#got inspired while listening to sidewalks and skeletons (again)

[quaddmgd]

PARTY LIKE IT'S 2072

Place me in my casket tonight Because I'm already dying inside Pale skin so cold to the touch Like a rose in bloom when we blush Dark eyes meet under the sky The stars are out, we're alive in the night My hollow heart finds it too hard to trust We're all alone until we turn back to dust

Sidewalks and Skeletons - GOTH

[smalltowndetective]

31 Days of Wayhaven-Window

@31daysofwayhaven

Hope you enjoy! :)

Ao3 Link

Title: Museum Date

Pairing: Nate and Pearl

Words: 1k

Summary- I finally write the museum date that N deserves

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

               “Not yet”, Pearl said, giving him a smile.

               On a rare day off for the both her and Nate, she had decided that instead of Nate taking on her a date, she would return the favor and take him on one.

               She still had not told him where they were going, wanting it to be a surprise, even though he had done his best to get her to tell him the whole way there, and he was just about convincing enough.

               But she was determined. She was not about to give it up just yet.

               A few months ago, now, Pearl had found out Nate had a liking for museums during her first meeting with Unit Alpha, and while the information had not been something that particularly surprised her, it had been on the forefront of her mind recently, and she could think of no better place to take him.

               She pulled her car into a parking space at the National History Museum in the Big City, taking in the sight of tall white building with Greek-inspired columns, “Alright, open them up”

               He did, and she watched his face fall in surprise, and let out a light laugh.

               “Heard you liked museums”, she said, giving him a smirk.

               “Oh, and I wonder where you may have found that out”, Nate answered, giving her a smile.

               Pearl laughed, “Well, daylight’s fading. Let’s get down to it, shall we?”

               They excited out of her car, and Nate entwined their fingers together, and she fought hard to fight the blush that was rising on her face.

               “You want to lead the way?”

               “Oh, Agent, I’d be honored to”, she grinned, and they walked up to together to the front, and she took in the sight of everything as they walked inside together.

               The main lobby of the museum resembled the design of the front, tall ceilings with octagon patterns all in its neat rows, tall columns on all of the entryways to the different parts of the museum, and with flags from different countries lining the walls. But the main focus point of it all was the two dinosaur skeletons, one a Brachiosaurus and one a Tyrannosaurus-Rex, both of them towering over everyone in the room.

               “Quite impressive, isn’t it?”, Nate suddenly asked, seemingly thinking the same thoughts she was.

               “Remember when those were around?”, she said, giving him a mischievous smile, unable to resist making that joke.

               “Oh, I was waiting for that joke”, he chuckled.

               “Are you disappointed?”

               “No”, he smiled, “And to answer your question, I don’t remember. But perhaps Adam does”.

               Pearl gave a snort of laughter at the thought of Adam’s reaction if she asked him the same question, and they went ahead and paid for admission before walking into the next part of the museum.

               “Where do you want to go?”, she asked, trying to unfold the map that she got at the front desk with one hand.

               “Wherever you want to”, he shrugged, as if that was obvious.

               “You know how indecisive I am, Nate”, she said, “We’ll be here all night if you let me decide”.

               “Then let’s start from the beginning then”, he replied, pointing to the spot labeled “1” on the map.

               “Sounds good to me”

               They spent the next hour walking through each part of the museum, their hands clasped tightly together, and Pearl did not think of anything better in the entire world then this moment.

               “Having you with me has been like having my own personal tour guide at some of these exhibits”, she said, “You know more about some subjects then some of the presenters do”

               Nate gave a chuckle, “And it’s been quite interesting hearing you try to explain to me how computers were invented”.

               “It still confusing to you?”

               “Very much so”, he smiled, “But I’ll listen to it again, provided it’s from you”

               “I’ll spare you of it for now”, Pearl said, giving him a smirk, “But no promises for the future”

               “Then I’ll look forward to it with bated breath”, he said, giving her a smirk of his own.

               “Oh, will you now?”, she winked at him, and before Nate could say anything else, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket.

               “Adam”, she said, trying to repress a sigh, “He wants to know when we’ll be heading back”.

