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#van gogh <3 always
azulashengrottospiano · 3 months
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yes true love is fr what u have going on with the paintings. i ENVY the PASSION u have for them auburn sksks
AWW??? PLS YOURE FLATTERING ME TOO MUCH HESHGDHSGDHG IM JUST IN LVOE WITH HIS WORKS AND OBSESSED W TWO DEAD GUYS THATS ALL SHSDHS??!?!?
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mountinez · 1 year
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i think it is that when i'm sad or feeling angsty i write a lot more. idk, i get creative when i'm down but maybe it is due to the "peaks" i talked about some time ago. this made me realize that writing is a kind of terapeutic activity for me. some of my suicidal friends like to draw/paint, my dear van gogh used to paint about his pain and tyler joseph does music - just like kurt cobain and chester bennington used to do - i can relate to all these people and somehow i don't feel alone in this :') an artist never should feel <3
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ok i'm home nowwww and i gave my parents their presents and they gave me some and my mum made me a cup of tea and for now it's all good <333333
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popquizhot-shot · 3 months
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Magic
Moon Boys x reader&lt;3
summary: you were married to Jake and after the events of moonknight, the boys get to know of jake and of you. Steven adores you but Marc just sees you as a friend. Right?
A/N: okay the timeline is a bit wonky but here's what i thought while writing the fic. Jake dated you for a year and a half before putting a ring on it. And you've been married for three years. You met Steven and Marc a year ago and have been dating Steven for eight months. Marc became friends with you a month after meeting you. please comment and reblog if you liked it!
Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort
@jake-g-lockley
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Marc was a lot of things. Pig-headed, stubborn, horrible at communication, a fighter. But he wasn't arrogant He could admit it when he didn't know something.
But right now he knew one thing and one thing only, that Jake was a prime idiot.
Marc stayed in the background when Jake was fronting around you, most of the time. Not always, of course. He wasn't a perv and one to to intrude between a husband and a wife. But he knew you. So did Steven, and you knew them.
He'd considered you his friend. Maybe one of his best, just months after meeting you. You and him shared many a night after Jake's missions talking and watching movies, when your husband was knocked out. You made him fall in love with chai, something that knocked Steven's socks off and he'd taught you the basics of baseball so you weren't clueless when you watched baseball with him.
It wasn't always so nice.
"You're married?!"
"Yeah, what's your problem with that?" Jake had become defensive, he wouldn't let Marc or Steven breathe a single ill word towards you.
"No, it's no problem at all, pal." Marc seethed, outraged, "except for the fact that I was married to Layla! God what if she almost say you when we were married? No wonder it ended!"
"Fuck off, man. You know full well why your marriage didn't work out with Layla. And unlike her, I told my lady fucking everything. She knows everything, from the cave to the sarcophagus. So she knew what to do and what to be careful of, including you. So don't blame my marriage for the reason yours didn't work out."
This was when Steven had interjected, he was unsurprisingly on Jake's side.
"He's right, Marc. If his wife knows everything then you can't blame him, and it's honestly rather mean and unfair of you to be angry at someone you haven't even met."
It took a few hours for Marc to calm down, and actually, apologise to Jake.
Hesitantly, Jake offered, "Y'know, if you want you can meet her. She practically knows everything about you and uh, Steven's most probably seen her around. She goes to the museum every week."
"Wait a minute! That lady with the Van Gogh tote bag?"
"Yup."
"Oh wow! She's really sweet, and beautiful! Hell, mate. You scored."
Jake had to smile at that, he knew he scored with you. For the longest time he felt like you were too good for him and that someone as kind, clever, intelligent and beautiful as you shouldn't have had to settle for someone like him. But you'd kiss away every ill thought he had about himself and reassure him. Communication was a very, very vital and important part of the relationship and you had helped him learn that it wasn't selfish to voice his thoughts. Especially because he put everyone's needs before his for so long.
"I know, man."
Steven had readily agreed to front and meet you, and Marc was okay with being co-conscious during the interaction as well. So on one fine day, Jake had brought them to the house he considered his home. He worked to contribute to it's rent, and buy things for it and for you. It was home, after all. You were his home.
Marc didn't know what to expect but when Jake had stepped in and hung his jacket on the stand and taken his shoes off, footsteps could be heard running from the main bedroom and he saw you running straight into Jake's arms. Jake laughed wildly, picking you up and twirling you around, much to your delight as you kissed the life out of him.
When he put you down, he could get a clear glimpse of you. Your hair was messy and your t-shirt was rumpled. And when he saw you smile he knew why Jake had fallen in love with you. Why Steven thought you were beautiful and sweet. Verything about you screamed, home.
Your greeting to Jake threw both the boys off, "Who the fuck are you?"
Jake smirked, "The fuck you mean, ma?"
"I mean, who." you poked him once, "are." twice, "you?" thrice and Jake started giggling. Fucking giggling like some little schoolgirl. You laughed too, and hugged him tight.
"Hey, baby." he kissed your forehead and you smiled.
"Hi." you kissed his nose.
"I have two guys who'd like to meet you."he raised his eyebrows.
Your jaw dropped a little, "For real? Wait, you're being serious, you're not screwing with me?"
"Why would I screw with you, when I could just screw you?"
The men in his head and you all let out a simultaneous groan.
Steven met you first, and it went swell, you'd both bonded over history and literature. And a love for Taylor Swift. But that was a secret. You liked him a lot and he positively adored you.
Marc, on the other hand, was much more closed off, he'd be polite, but he'd be curt as well. A combination you didn't know was possible.
After a few weeks of trying to bond with him, resulting in almost a small meltdown. It had taken Jake being knocked out after a mission and being too tired to eat to actually get him to talk to you over a meal.
It was one of the best things he'd eaten in his goddamn life and the groan he'd let out after the first bite brought a laugh out of you.
So yes, Marc would consider you one of his best friends. Steven and you had started going out with each other a few months ago and it was going so well.
But not Marc.
Because he didn't like you like that.
Of course not, you were his friend.
You were his friend who made him laugh because you had the same dark sense of humour. You hugged him when he needed one but was too uptight to ask you. You, who googled the Cubs and learnt everything you could about them just so you could talk to him as well, the way you talked to Steven about Jane Austen and the Indus Valley.
He didn't know when it became something more to him.
And he didn't see how you'd look him at him when he laughed, or when he was focused on the TV, or when he made you tea the way you liked it, Jake had taught him how to do that.
No, to him, you were just his best friend.
And you were currently crying your eyes out because Jake and you had gotten into a huge fight. He'd missed your anniversary because of a mission and he was working with Hathor's avatar. He failed to mention the part where he was forced to pretend they were a thing to prevent being caught and you'd caught him smelling of her perfume and gotten rightfully furious.
Not because of her, but because he didn't tell you that it had been happening for a few days. That the week he'd spent away from you, he'd had to pretend he was someone else's and he was too scared to tell you. That's why you were mad, because you thought he didn't trust you.
You'd raised your voice as he turned his back on you and he turned around, face contorted in rage. Steven tried calming him down as he stalked over to you. You stood your ground, Jake would never lay a hand on you. You knew that. But it was what he said, that broke you.
"You're being a fucking nuisance. Instead of trying to understand, you're being more of a burden by finding shit to get mad at. Grow the fuck up."
That prime ass had the audacity to call you a burden. A nuisance.
And then he had the fucking nerve to leave and complete his mission and give control to Marc. Steven had chewed the fuck out of him and Marc would have loved to as well, but he needed to see you. See if you were okay.
As soon as he stepped in, he saw you on the sofa, rapidly wiping your tears away. You sagged again when you knew it was him. Somehow you always knew.
He furrowed his eyebrows at your disheveled state. Your eyes were swollen and wet with tears and you were breathing very heavily and in quick spurts.
"What do you need?" Marc asked you, sitting down beside you.
"C-can I have" you coughed, "a hug, Marc?" you said in a small voice, looking away.
Marc immediately moved to hug you close. Shushing you when you began to cry again.
What hurt was that he knew, and Jake knew, and Steven knew that you hated being a burden or an inconvenience to anyone. And today, the one man you trusted the most in this world had made you feel like that. And he couldn't even apologize.
'Jake you fucking idiot.' he rocked you a little, 'you better come out and fix this. she may be our friend but this is because of you, fix this.'
Jake remained silent in the reflection of the mirror next to the door. He looked wrecked at seeing you sob, and tears were falling down his own eyes.
'Mate.' Steven spoke up, he sounded mad, 'You made our girl cry. Stop being a fucking coward and fix this!'
When he was met with silence, Steven seethed, 'Marc, gimme the body.'
You knew exactly when it was Steven hugging you, and you kissed his cheek and breathed him in.
"Oh, love." he tried to comfort you, "I'm sorry. You're not a burden, I promise you." he kissed your forehead.
"I know that, Steven. I know I'm not a burden to you. I'm scared I'm becoming one to him. He doesn't even want to look at me!" you sniffed.
Steven glared at Jake in the mirror, who was wiping away his own tears.
Steven and Marc knew why Jake was so worked up. They knew that whoever Jake and Hathor's avatar was after called their bluff. They knew that those people had found the woman's partner and Jake was terrified for you and he couldn't even tell you because he never, ever wanted to be the reason for any feeling you had that wasn't bliss, happiness, content, or pleasure. And because he was sure he could find those assholes and beat the living shit out of them for even thinking of harming you.
But it wasn't their place to tell you, that much was apparent. Jake dug his grave, and then jumped into it. He had to crawl out of it on his own now.
"I just want to be someone he's happy to be with." you whisper and that's when Jake straightened up, heartbroken.
"Give me the body, hermano."
"All yours."
Only Jake scrunched the back of your shirts when he hugged you and you moved to hug him tightly as he whispered apologies in your ear.
"Baby, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry I made you feel like you were a burden and that I was anything but fucking delighted to be with you." he kissed your nose and then told you everything. Looking away because he was scared.
"I didn't tell you at first because I didn't want to just say that I had to pretend I was dating someone else and then fuck off for a week. I made a mistake in assuming that'd you get mad and it's because if I was in your place, I would be. But you're stronger than me, tesoro, and I failed to see that and I'm so sorry."
"Baby, I forgive you." you replied and he breathed out a sigh of relief, "But please, don't keep stuff like this in, okay? You can trust me, you know that."
He nodded fiercely and then he kissed you. Noses nudging and lips parting as he breathed you in like you were his lifeline, and he yours. He cupped your face and held you tight against him and when he pulled away you smiled at him, your eyes shining.
Steven fronted again with a little smile and you kissed him lovingly with a whispered 'i love you'. He just winked at you and kissed the back of your hand and then your forehead again before Jake took back control and carried you to the bed, kissing you deeply all the way.
----
Marc was fine, no he just needed a glass of water. He'd carefully rolled off the bed, thankful that he was at least wearing sweatpants and padded to the kitchen.
He should have known that you were a light sleeper.
"Marc." you began, your voice raspy.
He hummed in reply and held out his glass to you. You accepted it and drank your fill, giving it back to him.
After a few more moments of silence, you spoke up, "I thanked Steven for comforting me. But I didn't thank you." you cleared your throat, "Thank you, Marc." you said, sincerely, "You're one of my best friends."
Marc smiled at you. Actually smiled. And you smiled back and kept going, "And Jake and Steven know this and are okay with it so I-"
"You don't have to thank me, honey." he patted your shoulder, trying to conceal his tears as he looked away because god he was dumb. Dumb enough to realize now, that he loved you, "I'm glad I'm your friend."
To him, you were everything. You were sunrays and moonbeams and everything that he believed was magical as a boy. Everything he stopped believing in as he grew up. The first time you made him laugh and joined him he felt sure that magic existed after all, because what else could you be?
He tried walking past you but you held his hand and he froze, tears streaming down his cheeks.
You walked over to him and held his face in your hands. His eyes shut as you wipe away his tears. And he whimpered as you kissed his forehead.
"Marc. Open your eyes and look at me." you said softly.
He was terrified. That you'd seen past his mask and were going to let him down gently. Because to you, what could he be? Certainly nothing more than a friend.
"Sweetheart. Please."
When his eyes finally opened, they met yours.
"Marc. I fucking love you." you confessed and he let out a sob. Pulling you into a tight hug.
"I love you. God I love you so much, Sweetheart." he says into your hair, kissing all over your face, but not your lips.
"Can I kiss you?" you asked him, looking at him with those beautiful eyes of yours.
He nods and your hands travel to his locks and pull them lightly as you bring your lips to his own. Humming sweetly as he wraps his arm around you and licks into you.
Yes, he reasons yet again as you hold his face in your hands and smile at him, magic does exist. And it's in his arms. He loves it and so do the men in his head who cheer for him, albeit sleepily, looking at you lovingly.
And they'd never let you go.
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zooone · 7 months
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as above, so below
╰┈➤ a grumpy grim reaper falls in love with an optimistic angel.
one sided hatred to lovers; grim reaper!wilbur x angel!reader
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𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - here it is, my magnum opus. even tho its not done! i had to split this fic in half, so unfortunately there will have to be a part two :( very sorry. but on a lighter note, HUGE HUGEEE thank you to @harbingerofheartbreak. as per usual, she helped me visualized the entire thing and even made some of the plots and ideas that i used. in fact, the original fic was supposed to be a grim reaper x human, but it was florence who thought of the grim reaper x angel prompt and i could not thank her enough. furthermore, she helped keep this fic going and constantly pushed me beyond my limits to do so. the fic was started july 21st and it was supposed to be shelved after a couple weeks, but she made me keep going. she is the best forever and ever go read ynaf. additionally, another big thanks to @starsyoubreaklikesugardust for being another little beta reader for this fic. she always has the greatest ideas known to man and i wanted to run everything by her bcuz it was like having van gogh rate my painting. i had to share this with her earlier than i thought cuz she was threatening me but we dont have to talk about that smile. both of these people helped me so much, and i will forever be in debt to them.
all in all, please please enjoy and give this your love pretty please &lt;3
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - talk of death, religious aspects, and swearing
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she had a lot of questions about wilbur.
not the type of, "what's your favorite color?" or "what's your favorite band?" questions. more like, "on a scale of one to ten, how much does being a murderer really affect your mood?"
all of these questions would go unanswered. including "what's your favorite band?" no matter what, she just could not crack the code of wilbur soot.
to say he was intricate would be an understatement, and her ongoing curiosity would surely be the death of her.
unless he had something to do about it.
-
he stomped away from her on the rooftop as she followed after him.
"i told you to leave me alone," wilbur grunted, trying to speed walk past her with his long scythe trailing behind him. "is that so difficult to understand?"
"i just- i just wanna talk-" she panted, trying to catch up to him. her white dress flowed beneath her, but wilbur tried not to think about it too much.
"no." he made a sharp turn to fully face her, making her nearly bump into him.
her frown was illuminated by her golden halo, making her hair look almost cloud-like. her eyes glimmered like the entire sun was like a clown nose on her face, despite them arguing in the cold of night.
she pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. her halo also lit his face up, and she saw the permanent frown and scrunched up eyebrows under his dark hood.
