#//spills feelings all over the rp

[lieblxng]

strebcr

"Every good mad scientist needs a creation, riiiiiiight!? Personally I think you'd make a great Frankenstein's monster!? I've made soooooo many great props this year!! I even found an old Chuckie Cheese animatronic at the dump. With the help of a friend I made at the new food truck job I'm working at, we made that thing look horrifying! This year is gonna top that hyper realistic brain I made with hamburger meat and jello I made two years ago." That brain looked so realistic someone called the cops, it was still a crowing achievement for Streber! Last year was shitty for A LOT of reasons, but as anxious as Streber was he was also excited for this year! For obvious reasons they couldn't rent out the old house they used to use for the haunted house each year. But that's okay! The new haunted house for it's first year was gonna be better then ever, with the help of Streber's new and old friends. He had extra determination this year. "T-Though you don't have to do this with me if your not comfortable doing it, especially after last year. You're the one who found me like that…That's what Leon told me at least. I care about you so much and your feelings matter to me a lot, you know that right? You mean the world to me and more, As hard as things have been on me, you've been through a lot too. If you don't feel comfortabel you don't have to do this with me just for my sake. More then anything I don't want you to feel pressured into anything. I want you to do what makes you feel happy and safe, okay? I-I know you can more then handle yourself but I worry about you as much as you worry about me, ya know? If you don't feel comfortable you don't have to do this. I'll more then understand." Streber said softly as he took Ethan's hands into one of his own. Even now Ethan's hands always seemed so much bigger then Streber's. Yet, they were warm hands, gentle hands, hands that Streber has trusted since he was a teenager. The hands of one of Streber's closest and dearest friends.

[ The dark-haired man's smile that rarely left gradually transformed into a frown once he started hearing the second half of what Streber was saying. Not that he was uncomfortable at what he was saying, but more so he was astonished to hear something both considerate and…upsetting. At least to him in the grand context of things–the two of them have been friends for years, seemingly tied to the hip so much so that when graduating high school, they planned to go to the same college so they wouldn't be alone. They hung out on a daily basis, if not in person, then over text and over the phone. They knew everything about each other, shared the tastiest snacks, the darkest secrets and the most ambitious dreams with one another–everything and anything. They truly were each other’s worlds.

Imagine the horror on Ethan’s face when he came rushing after hearing screams too realistic, only to see his best friend on the ground, blood everywhere and his own terrified expression scarred onto his face.

A lot occurred that day that labeled it more than just a tragedy. Ethan is usually a relaxed person, and while he has his own grievances with the world, they pale in comparison with what he felt then. On that day, he discovered true ire to see someone he cared significantly about, and his love showed without a doubt in those deep brown eyes of his. He stayed in the hospital as long as he could, even taking off days of work to be there with his friend while he was recovering. Everyone would regret something in that situation, and although he was only a bystander, his regret was not being fast enough to do something–anything to save Streber. ]

[ The affectionate touch, he wasn’t quite used to that level of it, but it wasn’t exactly opposed to it. His heart ached at the revelation, and he furrowed his eyebrows before he opened his mouth to speak out his accurate feelings on the matter. ]

“Streber…” [ he uttered softly, his larger hands making sure to be gentle when squeezing the other man’s in response. ] “…You know I’d do anythin’ for you. Anythin’.” [ The worry was appreciated, but… ] “It’s fun doin’ the holiday with you, why would I stop?” [ he tilted his head. ] “Besides, if anythin’ happens again this time, I am more than ready and able to fight back.” [ At least then he would get a chance to protect a loved one, unlike last year. ] “I’m not leavin’ you alone…” [ Not again. ]

[stitch-away]

mile high

pairings: javier peña x male reader

summary: you and javier join the mile high club <3

tags: MDNI, established relationship, pwp, airplane sex, horrible anal etiquette bc no one is prepping on a plane let's be real

word count: 529

a/n: this from rp but the context is completely removed so there's no idea to understand the plot.

“javi,” you whisper, your voice soft with a clear teasing lilt to it as you lean over to his seat in the plane. 

“¿sí, amor?” javier asks. before he can turn his head your hand is cupping his bulge, rubbing it softly. he lets out a strangled groan, trying to keep quiet on the busy plane.

“te necesito,” you whine, nuzzling his ear and pressing a kiss to his cheekbone, “por favor.” 

“mierda,” javier breathes, his cock hardening under your touch, “vamos. ahora.” 

he need not ask twice. you’re out of my seat as quick as you can manage in the tight space. as you hurry down the aisle, you feel javier press himself against you, his heavy breath in your ear. 

you unlatch the bathroom door and he practically shoves you inside. he quickly locks it as you unbuckle his pants. 

“want me to blow you?” you ask, stroking him in his pants. javier groans, shaking his head.

“nah– turn around,” he pulls you in for a kiss. it’s sloppy, he’s not focused on kissing you, but consuming you. 

your hands clash at your belt as your teeth gnash. your pants drop and he flips you around, slapping your hips against the sink. you hear him spit and feel his hard cock rub between the crack of your ass. his lips find your neck and he bites down as he shoves his cock inside you. it burns like hell but once the head hits your prostate, you’re gone.

“oh fuck– javi,” you moan as he grips your hips tight, slamming them back against his own. he slips a hand down to wrap round your cock, jerking it in time with his thrusts. 

“mierda– y’re genius, cariño,” javier moans, kissing up your neck, “knew i’d need this.” 

“knew ya couldn’ wait til we landed,” you pant, reaching a hand back to grip his hair, “slut.” he whimpers, dropping his head between your shoulder blades. “eres una pinche perra, ¿eh?” 

“cállate,” javier grumbles, a lack of venom in his voice. he’s completely lost in the sensation of your body clenching around his. 

his soft, needy whines he can’t control keep getting louder. 

“javi,” you pant, “you’re being too loud.” he shakes his head against your back, nuzzling you with his forehead as his thrusts get sloppier. he squeezes the head of your cock, pulling a moan from your throat.

“ahí vamos, cariño,” javier chuckles, “está bien.” you tug at his hair as you get closer making him whine even louder. the whole damn plane probably knows what you’re doing at this point. 

“venga,” is all javier can mumble before his hips stutter and you feel the familiar warmth of his cum filling you up. with a few more jerks of his wrist, he has you spilling over his hand. you slump forwards, grabbing the sink to brace yourself. 

“fuck,” you mutter, “i’m gonna be showing up to our holiday with your cum in my ass.” javier chuckles, removing his hand from your cock. he licks his hand clean, smirking as he brings his head round to kiss you. 

“just the way i like it,” he groans, “eres mío, amor. siempre.”

[mayearies]

✩ ABC’S

sfw alphabet with miles g. genre: fluffy hcs

—‘A’ IS FOR AFFECTION (how affectionate are they?) pretty affectionate with his s/o even if he can be awkward sometimes, takes some time getting close to someone again. if you’re in public, he would mainly hold your hand. maybe sneak in a hug or kiss once in a while if he’s feelin’ handsy. when recieving affection, he’s always open towards it. even if it makes him a little embarassed at moments (mainly in public).

—‘B’ IS FOR BESTFRIEND (what are they like as a bestie?) once he get comfy with you, he the type to play with you but also have serious talks to. he would like to stay close to you and hang out with you a lot. he’s also really good at rps (rock paper scissors) and shadow boxing, you gettin’ bodied fo sho ‼️

—‘C’ IS FOR CUDDLES (what is their cuddling schedule?) he likes contact with you, preferably skin to skin so expect his hands up your back or your stomach. he can be both a big spoon or a little spoon, he just wants to hold you (he will be a little spoon most times which you will tease him about). one cuddle sesh a day is required for him to function.

“baby? where’s my hugs n’ kisses? you aint mad at me, right?”

—‘D’ IS FOR DOMESTIC (settling down? how will they be helping out around?) he would wait to get a fiancée, let alone a wife. but of course he would want to settle down with you. he loves you. a pretty decent home cook, nothing special. he would watch his ma make pasteles so it’s one of the dishes he can perfect. he tolerates cleaning. doesnt like it but doesn’t fully hate it.

—‘E’ IS FOR ENDING (how does breaking up go?) would absolutely try to avoid arguments all he can. depends on the reason why you two are splitting, but he will spill his feelings about the relationship out to you. in his head. he doesn’t enjoy speaking his thoughts very much and just feels it’ll escalate shit. though, he would wish you well.

—‘F’ IS FOR FIANCÉE (how committed are they to you?) puts his commitment to you over anything else. though he claims he is not in a rush to marry you and that it could wait, but at the same time he be talkin’ about baby names and what a dream it would be to marry someone like you.

—‘G’ IS FOR GENTLE (how gentle are they?) he’s gentle on most occasions. his rbf and cold aura can be misleading. the craves your touch and your kisses. however, he can be a little on the rough side. for example, his mental state. it isn’t the best with his dad being dead and being the prowler, but you make it more bearable with just your presence. he can also be on the rougher side by squeezing places he knows only belong to him (neck, thighs, waist, etc.)

—‘H’ IS FOR HUGS (how does their hugging schedule work?) he dont mind them. he just dont like the long ones. makes him uncomfortable in some way. he doesn’t do them that often, but when he does they’re really memorable and soft.

—‘I’ IS FOR I LOVE YOU (how quick do they say i love you?) waits a little long before pulling the big ‘l word’. i wouldnt describe him as head over heels for you, but he’s in love.

—‘J’ IS FOR JEALOUSY (what are they like when they’re jealous?) oh boy, can this man get jealous. like, hella jealous. if someone so much as stare too long at you, he’ll glare at them while bringing you closer towards him. touching you? a line nobody can cross. that shit is a death wish. his mami, not yours.

—‘K’ IS FOR KISSES (how does their kiss schedule work?) hold me back i finna go wild on this one. though you’re probably his first relationship like ever, he didnt know how to kiss at first. as time went on though, his kisses got really passionate and filled with longing. everytime he kisses you, he misses you just a little bit less cause he knows you’re here. you’re here to stay. you’re his. he would kiss you anywhere. your least favorite part? kissed. your favorite part? consider it done, bae. he likes cheek kisses a lot. he doesn’t know why, though. he also really likes looking at your eyes when he’s done kissing you, he likes eye contact in general. if you are avoiding it or simply looking away from him, he’ll snap his fingers in your face and hold your chin as you turn towards him.

“ma. look at me. i won’t ask twice.”

—‘L’ IS FOR LITTLE ONES (how are they around kids?) not a fan of kids, they’re too noisy. he’s really awkward with them because he internally just thinks they’re little brats, but he also knows they’re stupid. his kid though? he will adore them so fucking much you might have to separate him.

—‘M’ IS FOR MORNINGS (how do your morning routines go?) he wakes up whenever you wake up. your morning routine is basically his, only that he adds a few more steps to it. those ‘few more steps’ being holding you for a solid five or so minutes before you carry on with your early rising.

