#the dancing at the first line of the song

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"THE FIRST DATE"

EXTRA CONTENT - "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 7k+ → a/n: the very long awaited first date. this was requested by several people. wahoo! also, fair warning for second-hand embarrassment. i think eddie munson is the only person who drag me dancing around a bowling alley and i wouldn't smite them on the spot.

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

EDDIE: What about a fancy dinner date?

YOU: boring.

YOU: and too traditional. when were you even born, Munson? the 60s???

EDDIE: Ha. Ha. I don’t see you making any worthwhile suggestions, sweetheart. 

YOU: i don’t have to make any suggestions, old man. YOU’RE supposed to be wooing ME 

God forbid anyone walked in on you at this moment. 

You were like a high schooler, lying on your stomach with your feet kicking up into the air as you stared at the screen, happily bantering with Eddie over text. All the butterflies, all the blissful jitters, all that dopamine rush that comes with school girl crushes – every single cliche was present and was in full force as you discussed the details of your first date with him. You used to scoff (albeit with hidden longing) at all the romance movies that you truly believed had overplayed all the giddiness, but now you got it. It was disgusting, the way he had you wrapped around his finger so easily, the way he had turned you into a heart-eyed shell of the woman you once were in the matter of a week. 

EDDIE: So you have a thing for older men is what you’re telling me.

YOU: i NEVER said that.

EDDIE: Didn’t have to, sweetheart. I can read between the lines. 

Over the last week, since the two of you had won the bet and you had won over with insistence on him properly asking you out, Eddie had been tossing around date ideas as he tried to plan this very first occasion. The only time you had even seen him was when your entire group met up, the latest outing having been for brunch on Saturday under the guise celebrating the one week anniversary of you and Eddie surviving twenty four hours together without killing each other. 

Didn’t stop him from calling and texting you. And it clearly hadn’t deterred him from losing his mind over doing right by you with this entire first date ordeal. 

YOU: i don’t even have the energy to explain to you how many times you have proven to not do that in the past. 

EDDIE: I’ve read between the lines in the past! 

YOU: you most certainly have NOT

EDDIE: I was able to read when you wanted to kiss me that night. That’s reading between the lines.

And so the giddiness rears its head, full fledged as heat swarms your body and your cheeks ache from your smile. 

YOU: i hate you 

EDDIE: No, you don’t

YOU: i do. i really do. 

EDDIE: You’re such a shit liar

You nearly jump out of your skin when there’s a knock on your dorm’s door, annoying and persistent as it taps out some random rhythm that must be a song of some sort. But whatever song it is, you can’t recognize it as you stand, walking over to answer. 

“Did you forget your key aga-” you begin, assuming it was just your roommate. You’re shocked to see Robin and Steve standing there, “What are you guys doing here?” 

“We had a study date, in case you had forgotten and not seen our hundreds of texts,” Steve huffs, quickly crossing his arms. 

You hadn’t seen their texts. Most of your screen time had been a bit preoccupied with a certain metalhead. 

“Oh, shit,” your face falls as you open the door wider, side-stepping and motioning for them to come in. 

“Yeah,” Steve snarks as he comes right in, Robin hot on his trails and seeming in a far more pleasant mood as the boy mocks you, “Oh, shit.” 

Robin stops beside you as Steve helps himself to a seat in your desk chair, “Don’t mind him. He’s just cranky because he has to get A’s on all his mid-terms to keep his 3.0.” 

“I am not cranky-”

“You are!” 

“Am not!” 

“You so are,” Robin continues to egg him on, choosing your bed as her resting place. 

Your phone bounces a bit from the way she throws herself down on the sorry excuse for a mattress, and you recall how you had yet to reply to Eddie. Fuck.

“When did we even make these plans?” you ask, genuinely confused as you shut the door. You already miss the peace and quiet of being alone, free to preen at your phone and giggle to your heart’s content at the world’s worst flirt over text.

“Saturday,” Steve groans, throwing his head back. 

“It was after brunch,” Robin clarifies, lifting herself up from how she was lounging amongst your blankets, “I mean, you seemed a bit distracted when you agreed, but… We did text you about it.” 

You had been distracted. Eddie had managed to quietly ask the waitress to include your tab with his so he could pay for it without your knowledge, and you’d spent the entire time torn between being upset with the boy and absolutely fawning. It was a bit pathetic, looking back at it – the fact that those were the only two options your mind had presented you with. You’d scorned him over the phone later that night, and he had only laughed. You swear you can still hear it now, having heard it several times since – a low chuckle that rattled into the caverns of your chest, that bounced amongst vines of affection and willed open blooms of adoration just a little bit wider. 

Part of you was still waiting for the wilting. For the other shoe to drop, for all of what had been exposed and had been planted to vanish from your grasps. That first Monday morning, you’d even woken up worried it had all been a dream. 

“I’ve been busy,” you lamely try to excuse your radio silence. 

“Busier than normal?” Steve’s brows quirk up, leaning back in your chair that emits a squeak of protest, “Or have you just been busy with new friends?” 

Your lips twist and your nose twitches in confusion, “New friends? What the Hell are you going on about, Harrington?” 

Robin fully sits up now, watching with piqued interest.

“Eddie,” Steve gets straight to the point, his previous sour mood finally melting slightly, “You can’t honestly tell me that nothing changed after that night.” 

It was something neither of you had really discussed. Steve had seen you two, knew that a lot had truly changed based off of the way you’d tossed him right into the middle of the mess there at the end, but you and Eddie had never said anything about being together. Not to your friends, and not even to each other. 

“Just because I don’t want to tear his head off his shoulders anymore doesn’t mean we’re spending every waking moment together,” you force your best scowl, as if that wasn’t exactly what you had yearned for all week. 

Eventually, it had to wear off. That’s what you told yourself – at some point the initial rose tones would fade less vibrant, and Eddie’s intense occupation of your mind would lessen with the hues. 

“I can’t believe it, but I am siding with Stevie on this one,” Robin finally contributes, “I mean, you guys won’t even tell us what happened that night.” 

“Nothing exciting,” you’re quick to lie, “Just… I don’t know. Boring stuff. Getting on each other’s nerves, sitting around on his couch,” that gets a bitter scoff from Steve that almost makes you freeze up. Damn Eddie for teasing him with the truth about the couch, “Nothing worth making a big deal over. Like I said, we just learned to… to… tolerate each other.”

Tolerate was an interesting way to put spending hours on the phone together each night, sometimes falling asleep while still on the line. 

Steve still looks as though he’s recalling all of Eddie’s annoying taunts from that night while Robin only grins salaciously. 

“Tolerate each other?” she mimics you, leaning forward and pressing her palms into the edge of the mattress beside her knees, “Babe, have you two even said a single mean thing to each other since that night? I think he even smiled at you on Saturday. You’re practically married with two and a half kids already.”

He had smiled at you – multiple times. And each one had struck the most delicate of daggers right into your chest, lighting you aflame under his attempted clandestine attention. Every time those big, brown eyes had met yours from across the table, the ache you’d started to hold for him had only doubled in size. By the end of that morning, when the day had technically started to bleed out into the afternoon, you were nothing more than a vessel of pining for the boy that you hadn’t even gotten the chance to brush against amongst your friends. 

“Whatever,” you murmur as you reach out to snatch up your phone, “I never even understood the whole half kid thing. Like, how the fuck do you have two and a half kids?” 

“I’m sure Eddie would be more than happy to show you,” Steve teases despite his still half-traumatized look.

You’re quick to reach out a hand to whack the back of his head, “Shut up. Are we gonna keep sitting here while you two try to pry something that doesn’t exist out of me, or are we going to go study?” 

Steve’s grumpy mood returns as he rubs the back of his head, him and Robin standing in sync to exit the room.

But before the three of you exit the dorm, you check your phone one last time, having to bite down on that girlish grin when you see two new text message notifications. 

EDDIE: It’s official. I’m a genius. 

EDDIE: Say, are you free tomorrow night? 

—

Tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough. A shift at your job, one too many hours spent sitting through lectures, ensuring a night of studying with Steve and Robin — all petty distractions, roadblocks on your path to the most highly anticipated first date of your life. Eddie wouldn’t even entertain you with details, only telling you to dress fairly comfortably and to put on your best game face.

And you did. To some extent, you really did.

But you’d finished getting ready hours in advance, something you blamed on nerves, and having that much time to kill with such nerves was dangerous.

Simple makeup turned a bit more extravagant, you had tried on nearly every outfit in your possession, you’d even eyed your hair curler on more than one occasion.

Comfortable. What the Hell was that even supposed to mean?

Your only solution had been to text the man of the hour himself, something to busy your thumbs instead of twiddling them or involving them in taking your date night look several steps over just comfortable.

YOU: okay, so. can you define ‘dressing comfortably’?

EDDIE: According to Google, “dressing in a way that makes you feel at ease in your body” :)

YOU: fuck off. you know that’s not what i meant.

Still no clues. He wasn’t caving so easily to your pestering. You should have known better, considering he’d been professionally dodging any questions or inquiries you had regarding the date for the last twenty four hours.

EDDIE: Don’t overthink it, sweetheart.

That certainly didn’t help. Not even in the slightest. 

You don’t even reply to his text, already back to pacing your dorm before you finally cave to an impulsive decision you’d been grappling with for hours now. 

There was a newish, sporty skirt in the bottom of your drawers. It was comfortable, it had built-in shorts, and it looked damn good on you. The hem fell right around mid-thigh and always flared in an overly satisfying fashion when you’d spin while wearing it. The material of the pleats was nearly impossible to wrinkle. It wasn’t overly soft against your palms as you still nervously smoothed it down once you’d shimmied it on, but you still repeated the motion in hopes of soothing some of your nerves.

You’re sure it’s the wrong option until Eddie sees you in it.

He texts when he’s on his way and you find yourself bounding outside to wait for him far too early to be reasonable. He hadn’t even arrived until after your back had nearly become one with the brick exterior of the dorm building's front wall, leaning into the scratch of the clay on your shoulder blade a welcome distraction until you heard the roar of a motorcycle engine. 

You nearly grow dizzy from the sudden rush of nerves.

This is really happening. You’re about to go on a date with Eddie, the first time of what you hope will be many to come. 

“Took you long enough, Munson,” you snark loud enough for him to hear as he clicks the Yamaha’s kickstand into place right by the vibrant red curb. There’s a sign not even a full foot away from where he’s standing that clearly spells out NO PARKING. 

Oh.

Oh.

If you hadn’t already been riddled with nerves, your knees would have gone weak at the sight of him. 

