#i skipped day 3 because i got tired of the pure yellow

[forestwater87]

Okay, for all of you who don't feel like watching Miles RP as David

Here are some of my favorite quotes. Context may be added if I feel like it. Reactions are my goblin brain screaming. All of these came from a discord so if they don't make sense . . . see goblin brain comment.

(That link should start directly at the point where he becomes David; if it doesn't, skip to 1:40:33)

In roughly chronological order:

David: "Teachers are sort of like camp counselors during the rest of the year."

The thing is David is absolutely up his own ass enough to think this.

David: "Trail mix is expensive!"

^ said to show he understands why not everyone can donate to the charity for teachers. Very adorable, am crying.

David's "ooooh" seeing one dude was extremely non-heterosexual. Fucking bicon. Him losing his mind that one of the arenas is called "Survey camp"

David: "A person's hitting me -- I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry this is just pretend!"

This is just canonically how David plays video games. Either this or he's unwilling to commit violence at all, but I'll defer to Miles.

David: "That's very goat of you!"

Spencer: "Is David popular amongst his campers?"

David: "I like to think so! There's only 3 staff members, so I'm definitely in everyone's top 3."

"That also means you're in the bottom 3."

David: "Well, I choose not to think of it that way."

(I have to keep adding reacts so you can tell when one quote ends and another begins. Judge not lest ye be judged)

I think the other person in the stream is named Spencer. Friend of Miles. I know literally nothing else about him and am not even confident on those facts.

Every time he says something so non-David in his David voice I die: "I have a lot of grenades!"

David: "Oh my goodness, would you look at this beautiful scenery! Can we hike that mountain?"

This is so goddamn cute. I am dying. Miles looked at his fans and said "they will eat tonight" and I am so relieved.

David: "Not to be a couple of Greedy Garys, but I say we get this [care package] and then I'll drop another one!"

The fact that Miles is grinning like a lunatic the entire time is very good. (Also if this is formatted badly then I'm sorry but not all that sorry. I'm doing my best and David would be proud of me.)

David: "Didja getim? Didja getim? didja getim? How 'bout now?"

Spencer: "I didn't get 'em."

David: "Well, you tried your best and that's all that matters."

He calls healing "a little health kiss." I'm not sure why but it's very important to me.

David: [while jumping to murder someone] "Hi! Scuse me!"

(i just need something to separate the quotes okay)

David: "Well you know what gang, we did our best. You don't always win the 3-legged race. You did a wonderful job!"

Then there's a bit where they talk about Spencer's time at summer camp:

David: "ooooh hand-holding's pretty serious!"

David is too pure.

David: [dreamily] "Did you fall in love, Spencer? A summer love?" [puts hands up to his face]

Then there's the fact that David/Miles gets to pick where they play each round, and he keeps insisting on going to the one called "Survey Camp" every single time because it has the word "camp" in it.

David: "Now, I don't like to disagree, but . . . I was thinking we could go . . . to Survey Camp!"

Spencer reminds him that technically since David's the one with the power to choose, his opinion is the only one that matters:

David: "Everyone's opinion matters. And my opinion is we're going to camp."

David just steamrolling over Spencer's interests is very good. There are these little selfish nuggets sprinkled in among the wholesomeness that really capture the full David experience.

David: "Well, he's climbing up . . . he's coming my direction . . . oh, he looks scary . . ."

Spencer: "Is he coming towards me?"

David: "Oooh, I don't know. I'm dead!"

The positivity is relentless. I think Miles said on twitter afterwards that this whole thing was exhausting and I can see why. Being David is no picnic . . .

David: "I have a question: do we have to shoot each other in this game?"

And then a few seconds later:

David: "I'm just wondering if maybe there's a way we can, you know, help others. Talk through our issues."

And a few seconds after that:

David: "I was asking if they wanted to be friends in the game!"

I believe that moved killed him, too. Precious.

Also we're interrupting the real Miles!David content to share something my friend suggested to me while I was watching this and giving her quotes; she said that maybe David just calls everything camp to make life more fun, and then sent me this imaginary exchange that actually killed me all the way to death:

David: Gwen Santos would you go to marriage camp with me

Gwen: I'm going to have to change this story when I tell everyone

It made me laugh quite a bit.

Anyway, back to the video!

Spencer: "How do you sign up for [Camp Campbell]?"

David: "Well, um, you can fax, uh, an application to CameronCCampbell@hotmail.realwebsite.noreallyrealwebsite.com. And . . . you can know that myself and Gwen and Quartermaster and sometimes Mr. Campbell will do our best to make sure they get what they need! Which more than anything is love and support. And friendship."

Spencer: "How many dollars does this camp cost?"

David: "You know . . . it is, um . . ."

And then the conversation switches subjects and David breathes a sigh of relief.

Very shortly after this he changed his character from a woman (she was wearing a yellow shirt, which he liked because the campers wear yellow shirts) to "a Forward Scout with a positive attitude!"

"I like his style."

Spencer: "Does everybody abuse David verbally?"

David: "You know, sometimes people have harsh words. Mostly Max, and Neil, and Gwen, and Quartermaster, and Nurf."

Spencer: "Did you just list almost everyone?"

David: "Mmm . . . I'd say maybe a third."

Poor David. Somebody please protect him.

Spencer: "Yeah, I think people abuse David. I get that vibe. Or at least, I feel it in my heart. Like I wanna put ants in your bunk or something."

David: "Well, I think that says more about maybe some of the hurt you're carrying with you. And sometimes when people don't know how to process that, they act out. Do you want some trail mix?"

David just said his favorite part of trail mix is the raisins which is so cute. "They have a little bit of salt on them, which isn't typical for a raisin."

And he keeps telling chatters to watch their language.

David: "Who is my favorite camper? Aww, you know I couldn't pick a favorite! . . . But I know who has the most potential, even if he doesn't want to admit it."

I KNEW IT!!!!!

I've been saying for years that David doesn't have a favorite and gravitates towards the ones he thinks need him the most AND I FINALLY GOT ONE RIGHT!

David: "Well you know, Gwen swears and that's okay."

shipping intensifies

David: [gasp] "The moss is growing on the north side of the rock!"

Every time he nerds out about weird shit in the game I gain 3 seconds to my life.

Spencer: "Did you get teabagged?"

David: "What's that?"

Spencer: "It's where somebody places their most intimate bits on you for . . . friendship."

David: [softly] "Oh, I don't know about that."

Also David confirms that the whole show has been a single summer, so please see the "vindication" gif above.

David: "I know a lot of fun camp songs."

Spencer: "Sing 3."

David: [starts singing] "Bum-bum-bumblebee, bumblebee tuna, I love bumblebee, bumblebee tuna . . ."

Spencer: "Okay, please stop. I immediately regret this decision."

David: "Max said the same thing! One of my campers. And, uh, and my co-counselor, Gwen."

He's literally made of sunshine. I would die for this fictional man.

Spencer: "Are people at camp against their will? I feel like they are."

David: "No! . . . They don't always like it immediately, but it grows on them."

Spencer: "It sounds like they're there against their will."

David: "Well I just think that's a negative way of looking at it."

FWIW Spencer makes an excellent foil to David. Not as aggressive as Max or as dour as Gwen, but he brings a very . . . like, straight-man energy to the conversation. Like how a normal person would react to David IRL. I'd enjoy seeing these two interact more.

Spencer: "It's like your overpositivity is wanting me to balance it out with negativity."

David: "You know, I feel like that dynamic's pretty popular with me."

eeeeeeee <3

And the last one that I personally found noteworthy:

David: "One day we'll be able to afford safety equipment. Until then, we'll just have to deal with Quartermaster's Ropes Course. And a lot of pillows."

There's point near the last 20 minutes where either it got kinda boring or I just got too tired to keep track. But if there are any quotes you think I missed, please share them! This was a really lovely bit of content to feed our starving maw, and I appreciate Miles very very very much for taking one for the team.

[dottielovegood]

ASMR - Chapter 7

Elriel fanfiction

Since this is the last chapter, I just want to thank all of you for reading and reblogging and leaving such sweet comments. It really warms my heart <3

Note: There will be some explicit sexual content in this chapter. If that's not your cup of tea, you can skip the part written in italics.

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About this fic:

Azriel can’t sleep Elain has an ASMR channel Match made in heaven (or you know, on youtube..)

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You can find chapter 1 here, chapter 2 here, chapter 3 here, chapter 4 here, chapter 5 here and chapter 6 here.

Read this fic on AO3

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One year later

Azriel had just returned home from his morning run, the scent of freshly baked bread greeting him when he walked through the door.

Home. This was his home now.

It hadn’t taken long for Azriel to fall in love with Elain. Part of him probably fell in love with her before they even met. After that first date, he returned to her apartment every day. He told her that he just wanted to help her, but they both knew that he couldn’t stay away. At first, Elain had told him that he didn’t have to come over. That she didn’t need the help. So the next day, he didn’t show up.

Her apartment had never felt as lonely and empty as it did that day.

The next day when he came to visit, she had pulled him down on the couch and made out with him for a good half hour. Maybe more.

They had been like desperate teenagers, going to both first and second base. Elain wanted to go further, which meant that Azriel had to be the voice of reason.

“Not when you’re hurt,” Azriel had said.

Elain had just rolled her eyes and pressed her lips to his again.

Azriel chuckled to himself at the memory as he walked past the green couch and into the bathroom. Elain had already gone to work. She was delivering flowers for a big wedding, so she was going to be away for most of the day.

It was perfect, because it gave Azriel plenty of time to prepare.

After his shower, Azriel walked into the small, but homely, kitchen and made himself a sandwich. He would never get enough of Elain’s baking. If she ever tired of selling flowers, she could just open a small bakery instead. Her bread was the best bread in Velaris (he was definitely not biased…)

As he took a bite of the warm bread, his mind drifted back to the first time she had ever baked something for him. It was a loaf of sourdough bread that she had brought to his apartment two weeks after their first date. Azriel smiled to himself as he remembered the big smile on Elain’s face when he had opened his apartment door that day.

It was her first time at his apartment, and she hadn’t told him that he was coming over.

She hadn’t even told him that she was up and walking again, so imagine his surprise when she was outside his door, wearing a goddamn sundress that reached her mid-thigh. He had been too stunned to speak.

“I come bearing gifts,” she said and held up the bread. “It’s my special recipe.”

“You can walk,” Azriel answered, feeling stupid as soon as the words left his mouth.

She laughed. “Yes. I can. Are you going to let me in?”

Azriel moved away from the door and let her into his apartment. He was suddenly very happy about his nervous cleaning habit.

Elain stepped into his space and did a little twirl. “You have a very nice home, Azriel.”

“Thank you,” he said. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The yellow dress complimented her skin so well. She lit up his apartment as if she was his personal sun.

God, she was gorgeous.

Azriel took the bread from her and put it on the kitchen counter, which she was now leaning against. “So, should we try the bread?” Azriel asked, even though he really wasn’t in the mood for bread.

He was in the mood for her.

A small smirk played on her lips. “I did not come here to eat bread, Azriel.”

Azriel’s mouth was suddenly very dry. “So, why did you come to visit then?”

She took a step towards him. “Because I’m all better now,” she said and wiggled her right foot. He understood the innuendo. She took another step, and then another, their chests almost touching.

His palms were sweating. Was his apartment always this hot?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he breathed.

“I’ve been okay for days. You’re just overprotective.”

He couldn’t deny that.

“You don’t want to wait a while longer? I don’t want to hurt you.”

It had taken all of Azriel’s strength and willpower to say those words. He wanted nothing more than to rip that dress off her body. To put his lips and his tongue all over her skin.

“If I wait any longer…” she gently pressed her hands against his chest. Azriel almost stopped breathing. “I might go crazy. And you will be the one to blame.”

Azriel let out a shaky breath.

Elain stroked his chest and moved her hands slowly downwards, over his abs. She was looking up at him through her eyelashes, an innocent but playful smile on her lips, “Besides, don’t you want me to see your meat banjo?”

Azriel snorted, every single feeling of anxiety and nervousness leaving his body. “Fuck. Don’t ever say that again. That’s the worst dirty talk I have ever heard.”

Elain laughed. “Well, at least I got you to loosen up.”

She sure was right about that.

Azriel slowly moved his own hand up, over her arms, until he reached her neck. Gently, he cradled her face in his hands. That beautiful face that he could look at all day and never get tired of. “Are you sure?” he asked again.

“Stop asking stupid questions and just kiss me already.”

And so he did. He leaned down, gently pressing his lips to hers. He wanted to go slow. Wanted to be gentle. But Elain had other plans. She fisted his shirt and pulled him closer, opening her mouth for him. When her tongue teased his bottom lip, he decided to just let go. He moved one hand to her neck, angling her head to where he wanted her before claiming her completely. As he kissed her, he slowly walked her backward until her back hit the wall. He placed one hand on the wall next to her head, the other still in her hair. She had moved her hands to his hair, gently tugging it. He shivered and deepened the kiss, needing to be even closer. She tasted so sweet, like sugar and sunshine.

Elain’s hands traveled to his chest again, and then lower until she could stick her hands underneath his shirt. When her nails scratched his stomach, he thought that he would go crazy with need. With want. He had never wanted anyone like this.

“You should take this off,” Elain panted against his lips and tugged the hem of his shirt.

Azriel gladly obliged. In a swift motion, he reached behind him and pulled the shirt over his head. He leaned in again, already missing the taste of her lips, but she put a hand on his chest, stopping him. Her eyes went to his chest, his abs, drinking him in. He had never felt so desired before. When her fingers started tracing the swirls of the tattoos that covered his upper body, he felt a familiar shiver run down his spine.

“I like these,” she murmured, biting her lip playfully.

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” he mused, which earned him a sweet laugh. He wanted to bottle that sound up and keep it for a rainy day. She met his gaze again, and the hunger he felt was mirrored in her eyes.

They were really doing this.

He leaned in once again, and this time she didn’t stop him. He kissed her greedily and let his hand fall to her thigh, his fingertips gracing her skin just below the hem of her dress. His other hand was still in her hair and he tugged it gently, but firmly, forcing her to head back slightly. Azriel moved his lips to her jaw, leaving sweet kisses there.

“You are so goddamn beautiful, Elain,” he whispered before letting his tongue taste that sensitive spot just below her ear. She let out a whimper and the sound went straight to his aching cock. He was so hard, it wasn’t even funny. When she pressed herself against him, he knew that she could feel the proof of his arousal. He slowly kissed his way down her throat while moving his hand up her thigh, under her dress.

He could feel her part her legs for him, showing him what she needed. He smiled against her skin. “So fucking soft,” he murmured and licked the column of her throat.

“Azriel,” she moaned. “Azriel, please.”

He chuckled. “Please, what?”

She dragged her nails down his chest, not stopping until she reached his pants. “Please, I need you to touch me.”

“Hmm.” He kissed her again, her lips red and swollen and begging for more. “I’d rather taste you,” he said against her lips. He felt her breath hitch, a shiver running through her body.

“Please,” she whimpered again.

“So impatient.” He was teasing her, and he could tell that she liked it. “Where do you want me to taste you?”

“God. Anywhere. Just… please.”

Azriel pressed his lips against her throat again. “As you wish.”

He took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers as he kneeled before her. Her hands were curled into fists at her sides, her breathing heavy.

He reached for her feet first, helping her out of her heeled sandals. He didn’t want her to fall over again. Then, he let his hands travel up her calves while he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her knee. And then the other knee. When his hands found the hem of her dress, he looked up with a purely male grin. Without saying a word, he started pushing the dress up her thighs, over her hips, until he could see the white, lace underwear she wore underneath.

Azriel almost became religious at the sight of the damp spot on the thin material.

“Hold this for me.”

With one hand, Elain grabbed the dress, her eyes totally focused on his every move. Gently, he pressed a kiss to her covered sex.

“Can I take these off?”

“Another stupid question,” she said, her voice shaky but playful.

Azriel snickered and slowly pulled her panties down her legs. Her wonderful, gorgeous legs that he wanted to spend hours between. He tossed the underwear somewhere behind him, not really caring where they went because she was standing in front of him, bare and so, so wet.

He kissed her inner thigh and placed his hand behind her right knee. He lifted her leg and placed it over his shoulder, giving himself access to her.

He could feel her eyes on him. “So wet,” he murmured and kissed her inner thigh again. And again, but this time closer to where she needed him.

“Stop teasing me,” she whined, her entire body stiff from anticipation.

“As you wish.”

Azriel let the tip of his tongue taste her, and at that first lick, he knew that he was done for. He licked her again, his tongue parting her folds. She tasted so fucking sweet, like honey and musk and Elain. He couldn’t get enough. He moved his hands to her ass, pulling her closer. Elain moaned and moved one hand to his hair when he let his tongue tease her clit. He did it again. “Azriel, oh god,” she moaned, and that was all the encouragement he needed. He ate her out like he was a man on death row, and she was his last meal. Honestly, if he died and the last thing he ever tasted was her, he would die a very happy man.

Elain was moving her hips, trying to get his tongue to just where she wanted him. Needed him. Azriel moved one of his hands to her entrance, teasing her there. Slowly, he pushed one finger inside.

He moved the digit in and out of her a few times before adding a second finger.

“Fuck,” Elain breathed. The tugging on his hair was almost painful now, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything but the taste of her. The sounds she made.

He curled his fingers slightly, making sure to reach just the right spot. When she made a sound that told him that he had definitely found her spot, he moved his mouth to her clit. He flattened his tongue and licked her a few times before closing his lips over the bundle of nerves, gently sucking it. When he added his tongue once more, he knew that she was just seconds away from her orgasm.

She was moaning and moving her hips, almost fucking his face. He loved every single second of it. When she came, she let out the sweetest sound he had ever heard and he felt her pulse around his fingers. He made sure to lick up every drop of her pleasure. He didn’t move from her until she tugged his hair, silently asking him to move. With one last lick, he got back to his feet.

Elain’s breathing was heavy, her skin flushed. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Elain pushed herself off the wall and flung her arms around his neck, pressing her lips against his. She moaned at the taste of herself there.

“Bed,” Azriel growled against her lips, and he could feel her smile.

“So greedy,” she teased.

Azriel didn’t answer. He just bent down and picked her up, hooking her legs around his waist. Since the bed was basically in the same room as the kitchen in this studio apartment, he didn’t have to walk far. He put her down at the edge of the bed and she scooted back until her entire body was on the bed.

On his bed.

He had dreamed of this.

But this was certainly better than anything his imagination could ever make up. Her dress was covering her again, which certainly was a shame. Azriel took a step toward the bed, ready to rip that dress off her when she motioned for him to stop.

So he did. He stopped, even though every cell in his being was telling him to go to her. To taste her again.

If she wanted to stop, he would.

But her eyes were not asking him to stop. No, her eyes were focused on the bulge in his pants. He almost laughed as she bit her lip.

“I showed you mine.” That fake innocent look was back on her face. It was the cutest thing he had ever seen.

“Well, come and take what you want,” he said, his voice thick with lust.

She looked like the cat that got the cream when she crawled towards him.

Azriel thought that he must have died or fallen asleep because this was all of his dirty fantasies coming through. But no, this was all real because when she reached for his belt, he didn’t wake up.

And when she unfastened the belt buckle and the button, he didn’t wake up.

And when she lowered the zipper, he didn’t wake up.

And when she grabbed the edge of his boxers and started sliding them down, he was so fucking glad that he didn’t wake up.

Azriel was holding his breath, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. He was standing as still as possible, trying to not make a sound. He was unable to look away from her hands on him. And when she freed his cock from his boxers, she finally met his gaze, a smirk playing on her lips.

She grabbed the base of his cock, her eyes going back and forward from his cock and his face. It almost made him laugh. Her hand barely fit around him, which made him feel weirdly proud. Her dainty hands looked so perfect on him.

She leaned forward before he could even register that she had moved, and when her tongue slowly licked him just below the head of his cock, he almost came right then and there.

She grinned and did it again. That little vixen.

Azriel put his hand over hers, the other hand under her chin. He moved her head until she was looking up at him again.

“Enough playing,” he growled.

“I agree.” With a wicked smirk, she stroked the length of his cock once before leaning back on her elbows again. “So, how do you want me?”

“Naked.”

Elain laughed as Azriel basically pounced on her. They were just a tangle of limbs and lips and desire, and somehow in that frenzy, he was able to remove both her dress and her bra.

He groaned at the sight of her breasts. “You are perfect.”

She was underneath him now, and he couldn’t help but kiss his way down to her breasts. He let his tongue play with one nipple while his fingers teased the other one. Elain was moaning and writhing underneath him, her hands tugging his hair again.

“Enough playing,” she said, echoing his own words. Azriel couldn’t agree more.

Azriel lifted his head and placed a soft kiss on her lips. He reached over to his nightside table for a condom, but Elain stopped him before he could even open the drawer.

“I… I have an IUD. And I’m clean. If you are…”

“I’m clean.” Azriel blurted out.

They stared at each other for a moment. “Are you sure?” he asked her. Honestly, he was very proud of himself for being able to form words at this moment. He was even more proud of the fact that he had remembered that condoms existed.

“I’m sure,” she whispered. “I want to feel you.”

Those words were his undoing. He kissed her again, their tongues tangling together as he placed the tip of his cock at her entrance. He didn’t ask any more stupid questions.

Slowly, he pushed inside her. Elain moaned against his lips, urging him to go faster.

When he was fully sheathed in her warmth, they both stared at one another in wonder. Or at least, that’s what Azriel felt when he started moving again. She felt like heaven. Like a dream. She was everything he had ever wanted.

With his lips pressed to her throat, he groaned, “You feel so fucking good,”

“You’re so big,” Elain said, meeting every thrust. “I love it. I love it so much.”

Azriel dragged his teeth along her throat, eliciting a sound that sounded like something between a whimper and a moan from her. It was glorious.