"why not, wilbur?"
he looked at her like she asked if the moon was real.
"you ruined my job. again." he punctuated his sentence with her name, saying it like he was curling at the nasty taste of it.
he always hated her. there was no mistaking it. he hated the way she giggled and danced around just because she could. he hated the way she spoke, always sounding so bright and happy and fucking naive. he hated her big white wings and her shiny halo.
"there you go talking about your job! like its all that matters to you," she yelled over the continuous honking cars beneath them. "do you even care about anything else in life?"
they weren't even supposed to interact, her being an angel and him being the prince of death. but he was always out doing his grim reaper duties, and she couldn't help but stop him.
he just wanted to follow orders from mumza- the queen of death. every single day that he existed, he had to take the lives of those who were ready. it ate him alive, but it was his only purpose.
"i can't care about everything else in life if i have to care about everything else in death," he grumbled under his breath, making her go silent. he liked her silence, loved it even, because that meant she couldn't criticize him for everything he did.
he would tell her about how angry the job made him. that if he could just switch spots with his brother, the stork, he would be the happiest being in hell. that he hated being the grim reaper almost as much as she hated him.
but if there was anything he really hated, it was opening up to people. and vice versa.
the last time he remotely opened up to someone, it was his mother, and he barely remembered the conversation. it was all the way back when he was welcome to smile. all he could recall was it being something about love, whatever it meant.
"will you please leave me alone now?" he sighed, rubbing his hand in his eye. he watched her eyes go from their usual large state to becoming droopy. she silently nodded her head.
"sorry. goodbye, mr. grim reaper," and the title tore him to shreds. it angered him, over everything else, that all he would be to her was an evil being.
yet, he watched as she jumped from the rooftop, fluttering her wings until she flew away. as she looked back over at him, he couldn't place the odd feeling left in his stomach. if it was guilt or hatred, he would never know.
he would continue to travel, picking up the souls on his way. she always thought he was lucky for being able to travel wherever he wanted. she always wanted to befriend the humans- in fact, she wanted to befriend everyone, but she found it impossible when she was constantly being held back.
he arrived back to hell's palace, a bag in one hand, and his scythe in the other. his head drooped down, avoiding any unnecessary eye contact with the other demons.
that hope would be short lived, however, as a demon took his shoulder as he walked.
"wilbur!" he spoke cheerfully, as if he wasn't living among lava pools and ash.
"quackity," wilbur responded in the same, monotone voice. it made the demon groan.
"quackity-" he mocked, changing his shape to an exact replica of wilbur's. mimic demons, they were called, and they were able to take form of any other being, even adorning their voice. it came in handy for most demon's entertainment, but it certainly didn't faze wilbur.
he stared into the mimic of his face, hating what stared back at him.
"oh come on. that usually works on people," quackity frowned as he twisted himself back to his natural state. he began poking wilbur with his blackened hands. "just give me a little giggle, wilbur."
"no." he'd said the word so much that it rolled perfectly off his tongue. "and for fucks sake, please put on a shirt."
quackity laughed loudly. "we're in hell, wilbur! its hot as- well, hell down here. don't tell me you haven't thought about walking around shirtless either." he paused, putting his hands on wilbur's dark outfit, "or.. hoodless.."
wilbur glared with an unamused look on his face, shrugging quackity's touch off of him and trying to continue walking along his path. walking away from conversations never worked to end them, yet he still tried it.
it would be the second example today that his tactic never worked, because quackity continued to walk along with him into the palace.
"what's the catch today?" he said it like it was a cheer. "did you get the big numbers? beat your high score yet?"
he would say he could feel his blood boil, but the flames in hell already did that.
"no. i don't keep track," he explained simply, pouring his bag's content into the soul sorter. it went to the fates to decide whether the soul was good or bad. simply enough, the good souls would be transported to heaven and the bad ones would stay. sometimes he imagined them debating over a soul's purity. the sound of screams every time he opened the bag would never become easier to stomach.
"bummer," quackity hummed. "why don't you try to make the job a little fun?"
"because i don't want to, okay?" he raised his voice. this time, quackity caught the memo and stayed quiet, except for a "shit, okay." under his breath.
wilbur walked along the palace's stairs, leaving quackity alone in the lobby without another word. this time, walking away from the situation made it stop. the third time really was the charm.
he set his hood down to his shoulders with a sigh, being able to fully see the gold and red palace for what it was. all of the vibrant and bright colors that quite literally clashed with the flames. it was scary and huge, but it was home to him. it was all he'd really known.
he went up to his room, laying on his bed with a groan. sometimes he wished his bed was quite literally made out of feathers, because his back always ached. tommy always said it was because of his "fucking posture", but wilbur knew he had no room to talk. just the thought of him jumping into a big pile of fluffy feathers made his bones ease a little more.
he would spend the night rolling around in his not-feather bed, having issues with his sleep. it was such a frequent problem for him that it was barely even a problem. just how he existed.
and, meanwhile, she would spend her "night" (in quotations. it never got dark in heaven.) staring up at the sun, wondering what sort of buttons she could've possibly pushed with wilbur to make him hate her. it was a recurring thought, but it kept her up too frequently.
the worst part about waking up was simply that. waking up. wilbur would roll out of bed, fluff up his hair a little bit, put on the same clothes, and be going. he went through the same routine every day and he hated it. but at the same time, if anyone disrupted his routine, he'd be angered.
"wilbur!"
and his routine was ruined.
"morning, tommy," he muttered, wiping the sleep from his eyes with a yawn. he couldn't be bothered to be angry this early, and definitely not to tommy. "aren't you supposed to be in heaven right now?"
"i'm on break," tommy said in a matter-of-fact tone. he stretched his arms and his wings with a groan, leaving some stray yellowed feathers behind. "delivering babies to peoples' doors is quite the workout."
wilbur barely registered his words, staring idly past tommy. his eyes wandered more on a decoration on a table behind him. he didn't even notice that tommy had continued speaking until he put his hands on his hips and sighed.
"yeah. both mum and dad really like me!" tommy spoke, ruffling his hands through his hair until he realized his goggles were in the way. the mention of phil darkened his mood.
"mum told you to stop calling him 'dad'," wilbur spoke monotone and simple, as usual.
and as usual, tommy groaned at wilbur's monotone voice and simple words, slouching down. "she also told you to stop being so fucking gloomy."
wilbur felt the need to do a lot of things; one- hit tommy with his scythe, two- tell tommy what a privileged asshole he sounded like, and three- do both at the same time. but wilbur had an okay-ish perception of tommy, growing up alongside the boy took a lot. but as annoying as the boy was, he was wilbur's company. even if he would rather swallow his scythe than to admit it aloud.
instead of acting on his mental list of intrusive thoughts, wilbur only sighed. he didn't bother to pick the conversation back up, his eyes wandering to the decoration again. had they always had that there? it looks off-centered.
"well," tommy noticed wilbur's spacing and patted his shoulder as he walked towards the stairs. "good luck today."
wilbur stared blankly through the fringe of sweaty hair on his forehead. inside, he was trying to form whatever a smile was. "thank you, tommy."
he watched as tommy jumped down the stairway, yellow tufts of hair flying with him. he heard a shout from down below, "and don't forget to fix your posture!"
wilbur scoffed in response, sounding more uninterested than he intended to, but ultimately pulling his shoulders back. a new day! a new window of opportunity! is what wilbur would think, if he wasn't wilbur.
he grabbed the railing of the stairway, his pale thin hand contrasting with the gold. he stared at his feet the entire time stepping down. he'd already forgotten about "fixing his posture".
he made his way down the lobby, not getting a chance to speak to his mother due to the abundance of demons lined up, trying to tell her that she was making a mistake. it was typical, but it still left bags under her eyes. wilbur only gave her a timid wave as a greeting before exiting through the palace's doors.
he dragged his tacky shoes through the red dirt beneath him, watching as tiny rocks rolled along his feet before stopping. he almost ran head first into the elevator due to how long he kept his gaze down, but luckily he saved himself from the mental embarrassment.
he stepped inside, proving his identity to the machine far more times than he needed to. mimic demons would always try to steal his finger print to use the elevator and get themselves back onto earth, but it was never successful. he had a keycard, just in case the identity proving didn't work. tommy had the same.
as the doors parted and he made a careful step out, he did his daily greeting to the guard (his daily greeting being a casual glare and a furrow of his eyebrows) and used his scythe to poke himself out.
from the surface, it would simply look like a boulder being turned over. but as wilbur stepped onto the grass, he took a moment to breathe. the air on earth was far better than the smoke in hell. he would spend a great deal of time taking a couple deep breaths, appreciating the silence, oh the lovely sound of absolutely nothing-
"wilbur! there you are!"
he almost screamed. instead, he only turned to the source of the way-too-cheerful voice, saying her name in utter disbelief. "what are you doing here?"
he didn't speak as if he were asking a question. he wasn't actually interested in why she was here in the grass with her elegant white dress and her annoyingly wide smile, using her wings to shield herself from the sun, even if they were translucent.
"i was waiting for you!" she squeaked, getting up from her spot in the grass and practically skipping up towards him. she had what looked to be a gardener's nightmare in her hands. "this is for you!"
before he could say another word, she pushed his hood off of his head. she had to use her wings to reach the top of his hair, but she was still able to run her hand through his brown waves. and as she giggled, she placed her makeshift flower crown on his head.
she pushed herself away- still hovering on her wings, and took a long, meaningful look at him. "you look great!"
"i feel disgusting," he said with anger, taking the weeds out of his hair and stuffing them sloppily into his bag. "why did you do that."
she looked at him with a frown, but still tried to make herself sound happy. her halo flickered softly. "it.. it was supposed to be a gift for you."
"yeah? well i hated it," he squinted his gaze down at her, and she could feel herself shrinking the more and more he looked.
she stayed quiet, the halo above her head still flicked on and off. she looked at him with nothing but a frown, lowering herself so that her feet hit the ground.
what she failed to notice was that he unfurrowed his brows ever so slightly upon seeing her upset.
"let me just get going, okay?" he spoke, trying to make his voice a little bit softer but still keeping the agonizing punch in there.
she spoke quieter now. "i have one more thing for you."
wilbur flinched, fully expecting a glitter bomb to come out of her pocket. but to his surprise, it wasn't.
she pulled out a pack of gummy worms, handing it to him with a pitiful smile on her face. he took it, examining it slowly.
"why is it open?" he took another look at it and realized it was almost half empty.
"umm.. i got a little hungry waiting for you," she mumbled, playing with the hem of her dress. "you were taking a little bit long."
"and speaking of which, i've been talking to you for a little bit too long," he retorted, crumpling up the bag of gummy worms in his palm. the sides of the bagging were practically fighting with the cage he made out of his fingers.
he began to walk in the opposite direction, debating in his mind exactly how long it would take to make his way out of the field and to the nearest trash can. she quickly followed behind him, almost tripping on herself in the process.
"hey- i didn't expect a hello from you, but a thank you would at least be nice!" she yelled as he speed-walked away with his grumpy walk and stone shoulders. "i'm talking to you!"
"and i'm not," he grumbled, fiddling to put his hood back onto his head as a way of closing himself off.
"just-" she flapped her wings, trying to be alongside him. "just have some gummy worms, please?"
he glared, slightly squinting from the piercing light of her halo. "maybe later."
"right now."
as much as he didn't want to, he stopped dead in his tracks. his stare was hurtful and his hand clenched onto his scythe. that was the most demanding he'd ever heard of her.
there was a voice in his head telling him to leave, to just let her have the last word and be gone. but he felt like he couldn't move.
"excuse me?" he only said, scrunching his eyebrows up.
"i want you to have them right now," she enunciated her words, crossing her arms and trying to copy his expression. she was fighting her usual bright smile under her pursed lips. "in front of me."
he blinked, almost starstruck. "why?"
she seemed nearly surprised at his one word question, her stern voice softening slightly. "you look like you haven't been taking care of yourself," as she spoke through a pout, he could feel his face warming up, like tiny little punching bags beneath his skin. "i wanna make sure you're eating."
he hated the feeling of his cheeks going warm. he slept in hell, obviously he knew what warmth was. but for some reason it felt even weirder when it was behind his skin. he cleared his throat with a cough.
"this? you think this is healthy?" he held up the crumpled, half-empty bag, speaking with his forceful actions.
she went quiet again, only speaking loud enough for him to hear. "i couldn't afford anything else at the gas station."
the feeling of warmth in his cheeks soon boiled over into anger. "you couldn't afford anything else?" he repeated in disbelief, "you are quite literally an angel! you're invisible to the human eye! it is so easy for you to steal."
"but i don't wanna be a bad person!" she copied his raised voice, standing on her tiptoes as almost a challenge. "i leave money in the cash register for the man. you know, he's really struggling. he could use the money. his name is robert, i think-"
"i don't care!" wilbur screamed, cutting her off completely. she flinched at his voice, feeling overwhelmed tears start to prickle from her eyes. she hid behind her wings, afraid that he might do something drastic.
he felt his shoulders shrink at her reaction, but ultimately grumbled and opened the pack of gummy worms. he hesitated, holding out the candy in front of him.
she opened her eyes from her flinch, and saw him sniffing the gummy worm. a smile spread across her face. "you just.. take a bite out of it."
"i know," he muttered. he was already mad enough that he had to eat it, he didn't want to be instructed on how.
"oh.. okay. i mean- i just kinda assumed that you didn't know because i don't think there are gummy worms in hell. they'd get all sticky and stuff. at least, that's what i've heard. are there really no gummy worms in hell?"
he looked at her with no amusement on his face. she looked right back at him, however, wanting an answer to her long winded question that was somehow said in a singular breath.
"no… no there aren't," he spoke slowly, raising an eyebrow at her. "are there gummy worms in heaven?"
why was he making conversation with her? he should be out collecting souls right now, not talking about stupid little gummy worms with this stupid little angel. he mentally slapped himself in the face, cringing with a shake of his head.
"no, there aren't," she batted her eyelashes like she was trying to think for a moment. "but phil sometimes gives me money for gummy worms. i share it with the others!"
he was barely registering her words, his mind still clouded with the mental boxing match he was having with himself. he was being stupid. not even the mention of phil was able to knock him from his thoughts.
"hey," she waved her hand in his face, acting as the referee and stopping his boxing match. he was almost at a knockout. "you've been making that face for a while. do you not like gummy worms?"
wilbur didn't know how to really respond to the question, having never even tried gummy worms before. he looked back at her. she had her full attention on him, waiting for another answer that he would hopefully not blunder.
"it's.. it's fine."
he definitely blundered.
he ignored it, not ready for a round two fight, and put the gummy worm in his mouth.
she leaned forward. "how is it?"
it was about the best damn thing he's ever had.
"it's.. okay, i guess."
"great!" she jumped- fucking jumped. "im sure you have to be on your way for your very important job-"
he completely forgot about his being the grim reaper, straightening up suddenly with widened eyes and tightening his grip on his scythe. he cursed under his breath, running towards the direction of the city.
