You sure?" The door opened again and two men came in.

When you realized who they were, you literally jumped up from your chair and hid behind Yamato's body, only peaking over his elbow.

"That's you?" A brown haired man pointed at you with a confused expression on his face. "Why are you here?"

"You know them?" Asked Noboru quietly, not moving his eyes from the guests.

"Amamiya brothers." Interrupted Cobra, slowly got up from his seat and walked in front of his friends. "What do you want?"

"Why are they here?" Masaki was still pointing at you, his eyes jumping from one person to another, including his brother. "Why?!"

"Not your business, giraffe." You hissed with a teasing smile.

"That's not what you called me a week ago." Masaki raised his eyebrow and smiled.

"No, I called you a bastard." Finally you came out from behind Yamato and faced brothers. "By the way, Cobra is my brother."

With that being said, you grabbed the first aid and went to the bathroom that Naomi let you all use.

A hot shower, that was something you needed. And fuck the stinging of the wounds, you enjoyed every second of the warmth on your skin, every hot drop tracing your body curves and the feeling of relief and relax. During those two weeks you were away, you forgot how the hot shower felt, you only had cold water and only from time to time, so now it was a blessing from the universe you could spend your sweet time in the warmth.

After you were done, clean and dry, you put on a hoodie that was hanging in the bathroom, probably one of the boys' and sweatpants you had with you, the one that wasn't covered in blood.

"Okay." Quick look in the mirror and you left the bathroom.

"Took you long enough." Joked Masaki when you again appeared in the diner.

"Mind your business, would you?" You sat next to Cobra, letting everyone in the room see the similarities between you two.

"I don't know what's going on between you two but cut it." Hiroto interrupted your childish argument and looked at Cobra who hasn't lifted his eyes even for a second. "You know what's going on. Won't you do something?"

"I don't know what's going on." Yamato looked and sounded confused. "Can someone enlighten me?"

"People are getting killed, buildings are burning, you know, basic stuff." Explained Masaki with a shrug. "No biggie."

"Well, your BETTER brother acts like the world is ending." You interrupted. "I guess it is a biggie."

"Better?" Masaki looked offended. "Excuse you? You didn't sl-"

"You are a bit late." Again, Cobra, after some time of silence, spoke up and looked at the Amamiya brothers. "It is being taken care of while we are talking."

"What?" Masaki got up from his seat and slammed his hands on the table. "We came here for nothing?"

"Anyone invited you?" You raised your eyebrow and smiled. "Don't remember saying anything."

"You were drunk!" Yelled Masaki.

"So were you!" You answered in the same manner.

The silence after your short argument was very quiet... more quiet than normally the silence is.

"Whatever." You got up and left, leaving all those men in the diner.

So you thought.

"Wait!" It was Masaki, running after you.

"Fuck off!" You yelled, not even thinking of stopping. "I've done talking."

"Why are you even mad?" Okay, this question made you stop and turn aggressively.

"Hmmm, let me think." You acted like you were thinking and finally got an idea. "Oh, right. You left me alone after that night."

"Really? That what's going on?" Masaki brushed his hair and sighed.

"Yeah." You felt like you two finished talking, so you continued on walking.

"And that's all?" He didn't give up.

"Ain't that enough?" You felt tears in your eyes, you were sure a few more words and you would explode.

Good for him, that he didn't disagree with you because that would break your heart even more. And you didn't want that...he didn't want that.

With that being said, or not, Masaki stopped and watched you, as you were walking away, disappearing from his view.

-

Night walkes. You missed it as much as you missed hot showers. Sleeping city, not lights disturbing the beauty of the sky, moon and the stars. It always would bring a smile to your face no matter what.

And it did now. Even though your eyes were red from crying, your lips were smiling while you were watching the night scenery. The comfort it was giving was indescribable.

"Ufff. I'm glad I caught you." The voice you didn't expect to hear now surprised you and the owner in a few steps stood in front of you and grabbed your arm. "And now I won't let you go until we talk."

"There is nothing to talk to." You answered yet you didn't move away, you kind of craved his touch.

"There is a lot to talk about." Whispered Masaki. "First of all, why are you mad."

"I've already told you."