Elain wrapped her legs around his waist, letting him know to fuck her deeper. Harder.

He did whatever she wanted.

When her words stopped sounding like words again, Azriel reached a hand between them until he found her heat. With two fingers, he started teasing her clit as he fucked her.

“I’m so...so close, Azriel. Please.”

If there was one thing Azriel knew, it was to never change the pace when a girl was close. Even though he was seconds away from his own release, he forced himself to hold off until she came again. With every thrust, he could tell that she was getting closer.

Elain’s breathing became erratic, and then, he felt her clench around his cock. She threw her head back into the mattress, her lips forming a silent ‘O’ as she came for him a second time.

With a few more thrusts, Azriel was right there with her, spilling into her.

He rolled them over to keep from crushing her beneath him. She laid on his chest, both of them catching their breaths. He was still inside her.

“That was…” Elain started.

“I know.”

Azriel could barely speak. Barely think. His brain was just empty and happy.

“You’re really good in bed,” Elain said and kissed his jaw.

Azriel couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. “Well, thank you. So are you.” Azriel placed a kiss atop her head.

She snuggled closer, nuzzling his neck.

They stayed like that for a while, just enjoying each other’s naked company. Azriel never wanted to leave the bed. They could stay there and fuck forever, right?

After a few minutes, Elain moved to sit up. When Azriel hugged her closer, she just laughed. “I need to…”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence. Azriel understood. He pointed to the bathroom.

When Elain returned, she sat down next to him on the bed. He was lying with an arm behind his head, a blanket covering his nether region.

She looked at him with a teasing smile. “You know... you’re really good at finding the bald man in my boat.”

Azriel had to drag a hand over his face and take a deep breath in order to not lose it completely. “Fuck. That’s awful,” he laughed. “I think we need to ban that synonym list from your dirty talk.”

She laughed and leaned in to kiss him. It turned into a lazy kiss, which turned into Elain straddling Azriel, which turned into another round of sex.

They didn’t sleep much that night.

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Even now, a year later, Azriel still thinks back to their first time now and again.

It was an amazing first time. Never in his life had he laughed so much with a sexual partner as he did with Elain. Sex with her was hot and sexy and wonderful, but it was also fun. Just like their relationship. Since that first date, Azriel had fallen more and more in love with Elain with each passing day.

Their relationship had moved fast. After two months, Azriel was practically spending all his time at Elain’s place. After three months, they said ‘I love you’ for the first time. After seven months, he sold his apartment and moved in with her. Everything just felt so right.

And now, exactly one year after their first date, it was time for another milestone.

Azriel had prepared for this day for a few weeks. It had to be perfect.

He had contemplated doing it in front of people, maybe at a restaurant or in her flower shop, but that just didn’t feel right. They were both very private people that didn’t like attention, so he had decided against those options pretty quickly. Instead, he had planned for something more intimate. More them.

A few minutes before she came home, he made sure that everything was in order.

Clean apartment. Check.

Her favorite wine in the fridge. Check.

Her favorite food from her favorite restaurant. Check.

His computer was fully loaded. Check.

The headphones worked. Check.

A bouquet of dahlias on the kitchen table. Check.

After living with a florist for months, he had finally learned the meaning of different flowers. He had also learned that Elain didn’t care about such things. But when he learned that that yellow dahlias represented commitment between two people, it felt like the perfect flower to give her. It didn’t hurt that she really loved dahlias.

Azriel was pacing the apartment, unable to sit still. He had never been this nervous and excited in his life. A few minutes after six, he heard someone move outside the door.

This was it. This could be the start of the rest of his life.

He opened the fridge and grabbed the wine, opening the bottle at the exact moment she stepped in through the door.

“It smells amazing in here,” she called out as she walked into the apartment. “Is that what I think it is?”

“If you think it’s food from Sevanda’s, you would be correct.”

Azriel poured two glasses of wine. Elain walked up to him, embracing him from behind. “What have I done to deserve such a treat?”

“Can’t I just treat my girl? Do I need a reason?”

Elain kissed his shoulder and stepped back, letting him turn around. “No, I love it.”

“Wine?” He handed her one of the glasses of white wine.

She sipped the wine and looked around the apartment. “Clean apartment, food from my favorite restaurant, and wine? Either you have done something stupid, or you must really love me a lot.” She winked at him and leaned against the kitchen counter.

“The latter would be the correct answer.”

She smiled at him, and it was one of those smiles that could light up his entire life. He smiled back, his heart almost beating out of his chest.

She looked over at the table where he had placed his laptop. “Can I help you set the table?”

Azriel shook his head. “Not yet.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “What are you up to, mister? You never leave your computer lying around like that.”

This was it. This was the moment he had been waiting for.

He felt sick with nerves.

“Well, I have something to show you before dinner.”

She raised her eyebrows in question. “Have you found another one of those cute animal videos?”

Azriel chuckled. “Something like that.” He gestured for her to take a seat at the table.

“You need to wear these,” he said and handed her the headphones. Elain looked at Azriel, asking herself what this was all about. She was curious to find out, so she reached for the headphones. They were the noise-canceling ones that she usually wore when she edited her ASMR videos. Before she put them on, Azriel opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it again, almost as if he was unable to form words.

What was going on?

“Azriel?” Elain asked, humor in her voice.

“I… Well, I have something to show you, and I want you to watch the entire video.” He seemed nervous. What on earth was he going to show her?

“Should I be scared?” she teased, hoping to ease some of the tension in his shoulders.

He leaned in and kissed the top of her head. “I don’t think so,” he said, his lips pressed to her hair.

She turned her head so he could place a kiss on her lips too. He tasted like mint and wine. Clean.

He motioned for her to put on the headphones. “Ready?” he asked, and she could have sworn that his hands were shaking as he leaned over to press a button. The computer screen lit up, and she was met with...Azriel’s face.

She looked at him questioningly, but he just pointed at the screen. “Just watch.”

And so she did. She pressed the play button, not knowing what to expect.

On the computer screen, Azriel leaned closer to a microphone that was placed on a table in front of him. She recognized that microphone. It was her Blue Yeti.

“Hello, Elain,” video-Azriel whispered. “I know that this is a bit weird, and I know that I’m not as good at this as you are. But please, bear with me for a few minutes.”

Elain had to bite her lip to keep herself from grinning. “You made an ASMR video?”

She looked at her boyfriend, and he was definitely blushing now. “Just...just keep watching.”

She returned her focus to the screen.

“A little bit over a year ago, I saw this odd video on Youtube. It was a girl, whispering into a microphone. I had no idea what I was watching, but that night I slept like a baby. The next day, I couldn’t get her out of my head. Flower Girl ASMR, she called herself. That day, I was at work and Rhys and Cassian were bugging me, as usual.” Video-Azriel rolled his eyes, which made Elain laugh.

“They asked me to describe my type, my dream girl, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Elain. When I imagined my dream girl, I saw your face. We had never met, yet I still dreamed about you.”

Elain had stopped breathing.

“I didn’t think I would ever have a chance with a girl like you, but then you asked me out on a date,” video-Azriel smiled at the memory.

“Exactly one year ago, we had our first date. Never in my life had I felt so comfortable, so at peace, with another person. I could be myself with you. I knew that you were special from the very start, and when we kissed that night, I could feel it in my bones that I was meant to be with you.”

Elain hadn’t realized that she was crying until she tasted the salty tears on her lips.

“The week after, I couldn’t stay away. You were constantly on my mind. And then you showed up at my apartment in that fucking sundress,” video-Azriel shook his head and chuckled. Elain remembered the dress. It was her yellow sundress. She knew exactly what kind of reaction she would get from him when she put it on.

“After that night, I knew that I was in love with you. And ever since then, I have fallen in love with you every single day. You are the light in my life, chasing away the darkness. You are my happiness and my dreams. Everything you are made of, I am made of too. You make me want to be a better man. I never want to go a day without making you smile.”

Elain was sobbing at this point.

“Elain, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to grow old with you and buy a house with a garden where you can grow flowers. I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. The only future I want is a future with you.”

The video was ending, and Elain hadn’t noticed that Azriel had moved until she looked up and found him next to her, kneeling on the floor. With a shaky breath, she took off the headphones and placed them on the table. She turned around to face the only man she had ever truly loved. He was holding a small velvet box with a ring inside. Elain could barely see the ring through tears clouding her eyes.

“Elain,” Azriel started, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you. You are every dream I have ever dreamt. Elain, will you marry me?”

Elain nodded, unable to get any words out at first. She cradled his face in one palm, tears still running down her face. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, yes, yes.” She fell to her knees in front of him, needing to be closer. She had never been happier.

Azriel felt his own eyes tear up as Elain kept whispering yes, yes, yes.

She didn’t even look at the ring, she just leaned in and pressed her lips to his. Azriel thought that he might burst from happiness. Elain kept saying yes as she kissed him.

Yes was Azriel’s new favorite word.

When they had both stopped crying, Azriel took Elain’s hand in his and slid the ring onto her finger. It was a perfect fit.

“It’s beautiful, Azriel,” she whispered, another tear running down her face. Azriel cupped her face and caught the tear with his thumb.

“It’s a Toi et Moi ring,” Azriel explained. He looked at the two stones held together by a band of white gold. One diamond, one sapphire. “The two stones are supposed to symbolize two souls coming together.” He swallowed, hoping that she would like it.

Elain was looking at the ring in awe. She had never seen anything so beautiful.

“These are our birthstones, aren’t they?”

Azriel nodded and brought her hand to his lips, kissing the ring.

“How did I get so lucky?” Elain sniffled.

“I’m the lucky one, Elain.”

With one hand on her neck, he pulled her in for a kiss. It was sweet and slow; unhurried.

They had all the time in the world now. Just the thought of being able to kiss Elain for the rest of his life made Azriel all warm inside. He was truly the luckiest man alive.

Later that night, when Elain had fallen asleep with her head on his chest, Azriel lay awake just listening to the sound of her breathing. It was the sound that lulled him to sleep every night. Just being near Elain was like ASMR for his soul.

Azriel couldn’t believe that his insomnia had led him here; to the woman of his dreams. If it wasn’t for his inability to sleep, he would never have found her ASMR channel, which in turn meant that they would never have talked. The thought made Azriel hug her even tighter. Elain let out a content sigh and snuggled closer.

Never in his life had he believed that he could ever be this happy. He had always thought that he was supposed to walk with darkness and shadows for the rest of his life. Yet here he was, happy and content; his life so full of love and light.

And it was all thanks to Flower Girl ASMR.

[stopeatingwhales]

about a girl (pt.2) x kurt cobain

hi guys :) so sorry for my inactivity, but i’m here finally lmaoo, this is a part two to my kurt fic that i wrote about a month ago, due to school its been much harder for me to keep up writing as usual, but i will absolutely try my best to finish your guys’ requests soon! anyways, hope you enjoy this <3 Pairing: pre-bleach era kurt x reader

Warnings: nothing :)

Word count: 2.167

Requested by anon (the second part was my idea, but i felt like i should still credit the anon for giving me the idea for this x) 

༉‧₊˚✧

The wind exhales short, breezy waves as you lay there, engulfed in your dreams. From the night succeeding to your outstanding performance, you were requited to a favourable hibernation which by admiring you, was needed for not only the sum of a few hours. Your solemn features are painted still, the only movement stimulating from your body is heavy breaths accompanied by a light snore from time to time. I question whether it's righteous of me to allow my eyes to adorn themselves in your serene features, yet I simply cannot stop myself. I find it surreal to witness you in such fragility; for all the pain and sorrow you’ve had to experience in your life, it’s almost like you shouldn’t be sleeping in such a tranquillic state. I wonder if you prefer sleeping than being awake, I wonder if you think it’s a chore to get out of bed. Does the world haunt you? Every click, flash, snap of a camera, does it devastate you? The image you portray to the world is magnificent, yet flawed. It’s almost as if you’re hiding something, yet you don’t care what others think of you, so you do whatever you please. My heart skips a beat every time you shift slightly, cradling your body in the duvet. I advert my stare to your arms, sculpted perfectly in God’s chamber, the lankiness of your bones withering an appearance of discrepancy. You’re not like the rest of them. Your steady breaths softly ease in and out of your flawless torso, your hair so impeccable it looks untouched even when you’re shifting around in your slumber - the hair you willingly dyed and strained with a flavoured drink mix. As I admire you, sleeping beauty, it reminds me of how lucky I am to have you in my life - regardless of where we stand. When you’re awake, you’re the only thing keeping me sane during the day; spending even just a day without you would feel as if I had lost my legs, lost what’s kept me steady for all these draining years. In all my time of knowing and understanding you, have you never not known what to say, for you have such a way with words, it's unfathomable. You carry a sort of intelligence that no one can seem to obtain; you speak words out of a bible and it’s ironic I say that, Mr ‘God is gay’, but it’s true. You’re the reason I wake up in the morning. You’re like a hard candy, sweet and delicate, although the texture is very hard making it a burden to get through to you. I want to taste you on my tongue every morning, if you would like me to be honest. I crave for things as little as your scent even before I’ve risen from the cushion. Your grace must be envied by the heavens; there is and will never be anyone as alluring as you, not that I’m surprised. 

As my eyes continue to wander on him, a sudden stretch of his arms and a small groan echoing out of his vocal chords results in my body almost instantaneously sitting up. I watch him as he blinks his eyes a few times, his vision still not clear enough. “Good morning,” he whispers, his arms thrown to the skies; he’s like a baby, reaching out for their mother in the early hours of daylight, moaning and whining for affection, warming my heart with soreful ease. Quickly taking note of the small clock situated beside him that I was aware of for the many hours I had been trapped in thought, it read a bright and early 11am. My stare continues to linger onto him as I watch him shifting around, the heart situated in my upper chest now beating as fast as drum solos in heavy metal songs. A short silence stood in between both presences; I assume that he hadn’t taken note of my pondering state adjacent to him, though was that idea contradicted by his light greeting. “Did you sleep well?” he chirps, now using both palms to rub his what-seemed-like itchy eyes.

Now what is humorous from this scenario is that he asks this as if it means nothing; a simple conversation starter it may be, though, to me it means so much more hearing those light words roll off his tongue, compared to if someone else had said it, even if it was in the exact same moment living right now. A whiff of bad breath hits my face as I laugh lightly, shaking my head in a sort of admiration towards the man lying down ahead of me. He again blinks a few times, now in attempt to adjust the bright scenery to his view. For a couple seconds the room is frozen, Kurt’s alteration in position to sitting up becoming the only sound ringing through both our ears. As I find my gaze glued onto him once again, I subconsciously repeat the question he asked me, this time directed for him. However, from what I’ve seen, I’m certain he slept wonderfully.

A tired chuckle escaped his mouth. “I asked you first,” he mutters, the morning rasp still prominent in his vocal chords. This makes me smile. The raw, genuinity forwards the idea of realism that this moment was actually happening, coming like a pinch snapping someone out of their daydream, though my thoughts will never be known to understand how I was able to spend time with such a man. “I slept well, though.” he adds, a warm smile playing on his lips. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” I answered, my face now being cradled by my palms. 

I now feel the stare of Kurt burn onto my face. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asks, a hint of annoyance laced in his words. “We could’ve stayed up together,” 

A small chuckle breezes out of my nose. How considerate, how caring must you be to, even when you have performed such an exasperating gig, stay awake with me because of one night of my mind’s continuous ambles? For all I know, Kurt wouldn’t sleep for days if it meant I would be in absolute glee. It’s those sorts of traits in those who are lost which draw you towards them becoming the significant other to stay with for life. It’s that sense of attachment, connection you hold with someone, so strong that you would give up the roof over your head if it meant a smile to be drawn on their face. ”You looked so peaceful in your sleep,” I replied, staring directly into his loveable eyes, the shade of blue brightening as the sunlight melted onto his face. His hair was now a little more messier compared to how it was less than ten minutes ago, and the urge of me running my fingers through his golden locks only seemed to grow even more as time passed on. For a moment I decided to hold back my words, inhaling sharply to gain composure to my fatigued state. “I didn’t want to disturb you,” 

Kurt sighed - knowing that he needed sleep more than anything, though a hint of sadness dwindled in his stomach, his mind conflicted from the idea of me drowning in worry as I tended to do when I couldn’t sleep. Reaching his arm towards the table sat beside him, his fingers got lost in between the opened packet of cigarettes that slept reverently on the white wood, grabbing a random one at choice before placing it in a loose grip between his lips. With the known information that you need a torch to light a cigarette, I threw the one I had on his lap, a small laugh escaping my lips for no apparent reason. Actually no, there was a reason. “Who the fuck smokes first thing in the morning?”

Before he torched the lighter, he stopped, his piercing blue eyes locking in contact with mine. “Me, I do,” 

Another laugh tempted to flee itself from my throat, yet I held it back. If you would’ve said that to me the first night I met you, in that small, cramped room, littered with amps that Krist had dragged me into going in to listen to your material, I would’ve scoffed at your blown attitude towards such a random question. Watching you now as you’re admiring the cancer stick with pure attachment, my mind begins to wander over such a topic. I look at you and see a troubled, young kid who just wants love and affection because he seemingly never got enough from the people who designed his childhood; for you haven’t grown up since then. Perhaps in size and features, yes (and definitely the fact that children do not smoke), but hidden inside you is the same boy that was hidden away all those years ago - following onto your parents’ divorce. You say you’ve never been happy since then, you’ve never been able to think optimistically, and maybe you haven’t. Maybe the smile you give to me isn’t genuine; with continuous assurance I’ll consider it to be. Maybe I’ll never heal those bruises that were once your only source of living, and that’s okay, if you’re able to cope with the imprints. If you’re the Kurt Cobain that prefers smoking than having a normal breakfast, so be it; I’d give up my heart for you, and if anything, you’ve already stolen it. Words merely brush the surface of my adoration for you, and sometimes I believe that I’m just lying to myself, that nothing I’m saying in my head is true. Yet, as every minute, every second passes throughout the day, even in silent, contented situations with ceilings bright as yellow from the smoke like these, everything I say to myself simply strengthens in morality. My sweet, you deserve more than one could wish for. You deserve things that this world cannot give you, yet all you believe is that you are worthless. If only you saw yourself in my eyes, maybe then you’d realise, realise the impact you’ve sincerely doused onto me and my mind, you’ve got the moves to empower a generation and perhaps hundreds more - even if you don’t see that yet. 

“Give me one,” He hands me one, the strong gusts of cloud escaping his mouth creating a want for the rough substance to coat my throat in brutal ways; even if it’s slowly murdering me. It was a murderous addiction, nicotine, yet it kills us all, our addictions; and we are too blinded by the goodness it seemingly overshadows what we force to neglect in our minds - the bad in it all. We become so unbelievably enthralled by the pain we choose to accept it; we believe it is favourable, not disastrous and catastrophic. Drugs are frowned upon dearly, as they should be, but once you’re stuck, it takes more than simple courage to escape out of the deadly grip it chokes you in. Placing the cigarette in between my lips, identical to how he had just done, I reached my arm out to obtain the lighter that was in my clutch merely seconds ago, swiftly lighting it with one hand. As I breathed out the first tar-filled cloud from my cigar, I fixed my gaze onto him once again, sucking in my top lip as I allowed the droplets of ash fall onto my shirt. “I know I always say this,” I began as I studied his features, trying to identify any solemn, unpleasant emotions, noticing that there was none at all for the time being. “You’re going to make it big one day, I’m now for certain you’re going to take over the world,”

His eyes now locked into mine, a short chuckle leaving his throat as he blew out an even bigger gust of smoke. “I don’t want that,” 

Smiling, I took hold of my cigarette and inhaled deeply, holding it in my mouth until my body was unable to carry on without oxygen for longer - not that the air in the room was even oxygen; it was more corrosive chemicals than anything else, yet we’ve become so dependant on a small roll of tobacco to guide us to a path of slow death, its unnoticable. I watched as Kurt’s eyes drifted on to admire the elusive sunlight gleaming through the window, the whiffs of grey contrasting the happiness that was attempting to journey itself into the silent room. No matter how many times I may tell, his belief that he will never be as big as acts like the Sex Pistols will empower over anything I endevour on to phrase. It was inevitable though, whether he dreamt of it or not, that they will be big, bigger than anything they’ve ever seen. The path bridging onto it may cause destruction, heartbreak, and even more addiction, but the future is never in our hands - only until it is close enough for the present to capture it. Time is simply a mantelpiece, the light eventually burns out when there’s not enough coal to keep it going. You continue to refill it as the days go by until you simply cannot any longer, which is what all youths fear and avoid. Surprisingly enough, Kurt wasn’t one of the many crowds in devastating apprehension; he wanted to burn out more than anything else, for there were only small things keeping him going, or perhaps he was waiting for a longer, more agonizing death, hence the many packets of cigarettes vanished in a day.

There was nothing left to say in the room; there was no need for a response - it was only going to result in the same bicker as it resulted in many a time. The room, now physically undergoing a change in colour from the smoke, held a significant ambience, one so serene it left you more relaxed than the aftermath of a crazy high in drug use, though sometimes the relaxation is more pain than anything else. Even when my mind was so consumed in ideation earlier in the morning, my thoughts were louder than ever in this given moment. My mind was mulled over the concept of Kurt and stardom. He would never like it, nor does he even want it. It’s humorous to an extent; how much authenticity can one acclaim, to not even look up to the sugar-coated concept called ‘fame’? You’re not like the others. You don’t want fame, you want to create music. And in all honesty, I wish I lie through my teeth whenever I mumble those encouraging words of how you’re going to make it big; I can’t stand the idea of losing you, but like I said, it's inevitable, one day simple moments like these will just be memories to look back on when you’re old and laughing about your previous attachment to drugs. Maybe you won’t look back on times like these however, maybe you’ll remember the more vivid, buzzing moments like your first gig as Nirvana, and maybe I won’t remember this either, maybe these moments aren’t to be remembered, to be lived in instead. If only you knew how much I loved you, would you be surprised that I haven’t ruined my life because of it. You mean more to me than the stars mean to the night sky, more than a memory means to a person’s mind. It hurts my heart knowing I can’t heal you, though I dream that one day, you’ll wake up, just like you did today, turn to me and say, ‘I’m happy,’ because that’s all I ever dream of you to be.