"hey, i didn't finish!" she called out, catching up to him once more with flaps of her wings.
"i can't talk. you've already made me late enough," his hood almost fell off in the wind with how quickly he was running. "fuck, mum's gonna be pissed."
she would, in fact, not be pissed. she was always far too busy to even greet wilbur or tommy, and they hadn't done any sort of domestic activity in what felt like an eternity. he tried to convince himself that he didn't care, that she was just busy with being the queen of death, but it was extremely lonely.
there wasn't any time for them to really speak. they were both always busy and family meals were long forgotten. in fact, wilbur had never eaten in front of another person before. the most he'd done was eat some boring, rotten food while sitting on his floor with tommy- and even then, he was only picking at it idly with his fork.
he found comfort in eating alone. there was no one there to judge him or to argue. it was just him, his thoughts, and the literal grayed out food they had in hell. but there was something always so reminiscent about having food with another person, even if it was just something like dessert.
"oh," she sighed, moving her wings idly. she watched as he ran away without another look. her arms swung at her sides in an almost confused fashion. "okay. um- hope you like your gummy worms! bye wilbur!"
at least she didn't call him mr. grim reaper again.
he didn't care, anyway, just trying to get to work on the job he obviously hated. but when he stopped to catch his breath, he couldn't help but stare at the pack of gummy worms in his sweaty palms, the colorful designs contrasting his dull looking hand.
he looked around. it looked like there were no cheerful angels in sight, so he figured himself to be safe. he popped another gummy worm into his mouth, scrunching his nose at the taste of something so impossibly sweet. it was a pleasant change from the tasteless foods in hell, and the addictive sweetness coated his tongue for a while.
he stuffed the rest of the pack into his bag, appreciating how empty it was without the souls inside it- a temporary feeling.
wilbur already felt like he'd wasted enough time, and got to work. bringing people to death's door wasn't exactly the easiest job.
he started with a car crash, wincing at the amount of shattered glass and blood everywhere. he fell sick to his stomach with a nasty feeling bubbling up in his throat. all those years dealing with death and it still never got easier to see the causes.
he held his scythe up slowly, shutting his eyes in a flinch. he thought of a thousand things all at once, trying to focus on one. they have to die. i have to put them out of their misery. they're dying because they have to, not because i chose to.
he took a breath, feeling like needles were going up his nose and into his lungs, and swung the weapon down.
it sunk through the person's body without struggle, opening up a passageway for him. he removed his scythe carefully, as if it would hurt them.
he sat on his knees next to the car. although his body was phantom-like against the gravel, he could still feel the roughness under him.
he held a cold hand to the person's back, trying to ignore how it looked to see the life drain from under their eyelids and filter out onto his palm. as soon as he could no longer feel a nauseating pull on his hand, he lifted it gently. he watched as the soul threaded directly off the person, catching onto his fingertips.
he didn't bother to take a closer look at it. the last thing he wanted was to remind himself that these people were actually human. he only took it in his palms, mushing it until it turned into a small circular shape. he put it in his bag, not caring to look at what else was in it.
wilbur would continue to follow through with that sequence throughout the day, as he usually did. scythe, hand, soul, bag. when he was growing up, mumza told him that he would be used to it in no time. but as "no time" passed, he still felt like throwing up after each day.
he made his way down the elevator, his shoulders stinging with the weight of his bag. the souls were practically weightless, but gathering so many into his bag made it sag down. he held his scythe with two hands, his arms being too sore to function properly on their own.
tommy was waiting for him at the steps of the palace, ignoring everyone lined up at the doors. his elbow was on his knee, and his face was being held up in his palm. he had been playing with a stone, trying to break it with his fingertips.
"wilbur," he automatically sprung up upon seeing his brother. he used to go in for hugs, however stopped shortly after wilbur started discussing how much he hated them. "mum wants to see you. says its important."
wilbur took time to react to his words, feeling like his bones weren't his. he only hummed an, "oh. okay," as he made his way up the steps, his feet barely dragging behind him.
"wait-" tommy called out, making wilbur almost freeze on cue. "i was.. i was wondering if you wanted to hang out by the fountain.. of wishes. the one up there. like- like we used to..?"
wilbur's breath stalled, stopping in his lungs. he'd barely even remembered it, but was holding back a smile at the memory.
that smile became easy to suppress as it slowly disappeared. he remembered all of it.
"mum doesn't want us talking to phil," was all wilbur muttered. he finally took a breath, his chest rising and falling with a sigh. "sorry."
"its not like that anymore!" tommy tried, throwing his hands up in the air in an almost child-like fashion. "they've changed, phil especially! i talked to him the other day, and-"
"mum doesn't want us talking to phil, tommy," he enunciated it slower this time. watching tommy's shoulders shrink, a sinking grayness fell over his face like a cloud was above him.
"yeah. okay," tommy sighed with a shake of his head. he played with the calloused skin on his fingers. "you're right."
wilbur stood there for a great deal of time. as much as it physically pained him, he felt a trapped sensation in his chest.
"tommy?" he spoke softly, barely enough for the both of them to hear. "you're a good kid."
he left before tommy could respond, expecting the boy to make some stupid remark about how soft he was turning. tommy didn't react that way, however. he stood alone on the steps, taking breaths watching as wilbur walked away.
wilbur made his way past the screaming, impatient people. he was always hateful towards loud noises as they made his skin crawl. he thought maybe that was the reason he hated the angel's voice so much.
there he went again thinking of that stupid angel. if he'd given her any more room in his mind, she'd have to pay the rent.
shaking his head from stupid thoughts, he called his mother's name, gaining her attention.
"wilbur," she spoke softly, her voice too tired from all the demons and ghosts she spoke to. her black hair hung over her face messily, but it was covered by a large lacy hat. "how are you?"
wilbur knew she wasn't actually curious about how he was feeling. it was just a filler for the missing years of his childhood.
"i'm doing well," a lie, "tommy said you wanted to talk to me?"
he saw his mother's face light up, as if she'd just remembered something blatantly obvious. wilbur could imagine her thoughts- "oh, thats my son, i forgot."
she fished for something on a table near her large throne. it looked more shiny than any angel's halo. damn it, why was he thinking about her again?
"here," she handed an envelope to him with her large hand. he hesitated in taking it. "the messenger said it was for you. you don't usually get mail, so i figured it was important."
wilbur stared at the wax seal, the intricate pattern almost painful to stare at for too long. "are you sure this is for me? im not-"
"im so sorry, wilbur," her eyebrows disappeared into the shape of her hat as she put a hand to her black gown. "i have to get going talking to these people," she motioned to the line in front of her. "i also have a super busy day. i have to-"
"its fine, mum," he cut her off just as she did to him. he couldn't feel any remorse for his lack of formality. "you're.. doing great."
he spared himself from the long speech his mother always gave about how busy she was. it was always a drag to hear. tommy said it was her way of indirectly apologizing for not giving him family meals- but wilbur always thought that if he was right, she would directly say it.
in all honesty, however, he missed being able to sit next to someone and eat something.
the black lipstick on her face formed into a smile. "thank you, wilbur," she sighed, her body already facing the demon she was talking to last. "and tell me what the letter is!"
"i will," another lie. he was really great at them because she could barely ever hear them.
as he was going to the soul sorter, he turned the letter over in his hand, squinting at the written address. it read, "hell's palace (if it's real! i've never been there but i've heard about it!) for wilbur!" with a bunch of hearts and smiley faces. wilbur felt himself go sick to the stomach, nearly tripping on himself.
it was probably that stupid angel trying to give him a pity letter that he didn't want. he scowled at the thought as he emptied his bag into the soul sorter.
that dumb little angel, who did she think she was? did she genuinely think that wilbur would soften up to her because of a little letter with hearts all over it?
but as wilbur was coming up with more mean adjectives, items had been rejected from the soul sorter, and fell out.
it was her flower crown and gummy worms.
wilbur felt his angered expression slowly fade away like sand in an hourglass. he stared at the objects on the ground by his feet.
he was reminded of her soft smile as she put the flower crown on his head, her gentle touches to his hair like he was delicate. or how she forced him to eat fucking gummy worms because of his health.
he could feel the tiniest sliver of a smile peeking out from the corners of his lips. no, what was he doing? that angel was always so judgemental of him. from the moment they first met, she was always criticizing his job and she was always being rude to him.
but, she still cared about him.
wilbur didn't know how to react to that thought. his stomach felt like it was clawing its way out of him, and that weird, warm feeling came back to his face. he hated it.
he bent over, picking up the flowers and gummy worms. he held them in his hands and under his robe, just in case someone saw him holding them.
he quickly went up the stairs, cutting the corner to his room so that no one saw him. he set the flowers, gummy worms, and letter on his desk, his hands propping him up. he stared, yet again, at the objects until he realized- he hadn't even opened her letter yet.
he took a sharp inhale, his fist pressed so hard against the table that he didn't even register the fact that his hands were shaking. he leaned back, taking the envelope with him.
sure enough, it was from her.
"dear wilbur!
hi! i hope this delivered to the right address. i thought mail would be easier in the afterlife, but it really isn't. i hope you're okay!! i hope you didn't hate the gummy worms too much and that you are taking care of yourself! get plenty of sleep please.
i was writing to ask if you wanted to meet me for ice cream! i asked phil, and he said that ice cream would melt in hell too, so i wanted to have some with you. i can show you all the good flavors and everything.
it would be tomorrow, i've listed the time and address below. i hope to see you there!
ps. you better come with a full eight hours of sleep!"
he read over the letter at least a thousand times, his eyes glazing all over the hearts and smiley faces that she used to punctuate each sentence. he felt like he was going to throw up his ugly, beating heart. he didn't know if he should write back or even show up.
it would be his first time properly eating in front of someone in a while, and the thought made him nervous, almost.
as if to taunt him, tommy burst into the room, the sudden loud noise making wilbur scream. he hid the letter on his desk behind him.
"woah," tommy put his hand up to almost shush wilbur, as if he were some wild tiger. "calm down, man."
"sorry-" wilbur straightened himself up, coughing out of awkwardness. he felt his skin melting off of him, and he wanted something to make the tense air easier. "tommy, can you cover for me tomorrow?"
oh god. was he really that desperate to start a conversation?
tommy's eyebrows disappeared into his golden tufts of hair, a confused look grazing his face. "you want me to what?"
"cover.. for me?" he couldn't even believe the words he was saying. "i have a.. thing tomorrow-" no he didn't. he wasn't gonna go. "and.. i need someone to do my job."
"what thing? its not like you have a.." tommy's words trailed off as he stared at his brother in terror. "do you?"
"do i have a what..?" wilbur spoke with confusion as tommy gawked at him. he stage whispered, as if someone were watching.
"do you have a date?"
wilbur's chest bloomed with an awful sensation, his heartbeat picking up and pounding against his ribs. "what? no, i-" he felt like his mouth was stuffed with tar and feathers. "no, of course not, tommy."
"okay! okay," the boy held his gloved hands up in defense, backing away from a powder keg in the form of his brother. "but, whatever it is, how do i cover for you?"
wilbur dropped his tensed shoulders. "you always talk about how easy my job seems, right?"
"what?" tommy screeched, his gold wings flinching with him. "but- but you're the prince of death and i'm the prince of life! how am i supposed to do that?"
wilbur felt his stomach churn at the comparison. he hated the way people would always say "the prince of death" like it would curse the next seven generations of life. his eyebrows furrowed like caterpillars above his eyes.
"then at least pretend that i'm working," he muttered. "it's gonna be easy. i'm sure mum won't even notice."
tommy's lips shifted as he bit the inside of his cheek. he knew wilbur was right. mumza barely said hi to him too.
"okay," tommy sighed as his shoulders fell in defeat. he pointed a finger at wilbur, "but you owe me big time!"
wilbur nodded in response, shooing tommy away with a flick of his hand. tommy listened (although not shutting the door properly), and left his brother alone in his room. the letter was still hidden behind him.
he sighed, feeling his lungs shrink intensely. he had no clue what to do or how to pull it off.
wilbur went to sleep earlier that night, trying to fulfill her promise to get eight hours of sleep. when he woke up, he could feel his bones almost moving on their own. it felt odd to not have the burden of being the soul taking grim reaper.
he looked at himself in the mirror. he looked nothing short of depressing.
he walked over to his closet, sighing as he was face to face with the same rotten black robes he wore. people always trashed on tommy for owning the same white, red sleeved shirt, but wilbur wasn't any better with his duplicates.
he groaned, his head falling in a near defeat. though, he could see a small glint of yellow. hesitating, he picked it up, taking off his cloak to put it on.
it was a really old sweater that phil got him many years ago. back before everything went down the gutter. he ran his thumb down the frayed material. by some miracle, it still fit him.
he looked at himself in his mirror, scowling when he saw who stared back. he looked nothing like how he usually did, and that slight bit of color changed him. the yellow fabric, even when old, still popped out more than his pale skin did.
still, something felt like it was missing. his glasses, maybe? he set the frames on his scrunched face, pushing it up his nose with the back of his hand. that didn't seem to work.
he looked over at his desk, his bottom lip plumped out as he thought. he gave a long stare to the flower crown, feeling his chest tighten and warm with a disgusting feeling. he picked up the flower crown- more delicately than he'd like to admit, and placed it on his tufts of brown as he stared at his reflection.
his mouth hung open. he looked completely different now. there were so many colors and shapes for him to process. and were the dark spots under his eyes really that prominent?
although, even with the wave of confusion, it felt almost comforting. he tried his best at a smile, but shook his head. too far.
wilbur shuffled through the underworld quickly, trying his best not to be seen- and especially not by quackity.
"tommy," quackity stage whispered, gaining the boy's attention. "what the hell's he doing?"
tommy took his place beside quackity, looking to where he was pointing. he scowled. "dude, i kid you not, he's got a fucking date."
quackity scoffed a laugh before looking at tommy. his face was still scrunched in disapproval, his wings idle behind him. quackity’s expression dropped. “wait- you’re serious? he’s actually got a date?”
“that’s what i’m thinking!” tommy’s voice screeched suddenly. he looked and sounded like a bird. “i’ve never seen him wearing something so.. colorful. and look at his fucking posture!”
they watched in amusement as wilbur jammed his finger on the elevator button, trying to get the doors open as he looked around frantically. he hadn’t even noticed, but his shoulders were in fact more pushed back.
he stared at his reflection in front of him, bringing a hand into his hair to even it out. flowers were still scattered around in his hair and it was as if he were producing a trail of petals behind him. he let out a groan as the doors finally parted, and he stepped in.