—‘N’ IS FOR NIGHTS (how does your night routine go?) much like the mornings, his night routine is similar to yours. except, sometimes you dont even finish the whole thing because he wants your time and attention to himself before he drifts off to sleep.

—‘O’ IS FOR OPEN (when will they become more personal?) probably on the third or fourth date. the first two he would want to know more about you. but, he would drop little things he was interested in too.

—‘P’ IS FOR PATIENCE (how patient are they?) he doesn’t get upset that easily, with you atleast. don’t push him too far with your smart mouth, though. that’s what can really piss him off sometimes.

“the fuck you think you talkin’ to? tone down that attitude fo’ me.”

—‘Q’ IS FOR QUIZZES (how much would they remember about you?) he would remember the things that intrugied him about you, but he wouldnt remember every single thing. that’s how he knew what to buy you if he wanted to surprise you.

—‘R’ IS FOR REMEMBER (whats their favorite moment?) he loves them all equally, frankly if he had to choose he couldn’t.

—‘S’ IS FOR SECURITY (how protective are they?) pretty fuckin’ protective of you. and you love it. sometimes, he would stalk you just to see how you were doing or if you were okay. he just doesn’t want to lose someone again, he hopes you understand.

—‘T’ IS FOR TRY (how much effort do they put into your relationship?) he tries to make an effort into planning dates but those plans often get spoiled by his alter. he will always make it up to you, though. no matter what.

—‘U’ IS FOR UGLY (whats one of their flaws?) lying. he doesnt like to lie to you, but it keeps you safe. it got to the point where he would lie about little things on accident, like taking out the trash.

—‘V’ IS FOR VANITY (how insecure are they about their looks?) not a lot. if you think he looks good, then he looks good. sometimes he wonders how he even managed to pull someone like you.

“whatever, amor. if you think i look good, then i look good. whatever you say goes.”

—‘W’ IS FOR WHOLE (would they feel incomplete without you?) yes. nothing more.

—‘X’ IS FOR XTRA (random hc about them?) he behaves like a cat sometimes without even knowing it.

—‘Y’ IS FOR YUCK (whats something they dont like in a partner?) he probably doesnt like loud noises. yes, he does ride a motorcycle but he probably wears earplugs to help with the noise.

—‘Z’ IS FOR ZZZ (what are their sleeping habits?) he’s naturally a light sleeper, so anything faint could wake him up. something he does when you sleep with him is that he would hold you so close and tight that you once had a dream you fell and broke your back. and a actually felt that pain in real life. yikes. another habit he has is playing with your hair subconciously and muttering things about you in his sleep. you both have woken up to it multiple times.

© mayeluvsu 1610 version

[milykins]

Sunshine

This is based on an AU where the turtles eventually did decide to take Chief Vincent's advice and go public. This also ties into my headcanon where they all have jobs and own their own businesses. This particular scene was actually from an RP with the lovely @danceingfae it was just begging to be written.

Michelangelo × female reader

No warnings - just Mikey being a sweetheart when his girlfriend is feeling insecure.

Aged up characters of course

It’s no secret that ever since the turtles had decided to come out of hiding and join common society that Mikey had become something of a celebrity. He attended parties and charity events. Hosted his own events at his comic book shops and flirted and met up with girls from time to time. This was his lifestyle for a while. He’d initially thought it was the best thing ever. He got to have his fun, finally have the life he’d dreamed of, meeting girls, having relationships, one-night-stands, whatever he liked.

This all changed when he met you, of course. He’d had a couple failed relationships under his belt that hadn’t lasted long. One crazy girl had cornered him in his shop after hours, stripped off all her clothes, and begged him to put a baby in her. That was kind of the turning point where he realized that maybe being a celebrity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Meeting you and falling in love with you brought the realization that this was all he needed and all he’d ever wanted.

He still had fans, of course, still had girls coming up in restaurants and coffee shops asking for a picture and his autograph, but it had slowed down considerably after the internet had found out he was taken. Mikey hadn’t minded that at all. It gave him more space to breathe and more time to spend spoiling and loving on his girlfriend.

On this particular day he’d taken you to a Panera Bread. He knew you were craving their signature broccoli soup in a bread bowl combo and had decided to treat you to lunch.

The two of you had been chatting, and you had been just about to steal one of his muffin tops when a gaggle of teen and older girls rushed their table asking for their usual pictures and autographs. Mikey was happy to oblige but did tell them to make it quick because he was having lunch with his girl, sending a flirty wink your way.

You blushed, giggling softly. He always made a point of making you feel special in situations like these.

One girl in particular wasn’t satisfied with just a picture and an autograph. She’d been giving you the side-eye during the entire interaction and blatantly slipped him her number right in front of you.

Now, this did sometimes happen, but Mikey was always quick to rebuff it. As the girl turned to leave, he had gotten up from the table to follow her.

Initially, the girl looked pleased, but her expression quickly turned sour when she found he was handing it back to her.

Mikey was unendingly kind about it. “Hey, thanks, but I’ve already found someone who has my heart. Here’s your number. You should save it for the right guy for you.”

Her face reddened in embarrassment as she snatched the number from him. Anger bubbling into rage she decided to be nasty. “You’re kidding, right? That’s your girlfriend?”

The unkind words were heard by everyone, especially you. You shrank in your seat, wishing you could disappear and wanted to forget about eating altogether and run.

Your boyfriend is stunned a moment at the venomous words but he is ever the gentleman as he answers. “Yes, she is my girlfriend, and I’m very proud that she chooses to be with me. Have a good day.”

Tears were threatening to spill over when he came to collect you, taking you out of the restaurant for a breather. “I am so sorry…” He softly spoke as you both sat on a bench nearby.

The words still stung as you clung to his orange hoodie and buried your face in his chest. You couldn't help but cry softly into him, feeling ugly and stupid. It seemed he knew exactly what to do to counter this, and it didn’t take long for you to realize you were being rocked. Mikey was singing to you.

“You are my sunshine… my only sunshine…”

The soft singing broke you out of your reverie as you wiped your eyes while simultaneously craning your neck to look at him.

Mikey actually was pretty good at singing, his voice was smooth, melodic and comforting as he continued.

“You make me happy… when skies are grey. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

A shaky breath is exhaled as tears threatened to overtake you once again.

“You okay, babycakes?” He whispered, caressing your face.

You answered, “Yes…” but it doesn’t sound at all convincing and he knows it. You can see him quietly asking you to be honest with him and find yourself confessing how you really feel. “I was just… feeling like I’m not… not good enough…”

Mikey calmly tucks your hair behind your ears so he can see your face. “Tell me why you feel that way.”

You’re unable to stop these feelings of shame and insecurity as you get all choked up again. “Why me? You… you could have anyone you want… but you chose me, why?”

His response is automatic like he’d been waiting for you to ask him this.

“Babe… you’re not just anyone. You’re mine. You’re all I want, and I think about you, like, all the time. Any other girl pales in comparison to you. Heck, they could be a playboy pinup, and I still would pick you. You are all I need.”

You can’t help but giggle as more tears spring to your eyes, the good kind this time and you have to kiss him because if you don’t in this moment, you’ll feel like you regret it.

The kiss is slow, sweet and passionate and you parted breathlessly, gazing at each other.

“I love you…” The confession catches him by surprise because neither of you had been the first to say it… until now.

Now, it’s Mikey’s turn to feel emotional. His voice is quiet and a little unsure as he asks for confirmation. “You love me?”

“Yes.” You answered without hesitation. “I love you, Michelangelo.”

Strong arms banded around you as he kissed you with even more fervor, before pulling back just as suddenly. “I love you too!” He’d been so caught up with kissing you that he’d forgotten to say it back.

You giggled and kissed his beak. “Well, I’m glad we got that out of the way, all it took was… a crazy fan.” She can’t help but laugh.

He laughed, too. “Just know, babe, that I’m proud to be with you, I’ll shout it from the rooftops if I have to… want me to? I’ll do it right now!” his smile and enthusiasm are infectious, and you are giggling as you shake your head.

“This is enough, I’m just glad you’re with me.” You had just snuggled into his embrace again when your stomach growled, reminding you both you still hadn’t eaten.

Mikey kissed your nose and stood, bringing you to your feet. “Let’s finish our lunch, babe.”

“That sounds perfect.”

From that moment on, nothing could shake your confidence in your relationship with Mikey. Nothing. He was there to stay, and so were you.

The End

@danceingfae @thelaundrybitch @iridescentflamingo @redsrooftopprincess @ninnosaurus

@the-cauldron-witch @thepinkpanther83 @avery73 @adebauchedsloth @sophiacloud28

@definitely-canon @scholastic-dragon @truffle-reblogs

[saccharine-serpent]

Closed RP W/@izzyfromdeadspace

Viper sat in the hospital bed gingerly sipping at the straw in the bottle of mango fizzy, his green. serpentine eyes partially blown in enjoyment as he did his best to swallow the drink down without it spilling down his chin or escaping his mouth. The IV drip lead to his arm trickling antibiotics and pain relief to help him cope with the burning itches, as various shades of green scales broke through his skin all over his body like freckles. He rubbed at the hospital gown and shifted the covers over his legs, looking to Izzy he tried to speak and it came out as in incoherent slur as his jaw unhinged at the slightest motion, baring fangs to the air before he covered his mouth embarrassed still not used to his sudden changes as he looked to the woman who helped save him and displayed a message on his RIG public display screen: It tastes really good and it feels like the food is staying down this time, I don’t feel as sick as I did before. He said looking a bit proud of his progress during this rough time on the quarantine ward.

[nocterax]

Private Confession

(a Warframe RP thingie)

After dinner with the others, Quincy and Astirrah left for a more private and comfortable place for both of them. The pale woman was visibly nervous with metal fingers being cracked constantly, trying to put words together after promising this as a deal with the sniper. He literally noticed she's being nervous about this, but hopefully the hot shower helps both of them ease up things or so Q had this idea for knowing the woman like... for 2+ months? Not the easiest person he faced, but really reminds him about when his walls were completely pulled up to protect himself. After walking into the Mall's bathrooms, they turned face-to-face with each other.

"...u seem to be stackin' up shit inside, don't you? Never seen u crackin' ur metal parts like this..." - Quincy said as he stood closer to the drifter while taking off his beret. Astirrah looked a bit away, not realising how the feelings were inside of her mind 'fucking her up' on the outside.

"Look, I'm not the person of feelings and shit. You know how fucking lonely asshole I was in Duviri, until now. I'm still trying to... put things together inside of me." - She gestures with her hands as the heterochromatic eyes look up at the tall man before her. Quincy shook his head and smiled at her. - "...yeah I know. That's why u needed ur fav lux sniper's company... but before Zefrex stomped here like a fuckin' tank, I... acted much like u, feel me? I can see thru ur eyes, mate." - both of his hands slowly began to undress Asti for the shower and leaning closer to her neck, planting a kiss on it.- "...but relax, ok? Take a deep breath 'n aim on the target."