Since when is that dressing casual and comfortable? 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” he shoots right back as he lifts the helmet off his head, and something inside of you clenched tightly at the sight with no plans to unwind any time soon.

Dark wash jeans plaster his legs, heavy combat boots smacking against the pavement as he walks to meet you halfway. The black shirt he’s donning isn’t extravagant, but something in the way that t-shirt material stretches across his chest has you burning from the inside out. He’s even gone so far as to tuck the shirt into the jeans, his black leather belt on show as he hugs the helmet below his bicep. And his normal leather jacket — you don’t believe you’ve ever seen it look better, ever seen it fit his shoulders so snugly. He’s dressed to perfectly match the all black bike, the image of a bad boy straight out of every cheesy movie you’d ever seen. 

The only thing that breaks the illusion is the boyish grin pulling the arrival of his dimples along with it as he watches you push off the wall. His eyes are sparkling as you approach him, a constellation of hope and new beginnings twinkling right before you. 

He’s not sorry that you waited on him. Not in the slightest. Especially when those starry eyes travel over your appearance.

You have to force yourself to tsk, because otherwise you might end up just another pile of ash for the poor landscapers to sweep up, “Haven't you heard it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?” 

You stop in your steps just far enough to catch the way his eyes take you in. Drinking slowly. Following the trace of the just fancy enough tank top that you’d chosen to balance the skirt. Lingering on the plush of your inner thighs, barely peeking out the bottom of your chosen outfit for the night.

You almost start to feel self conscious until he lets out a little sigh, nearly a whimper as his eyes trail back up to find yours.

“I’m sure I have,” he chokes out, composure momentarily vanished as you distract him so easily, “But aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

“I could say the same about you.” 

You’re like a shark. If you stop swimming in the upstream flirtations, you’ll drown instantaneously in his big brown eyes.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you swear you see a hint of a blush across the highs of his cheek bones and sides of his neck as he holds out the helmet for you, “At least with me, it will.” 

“Even the top secret location of this date?” you ask as you take the helmet, considering putting up a fight. You still hated him not wearing one for your expense, and you weren’t exactly eager for any sort of helmet hair, “Do I have to wear-“

He knows the end of your sentence before you even finish, “Yes. No exceptions; you have to wear it every time you ride.”

“Every time?” 

“It’s for safety.” 

“Isn’t it sort of unsafe for you to go without one?” 

“You’re wearing the helmet,” he sighs, nose twitching with indignation as he holds staunchly onto the position, “And to answer your other question, no. I guess flattery will get you almost everywhere, but it’s a surprise.” 

You fiddle with the chin straps, looking down as you feel his gaze burning the top of your head from this angle, “Fine. But we really should just get me my own helmet. You need to wear one, too. And…” you look back up, pausing before you properly put on the piece of safety equipment, “It’s a little oversized. You know, considering it was meant to fit your big head first.” 

He narrows his eyes, still lit up with a sort of playfulness you haven’t grown accustomed to being on the receiving end of. 

You like him quite a bit more than you bargained for. A lot more than five hundred dollars, or twenty four hours, ever would have summarized. 

“We can go helmet shopping another day.” 

We. Not just him, not just you. But you and him. A unit. A couple.

“It’s a date,” you whisper just before you slide on the helmet. You completely miss the wildfire that the ghost of a blush has finally become. You completely miss the way that your talk of you two together, you two as a couple with a future, affects him just as his has an effect on you. 

Helmet hair is worth it, you decide, once you’ve saddled onto the bike behind him and he revs up the engine once more. You’re not as shy as you had been on that fateful night the week before, quick to wrap your arms around his middle and let your chest press hard against his back. The leather crinkles against the contact, the heat of him radiating, and you think you could spend forever like that. 

You’re almost upset that you can’t smell his cologne through the helmet. That once terrible scent of boy. 

Every curve and every slow stop is another excuse to cling to him tighter, every red light a reason for him to turn his head and catch a glimpse of you with a small grin that never once falters. You swear at one of the lights, when he revs his engine in a particularly rowdy fashion right as the light turns green and takes off particularly fast, you can hear his laughter over the loud wind mingling with the roaring engine. You know you can feel it, vibrating in his chest right along with your own that gets lost in the chaos of the unusually busy Tuesday night street. 

When he pulls into the parking lot behind the older building, you catch sight of the neon sign out front and find yourself laughing again. 

“Bowling?” you question, yanking the helmet off less than gracefully as he stands off the bike you’d just swung yourself off of, “You’re taking me bowling?” 

He takes the helmet from you, suddenly looking a bit shy as he averts his gaze, “Not just any bowling. It’s… It’s the coolest bowling alley you will ever go on a first date at.” 

“You say that to every girl you bring here?” 

You’re just teasing him, trying to poke fun rather than succumb to all the fluttering that bruises your inner chest and stomach. But then he has to ruin your fun, strike a match and set you aflame so adroitly.  

“Only the prettiest ones.” 

You should continue the banter, challenge him on just who else fell into that category, but you can’t. It’s in that glimmer of his eyes and the indent of his dimples, the way he looks at you as he slowly rises and somehow softens his gaze all while keeping a threat of a bite beneath the tone. His eyes tell you that you are, without a doubt, the prettiest girl he’s referring to. That in this moment, you begin and you end his world, and not even the commotion of traffic or nip in the air that creeps up as the summer sun sets can deter his attention being set solely on you.

But his tone suggests something far more dangerous. He says it like you’re a prey, an unattainable catch that he’ll be chasing for the entire night. A wicked growl to that voice you’ve been falling asleep to over the phone far more than you care to admit in just a short week. 

He says it like he’s going to ruin you. As if he hasn’t already injected himself into your veins, as if he isn’t the gasoline drowning and raging the burn within you. 

But he keeps up the gentleman persona in the short walk up to the door of the establishment. Holds out his hand for yours to fit perfectly into, guides you to the inner sidewalk as cars fly past and the only thing between you and them is him. 

 The hunt is on from the moment he opens that door for you. 

“Ever the gentleman,” you muse, voice hardly above a whisper as you brush past him and finally catch that smell of boy. 

You think you’d drown in his cologne now if he gave you the chance. Bury your face in his chest, wrap your arms around him and press any inch of your own bare skin to his. 

“Always,” it would have been a weak response if he’d only said it and nodded his head, but he takes it a step further. Right as you pass him, entering the brisk AC, his hand ghosts over the expanse of your lower back. Fingertips nimbly brushing right above the band of that skirt, grazing your tank top just hard enough for you to feel it and shiver. 

It doesn’t stop there. The back and forth, the chase, the hunt.

The way he makes sure your knuckles brush his as he hands you your shoes, even more brushes of his palm flat against your lower back repetitively, the way he insists on a heavier ball that makes his arms strain and muscles display. Over the chatter from the bowling alley’s fairly nice bar and the music trickling out of the overhead speakers, you’re sure that your heartbeat has joined the ranks of audible noises to echo the nice haunt. You’re positive he can hear every thump, can pinpoint the exact moments that poor aching muscle inside your chest begins to race. 

You go for a smaller weighted ball. You don’t think you could handle anything heavier with your current case of weak knees.

“Only an eight pounder?” Eddie tuts at you as you approach your designated lane again, “Come on, sweetheart. You can do better than that.” 

No, I can’t. Your fault, really.

“I have weak arms,” you try to defend yourself as you rotate the red ball in your hands. 

His favorite color. It hadn’t been intentional, but the swirling shades of stark scarlet and deep maroons is a nice touch. 

“Poor baby,” he teases, leaning into you as you deposit the ball right behind his own ball on the track where it already rests.

A twelve pounder. A smoky quartz design, black base swirling with misty white and gold accents. Far prettier than yours by a landslide. 

And fitting for the pretty boy you’re faced with when you turn to watch him shedding his leather jacket onto the bench a few steps away. 

“Not all of us are some big, strong macho man,” you scowl insincerely, moving to sit beside him and follow his lead in switching out shoes, “I’m betting now that by halfway through the game, you’ll be caving and begging to use my ball, Munson.” 

You’re looking down as you casually say it, one shoe already half off and unaware of just how close he had gotten until his hand reaches over. Not even a second later, he has your chin pinched between his fingers, gentle as it guides you and forces you to look at him, “Careful. Bets seem to be awfully dangerous when it comes to the two of us.” 

Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him. 

The graze of those fingers against your jaw leaves a trail of ash, burning that lingers and thrums beneath your skin, heart officially skipping beats rather than merely speeding up. You’re coming to realize that when it comes to keeping up with Eddie Munson in his element, in all his charm and flirtatious banter, you’re a bit hopeless.

He has you trapped under his thumb — metaphorically and literally.

“Are you always this flirtatious with all your dates?” you spit out against your better judgment.

Why do I keep bringing up his previous flames? Do I really care? Do I really want to put myself through the torture of hearing about all of the girls, or guys, he’s wooed before me? 

The same glittering eyes, the same hidden smirk from earlier. “Only the prettiest ones.” 

“You keep saying that,” you mumble, chin pressing into his fingertips against their hold, “Just how many pretty dates have you had?” 

The pride softens in an instant. His gaze is less sharp, grin less predatory as he raises his eyebrows. 

“Does it really matter?” 

You can’t help it. Your mind races ahead of you before you can stop it; you’re plagued in an instant with images of how many dates, how many other people he had indulged in over the year you two had wasted hating each other. You try to recall overhearing him describe any of those dates, try to remember if Nancy ever mentioned Eddie passing up one of the hangouts for a romantic endeavor.

You come up empty handed, but it doesn’t stop the overthinking. 

“I guess not,” you feebly answer, unable to tear your eyes from him. 

I guess not is really code for it matters so much more than I care to admit. An impossible riddle you can’t even expect him to pick up on. 

His hand falls from your chin and finds home on your bare knee, warm palm swallowing it up. He gives it a squeeze, and you wonder for a moment if maybe he can read your secretive language. Maybe he’s seeing right through your overconfident front, maybe he has felt every racing of your pulse. 

Maybe, he’s as nervous as you are.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t think you can bear another moment of this new intimacy. It had been easier when the two of you were on a ticking clock, confined to his apartment and parameters of a bet that never really mattered. Vulnerability had less of an edge when you could yearn and pine to see it flourish in the real world — but now, here it was, twisting away within you both a week later and pricking away as the stakes at hand come to light. 

“Are you ready for me to absolutely demolish your ass at this game?” you joke.

“Demolish me? That’s some big talk for someone using an eight pound ball, babe.”

“It’s not about how much you’re packing, pretty boy,” you scoff, “Just that you know how to use it.” 

He smiles slowly, but the quick squeeze of his hand tells you the vulnerability is here to stay. He feels that cutting edge too, and he’s not shying away. 