               “We do have an early meeting tomorrow, and I won’t have you tired all the way through it”, Nate said, “We’ll go ahead and leave”

               Pearl felt her shoulders slump, and she tried not to be too disappointed, but after driving an hour and half to the big city, and knowing that she would have to do that again was not something she was looking forward to, “Alright. But I’m going to have you drag back here again”.

               “Something else that I’ll look forward to”, he said, giving her a knee-weakening smile.

               It was not until they made it back to the front that they realized that it was pouring, the sidewalks already starting to get large puddles all around them.

               “Well, looks like we’ll have to run through the rain”, Nate stated simply, squeezing her hand, “You ready?”

               “Of course,”

               With that, Nate opened the door, and he led the both of them outside, the two of them getting soaked in the process. It did not take longer then a few seconds for Pearl’s hair to become dripping with water, and she expected to just go straight to her car, but Nate’s sudden tighten grip on her hand made her pause, and she turned to look at him, drinking in the softness of his brown eyes.

               “Thank you for tonight”, he whispered before bringing his lips down to meet hers.

               Even with the rain around them, neither of them cared, and she brought him closer to him to deepen the kiss, letting the unmatched bliss run through her veins, feeling as though she would rather not be anywhere else.

               Pearl was finally forced to break it apart when she started to feel lightheaded, but she rested her forehead on his, standing on her tiptoes to do so, forgetting all about what they were supposed to be doing.

               The rain continued to fall around them, and Pearl gave in the urge to kiss him again, and she let herself be lost in it, letting the pure happiness flood through her.

               When did I get this lucky?

[lord-explosion-baku]

Like Ghosts In Snow (Ch. 2)

While your guardian is keeping a huge secret you take on the nightlife and find yourself in a mad supernatural hellzone.

Vampire au, villain au

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of violence

A/N: I had written 90% of this before I started requests and figured I’d finish it before continuing. I’ll get on to do more requests Thursday at the latest! Deku is here! I’m stoked.

Previous

Chapter 2: Ambrosia

You sat on the passenger seat of Bakugou’s Oldsmobile and listened to his shitty gangster rap music. Eijirou moved around in the back seat from window to window allowing his head to pop out to catch the cool salty pacific air, occasionally popping his head over your seat to give kisses and sniffs.

Bakugou parked the car on the side of the road. You knew immediately by looking around that this was a college town. Kids around your age walked in groups up and down the street, shopping, finding hot spots, looking for places to get a drink or go to dinner. They skipped and cheered and laughed with one another. You felt a twinge if jealousy watching other kids having fun with their friends.

“The comic book store a couple blocks away so we’re gonna have to walk,” Bakugou said letting Eijirou our of the car. Eijirou sat on the sidewalk waiting patiently for the two of you to start walking. A good boy.

Before you got out of the car, you bent down to tie your shoe. Bakugou opened your door for you. You looked up at him surprised. “And they say chivalry is dead,” you said slightly slurring the word ‘chivalry.’

“Hurry the fuck up.” Woah there, partner.

You slid down your seat and out of the car and walked fast paced towards the sidewalk however you managed to trip over your own leg and nearly fell into the road.

It was like you were frozen in air. You started at the street but your face never met it. At that same moment a 1967 black mustang sped down the road. The would’ve hit me, you thought yourself.

Bakugou pulled you onto the sidewalk. He had caught you by your hand just in time. “It would be really nice,” he growled at you, “if we could make it to this damn comic book store without you getting yourself fucking killed.”

You blinked at him. He had saved you by he was still so mean. You looked into his glowering red eyes. He did look a bit concerned. Still he was being so rude to you, and why?

You laughed. “I just wanted you to hold my hand,” you said innocently. You looked down at your hand still intertwined with his.

He threw it away stalking off down the street. You thought for a second you had seen him blush. You just shake your head.

You walked in silence for a while, watching as Eijirou sniffed every lamppost, ever plant, and every trash can you passed by. People avoided Bakugou on the street, making sure to walk into the road to avoid being near him. It probably didn’t help the Eijirou was a growling machine whenever anyone looked his way.