A soft sigh leaving her mouth after being kissed on the neck, but slowly taking a deep breath and exhaling the air on the protoframe's ear. - "Right, right...I still can't believe how the fuck you are twisting my mind and... feelings... I would hate you for it... I can't...you know? I'm afraid of-..."

The feelings are overwhelming her mind again, her hands are placed on his metal arms for a bit stopping him to undress her and focus on what she says and the man respecting it, fully focusing on her. - "...love... because when it happened the last time, I lost that person and all I knew was this anger and pain. Right now, the same fucking thing happening between us, Quincy, don't you see? I have feelings for you. What the fuck should I do when every fucking time we spend time together and it gets worse and worse..." - she looks straight into the big brown eyes, her eyes shimmering from the little tears nearly running down on her dead white cheeks. A visible shock appeared on Quincy's face as he took an upright position, don't know what to say after looking into her eyes for a few minutes even if he knew that she would spit everything straight into the face and all the words are stuck inside of his throat, because he was like this not so long ago before Zef helped him ease up...

They stood there in silence for a while, until a small smile appeared on the sniper's face and pulled the woman closer by her waist, pressing her bare chest against his. She thought Quincy began to hate her for this confession, more like afraid of spilling herself out and falling on face again.

"What can I say... u have good eyes in ur head, Asti... 'n I was wondering when you'd say...but... are u sure about this? Like, sure-sure n take this slow, yeah?" - his hand on her lower back gently stroking on the void manifested vertebra up and down, waiting for the answer.

Astirrah is surprised even more after what he said, feeling the gentle stroke over the spine sending her shivers through the pale body, but she gathered herself together really fast. - "...It's a double agreement from my side. I don't want to rush things, even if we had... intimate times together. Beginning of bonding, maybe." - the assassin slowly placed her metal palm on his cheek and slowly it slid on the back of his neck to pull the tall man closer, barely leaving a space between their lips.

"U did impress Quincy-K with being such a brave thing...n I don't have to bribe u for sexual things, innit." - his smile widened then his lips pressed against hers, deepened into a kiss between them and a while later they took that hot shower together with more 'intimate bonding'.

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles - part IV: the inbetween (make the danger feel good)

(~11 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

there's a bunch of things in this one that might make some people want to skip it. please be aware this tips into suggestive stuff (ok maybe a notch beyond the line, but nothing too explicit). there's certainly intimacy, nudity (that was there all along but now we Pay Attention To It) and more prominent cws would probably be... everything around vex instincts. so mentions of: blood, biting, consensual violence, blood/fear-play, prey-play?? they're deranged. i tried to keep it as tame as possible lol but be aware those are the topics and tones.

in case you skip this one, just know this is when scar and grian start to be truly intimate, and this is when grian gets the mating bite from scar (neither of them are aware that's what it is; there's a whole bunch of bites.) (dEranged.) also, there's more wing touches.

rp based, so wordy. <3 this follows directly after the wing spiral so we're still in the hotspring cave

---

The moment slowly tips into something else as they both lay on the spread-out cloak, fire crackling behind Grian’s back, his still somewhat-damp wing slung gingerly across Scar.

It all drags at Scar’s heartstrings, watching as Grian navigates his way through the maze back to something sensible, something more like himself. Freckles barely show in the flickering light, eyes dark and shiny from recent emotions, a bruised spot on his lip from nervous biting. Grian’s hair falls around him in soft, golden strands, fire painting over them with copper.

“You’re…” Scar stops, almost scared to finish the sentence. It feels like they’ve reached a comfortable silence after what felt like literal hours of agony. But he’s already broken it, so— He tucks his head into Grian’s hand, smothering the words into his palm. “… so beautiful.”

He looks at Grian’s eyes when he says it. No part of his wings, even though he means to include every bit of him. But he needs Grian to know he means it whether the feathers are included or not.

A swell of emotions rushes through Grian at that; he isn’t sure how to react, all he knows is he feels heat and tingling, and it’s so, so very different from the tingling of that numbness from earlier. This is nervous, skittish, warm, present. He feels rooted to the moment, to the softness of Scar’s eyes and his breath against Grian’s palm and—

And he feels like Scar is a hot spring and Grian is floating, melting into it.

“You can’t— You can’t say that,” he sputters, not quite able to pull forth any better quips than something stumbling and lost and irredeemably flustered. “What do you even mean.”

As soon as he says that, he realises those words might be a mistake. He doesn’t want Scar to answer.

Grian’s mind spins for something else to jump to, and he blurts out, ridiculously: “It’s because you washed my hair.” (He doesn’t quite remember that either. He regrets falling asleep so fast, although he can’t deny he slept so well, even if only briefly. He… really needed that.)

“Mm,” Scar mumbles into Grian’s palm again, buzzing his lips there. “No, I thought that before I washed your hair, too.” He was meaning not to say something embarrassing again, but failed completely.

Grian’s mind snags on the way Scar’s words feel against his palm, a riveting, delightful experience that he wishes to relive a million times. His thumb gingerly brushes across the heated skin of Scar’s cheek, but he keeps his palm in place, ready to catch any and all words that might spill out of Scar’s lips. 

“You’re silly and sappy,” Grian accuses, but it sounds so achingly soft and fond.

Scar changes his mind almost instantly about not saying embarrassing things, seeking out more of that softness Grian’s voice holds— that simplicity and affection. He’ll keep saying embarrassing things if he gets that. It’s worth it.

“This is true,” he admits easily. “But I’m also right.”

Craning his neck, Grian leans in to place a kiss against Scar’s face, tender and loving. (He’s weaving all the gratitude into it, all the affection, all the apologies and forgiveness all at once.) “You’re also ridiculous,” he adds, a little bit cheekily, but it again carries no bite, words made of cotton and warmth.

His wing shifts higher, covering their upper torsos and faces, dunking them into more darkness—something that instantly makes Grian sleepy. The fire crackles behind his back, somewhat still keeping up, although definitely in need of more fuel. 

Grian doesn’t want to move.

“Also true.” Scar nods. “Thank you for noticing.” 

There’s an unsaid thank you for so many more things in the way Scar delivers the line so seriously: Thank you for speaking to me. Thank you for shielding us with your wings. Thank you for going along with my shenanigans. 

Thank you for being here. 

Scar wants to fall asleep then and there, unperturbed by the mess of remaining concerns that still plague them, but he tries to be the strong one here. “…I should fuel the fire. Maybe set up a small perimeter so we can both get some sleep?” 

He wants to sleep beside Grian. He doesn’t want to take turns keeping watch.

And isn’t that a wonderful thought? For both of them to be able to sleep at the same time, curled up together by a warm fire?

They don’t get that often.

Grian latches onto that hope, pushing his fatigued body up as he gingerly releases Scar from the cocoony hold of his wing. He offers to help even though his mind still feels a little slow, body a little off; if he can assist Scar and make this happen, then he wants to do it.

Scar gets up reluctantly, but he’s pleasantly surprised how little his muscles protest after the nice soothing bath they received. That’s a rarity. He directs Grian to check up on the fire while he’ll make some walls, promising cuddles at the end of it. 

The idea of that sort of reward makes pushing through their exhaustion and putting in the effort worth it.

Tending the fire isn't a skill they needed on Hermitcraft, but through trial and error, they learned the best ways to distribute fuel materials for the most efficiency and the least smoke. It comes to Grian easily now, automatic, and notably it takes much less time than wall building.

Once satisfied, Grian looks over at Scar, asking if he should help with the wall. After all, the faster they're done, the faster they can cuddle. 

Scar nods, noting he’s sleepy and he might miss spots. A second pair of eyes to check after him would be good, and any help is certainly appreciated, especially since it’s their safety at stake here. He’s using a bit of a hodgepodge arrangement of materials, just doing the minimum to keep mobs out, but it’ll do, as long as they do it properly. 

Grian pushes himself to his feet; his wings feel a little strange, and he can't quite tell why, but he swerves away from thinking about it. His muscles feel weak, wanting to go back to blissful resting, looking forward to sleep. A faint lightheadedness hits him at the first step, but a short pause and a deep breath is enough to chase it away.

He slots himself next to Scar, reaching to take some materials from him. As soon as he's in his orbit, Scar can’t help but reach over and lightly touch him on the waist, pulling him in for a brief, only slightly-awkward kiss. He smiles, toothy and real, before handing off some of his materials, whistling to himself like it didn’t happen as he turns back around.

Grian can't help but adore and crave the easy intimacy; the way he's reached for and tugged and kissed, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He gravitates towards Scar in return, peeking at him and quietly studying his expression as Scar whistles and works.

There isn't terribly much needed to do with the walls, and Grian fixes up his end to the best of his capabilities given his energy level, then makes sure to look over Scar's work as requested, too, making sure they don't miss something due to fatigue. (Mistakes are too costly here. They can’t afford them.)

When they're done, Grian clicks his tongue appraisingly. "It's not a terracotta shack, but it'll do."

Scar snickers, highly amused by the callback. “Yeah, it might actually be uglier. I should put up a sign for any googlies to leave a review.” He slips in behind Grian and kisses the top of his head, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Mmm, warm clothes?”

Grian shifts his wings gently out of the way, but he itches to press himself against Scar, so he clumsily turns around in his loose grip, trying to maintain some space for his feathers as he goes. 

Somehow, now that this is all very intentional, without the mental fog and fresh tears and jumbled cravings, this feels more intimate. Their bare chests are near each other, reverberating with heartbeats and moving with their breaths, and there's so much skin and—

Timidly, Grian's fingers find Scar's waist, a featherlight touch exploring upwards, fingertips counting across the lower ribs.

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to Scar's jaw. "Mm." His head tips and he rests his forehead against the spot he's just kissed. His hand travels higher, across Scar's chest, to his shoulder, mapping out his skin. "Warm clothes," he agrees, even though nothing about his actions suggests that.

Scar shivers at the drawn out touch over his bare skin, ears flicking wildly as his heart stutters in his chest for a moment. Sure, he’s no stranger to walking about without a shirt, but people don’t typically touch— 

He rather likes it when Grian does, however.

Not nearly as bold, Scar settles for tracing small shapes over Grian’s sides, gentle and reverent.  “And warm cuddles,” he adds, also not making any move to do so.

Grian hums at Scar's touch; on nothing but wishful instinct, he moves closer, trying to get deeper into Scar's hold. (He wants Scar's hands to wrap around him. To envelop him fully and properly.) (He wants to be held.) (He wants to be wanted, in a way so wholly different from what this world demands.)

He tips his head and presses a kiss to the side of Scar's throat as his fingertips dance from Scar's shoulders across his collarbone. He likes this. Being able to trace paths across Scar's skin. To, hopefully, provide him with something that can touch him without causing pain and scarring. 