He leans right into it, just as he does your personal space, “Bring it on.” 

—

“You’re cheating!”

“I’m not!”

“You are! Who the fuck gets three strikes in a row?” 

Eddie strolls back towards you, self-satisfied smirk curling his lips and his hips swaying with arrogance as you continue to pout at his sudden show of sportsmanship, “I believe the answer is me, sweetheart. Wanna see me make it four?” 

“I hope you just jinxed yourself,” you scowl as you hop up off the couch and Eddie swaggers right past you, hardly affected by the palm you smack into the center of his chest for good measure, “I hope you roll nothing but gutter balls the rest of the game, you prick.” 

“Like you have been?” 

“Burn in Hell.” 

Eddie’s cackle echoes through the fairly busy alley. It wasn’t overwhelming, the lanes of either side of yours staying empty, the only other groups several ways down. So far, the date has been good. Even if Eddie was wiping the floor with your severe lack of skill. 

Both of you had opted for Cokes rather than alcohol, Eddie had ordered some sort of platter with onion rings and mozzarella sticks that the two of you had easily been devouring between turns. Playful banter had been kept up easier than breathing, barking words without bite being snapped back and forth loud enough for the entire establishment to hear the two of you being exceptionally childish. 

At some point, your nerves had melted. And you didn’t even need a lick of alcohol in your system for it to happen. 

“Try to aim for the pins this time,” Eddie continues to taunt you from where he’s spread out on the brown faux leather bench you’d been taking turns warming the seat of. 

Your fingers slide into the holes of your ball with ease, courtesy of the grease from all your snacking, “Try shutting the fuck up.” 

More of his laughter sounds off, and you nearly trip on your walk up to the markings on the linoleum wood flooring. It’s a nice sound; a beautiful response to words that could easily read identical to how the two of you used to fight. But these aren’t fighting words, they’re words passed between two… two… friends? 

Is that how you should continue to classify this? Were you and Eddie really still just friends? 

The sound of your ball stuttering in hops across the beginnings of the lane replaces his laughter 

No. Easy question – there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that the two of you were definitely not friends. Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken. And for the remainder of this date, you could live with that. 

Eddie sucks in an audible breath, letting the air whistle between his teeth as your ball veers at the last second and misses the pins entirely. Again. 

“Th-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, spinning on your heel and holding up a warning finger. It’s harder to hold in your own grin when Eddie’s already smiling into his fist, leaning his elbows onto his thighs as his big eyes peer at you, clearly amused, “Don’t say a word.” 

His knuckles dig further into his mouth.

“I meant to do that.” 

His eyebrows shoot up, still not speaking.

“It takes real talent to avoid pins like that.” 

He leans over a bit further, and you swear you hear him emit a snort from behind that damn fist. 

You open your mouth to continue with the bit when the clattering of your ball returning to the ball rack comes from behind you. Eddie only shrugs cheekily as he finally drops his fist to grab for a mozzarella stick, his smile contained but those damn dimples still flashing you brilliantly. 

Without taking your eyes off him, you hold up a warning finger for emphasis once more, trying to bite down any signs of your own amusement as you take a few steps back in the direction of the rack and repeat yourself, “I meant to do that.” 

“Sure you did,” he muses before taking a bite of the mozzarella stick smothered in marinara sauce. 

“I did.”

“I believe you.” 

“I-”

It seems the Universe is in the business of interrupting you two. As if it seems all that hope and potential flourishing in the space between you two and decides that simply won’t do. As if it’s too much. 

Maybe it is. But maybe, just maybe, you’re enjoying too much. 

Suddenly, before you can even finish your sentence or grab for your ball, the lights of the alley have dimmed. A few spotlights over the alleys themselves light up, erratically waving patches of light over the shining floor as the music that had been playing overhead cuts out to be replaced with some poor employee’s voice. 

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen-” you and Eddie share a confused glance, “-The time is officially ten o’clock, meaning nineties night has officially begun! Have fun, and enjoy yourselves as we throw you back to the decade of Nirvana and Beanie Babies for the rest of the night with these straight jams.” 

Your face scrunches up in a comical cringe before the buzzing static of the speaker can even cut out and the beginning lines of Say My Name by Destiny’s Child begins to play. 

You aren’t entirely sure of how it happens. Maybe it’s all the playfulness in there, in all that electric teasing at the tip of Eddie’s tongue and all that hopelessness bubbling up in your chest as it dawns on you of the fact you were finally on a proper date with Eddie. Maybe it’s simply a good night for you to continue to make a fool of yourself, and Eddie sees it as a chance he’ll always be right there with you, prepared to make a scene as he follows your lead. 

He stands up to approach you where you’re still rooted beside the rack, matching your own grin that blooms genuinely at the sound of the song. 

It was one of your favorite’s. A small fact about yourself you don’t think you’ve ever told Eddie – that you can remember. 

It’s small, at first. Just mouthing along to the first verse as he moves towards you, recognizing that excitement lighting up in you, shimmying his shoulders ever so slightly. He looks like an idiot – he’s absolutely your idiot. 

“Did you know it was nineties night?” you mumble as he gets closer, shaking your head slightly.

“Stevie might have mentioned something about you enjoying nineties nostalgia,” he drawls, still taking sure steps towards you. 

“Did you ask him for advice for our first date, Eddie?” 

“No,” he scoffs quickly, finally close enough to grab you gently by your hips. He’s nowhere near manhandling you, but it’s still reminding you of the game, of the hunt, at play. You’re his prey and he’s officially making his move. Carelessly, nonchalantly. “He mentioned it ages ago. When they were trying to convince me you weren’t all bad.” 

Your smile widens, “Was this around the time I threw a glass at your head, by chance?” 

“Maybe.” 

The dulcet instrumental of the song continues on overhead, beginning to pick up in beat, making you nod your head along as Eddie finally starts to tug you closer. 

You’re in public, and you both should know better than to make absolute fools of yourselves, but it doesn’t seem to matter when all you can really see is him. 

Your friends had also spent ages trying to convince you that Eddie wasn’t all bad, but you’d always known that much. You’d seen glimpses of the good in him from that very first night. When he’d made you feel welcome, when he’d given you a life-preserver to cling to when you’d felt most out of your element. You knew that Eddie Munson was one of those people who had a hardwired habit of trying to make people feel welcome.

Even in a room full of people, when you’d be non-stop embarrassing yourself endlessly. 

All his jests had been further proof, but when he sees your rock on your heels as you enjoy the music, he takes it a step further. He grabs one of your hands with his free one, keeping a hold of your waist, encouraging all your giddiness over the song. Every single person in the establishment could be staring at the two of you – you didn’t care. 

When he starts dramatically mouth along to the chorus of the song, swinging you around slightly, it takes very little provocation for you to join in with him. 

You both could’ve taken a step further, and properly sang along in the most obnoxious voices possible, but you don’t. There’s still the slightest blanket of security there as Eddie keeps the antics mostly silent, reserving his dramatic reenactments of vocal runs for your eyes only. Even yanking your hand up close to his mouth, as though it was a microphone, as he swings you around again. You quickly become a giggling disarray, hardly able to keep up your own footing, eyes squinting with joy and what must be the messiest and ugliest smile possible showing off all your teeth. The type of smile and laughter you’d normally try to hide on instinct. The kind of smile you cover up. 

But you can’t, because Eddie is keeping his sturdy grip on your hands with his own, and he’s drinking in every second of your joy. He’s vibrant as he watches the way he’s entertaining you. Shamelessly staring, making his antics falter. 

“Baby, say my name,” he purposefully sings along dramatically, quietly but terribly off-key.

You can’t help but let out a snort, “Eddie, you’re an idiot.” 

He ignores you, and continues to give you your own private concert, switching rapidly between singing the main song and the backup vocals, which only makes your stomach further ache with laughter. 

This is what you’d been yearning for the last year. This silly side of him, an absolute fool who couldn’t care less about the stares of others. 

The seductive side of him was enticing. The honest version of him nice. But this side of him? Carefree, rowdy, indiscreet? It may be your favorite yet. 

Only the sound of a nearby teen couple mocking you two break the moment, just as you’ve begun to jokingly whisper-sing back into Eddie’s pretend microphone made of your joined fists. They make what must be vomiting noises, and you catch the tail end of one of them jokingly poking a finger towards their outstretched tongue as you finally sigh deeply. 

You should probably feel embarrassed. Later on, when you find yourself in bed later tonight and attempt to find some rest, you’ll probably ruminate and burn yourself alive with all the embarrassment. But not right now; not with your boy still in front of you, smiling just as desperately wide as you were. 

His dimples would probably consume him if you let him go on any longer. 

“Eddie,” you choke out through residual laughter, tugging your hands free as the song starts to fade out. You make no move to remove yourself from him, though. Your arms find home around his shoulders, hands splayed just below the nape of his neck, “People are staring.” 

“Good,” he snipes back, finally dropping the act but not the glee, “Probably entranced by how pretty you look right now.” 

“Pretty? I probably look like a loser. They’re probably already engraving a trophy for world’s ugliest smile-”

“Oh, don’t do that,” his forehead falls against yours, rolling his eyes, “Shut up and take the compliment. I love your smile.” 

There’s something unspoken there. He loves your smile, yes, but he’s also been denied of it for a very long year. It’s the first step of making it up to you, making up for lost time. 

Making a fool out of himself, just to see that goddamn smile. 

With your arms around his neck, his forehead pressed against yours and the tip of his nose bumping yours, the game of bowling is all but forgotten. Even the teens, still side-eyeing the two of you, can be pushed aside in your mind. 

All your insecurities of the night that have crept in the shadows become insignificant. You don’t care how many dates Eddie has been on before you, you don’t care that you’ve clearly become a prey caught in his web. You don’t even care about the way you’re losing. 

It’s the perfect first date. When one of his hands wander, playing with the hem of your skirt, knuckles and rings brushing against bare skin, it’s perfect. 

“Hey,” you whisper, “I’ve got a question.” 

“I have an answer.” 

“You sound very sure there, big guy.” 

“I am sure,” he pulls his face away just a bit, but his gentle touch against your thigh lings. The other hand stays warm against your lower back, keeping you pressed up against him, “What’s up, sweetheart?” 

Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken.

Hearing him say it out-loud will still be nice, though. 

“Does this mean we’re official?” you breathe out, trying to cling to all your bravery and not let it slip away, “Like – God, I sound like a high schooler right now – does this mean we’re… you know…”

“Dating?” he’s grinning, unable to hide his giddiness. 

“Yeah. Dating.” 