“who is it with?” quackity asked, holding his chin. his other hand was dug into his pocket. a small, rectangular figure lining the fabric. “do you know?”
tommy turned to quackity with a serious look on his face, as if he were speaking about a universe killing secret rather than who wilbur was eating ice cream with. “you didn’t hear it from me,” he emphasized his words, “but i keep overhearing this angel talking to phil about wilbur. its weird- especially when you think about how phil and wilbur think about each other.”
tommy grimaced at his own words. he could tell how much it cut the mood. it was practically taboo to say wilbur and phil’s name in the same sentence- let alone even mention phil in the underworld. even with tommy trying to get them to forgive each other, the thought of them ever eating at the same dinner table was unfathomable.
quackity interrupted the tension filled silence by asking the angel’s name. tommy gave it without a second thought, but eventually had to repeat it for quackity to properly hear. they were stood outside the pit of lost souls, a place that the forgotten demons would go. they served no purpose in hell as long as they were somehow remembered by someone on earth. it was always a loud area, having literal burning souls inside.
“huh..” quackity hummed, repeating the angel’s name again. “you think they’ll become a thing?”
“no, definitely not,” tommy huffed, laughing as if quackity was telling a knock-knock joke. “he’s too grumpy to actually function around another being.”
“i say give the guy some slack! he deserves at least a chance," quackity protested. "twenty bucks."
"you're betting on his love life?" tommy asked, but quackity stood still with a smirk on his face with his hand out. "fine. deal."
as they shook on their bet, tommy grumbled, his wings tensing up with him. a plan was forming itself in quackity’s mind, his hand patting the lining of his shorts.
“he’s probably up there making out with her right now.”
wilbur, in fact, was not. he was standing on the distant sidewalk, watching her from afar. she sat on the concrete with her legs crossed, looking like her mind was in another galaxy. wilbur on the other hand, stood with his clammy hands at his sides. his palms never sweat as badly as this, and it was making him unsettled. he tried his best to wipe his hands off on his sleeve, but it only made them damp and warm. he sucked in a breath, ignoring it and walking up towards her.
when he caught her eye, her never-ending smile only widened. she stood up to properly face him, looking at him from the top of his flower-ridden hair down to his shoes. “wilbur?”
“hi.. hi-” his voice cracked, and he tried to cover it up with a fake cough. now his throat wasn’t working. “um, i didn’t know.. i wasn’t sure if.. i-”
“you look really nice!” she interrupted, saving him the embarrassment. he let out a mix of a smile and a relieved sigh, muttering his thanks. “and it looks like you actually slept.”
“i did,” he mumbled, adjusting the collar of his bunchy sweater. suddenly, he could feel every texture touching his body. “eight hours.. just like you asked..”
“it wasn’t so difficult, was it?” she giggled, and the noise stabbed wilbur a thousand times in the stomach.
“actually, it was,” he bit the inside of his cheek, rocking back and forth on his heels with nervousness. “my bed is a literal stone. i wish it were made out of feathers.”
“maybe your dream will come true some time! come on, let’s make a wish,” she tilted her head, closing her eyes and putting her palms together. “i wish wilbur’s bed was made out of feathers!”
“..is that gonna work?” he tilted his head in her direction.
“hm.. i don’t know. but i always like to try it,” she hummed with satisfaction, putting her hands back at her sides. “can i tell you a secret? i’ve always wanted to visit the fountain of wishes.”
the name rung a bell all the way in the back of wilbur’s mind. he remembered his father telling him stories every night about the fountain of wishes. he scowled at the thought of hin. phil would tell wilbur that his only wish was to meet a beautiful woman, but look where that got him.
“what would you wish for?” he asked, trying to shift the gears of his mind.
“i don’t know,” she said, contently, leaning forward to grab his hand. “maybe i’ll think of something later.”
wilbur flinched, something she didn’t see because she was dragging him into the store. he wondered if she could feel how damp and warm his palms were, but it looked like she didn’t mind. for some reason, their hands seemed to magically fit together like puzzle pieces.
his mind was churning again, thinking about the unknown feeling running through him. he felt suddenly aware of everything around him, and it was awful. yet, she kept giggling and smiling like it was just another day. he envied her power of optimism, even if it was the same thing he disliked about her.
uncomfortably, his mind felt as if he was put in a room of a thousand people, contributing and understanding each one of their conversations. as overwhelming as it was, it was how his brain regularly worked. how he somehow managed to get even an ounce of sleep every night, he'll never know.
his thoughts were unraveling before he could roll them back up, feeling tired of aimlessly following the long film of this and that and-
"do you have a favorite flavor?"
it all snapped away.
"uh- um, well, um-"
how was she able to do that?
"oh, right," she giggled. somehow, in the thousand person room that took place in his mind, her small laugh was the only thing bouncing off his skull. "you've never had ice cream before."
unable to process the sudden quiet of his mind, he simply shook his head. "n-no, i haven't."
"try this!" she held out a scoop of her favorite flavor and wilbur stared at it like it was a cure to the common cold.
shakily, he took it. even if it only existed as a transparent-phantom thing, he was surprised that it didn't slip out of his sweaty hands.
"do.. do i bite-"
"just give it a small lick. i know it'll be cold, but it'll taste good," her words felt like a small promise to him, the most comforting thing he'd heard in a while. yet, it was like talking about the weather to her.
god, what was the feeling? he couldn't exactly pinpoint it at all.
he followed her directions, scrunching his brows in a slight concern as he stuck his tongue out. she was right, it was cold. terribly cold. he thought his tongue would get stuck to it like in the old christmas movies tommy forced him to watch.
and yet, it tasted terribly good. it was such an unfamiliar feeling on his tongue, but it somehow had a certain kick that he enjoyed.
he smacked his lips a couple times, and nodded slightly, mumbling his words. "y-yeah, i like that one."
"great!" she spoke, going over to grab the ice cream scooper. the real thing stood still on the table, but the translucent version was in her hands as she scooped up some of the flavor. as long as she put it back in the right place, nothing would be messed up too badly.
as she finished up scooping her cone, she sighed dramatically. "oh gods, i forgot to get cash."
"you don't need to give him cash, angel, he won't even notice."
his tongue went numb- not from the ice cream, but from the small nickname he'd given her.
it was a small gesture, and he could probably play it off, but it stirred his intestines until he felt like throwing them up. he'd never willingly give someone a nickname. ever.
and the worst part? she noticed.
"did you call me angel?" she stopped her fit of panic over invisible cash to look at him, the corner of her mouth lifting in an asymmetrical smile.
"well- yeah, because you're.. you're an angel," wilbur stumbled, unable to pull something out of thin air. he's lied many times. to his mom, to tommy, to quackity. but for some reason lying to her didn't feel right on his tongue. "a-and you.. have a halo.. and stuff.."
she noticed how he fiddled with his fingers, and decided to spare him of the embarrassment by switching the topic to her day. she seemed passionate with talking about every small thing she'd done, and wilbur admired her attitude.
wilbur prided himself in his writing. his pen and paper were like a magical escape from his burdens. he had a specific way with words that would always get him praised by his parents when he was younger. but despite that, he was completely lost on a word to describe his feelings.
she dragged him back outside without a care in the world, looking around like she owned the place. she pointed to a bench, talking about how it was her favorite bench (to which wilbur began to wonder how one could have a favorite bench), and began guiding them towards it.
in the midst of her excitement, however, she made a wrong step on the curb and yelped. wilbur noticed this quickly, bringing a quick hand to her waist to catch her.
"woah, are you alright-?" he brought her back up carefully, checking to make sure that her and her ice cream were still intact. he checked both off in his mind.
"yeah- yeah i'm fine-" she muttered, and it was the first time he'd ever seen a glint of gloominess on her face. "sorry- that was embarrassing-"
"no need to be embarrassed," wilbur's tone was calm. not a monotone calm, but an assuring calm. one that was stranger to her too.
his hand remained still on her waist, his fingers trembling in such small beats. “wilbur?” her gaze slowly met his, and she could see a small droplet of worry beneath the pools of his irises. “can i tell you something?”
he nodded slowly, eyebrows furrowing in such a concerned manner that it almost cut his forehead in half. with his hand still on her waist, he guided her carefully to the bench.
she looked at the pavement, her words coming out in a string of small mumbles that made him feel like they were the only two beings ever. just him, an angel, and a bench. “i don’t.. i don’t usually tell people this,” she fiddled with the hem of her dress, her wings draping over the back of the bench. “but.. the- the way i-i d..”
wilbur stared at the angel- the carefree, optimistic, happy angel; while she broke down bit by bit. he felt like he was almost breaking the law, that he wasn’t allowed to see such a sight. but most importantly, he felt like he needed to help.
he was always gentle, there was no denying it. he spent a lot of time as a child examining bugs (which he called “friends”) and making sure they were okay. and the urge to care for anything in need grew with him, even as everything else changed.
he noticed that his hand was still on her hip, and he drew her closer to his body. the small gesture made her startled, but she quickly grew accustomed to his touch. she felt safe, and wilbur knew that.
she took a deep breath, and spoke. “we were playing a game of hide-and-seek,” she whispered, “i-i was always clumsy, everyone made fun of me.. nobody..”
her words trailed off again, and wilbur felt his heart aching. “nobody..?”
“nobody really.. liked.. me,” she huffed, her face turning away from him. he could tell that she didn’t speak about this much. “everyone hated me, actually. like you do..”
his heart was wrapped in thorns.
it was the clearest thing she’d said. like she had so much time to think about it and deduct it. he wanted to say something, wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her and scream at her. but he didn’t. he couldn’t- he felt paralyzed.
“i guess i tripped and fell or something, a-and i-” a bile swelled her throat. “it hurt. a lot. i was- i was screaming and crying for help b-but everyone ignored me. except for..”
her head lifted as she looked at him. it was the type of look in which he could study each pigment on her face, and he’d be able to use the rosiness of her cheeks to paint a breathtaking portrait.
“except for you.”
she smiled. and even through tears, her expression lit up the earth.
“me?” he whispered softly.
immediately, she nodded. she was so close to his face that she could see a tiny cut to the right of his adam’s apple. she suppressed a giggle as she thought about him struggling to shave, making all sorts of faces into his mirror.
“i was so scared and alone.. and then you came along with your big scythe and your scary hood. and you plunged your scythe into me chest- gods, i was so scared,” she giggled briefly at the thought, but her expression was genuine. “but you gave me peace.”
she leaned closer, wanting to wrap her arms around him and die a second time like that. but she knew he’d hate it.
“it was all i wanted in that moment.”
his eyes were droopy, staring from her left eye, to her right, and down at her parted lips. she was nothing short of beautiful. looking at her for that long felt like a mere privilege, forcing him to be speechless.. he squeezed her hip tighter just to hold her.
“i.. i wanted to thank you..” she whispered, so quiet that her vocal chords barely buzzed.
in his peripheral vision, he noticed how her eyelids fluttered softly. his sight blurred as she leaned in closer, and-
“but you always hated me.”
she leaned back in the seat, and wilbur’s disappointment split him in two. she was right there- right fucking there, but she was so out of reach. the only barrier? his own loathing. the irony of hating his hatred felt like a stab wound to his thorn-crowned heart.
and the worst part; she was unphased.
wilbur gulped as a stack of words piled themselves in his throat. that nasty, overwhelming feeling running through him again. “angel, i-”
“so, what’s your favorite color?” she asked in a light tone, licking at her ice cream.
a wave of dismay washed over his face. he couldn’t think. “t-teal?”
“really? i wouldn’t have guessed that,” she swung her legs beneath the bench, clearly unbothered by wilbur’s confusion. “you don’t really dress like a teal-lover. do you think the moon is real?"
what?
"no, bad question. hmm. what’s your favorite band?”
his heart fell into the pit of his stomach, thorns poking at his sides creating a terrible sting on his abdomen. he opened his mouth to speak- maybe cry and release his feelings; but nothing came up. not even an answer to her stupid question. it was nauseating.
she began talking about the sort of music she liked, but none of it struck his brain. he felt sick. he wanted to scream and sob and punch something. but he sat still like he was posing for a renaissance painting.
“hey, that reminds me,” she stood up abruptly, pointing her finger upwards, despite going unnoticed by wilbur. “i gotta get cash for the ice cream man! i’ll be right back.”
he didn’t even realize she spoke, even when she was repeating his name and trying to get his attention.
why was he disappointed at the lost opportunity? why did he want to curl up in a ball and tug his hair out? what was that stupid feeling that was haunting him all afternoon? it was tearing him apart limb by limb. what was the word, what was-
oh.
oh.
it was love. he loved her. it was as simple as a four letter word.
the last time he told someone he loved them, he was begging his father not to leave. as he watched the man- the god- his father walk away, he realized that the word meant nothing. it only brought him pain; and if he didn't love, he didn't have to feel that agony.
his stomach turned, breathing becoming alarmingly shallow. too many memories flushed his mind, and his throat tightened.
"hello? wilbur?"
"don't come back." he stood up suddenly, ice cream falling to the ground next to him.
"what?" she flinched, staring up at him with terror on her face that he didn't even read. he was so blinded by his anger. the light of her halo flickered.
"i said, don't come back." it was almost a subconscious thing, how he lifted his hand into his hair and threw the flower crown onto the sidewalk. right next to his ice cream.
his throat burned harshly. all of his muscles tensed up in such a way that definitely wasn't healthy. he could barely even hear his own words through the pounding in his ears, and he most importantly couldn't hear her heart ripping in two.
"wilbur-"
"stop. stop this. stop following me everywhere, stop- stop acting like you care-" his hands balled up into fists at his sides, "stop everything! i never want to see you again!"
and that was all that was needed for her to turn around and fly off, and that was all that he needed for him to realize what a complete moron he was.
his walk home was nothing short of shameful. and this time he walked through hell with messy flower petals in his hair and a stupid yellow sweater and dumb tears in his eyes.
he didn't realize that quackity, a man who was about to lose twenty dollars, was watching him from afar. he cursed under his breath, biting his bottom lip until his hand brushed against his pocket.
tommy's keycard.
-
he looked at himself in the reflection of a lava pool, making all sorts of scrunchy and over dramatic faces. he experimented with the way the hood fell over his hair and how it made his furrowed eyebrows look.
he made his way to the elevator, admiring how the scythe looked when he tossed it around in his hands. and when it asked for a confirmation of identity, he pulled out the keycard, swiping it before anyone could see.
he'd continue to try to do tricks with the scythe until he got to the top, waving a hand to the guard until he realized he had to stay in character. his lips suddenly pursed and his eyes became hooded.
to his delight, an angel was there waiting for him.
"wilbur-" she stood up suddenly, her hands shaking at her sides. the light in her tear filled eyes was nearly gone, the glow of her halo barely there. "i wanted to a-apologize-"
"come with me," he spoke, as monotone as he could. his hand reached out towards her, and she hesitantly took it.
with uncertainty written all over her face, she spoke nervously. "where.. where are we going-?"
"i want to make up for what.. happened.. last night.." he muttered, dragging her underground.
she held her flickering halo carefully as they zoomed to the elevator, watching him jam the buttons with his finger. she'd never seen someone so eager.
as soon as the doors parted, he forced her inside with such an anticipation she couldn't pinpoint. it made her feel uneasy, how weird he had been acting.
"wilbur?" her voice came out as more of a squeak, taking his other hand in hers. she looked right at him with swelled eyelids. "this.. this isn't a trick, is it?"
his eyes widened, eyebrows unknotting a crease on his forehead. "what?" he practically laughed, "why- why would it be a trick?"