The air is cold on the back of his neck, and he figures Scar is not any better off, without having the extra fluff of feathers shielding his spine. He tucks a small sigh against the hollow of Scar's throat, because he knows he should pull away. He knows they should get dressed. His legs feel weak underneath him, craving a bed. (There's no bed here) 

"Yeah... Yeah. Let's go get some rest."

He's still not moving to make any of it happen.

Scar really doesn’t want Grian to let go of him right now (nor does he want to let go), so he’s glad Grian is yet to make a move to leave. He’s tired and cold and wants to go to sleep, but after the absolute rollercoaster back and forth of emotions, Scar is too attached to this moment of serenity. 

In a spur of stubborn refusal, Scar strengthens his grip and lifts, hoisting Grian up just enough so that maybe he can walk them both over. He pulls the avian tight, letting him secure his balance onto him.

And it’s silly, because they’re really not even that far from the fire— and they still need to separate to put on their clothes. They’re still only in their underwear, which makes Scar’s ears twitch again when it occurs to him.

But it’s worth it.

Just a little more contact.

He needs it so bad.

Grian lets out a delighted chirp in surprise as Scar's hold on him tightens, and then— then he loses contact with the ground. He tips forward, easily trusting Scar with his weight, and he giggles quietly against the crook of Scar's neck. His wings unfurl, instinctively seeking out balance. (He doesn't remember when was the last time they felt free to do this; to give in to instincts.) (He isn't even paying attention to them, not really aware that it is happening.)

Without complaint, he presses himself against Scar, and oh, this is different. This is skin on skin. This is—

“Mhm, off to sleep with us!” Scar cheers as he presses Grian close to his chest.

Grian wraps his arms around Scar's shoulders and stays close, heart hammering against his chest in a way that Scar's surely bound to feel, right against his own ribcage. He coos in a flustered encouragement at Scar's statement. Off to sleep. (He'd go anywhere Scar takes him right now. He'd stay anywhere Scar puts him. He'd be anywhere Scar wants him.)

Maybe the earlier struggle was all worth it if Scar gets to hear those sweet little chirps pressed into his neck and feel Grian’s heartbeat against his own fluttering chest. Past anxieties forgotten, Scar is entirely smitten. He feels warm even though logically he shouldn’t. He hums a jaunty tune while he walks them both back over to the fire, pleased with himself and the entirely unnecessary decision to carry Grian. 

And Grian happily lets himself be carried, even though he could’ve easily taken those four steps himself. He isn’t carried out of necessity (for once). He’s being carried because Scar wants to carry him, wants to hold him, wants to keep him pressed close. It warms Grian, too. It makes him feel cherished and safe.

But he’s always been made of mischief, and he can’t help it. He tips his head, lips brushing over the skin of Scar’s throat, and then he’s baring his teeth, letting them come into the gentlest contact with the skin. (Just to tease.) (Just for the reaction.) (His hold on Scar tightens just in case he’s about to be dropped in response.)

Scar’s legs wobble as he muffles a tiny yelp, but he’s been trained to deal with Grian’s tendency toward menace, so he does manage to stay on his feet and keep his grip. 

If he dips just a little and lightly pinches at Grian’s sides though? Deserved. 

“Youuuu…” Scar warns, attempting to growl even though it comes out purely silly. “You love to tempt fate, don’t you?”

Grian takes a sharp breath and squirms as Scar dips, holding onto him. (Even if Scar did want to drop him, Grian refuses to go easily.) At Scar's light disgruntlement, Grian huffs out a breathless laugh, all of it right against Scar's pulsepoint. His teeth are back on Scar's skin, still gentle, but he does apply a little bit more pressure this time, cheekily. 

"Maybe I do." He sounds entirely too cheerful and unbothered, another quiet laughter broken against Scar's throat.

“Mmmm,” Scar grumbles, holding back a full-body shiver. It’s definitely the chill. Definitely.

In retaliation, Scar takes one large step to finish their path to the fire, then dips Grian even lower, threatening to plop him back down on the cloak. “Then accept your fate, you rascal!” Scar cackles, wriggling his fingers at Grian’s sides to try to get him to forcibly let go and fall the rest of the way down to the floor.

Grian laughs openly now—at Scar's attempts to get him off. At his grumbles. At being called a rascal. He delights in it and stays stubbornly clinging to Scar, wrapping his legs around him for extra security.

"I like to tempt fate, Scar, not accept it," he informs him all too giddily, voice still heavily tinged by laughter. "And you can't get rid of me."

Scar snickers, amused by his new clinging bird accessory. “Ah, I wouldn’t dream of it, but—“ He exaggeratively sways from side to side like he’s trying to shake Grian off (he’s really not). “—pesky birds deserve retribution!”

Grian still holds on, unwilling to lose. He cranes his neck, on his way to the next mayhem. "Well then you're going to have to try harder," he lectures. And he lightly squeezes Scar's earlobe in his teeth. (It's not his fault it was so perfectly within reach.) (It's not his fault he has zero impulse control when he gets pesky.)

Scar opens his mouth to say something in return, but all that comes out is a flustered squeak. His face properly flushes as his ear attempts to flick out of reach. ”Griannn!!” he whines, embarrassment obvious in his tone. He’s released his hands at this point, but Grian’s grip is all too secure. So now his hands wave about in the air pathetically, unable to decide on exactly what retribution is in order for Grian.

Grian laughs, a bright, joyful, unbridled cackle pressed against the sensitive patch of skin directly under Scar's ear. His wings flap lightly (the fire flickers momentarily, sparks sent flying, explosive like Grian's soul) at the loss of Scar's hold as he rebalances himself, but remains clingily wrapped against Scar, not budging. "Yes, Scar?" he hums innocently.

Scar finally settles on some form of revenge, bringing out his claws and trailing a very long drag of his nails up Grian’s spine, careful not to actually scratch— just a graze, just a tickle, just a suggestion. He can’t go too far without risking touching the wings, but he does what he can. Grumbles again in response to the innocent hum from a very not innocent bird. “Menace,” he breathes out, still somewhat dazed.

Grian doesn't even try not to shudder under the graze of Scar's claws; he's sure Scar can feel the way he took in breath, then held it in, too. The uptick of his heart rams against Scar's ribs as Grian presses closer, an instinctual back-arch to the sensation.

He still manages to laugh again, a breathless little thing. "Your menace, though."

And it's surprisingly easy, to give himself over to Scar, in a world where everyone wants to own a part of him.

Scar stops that slow drag of claws, settling somewhere in the middle of Grian’s back and instead tapping them there as he hums out what comes across a bit too much like a low growl. It’s not meant to be threatening— it’s not even meant to come out at all, really— it was supposed to be an exaggerated groan, but it instead comes off as a deeply satisfied confirmation. 

“Mine,” Scar concedes, voice barely a whisper, before remembering they’re meant to be teasing. “… Lucky me.” 

Except he’s still not kidding.

And yet despite the fondness with which Scar means it, there's an instant swell of something ugly in Grian at the words lucky me, a razor-edged impulse to make Scar regret those words, to show him just how wrong he is— but he swallows it all down, in a moment of uncharacteristic quiet after all the giggling. He presses himself closer to Scar, takes a deep breath, tries to claw his way back to that pesky playfulness from just seconds ago.

Instead of more teasing, he tips into tenderness. His hold loosens, and he presses his lips to the side of Scar's neck. 

He isn't sure Scar understands just how his Grian is. 

A breathless half-chuckle leaves him despite himself. And he can't help but ask, quietly, edging shyness. "Does that mean you're mine...?" He's okay with the answer being no. He'll still be Scar's, heart and soul. But... He just wants to know. To hear Scar say it. "My ridiculous person?" These words come easier, softer, more playful.

Scar’s hands shift back to holding Grian, claws fading away into harmlessness. He tries to lean his head back to see him, to look at him as the words fall into place so easily. But Grian doesn't let him pull away, doesn't let him move to see his face; he burrows, hiding himself in the crook of Scar's neck. His wings fold—still loose, instead of what they're used to—feathers slotting over Scar's skin without a hassle. 

Scar doesn’t mind Grian’s insistence on keeping his face pressed close. He likes that as well. In fact, he gives up on dropping Grian down at all and plops himself onto the cloak with Grian still attached. 

“Always,” he replies, voice still low and grainy, but filled to the brim with affection. “Always yes.”

"Always," Grian echoes quietly, and the word leaves his tongue like something precious and fragile.

Feeling sappy, as usual, Scar tacks on, “… Have been for a while.”

Words line themselves up in Grian's mind like poison, things to fight back and argue with, to explain that this is not going to be good for Scar. That he really, really isn’t lucky for this.

He swallows them all down. This isn't about that. This isn't and shouldn't be about that.

Scar is saying something incredibly fond, and Grian shouldn't try to destroy it.

His wings press tighter, feathers still slumped right over Scar's arms. 

"... Can we keep it that way...?" he asks in the end.

“Mm, I’d like to, yes.” Scar nods, teeth clacking as he grows a big grin. He takes one hand to fumble for Grian’s sweater.

"Okay." Grian pauses, and then adds in a soft murmur: "Me too." He feels Scar move, but doesn't process what he's reaching for. Grian just stays clinging to him, placated by Scar's words and his hold.

Scar brings the warm fabric over to their bare skin. It makes him giggle slightly at the heat, because it means at least one of his ideas tonight was good. “Here,” he says as he pushes the sweater in between them for the warmth. “As much as I’d love to offer to help you dress—“ he clicks his teeth again in amusement. “—might be a little difficult.”

Taking the soft, warm fabric, Grian puffs his cheeks in an overdramatic pout. "Don't need help, I know how to dress myself." That being said, he still doesn't let go of his wrap around Scar, even though this isn't the best position for putting clothes on.

“Oh I know, but I like to touch you,” Scar goads, grinning innocently.

Grian's cheeks heat up, the words spurring him enough to pull away just to be able to look at Scar, wide-eyed and flustered. "You wh—"

“Hm?” Scar continues to grin, innocent as ever. He looks over Grian, seeing the red trickle over his cheeks. “Oh I think you heard me, but I can repeat myself if you want?” Now that he has the chance, he leans his face in close to Grian, even completing the act with a goofy wink.

"No!" Grian immediately says as his hands fling up, covering Scar's mouth just in case he'd do it anyway, and oh, it's good that Scar is sitting down and holding Grian, because if they were still up, Grian'd definitely fall. His wings fling out anyway, just in case, gathering his balance. The sweater pools between them, a warm barrier between their chests. "That— You don't have to repeat it," Grian blabbers, red.

Scar kisses the palms that cover his mouth, several times like an attack to free himself from the hand prison. He muffles into them as well in between kisses: “But I want to!”

"Scaaaar," Grian groans, and he releases Scar from his hold, only to bury his own very red and very warm face in his freshly-free palms.

Scar follows those hands despite just being freed, kissing them again now that they cover Grian’s face. “I mean you’re not making a lot of progress putting on your sweater— are you sure you don’t want help?” His hands find their way to Grian’s chest, pressing lightly right in the middle.