The hand tracing circles on your exposed outer thigh rises up to your cheek, brushing along it as he tucks a bit of your hair back. You swear you see it shaking out of the corner of your eye. 

“I sure would like to be,” it was shaking. You know it surely, because his voice is as well. Vulnerable and honest, just how you like him, “We don’t have to tell the others, we can take it slow, but-”

“But we’re dating.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement – an affirmation. You and Eddie Munson, the man you swore you hated just over a week ago, were dating. 

He only nods, and you consider the way that his dimples might just swallow you whole instead of him. 

Not enemies, not friends – lovers. It has quite the nice ring to it. 

“Well, in that case,” you finally pull away, dropping your arms slowly and letting your fingers catch on the chain of the necklace he currently wears. A red guitar pick, something you’ll surely learn the story behind soon enough. “Better go and roll that fourth strike, boyfriend.” 

His head rolls back, and a joking groan falls from his lips as his neck stretches and nearly distracts you momentarily, “Don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re making fun of me, you little shit.” 

Another laugh falls from your lips as you step around him, quirking an eyebrow. Perfect first date, indeed. 

“Get used to it, Munson.”

“I plan to, Sweetheart.”

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

#ghost's stories #beyond the hours #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #their love language is just being mean to each other i'll be honest #i've been nervous about posting extra content about them for a while but save the leaves #i might revamp the masterlist #also side note but i also think reader's outfit would totally get a scolding solely because that is not safe attire for riding on a bike #eddie should have shoved her into his jacket and scowled about it but he's just easily distracted by how pretty he finds her

[chocsra]

✧ "YOU CLING TO YOUR PAPERS AND PENS;

(wait until you like me again)"

☆ synopsis ↺: your ex, chuuya nakahara drunk calls you, only to realise you're all he ever wants. (based off arianas song: we can't be friends (wait until you like me again)

☆ content ↺: angst, slight stormbringer spoilers, swearing

Haunted - (of a place) frequented by a ghost.

—You were no ghost, Chuuya knew that. But in the rise of the sun, and awakening of the moon, he was haunted.

No, he didn't feel haunted. He's convinced he is, even if the fuel to propel those kinds of shitty thoughts is getting drunk on days when he should be resting.

—

"I want to burn every memory of you."

Chuuya murmurs under his breath, gloved fingers twirling the base of the wine glass to stimulate his turbulent thoughts—vibrant emotions that swish in the swell of his chest.

"You'd have to burn your own skin." A sweet voice breaks through the bitter taste of the red wine dissolving on his tongue. The statement and hollowness of your voice make him sharply turn behind him. Nothing. Just his empty office, the window before it, the cold air dancing around his tensed-up figure. Your absence evocative him.

Chuuya exhales sharply, a chill running up his spine. "My own skin?.." He takes a slim hand to card his russet locks in a cold confusion, scoffing just a bit. "Shit."

The mafioso leans back in the leather seat of his chair, before pouring the last of his wine bottle into the glass. Patting down his bolo tie and white dress shirt, he decides to waste this night drowning in red wine. A heavenly distraction from the reality of your hauntings, or the reality of your absence.

18k worth of alcoholic beverages wasted, down in the trash. Inaudible words conform on the curve of his lips, words of plea. It was a huge contrast to when Chuuya left you. "I'm sorry, really am.." he whispers, remnants of his scarlet wine ghosting over his lips. Fedora placed atop his head, covering his face, Chuuya lazily took out his phone, punching in his password with the messy coordination of his gloved fingers.

You're here, that's the thing.

Your number.

The mafia executive takes a shy and longing peek at your contact. Your last call 3 months ago, your profile picture stained with an old photo of you kissing his knuckles with an innocent smile tugging on your lips, and his thumb hovering over the 'call' button. Even in this drunken state, in the back of Chuuya's mind, he knew calling you would be audacious and pathetic. Especially when he left you first, but in the front of his mind, all he wanted was you. To hear your voice, either empty or full anger, or your voicemail, polite and concise, to hear the humanity that he lost by losing you.

The winter night

Chuuya presses on the call button, his screen lighting up and ringing. No real expectation that you were going to pick up, considering the time and caller. In the sea of his heart, that dreadful feeling was fought back by the artistic shuffle of his delusions. His once romantic poems chanted a mantra for you to pick up, that you were going to pick up the phone, not your ghost.

Chuuya's brows furrow, planting a line in the middle of his glabella. On this chilly night, where the usual jazz tunes of ensembles played in the Port Mafia's lobbies, musky scents and a hint of jasmine, and the click and clatter of heels and dress shoes..

My heart grieves;

..Chuuya feels himself yearning. Yearning for something more than this. The scent of home, your articles of clothing, your skin. He wants back the memory he wants to burn so badly, to smell the smoke and die on that same hill..

Greives without reason…

.."Please pick up." He feels himself pleading. Chuuya may tell himself you're all he wants right now, alcohol running wild in his noggin. However, he questions if he even knows what he needs..

My heart is rusting, turning purple.

.."Hi, you've reached [Y/N]. Thanks for calling, can't answer at the moment though. But if you leave a message I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Beep.

The night ends as Chuuya gently shuts off his phone.

But his first dream starts once enough alcohol is in his system.

They say the mind blocks out traumatizing memories to save itself from despondency. Nakahara Chuuya dreams, but he cannot grasp to remember that concept. Maybe, it's awful memories from his childhood or hallucinations from the children of the Sheep, or the Flags; Albatross, Doc, Pianoman, Iceman and Lippman.

"I'm sorry, if I stay with you, you'll just get hurt."

As if he was restricted in the ocean of his mind, Chuuya sees you and himself in your living room.

"I won't! You can send your bodyguards for protection, it's fine."

A constricted groan pulls from Chuuya's throat as he stares at the couch, wooden flooring, and anything but your pleading face. He remembers this all too well, the evening you separated. It was when Dazai left the mafia, and Chuuya continued to see his men drop like flies day after day from just his job alone. Apart from the other half of his soul disappearing completely, every piece of humanity he built up came crashing down on the body that his older brother called 2383 lines of code.

"It's not other people, it's myself! Don't you fuckin' get it?!"

A piercing silence fills the room. Aside from Chuuya's heart dropping at his own hurtful words, he tries to shut himself up, for looking at the way your eyes conform from pleading to understanding was all too much.

His voice cracking from the boiling misery in the pit of his stomach, Chuuya continues to look down, refusing to meet your teary eyes.

"You won't gain shit by being with me. I'm a monster, [Y/N]. I'm sorry."

The mafioso stares right at your pitiful figure, crystal tears poking the corners of your eyes. Like the hauntingly beautiful ghost he's ever seen through tunnel vision, Chuuya hasn't seen your truthful humanity in so long. For he saw you—a figment of himself, as he saw himself; inhuman.

...

"I'll always love you."

Chuuya snaps awake on his office chair, rays of sunshine ghosting over his ivory skin.

Pant.. Pant.

The man's eyes gaze at the loose ends of his office: the empty wine bottle, his dishevelled clothing, and the same, corporate-filled air surrounding him. Then, his phone.

2 missed calls.

Chuuya inhales sharply.

Perhaps it was the remnants of his dreadful hangover that took over him, that made Chuuya make the stupidest decision the Port Mafia has ever. But, his drunk words were his sober thoughts and, he wanted you back.

From [Y/N] [L/N].

Sent 7:35 AM — "Are you okay?"

And so, he swiftly grabbed his overcoat and dashed out of his office.

—

Mwah!

"I, Nakahara Chuuya, vow to love you forever and ever."

The man, bent down on one knee kisses the back of your hand teasingly. Chuuya Nakahara always took it next level, his grand gestures and sophisticated aura made him all the more appealing. That also meant planting an abundance more kisses on your fingers and knuckles.

You two had this unspoken code for each other: that hand kisses were an extremely valuable thing. Since Chuuya believes his hands are the ignition for Corruption, and are usually used for destruction, you could've chosen to have done anything with his ungloved hands to avenge the lives he's taken; but instead, you choose to kiss them.

"You're being corny again," you giggle, pointing to the bouquet in your hand—irises. "you even got me flowers."

You hit his head, huffing. "Hey!"

The mafioso smirks, chuckling. "I think you should be proud of yourself though," He teases, rubbing your hand gently, "you finally cooked something other than instant noodl—

Thwack!

—

In a disorienting manner, Chuuya hops off his motorbike at your workplace. Inhaling softly as he holds a bouquet of irises. All kinds of turbulent thoughts ran wild in his head, especially since he didn't get to shower yesterday. The man patted down his clothes and fixed his fair, adjusting his wrist to check his watch.

8:54.

Your work starts at 9:00 sharp.

Just as he's rushing to adjust his raven collar and fedora, the sight of your hair and work uniform catches his eye.

"Wait!"

—

Distance, timing and expectations.

The great adversaries of love.

A person cannot change distance or timing, but expectations are self-inflicted.

Chuuya felt like you were always going to expect more from him because he felt like he lacked in every way besides destruction. He expected that he was going to hurt you after Dazai left the Port Mafia, like a lingering spirit after they've lost their other half. Chuuya was responsible for inflicting negative 'what if's because of his own insecurities, losing you in the process.

He expected because you wanted him to stay back then, you were going to want that forever.

Because that's clearly not the case right now.

—

The redhead finally sees you in the sea of passersby, a clear image of your smiling face, pretty outfit, and glowing aura.

You stood out to him just like before.

So did the man beside you, with a bouquet of daffodils.

He took a fancy bow and kissed the back of your hand, handing over the flowers.

Oh, how irises—the flower of light, brought nothing more to him than darkness.

As crystal tears paint his eyes, Chuuya ponders the ache in his heart. He was truly foolish to believe more in your ghost, than you.

✧ chocsra™

#chocsra #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd chuuya #bsd x reader #chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x you #nakahara chuuya x reader #chuuya bsd #chuuya oneshot #chuuya angst #ex chuuya #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya Nakahara angst #we can't be friends ariana #WOOHOO I POSTED #chuya x reader #chuya x you #chuya angst #chuya bsd #chuya nakahara #chuya x y/n

[writers-potion]

Hiiii

I don't know how to make the two love interest meet. I don't know if you understand without it actually being awkward or flat

Meet-Cute Ideas

Before I dive into meet-cute examples, let's look at some general tips for meet-cutes:

Four Different Kinds of Meet-Cutes

Pull/Pull Meet-Cutes where the two characters are instantly drawn toward one another. 

Push/Push Meet-Cutes where they are opposites that push away from each other at first. 

Push/Pull Meet-Cutes where one character falls for someone with no reciprocal interest (at first).  