“We’re going to cut down this alley and walk behind the buildings. The dog is wasting our time stopping every second he can to get his damn fix.” So you followed Bakugou down an alley with Eijirou watching carefully behind you.

The alleyway was plastered with ‘Missing Person’ posters. Faces of all ages stared at you with messages from loved ones pleading for the viewer to call specified numbers if there was any information on their whereabouts. You read some of the names. ‘Momo Yaoyorozu’... ‘Denki Kaminari’... ‘Hitoshi Shinsou’... You came upon a poster where the person’s face was torn away from the wall. The name read ‘Izuku Midoriya.’

Bakugou has stopped walking to watch you look at all the posters. You turned to him and asked, “is this town safe?”

“Does it feel safe?” He glared at you. He was so cryptic.

You gulped. It didn’t. But you weren’t going to let this smug fucker spook you out when you wanted to enjoy your night. You sarcastically fluttered your lashes gave him a smile, curling a lock of hair around your finger and gushed, “I feel safe knowing that a big strong man such as yourself is here to be my personal body guard.” You could nearly see steam fuming out of his nostrils. Eijirou barked at you, as if to say, I’m here too you know! You turned away from him and skipped down the alleyway.

The back of each building had something beautifully painted on it. You were mesmerized by the swirl of blue mixed with an orange and pink hue that painted a landscape of a giant wave crashing against a bluff. The next building had the scene of a thunder storm in the middle of a desert, the cactus and dunes were silhouetted against a purple night sky with a white lightning bolt bursting through it.

The last building on your trek really caught your eye. An incredibly bulky man stood over a mound of skeletons that had pointed teeth. His blonde hair seemed to be blowing in the wind. He held a medieval axe in one hand while his other flexed showing off rippling muscles. He had a huge conquering smile on.

“We’re here,” Bakugou snapped you out of your daze.

“Wow,” was all you said.

“Tch,” Bakugou looked down at Eijirou who seemed almost as amazed as you were at the painting. You didn’t think dogs could understand artwork. “You’re staying right here,” Bakugou said to the dog.

Eijirou let out a whine but he sat down obediently.

A bell dinged as you entered the store. At the front, an older man sat staring blankly through the window at people walking by. He was scrawny, nearly skin and bones, eyes sunken in casting a shadow over his face, but he had wild blonde hair, with bangs parted down the middle falling to either side of his face. When you walked by, giving him a smile, he slowly put up a hand to greet you but continued to stare outside, as if his greeting was only a reflex. Bakugou didn’t look at him.

The place was filled. Different swords and weapons decorated the walls, comic books grew in stacks, there were standees of heroes from recent movies you’ve watched in theaters, and separate sections for old movies, games, and cds were labeled in pictures and stickers, and there were stairs towards the back of the store labeled ‘records,’ with a sign pointing up.

You slowly walked to a stack of books and fingered the folds of a random book before picking it up. It had been a manga from the mid 2000’s called, ‘My Date With a Teenaged Vampire.’ You snickered to yourself as you flipped through the pages, watching the heroine blush and swoon over a very cheesy looking vampire.

Bakugou scoffed over your shoulder causing you to jump and throw the book back into the stack. “Jesus! Hover much, Katsuki?”

“It’s Bakugou,” he rolled his eyes at you. “Of course you’re one of those girls that believe in that ‘vampires are romantic, star crossed lovers, fate’s kiss’ bullshit. Vampires feed, kill, and burn, in that order.”

“And werewolves howl, piss on trees, and hump each other, in that order,” you wanted to defend yourself but you didn’t want him to think you cared about what he thought about you. You didn’t.

“Werewolves don’t exist,” he said crossing his arms, challenging you.

“And vampires do? Honestly, Bakugou, if you are gonna be a killjoy, you could just wait outside.”

“I don’t see why the fuck not. It’s not like I wanna be here.”

“The door,” you said, motioning towards the outside, “is right over there.”

He narrowed his eyes and slammed his hand on the table next to you and started leaning in to you causing you to move away from him. For a split second you thought he was going to kiss you but the thought quickly left your mind when he stopped right in front of you, his hot breath on h s face. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he whispered and shoved something to your chest before stalking away towards the front. You watched as he swung the door open, causing the bell to ring, and the shopkeeper raised his hand to say goodbye to his guest.