Grian's heart positively skips a beat, a tiny squeak leaving him at the offer. He's dissipating, too flustered to really form words. 

He wants to scold Scar again. 

He wants to tell him he's fine, he can dress himself. 

He wants to tell him that, actually, yes, Scar can help, whatever that help would actually mean.

Instead he just grumbles something incoherent and flustered into his palms.

Still feeling playfully devious, Scar slides his hands up Grian’s chest over to his bare arms, grabbing slightly and pulling them upward. His movements are needlessly slow and incredibly drawn-out. “Well it would help if you raised your arms like this…” he teases, far too pleased with himself for the shade of red that’s spreading across Grian’s skin

Grian's palms are still pressed to his face, the angle Scar tugs at slightly awkward, but it doesn't make the explosion of sensations rushing through him any weaker. Scar's touch is so delicate, so slow, Grian can't help but go insane under it. 

He makes more incomprehensible noises into his palms. His arms shiver under Scar's fingertips. The hold of his palms over his face relents a little bit, not because he doesn't want to be hidden anymore, but because everything in him yearns to give in to Scar's guidance, no matter Scar's goals.

Gingerly, the palms leave Grian’s face, his arms lifting the littlest bit. His eyes shine, flooded by some deep, rich and raw—and entirely flustered—emotion. His lips are slightly parted, cheeks flushed— and then his earwings fling to take the spot his hands occupied just a moment ago, hiding him away from Scar's gaze in a flash.

Scar’s entire plan comes to a stumbling halt when he sees Grian’s face. His eyes are shamelessly drawn to Grian’s lips, the way they hang open ever so slightly, framed by reddened cheeks and accented freckles. 

He’s momentarily stunned, enamored by the gorgeous sight before him, but it’s stolen away all too soon. And with the earwings no less, so he can’t exactly pry them off. 

He decides to drag his hands back down to settle in the dip of Grian’s shoulders, no longer fooling either of them into believing this has anything to do with helping. “Hey—“ he starts, unsure of what to say exactly, but gosh does he want to see Grian’s face again. “Don’t hide from me,” he croons, voice low and sultry.

Scar's touch is electrifying, sending sparking signals across Grian's body, something culminating in the pit of his stomach. He's asked not to hide, but his embarrassment only rises, at the implication that revealing himself would mean being plunged straight to being seen, Scar's eyes surely intense and scrutinising.

He whines a little, breathing deeply but shakily against Scar's hands.

And then he shifts the earwings, just a little bit, half-obliding, peeking through the feathers.

Scar is about to complain, insist Grian show his entire face, but this is even cuter and he can hardly handle it. His expression shifts into something softer, adoring. Instead of his drawling voice from before, confident and insistent, Scar speaks timidly, an easy smile spread across his face. “… Hi, pretty.”

Grian huffs against his feathers; his earwings twitch, wanting to go back to shielding him as embarrassment swirls in between his ribs, spreading incessant warmth through his face. 

But he is drawn to Scar, like a damned moth to a flame, and he can't pry his eyes away from the soft fondness in Scar's green ones. "Hi," he returns, voice cracking.

Scar leans down to place a kiss on Grian’s chin where his feathers don’t quite reach. He wants to say so many things, keep showering Grian with compliments, but he spares him. He lingers close to Grian’s lips with a sly smile, eyes flickering up to meet his. “… Your sweater’s gonna get cold.”

With Scar this close, Grian's earwings twitch a little bit more out of the way—not out of unwillingness to brush against Scar, but because— Well. Grian's tightening stomach has something to say about Scar hovering so close to his lips. 

"Don't care." it's hushed, but entirely dismissive. Grian’s eyes roam across Scar's face, returning the favour of lingering at the sight of his lips, taking in the curvature of them, remembering how soft and warm they feel pressed against his skin.

Scar grins when Grian doesn’t take the out, so he doesn’t waste any time capturing those lips from him, desperate and yearning. His fingertips dig into the soft skin directly next to his neck, pulling Grian in as close as he can.

Grian leans in easily, without resistance, meeting Scar back. His earwings fall completely away from his face, his eyes closing. His own hands find their spots on the sides of Scar's face.

Without breaking the kiss, Scar grabs at the sweater and places it next to them and the fire, not necessarily with the idea to keep it warm, but simply so there’s nothing in their way— Scar likes it when their skin brushes together. It’s vulnerable and exciting all at once, something satisfying about baring yourself for someone in a world that would normally punish such foolishness. 

His hands are back on Grian in an instant, and he closes his eyes as he traces over more of that skin, exploring and teasing all the same.

Entranced, Grian hums against Scar's lips. He shifts, tracing kisses from the corner of his mouth down across his cheek and jaw, until he finds his spot right under Scar's ear. One of his hands slides back, fingers dragging over the back of Scar's neck until they reach his hairline and dip in. 

It's tantalising, to be this vulnerable and open. To have his skin, soft and defenceless, right under Scar's fingertips to map and do whatever he pleases with. To trust Scar fully, boundlessly.

He doesn't want to stop.

"Scar." He breathes his name right there, on that sensitive patch of skin that he so adores. Right under Scar’s ear.

Intimacy wraps around them, tiny step by a tiny step and then suddenly all at once. 

They give in, drunkenly following its lead, forgetting all about the world that wants to relentlessly hunt them down, take apart their bodies for nothing more than bloodied trophies that will gather dust. 

Instead, they take each other apart in a completely different way. Entranced by their closeness, their skin heated, they familiarise themselves with a whole new vocal range of sounds that draw out of their throats, exploring what they have to offer. Giving and taking and unravelling.

Somewhere amidst it all, early on in this game they’ve invented for each other, Scar runs into the wall of impulsiveness that buzzes underneath his skin, begging for more. Because Grian is a daring menace, insinuating Scar should put him in his place if he doesn’t like his pesky retaliations. Telling him to do something about it if he finds it unfair, while his wings lift, half-unfolding. 

It’s a gesture made on instinct of Grian’s dazed mind, coaxing him to put his feathers on display in a situation where he feels completely safe and equally completely besides himself. The violet hue, freshly cleaned, dances with various shades in the firelight.

Scar’s eyes are instantly drawn in by the lifting feathers framing Grian, firelight dancing across Grian's skin and wings alike— Scar is so doomed. He feels entranced, so entangled by the myriad of sensations and desires that he almost doesn’t register how his fingers gravitate to the feathers. 

He stops himself quickly, breathing out a wisp of blue, and refocuses on a patch of freckles that spread across Grian’s chest as he processes what he almost did on instinct alone.

He wanted to touch. He wanted to touch so badly. He hasn’t seen Grian’s wings shine so brightly in months, or seen him bare the undersides like that to him ever before. He’s not sure what that means in bird body language, but he was almost certain it was an invitation.

But he would never forgive himself if he messed this moment up.

If he messed that up again. 

(It’s not fair that he can’t unravel Grian the same way Grian can with a nip to his sensitive vex ears. Scar wants to hear what kind of sounds Grian would make if he raked his fingers through his wings. Would it feel as good as Grian’s hands do in his hair? Better?)

Scar shudders, expelling those thoughts before he entirely spirals. The treacherous hand finds its way to Grian’s chest, tracing a pattern into those newly discovered freckles. His eyes flick back up, meeting Grian’s with a complicated expression— it’s one of slight conflict, immense adoration, but more than anything, intense desire. 

“…careful what you wish for there, G,” he says, restrained.

Grian hums, shuddering slightly under the touch of Scar's fingertips mapping out patterns on his skin. A purr-like coo makes it out of his throat, and his wings lift the littlest bit again, positioning themselves so perfectly within reach. 

His head is muddled, thoughts dragged through velvet that so softly covers up rationality and leaves behind something gently ravaging, able to pull the string and let him unknot into a puddle. But even through that, he is able to catch that torn expression Scar has, something not quite right in his eyes, the words almost a warning.

He can't decipher it.

He leans away; his wings stay where they are, half curled around them, a brillaintly violet feathery offering. His hips don't move either; it's just his upper back, making his spine arch. (He wants Scar's claws to rake over that curve—) He's watching Scar carefully, even though the firelight continues dancing across his dark irises in endless, unspooling want. 

"If it's unfair," he says, voice low, quiet, a purring string for Scar to follow. (He's always been good at pressing buttons. At not knowing limits. At trying and testing and teasing.) "Then do something about it," he suggests, because he doesn't know why Scar is looking so horribly conflicted, and he doesn't want this to be unfair; it should be mutual, and he's welcoming Scar to take, to even out the playing field. (He'd even let him tip the scales completely, if that's what Scar wants.) 

Scar does drag his other hand up that curve Grian’s making for him, although with no claws involved. He feels the dip in Grian’s back, that divot where he can rake his fingers over his spine. 

Another breath, another wisp of blue smoke. 

Scar’s claws emerge and he has to actively pull his fingers up to avoid scratching. 

It’s not fair because while Grian can lean into his instincts, use them as a familiar crutch, a display of trust and warmth— Scar’s not nearly so fortunate. Letting his vex urges surface would mean violence and danger and taking and— god Scar wants to take. 

And Grian is egging him on. His fingers twitch with want, tapping their pointed nails against soft, bare skin. If only Grian knew what he was asking for right now…

Scar’s hopelessly pulled along by that alluring string, that low purr that escapes from Grian’s throat. He thinks, dazedly, that maybe Grian does know. 

Especially since the drag of Scar's fingers—that moment of them shifting into claws—makes Grian arch more. Not away from it, but into it, encouraging, needy.

He knows what Scar is. He knows he's made of sharp things, claws that can tear and teeth that can bite.

He doesn't care.

He wants Scar, and he wants all of him, and—

His thoughts are slipping from him, dazed and lost in some deep, raw want that pulls him under. 

“Always a fan of the resistance, huh?” Scar’s tone is rough, not unlike a low, warning growl. 

Grian can’t help but grin, ever so cheeky, mayhem running wild in his veins. Scar was always the first one to witness this part of Grian. Whenever there's a spark of mischief, Grian feels drawn to him, wants him to see it, to catch on fire together with him.

And maybe Scar is. Catching on fire together with Grian. Because the next thing Grian knows, he's pushed back, he's pushed down, and—

He's a fan of resistance, but he gives to this so willingly. His eyes never leave Scar's as he lets Scar's hands dictate the way gravity shifts around him. His thighs remain wrapped around Scar even as his back lowers, wings spreading across the ground. (He spares one mindful thought to shift his wing to avoid the campfire. The feathers flutter, instead, near Scar's skin, wing curved upwards, almost brushing his shoulder.) 

He lays down, and he wonders, does this make it fair?

Or is there more?

He looks up at Scar, his heart wild in his chest but expression calm and endlessly fond. Waiting for the next step. Licking his parted lips, waiting to see what happens, wordlessly inviting Scar to do more. 