"No. I know it's not the only reason." You again felt the tears in your beautiful eyes and a second later they were on your cheeks, making their way to your chin and then on your clothes. "Tell me, angel. Why are you mad at me?"

Angel?

That's what he called you a week ago. He still remembered?

"You...you made me fall in love with you." You whispered, eyes full of tears, lips trembling and lungs having problems with catching the air. "Yes, I'm madly in love with you. And after you left after that night, it broke my heart. I-I thought we had something....I was w-wrong."

As at the first you tried to control your tears, now you couldn't. You let them run down your face while your eyes were sadly looking at Masaki with the moon reflecting in them. And you waited, for the answer.

He only smiled and shook his head.

"Oh, angel." His fingers tuck a hair lock behind your ear and caressed your warm cheeks. "You really thought it was just a one-night stand? I might be crazy looking but I would never."

His thumb ran over your bottom lip, what caused those butterflies to fly in your stomach, just like a week ago when you two had been in that room, just the two of you, dim light, bottle of wine on the table that you had been pouring into your already drunk bodies.

And now, when his lips touched yours, the memories came back as if it all had happened yesterday. The tears dried, body stopped shaking from nervousness, eyes closed. Your fingers griped Masaki's jacket and pulled him closer even though there was no distance between you two. But everyone knew why...you didn't want to lose him again.

"I'm not going anywhere, angel." Whispered Amamiya with a smile. "You're mine."

#ff writer #ff #spotify #high and low #high & low x reader #high and low x reader #high&low #amamiya Masaki #masaki amamiya #amamiya masaki

[superblysubpar]

Happy Sunday Friday Rec night afternoon! Author features will be back on Sunday when I get back to positing these on a more regular schedule (your girl needs to get back to a routine desperately) , otherwise business as usual! (This is extremely long, since my last one was in June, I'm so sorry but I'm not sorry)

Please reblog and share why you love your favorite writer's work! They can't read your thoughts from a simple like. If you can't reblog or comment, consider sending a sweet anon message in support, it could really make someone's day and it will also encourage your favorite writer(s) to keep writing the work you love!💛

Find previous recs on @superbreblogger my fic rec blog or on my pinned post under "critic's choice"

Happy reading and have a great week weekend!

Steve Harrington:

untitled pussy drunk grinding steve by @hungharrington - smut

untitled quiet touches imagine by @vampieteeth - fluff

If Tomorrow Never Comes Pt 2 by @sweetsweetjellybean - this series may contain smut, fluff, and angst

All I Really Want Is You Chap. 1 by @loveshotzz - this series may contain angst, fluff, and smut

All I Really Want Is You Chap. 2 by @loveshotzz - this series may contain angst, fluff, and smut

untitled colors!steve on the 4th of July by @loveshotzz - smut

BFB Level 9 by @upsidedownwithsteve - this series may contain fluff, smut, and angst

BFB Level 10 by @upsidedownwithsteve - this series may contain fluff, smut, and angst

All I Really Want Is You Chap. 3 by @loveshotzz - this series may contain angst, fluff, and smut

untitled moment at the diner with Steve by @familyvideostevie - fluff

"Take A Seat" by @myosotisa - smut

untitled soft!perv!steve shaving reader by @cherrychilli - smut

"Win With You" by @stevenose - smut

All I Really Want Is You Chap. 4 by @loveshotzz - this series may contain angst, fluff, and smut

untitled oral with Steve by @pastel-pillows - smut

Get Off Prologue by @palmtreesx3 - this series may contain fluff, smut, and angst

If Tomorrow Never Comes Pt. 3 by @sweetsweetjellybean - this series may contain angst, fluff, and smut

untitled cockwarming by @cherrychilli - smut

untitled oral with Steve by @abibliophobiaa - smut

untitled steve sending you voicenotes/voicemails by @hungharrington - fluffy/smut

All I Really Want Is You Chap. 5 by @loveshotzz - this series may contain angst, fluff, and smut

untitled mean!steve with a polaroid by @hungharrington - smut

"Take A Seat - Extended Edition" by @myosotisa - smut

untitled oral, 69'ing, throat fucking... by @stvharrngton - smut

All I Really Want Is You Chap. 6 by @loveshotzz - this series may contain angst, fluff, and smut