[keytomythoughts]

Eleutheromania | Chapter 01

Chapter Index

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It wasn’t long that my boyfriend Lucas had been drafted for mandatory military service. Days had stretched to weeks, and weeks prolonged to months. The society we live in doesn’t give young men, especially those living in sectors where serving is compulsory, the luxury to bypass this duty. 

I had been with Lucas since his name was first registered as those fit to serve Neo City. At the age of twenty, he had submitted his draft forms as required by the royal family, being selected from the pool the following year. Lucas, already twenty-two now, didn’t escape the clutches of this system. In fact, he was chosen earlier, having only one year of peace before receiving a notice from the officials that he was required to leave to the military immediately. 

Knowing the kind of ruling established by this fruitful city, I understood the time away Lucas would spend from me. It wasn’t ideal, nor was it fair, but I wasn’t one to complain. I loved him, and I would wait for him, regardless if he came now or far into the future. Yet, when I walk around the apartment we share where his oversized hoodies and sweats lay scattered around our bedroom and his heavy cologne hangs in the foreboding silence, I can’t help but feel the pang of loneliness, craving the love and touch from the man I hold so dearly.

Today is one of those days. Days where I long for Lucas to be home, to have him embrace me in his tight grasp, curling up on the couch and staying there for hours while talking and eventually falling asleep with us still locked in each other’s arms. 

Having to serve in the military was tough already, but nothing would’ve ever prepared me for the sacrifice and patience I would have to exhibit just anxiously waiting for him to come home safe and sound. 

Pulling on one of his oversized hoodies, I lay down in his side of the bed. Tangling myself within the many sheets that hold the strong, sweet scent of his cologne. The ocean breeze with a touch of pine. His smell is exotic, alluring. It alone is one of the only things keeping Lucas’ presence alive in our abode. Remembering the times we cherished each other in ways that would leave us breathless and immensely pleasured. 

My phone lights up on the nightstand nearby, and I sluggishly reach out from within the cavern of our bed sheet and pillows to grab it. I pause for a moment to view my lock screen, a picture of the two of us when we first started dating. It was during autumn when we walked down a trail of beautifully colored leaves all scattered about on the ground beneath us, the sun angled to cast its luminous glow on our figures. At that moment, Lucas insisted on giving me a piggyback ride, concerned at how tired I might’ve been for walking so long—even though I refused a countless number of times. 

And with my cheek resting on top of his head, this picture was born. Our eyes twinkling at that time of day, his large orbs burning a vibrant gray and mine a soft emerald. My dark brown hair nearly frozen because of the exposure to the chilly air, yet his remained a lustrous and thick black. And his smile. That perfect, beautiful smile that brings out the subtlety of his dimples never fails to make my heart skip a beat, the world and all its troubles pausing for just the briefest of moments when his lips pull back to reveal his pearly-white shine. 

One of my most favorite and treasured memories, that’s for sure. 

I squint at the single notification, the corners of my lips tugging upwards in a small smile. It was from Lucas. How he manages to secretly text while on active duty still both worries and surprises me. 

         Jae, baby, are you still awake?

My cheeks slightly burn, my fingers slowly typing my reply:

                It’s only 6 in the evening, Lucas. 

        You sleep at random hours of the day, love.

I couldn’t disagree with that, but with Lucas gone, it was hard to fall asleep. Whenever my eyes would close, I would only see him. His enormous, twinkling orbs that make my heart swirl in my chest, his captivating smile that even an angel would be put to shame, and his soft, gentle touch that would make me feel secure and loved. Everything, just every tiny detail about him is etched into my memory. That made me miss him even more. It’s been a year since I’ve last been with him physically, the days passing now making it seem more and more unbearable to be without him. 

I find my eyes rapidly blinking, but I use my sleeve to wipe the forming tears away. Instead, I focus my attention back on Lucas’ messages.

                How’s the military training going? You’re not hurt, are you?

        Me? Hurt? Jaeun-ah, are you losing faith in your sexy, strong boyfriend?

The burning intensifies as I keep the conversation going:

                It’s not my fault I’m worried, Lucas. You know how the military is :(

        Jagi, I’m fine. There’s nothing to worry about, promise. 

A small sigh of relief exhales my parted lips. Lucas may be everything, but he’s definitely not a liar. I drift off in thinking that I fail to notice Lucas already typing another message:

        I miss you, baby.

My lips curl into a sad smile, my head simultaneously burying deeper into the pillows beneath me. The hoodie covers the lower half of my face in the process, the musky scent of my boyfriend filling my senses with pure nostalgia. 

                I miss you more. When are you gonna come home?

His message bubble appears and disappears for a couple of seconds. Without even having to send me a written reply, I already knew what that meant. Just then, he sends a reply:

        It’s hard to tell right now. I’m sorry, I know I told you I was going to come home soon, but they’re making me stay longer. My captain’s trying to get me out of it, but it’s apparently out of his hands. :/ 

My heart sinks in my chest. How much I missed Lucas…

                Babe, it’s okay. I’m okay as long as you’re okay. I’ll always wait for you, no matter what. You know that <3  

        You have no idea how badly I want to come home to you and your pretty face. God, I miss you so freaking much. It’s not fair I got to spend only a year with you.

                I know, but this is what you have to do, and I’ve come to terms with it...

        Really?

                Fine, not really. But, I still miss you. And your hugs. And your smile. And just everything.

        Aww, I’m betting you’re in bed wearing my clothes again, right?

I take this moment to take a quick selfie, pouting. I send it instantly.

                Guilty >-<

        You do look cute in my hoodie though...damn it, you’re making it hard for me to stay here when all I wanna do is cuddle with you all day :(

                Then hurry up and complete your service so you can, babe.

        Thinking of you every day is what’s keeping me going, Jaeun <3

My smile reappears, this time a few tears escaping the pools in my eyes. I sniffle, attempting to reply to his text, but he sends another one right after:

        Hey, babe, I’m so sorry, but I have to go. We have to make rounds and Cap can’t stall for long. 

I wipe my tears again, finding the keys through my semi-blurred vision.

                Yeah, sure. Stay safe, Lucas. Talk to you later.

        Just wait a little longer, babe. I’ll be home soon, I promise. I love you, Jaeun <3 And no crying, princess. 

How did he..? Perplexed, I waste no time in responding:

                Who said anything about crying?

        Baby, I know you. I can read you as clear as day. Save those tears for when I come home ;) 

I sniffle a couple more times before the tears eventually dry up. 

                Fine, but only because I love you, babe.

        And I even more. Take care, princess.

                Bye <3 

Sighing, I sink even deeper into the soft cushioning the bed provides, finding some way to fill the void of Lucas’ absence. But to no luck. I place my phone back on the nightstand and lay still, the only noise coming from the soft ticking of the clock. Turning my gaze to the left-side window, my eyes are fixated on the sunset, the sky bathed in warm colors of dusty rose to peach-orange. 

Sunsets remind me of him the most. The crystal-clear shade of gray reminds me of his eyes. The large orbs that are always filled with love and wonder, the small glint in them shimmering like the soft yellow of the setting sun. 

Just simply breathtaking.

And yet, here I am, observing this one, again, without him by my side.

Prologue | Chapter 01 | Chapter 02 |

[runnfromtheak]

tagged by @icosagens!!! such an eloquent and stunning writer with a sharp sense of humor srsly go check him out on ao3! <3 Specifically check out his JayDickDonna fic, CHCl3 which is beautiful and painful and just E V E R Y T H I N GGGGG.

I'll put everything under the cut so there isn't a terrible amount of scrolling for those wishing to skip <3

Rules: list the first lines of your last ten stories. See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

Anchors of Mortality

AKA my new passion project where Dick has a savior complex and no self-preservation skills featuring a Constantine who just wants to Tap That, a Zatanna who is tired and also wants to Tap That, and a host of resurrected characters because Dick can't let things lie or die. Ships include JayDick and Magic^2Dick (or Dick/Zee/Constantine)

Life ends and life begins in rain, at least as far as Dick Grayson is concerned. His parents died on a rainy day, ice-cold droplets seeping in through the bright, thick cloth of the circus tents. A drizzle, Haly had called it beforehand, telling them not to worry. But rain is an omen – a warning – of an uncertain future, of conflicting emotions and thoughts. It had been a sign he’d been foolish to ignore, a sign Haly had been foolish to ignore.

everything casts a shadow

AKA SladeDick with Slade being the Worst and Dick straight up not having a good time

Zatanna used to say that rain has a cleansing effect on the heart and the soul – and the cock, Constantine would always interject with a filthy leer of promise. Rain purifies negative energy from a space, murder or magic, and rain settles the anxious mind. The three of them had made love in the rain once, intertwining limbs and the glow of magic refracted throughout the cold droplets. Three hearts aligned in a crystalline world of skin and water, for a perfect moment.

a prayer for which no words exist

JayDick where Dick has issues and needs therapy. Like a true emotional support/projection character, he reads instead.

On nights he can’t sleep, he reads.

Dick’s always enjoyed books, had grown up with yellowed pages musty with the scent of age as comfort and entertainment, but he’d stopped reading frequently when he’d grown up. With everything else, with responsibility atop responsibility atop responsibility as he’d aged, he hadn’t the time or the mental capacity to love reading like he had before. He hadn’t been able to focus or concentrate, always oscillating between too keyed up and too exhausted. The words, when he’d try and sift through the neurochemical adrenaline high and sift through the luring temptress of melatonin and sleep deprivation, would float and float and float away like distant birds migrating to a new land.

i'm addicted to the way you hurt (i don't mind if you fuck up my life)

JayDick where Dick is a female and also depressed but not in a sexy way. Very Spuffy s6 vibes if ya know what I mean.

When she comes back to life, her world is a nuclear green.

She’s embraced by something; it cradles her, like she’s a precious bundle of jewels, like something perfect to be coveted. There’s warmth where she rests her head, breasts pillowed beneath her, and she’s held close enough to feel that rhythmic cadence like a siren call to life.

warning signs can feel like they're butterflies (i won't stop 'till i get where you are)

Johnlock fic because I got into the fandom late where Sherlock just can't say no and everyone is sad.

He shoots her blackmailer on Christmas Day on the front porch of a cold mansion.

It’s a good shot – clean, precise – with an entry wound and an exit wound. Bits of brain matter coated in blood spatter at Magnussen's back, a dead-eyed look of shock in his empty eyes.

hold your breath 'till we're in too deep (my love is a mood ring)

JayDick where Dick just wants to love Jason and people (*cough* Jason *cough*) make this a difficult venture.

The thing is: Jason Todd is dead.

The thing is: Jason Todd is holding a detonator in his right fist and a gun in his left, both pointed in Dick’s direction in a fairly menacing way.

The thing is: Dick’s vision is blurry from what may or may not be a concussion and there are little floating Batmen spinning around his head in diapers like a horrifying rendition of Cupid, so his assessments may not be entirely accurate.

i wanna waste my youth on you

DickDonna where Dick Grayson is a fucking simp for Donna Troy but aren't we all? (the correct answer is yes. if you said no, only god can help you now.)

He’s ten and she’s eleven and she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

heart on your sleeve like you've never been loved (running in circles now look what you've done)

Johnlock and Adlock where Sherlock picks sex over drugs and John is Not Pleased.

It starts right after the funeral dressed up as a wedding. Tables of decorations he’d picked, dishes he’d selected, color pallets he’d painstakingly coordinated and plotted. John and Mary’s song, weaved from his tears and his blood spilt like ink over the dancefloor as his violin grieves with him.

She’s pregnant. Sherlock smiles, as the best friend is meant to, and John smiles, as the father is meant to, and Mary smiles and it’s all normal and proper and Sherlock’s frozen before she pulls John away with something so horribly knowing in her eyes, before they kiss sweetly on a dancefloor he’d helped pick and lose themselves in throngs of friends and family.

light at the beginning of the tunnel (but he tells me that i'm dreaming)

Johnlock where Sherlock pines and does drugs post T6T.

He hadn’t intended to return. Victorian London holds its own sort of allure, delicious danger at every corner, nothing but pure intellect unaided by modern machinations to solve puzzles of every sort—

(a John Watson that still looks at you like you hung the sun and the stars just for him, like you’re the center he orbits, a gravity he doesn’t care to escape. A place where deductions still evoke tenderness, approval. Where John Watson still wants to hear your voice and cares for you, even with Mary.)

—but it had been dangerous. It had been utterly reckless, a calculated OD with no less than five compounds of varying effects, each boosting the others into a delightful failing of his heart that hadn’t lasted because his transport’s tenacity outweighed his mind’s desires. The fanciful realm where his life hadn’t gone to complete and utter shite had never been a conscious plan. Sherlock hadn’t intended for his brain to grasp for a chain, a link to reality in the form of delusions and hallucinations and awful attempts at honesty. He hadn’t planned for a did you miss me? Despite all his claims to the contrary at the time.

me and you are such a beautiful tragedy (in love with agony)

JayDick Jason wants to be a good person but he's horny. AKA the new pitch for evil: come to the dark side, we have great sex or your ex that can and will kill you if you don't.

The thing about the Lazarus Pit is it consumes you. It’s greedy, like Midas’s touch on a cellular level. It replaces the old with the new – with it – carving a home in blood and soul for its will. For its intentions, passive though they seem at first. Mental stability is only one cost of such a bargain, but it’s by far the worst.

I mean, I used rain as a symbol/parallel twice but mehhh. I don't think I'm super duper set in any formula as far as first lines go. I think my fave would either be the Lazarus Pit line or the nuclear green one. I love my Pit consequences, okay?

Tagging @boyblunder-thedarkheir, @behindtherobinsmask, @luthienluinwe, @stevieraebarnes, and @bitterleafs!! <3

[kaeyas-beloved]

I Believe In You {Midoriya x Sister!Reader}

undefined

*Was Listening To The Sad OST While Writing This*

*TW: Mentions of Death & War. Also sad Izuwu T_T*

"I'm sorry Izuku!" My mother cries, falling forward and bringing my crying little brother into a hug. Now they're both crying while I myself just lean against Izuku's bedroom door frame, a few tears leaking from my own eyes.

Izuku just found out he was quirkless only mere hours ago, that's all it took to utterly crush his life dream of becoming a hero. A sorry was not what Izuku needs, I know this and I know mom knows this too... but yet that's all she could do, apologize for something that was in no way her fault.

I'm not sure how much time has passed with just my brother and mother embracing each other and crying but mom soon breaks the hug, standing up. She starts to walk out of his room, sniffling, but stops beside me and leans in so only I could hear what she had to say.

"Can you talk to him, he needs you now more than anything (Y/N)" she whispers. I glance at her and nod, knowing I need to take up the roll of talking to him since she couldn't at the moment. "Thank you..." mom whispers, continuing to walk away, probably to the couch or to her room.

I take a small inhale of air, trying to think of what to tell Izuku. My mind races for something I could tell him put ultimately I just say screw it and walk over to stand beside him. Just as I'm about to open my mouth to say something, Izuku presses the pause button on his video, stopping it at the part where All Might's face takes up the whole screen, sniffling.

"I-I can become a h-hero like y-you r-right (Y/N)-chan? I-I can be a g-great hero like you too r-right?" My heart just shatters at his heart broken voice and I suppress the urge to cry. I spin Izuku's computer chair around so he's facing me only to be met with a still crying Izuku. I frown and pick him up off his chair, carrying him over and setting him in my lap as I sit down on his bed.

"Of course you can Izuku, I see no reason why you can't be" I whisper to the small, fragile boy. He gazes up to me with tear stained cheeks, no longer crying, but with a confused look.

"B-but I'm quirkless, I can't be a hero like All Might or you..." he whimpers out, lowering his head as tears start to form in his eyes again. I lift his head so he's looking at me, chuckling a little while wiping his small tears away.

"Who said you can't become a hero?" I question, though I know who but I just want him to answer.

"The doctor, Kacchan, everyone in my class... They all say I should give up, that I should stop trying, that I can't do it..."

"Are you going to listen to them?" I inquired. Izuku gives me a quizzical look so I restate my question, "Are you going to listen to them? Are you going to give up?"

Taking a moment to think over what I'm asking him, Izuku just shrugs, "maybe..."

"Nope! Wrong answer Izuku!" I smile down at him, "do not let others lead your life, it's your life for a reason..." I pause a moment, debating whether or not I should let this information slip past my lips or not. Maybe I should, Izuku needs to hear this...

"I want to tell you something Izu. People are going to tell you that you can't do it, whether it's because your weak or quirkless or not smart enough. I know you know this, but listen, you can do it. Want to know why I think you can?"

"Why..." he whispers.

"Because when I was your age... I was told the exact same thing, that I could never be a hero, but look where I am now! I proved them all wrong, I became the hero that I wanted to be! I did that by not listening to those who told me other wise. I pushed through, I set goals for myself and I set morals that I would stick by and every time I did I became stronger, more confident in myself, and so can you! You can become the No. 1 Hero that you want to be Izuku!"

When I finished my little motivational speech, my small, 4 year-old brother is left speechless with floods of tears streaming down his eyes, but in no way is he sad. Embracing me tightly, Izuku stands up on my lap and leans his head into the crook of my neck, crying but I can hear him say something, something that puts a smile on my face.

"Thank you (Y/N)-chan, you're my hero and the best sister ever..."

We stay like that for a little bit until Izuku finally lets go, wiping his tears away. He hops off my lap and goes to the head of his bed, climbing under the covers and laying his head on the pillow. He lets out a tiny yawn and I chuckle, the poor boy having tired himself out. I stand up from where I was sitting on the edge of his bed and walk over to his computer, shutting it down. Pacing back over to Izuku's bedside, I turn on his All Might nightlight, lean forward and give his forehead a kiss.

"Good-night Izu, sweet dreams little hero-to-be" I murmured. Turning to his bedroom door about to head to my own room to retire for the night, I halt in my steps by the quite call of my brother.

"(Y/N)-chan, I have a question..." Looking at him, I nod to him as a way of saying that I was listening and to ask his question. "W-what's a moral? You said you have those but, what are they?" I hum in though as I walk back to kneel beside him, pondering the best way to explain this to him without confusing him. What the hell am I talking about, he's a smart boy, he'll understand.

"It's a little hard for me to explain but it's like what a person believes is right, it's like something they live by." I try to explain. A small 'oh' leaves Izuku.

"What's a moral that you have?" If I'm being honest I was a tad taken aback by him asking me that. I nevertheless smile and think of my answer.

"Well, I actually have a few. Like a villain is not born, they're made. No one is born to be evil, something has to happen to them or they were raised that way, and were never showed the light and beauty of the world around them. But two of my favorites have to be that a true hero isn't measured by his strength or how many villains he defeats, but by the strength of his heart and his will to be a hero. The second one is that a hero isn't born, they're made, meaning that it takes hard work for them to get to where they want to be, which is to be a hero of course. I know for sure that I had to work hard to get to where I am now, but you, you'll have to work extra hard, but I believe in you Izuku and when you become a hero, you'll be letting the world know that you did it. But to do that you need to go to bed silly!" I flash smile at him and he smiles his big, bright, pure smile back.

"Will you train me when I'm older (Y/N)-chan!? Please!?" Izuku pleads and I laugh.

"Yes Izuku I will and I'll be with you every step of the way, I promise. But you gotta go to bed first!"

"Okay! Good-night (Y/N)-chan, I love you!" Izuku laughs with a smile as he closes his eyes, falling asleep within moments. A smaller smile crawls onto my lips and I stand up once more to my full height, tip-toeing so I don't wake Izuku up. Just as I'm about to close the door I whisper out,

"I love you too Izuku, my little brother. I believe in you..." What I didn't know was that he heard what I said and that those words would stick with him on his journey to becoming a Pro Hero.

--------(Time Skip, Izuku is now at UA and 15 years old)--------

The words my sister said to me when I was told that I couldn't become a hero 11 years ago has got me through so much and has gotten me to where I am now, at UA High, the prestigious school for heroes-to-be. Even while she isn't here with me now, I know that she is watching over my every move.

"Settle down students" Mr. Aizawa sighs, hopping into class dressed in his favourite yellow sleeping bag. At the sound of the very, and always, tired teacher's voice, Class 1-A did as told and settled into their seats as they all ended their conversations and such, ready to focus on the lesson for the day.

Well, all but one. That being Izuku Midoriya.

"As some of you may know," Aizawa began, "today is the anniversary of the War of Pros, a war between many Pro Heroes and Pro Villains worldwide. So, as some of you can guess, that'll be the lesson for today."

As Mr. Aizawa was setting up the projector to show a slideshow featuring some notes, videos and pictures, his dark and sleep-deprived eyes made eye contact with Midoriya's. At that moment, the usual stone coldness of Aizawa's eyes shifted to one of sympathy. Midoriya could tell what his teacher was thinking, so he merely nodded, letting the Pro Hero know he was okay sitting around for the lesson. Nodding back, Aizawa continued with the planned lesson.

"The war ended quickly, with it only lasting 3 weeks, and some of the greatest heroes served in it. Who knows what heroes from Japan fought in it?"

Right away, Midoriya's hand shot up, making it quite known to the class that he knew what the answer was. Aizawa was quite surprised but didn't show it.

"Midoriya?"

Clearing his throat, Midoriya answered, "All Might, Endeavor and... (H/N)." Many caught the hesitation with the last Pro Heroes name, but paid no mind to it. Except Bakugou and Aizawa, because they knew the reason behind it.