"i don't know.. you just seem.." her voice wavered, eye contact faltering. "nevermind, it's stupid."
"look at me, love," the nickname was.. new. "i don't want to hurt you. i'm gonna make everything up, okay?"
she hummed an agreement, eyes fluttering to make contact with his. his face was soft, just like the other night. but something seemed missing.
"i wanna show you everything about my home," the excitement in his voice was almost raw. "i live in a palace, did you know that?"
"i didn't," she smiled, a forced one. "are you gonna show me around?"
at that, the elevator's doors opened, and she was hit with a sudden wave of heat that nearly made her fall over.
and he almost didn't catch her.
tears started to swell up her eyes as she clung onto his arm, nails digging into broken fabric. soft yelps came out of her mouth.
"love, are you alright?" he spoke worriedly, and the amount of emotion in his voice made her even more lightheaded.
"i-i am-" she whispered, getting back onto her feet. "its just- y'know- what.. what i told you last night..?"
he nodded his head, a soft "oh" coming out of his mouth. but it didn't seem like an ounce of actual empathy lied behind his eyes. a tint of red glazed it instead. she felt odd.
did he not remember? or did he choose not to?
when she was able to walk properly, he led her around. if it wasn't for the burning pit in her stomach, she'd be extremely excited. but she had a feeling that something deeper was lying under the lava pools.
"this is the palace," he sighed, gesturing to the building. "isn't it cool?"
"it is.." she muttered. this awe, she could not fake. the large, intricate structures of gold and red and the occasional fire bounced off her glassy eyes. "can we go inside? maybe you can show me your room-"
"i.." he stiffened up suddenly. "i don't think that's a good idea."
"oh.." she muttered, trying to read his firm facial expression. but she couldn't.
a thick silence fell upon them. the only noticeable thing was how her halo flicked on and off with inconsistent beats.
"hey, i have to.. do something.. how about you stay here until i'm finished, okay? maybe you can talk to my mom or.. or talk to the hellhounds," his voice was unconvincing, but she still nodded, even as disappointed as she was.
and she watched him walk away, turning the corner away from her. she couldn't help the overwhelming feeling of disgust rummaging through her. the constant stares of demons around her didn't make anything better.
her feelings were mixed. maybe he's having a good day or- or maybe he's really considering peace between them.
but what if it really was a trick?
her soft facial expressions fell into her lap, weighing her options. she always sought to find the good in people, always trying and trying to think positive. but even after she revealed everything- everything she couldn't admit out loud, he turned her away. and there was no right explanation for that, no matter how beautiful his palace was.
she straightened up, fists clenched at her sides. she wasn't going to take it. after going through so much of his hatred for so long, she didn't like him practically making fun of her death. she hated it.
she was going to look for him and tell him all of her raw feelings.
as he rounded the corner, his back hit the wall and his knees failed. his breathing was labored as he ran a blackened hand through his changing hair. he could feel the skin literally crawl off of him, and he was delighted to have his normal look back.
quackity sighed against the wall, catching up to his quickened breath. "now all he has to do is find her. and they're forced to make up. and i win my twenty bucks," he muttered under his lips. "god, quackity, you genius."
his laughs felt amazing to churn out. pretending to be wilbur was exhausting him to the core, but it was worth each and every penny of the twenty dollars he'd be receiving soon.
but, through all of his buzzing victory, he didn't notice an angry little angel looking for a certain grim reaper. he didn't notice her stomping around with her fists clenched at her sides.
and he definitely didn't notice her tripping and falling into the pit of lost souls.
-
wilbur's day went on horribly.
he didn't get any sleep. not that this was any different from usual; but this time his night was spent tossing and turning in his stone bed trying to think of how he was going to talk to her.
his bones ached when he got up, and no amount of stretches could heal the knot in his neck.
work was even worse. especially considering the fact that everytime he heard some sort of high pitched noise, he'd think it was a little angel fluttering her wings at him, and then he'd be able say the speech he had written up in his mind.
he was regretting his word choice of "i never want to see you again" on top of his regret for the rest of his blown out word vomit.
but as he walked from the elevator to his palace, he couldn't help but hear a sort of cry for help. and it sounded oddly similar to the angel's.
"wilbur? w-wilbur.. i know- i know you hate me but this- this hurts -"
was it?
"its not fffunny anymore- i know you got your kick out of tricking- me- but this is- ow!"
it couldn't be.
"i won't bother you again! i promise! just please- let- let me out of here- help me.. please..? it's- it's -"
he'd been hearing her voice in his head all day in somewhat intervals. but this felt more real, more raw.
he stumbled on his feet. he knew where it was coming from. he heard noises of desperate cries from it everyday, but the thought that this might be real? it scared him to his core.
worry rushed over him quicker than second thought, and he rushed over to the pit of lost souls in a panic. hoarse, raspy screams of "angel!" flew out of his throat as he scrambled to climb the volcano-like structure.
-
she still had a lot of questions for wilbur.
not the type of, "what's your favorite color?" or "what's your favorite band?" questions. more like, "wilbur? hello? please help- this hurts- are you still there?"
and she was starting to lose hope in the fact that those questions might be answered.
one things for sure; her curiosity will be the death of her.
unless he's got the courage to do something about it.
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11.4k || 8.12.23 || masterlist here!
taglist (dm or send an ask to be added!) — @sixofshadowandbone @theoneandonlyyeti @harbingerofheartbreak @starsyoubreaklikesugardust @mcr-pr-fob @sapphic-soot @flynn-thebin @puppyburbites @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @merakiaes @aimi-chann @axthrial @lololol00 @deadphantomsociety @hometown-smile @qweengigi @kisstheskin
thank you so much for your read, i appreciate all of the support <33 a part two is indeed coming soon!! stay tuned
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feyhunter78 · 2 months
Note
Ok, but imagine Nerd!Miguel gifting the reader some Lego flowers/bouquet and them building it together <3
Wait, this is so cute, I want someone to give me a Lego bouquet😭
Lego Bouquet
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Nerd!Miguel Masterlist
Miguel gives you a nervous smile as he hands you your gift, wrapped neatly in pastel pink paper with a white bow. You bounce on your heels as you tear through the paper, silently mourning the nice wrapping. It’s a bouquet, well, a Lego bouquet. You’ve seen them in the store a few times before, always drawn to them, fascinated by the way all those little pieces come together to make something that hardly looks like a toy at all. But you refused to buy one for yourself, it would be cringy, the same as buying real flowers for yourself it just looks a little sad.
You’re confused though. It’s still in its box. Anytime Miguel has given you one of his creations or shown you one, it’s always already put together. It’s his thing, building and modifying them, elevating them to a higher form.
His face falls at the expression on your own. “Do you not like it? I—I can return it and get you something else, it’s really not a problem, I promise. I just thought since you like flowers, and you liked when I put together that Lego version of Van Gogh’s Starry Night, so I just thought—”
“No, no, I like it, I love it actually, it’s just…usually you put the Legos together then give it to me?” You explain, hoping you don’t sound ungrateful or like a spoiled brat.
Miguel’s face falls even further. “I can put it together if you want, I’m sorry I thought maybe—never mind here, I’ll take it home with me and bring it back to you tomorrow.”
He tries to take it back from you, but you hug it against your chest. “You thought what?”
His eyes are on the floor, and he shifts his weight. “Maybe we could build it together?”
You swear you’re the Grinch or something because your heart grows ten sizes, the sweetness of his response making you smile like a lovestruck teen. “You want to build it with me?”
He nods. “Yeah, but if you don’t want to, or you want something else…”
You grab his hand and drag him over to your kitchen table, setting the box down. “Miguel, I love it, and I would love to build it with you. Want to start now?”
Now he looks like a lovesick teen. “Really?”
You open the box and start separating out the Legos. “Yes, really, now come on, you’re the professional here. How do we get started?”
TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows
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staryukis · 25 days
Note
alpha centauri + picnic spot <3
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you're going stargazing with... toji !! ⋆ ★
˗ˏˋa/n: i hope u like your drabble !! nsfw content ahead; MDNI ✰
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“oh, fuckk…”
toji’s groans slip out of his mouth like a symphony, spurring your movements as you bob your head up and down. you were laying comfortably between his spread legs, looking up at him with eyes shining brighter than the full moon visible just a few degrees above your head.
another moan slips past his lips as you hum around him, the vibrations going right to his groin. you wrap a hand around the base of his cock as you lift your head, removing himself from your eager mouth with a ‘pop’ sound before languidly stroking him.
“sh— shit, look at you,” he grunts softly, letting go of the fistful of your hair that he’d been holding on to so he could wipe his thumb over your lips. a sheen of your spit and his own precum coated them; as he swiped his thumb over the plump lip, your mouth parted open and wrapped around the digit, sucking lightly.
“that’s it,” he moaned, pressing the pad of his thumb flat on your tongue, rubbing the muscle inside your mouth and coating his finger in your spit. “you’re always so fuckin’ good to me, y’know?”
you hum around his thumb as he pulls it out of your mouth, leaning back against the blanket again as you continued to pleasure him. doing this out in the woods at night, while camping under the stars, was all your idea — and it was a brilliant one, might he add.
"you deserve this," you murmured sweetly, leaning down to press a kiss on his hip, just beside the trail of hair leading down his pelvis. "you're always making me feel good, i want you to feel good for a change."
toji chuckles at this, the sound low and breathy as he swallows down the moan that almost left his lips when you tightened your grip around him. "makin' you feel good makes me feel good, princess."
he reached a hand up again, brushing back the locks of hair that fell in front of your face. though just before he could cup your cheek with that very same hand, his head tipped back in a choked gasp.
“shit, fuck—” a slew of profanities leave his lips as you continue your ministrations, twisting your hand just the way he likes over his length while you suck on the head of his cock. “k-keep suckin’ me off like that and i’ll paint your face like i’m fuckin’ van gogh, shit—”
(it’d surely be a starry night by the time he was done with you.)
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art · 2 years
Photo
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Creator Spotlight: @loish
Lois is a digital artist who divides her time between creating personal art and character design work. She has released three books, all successfully funded through Kickstarter. You can find her work on loish.net. We asked her a few questions about her art process, style, and inspiration! Check out the interview below.
Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?
I started posting my art online when I was around 16, although back then, it was more small artist communities and deviantart. I went on to study animation and then started working as a freelancer after graduating! So I do have a background in art but have been actively sharing my work for much longer.
How would you best describe your style?
I guess I would call my style semi-realistic feminine art inspired by Disney and Alfonse Mucha! I think the semi-realism is key - it’s cartoony but still has many elements of realism that put it somewhere between the two.
What is one habit you find yourself doing a lot as a creator?
A habit that helps me a lot is getting annoying tasks out of the way early in the day. I go through email and tasks before I get started on my art so that I can just focus fully on my art when it’s time to create. I just want to zone out while I’m drawing and not be distracted by other things!
How do you want to evolve as a creator?
One thing that matters a lot to me is making more and more time to do what I truly love and want to do, and be able to share that with others. So I’m trying to prioritize personal art more and more, and in the future, I’d love to just dedicate all of my time to that.
Which 3 famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?
I’d have to go with some cliche answers and choose some old dutch masters: Vincent van Gogh, Rembrandt, and Vermeer. I’m so curious about their lives and ways of thinking. I’d want to know whether Vermeer really used a camera obscura, what Rembrandt thinks of animation and film (since his work was so dynamic), and just break the news to Vincent that he is one of the most appreciated artists of all time. And I’d want to know everything about what life in Europe was like during the years they were alive because I’m a bit of a history geek.
What are your file name conventions?
I name the file with year first, month second, then date. After that, I give it a name. So something like: 20220809_plant_studies.psd. That way everything is chronological, but I can also search by name if I forget when I drew it!
What is the hardest part of your process?
Honestly, the hardest part is just getting started and moving beyond the blank canvas. Once I’ve set my mind on something, the rest is manageable. But figuring out what I want to do, and dealing with all the anxieties that come with wondering whether I can pull it off, is the hardest.
Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?
One of my favorite artists that I discovered on Tumblr is @moosekleenex. Their art is so flowy and beautiful, but the comics are always funny and relatable. And they’ve been at it for so long, still making new art all the time. Also, I bought a few of their prints in the past and got some free original art with my order. It was one of my best art purchases!
Check out more of Lois’ artwork on her Tumblr, @loish!
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jnnul · 11 days
Text
super shy
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genre: FLUFF, angst bc of reader's insecurities but minji's there to take them all away <3
word count: 0.9k
type: drabble
a/n: hehe back to my roots! here's a little drabble for my beautiful girl after so long of not writing for her <3
it seems when you're sitting here, wrapped up in minji's arms, the entire world is at peace. you know this isn't true and that the moment you have to leave her embrace, the world comes back to the chaotic never-ending march of time you know it to be. but the sentiment makes you feel a little more calm and a little less worried about the future.
"what's got your pretty little head so occupied?" minji says. you're slouched so that your head is resting against her chest and it makes you feel so safe and warm that you can feel the vibrations of her steady heartbeat next to your head and rise and fall of her chest with every breath.
you always ask her if its too much or if you're too heavy or if she's uncomfortable but she always manages to quiet your thoughts with a firm press of her lips against yours, kissing you until she can physically feel the overthinking in your brain finally come to a rest, smiling when she finally does.
her smile never fails to give you butterflies deep in your stomach - especially when its pressed against your own.
"nothing," you say, looking up at her. she tilts her head, eyes searching deep within your own to look for any sign of lying or trying to keep her from worrying about you.
"i mean it. i'm not thinking about anything. i was just - kinda feeling how lucky i am to have you in my life. and how much i love you," you say, your words growing softer as you speak, suddenly growing shy in front of your girlfriend.
minji looks at you for a moment to make sure you truly weren't hiding your feelings from her and when she's satisfied, she lets out a full bellied laugh.
"oh my god. we've been dating for what, like, three years? why do you still get so shy around me?" minji says softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. you scramble out of your position to look at her in the eyes.
"you don't get shy around me anymore?" you gawk. minji shrugs, leaning her weight on her palms behind her.
"no - i mean, i still want to impress you. like i still want you to fawn over me and i still want to spoil the shit out of you and it gives me butterflies when you compliment me or when you look at me so excited about something. even more when you're excited because of me. but i don't really get shy around you," she explains, although she's quick to add, "that's a personality thing though, i promise i love you more and more everyday. i'm not falling out of love with you."
"oh." it's all you have to say and all you know to say honestly. it still amazes you how well minji can read you and how she always manages to find the right words to appease your fluttering thoughts.
"i get shy around you. and it makes me feel bad sometimes, because i end up overthinking everything because i can't believe someone as beautiful as you thinks that i'm worth spending your time on, to be honest. especially when you should and could be spending your time on such bigger and more beautiful people. and i know they're just my insecurities and i need to fix my way of thinking but...yeah..." you trail off when minji's lips fix into a disapproving frown. she gathers your hands in hers, leaning down so that she can catch your downcast gaze.