All I Really Want Is You Chap. 7 by @loveshotzz - this series may contain angst, fluff, and smut

"good morning, indeed" by @boyfriendstevie - smut

"Gnaw" by @stevenose - smut

*Gator Tilman (A Joe Keery character) special appearance fic: "Unholy" by @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint - smut

Eddie Munson:

untitled "dumb cute foxy shit" by @carolmunson in the universe of @loveshotzz "The Foxy Lounge" - fluff

untitled groupie eddie imagine by @pastel-pillows - smut

Orange Colored Sky Pt. 1 by @carolmunson - this series may contain fluff, smut, and angst

"It's Movie Night" by @chestylarouxx - fluffy hint of smut

untitled pregnant reader in a hot laundromat by @carolmunson - fluff

"Teeth" by @courtingchaos - fluff and smut

Talking In Your Sleep Chap. 1 by @abibliophobiaa - this series may contain angst, fluff, and smut

untitled smutty smut by @thornsnvultures - smut

"Red Ridinghood" by @sweetsweetjellybean - smut

Robin Buckley:

untitled robin smut thots by @pastel-pillows - smut

Steddie:

untitled steddie meet cute by @starrystevie - fluff

General Group / Stranger Things Fics:

untitled thoughts about Scoops Troop on 4th of July by @starry-eyed-steve - angst

untitled imagine if Eddie and Dustin made it back through the gate together by @loveinhawkins - angst

Erica getting Eddie his bullet belt by @loveinhawkins - fluffy angst

Series I'm Currently Reading & Recommend:

"Talking In Your Sleep" by @abibliophobiaa - ongoing

"If Tomorrow Never Comes" by @sweetsweetjellybean - completed

"All I Really Want Is You" by @loveshotzz - completed (with an upcoming epilogue to be added)

"Orange Colored Sky" by @carolmunson - ongoing

"Get Off" by @palmtreesx3 - ongoing

#superbly subpars fic recs #sunday fic recs #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #robin buckley fic #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x y/n #steddie fic #stranger things fic

[comatosebunny09]

Jealous

By popular demand, I bring you a continuation of this.

Warnings: Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Female Reader, Incredibly Mild Violence

Please enjoy! Thank you so much for reading!

Work is a welcome weight on your shoulders.

Brewing tea, stirring soup, wiping tables. Anything to keep the dissonance of your mind at bay. To disrupt the ever-present thoughts of one infuriatingly handsome demon slayer plaguing your mind.

Kyojuro’s features flit in and out of your memory. You wring the towel in your hands a little too harshly. Grit your teeth, snatching yourself away to tidy up another booth. The idea of him makes you feel positively nauseous.

You were once inseparable friends, the flame pillar having rescued your family from a band of errant demons some years ago. You’d stuck to him like glue since. Kept him company between missions and fed him until his belly was full to bursting.

Now, you’ve gone and mucked it all up, having sacrificed your dignity and companionship for a silly kiss.

Since that fateful night a month ago, you’ve avoided each other like a sickness. That starry evening you could still recall as if it happened mere moments ago when Kyojuro stole your breath and heart with his lips fastened to yours. Your mouth still tingles with the sensation. You battle the urge to touch it with your trembling fingers. 

You had waited lifetimes for the blond to return your feelings, your affections for him having bloomed like flower buds amid the spring. It was impossible not to like him. He was always so kind and endearing. Bore a smile that rivaled the sunset, heart shimmering like diamonds. And you were sure he housed similar feelings for you, finally surrendering to the spell the evening had cast.

When he’d jerked away, the alarm in his eyes sent your heart careening to your feet. He looked at you like you were something sinful, making you feel misplaced in your skin. Kyojuro had pardoned himself from your presence without sparing you a second glance. Amid your flaring nerves, you had no idea that such an exchange would be your last as friends.

You’ve spoken to him sparingly since; your friendly encounters dwindled to dust. You’re still quite cordial, of course. Make way for good mornings and rigid smalltalk. Though, it’s all just a farce to keep your family from questioning the state of your relationship.

It’s impossible not to bump shoulders with said blond from time to time. Kyojuro is a regular amongst this side of town, frequenting your parents’ restaurant between missions and what-have-you’s. Things that you don’t care too much for now. He’s a passing phase, a distant memory—cursory entertainment to fill the void of your social life.