When I was 10, (Y/N) was assigned to partake in war overseas along with All Might and Endeavor. At this time, my sister moved up the ranks to be the No.3 Pro-Hero in Japan, meaning she was one of the strongest there was and one of the more fit ones to go to battle. This war was classed as a triple-S level war, so Pros from all over the world, such as America, came to assist as well. It was chaos and destruction between villains and heroes alike, many were injured but only one Pro-Hero was killed.

My sister...

"Right..." Aizawa replied in a monotone voice, like always.

Aizawa was the same age as (Y/N), they went to school together and were in the same classes. As for Bakugou, despite being the nerds older sister, Bakugou still knew the Pro deserved respect.

As the dark haired teacher continued on with the lesson, Izuku Midoriya was stuck in his own thoughts about his sister and the day he and his mother were told of her death.

The day my mother and I found out was the worst day of my life, it greatly out weighted the agony and sadness I felt when I found out I was quirkless. My mother cried for months and wouldn't even go anywhere close to her room, avoiding it like the plague, but only because every time she would be near it, she would burst into tears.

When my mother was finally ready to go into (Y/N)'s room we found letters in her desk drawer. One was addressed to mom, one to All Might, one to Mr. Aizawa, one to President Mic. Then there was a stack of 7 addressed to a group that (Y/N) was apart of called the RFA. The last letter was for myself. Mom mailed the other letters after she read her own, but I read my letter later that night.

When I read the letter it seemed to have meant to be for me to read before she left, (Y/N) must have just forgotten to give it to me before she left, she did leave 2 days earlier than she was originally suppose to.

~~~~

Dear Izuku,

Hey there little buddy! I know you don't like that nickname all that much but meh :P

Now onto some serious things... I know, I know, there's no fun in serious things but I gotta! As you know I have to leave for a little while to go overseas, but I'll come back as soon as I can! Then we can go back to our usual of training and goofing off okay! I promise, pinkie promise Izuku!

And if you ever miss me you know what to do right? Yell out the window as loud as you can so I can hear you 'Goddess 606 help me!' or you can call on my friend God 707, he'll be there for you too if I can't be :)

Like I said Izuku, I'll be home as soon as I can be, so just keep training while I'm gone, then when I get back I'll test you, so be ready!

You can do it Izuku, go beyond, Plus Ultra! I believe in you!!

~Love your sister, (Y/N) Midoriya~

~~~~

"Even though a life was taken that day in battle, her sacrifice was not in vain. Can anyone tell me why?" Zoning back into the lesson, Midoriya hears Aizawa ask the class another question, and with no one else raising their hand, whether it's because they don't want to answer the question or no one actually knows, Midoriya reluctantly raises his hand once more.

Hesitantly, Aizawa calls on him, "Midoriya..."

With clenched hands that tremble slightly, Midoriya answers through his teeth, "Her sacrifice wasn't in vain... b-because her finally attack won th-the war..." Midoriya couldn't hold them back any more, his tears of sorrow and hurt. Hurt because his sister promised to come home, yet she's not here, with him and cheering him on! Not here with him sparring, not here helping him grow, not here with him every step of the way like she said, like she promised!

The sudden noise of a chair scrapping against the tiled ground caught everyone's attention, except for Midoriya, who's still crying in his seat while his fellow classmates gave him sympathetic looks before the noise occurred.

"Oi, Deku..." The rough and raspy voice of Katsuki Bakugou sounds out in the quiet classroom. While the pitch of Bakugou's tone seems to not have changed, to everyone that knew the young boy, they would catch the softness in it. Marching over to his desk, Bakugou lifts Midoriya by the back of his collar and sets him on his feet.

Calming down just enough to talk coherently, Midoriya mutters out "w-what is it Kacchan? I-" before being pulled into someones embrace, Bakugou's. Class 1-A and their teacher are shocked to their core, no one expecting him to comfort his childhood rival. Before Midoriya could sputter out anything, Bakugou began to talk.

"Now listen here shitty Deku cause I'm only saying this once, (Y/N) wouldn't want you to be this upset over her, she'd want you to continue living your life and become the hero she knew you could, no um, become the hero that you can be. Don't think I didn't see you and her training all those years ago! Now don't let her hard work go to waste shitty nerd and brighten the hell up, it's what she would have wanted!" Bakugou's tone held so much sincerity and truth that Midoriya couldn't help but cry more, not in sadness, but in content. He should have realized that if his sister was still here that she would have been disappointed in how he's been living his life, in sadness and despair.

"Th-thank you K-Kacchan!" Midoriya cried, hugging his friend just a little tighter, Bakugou returning the tight grip.

"No problem nerd..." He whispered, tone gentle.

The class sat shocked yet eternally happy that Bakugou dropped his pride to comfort the very emotional green haired teen, showing a side of himself that very few would ever get to witness and experience. Smiling faces filled the quiet classroom as 1-A just let everyone calm down, to regain composure of their feelings so they could return to the lesson.

Suddenly, frantic and heavy footsteps could be heard from the hallway just outside the classroom, catching many off guard. Bakugou and Midoriya parted, positioning themselves into a fighting stance, ready to defend themselves and those around them.

As the classroom door slides open with much ferocity, the entire of Class 1-A is thrown into shock, but in three of them, other emotions bubble in them. Aizawa, Bakugou and Midoriya all hold a sense of sadness, relief, confusion and pure joy at the face that has appeared before them.

Lowering their fighting stances, Izuku staggers forward, tears beginning to brim his emerald coloured eyes.

"(Y-Y/N)...?"

(Y/N)'s POV

"(Y-Y/N)...?" Izuku whispers, voice shaking though thick with emotion. As I lean against the door frame to the classroom, clutching the side of my stomach, I can see the tears in his eyes. In my little brother's eyes. Eyes that I thought I'd never see again along with his atrociously messy green hair, his distinctly familiar voice that despite him being older, is still recognizable.

"I-Izu-uku, I told y-you I'd c-come home" the arm that wasn't holding my injured side reached out to him, my body leaning off the only support I had at the moment. Izuku rushes forward, the tears that had been accumulating finally running down his cheeks as he wraps his arms around me, myself doing the same as I let go of my injury momentarily.

His tears start to soak my tattered, torn and slightly burnt shirt but I could care less. All I care about is being here, home, with part of my family.

"H-h-how a-are you-u he-here. Th-the n-news said you were d-dead" the small green haired boy hiccups, clutching onto me tighter, like if he even loosened his grip a fraction I would disappear forever. His fingers claw slightly into another wound of mine, causing me to wince though Izuku doesn't let up.

"I know, I know. I never died, I was kidnapped by those I was fighting back then and only now was I able to escape. But I promise, I'm here, I'm okay and I'm never leaving you again. And hey, I see you made it into UA! Told you that you could make it!" I smile.

Izuku only seems to sob louder and harder. His tears aren't tears of sorrow any more but more like tears of happiness.

In that moment, we both knew that everything was going to be okay. That neither of us would be absent from each other's lives ever again.

I was home and someone I care about most is happy.

Everything is finally alright.

[hopiewrites]

Nobody - OHSHC

pairing - host club x reader

ongoing series, chapter 2

word count - 4,595

chapter 1 & 3 up now!

-> back to masterlist

02

Windows to the Soul

The school is so peaceful at sunrise.

Walking down the empty halls of Ouran academy, the tired female got to soak in it’s quiet beauty; the soft yellows and pinks of the early morning sun lied beautifully on the white of the large window sills, casting everything in shades of pinks. She smiled softly to herself.

Tired as she may be, the sight of the clear sky, the stars still dotted sparsely across the expanse, she couldn’t help but feel in awe of it’s effortlessness; the red cardinals that floated in the air bid her good morning. Her light footsteps echoed down the hallway, along with the song she was humming as she walked.

Opening the door to the host club, she pulled all the curtains back and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, admiring the now bright turquoise of the sky before walking into the kitchen area - where a mountain of dirty dishes awaited her. She sighed at the sight, pulling on the blue rubber gloves that was left out for her - along with a grocery list from Kyoya - and got to work.

She decided that, maybe, it wouldn’t be as bad doing this as she thought it’d be. If its always this serene, maybe she’ll even come a bit earlier so she can just sit and watch the sunrise from the roof; she’d heard that there was a garden up there, but, she doubted that any of the plants would be in bloom at this time of year.

“(Y/N)?”

Her daydreaming came to a halt at the sound of a warm voice, honey like in it’s sticky sweet nature. She stopped the water and turned, removing the gloves and rolling down the sleeves of the dusty light blue mock-neck she was wearing, and peered at the male who somehow made it all the way to the kitchen without making a sound.

For some reason, her voice was soft - as if not to disturb the wistful feeling of the chilled air. “Oh, Tamaki, right? What are you doing here so early this morning?”

The male beamed when she said his name, a smile playing on his lips as he fully entered the room - the door closing with a soft click behind him. He took few steps nearer, and she noticed how sleepy he looked - and how the natural light that flooded the room made him glow, the golden of his messy hair nearly blinded her by how it shined. His eyes were smiling, warm in just what they were, in what they are; shimmers of blues and reds and violets made his iris the most beautiful shade of plum.

She noticed herself staring, and his smile growing - blushing, she averted her gaze towards the window. Tamaki kept his eyes on her.

The girls (S/C) skin seemed to sparkle in the light - the small acne scar on her face was highlighted, and oddly enough, he found it cute, how it sat on the apple of her cheek. The rich (E/C) of her iris’ was hidden from him by her bashfulness, but he found himself drawn to her, wanting to just look, to just see, because she keeps hiding herself away behind her eyelids and hunched shoulders - it was then, in that moment that he realized he wants to witness the beauty that hid herself away.

He realized he’d been silent, and a slight blush dusted his cheeks. “I just wanted to make sure you found everything okay, and to see if you needed help with anything. I mean, since it is your first day and all!”

The still air began to dance with Tamaki’s words; his breath twirling with the  once stagnant atmosphere.

For some reason, his words touched her. Maybe it was because she’s tired, or just in a sentimental mood, but she found herself thinking of how kind he was for going out of his way for something so small like that. She slipped into a smile with ease.

He beamed once again; like a puppy who got a treat.

“Aww, you didn’t have to do that. Thank you, though. I’m just finishing up the dishes, then I planned to go get the ingredients at lunch break since the shops aren’t open right now.”

Tamaki frowned, “then when are you going to eat?” He placed his hands on his hips, scolding the girl, “a lady can’t skip her meals,”

“Well, this lady can and will ,” she replied - a playful grin adorning her features; in truth, she was just going to drink some milk on the way, and she was fine with it. She can eat later. Maybe it was the blessing of the sun that made her relax in his presence.

Though, he was persistent. “At least make yourself something when you come to put the groceries away.”

She sighed, nodding hesitantly, “that’s okay, right? Like, I won’t have to pay for it?”

“Nope! Don’t worry about it. You have to eat well if you expect to be our errand girl, after all!”

There he goes, hiding away behind his obnoxious front again.

“Okay. But, we should be getting to class, now. Don’t wanna be late,”

Tamaki nodded, and opened the door for the girl - who scrambled out quickly - a thank you falling from her lips.

- nobody -

For some reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about those eyes of plum; how they looked in the sun, how bright and warm they were. How kind they seemed. But, then again, maybe she’s reading in too much of what they really were - merely eyes. She often read people well, purely out of either boredom or of curiosity - or sometimes, just because she felt drawn to them, just like she did in that moment, bathed in the beams of light through the open window.

The teacher was going in depth of color schemes and how different colors have been used, what they’ve signified throughout history.

purple, the color of royalty, ambiguity, wealth and magic.

In her sketchbook, beside the little coloms of notes she’d bothered taking, she began sketching the eyes of a male who’d managed to edge his way into the front of her usual fleeting thoughts. Unusual , is the word she settled on describing him as, with his obnoxiously over the top personality and his rose colored view of life. She’d only known Tamaki for a little over a week, and yet he’s already charmed his way into her subconscious.

Maybe she can understand why all those girls seem head-over-heels for him, now - though, she’s nowhere near that yet. Just, sketching a few pictures of his eyes, of his lips. Nothing more.

- nobody -

By the time lunch break rolled around, plenty more than just a few pages in her sketchbook was full of drawings of him, and none of them she was satisfied by. None of them reflected what she saw in them perfectly, and she’s scared she’ll forget if she doesn’t have something to remember it by.

Pulling the grocery list out from the back pocket of her black jeans, she headed out to the shops with a head full of cotton; mind too busy floating around the stars to be considered conscious.

The shops weren’t as busy as she imagined they’d be; only a few people mingling  around, much like herself. Tossing items one by one into the basket that hung on the crook of her arm, she thought of how bizarre it was for her to be doing this - doing errands for a host club, lest one made up of men she barely knew.

What were the chances of meeting them like the way she did? If they’d met a different way, she wondered if they would’ve even bothered to talk to someone as invisible as herself - because from her assumptions, people like them have no interest in wilting wallflowers like her.

It was lonely, feeling like nothing more than gum stuck to the bottom of peoples shoes.

Checking out the abnormal amount of overpriced groceries, she sighed as she speed walked her way back to the large campus of Ouran, promising herself a sandwich once she returns.

- nobody -

On the counter, haphazardly sat paper bags with a note in messy handwriting;

hi hosts,

sorry about the mess. ill come put these away + clean up after the guests etc. after classes end. i was running a bit late today :)

-(Y/N)

Kyoya’s clenched jaw relaxed at the for a moment while reading the small note. He stuffed it in his pocket with half a mind, and went to help prepare everything before their guests arrive - Haruhi preparing the tea and coffee, as well as pulling the premade sandwiches made by their new helper out of the fridge to place on plates, along with different kinds of cake, hand picked by Mitsukuni himself.

Haruhi was thankful for the new found speed of getting prepared, she now not having to stay late after school to make what seems like hundreds of sandwiches - the brunette still cringes thinking about the cramps she’d always get in her fingers afterwards.

Cracking her knuckles with a sigh, Haruhi made her way out to position herself for the opening of the doors; welcoming the ladies in an over dramatic fashion as always. She really couldn’t bring herself to dislike what she was doing - even if she used to attempt to convince herself otherwise, she rather liked getting to see the smiles on the girls faces, and getting to spend time with her unlikely bunch of friends made her warm inside - even if it was a bit awkward for the introverted girl. She charmed her guests, making them swoon, just as usual.

It felt like time had flown by before the guests had bid their goodbyes, and (Y/N) peeked her head through the door, eyes landing on the other females chocolate hues. “Hi, (Y/N)-san.”

The meek girl smiled small at the greeting, walking her way into the room, messenger bag slung over her shoulder and hair now pulled out of her face with a bobby pin on the top of her head.

“Hello Haruhi-san. I’m just here to help with clean up-”

“(N/N)-chan~!” She stumbled at the force of the impact of the 3rd year, arms locked around her waist in a tight hold, Honey’s grinning face shining up at the startled girl. “Um, hi, senpai.”

Haruhi chuckled at the sight, finding the timid nature of (Y/N) clashing with the clingy-as-ever Honey, amusing.

“Oh, Look who’s here!” Tamaki’s loud voice played off the walls, still as chirpy as ever - he took long strides towards the girl, still tied up in her elders embrace.

The host club was almost empty, save for the aforementioned blonds, the silent Takashi, Kyoya, who was in the back room going through the host’s profits today, and Haruhi, who mingled about with nothing better to do.

Well, maybe they wanted to get to see their little errand girl - not that they’d say that out loud, at least.

Honey squeezed her one last time, before letting go and trotting back over to Mori, who only mumbled his name in response. She was tense at the contact, it being unexpected; and understandably so, because a greeting like that for anyone who didn’t know Honey would be weird. She brushed it off as something she’d just have to get used to.

“Our dear little kitten, you’ve come to visit me, haven’t you?”

“So, (Y/N), do you want me to stay and help with clean up? I don’t have anything to do, so…” Haruhi trailed off, more as a statement, honestly, as she started wiping down tables.

“Um, okay! Thanks, Haruhi-san..” She paused, glancing over at the sulking Tamaki, who was being laughed at by Honey who sat happily in Mori’s arms - what a strange bunch.

After retreating the necessities, and bidding Mori and Honey a quick goodbye - kendo practice, mumbled the stoic with a nod of his head. he had a voice as deep as the ocean itself, she noticed, thick and dark blue, lulling itself through his chest. It was comforting to her, to say the least.

And that left the two girls, busying themselves with small tasks, and Tamaki, who, oddly enough, sat and observed them; his typically expressional features unreadable from the sparse glances the questioning girl was able to give him. Haruhi seemed happy enough, nonchalant smile on her pretty face as she packed up, sending a wave towards the girl cutely.

“Um, Tamaki-Senpai?”

Said male jumped at that, snapping his head towards the soft voice; “what’re you still doing here? Haruhi just finished up and tried to bid goodbye, but you didn’t even hear her.”

His eyebrows shot up - did he really not? He glanced around the now vacant room, not spotting his princess anywhere - only (Y/N), who awkwardly hovered by the armrest of the couch.

It wasn’t quite sunset yet, but the dandelion yellows that began to leak into the blue hues of the sky served as its near coming. She noticed how innocent he looked when caught off guard.

Her inquiring stare made him feel vulnerable - in his mind he grasped at something, anything, to turn the focus back onto the girl beside him - he wasn’t use to being the one flustered; something in her stare felt like it was boring into him, picking apart his brain and looking into his soul, it made chills raise on his arms and pink to grow on his porcelain cheeks.

On the other hand, she did this completely unintentionally; she was taking in as much of his eyes as she could possibly manage, caught up in her own need to know what lurked within those eyes of his, reading into him like a book she couldn’t get enough of.

It was only the two of them, in an empty room flooded by the waltzing sunlight of late afternoon - but if you looked closely enough, felt deeply enough - you could see the array of colors that spilled themselves all over the walls, floor and high ceiling, being covered in the clashing of the beginnings of something new, something beautiful.

It was the flooding of warmth on a cold winters day.

It overwhelmed the both of them.

“D-Did I?”

“Yeah. Uh,”

A beat of silence.

“I have to hurry to my shift, so.. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Ye-Yeah! I’ll see you tomorrow. Good luck at work! Get home safe, Princess.”

The door closed gently after her leave, and Tamaki was left alone in her aftermath.

Firstly, he gave himself a pat on the back for picking himself up at the end of their small conversation - secondly, he couldn’t help but to feel like he just emerged from the under belly of the sea.

The piercing gravity of her gaze lingered with him the rest of the day.

- nobody -

“Hello! Did you find everything okay?”

“Yes, I did.”

“That’s good! Your total will be $27.93. Thank you, come again!”

That was, what seemed like, the millionth time she’d had that exact exchange. people came and went, some more troublesome than others - she had a lady in line, arms full of books, and a purse full of expired coupons, demanding every single one of them be applied - but other than those few bad apples, it was a pretty normal day at the bookstore. her coworker, Daiki, was out sick today so she offered to take his shift, which he was ever grateful for; that’s why she’s working so late tonight, having to close up shop and ride the 11 o'clock train, which she was dreading to do.

the cute barista who worked in the Starbucks at the far side of the store, a foreigner from Germany with a name she couldn’t even begin to pronounce, gave her a sympathetic smile as she clocked out and went home or the day. (Y/N) sighed, propping her head up on the counter.

Her manager chuckled, “Me too, kiddo.”

He was a man in his mid 50’s, with graying hair and the beginnings of crows feet forming around his eyes; he had a kind looking face, and it just lit up when talking about his favorite book and movies - all of which were in black and white. of course, she would know, having had an internship, then being hired when she was of legal age; she’s been here for what felt like her whole life.

The extroverted man has always been kind to her, passing the time by talking fondly of his daughter, who is now in college, and his husband, who’s come to visit work a few times, bringing his spouse his forgotten lunches or to bring staff his specialty homemade cookies - which everyone absolutely adored.

In all honesty, he was like a father to the girl. he would comfort her when she was caught crying in the breakroom - which has happened more than a few times - and he knew best of her home situation and life in general, offering advice and listening to her talk. she’d even given him a few drawings that she made for him, and he’d hung them up on his fridge at home. he made her feel safe, and loved - just like a father should.

“Long day at school?”

“Yeah,” she sighed out, “you know that club that I owe? the one I was telling you about? I had to go like 2 hours earlier to wash dishes and stuff. I swear I’ve been awake for too long.”

The older nodded, taking a sip out of his water bottle. “And at lunch I had to go get groceries. The whole list cost like, 3 paychecks worth of stuff. It was insane,”

He snorted at that. “so they gotcha on dish duty? And how long are ya gonna have to to this, again?”

“Um, this whole semester, I’m pretty sure. I don’t know how expensive those teacups were, but goddamn.”

“Language, missy.”

She rolled her eyes, genuine smile on her lips, “okay, dad.” He also cracked a smile.

“Why don’t you go ‘head and go home, alright? Like you said, you’ve been awake too long. Don’t want ya going crazy on me,”

Her eyes widened a bit, at the offer, but it was tempting. She felt her body disintegrating from the inside, and with all the coffee’s she had this shift, it’s not surprising. Her hands shook with a caffeine overdose, and every movement of her body felt like she was wading through water.

After that moment of contemplation, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you day after, okay, old man?”

“Sure thing, (Y/N). Get home safely, okay? You got that pepper spray I gave ya?”

She smiled at his concern, “don’t worry, I always keep it in my bag. I’ll make sure to text you when I get home.” he had gotten it for her one shift when she was talking about being followed one night on her way home, by a creepy man she didn’t know, and he had been worried sick for her - said he’d beat him up if he ever saw the bastard - she had only laughed fondly at his kindness.

“Okay. Have a goodnight, now.” he said, patting her shoulder.

She nodded, “You too.”

- nobody -

12:02 am

Quietly, she moved through the house, peeking her head in the mother’s room to see her resting peacefully. She then turned back to go the the bathroom just down the hallway, washing her face and changing into the freshly washed fuzzy pajamas she’s been excited to wear. Throwing herself into bed, it was an amazing feeling that washed over her - crawling under the blankets and wiggling her toes in efforts to warm up - she was sure that she’d be able to sleep well tonight.