"baby, please. first of all, i think you're incredibly beautiful. but you and i both know that it matters most that you understand how beautiful you are. just because you don't look like a kpop idol doesn't mean you're not beautiful. to be honest, if you did, i don't know that i would love you as much as i do. not that looks are everything and i know that i would love your personality but that's just it - i made that first move on you because i thought you were gorgeous.
"think about it this way: you look at a van gogh and a monet and think they're both beautiful, right? but they look nothing alike. just because something is beautiful, it doesn't take away from something or someone else's beauty. i love you. and i want you to love yourself as much as i do because there might come a day where i can't be with you, even though i wish there was nothing that could keep us apart and i could be by your side every minute and every second."
"but when i can't be next to you, i want you to love yourself to the fullest. i want you to know that you are so gorgeous inside and out and that the reason you were put on this earth is to spread the beauty you have with so many people."
"honestly, you make me a better person just by being around you. that's your beauty, y/n. please, baby," she says, reaching out to put her palms on your cheek, wiping away the tears cascading down your cheeks as gently as possible with her thumbs, smiling at you.
you lean forward to wrap her in the greatest hug you possibly can.
"i love you so much minji. and i love that you love me so much that you want me to love myself the same way that you do."
and the world will continue to spin tomorrow, but for right this moment, this is enough for you.
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ssparksflyy · 2 months
Note
heyyy can i pls get a rachel elizabeth dare x fem! reader ? maybe in which the reader finds some drawings of her in rachel's sketchbook (you know, artist in love)
p.s: im working in your request <3
ask and thou shall recieve ༉‧₊˚.
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draw me like one of your french girls ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.
pairing: rachel elizabeth dare x fem!reader summary : your girlfriend has always proudly shown you all her artwork, or so you thought warning(s) : none! just fluff ♡ word count : 1.4k a/n : hihi! tysm for requesting! i hope this fits what u imagined :DD also best believe i took inspo from ghostflower to make thisss AND ik it says rachel lives in the oracle's CAVE but like nah lemme give me girl a flippin cabin omg 😭
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at this point, it was just routine for you to head to rachel's cabin after activities.
your last activity of the day before dinner was arts and crafts. you found it funny, how you'd spend around an hour or so trying to paint the simplest thing, fail, and then head to rachel's, only to find her painting the next mona lisa.
that made you all the more impressed and appreciative of rachel's artwork. some days, she'd be in her 'painters trance' and you'd just watch her paint. you found yourself in your own trance, watching her simply glide the paintbrush across the canvas and manage to create a masterpiece. forget davinci, picasso, or van gogh. rachel was your favorite artist.
today, in arts and crafts, you had experimented with clay. you managed to sculpt out a pretty good-looking strawberry. you planned to give it to rachel later, after all, they were her favorite fruit. she loved taking you on walks through the strawberry fields, holding your hand and smiling the whole time.
after arts and crafts had ended, you hugged your friends goodbye and began to descend into the woods, to rachel's cabin.
‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.
once you arrived at rachel's cabin, you climbed the steps that led up to the door and knocked on it. you took a step back, waiting for a response, but it didn't come. you frowned and looked around on the porch. near the door, rachel had enough room for a chair and a small side table on the porch. on the side table lay a note, in rachel's handwriting,
"hi love! im out getting flowers right now, i've got this super cool idea i want to try! the door's unlocked, so just let yourself in :) i should be back soon ♡♡
xoxo, rachel ♡
p.s. if you're not (y/n), then dont go in. sit on the chair. ill get to it when i get to it."
you smiled at the letter, you couldn't help but laugh at the way rachel's mood changes when not talking to you, even in writing. you left the note on the table, just in case somebody did need rachel and would have to wait on the chair.
you opened the door and walked into rachel's cabin, closing it behind you. you walked to her windows, opening the curtains and allowing the natural light to illuminate her room. rachel had told you about how much she'd preferred natural light or lamps, but never a main room light. she said they were too eye-straining and preferred the yellow-ish light that came from the sun and lamps.
after opening her windows, you looked around the room, eyes searching for something to do. you spotted one of rachel's sketchbooks on her desk. one you hadn't seen before.
'it must be new' you thought, walking over to her desk. you sat in her chair and gently placed your strawberry sculpture on the desk. you looked at the sketchbook, it was white and covered in heart stickers, you'd never seen this book before.
now, rachel always allowed you to look at her work. she'd always smile whenever she saw you lying in her bed, flipping through one of her many sketchbooks. she always said she didn't mind you going through and looking at her artwork, it made her happy.
so surely it was the same case for this book? but you'd never seen it before, and it did look pretty used. oh well, if you were a cat, curiosity definitely would've killed you in all 9 lives.
nothing could've prepared yourself for what you saw next. you expected to see the book full of prophecies, scenery, characters from rachel's favorite shows, doodles, not yourself.
you let out a small gasp when you opened the book, immediately met with a gorgeous drawing of you smiling (in like this pose ♡). the drawing was surrounded with small hearts and stars, and of course, rachel's signature near the bottom.
as you flipped through the pages you admired each drawing. rachel had seriously done such an amazing job on these drawings, you were amazed. as you continued to look through the book, you couldn't help but smile. with each turning page, your heart would flutter. the little person in your head was jumping around doing cartwheels saying 'ohmygoshohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh'.
you could've stared at the book for hours. around midway through however, your admiration had been interrupted.
you jumped up when you heard the door open, with a smiling rachel coming in behind her. as she came into the room, one of her arms holding dozens of flowers she said, "hey! sorry i wasn't here, but look at all the pretty flowers i-"
her sentence was brought to a halt when you turned in her chair, her sketchbook in hand. you had a soft smirk on your face, making sure she could see what you were holding.
she dropped the flowers that were once in her hand, her face immediately turning a bright shade of pink. the sides of her ears were turning red, the same way they always did when she was flustered. her lips were pressed into a thin line, unmoving. the poor girl seemed to be in too much of a shock to say anything.
but she didn't need to. slowly, you got up out of her chair, still holding the book in your hands, and began to walk towards her. you stopped right in front of her and squatted down to pick up a handful of flowers she had dropped. as you got back up, you met her eyes. they were full of panic. you simply smiled and handed her the book. she quickly grabbed it and shut it closed.
you let out a small laugh, rachel remained silent and flustered. you crouched down to pick up the rest of the flowers rachel had dropped.
"you know, im impressed you were able to draw all those poses with no references," you said, walking towards her desk and placing down the flowers. you then turned around and said, "you could've told me you needed a model."
rachel stayed frozen. you didn't think she'd be this embarrassed but you had to admit, it was funny. just then a great idea hit you. you began to walk over her bed and said, "i think i'd make a pretty good model right?" you asked, smirking. rachel's head followed your every move, but the rest of her body remained frozen in space, clutching the sketchbook tightly to her chest.
you sat down on rachel's bed and said, "i mean i've learnt from the best" you began to lay down on your side, resting your head on the pillow. you dramatically raised your hands to the side of your head like rose had in titanic as you said in an exaggerated wistful voice, "jack, draw me like one of your french girls".
this caused rachel to finally leave her state of shock, and instead slide her hand down her face, and covering her mouth. you put your hands down and laughed as she walked over to you with heavy steps. she kneeled down next to her bed so your faces would be the same level.
you smiled and moved your head to the edge of the bed, just inches away from hers.
"im sorry" rachel said, looking down at the sketchbook in her hands.
you furrowed your eyebrows, "for what?", you asked.
"for drawing you so much. i know it's weird" she said eyes focused on the book.
"hey look at me" you said, moving your face slightly closer to hers, "i love them. you're seriously so talented and im so glad i get to be the person who inspires your art. ok?"
rachel nodded slowly with a smile. you gave her a grin in return.
you placed a small kiss on her lips and rolled over on her bed, making room for her. "alright now cmere jack", you said.
she let out a small laugh and climbed into her bed. she wrapped her arms around your waist and rested her head in the crook of your neck, holding you close.
you began playing with her hair, wrapping her curls around your fingers. you both laid there in silence, just enjoying each other's company.
"hey (y/n)?" rachel said.
"yea?" you responded.
"i love you."
"i love you too rach." you said, smiling.
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a/n pt.2: hii! i hope this is what you were looking for! <3 i love the whole artist in love :( need me someone to draw me like on of their french girls :( except can i not be butt-ass naked thanks
ANYWAY yea again, hope u enjoyed! tysm for reading and requesting! im almost done with all my asks and then i'll write some ideas i wrote down <33 ok, bye! hope u have a good day/night, likes and reblogs are always appreciated!
peace from manhattan,
percy jackson
88 notes · View notes
uglypastels · 9 months
Text
Not Wholly Evil |VII| pirate!Eddie au
a/n - ok, so first of all, i cannot thank everyone enough for the support on this fic. i am just in awe at the love its been getting recently. so i think it times out perfectly that this chapter is the one i have been the most excited to write and had been waiting to write since probably chapter 3 or something. I really hope you like it. Be sure to reblog and/or comment (and remember asks are also always welcome!)💗
Series Masterlist
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word count: 5.4k
"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. near death experiences in water. pirates are pigs: mentions of non-con, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying.
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Chapter 7: Four Corners of Heaven
“The heart of man is very much like the sea; it has its storms, it has its tides, and in its depths it has its pearls too."
- Vincent van Gogh
The ship swayed from side to side, taking you along with it, stumbling from one leg onto the other as you struggled to find your balance. Wardrobe doors flung open, banging against their hinges. Papers flew all over the ground as the desk shifted from its secured position.
A banging noise sank deep into you, pulling you back to the Red Tail. The panic lasted until you realised you heard waves crashing against the window. How tall would they have to be to reach the glass? How strong to be able to open the hinges? 
It smashed against the wall, nearly cracking, but the damage was still done as water spilt inside with vicious attacks. Cursing, you made your way over, trying to close it before the entire floor would be under water. The spurts hit you in your face, shoving it down your throat. The icy feeling froze your skin as the heavy salt taste burned your tongue. By the time you closed the window, you had been drenched. You heaved for air, bend over with your arms on your knees. 
There was shouting outside the room. Incoherent behind the wood and rain layers, but the sense of emergency remained. 
You let yourself fall to the ground, back against the wall. All the commotion was now accompanied by your heartbeat drumming in your ears. When you calmed down, you realised you had still been holding the letter, scrunched into a wet roll between your fist, the water dripping off it came down in dark grey tears. Quickly, you dropped it into one of the desk's drawers and shut it. 
The ship also began to halt its tilt, regaining its composure, and so slowly, your anxiety faded. It allowed you to think; look around. Two longswords were hanging up on the wall, so you grabbed one and did your best to block the mechanics that opened the window. It should hold the water for some time, but you could only hope. You ignored the metal's clanking sound against the glass as the force pushed against it. 
As more shouting erupted from outside, the smaller the room felt. Suddenly you were back on the Red Tail, under the desk, hiding from these men. That was how it had all started, wasn’t it? They hid you away to keep you safe… and yet. The walls closed in on you. The water seemed to rise, but only in your mind, drowning in helplessness. 
If something did happen to this ship, you thought you would die either way, and you might not know many things, but one thing was certain: you would not die in Munson’s cabin.  
When you walked out of the room the past days, you were greeted with plush warm air, as if you had fallen gently atop a pillow. Now, it was more like a hard fall. The wind slapped your entire body, and the harsh rain cut at your cheeks. Each step felt as if you had been anchored to the ground. 
All around you was chaos. Water was everywhere. Rain poured harshly, a million icy bullets coming down your skin, soaking through your clothes. The waves reached a height as you had never seen, coming in closer by the second, threatening to spill over the railings. Some already did, drowning the wooden panelling of the deck, leaving nothing untouched as barrels rolled around. Crew members ran behind them, with meters of ropes, hoping to steady the load, but it was in poor attempts when their feet could barely remain steady. Munson threw around commands, but in these circumstances, his beloved ship had a mind of her own, and it was protesting her captain. 
The rest, in the meantime, did their best to keep up with what the captain had to say. Pulling the sails, ensuring a hold on all the loose cargo on the deck from slipping away. With buckets, they threw out water that splashed onto the ship, but with each wave, the amount only doubled. The men stumbled over themselves, knocking eachother over as the boat swayed immensely. 
You heard your name being called from the side and saw Harrington at the helm. Seeing him in the rain, you could not help but think of a dog. How the animals shrink in size when met with water, shaking and whimpering, just wanting to escape the cold. All of them, in fact, everyone around you, reminded you of it. They were all simply fighting for their life against the elements. 
Harrington looked at you sternly, and you could tell what he was saying with his expression alone. Go inside. But you stared blankly back, with no intention of listening.
That is when the wind picked up, pushing the ship off course. The helm began spinning in circles, and Harrington held onto its spurs for dear life, turning it back with all his remaining power. You could tell he wouldn’t be able to hold it much longer. His grip kept slipping. He cursed loudly, but there was no one there to help. No one except you. It took you one quick glance to realise it, and once that occurred, you immediately stepped up to him and pulled at the spurs.
Harrington looked taken aback, for a second forgetting the task at hand, and that one second had been enough for him to fall back a few steps and the helm to begin to unfold again, resulting in another loud curse.
‘What are you doing?’ 
‘Helping you!’ you called out; both of you were sputtering as the water of both sea and sky engulfed you. 
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He yelled out moments before another wave hit the vessel's side, and he got knocked off his feet. For a brief moment, until he had regained his stance, you were the only one holding the helm. The weight of the entire ship fell upon you for those brief seconds, which was overwhelming. It was too much, too heavy. You couldn’t carry on on your own. 
Harrington coughed out as he regained a grip on the wheel. He glanced at you with another expression of displeasure at your presence, but there was no longer time for him to argue. You could barely hold the wheel together. Your feet were slipping on the wet floor. 
‘Pull!’ he shouted almost directly into your ear, but he could have been miles away with the thunder roaring over your heads.
‘I am!’ you shouted right back, but clearly, it was not enough.
‘Pull harder than!’ 
I can’t, you wanted to shout back, but that would have been worthless. You were putting in every inch of power you had left in this, yet it would still take much more for the ship to cooperate. By the time you released the helm with certainty, your arms were burning with exhaustion, and your skin was numb from the thousands of pinpricks of the harsh downpour.  
Not that this mattered much. The rest of the ship was still in turmoil. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought a mist had set in from how dense the water came down, covering everything in a grey mass. The wind blew you back three steps for each that you attempted to make. 
You were both breathing heavily, which was hard as it was combined with trying not to swallow the loads of water that came down upon you with each breath you took. Was there even air to breathe at this point? Or had you already sunk into the ocean? Everything felt on top of its head, spinning around. You barely heard what Harrington said as you pulled yourself out of the nausea.
‘What?’ you asked, shouting everything out to come out above the noise. 
‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. Now, what was he apologising for? And why now, as the storm was only growing stronger, it seemed. The two of you still stood side by side at the helm, holding it tightly, but now more for your own sake, anchoring yourself from the wind. Across the ship, you saw the rest of the crew battling with the weather. Munson had stopped shouting out commands and was part of a group trying to keep the mizzenmast up. He had discarded his jacket somewhere along the way, leaving him to let the water soak into his shirt, which stuck to him meticulously. 