Scar’s eyes dart from the wing that curves around them back to Grian’s face when he sees Grian’s tongue slide over his lips. Shamelessly, he finds himself mirroring the motion, green gaze hungry.

"It felt good, you know," Grian murmurs, and it's the quietest thing. (He means the claws. The growls. The way Scar pushes and skirts taking more.) "It all does."

Grian’s words scream at Scar to let go, to let loose and see what it is exactly that he wants so desperately from Grian right now. 

Although he’s pretty sure he knows. 

He plants one hand firmly beside Grian’s head, using it to hold his weight, then uses the other to cup Grian's chin, two claws tilting his head while the others graze across his throat. 

Scar leans in closer, ghosting their lips together. “Still good?” he asks, though his voice seems so far away, like he’s floating astray as his resolve grows ever thinner. Instead of kissing him, Scar ducks down lower, pressing his lips just above Grian’s collarbone, kissing roughly enough to threaten a bruise.

The way Grian succumbs to Scar's touch is so simple. Through all the resistance in his soul, none is reserved for Scar right now; he's surrendered, a willing participant in the fate Scar strings up around them like a sticky, inescapable spiderweb. Grian's baring his neck, not shying from the claws; the most he does is let out a shaky breath, a tingle of promising excitement shooting through him like fireworks. 

He feels lightheaded in the best of ways.

"Good," he confirms, more a coo than a word, but the fraying string of vowels still makes sense.

It’s a dangerous game they’re playing, and they’re both aware of it. And they’re both still choosing to continue hurtling down this path.

The rein Scar has on his vex side demanding he takes more slackens, falls out of his grip at Grian’s goading tug. He lets out a low hum against Grian’s throat before slacking his jaw and biting. His fangs hook into the skin above his collarbone, threatening to break skin, but not quite yet. No blue magic escapes Scar’s mouth this time, only hot and heavy breath in between roughly teething at Grian’s soft skin, reeling at the feeling of blood coursing so close to his fangs. Instead the haze trickles across his irises, eyes flickering blue as he indulges instead of resists.

Grian's head is quickly becoming a mess, but it's a mess in the best of  ways. There's not a smidge of fear under his skin, and oh, isn't that something. It's entirely replaced by craving, by this submissive need to push Scar over the edge and take everything Scar gives him— and, equally, let Scar take everything he wants. 

Intoxicatingly vulnerable, Grian offers no defences, leaving himself wide open, tempting Scar to continue. The pain sparks, but it translates to pleasure; it says good good good, it makes Grian want to press closer to Scar, it makes him want to keep his neck bared, it makes him want to sink his own, dull fingernails into Scar's skin just to let him know that this feels wonderful.

A dizzying thought hits Grian, a hazy wondering if Scar knows Grian is giving him everything, right now. All of himself. Every little bit. He's putting himself completely at Scar's mercy. 

But maybe Scar knows.

Maybe he knows, because when Scar lifts up, looming over Grian, what he chooses to say is mine.

The word reverberates through Grian, shakes something at his core, but it feels warm. It feels tingly and like a precipice, but one he wants to fall over.

Breathless and defenceless, he chirps in affirmation, before he vocalises it in a hoarse half-whisper, and despite the pleased haze that coats every letter, something in his tone is almost daring: "Yours."

Scar loves that little chirp — he loves the confirmation, however daring it may be posed. In fact, he likes that particular detail a lot, because he's happy to oblige.

His fingers trail across the curves and freckles, exploring again now that he can shamelessly stare and watch for Grian's reaction. He meets Grian's gaze, vision still somewhat foggy, and he realizes he needs to say something now before he's too far gone to resist. Because he's slowly losing himself to the boundless desire to consume, whatever that may entail, and his skin is practically sizzling and singing every spot where feathers overlap…

Grian meets Scar's gaze back, equally dazed and indescribably present; a scalding, endless pool of emotions reflected in his eyes, open yet unreadable. He makes soft noises at Scar's touch over the tender skin, fingernails lightly dragging against Scar's back in response, but none of him is running away from this.

He's staying put, an obedient little prey, ready to be consumed.

"Grian," Scar forces out, leaning back in so his breath is felt over Grian’s cheek.

Grian's breath hitches instantly in response, eyes falling shut. His name sounds so sweet yet strained on Scar's lips, and he wants to take it from him, to unshackle those restraints around it.

But Scar's leaning over his cheek, not his lips, and Grian is nothing but obliging, baring his skin, whichever part of it Scar happens to desire.

"Scar," he returns in a hoarse whine, the need to call him back scalding hot in his veins. 

"You're—" Scar’s voice cracks, but it's different than before. It's like he's interrupted by a needy growl, teeth bared. But Scar recollects himself, eyes still blazing, alight with wild magic and yearning. "You're toeing a dangerous line here, y’know..." He's trying to be delicate about it, merely allude to the burst of primal emotion he's fighting to control. "... toying with a vex." He says it like it could just be a joke, a simple tease, but he's so entirely serious about it.

Ah.

There it is.

Grian suddenly understands all the complexity swirling through Scar's expression.

And he takes it without flinching. He hums, bringing one hand up, to brush through Scar's hair, fingertips reaching to the back of Scar's ear, teasing lightly. A featherlight touch.

"I know." 

It's so simple to admit.

His lips are slightly curved. A miniscule grin, something knowing, tender, welcoming.

He cranes his neck, leans in, steals a quick kiss.

"I know, Scar." 

And he's still right here. Still so willing. Still absolutely surrendered. One wing draped over Scar, the rest of him pliantly underneath him, neck tilting to regain its bared position, not a shred of survival instinct left on display.

Scar still swallows hard, nerves alight. He's certain his desire is practically a tangible thing now, magic thrumming across his skin and driving him crazy. 

"If you—" he starts, hoarse, still so very strained, speaking through his teeth as they involuntarily press tightly together. With a shaky breath, he admits it, timid, but determined to be entirely transparent by just how much his instincts are running wild: "I'm gonna want to touch them— you, your wings—" He wants it to be clear it's only because it's a part of Grian that he wants this, and he prays that's coming across, but words are so difficult to form in his dizzying haze. "... so if you don't want that, you need to tell me now."

Before I can't control myself, goes unsaid.

The conflict is so clear now, the way Scar is trying to hold back, for Grian, always for Grian.

Grian thinks maybe he wants Scar to let go. 

Thrill runs across his spine, delving into downy feathers that coat his back, as Scar says the word wings. It's not often Grian hears it on his tongue, with Scar always carefully skirting around it. And what would at other times make him uneasy, now makes Grian perk up—some bird instinct that's taking deep root in him, tangling into myriad of desires. 

Because, yes. Wings. Wings.

The feathers draped over Scar's bare skin move lightly, brushing against him. repositioning. Not leaving that point of contact. Not shying away.

The possibility looms in Grian's mind, something set ablaze at a deep dark precipice, and as he swallows thickly, all he can think of is: want.

Scar needs an answer, and Grian thinks maybe he can give him some. Maybe he can— Maybe they can—

He licks his lips and his fingers tenderly brush through the hair behind Scar's ear, trying to soothe him into this. "I can't promise it'll be okay..." he starts. And it's true. He can't. He's aware he's riddled with countless barely-buried triggers right under his skin (under his feathers—), all of it linked to a horrible terror, always just half a step from dreadfully raw, spiralling panic. But this, this feels different. This feels like maybe he could be something else, too. Like it doesn't have to be that.

He feels it, that glowing, intense desire to give himself over to Scar fully. A prey to a predator, shameless, fearless, unabashed. Untamed, both of them. Wild. 

He tilts his head. Strands of hair shining with shades of gold in the firelight shift, fall across his forehead and out of the way, soft and clean, thanks to Scar's careful, loving hands. 

The pause is there, hovering.

Grian is going to break it.

"But... Scar."

He lifts himself up, reaching for Scar; his hand tugs lightly at Scar's hair to aid him in his movement; his wing presses against Scar's back, too, helping Grian reach Scar's lips. He presses a tender kiss there, affectionate and pleading, and it tips into unbridled craving as he finishes with a flick of tongue and a gentle bite of his teeth.

"Make the danger feel good," he whispers, a half-purr half-growl tucked against the corner of Scar's mouth, breath hovering over the bitten spot on Scar's lip. 

And then Grian's hand falls away from Scar's hair. All of him falls away, as he lets himself lie back down, his gaze flickering with warmth and desire in the hot, glowing light of the firelight. He's putting himself here willingly, underneath Scar, defenceless, skin bared, chest lifting up with breaths as his heart hammers against his ribs.

"And then you can touch," he finishes hoarsely, so very quietly. Soft and inviting, equally as hopeful as it's needy, his eyes never leaving Scar's.

And it's still so very different, a craving driving him insane—he wanted Scar's claws on his feathers not too long ago, but that was for destruction, and this— this isn't that. This is something completely different, miles away from whatever that spiral from before was; something that leaves Grian's throat dry, warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach. 

He's playing with fire, and he fully intends to let it burn him. To consume him. He yearns desperately for this kind of intimacy, for Scar, Scar, Scar, for things to be something else for a moment. (Hands in his feathers and teeth on his skin and him amidst it all, willing, pliant, giving.)

Make the danger feel good, echoes throughout Scar's increasingly emptying mind— he's slipping further, those words are driving him wild. He blinks several times, trying to process the roundabout permission he's been granted, the chance to try if only he can fulfill the promise of pleasure amidst danger. He hopes to clear his vision, lift the haze for a moment to provide a coherent response, but each blink only serves to hide the swirl of vibrant blue that dances across his eyes, glowing brighter each time he opens them.

Grian watches, patient and silent, lips parted in invitation, as Scar processes what he's just said. He sees the brightness of his eyes, the blue wisps that dance around. He knows how fraying and thin Scar's self control is.

He wants it to snap.

Scar opens his mouth, but no words come out, just a needy, shaken huff before he's leaning down and devouring, barely even a kiss, more of an open drag of teeth that's pressed into Grian's mouth, nonsensical and demanding.

There are claws and fangs and a bright blue fog swirling around the both of them, fighting against the vibrance of the firelight and winning.

Despite the initial apprehension, it’s a wonder to Scar how he ever doubted himself, because of course he wouldn’t irreparably hurt Grian— protecting him is as ingrained in his instincts as anything else. It’s a spiral of both sides of his vex urges— to please and to devour— a dizzying mesh, a thrilling fusion of desires. 

They let themselves slip into this. Into controlled violence and hovering threats, into claws and fangs and blood, into nails dug into skin and bodies pressed close. Into danger that feels mindbogglingly good, stripping them of sanity as they keep, all too willingly, sinking deeper and deeper.

(Listen they’re little freaks they definitely should’ve negotiated a safe word before this all went down.) 

"Mmm." Grian groans, a drawn out sound. There’s a fresh bite wound at the side of his neck that throbs, overcome with sensations as the tender, broken skin meets air and Scar's mouth, the fresh, warm blood smeared around in the process. 