2:17 am

And how wrong, she was. Hours of tossing and turning, her cat jumping on and off her bed constantly, flicking his tail in her face and howling just for the fun of it. She sighed heavily; every time her eyes closed, the image of Tamaki, bathed in the golden light of morning, sleepy plum eyes and lips pulled up in a grin, just wouldn’t go away. The colors of him wouldn’t leave her mind, no matter what else she tried to think about.

Her cat sat on the window sill, wading his sleek grey tail through the air, staring at her as she rubbed her eyes frustratedly.

4:10 am

Eraser shavings stuck to her sweater.

Pages and pages, the fronts and backs filled with attempts to get it right. Attempts to immortalize a moment that’s already dead - it’s faded memories windswept in her sketchbook.

She was embarrassed by her failures.

5:57 am

Already, it was time to leave - to make sandwiches for that stupid host club and those stupid boys and their stupid guests - well, she didn’t really feel that way - but rather, it was the lack of sleep that made her hate, well, most things. Already walking her way to school in clothes that she felt unsatisfied with wearing; the same pair of light washed jeans from days before, and a black sweatshirt she pulled over a cropped tank top, only because she was too lazy to take it off before hand.

She ate a hearty breakfast, consisting off a glass of almond milk - forgotten her lunch in the fridge at home, and only had 2 dollars, her sketch book and a squished fortune cookie in the bottom of her bag for the day. No pencils. No notebooks. Nothing.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, feeling the cold hands of winter holding her own; as if trying to comfort her.

She let it.

- nobody -

After the meals were made, wrapped up nicely in overpriced decorative napkins and sat in the fridge, she was winded by the effort. With half an hours time remaining until she needed to get seated in a classroom, the tired girl chose to sit on a chair at a table nearby the large windows that overlooked the campus; a fountain surrounded by patches of yellow grass sat pretty in her view, the cloudy periwinkle sky draped itself in the background gracefully.

She kicked off her old vans and pulled her legs up in a criss-cross position on the chair, stretching her arms and torso out on the cold tabletop with a huff. Her cheek was squished on her upper arm, drowsy eyes losing their ability to focus; her eyelids closed heavily, as her breathing turned soft and rhythmic - she couldn’t help but to bask in the filtered sunlight that fought through the cracks of the blankets of tear filled clouds.

She slept.

- nobody -

“Awwww (N/N)-chan is so cute when she’s sleeping!”

“Shhh Honey-senpai! You’ll wake her up!”

“Yeah, who would’ve thought she could look so peaceful,”

“Isn’t Princess (Y/N) so adorable!? Quick, someone get a photo!”

What’s going on?..

The sleeping girl stirred, causing everyone to pause, holding their breath.

She let out a yawn, scrunching her nose, and peeked one of her (E/C) eyes open, to the sight of the entire host club staring straight at her.

Her eyebrows knitted, still in a fuzzy, dream-like state, not processing anything at all. She scrunched her nose again.

The click of a camera could be heard, along with familiar mischievous giggles - that turned into hard laughing at the face she pulled.

It was priceless.

She sat up quickly, lips parting and wide eyes - face red as rose, all the way to the tips of her ears.

Even Mori let out a short laugh at that.

“What.. What- what time is it? How long have I been asleep for?”

Kyoya, with that ever present smirk plastered on his face, checked his watch, “I believe it’s 4:41.”

“I.. I don’t..”

The girl groaned, letting her head fall on the back of her hands, brushing off the feeling of watchful eyes felt on her back for the time being.

A hand landed itself on her shoulder.

“C'mon, (Y/N). You obviously needed the rest, so don’t be too upset about it.”

The girl sighed, fallen head rising from her hands as she gazed at the auburn boy, who smiled sympathetically at her through long eyelashes - one of the twins, though she couldn’t be sure of which one it was; if she had to guess, just by his thin voice, maybe it was Kaoru?

She nodded, sitting up right in her chair, “yeah, I guess you’re right. Thank you.. Kaoru?” It was more of a question than a statement, but it was confirmed as soon as she saw his widened eyes and shocked smile - I got it right!

She smiled, then cringed at the tightness of her muscles from being hunched over the table for so long.

She missed how Hikaru gave her a skeptical glare from aside.

“You okay, (Y/N)?”

She only gave a silent nod to the worried twin, rolling her head, unfurling her legs and stretching deeply - her knees popping at the action - and stood up, now looking around the room with her mind alert. It was then that she noticed Hikaru’s stern gaze, a camera held loosely in his grip; they made eye contact, sharply and only for a second, for the both of them to snap their heads the other way - as if they were stubborn children.

“Just a bit stiff is all. Wait, weren’t you guys gonna have guests coming in today? What happened?”

“Tamaki decided to cancel, and, in his own words, 'let the princess sleep,’. ” Kyoya replied.

Said male lit up red, hand raising to cover his mouth as he avoided eye contact, “Kyoya, I thought we agreed to not mention that…”

The ravenette smirked, “I remember no such deal.”

(Y/N) blushed lightly, sparing a look or two at the reddened male, awkwardly shifting in her spot. “Well, uh, I should probably head home,”

She slowly made her way across the room, biting her lip in an anxious habit.

“I like your socks, (N/N)-chan!”

… What?

Looking down, the feeling of horror that enveloped her was unexplainable.

She had forgotten to put her shoes back on, and there on her feet, were her pink sailor moon socks, on display for all to see, bright against the white marble floor.

Quickly she jumped over towards the table, hastily shoving her shoes on her feet and running back towards the door all in the span of 10 seconds - the lighthearted, teasing laughter of the hosts was all too much for her right now.

“Uh, bye guys, see you!”

It seems, nearly every time she leaves that room, she’s running away.

Tamaki and Kaoru both smiled fondly at the girls clumsy nature - while her absence left nothing but wary skepticism in Hikaru’s mind.

Kyoya was left asking, to nobody in particular, “That girl, what are we to do with her?”

- nobody -

“Hikaru, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, just… That girl. She rubs me the wrong way.”

Kaoru quirked a brow at his brother, “Who, (Y/N)? Why?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t she seem a bit..”

“A bit what?”

Hikaru huffed, averting his eyes towards the passing scenery outside the window of the limo they rode in - red velvet seats and mini T.V.’s hung on the back of the headrests in front of them. The yellowing grass and dead flower bushes passed by in flurries, clouds being left behind in the sky, the low hanging sun chasing after them.

“Slow, maybe? Dumb?”

“What makes you say that?”

“The way she acts, constantly embarrassed or running away. Like she’s scared of us, or something.”

The younger of the two furrowed his brows, thinking for a moment.

“And that makes you think she’s dumb…?”

Hikaru huffed again, scratching the side of his head, “No. I mean yes. I mean, I don’t know. It’s been over a week since she’s known us, right? By now even Haruhi was comfortable with everyone. I just don’t understand why she still acts so weird around us.”

Ah. It clicked for Kaoru.

“You can’t compare everyone to Haruhi, You know. She’ll warm up to everyone soon, she just needs time,”

Haruhi was the first person he ever let have a look inside - the first person he let care for him other than Kaoru - so it’s natural that he compares everyone to her. She’s what he’s used to, he knows her, he’s comfortable with her; he knows nothing and nobody else.

Hikaru wants to befriend the shy girl, but he doesn’t know how to - just as she doesn’t know how to let herself be befriended.

Kaoru, then, makes it his mission to make her open up to them - because he knows, better than anyone else, how lonely it is to be trapped inside your own world.

- nobody -

The clouds of yesterday hung heavily in the atmosphere, blanketing the moon and her stars, as tears of the gods and goddesses alike puddled on the ground. Yellow street lights were dimly lit along the sidewalk, pieces of stray plastic caught in the downwards flow of the rain water stream, disappearing under the rusted drains that sat dirty on the side of the road.

In her hands, was a cup of hot chocolate - warming her cold fingers through the brick red mug - staring out into the black of night through the curtains tied up from her spot, sitting on the floor. Her cat nudged the back of her head from behind her shoulders, jumping from the bed she leaned against to her lap with grace. The feline’s green eyes peered into her own, then flopping down and curling himself up on her legs.

She remained still, eyes glassy and distant, as if looking, but not seeing . There were no thoughts, not a pathway for her mind to walk on; she floats, lost and alone, in the void of her consciousness; searching for something she doesn’t even know is there. It is in the blanks of her pages that she turns to, trying to read, and read again, the words that aren’t there - that never was in the first place.

She is hollow.

Beyond her skin, behind her ribcage and somewhere in the depths of her heart lies that of a canvas which hasn’t been touched - an expanse of colorless nothing, frozen in the ice of time that never seems to melt - monochrome in its emptiness. It froze her from the inside out, for inside she was nothing but a cowering child at the hands of a world whose people were as merciless as they were unforgiving, even when staring into the faces of the helpless.

One thing she knows for certain is, that hell isn’t made of lava, nor of the raging fires of satan himself; but of a desolate void, where the ice freezes even your words before they have a chance to leave your mouth. Hell is where the abandoned go to weep tears of frost, to let the arms of a grand nothingness envelope them in a cold embrace of loss.

It was only when she choked on a sob did she noticed there were tears running down her face.

Sitting her now cold drink on the floor, she wiped her face with her sleeves - biting her tongue until it felt as numb as she did.

Even though she felt alone, the clouds listened to her cries; they, too, floated along, inevitably though an unending sky, together they shared the same nothingness.

Together, they cried.

[calsmusecollection]

RULES.

repost ,   don’t  reblog !    tag 10 ! good  luck !

TAGGED. Found it on an old blog TAGGING. Whomever wants to

For The Outsider

This has been in my drafts for SO long, and I just am tired of it being there. So I just filled out any easy questions I’d skipped and crossed out the others. I’m sorry it’s not done but it’s been avoided for like a year so... yeah...

BASICS.

FULL  NAME :

 The Outsider, Sanct

NICKNAME :

 Black Eyed Bastard, Black Eyed Devil, Black Eyed Groom, Whale Satan

AGE :

17/4000+

BIRTHDAY :

 The calendar was different than. Roughly speaking it’s the 20th day in the Month of Rain that he was born human and the Fugue Feast when he merged with The Void

ETHNIC  GROUP : ///// NATIONALITY :  Pandyssian LANGUAGE / S : Yes. All. As a human he only knew one and it has long since died out SEXUAL  ORIENTATION :  human: Homosexual, Void: Demisexual (generally only his Marked) ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION : human: Homoromantic, Void: Demiromantic (Generally only his Marked) RELATIONSHIP  STATUS : Single CLASS : human; destitute, Void; beyond such human designations HOME  TOWN / AREA : The town’s name was lost to time. It was on the Southern part of Pandyssia CURRENT  HOME : Void- seems to be taking a particular interest in Dunwall/Gristol PROFESSION : Boredom.

PHYSICAL.

HAIR :

human; yellow-going toward white, Void; Black, Post-void Human: Black

EYES :

human; clear blue, Void; Black including where the whites should be. Some people imagine specks of light, or fire in them. He’d deny anything that wasn’t pure black, Post-void Human: Light blue green

SCARS

pre-void-human; too many to count, Void; none, post-void-human verses; a scar that goes across his neck as though to sever both arteries, scars on either wrist indicative of being bound

TATTOOS :

Nope

HEIGHT :

5′6″ (short Void is short)

((I looked up the average height of people in 2000 BCE which would be roughly 4000 years ago if I can do math, and in fact the number I came up with was 5′3″ for men but the sample size is small. The average for the Roman army was 5′7″.))

WEIGHT :

120lbs??

(I dunno I’m really bad at weight...)

BUILD :  

Slender

FEATURES :

Nothing special

ALLERGIES :

None really

USUAL  HAIR  STYLE :

Messy. Not in a deliberate way. More of a ‘what’s a brush?’ sort of way...

USUAL  FACE  LOOK :

A neutral expression that airs on the side of criticism or confusion.

USUAL  CLOTHING :

Dark pants and dark boots and a dark jacket over a white shirt. He wears rings on some fingers. Silver. Which he is loath to contemplate parting with.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S :

 He’d tell you he’s beyond such emotion. But he is rather scared of no longer existing. Death maybe. But more than that.

ASPIRATION / S :

None

POSITIVE  TRAITS :

NEGATIVE  TRAITS :  

MBTI :

ZODIAC :  

TEMPERAMENT :  

SOUL  TYPE / S :  

ANIMALS :

Whales. Rats

VICE  HABIT / S :

Stalking the Marked, Being needlessly ominous, sweet food

FAITH :

He once worshiped the Leviathan. He’s learned to worship nothing

GHOSTS ? :

Eh. Trapped spirits maybe

AFTERLIFE ? :

Nope. Just Void

REINCARNATION ? :

 Nope. Just Void

ALIENS ? :

 Why not? Though he’s not seen any

POLITICAL  ALIGNMENT :

 Humans are so... stupid. To think such things last

ECONOMIC  PREFERENCE :

 He’s beyond such things

SOCIOPOLITICAL  POSITION

Annoying god-like being

EDUCATION  LEVEL :

Zero... or... all of eternity? It’s hard to pinpoint

FAMILY.

FATHER :

 Unknown

MOTHER :

Unknown

SIBLINGS :

none

EXTENDED  FAMILY :

Unknown

NAME  MEANING / S : Outsider-  a person who does not belong to a particular group.

Sanct- Ghost 

FAVOURITES.

BOOK :  

The Young Prince of Tyvia

MOVIE :

5  SONGS :  

Drunken Whaler 

DEITY :

 Himself. He loves himself the most.

HOLIDAY :

 Fugue Feast is always entertaining

MONTH :

 Month of Rains probably

SEASON :

Summer

PLACE :  

Seaside

WEATHER :

Stormy, just before the sky opens up and it starts to rain

SOUND :

 Whales singing, Steal clashing,

SCENT / S :

 The sea on a warm day, fruit tarts

TASTE / S :

 fruit tarts, sweet drinks

FEEL / S :

Ocean waves crashing on the shore, the feel of a breeze, the warmth of touch

ANIMAL / S :

Leviathan and rats

NUMBER :

8

COLOUR :

 Blues

EXTRA.

TALENTS :

BAD  AT :

TURN  ONS :

 “You Fascinate me”

TURN  OFFS :

 Predictability

HOBBIES :  

TROPES :

AESTHETIC  TAGS :  

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 :   if  you  could  write  your  character  your  way  in  their  own  movie ,   what  would  it  be  called ,  what  style  would  it  be  filmed  in ,  and  what  would  it  be  about ?

A1 :

 The Outsider doesn’t deserve a movie. But if he had one it would have some sort of one-word title that helped no one guess what it was about. Like.. “Time” or “Forever”. It would be some sort of ridiculous indie film that is trying so hard to intellectual that all concept of linear storytelling is lost. Symbolism takes the place of narrative. And you leave the theater feeling as if you’ve lost days instead of a mere hour. It’s supposed to be about what it’s like to be him in the Void. And maybe it is. No one can be certain.

Q2 :   What  would  their  soundtrack / score  sound  like ?    

A2 :

 Ethereal for want of a better term. With that sort of undercurrent of creepy as shit. The sort of music that either has no lyrics or the lyrics contain no chorus. It’s just this story that’s being sang in airy tones over deep music.

Q3 :   why  did  you  start  writing  this  character ?

A3 :

  He wouldn’t leave me alone. I tried to get my bff in rl to finish the game and save me from The Outsider but they never did and I had no choice but to find someone else to satisfy him.

Q4 :   what  first  attracted  you  to  this  character ?

A4:

 He’s.... neat? I dunno. I played the first game and I think I only got through some levels because I kept telling myself that there would be another shrine if I could just get to it. How I get my muses is dumb. They show up in my head and declare themselves deserving of my time >.<

Q5 :   describe  the  biggest  thing  you  dislike  about  your  muse.

A5 :

How disconnected he is. Like he can seriously upset someone and not even register that he did. And that’s the antithesis of me and it hurts me every time.

Q6 :   what  do  you  have  in  common  with  your  muse ?

A6 :

 We think people are interesting? That’s... about it...

Q7 :   how  does  your  muse  feel  about  you ?

A7 :

 He tells me I play him wrong. No matter how I play him. It’s always wrong. And he hates his backstory. And he wants me to be more cryptic. And. And. And. -_-’ He’s a judgmental little brat.

Q8 :   what  characters  does  your  muse  have  interesting  interactions  with ?

A8 :

 Everyone? I think I really love him dealing with people who don’t have marks a lot.

Q9 :   what  gives  you  inspiration  to  write  your  muse ?

A9 :

 I rewatch the clips of going to the shrines for one thing. And I have a few songs that remind me of him. And I I just... I guess you’d call it meditate? I zone out for a few moments and try to clear my mind of anything that isn’t void.

Q10 :   how  long  did  this  take  you  to  complete ?

A10 :

.... shhhhhh... some questions need no answers....

[secondreckoning]

Chapters: 3/7 Fandom: Overwatch (Video Game) Rating: M Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler Characters: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari, Angela "Mercy" Ziegler Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Slow Burn, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual S*x, Blood and Injury Summary: In a world where people share dreams with their soul-mates, Angela, a weary trauma surgeon, walks her dreams alone. Nearing forty, she believes she’s simply not one meant for a soul-mate until vivid visions of Egypt begin to brighten her nights.

Hand in hand with her dark-haired dream woman, Angela traverses the sun-blessed streets. Heat and sun fill the paths before them, but it never taxes her body as the real world does. More noticeable is the warmth of the hand gripping hers, the palm pressed against her own. Twice, Angela tries to speak up, to say something—to thank her guide for the tour, for her hand, for her smile—but of course, no words come.

Together, Angela and her dream partner wander through the street.

Angela wakes, warm, still breathing in sunshine and breathing out wonder.

Through the nights—nights on Angela’s part, she has yet to pinpoint her soul-mate’s location—they wander up one side of the street and down the other. Sometimes, when she dreams, she meets her soul-mate at the height of day, in pure sunlight and sometimes they wander the streets in a hazy dusk, the air sweet and heady with lotus blossoms. But in every dream, her soul-mate waits for Angela, quick to flash an encouraging smile her way and always bearing an open hand to hold.

Her soul-mate.

Angela’s soul-mate .

Angela nurtures the idea of a soul-mate, her connection to this woman. She cradles it in the hollowed out spot in her chest, where she used to carry her nanotech aspirations, her dreams of saving the world. They’ve left an empty space—big dreams leave behind big spaces—and once she calls it such, once she writes it down in her journal, the idea of a soul-mate is neither big or daunting or unfulfillable,

It is small and comfortable and warm.

Angela flips her journal around and writes from the back heading in:

I see a woman in my dreams.

I see a woman when I sleep.

I share my dreams with someone.

And twenty or so variations later, she writes, in slow deliberate letters:

I think I have a soul-mate.

Tingles creep up her hand and wrist and arm, and Angela’s throat tightens. She lays the pen across the page and rises. She walks a loop around her apartment, eyes blurring, and then another, until they clear. Upon her return, she stretches out on her bed and writes whatever she’s learned, every precious bit of knowledge about her soul-mate.

(Her soul-mate.)

(Her soul-mate .)

(Her soul-mate.)

Good grief, this is why no one ever shuts up about it, isn ’t it?

She writes, so there is no uncertainty:

Angela’s Soul-mate (!!!!)

- Taller than I am. (At least 5’8”) - Age: Late twenties - mid-thirties. - Perfect smile - Perfect hands - Tattoo beneath right eye. (Ouch!) - Likely Middle Eastern. - Very good facial structure. - Beads / bangles in hair (Significance?) - Okay, good overall structure.

What’s your name? Angela traces a loose circle with her fingertip over the page. Who are you? What can I show you ?

Am I good enough?

She inhales once, sharp and sure, and kills the thought. Pulling her phone in across the coverlet, Angela pulls up a list of possible countries: Israel, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Egypt, Syria, Bahrain, Cyprus, Jordan, Kuwait, Lebanon, Oman, Palestine, Qatar, United Arab Emirates, Yemen.

Angela runs her teeth over her lip. Where are you?

More importantly , she thinks, switching to a list of timezones, why are you asleep in the middle of the day?

She compares her time on the west coast against a list of possible countries: depending on the country, there’s a ten to twelve hour time discrepancy between them.

Angela picks up her pen, runs the opposite end over her lips, and writes, tentatively: Doctor?

Why else would her soul-mate sleep at noon?

***

Angela catches her soul-mate most often when she sleeps at home, in her own bed, on regular hours and on occasion, whatever late night naps she sneaks at the hospital.

Emily remarks, once, “You slept? On your own? As in, you came to the realization you were tired and decided to lie down and sleep? On your own? Of your own free will? ”

Angela rewards Emily’s snark with an eye-roll, but she’s not wrong. Sunlit streets and soft smiles await her when she sleeps and oh , these days Angela sleeps . Together, with her soul-mate ( her soul-mate!) Angela sees dusty, sturdy structures in sandy tones, clearly aged, but their history lost on her without context. Once they wander the street’s length, down one way and then up the next, Angela’s soul-mate waits for her outside the old gate the next time she sleeps. They begin a new journey down past the vendors and their wares.

Tonight, at the hospital, it’s past four in the morning, and Angela expects a normal dream, maybe a poor one. Likely an average, soul-mateless one, which creep in more often now when she finds time to sleep on a shift.

Pager and phone aligned by the hospital-standard pillow, Angela adjusts a starched sheet once more and shuts eyes.

She’s thinking of patient stats and an encroaching vacation and does the hotel have a pool and probably and oh I need new swimwear and is that buy one get one half off yarn on until Thursday or Friday and she doesn’t expect to sleep at all, really. But one second she’s repositioning her arm under her pillow and chastising herself for trying to pull off a particular shade of yellow with her last bikini and then she’s out—

***

Angela stands in a hazy dream.