‘That are you apologising for,’ you turned quickly to Harrington. Facing his direction only caused the rain to directly attack your face. 
‘For listening to him,’ he shouted. As the storm raged on, you doubted anyone could hear the two of you anymore, no matter how loud you spoke. ‘I thought I was doing what was best for everyone, it was stupid.’
‘But why—why did he tell you to do that?’ 
To your surprise, Harrington laughed. ‘I’ve realised long ago it is better not to understand how his mind works.’ 
You wanted to reply that, no, you did want to understand exactly how his mind worked because it was making you insane when suddenly, a crash sounded over the vessel. All heads turned to starboard, where something must have just crashed bast the railing beams. A large whole gaped at the rest of you; a crate had already fallen out, but it was the least of your worries as you saw an arm hanging on for dear life from one of the broken wood beams. 
Munson was the first person to reach the crewman in peril. He reached for him just in time as the man’s grip slipped off the wood. The captain lay flat on his stomach across the deck. Some more men reached him and tried to pull him in, but the ship shifted again on the waves; nothing was in their favour. 
‘Harrington!’ the captain yelled, but when his voice reached you, it was less than a murmur against the wind. ‘HARRINGTON!’ He looked over toward the helm, and that is when he noticed you. 
You didn’t give him the same amount of attention, for you had a better view of everything around. You could see the stack of men that had now gathered at the broken ship’s side, pulling their mate back to safety, but you also saw the barrel that was lopsiding, threatening to fall over with each hit of the waves. They must have missed it when securing everything in haste. From its position, it seemed that if it would topple over, the barrel would roll directly into the panicked rescue operation. 
Harrington, who had been trying to steer the ship as best as he could in the circumstances, must have seen it too, as you had only taken a step to the side, and he had already grabbed your arm. 
‘Let go off me, or I will give you another black eye!’ You threatened. 
‘Have you gone mad!’ He shouted over the yelling below you. 
‘Yes!’ You couldn’t help but smile and possibly not even far from any truth. The last few weeks were maddening in every possible way. Whatever had or would have happened, there was no denying that you had changed, and the most evident proof was right there as you ran down the stairs in an attempt to save the men that you had thought would lead you to your death. Just as you thought you had reached it in time, the barrel tipped over entirely, hitting the ground and immediately started to roll. It rolled in your direction, the only obstruction in its way.
Without thinking, you let yourself crush against it, shoulder to wood. The pain was intense but passed quickly, and though you had let your feet slip and there was nothing to mask the fall, you had still managed to stop the large piece of refuse from hurting the others. 
You could see them pulling the fallen crewmate back onto the deck when you got up. Shuffling through your memories of what you had encountered and heard the past few days, his name didn’t come up, and yet you felt a huge relief fall off you. 
‘You’re welcome!’ you said, tired and feeling heavy. 
Someone helped Munson get up. His hair was stuck all over his face, but when he brushed it aside, you saw his face—full of anger. He stormed over to you or tried to, considering how the ship had thrown him off-balance. 
‘What should I be thanking you for?’ He spat out, primarily due to all the rain that had soaked into him. 
‘For saving your life!’ You had not expected him to be thankful, that was not who Munson was, but you had not imagined him to be angry. Yet, his eyes were rageful, his jaw tense as he looked at you silently and turned to his men to yell out: 
‘Someone secure that damn wall.’ 
Aye. There were already three men on it, trying to block the wrecked piece of the ship. Any proper reparations would have to wait until the storm had run its course. There was no way for them to sit there with the waves splashing into their faces at such speed and force and nowhere to stand without a risk of falling. 
The captain turned back to you. ‘I told you to stay inside.’
‘If I had, you would have been in the water now!’ You shouted back, ‘clearly, you need as many hands on deck as possible.’
‘Not yours.’ He wiped his face off from the rain, but it poured over him with even more strength. ‘Go back to my quarters. Now.’
‘No.’ You stood your ground, pushing back against Munson’s and the wind’s will.  You would not let yourself be stowed away. He could not take this away from you. He could not take you away. You wouldn’t let him. Not again.
‘That is an order.’ He snapped. 
‘I do not take orders from you.' You may not have been much help, but you had already kept Harrington from losing complete control over the helm and practically saved the captain from falling into the ocean's depths. Still, it was not enough to convince the captain, as his reply was clear and straightforward, despite all the noise that muffled your voices from eachother.
‘You’ll die out here!’ A wave pushed you forward, stumbling into his chest. He held you up by your wrist before you both fell. 
‘So will you!’ You looked him in the eyes, pleading. Unsure for what. Something. Anything.
For a moment, you thought you had won him over, but then he looked around, shouting out names of his crewmen, anyone who could hear him or get close enough to you. But they were all too occupied. Finally, one of the coopers, who was already tying up the barrel you had so swiftly taken care of with the rest of the cargo, ran up at the sound of his name.
‘Take care of her before I do,’ Munson told him. The boy—as he seemed younger than most men on this ship—nodded, but you saw in his face he had nothing over you. Before he could reach for you, you pushed past him towards the captain. 
‘I’m not leaving you.’ Perhaps that were not the words you had meant to say. Maybe you simply wanted to say that you were not about to leave this deck, but those were the words to come out of your mouth.
As a response, he asked the same question that crossed your mind as soon as those words had left your mouth. ‘Why?’ 
‘Because–’ but before you could answer, a pair of arms grabbed you and pulled you away. You screamed out, demanding to be let go, but it was all washed out in the storm. It couldn’t have been the boyish cooper that had taken you; his hold was too firm and strong. Whoever they were, they dragged you back toward the cabin on the captain's orders, towards alleged safety. What would happen if they opened the door to reveal a waterfall streaming past their feet because those bloody windows broke open once more? What then? 
But you felt a pinch of pride in your heart because you knew that some days ago, you would not have dared to stand up to the captain with such defiance. You certainly would not have dared to kick and scratch at the man holding you until he let you go. You would have been shoved into that room and locked away, and maybe it would have been for the better because just moments after you freed yourself, you locked eyes with Munson. He was ready to speak, yell, and so were you, but all of that was washed out by a wave. One larger than you had ever seen before. It towered over the ship, dampening everything in its shadow. And then it crashed down. You had just about managed to take one final breath and heard a scream of your name. 
There was a push, and something hit your head, or was it your head that hit something. Either way—
Everything went black. 
That must be what death feels like. Floating, weightlessly numb. There is darkness, and then there is light. It grows and grows, overcoming the chasm and suddenly, all the pain from before is gone.
It is disorienting at first as you try to understand where you are. It all feels familiar and yet impossible at the same time. You do not know how you got there but know the way perfectly well. You remember it all exactly—that day—like no time had ever passed. It must have been years ago. Long before the wreckage and the fire and the storm and chaos. Long before him. And yet… 
As you come to, but not exactly, you hear the mewing of seagulls. A flock hovers over your head. The sun shines brightly. As you move your hand, blades of grass tickle your fingertips and that smell… the sweet scent of summer. 
There’s a weight on your stomach. A book. You had been reading it for hours under the tree. The large lime tree in the garden, but to call it a garden is an understatement. The branches rock gently in the breeze, shaking their leaves in a greeting. 
You sit up, letting your back rest against the tree bark. In the distance are voices, children playing, merchants selling their produce, and animals roaming freely over the streets like any other day. 
Then you hear it. 
‘Gentlemen, I think we have an agreement then,’ your father says as he emerges from a corridor. You want to jump into his arms, tears already welling up in the corner of your eyes, but that is not how that day had gone. 
Besides, he has company. 
‘Yes, sir,’ a second man replies. ‘The troops are all ready to go.’ 
‘Brilliant,’ your father says. None of them have realised that you were sat there yet, able to hear every word they said. If they had, they would have sent you away. Not because any of their matters are private or a secret, it is just some light conversation between commanders. They would have sent you away because you, as a lady, have no reason to be bothered by such topics. 
You dare to peek a glance at the men accompanying your father. Like all the others before, they must be some kind of officer; their appearance told you as much. You had seen plenty of these types of men. Your father often invited those who harboured their ships in town. No matter where they were from. Although, they seemed to be wearing similar colours to what the soldiers around your house wore. 
You didn’t know either of the two men’s names that day. Why would you? It was the first time you had seen them in a lifetime full of new faces. And it would be several years until you would see them again. Years that would barely change admiral Carver’s appearance. He had maintained his boyish young looks until the day he died. 
By now, you knew you had fallen deep into a dream, but how much of it was fantasy? It felt like a memory, but why were you haunted by demons? Maybe it was your brain filling in gaps, playing tricks on you, covering up a face you had entirely erased from your memory by one you could never forget. That did not seem right, however. The pieces fell too perfectly into place. Just not in any way, you had expected them to. 
It was a trick. It must be. That was, could, not him, after all. His hair was neatly tied back and much shorter, to begin with. Though mostly covered with the shadow of his brimmed hat, his face was fuller, happier, and clean-shaven. His fingers were clean, and light without the weight of those large silver rings, and his clothes were the pristine uniform of the navy, which could not possibly hide a lifetime of scars and tattoos underneath them. It simply could not be.
And yet, when he catches your eye, that same pair of warm brown eyes catch you off guard. He smiles your way, tipping his hat, saying ‘ma’am’ with a smile before catching up to the rest of his entourage.
You awoke in a sheen of cold sweat, but it might have been the storm's remnants. The gentle feeling of grass blades against your fingers was exchanged into a harch grip on the bedsheets you lay upon. The only thing you could hear was your breathing, but behind that was the tap-tap-tapping of rain against the window. That’s where he stood, leaning against the glass by his side, arms crossed as he looked at you. No expression that you could make out in any sense, not because of the lack thereof, but because the emotions came in abundance.
‘What happened?’ Speaking felt like you had inhaled a bucket of sand instead of water; your throat had wholly dried out. 
‘What do you remember?’ the captain walked over to the bed with a cup of water to hand you, which you took with a shaky hand. 
‘Everything… I think.’ One sip had been enough to heal your drought. ‘There was a storm and a wave—’ 
‘Nearly washed us out,’ Munson filled in the gaps. His voice was steady, emotionless. Somehow, that felt worse than if he had been angry. He was holding back on you. ‘You hit your head and been asleep—we assumed you were sleeping—for six hours. More or less.’ But the longer he kept on talking, the more of a shake you felt in him. How he was holding back the rage that had exploded out of the both of you during the storm.
He continued talking. ‘We should be arriving at the harbour of Saint Claire shortly.’
‘I don’t understand,’ you let your fingers ghost over your forehead, which was wrapped in bandages, and a flash of pain blinded you momentarily. 
‘It’s a small island, not far off course. Safer for the night than the waters.’ The storm had calmed down but had not found its rest just yet. 
‘No, I don’t mean that,’ you said, standing up. 
‘Don’t get up,’ He tried to push you back but decided against making contact, which you took as an opportunity to defy his wishes. 
‘Do not tell me what to do, Munson.’ You were tired of it, and his constant commands made you sick…. Or was it the dizziness you felt as you got up too fast? Munson caught you just in time before you would hit your head again. Only then you realised that his shirt was still wet. It stuck to you like it stuck to him. His hair was a mess too. He must have come out of the rain moments ago.
He set you back up on your feet just to bring you back onto the bed. Once your head stopped spinning, you weakly asked: ‘Is everyone okay?’
‘You seem to have gotten the worst of it.’ 
‘Of course,’ you laughed at your own fortune. ‘Look,’ you made a second attempt to get up, hitting the last of the captain’s nerves.
‘Why won’t you ever listen?’ He grunted as he held you up. 
‘Because I don’t want to.’ You swatted away his hands, letting go of him entirely. ‘Will you stop that!’
‘Stop what?’
‘Pretending like you give a damn about me while we both know that I am not worth a dime of your time..’ 
He sighed, pivoting your tangent. 
‘No, sorry, you have your bounty to look forward to, of course, but don’t worry, I will personally write a letter to my father to tell him to just give you all his money, no matter in what state I return home if you will just leave me alone!’
‘Will you please stop yelling.’ He had his head rolled back, looking up at the ceiling. His fists clenched, and he walked around the room to calm down.
‘No! I am tired of this. All of this. I am tired of being treated like vermin.’
‘Vermin?’ He scoffed this time, turning his head to you in disbelief. ‘I’ve given you my clothes, my bed and two perfectly fine meals every day, and that’s what you think this is?’
‘Yes, and I’m very thankful for that, just as I am for being locked in a cage for days and now—what, you’re isolating me from your entire crew like I have the pest?’
‘I did no such thing!’ He was quick to defend himself from the accusation.
‘So, just Harrington then? Do not lie to me, Munson; I saw how he avoided me the whole time, then tried to not sound as if you had not commanded him to not speak to me.’
‘It was his own will that followed that order. I gave him a choice.’ 
‘What was it, listen or die?’ That sounded about right for you. 
‘We do not kill on this ship,’ he said sternly, seriously, almost more severe than you had ever heard him speak. 
‘Only on every other ship?’ With a snap, the window burst open again, letting in the whistling wind and the last drops of rain into the room, but it went unnoticed by the two of you as all the focus lay in the vicious words you threw back and forth.
‘Only those who deserve it. Yes.’ His face was set in anger, and you backed away, not because of his appearance but what he had admitted to. 
‘What did my men deserve? They were innocent!’’ Everyone on the ship must have heard you if they had not already been listening to the rest of the conversation.
‘Of course, we’re all just innocent men, aren’t we?’ He regained his need for theatrics as he spread his arms invitingly, laughing hysterically. ‘Everyone except for me, that is. I am the big scary monster at the bottom of the sea that you should fear. That’s what I am, right, darling? I’m the monster.’ He also began to get louder with each word, his words slurred with exhaustion. That is when you noticed the bottle on the edge of the desk. The rest of the room lay in disarray, but the bottle stood pristinely on the corner of the oaken desktop, uncorked without anything spilt it, but nonetheless half empty. 
‘Are you drunk?’ You reached for the bottle.
‘You wish, princess.’ He laughed. ‘Then maybe I wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow. But please, be my guest, drink–’ he pointed at the bottle you were holding, ‘eat, take my clothes, my bed, men, maybe go through all of my belongings once more, read my personal correspondence like its a bloody periodical. Jump of the ship if you please. I do not care.’ He threw his arms up, and something in you tightened. Of course, he knew about you, having read the letter. But should you feel guilty about it now? When he just admitted to targeting your friends? So many things were going through your head, and words you wanted to say to him, but only one question truly encapsulated it all.
‘What is your problem?’ 
‘You.’ He pointed sternly, so there was no confusion on the matter, ‘You are my problem. Have been since the very first day.’
‘Well, if only there had been a solution to that,’ you threw your arms up in faux-surrender, ‘Like maybe, not kidnapping me, or you could have left me to die on my ship or, even better, not ambushing my ship!’ 