As a familiar, sparkling peal of laughter filters through the noren curtains at the entrance, you don’t bat an eye.

Kyojuro slinks in with a towering, silver-haired man in tow. Regards you with a curt nod and a ghostly smile, maneuvering past to take a seat closest to the kitchen. You never-mind how your heart hiccups in his presence. How your breath hitches and your muscles stiffen, Kyojuro’s alluring scent of scorched cedar and homely warmth overwhelming your senses.

You rap against the side of your skull with harsh knuckles, hoping to knock some sense into your muddled brain. Kyojuro is just another patron, and you will treat him as such. You square your shoulders, brows knit with determination. Toss your rag onto an empty table, hurriedly wiping your palms on your apron.

Kyojuro glances at you whilst you teeter towards the eccentric pair. For a moment, your gait stutters. You’d missed being the center of such an attentive gaze. Before you can complete your journey, another diner pilfers your attention.

You approach a table of four uproarious, burly men. You can only infer that they are drunk from the scent of sake singeing your nose. Between their leering grins and appraising whistles, you ignore the subtle tick of your brow, conjuring a welcoming smile.

“How can I help you?” you ask, your skin crawling in the presence of such a sleazy quartet.

It’s become second nature for you, enduring the lecherous stares and catcalls at your family’s restaurant. The four men take turns “complimenting” you with their slimy tongues, gradually delving through the layers of your yukata with their eyes.

You try to dodge their wandering hands as they attempt to grope you. One goes so far as to trap your wrist, hauling you down onto the table where dishes clatter noisily, scalding soup seeping through your clothing. Tears scorch the corners of your eyes, a wail lodging itself in your esophagus.

It isn’t until one particular weighted palm finds the cusp of your bottom that you hear a sharp crack of wood, a collective gasp befalling the room, and feel a wispy breeze caressing your flushed nape.

You are swiftly pulled onto your jelly legs, a glacial spike of fear coursing through your system at the possessive arm wrapped around your waist. You’ve barely any time to turn before the patron closest to the edge of the booth releases a pained squeal. You watch through squinted eyes, realizing that his hand is no longer on you. Instead, it is ensnared in a death grip by a more lithe one, veins jutting along its callused surface. You follow your rescuer’s appendage to its owner, one very peeved Rengoku Kyojuro standing beside you, glaring daggers into the quartet that had dared to harass you. His teeth gnash together behind tight lips, blood vessels spilling across his temple. Have you ever seen him this infuriated before?

Kyojuro seethes with muted violence. His aura is somehow dizzying, comforting. He grates out, “You would do best to keep your hands to yourself. Otherwise,” to highlight his threat, Kyojuro twists the lecherous patron’s hand at a more awkward angle, giving way to crackling bone and guttural grunts. “I will take them from you. Do you understand?”

The man in question hastily nods, scurrying out of the restaurant once Kyojuro grants him his freedom. The other diners refocus their attention, fearful of what the slayer could do to them for being nosy. You look to your savior after you’ve rediscovered your breath, spellbound by the wary look Kyojuro casts you.

“Are you alright?” Kyojuro queries, tenderly helping you stand upright. His eyes skim over you as if you’re made of glass. You nod half-heartedly. Awestruck, dumbfounded, numb. You fix your mouth to say something; anything. But before muttering a simple thanks, Kyojuro springs away from you. He rapidly blinks as if dislodging himself from a trance, a nervous chuckle at the cusp of his lips whilst he tears a sheepish hand through his fiery locks. “My apologies. I know not what came over me. Forgive me.”

He tears himself from your presence following a quick bow, disappearing behind the noren with his companion following after. Swept away as if they were never there in the first place.

<< Mistake | Masterlist

#rengoku angst #kyojuro angst #rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader #my works #rengoku kyojuro #demon slayer fanfic #kyojuro rengoku #kny fanfic #kny reader insert #kny rengoku #tw: assault #tw: harassment

[dreamcarnivaldoll]

✨Angelic Pretty Sweet Themes Zodiac✨

This is just for fun!

Do you think you could build a wardrobe on your theme? Do you have a favourite dress or a dream dress in your zodiac theme?