You looked at what Bakugou had left you. It was a comic book from the 1980’s. The title of the book was blacked out with sharpie pen and over it written in chipping whiteout was ‘10 Ways To Absolutely Destroy a Vampire.’ You flipped through the comic and saw various different scribbles over the original work, seeming to correct or call bullshit on certain things the comic had written in it. You read through a strip where the hero dramatically piles a stake through the heart of a vampire the words ‘obviously’ were messily scribbled next to the perishing vampire. You scrunched your face. Why did Bakugou give you trash? You flipped to the last page of the book where ‘property of Edgar and Alan Frog: vampire hunters’ were written. “Well, Edgar and Alan Frog, you guys are psychos,” you said aloud.

A sudden ring from the door front caused you to jump. You glanced up to see the shopkeeper put up his hand in greeting but didn’t see anybody in the store. A shiver went up your spine. Maybe it was someone lost or confused and turned back immediately? You shrugged it off but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

You made your way up the stairs to look at the collection of records. You flipped through the $2” stack and read through dozens of bands you hadn’t heard of. Your hand ghosted over some lapel pins representing music labels. You made your way over to the rock bands that were in an alphabetized order. You scanned through through the D’s; David Bowie, Dead Kennedy’s, Depeche Mode, and your fingers landed on the Morrison Hotel album by the Doors. You pulled it out of the stack and you felt eyes on you again.

You turned abruptly and your eyes met with mesmerizing emerald ones. You smiled at the messy haired boy who was fixated on you before returning reading the back of the album.

“Jim Morrison... quite the inspiration,” a friendly voice rang in your ears.

Nervous at the stranger speaking to you you didn’t look up from the album when you replied, “yeah... I think my dad is a big fan of his. I’m thinking about getting him this album.”

“You should get it for yourself,” the voice was right up against your ear. You took a step away and turned to the boy, giving him a surprised look.

His green irises peaked through half lidded eyes, face dusted in freckles, his red lips stretched into a lazy smile when he got a good look at you. He almost looked like a doll. He wore a white dress shirt with a black vest, black slacks, and converse. His cute face did not match his clothes at all.

“M-maybe I will,” you felt an uneasy tension creep up your back.

Taking a step closer he reached behind you, his arm pressing uninvitedly on your shoulder, and pulled a different record back into his hands, his eyes never leaving yours. “If you’re going to get an album by The Doors, might I suggest ‘Strange Days,’?” He flipped the vinyl over to show up the list of songs, rubbing his shoulder against yours. “Some of the songs feature a harpischord, an elegant instrument that’s not usually associated with rock and roll.” When you didn’t say anything he continued, “you know, when Morrison died they didn’t do surgery on his body to see what his cause of death was. Some believe he might still be alive.”

That made you laugh. “Yeah he’s probably somewhere sharing a drink with Elvis, right?”

The boy grinned at your joke. “Yeah, something like that,” the spirit of eerie irony filled his voice.

You took the vinyl from his hands and admired the odd photo they used as the album cover.

“What’s your name?” The boy asked.

“F/N L/N,” you said without hesitation. You felt you should be cautious around him but you couldn’t help but blurt out the honest answer immediately. A shiver shot through your body.

“F/N L/N,” your name was drawled our through his lips, slowly, as if he was savoring the taste of it on his tongue. “You’re a friend of Kacchan’s?”

“Who?”

The boy chuckled humorlessly. “Katsuki Bakugou. I can smell him on you.” Another uneasy wave hit you, still you were unable to move away from the boy. “He has a hard time making friends.”

“I can’t fathom why,” you said rolling your eyes.

The boy jumped up to sit on top of the counter holding the records. He smiled down on you. “I like you, y/n,” he said slightly kicking his feet. He reached over to the box of lapel pins and held it in his lap. He tilted his head to the side and asked, “Will you do me a favor?”

I don’t think so. “Sure.”

“Give me your hand.”

Your right hand involuntarily reached up to reach the boys. Taking one of the lapel pins he pricked your pointer finger. You winced, shooting your hand back. A drop of scarlet oozed from the tip. You sucked at your wound.