Neutral/Nervous Meet-Cutes where neutrality and nervousness create a cute scenario for characters destined to fall in love. 

How to Avoid Cliche Meet-Cutes!

Subvert audience expectations by making them believe a cliche meet-cute is coming, and then adding a creative twist to make yours stand apart. 

Place meet-cutes in unique locations. 

Put characters in different scenarios and situations. 

Meet Cute Ideas

A is in the waiting room of a hospital while their grandmother goes through a routine procedure. B walks in and sits across from A, head in hands, obviously distraught — “I lost the baby,” B whispers.

You accidentally sprayed them with yogurt when you opened the lid the wrong way.

Studying at the same table in the library, you see they are pulling the same study resources as you.

They mistook your bowling ball for theirs in the shared ball return.

They caught you when you slipped on ice and nearly fell over.

Accidentally stepping on their heel in a crowded room.

You both do the side-to-side dance when you try to pass them in the grocery store aisle.

Humming a song and having them begin to hum with you without thinking.

Tripping while getting into your seat in the theater and spilling your popcorn on them.

You matched with them in an online chat roulette room.

Both of you wore the same ugly Christmas sweater to a party.

A likes to visit the local humane society to say hello to the animals. On this particularly normal day, something especially abnormal happens — one of the dogs speaks. “Help me get out of here, will ya?”

A finds a book of magic in their grandparents attic. A takes it to a Wiccan shop and hesitantly asks B, the shopkeeper, to take a look at it. B takes one look at it and in hushed tones asks, “Where did you get this?”

They cover the small amount of change you are short on for a purchase.

You both go to the counter, having the same type of coffee called for pick-up.

A is walking down the street and notices B, who is staring at a large graffiti mural, tears streaming silently down their face. The mural reads, “you are alive.”

They pull you out of the way from the busy bike path.

They see your ice cream drop to the ground and buy you a new one.

You see your favorite book on their desk during class and ask them about it afterwards.

You walk out of a dressing room asking if the outfit suits you, but it's not your friend waiting outside the room like you thought.

Almost spilling a drink because you met their eyes and got distracted thinking how cute they are.

Getting paired up in a line dance.

Happening to sit next to each other on a park bench, reading the same book.

Being paired up at a beginners ballroom dancing class.

Sharing an umbrella at a bus stop as it snows.

They get your attention and return your phone that fell out of your pocket.

You help catch their dog when the leash slips from their hand.

They ask you to pretend to be their date at a bar to prevent an ex from talking to them.

You help pull a loose thread off the back of their shirt.

Meeting their gaze after throwing a coin in a wishing fountain.

Sitting next to each other at a very boring meeting and bonding over your shared lack of attention.

You wear matching masks at a masquerade party.

Holding the elevator for them and getting off on the same floor.

Bumping into each other while trying to pass through a doorway.

They jump into your car breathless and tell you to keep driving.

You throw a snowball at a friend but miss and hit them instead.

The two of you wear costumes from the same fandom at a costume party.

You help a lost child find their parent together.

Walking into the incorrect bathroom and meeting eyes with them before quickly realizing the mistake.

You help catch their hat as it flies away in the wind.

The person sitting next to you on the train is wearing clothes that match your lucky colors from your fortune that morning in the paper.

They knock on your apartment door instead of your neighbor's.

You both reach for the last umbrella in the store on a rainy day.

You fix your hair in the reflection of a window to see them smiling at you through it.

You get scared by them in a corn maze and lash out and hit them, quickly followed by apologizes.

A spots B writhing on the ground in pain and rushes over to help them — but it turns out that B was actually just filming for a prank video. A gets so mad and upset that B is forced to calm them down as a crowd is beginning to form around them.

Texting the incorrect number but continuing the conversation.

A stops at the pub near their house to pick up some food on the way home (they make the best fries in the neighbourhood) when A receives a phone call – and some terrible news. A starts crying and B, the bartender, asks A what’s wrong. As A opens up to them, B gives A a drink on the house, and helps talk them through it.

You both reach for the final donut in the case at a bakery.

Getting paired up on an amusement park that requires even numbered riders.

#writing #creative writing #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #creative writers #helping writers #poets and writers #let's write #writeblr #resources for writers #writing problems #writing prompt #writing process #writing progress #writing practice #writing community #writing advice #writing inspiration #on writing #writing tips #writerscommunity #writer #writers of tumblr #writers block #writers community #writers life #writer things #writer on tumblr #writer stuff #writer problems

[mi-i-zori]

Breathe

Cod - Nikto x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS : Nikto drinks blood like a starved beast.

WARNINGS : NSFW - 18+. Canon-typical violence, blood (Reader has periods - emphasis on period blood), Nikto (a warning in himself), blood/period kink (?), poetic smut, fluff.

Author’s Note : I have no idea why I keep using poetic sentences whenever I try to write smut, but hey. Guess its just how I am. A filthy romantic at heart.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform.

Nikto licks blood off his fingers on the daily like a starved beast, savouring a taste he knows will never fully satiate his hunger.

It does not matter if the crimson nectar is his or not ; he keeps engraving its flavour deep into his mind. It leaves a warm, metallic feeling in the back of his throat - one similar to the one lining the surface of the gun that was repeatedly shoved past his teeth after its bullets were lodged in-between his ribs, the thick ropes circling his wrists harvesting his own, personal flavour directly from his veins.

Both life and death flow past his tongue, carving countless nightmares in the few hours of sleep weighing heavy on his subconscious - dragging a never ending series of shuddering breaths up his oesophagus whenever he wakes.

He can never escape them, for reality is just as bitter as his dreams. So he drowns it it blood, gunpowder and alcohol, turning away from the shredded screams coming from his reflection in the mirror.

Until that moment.

Your face is pulled into a grimace as you tell him about the way one of your stupid coworkers shamelessly blabbered about how dirty he thinks period blood is, filling your head with somber thoughts at the idea that yours is quickly approaching.

You don’t see how his eyes light up when they fall upon the date circled in red on the calendar of your phone.

And it is only when his lips meet your bleeding walls for the first time, lapping at the tears running down the inside of your thighs with a newfound reverence blossoming on his tongue, that the spectre in his head finally goes silent.

You look like divine absolution, he thinks, watching with rapt attention as moans flow from your lips like a holy river. Lust fills his mind, body and soul as he wonders if edging you further would allow him to taste the stars running through your veins. Would the world end up falling apart with you ?

The thought of the Earth shattering like glass against the echo of your climax fuels the fire burning in his stomach.

So he keeps staining his mouth red with your blood and slick. War-torn hands hold your legs still around his head as his fingers pull at your flesh, moulding it to his will - and he growls loudly against your core, the waves of a supernova bursting through your entire body as a new orgasm shakes the very foundations of your universe.

Is it the third ? The fourth ? The fifth ? You stopped counting a few seconds after his mouth first latched on the sacred flower blooming between your legs, too lost in the song of your own pleasure.

Nikto doesn’t need anything more to find his own release. He then crashes on top of you as you both fall from your high, lips sharing the last remnants of your erratic, scorching breaths.

He lays there for the rest of the night, lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of your heartbeat - your divinity dancing on the back of his tongue.

The constellations lining your mind call out to him as he sleeps, flickering with the promise of finally carrying him away from the ruins of his heart. They light up his bones from below the thorns, and he would gladly sacrifice what is left of himself if it meant you could cradle them against your breast.

The warm softness of your skin soothes the pain still lingering in his scars, and he subconsciously cages your bare form in his arms as he drifts to the world of dreams.

He can finally breathe.

#cod nikto #call of duty nikto #mwii nikto #nikto #nikto x reader #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod mw2 #x reader #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #smut #cod smut #i usually struggle when writing smut #but i wrote this so quickly #idk what possessed me #i enjoy poetic filth

[cricketnationrise]

some sentence sunday 24.4

is this thing still on?

i have a lull at work which means i have time AND brain space for actual words to get written! so pls enjoy this extra bit from my big bang fic that i'm sooooo close to finishing and really excited about. thanks everyone for the tags today and the last month, you're all below the cut bc there are so many people that have tagged me its overwhelming (affectionate).

Nora assumes that there is actual football being played based on the level of noise around her, but she’s fully focused on June and the rest of the cheerleaders for the first half of the game. The part of her brain that’s always on wonders if there’s an equation that could predict what routine June or the cheer coach will call the squad to do next. She knows there are some routines for defense and some for offense, three options for when the team scores, some more general pep and tumbling ones, and a specific routine they use whenever the marching band plays the fight song, plus a halftime routine. There’s bound to be some way to track the statistics of each and build a predictive model that’s relatively accurate, but Nora would need more data, like a lot more. She’d also need, unfortunately, a much more in-depth knowledge of football, which she absolutely refuses to engage in. So while the math likely checks out, Nora isn’t going to be the one to do it. Alex keeps her from dying of boredom for the rest of the game, happy to snark with her about the other team (she’s not dumb enough to talk shit about her own team while smack dab in the middle of the bleachers), make up fake names for all the fancy football plays, and generally treat the marching band like their own personal karaoke machine, belting out the lyrics of everything from Carry On My Wayward Son and All I Do Is Win to Seven Nation Army and Tequila and every song in between. She even gets into the spirit of the whole thing enough to dance like a maniac when the drumline goes ape-shit at the end of the third quarter. She catches the pleased disbelief on June’s face when they make eye contact over fancy flying drumsticks and tumbling cheerleaders and tries not to blush in response. In fact, Nora’s almost won over to the idea of sporting events in general and football in the specific for the atmosphere alone by the time the game ends.  So it’s even more fucking annoying when Evan goes and ruins it.

sincerely, thank you for the tags while i've been drowning in sets and stage effects and scenery strikes and six day/ten hour weeks for the last month i saw them and appreciated! it was a delight seeing all your wip wednesdays and sentence sundays and last lines - definitely helped keep me sane!

@kiwiana-writes @celeritas2997 @cha-melodius @rockyroadkylers @inexplicablymine

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @cactusdragon517 @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @magicandarchery @leaves-of-laurelin

@itsmaybitheway @indestructibleheart @tailsbeth-writes @porcelainmortal @anincompletelist

@firenati0n @three-drink-amy @adreamareads @wordsofhoneydew @14carrotghoul

@sherryvalli @ships-to-sail @xthelastknownsurvivorx @affectionatelyrs @rmd-writes

@suseagull04 @iboatedhere @onthewaytosomewhere @getmehighonmagic @heysweetheart-writes

@happiness-of-the-pursuit @tintagel-or-cockleshells

and tagging: @sparklepocalypse @dumbpeachjuice @missanniewhimsy @the-lincyclopedia @montrealmadison

@cheesecurdsgravyandfries @everwitch-magiks @anchoredarchangel @smc-27 @clottedcreamfudge

@orchidscript

plus an open tag if anyone needs/want the excuse to post as well

-💜🦗

#cricket writes #some sentence sunday #rwrb #a royally big bang #junora #pov nora holleran #can we tell i used to be in marching band? #plus my brother was on the drumline #so i've got OPINIONS

[ingravinoveritas]

You've probably got a thousand things to say about the latest "The Kiss" info, but I have been thinking about it all morning, especially about the way there seems to be no need to acknowledge it between the two of them. They just went for it, and then they didn't feel the need to talk about it. Idk about everyone else but to me that just feels like to them, this was just a kiss among perhaps many. They knew the song and dance around it already, so there was no need to mark it as different other than it being in characters rather than out of.