All stock photos from Angelic Pretty!

Aries - Baked Goods ♈️

- Wonder Cookie

- Toy’s Donut Diner

- Decoration Dream

- Sugar Fairy Cake

Taurus - Circus ♉️

- Starry Night Theater

- Cirque du L’Étoile

- Fantasy Theater

- Magical Etoile

Gemini -Bunnies ♊️

- Bunny Picnic Party

- Marshmallow Bunny

- Cherry Berry Bunny

- Happy Garden

Cancer - Aquatic ♋️

- Jewel Marine

- Marine Kingdom

- Dream Marine

- Aquarium Carnival

Leo - Kitties ♌️

- Magical Milk Cat

- Princess Cat

- Cats Tea Party

- Dolly Cat

Virgo - Strawberry Whip ♍️

- Strawberry Whip

- Triple Tart

- Melty Berry Princess

- Milky Berry

Libra - Celestial ♎️

- Dreamy Planetarium

- Dream Sky

- Cosmic

- Misty Sky

Scorpio - Chocolate ♏️

- Chocolate Quartet

- Melty Ribbon Chocolate

- Melty Chocolate

- Chess Chocolate

Sagittarius - Carousel ♐️

- Eternal Carnival

- Crystal Dream Carnival

- Day Dream Carnival

- Sugary Carnival

Capricorn - Floral ♑️

- Romantic Rose Letter

- Sugar Pansy

- Sweet Lacy Basket

- Dramatic Rose

Aquarius - Toys ♒️

- Melody Toys

- Dreamy Baby Room

- Toy Fantasy

- Toy Doll Box

Pisces - Sweet Treats ♓️

- Milky Planet

- Jewelry Jelly

- Candy Treat

- Fruits Parlour

#angelic pretty #dreamcarnivaldoll #sweet EGL #sweet lolita

[roselyn-writing]

Her name: Selviya Levsloky

Full name: Selviya Ivy Blanche (she doesn’t want to talk about it lol)

Name Origins: Selviya in the Virginian language means Sirius Star. Yes, she is named after a star in the galaxy. (And the most brightest star)

Current age: 34 Y.O (Born on 1 January 1989)

Old Town: London.

New town: Moirvdonne.

Faceclaim: Jennifer Morrison (Emma Swan in OUAT)

Voice actor/played by: Kate Winslet, (Titanic Rose actress)

Hair colour: Blonde (Formerly) Frost Icy Blue (Currently)

Skin colour : Snow white. (Yes, Literally)

Eyes: Grey-Blue.

job: Bounty hunter.

backstory.

- Her parents Eevie & Derek moved from London to a different town called Moirvdonne. What they didn’t know this town is magical and it’s hidden from the map and other people (humans) on Earth.

- Things were good at first until she lost her parents to due her powers, she killed them unintentionally. She froze the whole house, After this, she was taken to an orphanage where she experienced horrible bullying and negligence from older people.

- She befriended a kid named Billy, he was a good friend. He and Selviya used to play together in the orphanage playground. One day a man named Louis Martian escaped the jail and killed Billy.

- When she turned 9 Years old, a Thai-British couple adopted her. Their names are Maria and Aran.

- When she turned 15 YO. She found an injured white ferret on the street, she took it to the nearest vet. The doctor said it was only minor injuries due to the ferret falling from a tree. After that, she took it to her home and took care of it. A bond was made between these two, They became inseparable, She named the ferret ‘Casper’ after her favourite cartoon Casper the Ghost.

- When Selviya heard of this she cried and promised to avenge Billy. She discovered she has a unique ability to find people. Years later, 22-year-old Selviya, went on a quest to avenge Billy.

- She found Louis guy, beat him with an inch of his life, and tied him in the Sheriff's office.

- She met a magical girl named Aqua, Her civilian identity is Selena Thatcher @lorabeyc oc . Both are magical girls and defend the town from evil.

(That’s the backstory)

Her powers:

Magicborn/Celestial born.

Cryomancy (ice magic).

Cryogenic energy.

Cold magic.

Ice manipulation.

Spell casting.

Telepathy/c Taught by Aliyaa Aepel.

Telekinesis Taught by Aliyaa Aepel.

Aura magic taught by Aliyaa.