The boy’s smile grew, his tongue pressed against his white teeth. “What does it taste like?”

Leave. Turn around and leave. Go find Bakugou and go home. “It takes like,” you licked your finger, “skin and copper.” Why do you want to know?

He bit his lip, looking pleased. He held out his hand to you once more. “Let me try.”

Again your hand met his. He caresses your arm as he brought your bleeding finger to his lips, keeping eye contact with you, he kissed your finger. “Oh,” he took your finger into your mouth, you felt his tongue swirl around the wound, and he sucked. A greedy moan escaped his lips.

You felt a different kind of tingling envelope your body. It’s like you were entranced by this man who was sampling your blood.

Looking pleased, he let your hand fall to your side. “You taste magnificent. Like honey, sunshine,... ambrosia.” He licked his lips as if the taste of you lingered on them. “I can’t wait to have you when you’re not intoxicated.”

How does he know? How am I not screaming? Why can’t I call for help? Questions ran rapidly through your head as you stared at the green haired boy, paralyzed.

He hopped down from the counter and started walked towards the stairs. “Sadly, we’ll have to save that for another... date.”

Your body was burning to move. “What’s your name?” Was all you could muster.

He tossed his head back, sleepy eyes landing on you. “*Izuku Midoriya*, but you won’t be remembering that anytime soon.” The boy disappeared down the stairs.

Chapter 3

~

Tags for EVERYTHING: @yandere-inamorata @doriichii @miitaart @dessiedawnwritesfanfiction @kido-is-not-a-ghost @wickedlewicked @chickennuggetsarequestionable @nevermorelenore @kpanime @jetblackjessie @ayeputita @bokunoheroes-stories @captain-sin-allmight-queen @diisasterbii @iceformer @meganofmars @colagirl5 @colorbookshd @grimmjadeskye @sm0kingcrack @sarcastictextstuck @zellllyyyy @psionicsnow @mynahx3 @andie-in-tumblland

If you asked to be tagged in Like Ghosts In Snow please remind me. The list slipped through my silly seal flippers and I misplaced it.

[karenwasadrummer]