But those are just my thoughts. So excited to hear about yours if you have any :3

Hi there! Oh, yes…yes, I do have so many thoughts about Michael talking about the kiss, and The Assembly in general.

Something I'm not sure I've mentioned on here (at least not in a long time) is that five years ago (in June of 2019), I wrote a thread on Twitter about fanfic and why it was so important to me as an autistic woman, as well as the role it played when I began to discover my sexuality. I received a lovely comment from Neil, and on top of that, Michael reposted it from me, which was entirely unexpected but delightful.

So when I first heard about The Assembly, I was anxious, apprehensive, and uncomfortable--mainly because of how the autistic/ND interviewers would potentially be depicted on screen. By the end of the show, however, I was in tears--and for once, in a good way. Michael did not let me down for one single second (which I did not think he would), and I loved how he and everyone else just held space for each other during the group singalong to "Here Comes the Sun."

(The only thing I haven't liked is seeing some of the response on social media that suggests Michael did an extraordinary thing just by talking to autistic/disabled people like we are human beings. It shouldn't be special when he or anyone else does that, but it's depicted that way because it is unfortunately still so rare...)

In terms of Michael talking about the kiss with David, it was of course so lovely to see his expressions and listen to him talk about what it was like. For me it was the fact that he actually didn't say that much that was so revealing. It was perfectly in line with what was reported about what Michael said a month ago, about it being "everything you dream of." With the Assembly, we could now see and hear him talking about it and that same carefulness with which he gave the previous answer--a carefulness borne not out of wanting to hide something, but wanting to keep something about the kiss private. Just for him and David.

I also feel like some folks might have misunderstood what he meant when he said, "We never talk about it," though. I think the unspoken part after that is, "We never talk about it, not because we don't want to, but because we don't need to"...

And I agree with you that it was exactly that--one kiss out of many, something so tried and true that neither David nor Michael had to give it much thought. It also makes me think of previous discussions about comments from David about how, between the sunglasses and the contact lenses for Crowley, he couldn't see shit, yet he only needed one take to find Michael's lips. It's like needing a GPS when you drive someplace new, but then it quickly becomes familiar, and after a while you don't need anyone to tell you how to get there. Because you already know the way home.

Talking about the kiss like this almost gives a feeling of domesticity, of something deeply intimate, beyond the physical. I'm thinking of it as well in tandem with David's comments from prior to the BAFTAs, about it being "another day at work" and saying that Michael had "brushed his teeth." There are so many examples from movies or TV shows where a couple wakes up in bed together in the morning and when one person goes in for a kiss, the other stops them and says "Not until you've brushed your teeth" (or something to that effect). And it just makes me picture them getting up to film that day and sharing a good morning kiss, after which David gently reminds Michael to brush his teeth before he gets to the set. (And he does, because Michael never forgets anything David tells him.)

The last thing that I wanted to mention that stood out to me was Michael talking about how moved everyone was--both the people who watched the kiss be filmed on set, and the fans who watched it in the show. You could actually hear the way his voice caught in his throat, hear him become emotional just from remembering that. And it made me think back to when GO 2 came out last summer, in the midst of the Writers Strike (and then SAG-AFTRA) and how Michael was probably reading all of the fan reactions online and feeling very much the same way, even though he couldn't say anything about it.

So it becomes even more poignant and compelling that now, when he finally can say anything he wants at all about the kiss, he gives us so little. Or maybe just enough, with a small, knowing smile on his face. Because he's found a boy he likes, and he has his photo.

Those are my thoughts on Michael talking about the kiss on The Assembly. I know it's been a week now, but hopefully everyone has had time to process it too, so I'd love to hear what you all think. Thank you for writing in! x

#kenizz #reply post #michael sheenw #welsh seduction machine #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #the assembly #good omens 2 #also that Michael and David don't have to talk about the kiss when they can just kiss each other anytime they like #and that says everything that needs to be said #i think Michael has been telling us exactly who he is for a long time now #David's love is lifting Michael higher than he's ever been lifted before #with thanks and apologies to Jackie Wilson #kissing #ineffable lovers #discourse #gif by me

[bidisasterevankinard]

Fave lines game 💫

rules: share your favourite lines or paragraph you've written from one of your fics, posted or wip.

Tagged by @neverevan 💙😘

I'm so in love with my I wanna dance with you tonight (and for the rest of my life) bucktommy fic and I love next lines way too much:

Buck loves the mood they set right now. Even their first time never felt so slow and tender. And it was really tender. Tommy made sure of it. But now? Now it feels more tender, gentle, more emotional and meaningful. They had sex a lot, but tonight it feels different. Buck loves this mood.

The song still playing in the background, singing about falling in love, only makes it all better. It makes him brave to say the next thing.

“Make love to me, Tommy”

Tagging @wikiangela @diazsdimples @devirnis @the-likesofus @theotherbuckley @rogerzsteven @evanbi-ckley @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @dangerpronebuddie @daffi-990 @honestlydarkprincess @hippolotamus @monsterrae1 @loserdiaz @cal-daisies-and-briars @thewolvesof1998

@tizniz @watchyourbuck @bigfootsmom

#fic: I want to dance with you tonight (and for the rest of my life) #my wips #bucktommy #tuck #tevan #kinkley #tommy kinard #evan buckley #evan buck buckley #911 #911 abc

[chrysalis-the-butterfly]

angel dust :3

Send me a character and I’ll list:

Favourite thing about them: "Thing", singular? I can't put just one thing! There are too many things! The humour in his dialogue. The songs he sings. The fact that he's both an ex-mafia member and a femme gay man. The fact that he's got a twin sister in Heaven. The changes we see in his character over the course of Season 1. The bond he forms with Husk. The dynamic he has with Charlie (and the others in the hotel). The angst of his relationship with Valentino. The voice. The hair. The eyes. The arms. The chest fluff. The outfits. The dance moves. I just love him so much.

Least favourite thing about them: Well, the way he acted towards Husk initially was, let's face it, sexual harassment. Just because it was a response to trauma doesn't make it okay. I appreciate that Angel doesn't bother Husk like that after "Masquerade" - he still makes sex jokes, but now they're less about targeting people and making them feel uncomfortable - but I still think it would have been good for Angel to explicitly acknowledge that his behaviour wasn't acceptable and apologise to Husk.

Favourite line: (porn voice) "I've been a bad boy, and I need a big strong daddy to put me in my place..." (regular voice) "...on the path to redemption!"

brOTP: I like the friendship he develops with Charlie. The prequel comic "Dirty Healings" shows that she sees potential in him that he doesn't see at first. He initially only joins the hotel for the free rent and to get away from Valentino, but then he comes to genuinely care about Charlie, as she does for him. That's nice to see.

Also, Angel and Emily haven't interacted yet, but I think they would have a cute friendship if they did!

OTP: Huskerdust! I've seen so much cute fanart and read so many hurt/comfort fics of the two together that I can't help but love this ship. I enjoy thinking about them being together and how they could change each other for the better. Having Husk around to take care of Angel would definitely be good for him.

But Angel's trauma isn't going to go away overnight, so that'll be a lot to deal with. And Husk is also pretty judgemental, so if Angel ever has a relapse and Husk treats him too harshly for it, that could put a rift between them. Angst potential!

Everyone talks about how Husk is changing Angel, helping him to be more honest, but I do think Angel is changing Husk too. Husk certainly seems to drink less after "Masquerade". And if Husk was somehow able to help Angel out of his contract, that would be redemption for his own participation in the cruel Overlord system.

Angel and Husk are not perfect people, but they could be perfect for each other.

nOTP: Any ship that involves pairing Angel with a woman. He's gay. He wouldn't be interested.

As for Valangel ... look, I am interested in exploring the backstory - I want to find out how Angel met Valentino and what led to him signing his soul away. But I definitely do not want Angel to stay with that moth. That pairing is way too toxic.

Random headcanon: Both Anthony and Molly had albinism when they were alive, and that's why they're so pale in the afterlife. Anthony also had a visual impairment, so his demon form overcompensated by giving him extra eyes.

Unpopular opinion: Some fans love seeing Angel with all six arms out and six guns blazing, but I'm not so keen on it. That's a personal thing, really - I just don't like guns and don't think they have any reason to exist. All they do is kill people, and killing people is wrong. If Angel's got all six arms out, he should be using them to give Husk a back massage instead.

Song I associate with them: Besides "Poison"? Then "All You Wanna Do" from SIX: The Musical. They're both super-catchy pop songs about the dark topic of sexual abuse sung by characters associated with the colour pink. I watched the Hazbin Hotel pilot for the first time on the same weekend I went to see SIX: The Musical, so that's a neat coincidence!

Favourite picture of them:

#hazbin hotel #angel dust #anthony hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel anthony #molly hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel molly #husk hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #huskerdust #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel valentino #valangel #charlie morningstar #emily hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel emily #hazbin hotel masquerade #masquerade hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel pilot #dirty healings #six the musical #katherine howard

[nicole-timey-wimey-stuff]

Southern & Slow

Joel Miller x Reader

Shorter Drabble based on Luke Bryan’s song Southern and Slow

Warnings - reader described as female, soft smut, piv, sex, talk of sex, mentions of pregnancy and having a baby, age gap, reader late twenties 28 Joel around 48, feelings, talk of love, no outbreak au, quoting of The Notebook, my terrible writing. No use of y/n in this one.

Word count 1.6K

This song just reminded me soo much of older Joel with his loyal sweet girl.