Virginian magic taught by Aliyaa Aepel.

Winter Magic.

She can tell if people are lying

She can find people

Celestial Abilities;

Light manipulation.

Light magic.

Bioluminescence (can make her whole body shine).

Cosmic awareness.

Light control.

Ascending to a celestial form. (Empress of stars) Empress Starlight.

Star Wand.

She can hear people from miles away.

Her hair glows in the dark.

Weapons:

Her father’s sword (Derek Sword)

Iceborn Axe was given by Aliyaa, Later she gave it to Kuai Liang.

Crystal Silvernium, A powerful Crystal pendant given to her by Celestial Selviya.

Magic spellbook Given to her by Hadi Aepel.

Star Wand.

Home:

The Al’shayle household (formerly).

The orphanage (formerly).

The Levsloky House (currently).

Derek and Eevee's house in Virginia (currently).

Lin Kuei temple.

Accessories:

Crystal jewellery.

Sapphire jewels.

Silver Rings.

Silver Earrings.

Makeup

Pink Lipstick (mostly)

Light Blue eye shadow.

Light Blue polish nails.

Highlights.

Blushers.

Eye-kohl.

Mascara.

Favourite things

Starry nights.

Moon & stars aesthetic.

Tea/coffee.

Hot cocoa with cinnamon (her favourite drink by far)

Tundra tree.

Snow.

Winter.

Ice aesthetic.

Blue fireworks.

Wardrobe:

Blue/black jeans.

Blue sweaters.

Blue dresses.

White dresses

White jackets

She loves other colours but she prefers the colour blue.

Pink clothes.

Flat shoes

Heels over the knees.

heels.

Boots.

Skirts.

Her Love interest: Kuai Liang Subzero.

Happy ending:

to find friends. (succeeded)

To find her soulmate (succeeded)

Favourite places:

Aliyaa’s Palace.

Virginia.

Lin Kuei temple.

Grans’s Diner.

Doesn’t like:

Being ignored.

Sexists.

Racists.

Bigots.

Rude people.

Insects.

Smoking.

Islamophobes.

#Selviya Levsloky #roselyn posts #roselyn writing #roselyn oc #oc #original character #oc bio #oc headcanons #oc stuff #oc biography #writers on tumblr #writers corner #writerscommunity #fiction #oc backstory #picrew #trivia #facts #oc facts #oc info

[book-place]

Reminiscent of Childhood

Warnings: typical twd stuff (mentions of walkers and implied violence), weapons, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Daryl Dixon x reader platonic

*not my gif*

Summary: You and Daryl think about the way things used to be

A/N: Dialouge prompts 11 and 12 are bolded

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

“Wow, you look terrible,” You snickered, dropping your head back against the tree you leaned again.

Daryl scoffed, shrugging off his vest and slinging it over a low-hanging branch, “Gee, thanks.” He rolled his eyes and moved past you to place his crossbow down by the fire you had started.

Your eyes scanned over his body, checking it for any signs of injury, still worried about him despite your teasing, “No problems?” You asked.

Both of you knew what that was code for. Were there any biters?

The man shook his head back and forth, sinking down onto a fallen tree trunk and bracing his forearms on his knees, “Nah, perimeters clear.”

Unconsciously, your shoulders sagged slightly in relief as you nodded your head, “Good, good.”

A comfortable silence fell if you as you both stared at the dancing flames from opposite sides of the makeshift fireplace you had set up while Daryl had gone to do a surveillance sweep.

With a sigh, you allowed yourself to lower yourself onto your back, folding your hands over your stomach as you stared up at the starry night side.

After a moment, you heard some shuffling to your side and the man laid down beside you, copying your actions with the exception of his arms, that went under his head.

“How long have we been friends?” You asked randomly, breaking through the silence that had encompassed you.

“I dunno,” You could picture Daryl shrugging, “Fifteen- twenty years?” He guessed.

You let out a low whistle, “Has it really been that long?”

“Since high school? Yeah.” He confirmed.

A grin took over your features as you turned your head to face him, “I still don’t know how you graduated.”

He rolled his eyes, “Ha ha.” He deadpanned.

“Remember when we first met?” You asked with a small chuckle.