‘You were never meant to be on that ship!’ He yelled out, letting out all his frustrations while all of yours disintegrated at that moment, too, as you let his words go through you. The next word you spoke was too overcrowded by confusion to be heard from a distance. 
‘What?’
‘You know you weren’t supposed to be there.’ He blinked, and something in him cracked. A part of him you had never seen before that had come out by mistake and was now vulnerable against everything. ‘It was supposed to be them—him—’ 
‘How do you know that?’ 
‘Because I know them. You speak of what a monster I am, but I know what kind of monsters they are and what they do, and I know you’re not one of them.’ 
‘You don’t know anything about me!’ You gritted your teeth as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. With each sentence spoken between you, unbeknownst to either, utterly subconsciously, you had both pulled at an invisible string. Pulling each other closer and closer until there was nowhere left to pull; the knot tied you down. Inseparable.
Munson looked down at you, the angles of his features suddenly softer, eyes flickering over all the corners of your face. ‘Well, what do you know about me?’
If he had asked you this any other day, any other minute, even if it had been ten seconds before, you would have been able to answer him directly with no hesitation. But, unfortunately, he had asked it right at this moment, as you stood only inches apart. Breathing the same air in and out. Everything around you dampened. It was just you and him. No sound, no light, no touch. Time sped up and slowed down at the same time. You could have stood there for an hour or a second, which would not have mattered.
You were still fighting to find the words when he touched your cheek and pulled you in. His lips practically crashed into yours with the force of a burning sun, and that is what must have burst inside you as he did. All thoughts fizzled away from your mind to the point that the only thing you could think of was his body on yours. The touch between the two of you. His lips on yours, hand on cheek, chest to chest. 
But as smoothly as those thoughts had dissolved, as quickly they rematerialised when he pulled away. And with the moment of clarity, you let your body speak for itself as now your hand met his cheek.
Harshly. 
The impact ghosted your palm as the red mark across his jawline began to form. Following your hand’s movement, he turned his face away but slowly came back to you, and nothing had changed about him. You could not read anything of him. He was a closed book. A tall wall between two cursed lands.
But that is when you realised that something had changed in you. Deep within.
A fracture.
It must have been there for ages, shattering away small pieces here and there as time passed. Each day, no matter how hard you tried to keep them under control, the cracks would grow and grow, ready to burst out whatever it was hiding on the other side. This thing that was hungry for something. Something you had never known you wanted, even needed, but now could not live another second without. As your chest still rose with anger, and the final crack formed, breaking the foundations apart, you leaned in and let your lips meet his for a second time. Without letting another second go to waste, he grabbed you tightly and pulled you in, closing any possible gaps. Bursting through the walls. 
Like a cannon, 
straight through the heart.
The damage was done. 
Chapter 8
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thank you so much for reading!! if you want more of where this came from, check out my masterlist.
and please support your (not so) local creators by liking AND reblogging. I would love to know what you thought of the story, so please consider leaving a comment, or maybe an ask or even an anonymous review ;P
you are also more than welcome to join the Eddie Munson taglist. right here.
taglist (part 1)
@nope-thanks @seventhlevelofhell @strangerfreaks @hangmanscoming @blueberrylemontea-fanfic @vintagehellfire @raven-rust @eddiesguitarskills @taccobelle @imjusteddietrashatthispoint @lunar-corgimon
@dorianelizabeth @theletterhart@pastel-abyss-x @ghoulsgraveyard @lovesickollie @xbreezymeadowsx @meaganjm @mischiefmanagers @capybergara @brother-lauren @h0sh1verse @ghostlyreader @croweaterr @ladyapplejackdnd @bilesxbilinskixlahey @liltimmyst @hellfire-state-of-mind @escape-in-time-x @sweetpeapod @eddiemunsonbby @mydearzero @wroteclassicaly @celestialsxturn @hoe4eddiemunson @inanausomewhere @scoops-harrington @fluffyharrington
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intuitively-her · 11 months
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What about you turns people on?
Pile 1-(Judgement, 4 of pentacles, 5 of wands rx, Justice, 4 of cups, 3 of swords, Queen of wands, 10 of swords rx)
Someone here could be psychic. People know that they could never fool you. You always find out.🤣 You've taught your past partners a lot of lessons in love. You've also made people identify and change parts of themselves. Very transformational. You like to keep the peace among others. People really love your personality and attitude. You're very open and outgoing. You can literally get along with anyone. People love your chest area. They really love when your n*pples poke through your shirt.🤭 People love your body in general. It's like a sculpture. I heard this Nicki lyric, "My body is a work of art, he eatin this Van Gogh." There's LOTS of competition over you in the love department. People are really obsessed with you. You got stalkers babe.
Pile 2-(The Emperor, The Star, 9 of cups, 10 of cups, The Devil, Temperance, 7 of wands)
You could be an authority figure. A lot of people look up to you. You could be in the public eye as well. Something about your authority just makes people wanna submit to you. They just wanna tend to your every need. People love your booty! You're a wish fulfillment to many. People fantasize about marriage and children with you. You're very chill and laid-back. However, you'll also fight a bitch if needed. That's so sexy. You're such a temptation. You may often attract people in committed relationships.
Pile 3-(3 of pentacles, Ace of wands, The Fool, The Tower, Queen of pentacles, 2 of swords, The Hierophant, The Sun, Temperance, 6 of wands)
You're an idealist! Someone here could be a content creator. You always come up with amazing ideas. Some of you give off the vibe of "forbidden fruit". Like people can look but they can't touch. You're either always working towards a personal goal or you're always studying something new. Someone here could be a bookworm lol. You may like to collaborate with others as well. People are highly attracted to your confidence. It's very eye-catching. There's something about the way you walk. A lot of people get stuck in their head about you. You may not give many people the time of day. You could be religious or spiritual. This is very attractive. People can tell that you cultivate a lot of inner-peace and you're very happy with yourself. You literally glow on the outside! You're not afraid to dive into the unknown and see where life takes you. For some of you, you've caused tower moments and taught a lesson to people in your past. For others, you've been through many lessons internally and you're no longer afraid of a tower moment when it's needed. People love how motherly and down-to-earth you are. They feel like they can come to you for literally anything. People really love your hair as well. Your face in general is attractive. It's very model-esque.
Pile 4-(The World, Ace of swords, The Empress, King of swords rx, 7 of cups, The Wheel, Ace of cups, 2 of cups)
You stay true to yourself no matter what! You've accomplished a lot throughout your life and you have a lot to show for it. People love your backside. There's a huge emphasis on your legs. Someone here could be tall lol. You can be manipulative at times. I don't feel like you do this on purpose tho. It's just very easy for people to get trapped under your spell. People love how you express your femininity. You have a lot of options! You're literally the ideal bf/gf to so many people. I'm getting that you can be unapproachable, so many of your suitors resort to stalking you. You bring a lot of good karma to others. You're literally a walking lucky charm.
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aestheticpearl · 4 months
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𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐀𝐂 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐃
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“is this okay?”
“does this feel good?”
“i wish you could see the faces you make when i fuck you like this”
“that’s it baby— shit yeah yeah keep moving like that”
“easy now don’t get over zealous pretty thing”
“it’ll fit, don’t be scared”
“you take it so well”
“don’t be shy now, spread though pretty legs for me sweet thing”
“move your hand here…feel that? that’s me”
“so your neck is sensitive huh?”
“you keep marking my neck like that i’ll end up looking like a van gogh painting”
“not yet.”
“that’s right sweet thing keep going— mmm damn it”
“open your mouth.”
“mghm— fuck pretty thing”
“it hurts? your body is telling me otherwise”
“want me to kiss it better?”
“i bet you do”
“on your knees”
“fucking s-shit”
“almost there, right there yes yes”
“give me a kiss sweet thing, you did amazing”
“now you’re all shy?
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please reblog to show support ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄
saku don’t look
.love always <3 pearl
.masterlist
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radio-ghost-cooks · 3 months
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headcanons for my top 3 doctors <333
five!
he's such a foodie
sucker for Poirot mysteries (Death on the Nile, A Haunting in Venice, etc.)
easily fatigued in his hips + knees. he's just a dumbass who forgets to use his mobility aids so he doesn't realize how fatigued he is until he falls over
favorite flavor is honey. always carries around honey candies
loves the academia aesthetic
Tegan showed him the Moomins and now he loves them
ten!
does the adhd thing where she just straight up forgets to eat
twirls the sonic as a stim
owns 15 different pairs of converse, each one with entirely different colors (her favorite pair is color-block)
oddly attached to a question mark pin she found in the Tardis closet
hozier enjoyer
her greatest weakness is almond sandwich cookies
eleven!!!
prefers Japanese-style jiggly pudding to cream pudding
easily overstimulated by too many different noises; hates big cities
Amy's love for Van Gogh made star love him too (hence star's neopronoun of choice)
contrary to popular belief, star isn't picky when it comes to food. actually enjoys bitter greens to a point
sings while star works
falls asleep in the control room a lot
would steal Rory's hoodies if they actually fit star
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copperbadge · 1 year
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sam! your wall o' posters and stuff is amazing. how do you plan out a wall like that? do you move stuff around? how do you hang it all, aer you not worried the drywall will give or do you use command strips or something
Oh, let me give you the full view of the front hallway, I don't think I've ever shared the whole thing. If you're standing with your back to the green sofa I'm always sitting on, with the cat tree to your left, this is the view of the left side:
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[ID: A photograph of my hallway with white and blue rugs, a green wall, and numerous posters hung on it -- they range from hand-drawn art to commercial prints, theatrical posters, and museum exhibit ads. One looks like it's blank, but it's a framed lighting plan I did for a theatre show, and just doesn't show very well on film.]
And if you look to your right, this is the other side, which includes the hallway to the bathroom and bedroom:
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[ID: The same hallway, just the other side; prints here include indy artist prints, pages from calendars, a massive ad for Immersive Van Gogh, and an air intake vent painted green. A couple of cardboard boxes are in the hallway, waiting to go to recycling.]
I didn't really plan any of it, but I had a bunch of the framed posters already when I moved in, so I tended to "group" them -- some of the puzzles are together, most of the theatre posters are together, et cetera. It's not heavily regimented, and honestly I just kind of put in hooks wherever I thought things would look nice -- there are a few I used a level and a bit of string to make sure they aligned, but not many.
The drywall's not very thick -- it's basically 3/4" pasteboard -- so you can't really put up shelving on it or anything, or the whole thing would be a cat jungle gym. But it's well solid enough for hanging framed prints, most of which are just hung on those little angular hooks you nail into the wall. A few of the heftier ones are hung on screws, but the frames themselves are generally fairly lightweight. Down at the end you can see bags displayed on the wall, those are on small coat hooks anchored into it.
I forget how it looks because, you know, I live here, but watching people walk in for the first time and take in the long hallway just plastered in framed posters is pretty fun. Most of them have a sentimental meaning of some kind. I have begun to rotate them out once in a while -- the pinboard in the first picture replaced a gallery print that used to be there, which I wrapped and put in storage. But mostly I'm just using the Full Wall as a reason to prevent myself from going ham every time I'm in an Artists Alley or a print store.
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lestatslestits · 4 months
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Day 3 of TOTA Takeover, dedicated to Eddie McKenna. He’s such a perfect avatar for the overarching theme of the show: the fine line between being seen as “mad” or “sane” by society, and he brilliantly subverts so many uncomfortable tropes in which characters have to spend their whole arcs learning to treat mentally ill people like human beings.
As a note: I am not Scottish, or even British, and my familiarity with Scottish English as a dialect is passing. I’ve tried very hard to do my research regarding word choice and phrasing, as well as trying to synthesize the show’s dialogue style as effectively as possible. I hope it comes across alright.
Warning: this ficlet contains brief references to suicide, as well as ableism/some ableist language.
“You really mean what you said earlier?” Eddie Mckenna asks in the half-second silence where Campbell pauses for breath for the first time in what feels like twenty minutes. He’s expounding on some bizarre theory about musical genres that Eddie doesn’t quite follow, but that’s either brilliance or lunacy. Or maybe it’s both. Probably it’s both.
“Mean what?” The kid looks half-stunned at being interrupted, as if the question has jarred him out of a trance of some kind.
“That I’m not a patient, but I ought to be.” He keeps his tone purposefully light, but it’s hard not to over-analyze the statement. Sure, he likes the occupants of St. Jude’s well enough, but he’s not sure how to take the statement that he ought to be one.
“Oh, aye!” Campbell’s expression changes to a familiar thousand-watt grin, and his head bobs on his slender shoulders.
“Right, thanks for that.”
“I didnae say it was a bad thing. Non-loonies are boring, but not Ready Eddie Mckenna!” He says the name with such a flourish, waving his hands as though conducting a silent orchestra, that it manages to make Eddie crack a grin in spite of himself.
“Still, it’s no what everyone wants to be told, Campbell.”
“And why not? History’s greats were all loonies!”
“Not all—”
“Ernest Hemingway.”
“Aye—”
“Sylvia Plath—”
“Aye, but—“
Warming to his topic now, the lad crows, “Vincent Van Gogh!”
“Campbell, all of those people topped themselves.”
“Well,” he says as if it’s a minor quibble, “alright, but you’ve got to admit they’re remembered.”
“For topping themselves.”
“Look, I’m no saying to top yourself, just saying that loonies have got home team advantage when it comes to self-expression and making ourselves heard.”
“So you’re calling me a loony for wanting to be a DJ?”
“I’m calling you a loony for selling double-glazing when you’ve got what it takes to be a brilliant DJ!”
“What, insanity?”
“Exactly!” Campbell punches the air in triumph.
“Only clearly I’m no a loony, because I’m no a patient.” He knows it is the wrong thing to say as soon as he says it, but at least when Campbell’s eyebrows arch upwards, it’s in amusement and not offense.
“You’ve met Stuart and you still think all loonies are inside?” He asks, giggling at his own joke. “Apparently I was a loony before I got banged up here, and for certain I’ll be one by the time they decide to let me go. You’re just as mad as me, Eddie.” It’s said with genuine appreciation for the craft of being a stark raving lunatic.
“And you told me once that Nana was as sane as you.” Eddie doesn’t like to think of Nana too much. He still sees her about town, huddled under overhangs, drinking vodka or whiskey to keep warm. He always tries to give her whatever extra cash he’s got in his pockets (never much), and he’s tracked down an English to Latvian dictionary, but it’s slow going.
“Well, she is. She’s just as sane as me and you’re just as loony.”
“That disnae make any sense.”
“I haven’t got to make sense, Eddie. I’m off my head.”
On the topic of madness, Campbell’s been wearing a Cheshire Cat grin throughout the whole conversation, and it makes it impossible for Eddie to tell if he’s joking. He has the uncomfortable feeling that he isn’t. He has the uncomfortable feeling that while he may not be right, he isn’t wrong, either. The lad seems to read his thoughts.
“For what it’s worth, Eddie: I like you as a loony.”
And, because it’s one thing he does know for certain: “I like you too, Campbell.”
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