It is not a grey anxious nightmare or a loud crimson-stained one or a sunlit soul-mate dream.

Later, she’ll clock it as a normal, desire-driven dream. But asleep and unthinking it’s—

—it’s a bar—

—it’s a hotel bar—

—A faceless man in grey pants and vest over a white shirt polishes a glass. Behind him is a wall of liquor glasses and taps, back-lit with lights. In front of him is a bar of dark wood, polished to shine and lined with bar stools—

—and a dim, golden haze lingers over it all; over Angela; over the barman; over the other guests—

—the other bar patrons are there, but not there; a cacophony of chatter buzzes in Angela’s ears and movement blurs just outside the range of her vision—

—Angela squints; the other patrons only possess noses and eyebrows and mouths when she looks at them and thinks about it—

—with the exception of the dark-haired figure at the other end of the bar, perched atop a stool, sleeves rolled up—

—oh—

—her heart flutters high in her chest and she swallows, hard—

—Suddenly, quite suddenly, Angela is aware of herself, of her own body. She’s aware of her legs, bare to an inch above her knees and the bareness of her shoulders. She’s wearing a dress, a specific dress. One of her own: a black cocktail dress, the skirt a soft flare around her knees and the halter neck high—

—she’s not worn this dress in years, really, not even to charity galas the hospital puts on—

—it belongs to a different Angela, an Angela who left a long, long time ago—

—but she finds it fits her now; the skirt of the dress narrowing at her waist, a pair of black flats on her feet in complement to the outfit—

—because, at the end of the bar, sleeves rolled up to bear her forearms sits Angela’s dream woman, Angela’s soul-mate—

—and—

—there’s Angela’s heart again, fluttering away—

—her soul-mate’s in dark dress pants and a navy blue shirt, lightly tailored to fit, two darts the only concession to curves beneath. Heat washes through Angela, from the base of her throat to her thighs—

—there’s no fear here, in this dream, no hesitation; there is action and there is desire—

—Angela approaches. She reaches out a hand and trails her finger down the length of the bartop as she closes the distance—

—she is beside her now, beside her soul-mate, with her rolled-back sleeves and the golden light catching on the adornments in her hair. Angela leans in and guides the same wandering finger over her soul-mates bare arm; from the inside of her wrist to the folded edge of her sleeve—

—Golden beads swing with the motion of her head, and the woman glances up at her. She catches Angela’s eye; a smile breaks over her face—

—and—

—oh—

—here’s that wave of heat again, coating Angela’s senses, honing her focus on her soul-mate; on her bared arms, on the outline of her form beneath her shirt—

—Angela’s soul-mate rises. She lifts a hand to Angela’s face, fingertips curve over her ear, pushing any hair neatly aside. She leans in and whispers—

—it’s not a true whisper, or a true voice, but a voice in the way voices work in dreams: Angela’s ear tickles at the passing of her breath and she knows what the woman means—

—Got us a room—

—Angela’s heart picks up a fresh beat. She needs not reply; she smiles up at her soul-mate and her soul-mate knows—

—They turn to leave and her soul-mate’s hand comes to rest in the small of Angela’s back—

—The dream is quickening now, skipping forward with Angela’s heartbeat—

—and they’re in the hotel room—

—Angela registers: a plush carpet, a numbed champagne glow from a single wall sconce, night sky and sea glittering out of a window to her left and on her right, a grand bed, coverlet pulled back to expose dark silk sheets glistening in the low light—

—and she’s kissing her soul-mate. They stand before the windows. Angela’s arms are up around her soul-mate’s neck, entangled in her dark hair, guiding her head down to her own hungry mouth. Her soul-mate’s threaded one hand through Angela’s hair and the other’s on Angela’s side, cradling her ribcage—

—oh—

—Angela’s at the buttons on her soul-mate’s shirt, swift and sure fingers working down the line between kisses—

—and her soul-mate returns the favour: back to her soul-mate, Angela catches glimpses of their outlined reflections in the windows. Fingers unzip and part the fabric over her back. Lips brush the crook of Angela’s neck. Her dress is free and a single finger trails down the length of her spine—

—again, the dream stutters forward—

—she lies in silken sheets, her soul-mate bent over her. She breaks a long, deep kiss and presses softer ones to the tender spot on Angela’s neck; along her collarbones. Every moment is heightened; every touches sings with an electric undercurrent of delight. Angela grips her soul-mate’s shoulders and hooks a leg over her hips and—

—Angela flips the script—

—she grins down at her baffled soul-mate. She’s on top now, blonde hair loose and tickling her soul-mate’s cheeks as she straddles her. Their hands are entwined, her soul-mate’s pinned gently to the pillow. Angela leans forward and bridges the space between them—

—lips brushing her soul-mates ear she whispers—

—you’ve done so much for me, it’s your turn now—

—she kisses her again, deep and pointedly. She grips her knees tight around soul-mate’s hips and—

—and—

***

Angela jerks back to reality.

Noise—incessant, aggravated, perky noise—hammers into her eardrums.

She’s awake: painfully, rudely, cruelly awake.

Courtesy of her pager.

Jaw-clenching, she swats at it, and it clatters off the bunk and into the dark. Plastic cracks and the beeping stops. Someone below her murmurs, “Hey ,” in a thick voice.

Right, top bunk.

Angela stretches, arms out and toes down. “Stupid pager.” A needy itch courses under her skin, hot and begging for relief. But the on-call room is the wrong place to scratch it. It’s the wrong place to dream hot, needy things in the first place.

She sits up and slides to the floor. Her bunkmate grumbles when her feet hit the linoleum, so she murmurs a quick “Sorry,” and goes off to the dark corner to grope for her pager.

Stupid pager. Stupid pager, stupid pager, stupid pager . How often does Angela ’s brain grant her a good dream? Not a normal one or, more rarely, a nice one, but a truly good dream, courtesy of her own neurons and grey matter? She pulls her phone out and casts the dim screen light along the wall and into the corner. Stupid pager .

It’s there, sitting in three pieces: body, battery cover and a battery. Angela scoops it up and pockets it, cursing it all the while.

Angela tugs her white coat back on and straightens her scrubs. Lifting a hand to check her hair, she corrects herself: Stupid Angela .

And it is stupid. Stupid of her brain to piece together a scene. Based on the scenery of their shared dreams, her soul-mate is very likely from a Middle Eastern country, and wouldn’t drink. The hotel bar angle? Moronic. Moronic and insensitive.

And her happy little rendezvous in the hotel room?

Hopeful, wishful stupidity.

Halfway out the door, Angela pauses.

Happy little rendezvous .

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

Something happy.

***

At some point, Angela’s third-wheeling vacation with Emily and Lena has turned from a distant foreign thing to plan about into an official countdown. She breaks the time between into chunks: after this shift she has twenty-four hours off, a seventy-two hours shift, another day off and then her final three-day shift. Three weeks of sun, city beaches and whatever the local art scene offers.

And at some point, Angela’s thoughts turn from “Is it socially acceptable to knit at the beach?” into something else.

Angela clears her throat. “Question,” she says, “How would, uh, someone—someone with a soul-mate—control the, um, destination in a dream?” She pulls her glasses off her nose, hooks them over her pocket, unhooks them and pushes them back on. “A soul-mate dream.”

Hospital halls stretch out on both sides. Angela’s dropped in on Emily’s last round of patient check-ins for the day, overlooking a handful of patients on the out-patient ward.

Emily’s marking a chart. “Asking a lot of questions about soul-mate dreams lately, Dr. Ziegler,” she lifts her head and fixes Angela with a squint. “Any chance you’ve got something to share?”

“I meant— they’re theoretical questions.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“Theoretical questions, about theoretical soul-mates.”

“If you’re certain.”

“From someone like you, who has experience. With a soul-mate. A non-theoretical soul-mate. And non-theoretical dreams.”

Emily scribbles her signature on the bottom of the tablet and clips the plastic pen at its side. “You want to clarify anything, Dr. Ziegler?”

Angela shoves her hands into her coat pockets until they’re wrist deep and pushing at the seams. “I was just thinking, you know, if I had a soul-mate—that’s IF , Emily—it might be nice to share some of my experiences with her. Since, presumably, this vacation will produce some of them.” She looks pointedly away. “You know. Theoretically. If I had one.” She pauses. “If.”

“If?”

“If,” Angela insists.

Emily’s eyebrows are high and skeptical when Angela turns back. “Well,” she begins, “If you have—”

“Ever have.”

“—ever have a soul-mate, I guess you just, I don’t know, focus?” Emily finishes.

“Focus?”

“Truth is, I don’t know.” Emily shrugs. “It’s never been a problem for me and my non-theoretical soul-mate. It just... happens. She saw here as much as I saw London before, and now it’s mostly mutually-shared spaces.”

“Helpful.”

Emily continues, “But when I did have something to show her, I focused. Think of it like meditating, with a mantra.” She shut her eyes and sucked in an exaggerated deep breath. “I will show my bed to my soul-mate tonight. I will show my bed to my soul-mate tonight.”

“Theoretical soul-mate,” Angela corrects.

Emily fixes her with a no-funny-business-now look: all narrowed eyes and squared shoulders. “Are we talking about theoretical soul-mates or actual soul-mates here, Ange?” she asks, voice surprisingly gentle.

Angela backs up two steps. “Thank you for your input, doctor.”

“Angela—”

“I’ll see you tomorro— Ow.” Her spine comes up against a door frame.

“Get back here—”

Angela smiles and lifts her hand in a broad final wave, and then ducks into the room and out of sight.

***

Angela really, truly wants to share some of her life with her new soul-mate. Her upcoming vacation is at the top of her list.

They’ve never visited any of Angela’s locales. Angela’s held hands with her soul-mate in markets and streets steeped in history, the years worn into the grooves between stones like dust. Always her soul-mates choice. Angela cannot complain—when someone carries places so rich in their blood, they want to show them off. All Angela has to offer in return are stark hospital walls and the blank canvas of her apartment.

What, exactly, is she supposed to offer in return?

Thank you for showing me what must be one of the most culturally relevant places in the history of humankind. Here ’s the apartment I’ve never decorated. On your right’s a drop of spilled nail polish. Tour’s over! Have a wonderful day!

Angela stares down at the list of possible locations in her journal. She’s pre-emptively axed her apartment for now, along with the hospital. Who wants to see a hospital? Most people avoid hospitals. At best, hospitals offer healing. At worst, dead loved ones and test results they never hoped to hear. Even then, at its best, healing went hand-in-hand with hurt. The threshold between unwell and better was a hard boundary of pain and vulnerability. Not everyone reached the other side.

Chewing the end of her pen, Angela decides: her favourite craft store. It is small, the focus on fabric and string based crafts. In the back corner, two entire walls of yarn selections meet. A bin nearby holds over-sized balls of specialty yarn, a novelty item for novelty blankets. No other place in her waking world holds as much colour as her soul-mates dreams.

Angela’s got on what she considers her comfiest pyjamas: a thin, over-sized cotton shirt and shorts with a tie at the waist. Her co-conspirator for her test run is a bottle of Merlot. She finds its moral support more than sufficient.

A few more sips and teeth marks in the end of her pen and she’s picked out a mantra: Tonight, my soul-mate comes to me.

More purposeful than yarn store yarn store yarn store yarn store , in Angela’s opinion.

She sips Merlot and scrawls it down in her journal, once and then another, and another. She writes it twenty times. Her hand aches—one of her surgeries ran long today. Is this how miscreants at school felt when teachers punished them with lines? Angela never wound up in much trouble. During times a teacher punished the whole class, they usually found an excuse to send quiet, smart, good-natured Angela off on some errand. Especially after her parent’s death.

Angela shuts her journal and sets it aside. She stands, stretches and massages her hands, focusing on a particular ache by her index finger’s knuckle. She tucks her Merlot to bed in the kitchen and then tucks herself into bed.

In her head, she caresses her mantra: Tonight, my soul-mate comes to me.

Tonight, my soul-mate comes to me.

Tonight, my soul-mate comes to me.

Tonight —

***

Tonight, a red nightmare cold-cocks Angela.

Tonight she is in a stifling plastic tent, incendiaries beating hot light outside the walls, and everyone she’s ever loved is on her table.

Tonight is nightmare variety number two: the stench of charred flesh and blood in her airways, the ground rolling with explosions under her feet, the bodies more ruined flesh than human being—

—and a diluted red light coats everything in sight—

—and a nurse hovers over her shoulder—

—Angela’s lungs seize tight—

—these are old words, words she’s known since a child, words ready to rip and tear—

“—Angela, sweetheart, there’s been an accident— ”

—super-imposed over—

“—Doctor, two car crash victims, incoming!— ”

—always the same patients—

—always—

—always—

—always—

—always her father, first—

—his face is calm, even regal in its composure—

—but it’s a grey face, a lost face—

—and black bruises mottle his chest—

—and his gut is split open and black blood congeals at the edges—

—and Angela’s hollering for someone to start fluids through a sob-choked throat—

—and she’s ready to intubate, the plastic line shaking in her hands; she’s prepared to snake it down the cold meat of her father’s trachea—

—and two impulses, two separate Angelas tug at her—

—the combat medic urging her He’s already dead, move on, move on—

—and the hospital surgeon reminding her You try everything, so when you tell the family you’ve tried everything—

—and the tube’s hanging out of his mouth now, connected to nothing—

—so she threads a needle, and she tries to stitch—

—stitch the pieces back together—

—and his skin refuses to yield; Angela grits her teeth and pushes the needle—

—and it’s as though she’s sewing mats of rubber together; thick and unyielding, their forms resolutely set—

—and outside the tent, thunder crashes—

—and Angela knows it’s not thunder, not really—

—as a child, she based her assumptions off movies and television, but as an adult, she’s heard the sound; felt it—

—a car crash is all the roar and violence of thunder, but it reverberates through bystanders, shudders right down the length of your spine—

—Angela gasps as it rolls through her—

—and her father’s gone now there’s no saving him, no more work she can do—

—and now before her is her mother, and—

—outside the tent, lightning flickers across the sky and the horrible crash plays over and over—

—a voice so close hot breath blasts the side of her face hollers, “You’re the only one who can help her, Doctor Ziegler!”—

—and staring down at her mother’s body, memories surface; memories carved into a younger Angela’s tender brain—

—in fragments, she hears:—

“—T-boned at the intersection—”

“— the side of impact—”

—and in her memories she’s small and vulnerable with grief; adults pat her hair, her shoulder—

—and they murmur soft things to her, kind things—

—It was over quickly, sweetie—

—They’re at peace now, Angela—

—No more pain, no more suffering—

—take good care of you—

—but they say nothing about why her father’s casket is open, showing off his waxy dead face and why her mother’s face is shut and hidden behind the casket’s lid—

—and now, Angela cannot move at all—

—and she’s staring down at what’s left of her mother, bile rising in her throat, needle gripped to the point of pain in her fingers—

“—Do something, doctor!—”

“—Doctor Ziegler, you need to act now!—”

—Angela palms a scalpel, looks down and away from her mother—

—and her own breath rattles in her lungs and the heat seeps into her skin and the voices holler into her ears—

—Angela grips the scalpel, looks down and plunges it into her own thigh—

—she gasps; electric pain surges through her—

—and they’re yelling again, yelling—

“—Angela, this is your last chance!—”

—and she looks up and it’s another familiar face: dark hair, kind eyes, golden beads—

—Angela’s looking down at her soul-mate’s body, at a body she longs to learn, and it is mutilated by the course of war—

—shrapnel ravages a line from her shoulder to her opposite hip, bisecting her body with metal; crimson seeps through her plain tank top where it pierces through to her skin—

—she meets Angela’s eyes—

—and now she’s thrashing on the table, calling out, begging—

—there are no words in shared dreams, but her meaning suffuses Angela—

—she wants her mother—

—and as Angela stares, she flickers—

—once—

—twice—

—and her soul-mate’s in her usual blue Henley, body intact—

Her soul-mate sits herself up, both hands stretched behind her. She glances down at herself and sucks in a deep breath. Shifting, she offers a hand out to Angela. Skies of blue and sandy stones flicker at the edge of Angela’s vision.

Outside the tent, noise fades to silence. Beneath her feet, the ground stills. Lucidity drenches her, crisp and clear as an overturned bucket of cold water.

This is a soul-mate dream.

This is a shared dream.

This is my doing —

—and chaos crashes back—

—familiar brown eyes lose focus—

—her mouth opens in a scream—

—and the hand outstretched to Angela is a bloody stump—

***

As if her brain is a puppet and someone’s tugged the string, Angela jerks awake and sucks down a gulp of air. Sweat slicks her body, from head to toe, and loose hair clings to her face. She’s fisted handfuls of sheets in her sleep and drawn them close to her chest.

And she cannot breathe.

Hands clawed and shaking, she tears sheets away from herself. Darkness hangs over her room, the only familiarity in the outlines of her bedroom, traced with yellow streetlight. Angela frees herself, crawls to the edge of the bed and throws herself to the floor.

Cold wood meets her sweaty palms. Angela’s mouth is open and she’s sucking at the air, but her chest is squeezing in on her lungs, on her heart and she can ’t breathe—

In the dark of her room, on the chilled varnished floor, the only arms Angela has to wrap around her are her own.

So she does.

Breathe, she commands her body. Breathe, dammit.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breath returns to her, five or ten or twenty minutes later and the vise on her chest eases up. Something heavy rises in Angela’s throat in its place; she leans forward until her forehead brushes the floor and parts her lips in a sob.

[memoirsofamessybitch]

In My Mind Part 5

Joe x Fem Reader 

Warning; Some strong language. 

Okay another long delay but my job is a nightmare! Enjoy @lizgarxo @deakyswhitequeen @echlomusic

Prologue  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

I felt kinda numb for a while after the initial pain of seeing Joe remotely interested in someone else. I mean who was I kidding anyway, no way someone like me would gain the real interest of someone like him. The engineer, whose name was Becky; was stunning, cool and trendy. She had a nose ring and her hair was always immaculately coloured and styled. Damn, even I would wanna date her. I tried to slink out silently and without attention but of course I was apprehended by someone, it's never just that easy to wallow in solitude.

“You look like the sky is falling or something, what happened?” Carl stopped me in the parking lot. I sighed and looked down at my shoes.

“I think Joe likes Becky from sound, I saw him....winking at her on set today, I mean how long has THAT being going on! Being all cute and flirty with me then as soon as he's on set; oh Becky let me stare at you longingly across the way and fucking WINK at you, I bet he's bought her coffee too....fuck sake” So it seemed I wasn't totally numbed after all. After my outburst I looked back up at Carl, who had cocked an eyebrow in confusion at me.

“Girl you need to calm the fuck down....its a harmless wink, look let me see what I can find out and I will put your mind at ease, but YOU need to focus on learning how to not act like a total ass in front of Joe tomorrow, you've got him in the chair for 3 hours first thing in the morning....don't fuck this up okay” He grabbed my arms and shook me, almost like he was giving me the most bizarre pep talk of my life.

“Okay stop...stop shaking me, I'll try and just act like....normal?” I screwed my face up in confusion. “No...I'll just...be myself” I slapped my hands down onto my side and dropped my shoulders.

“Yeah, but less crazy talk like before okay?” Carl tilted his head as I pushed his shoulder playfully. But he was right, there was no need to act the way I did. I had an opportunity to actually have an actual adult relationship, one that felt like it could go the distance. I couldn't let another chance get away from me to be, dare I say happy.

I remember going home that night and playing one of my records as I took a long hot bath. The soothing sounds of (insert song/band) made my soak a little more special. But not as special as the oils I had added to my bath, plus the very expensive body cream I rubbed on my self afterwards. Sometimes working for big stars had their perks, when you're gifted La Prairie body products you take them but use them sparingly. I felt like I'd earned this pamper. That was not like me at all earlier that day, jealousy was not my colour and I planned on never wearing it again. I slept well for a change, I didn't dream just slept. I woke up remembering not to feel sorry for myself. Perhaps I wasn't going to be good enough for Joe, but the very least I could do was convince myself that I could be.

My small bursts of confidence seemed to stay with me, until I arrived at work and began setting up. I tried to focus on the room for a moment, to try and calm my nerves. The sun was rising slowly and the warm oranges and yellows cut through the blinds and over the trailer, then I noticed I was alone surprisingly, so I decided to practice what I was going to attempt to say to Joe.

“You busy tonight?” no too vague and short I thought. Then I paused and looked at my reflection longingly.

“I like you...and I sound 5 years old” I closed my eyes and shook my head. I took deep breaths in and out then opened my eyes.

“I'd really like to talk more, outside of work....” Suddenly the door slammed open and Joe and Brianna came in laughing and chortling. I picked up a brush and started spraying it with water nonchalantly.

“Hey Y/N” Joe put his hand on my back as he made his way over to my chair. I exhaled heavily trying to contain any kind of moan that may have left my lips in that moment. Every bit of confidence I had spent the previous 12 hours building up escaped me. I just watched him sit down and wait patiently for me to smock him and begin my day. “Okay....something spooked you or have I done something?” of course I wanted to mention Becky but I just halfheartedly smiled and shook my head.

“Just tired” I said in almost a whisper as I tied the smock around Joe's neck. Joe's scene where his corpse is found was being filmed today and I had my work cut out. 3 hours of making Joe look somewhat decomposed. Lots of liquid latex was in order and airbrushing of course.

“Well you better make me look gross, I want you to be unable to look at me afterwards” I couldn't help but smile and giggle at his playfulness. I gripped his shoulder and lent down to his level.