Your best friend's lips quirked up, “How could I forge’?” He asked, “Ya marched up to me on the firs’ day o’ school and yelled at me for bein’ an asshole… which I wasn’.”

“I beg to differ.”

The grin stayed strong on your features, “Then we got paired up as lab partners in science.”

“And ya kept on yellin’, this time for me ‘doin’ everythin’ wrong’. Even though I was completely right.” He continued.

“Sure, you were.” You hummed teasingly.

“A friendship for the ages.” He stated dramatically, sending you into a cackling laughter that he couldn’t help but join.

A quiet settled over the two of you for a moment as you thought it all over. The late night runs to the local diner. The shitty school football games under the stars. The old movie theater that looked one storm away from collapsing in on itself that you always snuck into because it was only a quarter to enter anyway.

“The world really has gone to shit, hasn’t it?” You asked quietly after a moment. It was a stupid question, you knew that. But you couldn’t stop it from climbing out of your throat and slipping through your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, it has.” Your best friend muttered from beside you.

You lulled your head to look at him, “But at least we have each other.” You whispered.

“At least we have each other.” He echoed quietly, staring up at the stars.

#platonic #platonic imagine #x reader #twd #twd x reader #twd x reader platonic #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead x reader platonic #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader platonic

[vgperson]

Vocaloid Highlights: February 2023

"I love building the industrial revolution in RIMEcraft." - M (identity withheld) Highlights Archive

========== Stand-Outs ========== Glowing Bluely Blue SEPIA NOTES Spoilers: The Culprit is Zundamon Song Dedicated to Everyone With Messy Writing To You, the Faker Photopsia Ah, Kuma. (Demon/Bear) Kyrie For Dear Life Flower and Wind Mind Castle Sweet State Drive Solitary Industrial Revolution YOU New Cult cicada Clinging to Role Anonymous M Fallen Angel Become the Wind I Am, We Are Miss Forgetful, Look This Way In Your Eyes Altamira -English ver.- Please Stand By Me

========== Worth Your Time ========== Make up Ahh, Peyudochi Hiiragi Kirai (Song Name) Candy Purple Fantasize Aspartame Magic Charm Glint Heartrate Pairing Pumpy Fake Show Never Had Someone I Like Say They Liked Me SIDE EFFECT Bewitching Love Monsters Pawmi's Floor-Gap-Gunk Music Softly. Huh? With you Flower Rotting Chiuchiu (Mooch-Mooch) February Water Ostriches' Brains Are Smaller Than Their Eyes BAKU☆NEW (Huge Boobs) Yuzuki Yukari Wanna Appear At the Summer Festival BODY IS HEALTHY Natsuki Karin Gets Her License Seafood☆Highway Dreaming Isle Impression Pier Pantomime-Ager Static Electricity Zap. Stray Cat Carrying a Leek Other Summer Recollection Starlight If Only Something Good Happened Chrononaut Winter Parade Myo 2 Wanna Eat Koharu Rikka's Hair Buns Goodnight Elegy Starry Phrase Heat Haze Prattling Valentine SUPERVILLAIN Whitely Love Damage! Damage! Damage! Ultra Rocket FxxKING LOVELY MUSIC Backside Spring Magical☆Cheer Depths Diner Nighthawks Sweet Valentine Immortal Flower Untitled Document (Remake) Nirvana Everything Up to Yesterday Konpeito Extremists Antibiotics Good Night Orangette Excuse Crescent Merry Unbirthday Self-Love Maiden Destiny Coughing Indigo and Higan Living Isn't Simple Regards to Messiah PROJECTION My Heart is Refusing Machine Island Reincarnation Repentance Night Fog Let's Die Together in a Mini-Theater Before Spring Falls Machine Krieg (long ver.) Marshmallow Crea Caffeine Loss Day Lily Miru Uncanny Pokkuri-san Easier to Just End It Already White Journey Girl Brûlée Scenario Beast Eros Ex Machina #psychedelic love Fruit of Wisdom Snowpile Park Saunter Waiting for Spring Say It's Regrettable Whereabouts of the Heart Without Permission Bandage Girl.mp3 Shall We Play Together Good Night Darling Lipstick Do-Do-Do Instinct

#vocaloid #vocaloid highlights