Written by Al Cunniff, April 21, 2002 [long but very cool] A visit to Paul McCartney’s house wasn’t exactly what you’d expect. Then again, neither was I. A young Baltimore reporter and Beatles nut, in London to research a few feature stories, I was standing in the kitchen of the ultimate singer / songwriter, in a telephone company jacket, holding the back end of a ladder, and in a tizzy. It’s a long story … one untold until now. In the late summer of 1975, songwriter and producer Tony Macaulay agreed to an interview at his home in St. Johns Wood, a comfortable upper-middle-class suburb of London. Macauley was super-hot then, with the hits “Build Me Up Buttercup,” “Here Comes That Rainy Day Feeling Again” and “Baby Now That I’ve Found You” to his credit. St. Johns Wood was an attractive place to visit for two additional reasons. Abbey Road recording studios, where the Beatles had recorded throughout their career, was in the neighborhood. And just a few short blocks from Abbey Road was McCartney’s house. A friend had provided McCartney’s address. This was in the dark ages, before personal computers and the Internet, so you had to have “connections” to get a celebrity’s home address. It would be a St. Johns Wood three-fer: interview Macaulay, visit Abbey Road studios, and research a story on what it’s like to be a neighbor of Paul McCartney. The Beatles had broken up only a few years earlier, and unless you lived through those times, it’s hard today to describe how hot McCartney was as a news item then. McCartney’s home, No. 7 Cavendish Ave., was a big, three-story brick and white-stone house, comfortable but unassuming. The only tip-off that the occupants weren’t entirely conventional were the bright yellow columns, red door and blue window trim that contrasted with the plain white stone. The first neighbor to chat was Gillian, a friendly teen-ager who lived next door to McCartney. She said she enjoyed sipping tea in the bay window of her living room as she listened to Paul – a few feet away near his bay window – playing “Yesterday” or composing a new song on his piano. In the village center, local merchants told of McCartney often stopping in their stores. Employees in the wine shop, restaurant, grocery store and other village businesses all said Paul was a regular customer, a real down-to-earth guy. A wave and a talk Then the interviews were finished, and it was time to catch the train back to London. Cavendish Avenue is not directly on the way to the station, but it was worth walking a couple of blocks out of the way to get one more look at McCartney’s house. On the walk along Cavendish Avenue, a red Lamborghini appeared and slowly approached McCartney’s home. The Lamborghini turned into the driveway and stopped at the green metal security gate. The passenger door opened and Paul McCartney stepped out. Linda McCartney was behind the wheel. He walked up to a security speaker-box mounted next to the gate, pushed a button and asked someone inside the house to buzz the gate open. As the gate slowly swung open, Linda McCartney drove the Lamborghini into the small courtyard … and then the unimaginable happened. Paul McCartney waved across the street, motioning with his arm for me to join him. The notepad and the camera around my neck made it not too difficult to see that I wasn’t a local. For the next 20 minutes or so, Paul McCartney offered an impromptu one-on-one talk on the grounds of his home. He apologized for not offering a look inside the house, saying he had just finished a band practice and that Linda was picking up the kids so they could go out to dinner. But he chatted as long as he could before they had to leave. Believe it or not, the specifics of the interview I don’t remember. I didn’t have any hardball questions ready – just stuff like, ‘What songs are you working on? How are preparations for the Wings tour going? Yadda, yadda.“ McCartney was slender, about 5-foot-10, dressed mostly in black. He was friendly and polite to a fault. Here was a living piece of history, someone who might be remembered a few hundred years from now for the mark that the Beatles made in the timeline of our music and culture. And he was worried about the comfort of his starstruck guest. “Are you gonna use that?” McCartney asked as we walked to the gate. “Use what?” I asked. “That,” he said, pointing at the camera. Duh. My hands were shaking a bit, so it wound up being among the poorest celebrity photos ever taken, but hey, I got the shot. Still forgot to ask for an autograph, though. The story got even more amazing from there. The next day, hoping that lightning would strike twice, I again visited St. Johns Wood. On Cavendish Avenue, in front of McCartney’s house, sat a phone company truck. A phone worker in a white lab jacket was lifting a metal plate from the sidewalk. Asked if he knew whose house it was, he answered, “McCarthy, innit? In the music business?” “Would you like to have a look inside the house?” he asked. “Tell you what, pop ‘round the back of the truck, put on one of these coats and grab the back of the ladder. Just don’t muck around with anything once we’re inside the house.” So I put on the coat (with my camera not too well concealed under it), and walked into McCartney’s house holding the back end of a British phone company ladder. Children’s artwork hung on the walls and above the doors. He was a guy who could afford Picassos, but chose to display his kids’ finger-paintings. A big jukebox shone from his sitting room. *On the bulletin board in the kitchen were personal photos of McCartney with John Lennon, on what appeared to be the back porch of a Liverpool rowhouse. McCartney looked about 15, so the pictures must have been taken shortly after he and Lennon met for the first time in 1957.* Rose, McCartney’s housemaid, was stern-faced at first, and probably couldn’t figure what to make of the guy in the ill-fitting phone company get-up. Still, after a while she agreed to ignore the picture-taking as long as I didn’t, well, muck about. (Beatles trivia: red-haired Rose was said to be the inspiration for McCartney’s album Red Rose Speedway.) McCartney’s kids were watching TV, and the family’s sheepdog Martha (who inspired the song “Martha My Dear”) wandered about. It was a warm, happy domestic scene. This is where the guilt comes in. Seeing as how entrance to McCartney’s house wasn’t gained totally on the up-and-up, it immediately seemed out of the question to reproduce the photos or publish the story of how I got them. It still doesn’t feel quite right. But with McCartney coming to the area and with so much time having passed, it seemed time to let that skeleton out of the closet. Linda died a few years ago, I’m not sure whether Rose is still living, and I doubt dear Martha has made it this far. But the pictures I have from a 1975 visit have preserved a warm moment from what was a very happy time in Paul McCartney’s life. And a dizzying, special moment in one fan’s life as well.

Paul kept *personal* photos of him and John on a bulletin board