“You're gonna look so gutted and rotted their gonna have to raise the age rating on this damn film” Joe chuckled and my heart skipped a beat. Every time I heard him laugh I just felt every part of me get warm. I got started before I let the butterflies in my stomach distract me any more. The first hour flew by I started painting on a base of greens and greys and yellows on his skin. The opportunity to ask Joe arose, we were looking at one another in a somewhat intimate position as I was brushing his skin delicately. I could have said something, I should have said something but instead I watched Joe's phone go off, my eyes focused on his screen and I saw Becky's name pop up. I couldn't tear my eyes away, so much so Joe caught me looking. I think he noticed the colour drain from my face, and the quivering bottom lip too.

“Y/N you okay?” was all he responded with.

“Is that Becky from sound?” that was the last thing I wanted to say but I fucking said it anyway.

“Yeah....we exchanged numbers not long ago; she's nice I guess”

“You guess, she's cute...she's really cute” Shit...just pure shitting word vomit, I tried to control it but I was just....too far gone.

“Yeah...but she's not...there's something not quite there between us”

“What like what we have?” Internally I was screaming; SHUT UP! STOP SPEAKING YOU STUPID BITCH OR I WILL STAB A PAIR OF SCISSORS INTO YOUR LEG. Joe laughed then sucked in his bottom lip.

“Y/N are you upset in some way...maybe even jealous?” He was teasing me, I got angry....very angry suddenly.

“What you want me to be?” I snapped back in a pointed tone. I wasn't expecting that in all honesty, but what Joe had said really got to me. I wondered if he had done this as a ploy to get me to reveal how I really felt? Maybe he liked to pit female crew members against one another, see how many he could gather.

“No...I....seriously are you mad?” I stood up and looked down at him, a frown on my face clearly visible. It was quiet and all I could hear was True by Spandau Ballet playing in the background.

“I just thought maybe...you know what it might be best to get someone else to finish your face before I say something stupid” I threw my brush down and ran straight for the trailer door. I don't know why but I walked onto an empty set, it was dimly lit and cold, but it was a safe space. I sat on the cold concrete floor and tried to compose myself. Deep breaths in and out, trying to escape somewhere else in my mind. I was so pissed at myself, more so than ever before. I felt foolish for thinking that letting someone make me feel the way Joe did would be a good thing, school girl crushes leave you hurt and confused, I should have kept my distance, I should have left. I pressed my hands on the cold ground and felt my warm clammy palms cool slowly. I heard footsteps which caused my eyes to flick open. Joe stood about 2 feet away from me, looking down at me, and I looked very clearly defeated.

“Yeah I'm a mess, I can't believe you made me think you liked me” I pointed at him almost sneering my nose up at him. “I do like you, for fuck sake Y/N I can't believe how blind you are to it, how many fucking hints I was throwing your way....do you think I brought coffee for ANYONE...no...” He pointed back at me. It was hard too take him seriously with his face painted in such odd colours, I stood up and faced him straight on. I crossed my arms and bit my bottom lip so hard I almost drew blood. “You just never made it clear you liked me back, I saw how you acted with everyone and I wondered if it was just how you were, so I started talking to Becky a couple weeks ago” I interjected.

“Well you know now....god I feel like such an ass...does Becky know how you feel?” I chewed my lip still, I felt sick, I begged for a hole to appear for me to fall into.

“No, considering I'm supposed to be going on a date with her tonight makes THIS whole thing a little awkward”  I was hurt. Clearly it showed on my face because Joe tried to approach me. But I stepped back.

“I just wish you weren't so quick to jump to the next crew member, just because I wasn't on my knees from day one Joe doesn't mean I didn't think about you all the time, the moment I met you I was pretty hooked, what made her so easy to talk to and not me? What did I do wrong?” Joe stepped to me again and I stepped back holding my hand out. 

“Nothing...I'm cancelling my date, she needs to know how I feel about you” He pulled his phone out from his back pocket, this time I stepped to him, and I put my hand on his phone to stop him from unlocking it.

“You should go, at least see how you feel about her unless you're gonna stand in front of me and tell me you love me or something” I laughed awkwardly. Joe didn't. Foot steps echoed throughout the empty lot, We both looked in the direction of the doorway to see my boss looking pretty fucking pissed to say the least.

“If you two are done fucking around I got a director all over me about why one of his actors isn't in a make-up chair?”

“Sorry” was all I said as I led the way towards the exit, Joe following behind like a worried little boy....

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Fide (Eros p.t 13)

Billy Hargrove x Reader, Jonathan Byers x Reader (Unrequited)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Word Count: 3090

Warnings: Swearing, Fighting, Abuse mention

Author’s note: So am I 100% happy with the way this turned out? No. Am I still gonna post it? Yes. Why? Because I think that this is the best the wording is gonna get, I always forget how hard it is to write romantic love when you’ve never been in it.

Forever Tag: @hotstuffhargrove @steveharringtonofficial @denimjacketkisses @flamehairedwritings @hargroovin @nistaposebno @giftofdreams @feverxxdream

Series Tag: @hargrovesgoldilocks @xicarcalii @wtf-richarddd @sighsophiia @baebee35 @ijustwantahugfromtennant @rhyxn @wearemightyghosts @random-stupid-stuffs @so-not-hotmess @warsintothestars @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @angellastor @aaliyonte @baileythepenguin @sleepyspacegal @kingbouji3 @abbyed @80steenmovie @ohtaylorrose @little-red-wolf-hood @peanutlicker5000 @demoncrypt1066 @jinx-is-fire 

Feedback Appreciated!!

Billy had been determined to figure out what happened at Vicki’s party and when you didn’t show up to school on Monday morning, his quest went outwards to his peers.

Unfortunately for him, nobody knew what happened. As it turns out, the only people to talk to him that night were Tina and Macy, who were too far blitz to remember what happened, Jonathan and Nancy, who insists that they didn’t do anything to her, and him. Five people. That was it. And three of them couldn’t remember what had happened.

He didn’t believe Nancy and Jonathan at first, he gone after them for days trying to muscle out the information, but they stuck to their story and, though it took him awhile, he realized that you weren’t upset with them. You continued to talk to them as if nothing had happened. That was the upsetting part-the obvious answer seemed wrong. That worried him more than anything else.

So he left them alone. There was nothing he could do if the answer wasn’t there, he had to find another solution. That solution became to watch out for you. Not obviously, of course, that would make him look foolish, but close enough to make sure you weren’t in harm’s way. Not that you usually were, but after the events of Vicki’s party, people seemed to be talking about you a bit more.

That was Billy’s fault, not that he realized it at the time. All his intense questioning caused a stir and people were more than inclined to look into her and exactly what happened that night. Billy hadn’t heard, but according to Hilary Caldwell, you did return to the party, crying your eyes out. You got back in your car and drove away, nearly hitting her and her friends as they crossed the road. This made the whole story a lot juicer, but Billy never heard it. You and Hilary weren’t friends and he wouldn’t intentionally seek her out unless he knew she knew something.

But everyone else heard some form of that story and spread it like wildfire. You became a woman scorn in some eyes, a helpless victim in others, and, in Tommy and Carol’s eyes, an annoying waif prone to crying fits. Tommy made that known to anyone who would listen and, because the boy has never learned his lesson, that person became Billy on Wednesday afternoon.

Since he dumped Valerie and you weren’t talking to him, Billy had returned to eating lunch with Carol and Tommy, only out of necessity seeing as it was December and it was too cold to eat outside. He mostly focused on picking at his meatloaf and cold green beans, trying to block out the sounds of Carol and Tommy’s annoying voices. But that day, Tommy had decided to be even more annoying than usual.

He turned to Billy, his mouth full of cheap ground beef and premade gravy, and said “You know man; it’s good to have you back. That psycho bitch Y/N turned you bitch.”

Billy rolled his eyes, noting how he stole one of his lines, but keeping his focus on his tray instead. He didn’t agree with what Tommy was saying but he didn’t feel like arguing with him about this-if Tommy needed to inflate his own ego by putting himself above you, then he’d let him purely because Billy knew it wasn’t true.

“She’s so pathetic,” Carol added “Effing switching from guy to guy, blubbering like a baby when Byers dumps like he’s actually worth crying over.”

“Fucking nut job, she’s insane dude. No matter how good that pussy was, she was not worth it.” Tommy laughed.

That’s when Billy snapped. He was on his feet before he’d realized that he was moving and his fist connected with Tommy’s jaw before he realized that hitting him could be the wrong choice.

“What did I say about talking about Y/N, dumbass?” he sneered. Tommy’s hand came to his jaw and, for a brief moment, it looked as though he wasn’t going to fight back. But then he was on his feet and a weak punch came directly for Billy face. It didn’t hurt, per say, nor did it surprise him. He chuckled darkly “Oh, now you’re dead, Hanson.”

Fortunately for Tommy, before Billy could pounce on him, Vice Principal Warner pulled Billy back. “My office, now Hargrove!” he snapped, tugging the boy out by his arm.

Of course, he got suspended. Fighting was punishable by suspension and he’d worn out all his chances, so he was gone for three days. And since he wasn’t going to school the next day anyway, skipping his afternoon classes wasn’t going to mean much. He left in a cloud of smoke and screeching tires.

Of course, you heard about it. The story was spread like wildfire throughout the student body. Any fight was interesting, but the added addition of it being over someone made it especially juicy. Rumours flew of the fight being over Valerie, who basked in the glow of attention, Vicki, who mostly kept her mouth latched around Steve’s, and, as per her own retelling, Carol.

You kept your head low, grateful that the fight didn’t seem to be about you. Billy was getting even more reckless and you almost wanted to seek him out and help him, but that meant speaking to him of your own free will and that wasn’t in the cards as of late. You were still too mad and broken to even think of speaking to him right now. You spent the rest of the day trying to push him from your mind and the afternoon out of school at the Hawkins Library, your home away from home.

When you finally had to go home, you thankfully found groceries in the fridge and your father asleep on the couch. You made dinner and brought your mother some, surprised to see her awake and doing something other than watching mindless TV; she was up in bed reading a knitting magazine. You made your father a plate and ate alone in your room. For the first time since meeting Billy, you felt lonely. You contemplated called Stacy but you weren’t in the mood to hear about her boyfriend or drama with Kristen, which seemed never ending. You went to bed early, wishing you could call Barb and sinking into the pain like a warm bath.

You woke up at midnight with a throat dryer than you ever felt before. You tiptoed downstairs, heading into the kitchen. The only light illuminating the kitchen was the moonlight from the open window and the small yellow light you’d forgotten to turn off hours early. You decided that you didn’t need more light than that and dug through the cupboard for a plastic cup you felt comfortable bringing upstairs. You filled the cup quickly under the sink and drank the whole thing in one giant gulp. You filled the cup again, leaning against the back of the sink, letting out a breath through your nose.

Then, someone rapped at the back door. And you dropped your cup, slapping one hand over your mouth to muffle the scream that emitted from your throat. You let your gaze linger to the window above the sink, hoping for some sign of who was there without actually going to the door.

The blue Camaro sat on the street outside. You groaned loudly, stomping to the door.

“Jesus Christ, are you looking to get murdered? Cause I was about to grab a knife and-” you started, but when your eyes flicked up to his face, the words ran dry in your mouth as you felt your eyes widen. You’d seen Billy look bad, beaten up by forces he never mentioned, but this was a new level. He looked absolutely terrible-there was blood crusted under his nose, his right eye blackened and there was a small cut on the bag under his eye, his lower lip fat and busted. Tommy could never do this much damage, even if he gathered his whole gang including Steve Harrington, the best fighter of all of them, which wasn’t to say much.

“Oh my God get in here!” you gasped, pulling him by the arm and pulling him inside. You grabbed the first aid kit off the shelf above the sink and led him upstairs, shushing him. You flicked on the overhead light in your room and locked the door.

“Sit.” You commanded, pushing him down onto the bed. You noted how he winced when you touched his left shoulder. You opened the old kit and knelt in from of him, removing an alcohol wipe and dabbing away the crusted blood. Billy winced when the wipe touched the cut on his eye, but he didn’t complain beyond that.

You placed a bit of pressure on the sides of his nose, checking for irregularities. You sighed “Well, it’s not broken. I’m gonna go get some ice, you stay here. Take off your shirt, I wanna check your shoulders.” You said.

“Always trying to get me naked, aren’t you?” he chuckled, wincing as he tried to pull his infamous smirk. You rolled your eyes, stepping out of the room. Billy sighed, watching you go. He knew you well enough to know that this was just you being nice. You were still upset and now, the obvious answer that it was his fault shined bright neon in his eyes. He settled in to try to fix the mess he wouldn’t admit that he caused.

When you returned, he had stripped off his shirt, the large bruise on his left shoulder fully on display. It was fading, a mark from another night, but he’d obvious been shoved into something or hit, based on the redness around it. You had to keep yourself from running your fingers over the constellations of freckles, moles, and tiny scars on his back, focusing on the bruise itself. You handed him one bag, pointing to your own eye to explain where to place it. He did as you did and you took your place behind him, icing the large bruise.

You sighed “So, are you ever gonna tell me what’s going on?” Billy grunted in response, not bothering to attempt to look at you. “I worry about you, Bill…” you muttered, letting your forehead rest on the top of his spine.

Billy’s gaze flicked to his hands, the faint bruises on his knuckles felt weak instead of strong now. He took a shaky breath. “My dad’s an asshole.” He admitted. You didn’t respond, unsure of what to say.

“When he gets pissed, he takes it out on me…” he muttered. You nodded, lifting your head to lean it on his uninjured shoulder.

“And he did…all this?” you asked. Billy nodded and let out small gasp, immediately embarrassed by it. You didn’t want to make a big deal of it all, you wanted to seem calm and understanding.

“I deserve it most of the time.” He added softly.

“Bill,” you whispered “You don’t deserved his shit.” You felt him nod and you turned to look up at him. “Do you have anyone you can call about this? I mean I don’t wanna tell you what to do but I think maybe having a backup plan, in case shit gets too bad, might be a good idea.” You asked.

Billy nodded again “My stepmom.” He said.

“Susan?” you asked.

“No, Karalee.” He replied, letting out a small sigh “When we moved out to Sacramento, he married this chick Karalee, nice lady, big house. When he’d get mad, she’d kick him out and take his house key, make him go handle it somewhere else. She watched out for me. But then he started in on her and she left him. Tried to take me with her, but it didn’t work out. Not her kid, courts ruled in the bastard’s favour. Gave me her number when we left, told me I can call if I need anything.” He said, lifting the small Virgin Mary charm he wore around his neck “Gave me this too, don’t know why but it was nice, best thing anyone did for me.”

You nodded softly “Good…” you muttered, wrapping your arms around his middle “I don’t like seeing you hurt…”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt.” He replied forcefully, turning to look at you “Y/N, when’re you gonna tell me what happened? Why won’t you talk to me?”

“I just-” you sighed “It’s embarrassing and I don’t wanna talk about it. You’ll laugh at me.”

“No I won’t.” Billy retorted, watching you carefully.

“You already did…” you muttered and Billy found himself shut right up. Everything he’d been trying to pretend wasn’t true was and he felt like an ass. All that work, all that searching and sleuthing and it was his own pigheadedness that caused all this.

“I’m sorry…” he replied softly. You nodded, looking up at him. His whole face was broken with concern and disappointment. Not in you, but in himself. He looked so upset. It broke your heart a little.

“You weren’t sober, I get it.” You replied “I’m not mad at you anymore, I’m just embarrassed.” You said.

“If it makes you feel better, I can’t remember anything you said.” Billy replied.

“Really?” you asked, a small smile breaking onto your face. You didn’t know if he was telling the truth, despite how solemn he looked, and that made you nervous to accept the words as truth.

“All I can remember is you leaving crying, not a great image.” He said.

You chuckled drily “Sorry ‘bout that one, bud.” Billy felt his face pull into a smirk, which hurt his lip but he didn’t mind this time. Now, the minor pain of his busted lip pulling didn’t compare to the warmth filling his whole body, like the California sun warming his skin on one of his family’s rare beach days.

“Nah could’ve been worse. Could’ve been Carol crying, she looks like she’s melting. It’s nauseating.” He replied. You chuckled, nodding along. You’d only seen her cry once, but it looked like someone took a hairdryer to a velvet painting.

When your laughter died down, you found yourself smiling, leaning into his shoulder. It was a brief moment-nothing you hadn’t done before, but Billy found the moment suddenly very private and intimate. His smirk fell into a small smile and his hand came instinctually around to touch you, his hand coming to your ankle and his thumb grazed it lovingly. The whole moment felt out of time, as though you’d entered a different universe where everything was normal. If you could have lived in this moment forever, where you could pretend that Billy cared for you the way you cared for him, you would’ve. But you had to return to the real world.

“How’d it go with Val? You two talk it through?” you asked.

Billy shrugged “We broke up.” He said, as though it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Huh?” you asked, lifting your head to look at him fully “I thought you were in love with her?”

Billy shook his head, trying to understand the logic. “Where the hell did you get that idea from?” he countered.

“From you!” you said “You told me that you loved her after Vicki’s party, that you couldn’t dump her for that reason alone!”

Billy fell silent. He did know what to say-you were right, he did think that he loved her once, back when things were simple and loving, but that feeling fell away after weeks of Valerie putting him off for people she deemed as more important or better than him. Vicki’s party was the last straw for him.

“I…I don’t think I did, I mean I did once, but not then. I was over her then. I think.” He stuttered.

You shrugged “Eh, you were drunk; you were doing a lot of stupid shit. There was a keg, I’m sure you did a keg stand or four. Saying that you love someone when you don’t is only a problem when you say it to that person. Otherwise you’re fine.” You explained softly.

Billy found himself agreeing, nodding along with you as though you spoke a gospel. “You’re right, you’re right, you’re really smart, you know that?” he said.

You smirked “Yeah, yeah I do.”

Billy rolled his eyes, turning to face the window. You followed suit and Billy wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side and returning you to the position you’d been in before, leaning on his shoulder. Through your blinds, a full moon lit the room and you contemplated getting up and pulling the blinds, letting in all the light, and turning off the bright yellow light that hurt your eyes.

You sighed “Let’s stay here forever, yeah?” you muttered dreamily.

“Up in your bedroom? Pretty sure your mom would find us soon enough, definitely before we starved to death.” Billy replied softly, teasing you just a little. The idea didn’t feel bad to him, which felt even stranger than it should’ve.

You giggled, shaking your head slightly. “No, I mean here, in this moment. It’s so quiet and peaceful and nobody wants anything from us. We don’t have to be anything or do anything. Let’s just stay here, okay?” you replied, the dreaminess in your voice increasingly becoming evident of your tiredness.

“Yeah, sure why not?” he muttered. Billy looked down at you, watching the way you snuggled into him, trying to harness the warmth his body emitted. You look so small; soft and sweet and innocent and curled so close to him. If Billy had felt butterflies in his stomach around a girl recently, or even at all, he would’ve known the feeling well enough to identify it in that moment. He would’ve known the meaning of the feeling. But Billy didn’t know the feeling well enough and chalked it up to some form of late onset nausea from the pain inflicted on him. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss in your hair and moving you into your own bed, chuckled at the small whine you emitted as he lifted you away from him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, kid…” he muttered in your ear, pushing off the bed and out the door, flicking off the light as he left. He snuck downstairs and out the side door again.

You two were going to be okay. This was proof. The butterflies be damned.

[theliterateape]

Smooth

by Paul Teodo & Tom Myers

“Do it.”

“I can’t, Javi.”

 “You won’t.”

“I got people comin’ to look at me.”

“Everybody has a bad game.”

“It’s not right.”

“Right is for bobos.”

“I ain’t no chump.”

“Take the money.”

“I told you I got people comin’ to look at me.”

Eddie’d heard about scouts. Serious guys who dressed good, showed up with notebooks and stopwatches, sat high up, scattered. If they liked you, they’d talk to you after the game.

Eddie played short. He had what the scouts called the quick twitch. It made him a natural. He could pick anything behind the bag, go deep in the hole, jump turn and throw mid-air to first, in a freakin’ blur. On a pop fly, he’d go out hard, back to the infield, make the grab over the shoulder–no problem. The fans would chant los ojos en la cabeza, eyes in the back of your head!  He could get to anything on his side of the infield, had a cannon for an arm. The ball would explode into the first baseman’s glove, echoing across the field, causing aficionados to ooh and aah. Eddie was smooth.

It was called The Bush, where nobody sees nothin’, hears nothin’, says nothin’. Crammed between 79th and 95th Streets, the Calumet River to the east and the Skyway to the west. An unimportant, blue collar, close-knit Chicago neighborhood nobody’d heard of. Taco trucks and shave ice carts dotted crowded streets lined with brick four flats and soot-covered frame cottages. Steel-mill smokestacks jutted into perpetually gray skies, belching dirty smoke and lung-searing acid mist. Norteno music softened the stench of the mills and encouraged the hidden aroma of carne asada, masa, and frijoles. 

Eddie didn’t do public. His old man worked two jobs so him and his twin sister Jasmine could do Catholic. Jesus, the baby, was a surprise, so Momma worked from the house. Slapping cornmeal in yellow-stained hands, rolling out her Bush-renowned tamales; up at 3 working the masa, dicing the filling, then steaming, then bagging; out the door by 5, dragging coolers behind her; manning her corner, waving down the cars. Beef, pork, chicken, queso, red sauce or green, sold by the dozen, or half dozen, back home by 7 to send them off to school, then take care of her baby, little Jesus.

At first Eddie wanted public, but Guadalupe had a good coach, and Eddie made varsity as a sophomore. He was gangly and jumpy, always playing with the infield dirt, kicking it with his spike, patting it with his hands. Chaw was a no-no with the Catholics, but bubble-gum worked almost as good, pink, blue, even purple. At the crack of the bat, Eddie was nothing but smooth. Jet black hair curling in the breeze beneath his tattered cap, tracking the ball like a panther, he’d glide through the infield, scoop and throw in a single motion. He was pure joy and all smiles. Everybody said The Bigs were not far away. 

And now Javi was asking this. 