Deliriously, he tips his head to the side, eyes closed and hands trembling, giving that whole side of his throat to Scar. (He'd give him anything now. Anything.) 

Scar grins, teeth bared and lips slightly smeared with blood, when Grian cranes his neck even more, allowing for even further abuse. He presses in close again, kissing the spot using his wicked little smile. "You'd really give in so easily?" he murmurs against the bruised skin, tone as crackly as it is velvety, a contradictory blend. His words are playful, but his voice drops as he adds, pensive: "... only for me I'd hope."

There's a small spur at the words, a reminder that Grian's soul should be made of resisting, stitched through with endless, mischievous fights. And yet it leads nowhere, a dead end against Scar's breath at his throat, the velvety rumble of his voice. 

Grian whines, nonsensically, fingers weakly pawing at Scar's back without any real intention to sink in for now. His wing brushes over Scar again, a restless little motion of soft feathers, vulnerable prize caressing a vicious predator.

"For you," he echoes on a whine, barely remembering how to speak. And then he adds, laying himself bare and pliant, stripping all the defences and pressing control solely into Scar's palms (into his claws, into his teeth—): "Anything for you."

Scar practically keens at the admission, the surrender and for a second his voice is incredibly lucid as he lets out a quiet and almost incredulous, "gosh," words interlaced with a small chuckle. 

The chuckle anchors all of Grian's attention for a searing moment, a different kind of delight rushing wildly through him, curving his lips heedlessly into a triumphant smile. Knowing he's making Scar feel things tastes like victory, like a reward in itself, and he wants to gloat, taking it in, before he throws himself off the precipice and gives Scar more of himself, to exacerbate that, to make Scar tip into this  fall with him.

There's a more gentle, fond and intrigued touch down one of Grian's sides, a little less claw as Scar drags down his bare chest, but the tether snaps again as Scar licks over his lips, still hungry for more. The touch grows more purposeful and intense as he maps out his prey, testing the skin, seeking something. 

He spots whatever it is in the center of Grian's chest, the dip of his ribcage, something vulnerable and alive as he feels the rush of blood and a battered heartbeat under his fingertips. His claws tap there eagerly as his grin once again grows toothy and wild, presenting his expression to Grian and drinking in the sight of his own.

Grian shudders under the touch Scar traces across his chest, something soft and exploratory. Grian can feel his breath stutter against those fingertips, wonders how Scar feels about that; but his answer is right here, as his gaze meets Scar's at the attention-calling tap of his fingers. 

Breathlessly, Grian takes in Scar's grin, and oh, he's in trouble. His heart beats wildly against his ribs, somewhere under Scar's claws, as his eyes hang on Scar. Grian's irises are glowing with reflected blue, gaze as intense as it is hazed, vulnerability fighting with desire. His neck still throbs. The rush of urgent craving is ceaseless, drumming through his veins. 

With a pang of ache that travels all the way down to pool below his stomach, Grian leans up, not minding that there are claws in the way on his chest, reaching to press the smallest brush of his lips against Scar in an almost-kiss, reverent puff of breath tingling in its wake.

"Yours," he murmurs, pushing Scar on.

Scar has to reel in his claws so as not to break skin when Grian moves— that's his job to do— and he purrs lowly against Grian's lips, smile turning devilish when Grian's speaks, the word music to his happily-flicking ears. 

As pleased as he is by the gesture, he pushes Grian right back down where he belongs. 

With a tantalising, toothy smile Grian obeys without struggle, cooing in encouragement, a praise, an affirmation that Scar's doing what he should here.

There's a searing awareness of their roles tearing a path through him—something about Scar's ability to tear him apart at the slightest whim; something about his own helplessness; something about how he's essentially pinned down. The flush of dizzying, quivery pleasure he feels at the thought is disintegrating all of his rationality, rendering him into an all too willing prisoner of any and all of Scar's cravings.

Scar’s claws drag down Grian’s chest, enough to mark but not to break skin. He's toying with the idea, letting the thought of drawing blood dance across his mind, set something ablaze in his eyes. (But he shouldn't— not here— not too much…)

Grian shudders; his rapid breaths tremble right underneath all that sharpness, his fluttering heartbeat rabbity beyond a cage of ribs that suddenly feel all too brittle, paper-thin, a protection that means nothing if Scar decides he doesn't want it there.

And still, Grian pulls up no protections.

He’s a willing participant in this bloody abuse, letting Scar claw and bite, lost to the deliriousness of the sensations it brings. Like sea dragging him under, beckoning him to let it happen. 

And at some point down the line, soft feathers of Grian’s earwing brush across the back of Scar's hand that’s cupping his face. Grian wants him to know how much he's at his mercy, and how much he wants to be at his mercy.

Scar extends his fingers, no longer curling around Grian's cheeks, now experimentally carding through the feathers of the earwing that's been offered. He almost doesn't consciously register his decision to do so, he just feels something soft and knows he wants to touch, to claim, to pull, but no— No, he won’t. 

He is not going to harm Grian. Not like that.

He has other ways of claiming him after all. 

And while Scar might only be dazedly, barely aware of the shift and touch of his hand, it shoots across Grian's senses—the fingers burrowing into the soft feathers of his earwings.

It's got nothing with a conscious decision; Grian’s body is controlled by a nonsense of instincts, and they dictate him to go limp, drawing a low, soft sound of out him. His earwing twitches, at first away, then towards the touch, giving itself over just like the rest of him.

Scar feels the moment the earwing gives into him, and he's instantly thrilled, sliding the longer feathers in between his fingers and releasing a low purr. His other hand does the same, mirroring the touch on the other side. 

The earwing touches are enough to drive Grian insane, triggering something in him that's been dormant for too long, drawing out a spillage of pleading bird noises out of him. His wing that was lying sprawled across the ground lifts somewhat, curves, just to show off the feathers; they glisten with brilliant shades, reached both by blue wisps of magic and the warm glow of the campfire.

Scar shifts to more gentleness over the bruises, then reverently kisses the tips of Grian’s feathers, a soft little gesture he’s never been allowed to offer. His claws trace circles over the indents of his latest bite, and he leans to kiss and lightly suck on it, dazed from the taste of blood on his tongue.

And then he notices the wings.

The beautiful, multicolored span outlined by his own spectral glow— a breathtaking sight. Scar’s eyes dilate as they lock onto the delicate hues that are normally so hidden away. They shine, freshly-cleaned, and although perhaps the method wasn’t preferable, Scar still feels his soul catch fire with the knowledge that he was the one to wash them. He’s the reason they sparkle right now and simultaneously the reason they’re on full display. 

His eyes are wide and eager, scanning the feathers and grinning wide at the sight— his expression a mixture of ravenous and adoring. 

Almost brainlessly, Scar mutters a string of nonsensical phrases under his breath: ”mine, pretty, my pretty bird, so good, so good—“ before leaning down and properly kissing Grian, the words still slurred against their lips. 

At the string of praises and possessive words, Grian coos, equally as incoherent. His wing stretches a bit higher, delighted, feathers shining against the multicoloured glow. The muscles ache, unused to the motion, but it feels good, something in him tingling and telling him that this is right. The vulnerable underside of the wing is there, perfectly within reach, not trying to hide or tuck away, a state they haven't been able to achieve once in this world before this moment.

Grian's gaze snags at Scar's grin, at that expression that tells him Scar's treading the thought of devouring him whole. It tugs at his guts, tightens his stomach, sends his breath out of rhythm, but none of it feels bad. He revels in it, shivers and sinks into it, the feeling ultimately warm, slinking around him like a spiderweb, making him hold still, dazed and unaware of the imminent danger.

"Yours, yours, good, yes, all yours," he echoes back at Scar, words half-coos, melting into the kiss. He hums against Scar's lips, a pleased, needy little noise. His hands travel higher up Scar's back and press, tugging at him, telling him he wants him right here, over himself. 

When the kiss breaks, he follows, nipping at Scar's lips, trying to elicit something more yet again, playing into Scar's instincts in a way that seems deliberate, but is just a hazed jumble of incomprehensible cravings, something deep and richly yearning that doesn't take no for an answer. 

Grian refuses to let Scar retreat in the slightest, and it’s that utter willingness and provocation that’s keeping Scar just barely tethered to reality— because surely his prey shouldn’t be this pliant. Shouldn’t be urging him on.

Because Grian isn’t his prey, nor or his meal—

But isn’t he? 

Once again, Scar’s head spins, dizzied as the line between mate and prey becomes muddled in his vex brain. And somehow through it all comes laughter of all things because— because this started with a bath and now Grian is underneath him trilling and begging to be manhandled. It’s borderline absurd and the sheer irrationality of both their behavior right now results in a sudden, throaty chuckle emerging from Scar as he teases Grian’s lips with his teeth. 

It’s almost silly, but more than anything, it’s electrifying, thrilling, exciting. There’s blood smeared over Scar’s fingers, and yet he’s having fun. 

Scar's laughter sends a wave of warmth through Grian, so very different from the scorching heat of everything else. It's a sound he basks in, slotting it somewhere next to his wildly beating heart, treasured amidst the inferno that ravages the rest of his body. He hums quietly against it, reveling in the way the sounds merge, even as it tips into a whine at the tease of Scar's teeth on Grian's lips.

With struggling clarity, Scar continues to giggle, although it morphs into an alluring purr. “Always said no one can have ‘em—” Scar’s hands frame Grian’s face, tucking his earwings over his cheeks. “—well what if I want them?” A careful drag of claws through those tiny feathers and heavy breath over Grian’s lips. “What if I want you?”

Grian’s breath hitches, noises falling silent for a moment as Scar's claws lightly rake across his feathers, tucking the soft fluff of the earwings against Grian's cheeks. Grian's gaze holds onto his, dark and intense, and his throat bobs as he swallows emptily. 

He feels dizzy, like he's going insane. His brain bounces the sharp thought of danger against his feathers, but he's holding still for Scar, expression hot and adoring and desiring. It feels explosive, like sparks of a live wire, and he wants it, all of it, a tinge of fear crashing into safety of this being Scar, the trust at the dazed awareness that he's in good hands, and he wants those hands to be clawed and at his skin—at his feathers. 

A part of Grian’s brain that's made of pure instinct trills in happy victory, telling him this is what he wanted, that he succeeded—he showed off his feathers and his mate now wants him. It's intoxicating, a jumbled mess of agreements thrashing underneath Grian's tongue while he fights to figure out how to express any of them. 

In the end, he coos, a small whine pressed against Scar's hovering lips. His earwings twitch, sending a spike of sensation though him as that creates a gentle drag against Scar's claws, eliciting a tiny mewl from his throat. 

And through it all, he's still here, still not running.

When he finds his voice, it's equally soft and pleading; it sounds like gentle affection and like deep craving, all at once. It's showing boundless love to the beast while tempting it to devour him. "You can have," he murmurs, low and hoarse. "You can have me." All of me.