When you love me slow and southern like a Sunday

Like muddy water rollin' by a riverbank

Like some sleepy little town, down with the moon

Livin' like honey drippin' off a spoon

Like the sun that takes an hour to get behind the water tower

'Bout the speed of watchin' wildflowers grow

Ain't but two ways this old boy's gonna go

Slow and southern, southern and slow, southern and slow

Waking up in the warm Texas sun with your gorgeous cowboy pressed up against you ………. that will never grow old. You're both still naked from last nights activities, and the feeling of his skin against yours is heavenly. You roll over so you can see his face, smiling at the sight, his hair is stuck up in every direction and curls sticking to his forehead in the sweaty Texan heat. His face looks so relaxed, frown lines almost invisible, the weight of the world off his shoulders for a little while. You loved Sunday mornings, they were always lazy, slow and intimate. They usually lead to slow, calm and lazy days, walks by the river, soft kisses, slow dancing in the kitchen, and watching the sunsets from the porch while Joel plays his guitar.

The small town you’d moved too was sleepy on Sundays, no one ever had anywhere to rush too. After you both were married Joel built you both a home, one you’d both spend the rest of your days in. You’d designed it together, you’d said you ‘want a white house with blue shutters and a room overlooking the river so I can paint’ quoting your favourite story. But Joel bless him he took it very seriously, so that’s what you got a beautiful little White House, with gorgeous pale blue shutters and a small room facing the river, where you had space to paint, draw and write.

Life was good, Joel had taken a extra day a week off work, giving more of the reigns to Tommy. Therefore giving himself a longer weekend to rest and spend time with you. You worked for a writing and editing company so you mainly worked from home, only having to go to Austen sometimes. You are also working on writing your own book, slowly but surely.

Looking at your sleeping cowboy once more you gently move a curl from his forehead, stroking down his cheek, watching as his face twitches and his eyebrows furrow. My goodness you loved him, sometimes you worry you love him a little too much, but he loves you equally so you guess it’s ok. How could you not love a man like Joel, a man who loves you so completely, who protects you, makes you laugh, sings songs for you and builds a home for you both.

When you’d first told your parents about Joel, they weren’t too sure, there was an obvious age gap and they felt you had a whole life to live. But the second they met him that all changed, they got it, understood wholeheartedly why you loved this man. Now he’s part of the family, as you are his, Sarah warmed to the idea instantly, surprising you both as you feared she would be the one to object, you were only eight years older than her. But it was Tommy and Maria who took a bit longer to warm up to you, but seeing how happy you made Joel everyone eventually accepted your relationship, five years in now and you both couldn’t be happier.

Joel stirs awake mumbling “Good mornin’ darlin’” nuzzling his face into your neck, “Morning baby” you hum. Bringing your hand to run through his curls, slowly scratching his scalp. He lets out a contented groan, causing you to smirk to yourself. Joel begins tentatively kissing your neck, finding your sweet spot and gently sucking. You moan arching into him, the sheet barely covering you both slipping down around your thighs now, Joel took that as enough of a reason to slowly slide on top of you, his hands stroking and grabbing at any skin he could find.

“I can never get over how soft you feel under me sweetheart” Joel begins, his hand now sliding between your thighs “soo soft and smooth and wet for me huh” he continues bringing his mouth back up to yours, licking slowly into your mouth, his tongue caressing yours. His fingers glide through your slick, bringing it up to rub slow circles around your clit, causing you to gasp into his mouth.

No matter how much time goes by, every time with Joel is like the first, every time makes you erupt with butterflies and quiver under his expert touch. You arch even closer to him, moulding your body to his as you begin rocking your hips into his hand. “Needy this mornin’ aren’t we darlin’ don’t worry I’ve got you” he hums, inserting two fingers into your heat, and using his palm against your clit. He finds your toe curing spot instantly and precisely, using the come hither motion while simultaneously rubbing your bud “Joel fuck! I’m gonna cum” you moan, “That’s it baby let go for me” Joel instructs, and you do you cum hard around his fingers, gasping into his ears.

You’re still coming down when you feel the blunt end of his cock pushing into your core, as he slowly nestles his way home. Grabbing your hand he laces his fingers with yours, kissing your palm before rolling his hips into yours. Your spare arm grabs his back for purchase, fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck. “God Joel you feel so good” you pant, “Yeah?” He asks “You’re made for me sweetheart, made for me and no one else, this pussy is mine! Only my cock can make you feel this good right baby?” He trails off while punctuating everything with deep hard thrusts. “Yes Joel all yours, I am all yours!” You mumble back then like a mantra you repeat ‘Joel Joel Joel’.

There’s no rush on these lazy mornings, he never speeds up his thrusts, just keeps the steady rhythm as he makes love to you deep and slow. “Fuck Joel I’m close, come with me” you moan, now meeting his movements with your own. “Ok baby girl shit! Almost there hang on a bit longer for me” he rasps. He kisses you passionately, his kiss matching his thrusts slow and steady, as he pulls you impossibly closer.

“Now baby! Let go for me” he pleads, hand moving between your legs once more to roll over your sensitive pearl, “Joel!!!” You whine as you come undone, pussy clamping down on his cock, Joel reaching his end simultaneously and emptying himself inside you with a low moan.

You run your hands up and down his back, while placing sweet kisses to his shoulder, pulling his head up he looks at you with such a soft and loving expression, “I love you darlin’” “I love you too” giving you a quick peck he pulls out, walking on wobbly legs to the bathroom where he turns on the shower, “Come on sweetheart, let’s clean up” he insists, pulling you up with him and carrying you to the shower.

The morning carried on lazily, your shower was spent carefully washing each other with dopey smiles, all while having long snuggles under the steaming water. You made coffee together and enjoyed drinking it on your porch, watching the river flow, and the wildflowers blow in the breeze. Before an impromptu call to Tommy, inviting him, Maria and their beautiful baby girl, over for lunch.

You stood leaning on the doorframe lovingly watching Tommy and Joel play with the baby, while Maria sat close by engaging in casual conversation with the men. You couldn’t remember when you’d last felt so content, and watching Joel play with the baby did something to you. A new sensation of butterflies coursing through your stomach. Joel looks up at you then, smiling to himself as he stands and makes his way over to you.

Wrapping his arms around you he pulls you in close, stroking a hand down your cheek. Warm pools of chocolate searching your eyes, “What do you think darlin’?” Joel hinted, nudging you and looking over at the new parents, “Huh?” You reply confused. “Should we have one? Been thinking about it a lot recently, you all round carrying my baby” Joel smirks as you gasp “Really” you stutter, shocked he’s really suggesting it. “Yeah really, I think you’d make a wonderful mother, and I’m getting on now. So if we were going to have one it would need to be now, well at least soon” he replies, obviously being completely honest.

You grin so wide your mouth ached, you’d love to have a baby with this man, but with Sarah being all grown up you didn’t think it would be in the cards for Joel, and you had accepted that, Joel would always be enough. “Your sure? Because I mean we don’t have too if you don’t really want an….” Joel cuts you off with a soft kiss “I’m sure darlin’ in fact nothing would make me happier” you grin again “Ok, yeah let’s have one” you reply, “Yeah?” He asks once more, “Yeah I’d love to have your baby Joel” you affirm. He smiles and pulls you in close again, arm over your shoulder, while watching his brother and niece.

Yeah, you loved these slow southern Sundays with your cowboy.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller age gap #joel miller x you #joel x reader #the last of us #joel x female reader

[kaleb-is-definitely-sane]

Now it's your turn :))

orchid ⇢ what’s a song you consider to be perfect?

cactus ⇢ something you’re currently learning (about)?

bamboo ⇢ do you change into a different outfit when you get home?

abelia ⇢ do you have a particular piece of jewelry you always wear or can’t part with?

daffodil ⇢ do you have siblings? if yes, in what ways do you think you’re similar to or different from them?

mahonia ⇢ what place, thing, activity inspires you most and how do you express yourself when it does?

chia ⇢ what’s an inside joke you have with someone else?

sage ⇢ what ‘medium’ of art (poetry, music, fiction, paintings, statues etc.) is the most touching to you? why do you think that is?

edelweiss ⇢ how’d you think of your url/username? what’s it associated with to you?

camellia ⇢ what were you like when you were younger? do you think you’ve changed a lot?

jasmine ⇢ do you have a movie or book you loved but will never watch/read again?

ivy ⇢ what are your ‘tells’ for your emotions and moods? how can someone tell you’re happy, annoyed, upset or tired?

chamomile ⇢ what kind of things do you like receiving as gifts?

aloe vera ⇢ what’s something (mundane) you really want to experience in life?

palm tree ⇢ do you have a fictional villain you shouldn’t like but love regardless?

nutmeg ⇢ how’s your room/home decorated? do you have a specific theme or style going on?

papyrus ⇢ if you put your ‘on repeat’ playlist on shuffle, what’s the first song that comes up? what do you like about it / associate it with?

taro ⇢ if someone called you right now to catch up, what’re the things you’d tell them about?

orchid ⇢ Oh gosh, I love sooooo many songs. A song I consider to be perfect... idk. I'll have to say Always Be My Baby by Mariah Carey because it's my current obsession lol.

cactus ⇢ The Philosophy of Love. It's so cool. The Biblical Philosophy of Desire and Knowledge, Plato's Theory of Love and Becoming, The Medieval/Arabian concept of Courtly Love. They are all sooooo cool and sooooo fascinating and I love them all dearly.

bamboo ⇢ I go to school at home so I never really leave. And when I do leave to go somewhere on the weekend or such, I take a shower when I come home.

abelia ⇢ Not really, aside from this sterling silver cross necklace I got for my birthday last year. It's really cool and I love it hehehe

daffodil ⇢ So I have 3, all sisters. I don't really think i'm that similar to my older sister. Aside from sharing the same father, we're pretty different. With my two younger sisters, I look like the older of the two, however I'm nicer like the younger one.

mahonia ⇢ I try to take inspiration from literally everything. So... anything you can imagine lol. Whenever inspriation hits me I just start talking out loud. Usually it becomes a line for a poem. And i just recite that line out loud over and over until i get more lines. And then repeat. Usually i end up with a couple stanzas, constantly editing and revising in my mind the entire time until it's perfect. Or, near perfect as it can get.

chia ⇢ Me and my baby sister (she's 8 but always the baby) will constantly recite Benedick and Beatrice's lines to each other. Especially their first conversation in the play. Much Ado About Nothing is soooooo good loll. And then with @jordie-is-definitely-sane, we have incest is wincest lol. Because I love traumatizing her hehehe

sage ⇢ haha. I can't choose either. How could anyone??? I'm an aspiring actor, poet, and author, so obviously my favorites are theatre, poetry and prose fiction. But also music, paintings, sculpting, dance, et cetera all have such splendid things to offer as well. And i would love to learn how to do them all! They're all art and they all touch somewhere hands can't: into the deepest most inner part of your being. How one can say which is individually more touching? I can't fathom.