“You don’t understand,” Eddie pleaded, alley flies buzzing around.

Javi’s eyes narrowed. He stepped closer. “You don’t understand, tonto.”   

“I ain’t no dummy.” Eddie retreated, bumping a stinking can, trembling. “Please, Javi,” Eddie begged.

Javi grabbed Eddie’s hand. He pressed the button on his silver blade, its click ominous in the quiet alley, the knife’s metal flashing in the sun. He twisted Eddie’s thumb sideways, gliding the blade over it. “If you don’t do this, hermanito.”

“Javi!” Eddie’s face contorted in pain, his eyes locked onto the knife beginning to dig into his flesh.

Javi moved closer, still pulling at Eddie’s thumb, his breath hot in Eddie’s face.

Eddie turned away, tears welling.

”Hermanito,” Javi wrenching his thumb sideways, “do this, or you’ll never play again.”

                                                                               ***

Guadalupe vs. Bratislava. Chicos vs. Polskis.  Guadalupe was home. The field pristine, glistening green grass in the vast outfield was perfectly-outlined with brilliant white stripes, and lots of room to roam. The batter’s box circumscribed as if by a draftsmen. Raul Estevez, a local landscaper, was the artist; not a weed blemished his grass, nor a stone to create a bad bounce. Each line was perfectly straight.

“We can do this, hermano,” the chubby kid said, tossing a ball in the air, chewing a wad of gum that would have choked a burro.

Eddie knew Nacho his whole life. They shared a crib and a playpen, and even a jumper. Nacho and Eddie’s mothers did their Quinceaneras together. They watched each other’s kids.

Eddie scanned the stands, looking for Javi.

“What’s wrong, bro?”  Nacho pounded a dirty ball into his glove.

“Looking.”

“The scouts? They’ll be here. They want you, man. You’re smooth.”

Eddie saw no scouts, no guys dressed good, no stopwatches or notebooks. And no Javi.

Nacho tapped his spikes with a pine-tarred bat. “I wish I was you, bro.”

Eddie didn’t. He was in a jam, with no way out.

Reynoldo Lopez boomed over the loudspeaker, announcing the lineups for each team; first, Spanish, then English. He butchered the names of Bratislava’s Polskis adding hyphens and syllables where there were none, and serenaded the aficionados with his melodic renderings of Gonzalez, Alvarez, Ramirez, and Rodriguez.

Bratislava had a big right-hander on the mound who was ready to sign. Undefeated the whole year. 9-0, ERA less than 1, with more than 2 Ks per inning. Guadalupe had Ricardo, a quiet, angry kid who threw bullets. But was wild. If you weren’t a K, he’d hit you or walk you. In the semis, on the way to this championship, he’d struck out 21, walked 8, and hit 4.  A no-no with 9 left on base and 3 runs scored. Eddie saved the game with a back-handed over-the-shoulder grab, a Howitzer throw to first, doubling off the shocked fat kid who Ricardo had plunked in the gut, trying to scramble back to first, after admiring, for too long, Eddie’s catch of the year.  

                                                                                ***

As predicted, it was a pitchers’ duel. Ricardo had 15 Ks, 4 walks, and hit 3, after 6 innings, a season low for him. The Polski hadn’t let Guadalupe get the ball out of the infield and Eddie had looked at strike three twice. 

Bottom of the sixth, two out, Nacho up. He couldn’t hit his age. Coach had him in there because he was a good kid. Worked his ass off, patted everybody on the back, and his old man Raul Estevez, the landscaper, took good care of the field.

The big right hander made carne piccado outta Nacho the first 2 times up. Six weak-ass swings that made him look like a nino.

Nacho tapped his spikes and rubbed his stick with the tar rag. He dug in. The first pitch whizzed by Nacho’s head. The aficionados went nuts, screaming at the top of their lungs, “Culero! Pandejo! Cabron!” The Polskis yelled back in their thick Polish accents sounding like tortured human beings. 

Next pitch, a heater, inside and high, deflecting off Nacho’s bat. He dove back, terrified. The big guy had him. He was scared shitless.

“Nacho,” Eddie yelled, “don’t let this salchicha spook you! Hang in.”

One and one. Next pitch a curve that started at Nacho’s head, then broke hard, down and away. Nacho dove outta the box, flailing at the ball like it was a big-ass wasp with a stinger that had his name on it. Strike two.

Polski dug his spikes into the mound. He wound up and slung a dart towards the outside corner. Nacho flinched. Eddie could see the fear as Nacho bailed again, his foot bolting for the bucket. He threw his bat wildly at the pitch clipping the ball on its very tip, causing a right field spin that made it look like a bird diving into the sea after a wounded fish. A squibber. It skimmed the first base bag’s top corner and ricocheted high into the air angling away from the entire Bratislava team. Now, Raul Estevez kept a good field. No weeds, no rocks, long straight lines. And it was a big field. A big fucking field. Nacho’s slice picked up speed as it spun dizzily away from every Polski chasing it. Nacho chugged with thick legs around first, the aficionados cheering him loud and wild like a bullfight. The right fielder motored towards the ball as it skipped, slid, juked, and jagged away from him. The first baseman had no chance at all. Nacho turned and churned in slow mo past second, and as the right fielder continued to chase the ball Nacho surprised everyone. He barreled into and around third, ignoring Mendoza’s pleas to stop. He was going to make his mark. Finally the right fielder got to the ball, stupidly, just before it went out of bounds which would have kept Nacho at third. The Polski picked it up and slung it towards home. Mendoza now begging for Nacho to stop. Nacho was having none of it.

The collision was a thud, a short, sickening thud. Nacho hit the catcher full on, his shoulder burying into the catcher’s chest protector. The ball flew up in the air and onto the pristine dirt that Senor Estevez had prepared for this championship game. The ump waved his arms parallel to the ground, his hands flat as pancakes. 

Nacho was safe.

The crowd was on fire. Aficionados sang their anthem; Mexican flags filled the dirty air, chants in Spanish rose over the rooftops. Nacho had scored!

1-0 Guadalupe.  Still two outs. Next batter Alexi Mendoza. Polski threw him 3 straight curves. One-two-three, over and out. He kicked the dirt, threw his bat, called the pitcher a puto, grabbed his glove, and trotted out to right.

Ricardo was gassed. Coach Hebron asked him if he had anything left. Ricardo lied and said yes.

He grabbed the ball and went to the mound for the last three outs.

His first pitch flew over the backstop. The next bounced 10 feet in front of the plate, and his third pitch hit the Polski in the head.

Ricardo’s tank was empty.

Man on first.

Ricardo didn’t come close with the next batter. Four straight balls that Juan Gomez, the half-Mexican, half-Chinese catcher, needed to throw his skinny body in front of, to ward off giving an extra base to the man on first.

First and second, no-outs, 1-0 Guadalupe. And Ricardo, scared shitless, was tired as a dog after a day at the beach.

Stanley Briczcinski was up next. He was noted for rockets. Everything he hit, he smoked. Hits flew off his bat headed towards people, places, and things with a velocity that made the ball whistle.  

Ricardo dug into the mound, trying to look as mean as he could. But his left knee gave him away, it shook, rattled, and rolled. First pitch, in the dirt. Gomez made a nice stop. Next pitch, same thing, a worm killer. Again Gomez saved it. Third pitch, Ricardo gave in and just laid it in there, a lollipop. Briczinski’s eyes lit up like a 100-watt bulb in a dark room. His forearms bulged. His fingers gripped tight. His left foot rose. He ripped a liner that sounded like a blast from a 357. The ball, a rocket, screamed to Eddie’s right, a mean downspin tailing fiercely away. Eddie catapulted airborne, angling to where the ball was going, not where it was. A soft sound came from his mitt, not the smack of a ball reddening flesh, but a flutter, a web catch, with a snow-cone, peeking from his glove. Eddie scuffled to his feet, chasing the Polski towards second, who stumbled then Eddie clipped the bag for the second out. The kid on first had taken off with the hit and was now caught 20 feet off the bag. It was a race, as the first baseman was out of position backing up home. Eddie charged towards first, the Polski running for his life to get there before Eddie. Eddie dove, arms outstretched. The Polski dove. The play was a blur. Dust rose in the air. The first base ump’s thumb shot into the sky. The dust cleared. And to the aficionados delight, they heard what they’d prayed for.

”He’s out!” 

A triple, fucking, play. Eddie had pulled off an unassisted triple play. Guadalupe had won the championship.

Aficionados leapt from the stands. Little children sang songs. Mariachis blew horns. Nuns and priests hugged. Kisses were asked for and given. Eddie, Nacho, Gomez, and Ricardo yelled wildly in Spanglish.

                                                                                   ***

Eddie sat on the hot metal bench, peeling off his dusty spikes, picking at the scab oozing from his arm. A man dressed good approached. He had a notebook and a thin cloth strap attached to a stopwatch. He handed Eddie his card. “You’re smooth, kid. Real smooth.”

Eddie studied the card. Its logo, in ornate scroll: an S, then a little below and off to the right, an o, and then at the bottom and further to the right an x. The card read Billy Bryk, Midwest Scout, Chicago White Sox.

Eddie’s body electric. Tingling. He sat silently studying the card, ignoring all around him. His years of work, his dream. Coming true.

“I’ll call you, kid,” Billy said, spitting his chew on the ground.

                                                                      ***

“No thanks,” Eddie responded to his father’s offer to drive him home before the festival celebration. “I’ll walk.” He needed to think.

He cut through the park, and turned right on Avenue L, taking the shortcut through the alley, home. 

His thoughts on ball. The scout. His way out. His dream.

To be somebody.

“Tonto!” He stepped from a gangway into the alley.

Javi.

“You dummy! Tonto!”

Fear, then anger, charged Eddie’s body.

Javi moving swiftly towards Eddie, the shiny object glistening in his hand. “You could have made it easy on yourself. But you wanted to show off. Be the man. Make the play. Win the game! Pandejo!”

Javi lunged, the knife flashing towards Eddie’s face. He side-stepped Javi, gracefully, just like turning a double play. Javi flew by. Eddie snatched the blade and drove it deep into Javi’s throat.

Javi looked shocked, then terrified, unready for what was happening. His eyes begged mercy. Eddie twisted the blade, Javi gurgling in panic, clutching his throat. Eddie drove it deeper, ripping the blade sideways, sliding easily through tender skin.

Eddie wiped the blade clean, folded the knife, and placed it in his pocket.

Javi, crumpled on the ground, tiny gasps, leaking from his throat.

Eddie studied the man who tried to take what was his. He shook his head with disgust.

Javi should have known better.

No one took what was Eddie’s.

Eddie was smooth, real smooth.

[the1975gifs]

gif tutorial

I’ve been asked a few times how I make my gifs, so here’s a detailed tutorial by yours truly. This post features methods on how to make gifs with and without text. Please like/reblog if you find this useful! :) You will need:

Photoshop CS5 - Tumblr has plenty of download links

Potplayer - to make screencaps/play videos.

1. Make screencaps of the part you want to gif I did use KMPlayer for a long time, but have since switched to Potplayer as KMPlayer contains so much hidden adware these days. You can download Potplayer here.

Tip: Potplayer has a feature that allows you to make gifs from YouTube videos without downloading the videos. Just Right Click > Open File > Open URL > Paste in the YouTube URL and go!

In Potplayer, press CTRL + G on your keyboard to open up the screencap settings. Make sure that the storage is changed to the folder you want all the frames for your gif to go in. Below are the settings I tend to use:

When I find the part of the video that I want to gif, I hit pause just before I start making screencaps. Once the video is paused, I press start on the screencap window and hit play on the video. The screencap window will stop once it reaches the maximum number of frames you’ve set it to. I usually set it to 900 because I tend to watch the video as it caps and pause it manually to ensure I’ve got all the possible frames I need, but usually any number over 100 should do.

2. Load Frames Into Photoshop

Typically, the option ‘Load Files Into Stack’ should work. However, my Photoshop version doesn’t allow this. Instead, I go to File > Scripts > Load Multiple DICOM Files. The window pictured below should pop up and make sure you select the file in which your screencaps are in and then press ‘OK’.

Once you’ve loaded your screencaps, you should get a bunch of layers on the right hand side and one frame in the animation bar below. To make frames, click on the icon that I’ve circled in red and then choose ‘Make Frames From Layers’.

3. Resize and Sharpen To change the size of your gif, click on the crop tool on the toolbar on the left hand side and change the dimensions on the bar that appears at the top. I use the old Tumblr dimensions because I’ve been on this god forsaken website for 5 years and I refuse to use the new ones. The dimensions I used for this gif are below and I would typically use a gif of this size in a set of about 8.

Make sure your dimensions are in px and not cm or inches, then drag and crop to your liking. On the animation bar, click the upside down black triangle and then click on ‘Other...’. I used a 0.06 second delay for this gif, but it usually depends on the number of frames. I use 0.07 if I have a small amount of frames.

To sharpen your gif, go to Filter > Sharpen > Smart Sharpen and set the amount to 500, the radius to 0.3 and ensure that the more accurate box is ticked like below. I manually sharpen each frame (I know it sounds tiring, but it’s not that bad! Also, I’m useless at actions and the smart object conversion! I can link tutorials for those if you want.) by selecting the layer, then the frame of that layer and hitting CTRL + F.

Now, you should be left with something like this:

4. Colouring

The hardest, tedious and yet most important part. Every gif is different, so I can’t really teach a set colouring. It’s more trial and error than anything. However, I’ll show each process I typically use and you can adjust the settings and numbers to whatever suits the gif you’re making.

To open the adjustments tab, click on the icon I’ve circled in red. For curves, I didn’t want to brighten the gif too much as I can do that with levels so I drew something that looks like this.

And your gif will now look like this:

Next, I added in some levels. Again, depending on the darkness/lightness of the gif you’re making you may need to adjust the amount appropriately:

This is what the gif looks like with the levels added:

You could leave the gif like this, but personally, I wanted the reds to stand out more so I used Selective Colour to do this.

And this is what it looks like:

If you’re happy with how your gif looks after these steps, you can skip ahead to the saving settings in Step 5. However, I felt like the gif was a little too blue for my liking so I added in some Color Balance.

And this is final product I ended up with:

5. Saving Your Gif

To ensure the quality of your gif remains the same when you upload it to Tumblr or wherever, I use the following settings when I save it. I almost always use Pattern, never Diffusion purely because I think Pattern looks a lot better. Go to File > Save > Save For Web and Devices, change the settings and viola!

6. Adding Text To A Gif

Firstly, choose a simple font and make sure it’s readable. As shown below, I tend to use Arial in Bold Italic and Strong. You can change the font size depending on the size of the gif. For 500px gifs, I tend to up the size to 13pt and I sometimes lower it to 11.5pt if the gif is 160px.

Click on the T on the left toolbar and drag the textbox to where you want the text to be on your gif.

Once you’ve typed out what you want, click the ‘fx’ option at the bottom of the layers section and add some drop shadow and stroke as per the screenshots below to make your text stand out more. Again, you can play around with the shadow/stroke settings and find something that suits your gif better.

This is the sort of thing you should end up with:

Sometimes white text doesn’t stand out as much or if there’s more than one person talking in the gif, you can use another colour to differentiate who’s talking/make the text more eye catching. Yellow is the popular main choice, but sometimes a light turquoise or even green can be used.

Just highlight your text and go to the top bar where the font names and sizes are and click on the colour sample to change it. These are my typical yellow settings:

And now this is what it should look like:

Just follow the instructions in Step 5 on how to save your gif and then you’re done! This has been a long post and I really hope this has helped in any way. I know I’m bad at explaining things, so if you have any questions about this tutorial or any further questions about Photoshop and gif making, feel free to send me an ask here or on my personal blog here and I’ll do my best to answer and help :)

[theprettiestshit]

My Ride or Die Beauty Products of 2017!

By: @acevallee

Hey guys, it's your friendly neighborhood glow queen! Happy 2018! Better late than never, I'm posting my top standout products from last year that is sure to remain in heavy rotation this year. Come to the celebration that is obviously on my Top Shelf as you can see. Some brands are repetitive but I honestly can't apologize for it because it is truly the products that got me through the past year and I refuse to eliminate them because of repetition. There are some dry skin warriors on this list so make sure to take notes if you're a fellow parched gal. Also theres a product that I forgot to take a photo of because it has been lost for 3 days but I MUST mention it. OLEHENRIKSEN BANANA BRIGHT EYE CREAM. LIFE CHANGER!!!!!!!!!!! I'm not even going to talk about it, just go run out and get it... NOW. It's my top recommendation. Thank me later. 

FOREO LUNA PLAY has been a crucial addition to my skincare routine. It helped me deep cleanse in the most gentle way possible. Unlike a Clarisonic this gentle silicone, vibrating tool doesn't need carry and bacterial residue which is a plus for those like me who fear germs. The battery on the brand's tiniest cleansing device does run out but it did reassure me to upgrading to the Luna Mini 2 which can be recharged. 

SUNDAY RILEY JUNO face oil has been my ace this season. I double dose before bed after cleansing and before my moisturizer. I put enough to make me look like a greasy strip of bacon. My parched skin needs all of this goodness to drink up during the hours that I'm asleep. 

FLOSS GLOSS nail polishes are hands down the best. "Disco Dust", a nude-ish rose gold holo compliments my skintone perfectly and I'm sure my manicurist is tired of me using the same polish. The shade "Lipliner" is basically MAC's classic lipliner "Whirl" for your nails... enough said. Universally flattering, The go-to for my pedicure. 

Of course I had to include FENTY BEAUTY on my list. That KILLAWATT HIGHLIGHTER in "TROPHY WIFE" is bold as F*CK and it is the standout product of the brand's entirety. The effect is like shattered purely gold glass and can be used as an eyeshadow as well. The richest glow of all time. GLOSS BOMB is also one of the best glosses on the market and is truly universally flattering on each and every single skin tone. When in Doubt with what lip to wear, pairing with a smokey or neutral lid, Gloss Bomb will come in clutch.  

BUNNY MOON JELLY MASK Move over Oatafix, This is now LUSH's most hydrating face mask that I have ever used. It is such a treat, perfect for boosting hydration in this harsh NYC winter weather. With calming ingredients like rose and chamomile to sooth and honey to generously moisturize dry, sensitive skin, this newbie is a winner! 

In 2017 I turned 30 and started using sunscreen on a daily basis. GLOSSIER INVISIBLE SHIELD doesn't irritate my skin or make me breakout like just about every other sunscreen on the planet, and it's more like a serum and its super light and soaks in seamlessly. Also works well under makeup which is a plus. (Glossier, please make a waterproof version). This was my got to protection after using exfoliants and products like Drunk Elephant's Babyfacial to protect my freshly renewed skin from the sun. 

COLOURPOP was one of my top 3 brands this year. Most of my money went to ordering highlighters and also Face Products. I was addicted to their SUPER SHOCK CHEEK HIGHLIGHTER "Flexitarian" which became my signature glow a while back (here's my past review on this formula)  as well as "Off Tropic:" which is the warmer version of my signature. Their Powder Bronzers and Blushes were also some of my most used products as they go on silkily with no skipping or patchiness. BTW, Not one product in this photo cost more than $8!!

This is the greatest product from Glossier since Haloscope. GLOSSIER CLOUD PAINTS are a great multi-use product for eyes, cheeks and lips. I was using this for a majority of the year mixed with highlighter to get a pretty glow. (which is now called "draping"). They're insanely pigmented so very little goes an extremely long way. The shade "Dusk" is my favorite. 

Drunk Elephant's T.L.C. Sukari Babyfacial is worth every ounce of hype it is given. After using it once a week for a month, I've noticed a difference in texture and clarity of my skin, leaving it renewed, radiant and subtle after each use as if I went and got an actual professional facial done. 

HERBIVORE COCO ROSE has become a staple in my bedtime shower routine! It makes my skin baby soft and heavily moisturized with a pretty sheen. The scent is subtle and divine! This is like my 4th jar because I'm truly obsessed. This Dry Skin's Bff. I actually have a review on this here. 

My top 3 brow products that are in heavy rotation are GLOSSIER BOY BROW in clear for everyday grooming. COLOURPOP BROW BOSS pencil in light brown to define. CHARLOTTE TILBURY LEGENDARY BROWS in Supermodel because of its tiniest most precise brush that applies the perfect amount of pigment to tint your brows and make them feathery.

You will always find a GLOSSIER BALM DOTCOM somewhere around my room, bag or coat/jacket. I have every single flavor but the standout this year was the BIRTHDAY BALM DOTCOM. The pretty glittery sheen is an adult version of the Vanilla Frosting  Lip Smackers that I was obsessed with as a kid. Thanks to the brand's collab with MILK BAR and you can actually use this as a fun glossy, glittery highlighter. I always say these are great multi use products. from lips to cheeks to cuticles.

EXFOLIKATE GLOW MOISTURIZER has been my go-to moisturizer all season to give my skin the hydration and radiance it needs, especially since I mostly skip makeup for work. it gives me a healthy glow and mimics a good night's sleep. 

GLOSSIER YOU fragrance has become my signature scent of the season, which is odd because I prefer more masculine scents. This warm, comfortable, crisp, peppery concoction captivated me each and every time I wore it. It sinks into my skin to give me a scent that adapts and belongs solely to me. It doesn't smell the same on me than it does on anyone else. I am the base note! It amplifies my natural scent in the best way possible. it lingers on my clothing as well which I love. 

My palette of the year is COLOURPOP YES PLEASE! As you can see, this beloved palette was my ride or die for a pretty, neutral warm lid with that beautiful pop of yellow that I entered my 30s with. YES, I said yellow! This palette helped me be a little less boring with my eye looks. For $16, you can't go wrong. 

Another COLOURPOP obsession came late this year with their LUSTER DUST LOOSE HIGHLIGHTERS. The effect they give alone or on top of their Super Shock Highlighters is to die for!!!