edelweiss ⇢ It's just my name + is definitely sane. Which is definitely a lie lol. My older one's were a lot more interesting but because of that i also constantly changed them lol. This one's more basic, but i'm never changing it

camellia ⇢ I'm not sure. I was happier as a kid, I used to run around more and talk more and I had a lot more friends irl. Now? I don't really know how to hold a conversation (T-T), I definitely talk less (not because i have less to say tho lol. Trust me I could talk for hours and I do when i'm alone), I definitely don't run around as much. Tho i'm not as sad about that last one. I have started dancing in the rain again like I used to so that's good :). I still read and write, in fact I do both of those even more then when i was younger. I still find beauty in everything. I still have an incredibly idealized view of nature and childhood. I still have a deep sense of needing to be myself (who that is? idk. but i need to find it) I think deep down I'm the same person. Just, kind of mellowed. I can't think of childhood and growing up without think of Trenton Lee Stewart's Riddle of Ages; he says that he doesn’t believe we become different people as we age. No, he says he believes that we become more people. We’re still the kids we were, but we’re also the people who’ve lived all the different ages since that time. And I think that's a beautiful sentiment.

jasmine ⇢ No. Absolutely not. If I loved it, im going to watch/reread it a thousand more times.

ivy ⇢ Body language, eyes, mouth, tone, the language they use (are they talking differently then usual), hands, etc.

chamomile ⇢ Books, chocolates, sweaters/hoodies, necklaces and bracelets (i love expensive shiny stuff but also that homey handmade stuff. I eat it up), MONEY$$$$$ lol. But like seriously.

aloe vera ⇢ I just want to know and be known. Which, though it sounds really mundane to others, I think is actually one of the most special, transcendental and divine things one can do in life (can you tell I've been studying the philosophy of love lol?). I genuinely believe in the Avicenna's concept of the ennobling power of love. With all of my heart.

palm tree ⇢ I mean... I can't really think of one? I love the Percy Jackson series and I love Luke so, i guess him? I have strong thoughts about him (bbg hates the West so much but is such a western tragic hero lol), he's so fascinating as a character and even moreso as a concept lol

nutmeg ⇢ My rooms pretty basic so no lol.

papyrus ⇢ I don't have one T-T. So i just picked a random song: ICU by Coco Jones. I associate it with @mera-mann-kehne-laga. No context.

taro ⇢ I'd probably tell them that I'm writing poetry, I'm working on 2 books, and that I scored a 28 on the ACT. I'm very bad at conversation so I probably just let them talk and listen to them, ask them questions to prod them, etc.

Thank you for the ask @memory-the-unconscious <333

#ask game #this is me #personal aesthetic #kaleb aesthetic

[ratgirlcopia]

if copia had 5% more control over his life he'd just be a drag queen. that's it. like that's literally it that's what this, collectively, is all pointing toward. imperator's like Oh Thank Satanas my definitely-not-kid is a weird little fruit who belongs on a stage. i can use this to obtain ultimate power. meanwhile copia is like the autistic homeschooled religious kid who absorbed an itty bitty fraction of the actual, like, doctrine and spent most of his time looking at images of large men in the illustrated satanic bible. but is fine being the frontman because he gets to wear makeup and bedazzled shit and nun clothes.

#copiaposting #the progression of serious devotion i think the emeritus line has toward satan is sort of like. primo was genuinely invested. #secondo was also genuinely invested despite all his personal hangups getting in the way. #terzo was more like the satanic version of that kid who went to bible camp every summer and knew all the songs. #but also treated bible camp like a dating/interpersonal drama retreat. and wanted like. a high school movie experience out of it. #and copia is just like. okay i read all the stuff i was supposed to! can i go shake my ass onstage now. #like to him the satan thing is just a prerequisite for getting new outfits and being able to sing and dance and crack jokes. #i do often miss things but. i feel like in the chapters he literally never once is like “i'm doing this for satan.” not even as pretense. #he's doing this because his mom told him to first and foremost. and then secondly because he enjoys dressing up glammy and being liked. #and maybe. MAYBE satan is third. but only because there were like. a lot of really hot satans in that illustrated satanic bible.

[cha1cedony]

There is an extremely detailed Oakworthy animatic to HOT TO GO! by Chappell Roan that lives in my head. But I can’t draw and have never made an animatic so unfortunately it will never see the light of day. Maybe someday 😔 For now, it is filed away in the Brain Animatics Bank

#it could be so silly. so fun #1) it’s a cheerleading song #ish #2) so much burn-related metaphor potential. and also pizza lmao #3) ‘it’s all in my head but I want non-fiction’ literally Normal’s Teeny/Chaparral Bulldog fanfic… LOL #4) the first verse reminds me of early S2 Oakworthy.. lines about dancing together…. yess #and the second reminds me of post-canon (sad. but then they reconnect at the reunion…? 👀) #anyway ramble over #can you tell I’m procrastinating lol #<- on going inside to my long ass dress rehearsal sigh #dndads #chalcy stuff

[earthandsunandmoon]

The Tragically Hip - "At the Hundredth Meridian"

#screMing. he is my reason for living #the national park hat? swag #his head bobbing lil dances make me so happy and insane feeling #and robs hair makes me so utterly jealous #the tragically hip #also fun fact the first line is 'me debunk an american myth' not. as i originally thought 'i made a buck on american meth' #but god. they made the coolest songs #WHERE THE GREAT PLAINS BEGINNNNNNNN

[rhubarb-mage]

First lines - From Under the Cork Tree (Fall Out Boy)

Part 1/2.

#first lines #Fall out boy #Fob #Pete Wentz #Patrick Stump #Andy Hurley #Joe Trohman #From Under the Cork Tree #Our lawyer made us change the name of this song so we wouldn't get sued #Of all the gin joints in the world #Dance dance #Sugar we're going down #Nobody puts baby in the corner #I've got a dark alley and a bad idea that says you should shut your mouth #Summer song #7 Minutes in heaven #Atavan halen #sophomore slump or comeback of the year

[suga-kookiemonster]

the rest of bts: *ends song with the bulletproof hand sign*

vmin: *makes out instead*

#why are they like this 🤣 #i just rewatched the run bts performance for the millionth time #and tell me why vmin race towards each other at the end 🤣🤣 #like damn finish the song first you're in the middle of a concert 😂😂😂 #i got jokes LOL #i'm sure jimin was just laughing with tae about how he made a small choreo mistake #but instead it looked like: *hurry towards each other* *passionately grab tae's neck* #*screen fades to black* #🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 #mine #vmin #husband #the tempter #maknae line #dance line #vocal line #sunshine line

[good-beanswrites]

My Lyrics for Eve's Demon Dance Tokyo! This song jumped the line of wips, I immediately fell in love with it 😂 I'm really proud of these -- it worked out well and was a blast to sing :D (Lyrics under the cut and my rambly process commentary in the tags lol)

Ah, don't you miss the home from where you came?

So many memories, feel your mind FLY FAR AWAY.

Tread-tread-tread-tread memories in tow,

INSTANT-PARADISE TOKYO.

Humans with such strange STYLE, all confusing me to no end

Jealous of them; wanna join them;

Credentials and such be damned. JUST GIVE ME (a)

SUPERMODEL TO DATE, wouldn't that be lovely?

CAMERAs are my place to be.

STYLE won't you come to me.

Ah, my voice as well has BEAUTIFUL SOUNDS, I’M LOVING IT.

You and me set side by side, I'll face you if you'll risk it.

Now I'm starving! Carefully as possible,

I'll consume you! Thorn-covered and poison-full,

Eating until I feel fed. "I'll have one of each," I said.

Grow wild! The worst follows AFTER BAD.

We'll fall down! Crashing parties that they had.

Conversations charge ahead: the turning point OF THE DEAD.

Endlessly I'm feeling coerced into everything.

Thump, thump, my heart --

Knock, Knock, my heart unlocks, love thump thump thumping like an arrow that's notched.

That dress looks so nice, does it feel too tight?

Now, you lead the way, to each command I will agree.

Do you think he's cool? Do you think he's lame?

It's all the same, let's dance BARRIER FREE.

SHOWTIME starting now, you can't allow yourself to sway.

Shed your worries and their weight, flying fast and far away.

We, the ones the world will never hold in high esteem

Never need to offer flattery, all we do is dream.

Now I’m starving! Even more voraciously

I'll consume you! Opening my arms you'll see

No one can take you from me, you're mine for eternity

Grow wild! Drinking more than I enjoy

We'll fall down! Stumbling I feel destroyed, these city nights show me I'm

A disappearing BOY.

We, the ones the world will never know or write about,

Now, to vast Pacific waters you will hear us shout... (SHAKE'N)

Please, wait a moment, Beautiful. Where is your smile from before?

Are you so sure I can't see that face anymore?

A strong PRIME MINISTER for you is what I became.

I swear to God I'll protect the country called by your name.

If we're close to Hell, never say farewell, please keep your hand holding mine.

I want to dance with you forever, won't you look me in the eye.

Now I'm starving! As ashamed as possible,

I'll consume you! Thorn-covered and poison-full,

Eating until I feel fed. "I'll have one of each," I said.

Grow wild! Gimme an ADVENTURE

We'll fall down! Crashing parties that occur.

This sleepless night, it bores me. SPICE is what it needs.

Now I’m starving! Even more voraciously

I'll consume you! Opening my arms you'll see

No one can take you from me, you're mine for eternity

Grow wild! Drinking more than I enjoy

We'll fall down! Stumbling I feel destroyed, these city nights show me I'm

A disappearing BOY.

And I recorded a little draft! Now listen. I'm really bad at singing. My mic was being annoying. However, I always get frustrated when I can't tell how translyrics are supposed to sound, and wanted to put it all together. It's meant more as rhythm reference than a nice performance 😅

#eve #demon dance tokyo #lyrics #woooo ive been working really hard on these and its so nice to see it all come together :D #im really happy with them!! #i know thats not the recognizable thumbnail pic but i like that lil lady... dances i do while vibing to this song... #i was so excited how all the english words and repetition sections fit in! #i think the only change i made was singing 'some spice' because i didnt want to sound like i was mocking him - but i do love singing it #the way he does with like three syllables #the knock knock line gave me hell but i think it works alright 😂 i just couldnt grasp the rhythm #i had 'thorns are sharp' first but that was too much of a mouthful -- i think 'thorn-covered' feels easier to say #there was another translation i was looking at that compared that line to feeling like a party crasher and i really liked that image #i kinda wanted to keep it just 'im starving' because i hate random filler words but also the four syllables is so important to the original #once again these are open for anyone to use 👀👀👀 #pleeeaase dont make my ugly recording in vain -- id love to hear your take on it :3