Scar feels as if he could howl with excitement and triumph, but instead what comes out is a hushed purr, a rumbly thing pressed right up against the corner of Grian’s lips. 

“Won’t hurt,” he whispers, in spite of all the damage he’s already wrought. But even in a haze of delirious bloodlust, Scar still draws the line there. He doesn’t want to harm Grian’s wings. He has no intention of breaking those gorgeous feathers or of taking them for himself. He doesn’t need to. He has Grian, all of Grian, and all Scar wants to do is to admire his lovely possessions.

To give them the love they deserve. 

To give Grian the love he absolutely deserves.

Scar tucks a promise against the corner of Grian's lips, and Grian quietly coos back. A hushed, I know, tender and loving and trusting. 

There’s still slight hesitation in Scar’s movements, months of ingrained resistance still fighting his every motion, but Scar’s hand finally leaves Grian’s cheek and those soft, tiny feathers to embrace the real prize. Dozens of greedy hands have tried and yet Scar— fangs and claws bared— is being offered them willingly. His lips curl in satisfaction.

Grian hums quietly at Scar's hesitation, hands tracing light patterns into the skin of Scar's back. Mapping out all the scarred tissue there, the edges of which he's seen many many times, memorised, and now they unfurl under his fingertips. His to touch. His, his, his. 

He's going to be gentle with Scar's wounds, like he is with Grian's wings.

— and then his thoughts dissipate, his breath hitching shakily, as Scar's hand makes contact with his wing. A confusing onslaught of feelings rushes through him, and he both wants to look and doesn't want to see it. Some deep-rooted part of him tells him that he should be scared, that this should be dangerous, but the rest of him pushes against it, whispering soft and pliant I know, I know, I know. 

He wants Scar's hand right where it is, and more. He wants—

Claws sink in between the feathers harmlessly as Scar trails his fingers down their length, positively entranced by this allowance. There’s a soft hum of appreciation, of reassurance, and Scar’s other hand stays, just as content with raking his claws through Grian’s hair.

Grian shudders, his emotions a tangle that tips into pleasure as Scar's clawed fingers drag across the tender underside of his wings, caressing the feathers that have been untouched for months. He tips his head into Scar's other hand that's tangled in his hair, nuzzling as a spillage of coos makes it out, a nonsensical string that is very, very far from distressed. 

He takes one deep breath, that's meant to be steadying but instead quivers all the way through, and he pushes his wing into Scar's touch.

Eager to get access to every bit of what’s just been offered to him, Scar drags Grian up, settling him once again in his lap. His other hand snakes around Grian’s waist, searching for a spot he was never allowed to touch, travelling to the base of Grian’s wings, claws running over the smaller feathers. He sinks his fingers into their length, revelling the softness in contrast to all his sharp edges.

And Grian is doomed. So completely, utterly doomed.

He shudders in the best of ways, the coo that makes it past his lips vibrating with it as his back arches and wings blissfully push into the touch. The hands in his feathers are driving him crazy. He's pressing himself against Scar, a babble of purring, whiny, defenceless bird noises spilling out of him unbidden, any semblance of self control left.

Neither of them wants to stop here.

And so they don’t. 

[there’s somehow 10k more rp words to this debauchery. just use your imagination we now fade to black <33]

[matrixbearer2024]

Suffering

Are you really even living? Or simply surviving doctor? When had immortality turned from a blessing into a curse? More importantly, did you really even care? Or did you only care because you're now all alone?

AKA; Ford internalizing now that he's alone and invulnerable to the sands of time. The same can't be totally said for his mental state though. After all, he's only human.

Songfic based on "Suffering" by Amelie Farren written for my Time Lord Twins AU!

I'm very delulu for my AU- so have a sneak peek into Doc's future with this song fic I wrote. I have three distinct moments for Stanford as the Doctor in my timelord twins AU:

the Doctor that neglects — when he was young and was only a Doctor thanks to his PhDs

the Doctor that regrets — present, where I normally create content for him and where his blog and RP are currently situated

the Doctor that forgets — the far flung future where he outlives everybody and completely embraces being a time lord

I'll be tagging these posts accordingly, but I'd love to talk about his lore much more if you guys are interested!

The sun had long dipped below the edge of the cosmos, surrendering to the sea of stars that now spilled across the boundless sky. Within the TARDIS, Stanford stood against the vast backdrop of that eternal night, the hum of the ship's machinery a constant, soothing drone beneath the cacophony of his thoughts. The silver pill case in his hand reflected the light of a nearby console, gleaming with a sterile brightness that made his skin crawl. He turned it over between his fingers, contemplating the small white tablets that represented his fragile tether to equilibrium.

  I've thrown aside my worries, but the cares they bite me back. I'm taking twenty vitamins a day, for the iron I lack.

  Stanford grimaced, the corners of his lips pulling downward as the familiar bitterness welled up in his throat. He tilted his head back and swallowed the pills dry, feeling them scrape down his throat as if rebelling against their purpose. Sustenance without substance, that was his life now. He no longer needed food to keep going, no longer needed the simple pleasures of living— he only indulged when he could remember to, when the aching loneliness hadn’t numbed his senses entirely.

  I don't need food I don't need sleep, don't tell me that I'm wrong! I don't know what I'm doing— But can you please just play along?

  The first decade had clawed at him with relentless, gnawing grief. Each year afterward seemed to find a new way to hollow him out, chiseling deeper into the marrow of his being until there was nothing left but the echo of old anguish. He would lie awake in the captain’s chair or pace the TARDIS halls, every footfall a metronome counting out regrets. Days would bleed into each other, a palette of shadows smearing over any sense of time. He’d stopped counting birthdays after the 200th, the last one he’d shared with Stanley.

  Why count when the numbers stretched toward an infinity he wanted nothing to do with?

  My head is made of flowers, and my body made of steel. Cause I can't think— Can't hear— can't feel!

  Stanford’s fingers flexed, muscles tightening and releasing as if testing the reality of their presence. The memories surged forward like a wave, unstoppable and suffocating— hands covered in grime and ash, eyes stinging from the smoke that rose like specters around him, the taste of iron sharp on his tongue. He had touched the stars, commanded them, until they burned him to cinders. His mind was an overgrown thicket now, vines of regret and bitterness weaving through every synapse, thorned reminders of a past he could neither escape nor amend.

  When he closed his eyes, he could see them— faces etched into the void, voices calling out in anguish as they fell. Each step, each choice, stained his path with crimson guilt. He felt like a monument to grief, immovable and ever-decaying.

  They say a picture's worth a thousand words, but I disagree. I can't imagine anything Cause I can't see!

  The doctor let out a breath that shuddered its way past his chest, eyes straying to the holographic stars projected across the TARDIS library. What he once chased with fervor and ambition had turned into an unyielding prison. The titles of “healer” and “teacher”, which once filled him with pride, now felt like weights dragging him deeper into the abyss. What good was saving worlds when he couldn’t save his own heart from splintering?

  I won't break the ice though what else Is there to do? Cause suffering in silence is better—

  He could scream, tear at the walls and curse the very fabric of the universe, but he didn’t. The tears had dried up centuries ago, leaving him a stoic effigy among the whirring consoles and glowing monitors. The charade was familiar— a smile that never reached his eyes, words measured and wrapped in carefully crafted ease. He was an actor in the greatest tragedy ever told, where the curtains never fell.

  Than suffering with you.

  The doctor’s gaze dropped to the leather-bound journal resting on the armrest of his chair, untouched for days. The pages within held maps of stars, sketches of constellations, and annotations written with a frantic hand, desperate to capture even a fragment of meaning. The room around him felt cavernous, echoing with memories of Dipper’s quick wit and Mabel’s bright laughter. He could almost hear them, almost see their shadows darting between bookshelves.

  But it was only him, just him, marooned in this endless stretch of time.

  So I jumped out with a parachute, but the ground caught me off guard. Karma for the rules I break, the ones I disregard.

  The temptation to go back, to step through rifts that bent reality and visit those moments, was irresistible. He’d done it before, left the TARDIS hidden among the trees and traced the familiar paths of Gravity Falls with trembling steps. His heart would clench as he watched past versions of himself and his twin squabble over nonsense, the cheery voices of his grand niece and nephew not long to join. Their voices carrying over the wind with the kind of ease that only came before everything shattered.

  I can feel the tension rising. What fate is worse than this? Stuck between the ones I love—

  He’d watch them, hidden in the shadows of his own memories, a ghost to a life he once lived. Cosmic rules be damned. He’d listen to the echoes of their laughter until it felt like it would break him, that painful, beautiful sound that underscored just how far he’d fallen. But even then, he would not dare approach, would not dare alter a single second.

  And the ones I miss.

  Stanford’s eyes shifted to the flickering flames of the library’s fireplace, its light casting restless, dancing shadows across the room. The orange glow did little to warm the chill embedded in his bones. How many Fords, across how many dimensions, would have craved this? A sanctuary lined with knowledge and power, the respect of entire galaxies balanced on a single whispered name— ‘Doctor.’ And yet, it was all as hollow as the space between the stars.

  My head is made of shrubbery, and my body made of stone. Cause I can't for the life of me— reap what I have sown!

  He tightened his hold on the armrest, the leather creaking under his grip. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. It never should have come to this— sailing across time, trapped in a machine that hummed with its own form of loneliness, while he wore a mask that no one ever questioned. It felt like being both the sculptor and the statue, shaping and trapped by the life he’d carved out.

  They say a picture's worth a thousand words, but I disagree. I can't imagine anything, 'cause I can't see!

  The weight of immortality, once so alluring, now coiled around him like iron shackles. What did it matter if entire legions paused at the utterance of his name? What did it matter if beings far beyond human comprehension flinched at the sight of him? It meant nothing without the echoes of laughter, without the warmth of shared stories and the unspoken understanding of his family’s presence beside him.

  I won't break the ice though what else Is there to do? 'Cause suffering in silence is better—

  He filled the silence with companions, short-lived stars that burned bright and fizzled out too quickly. They were there, and then they weren’t. Time was relentless, wearing them down to memories while he stood unchanged. Each one chipped away at him, left him a little more hollow. His only true constant was Stanley, and even he didn’t know the full story. Ford wouldn’t let him, couldn’t let him see that far into the dark.

  Than suffering with you.

  The TARDIS thrummed, a soft, sympathetic sound that vibrated through his bones as if it, too, mourned the lives they’d shared and lost. Ford exhaled, the heaviness in his chest pressing down like a stone. He could carry this, he would carry this— because if there was one thing he’d learned in all these centuries, it was that some battles are never meant to be shared. Some wars are fought in silence, against an enemy that wore your face in the mirror.

  And if the burden grew too heavy, well— he was the Doctor. He would bear it alone.

  He had to.

  I try to sink and never float.

  Some days, the weight was manageable, a familiar companion that settled over him like a well-worn cloak. But tonight, the burden felt insurmountable, pressing against his chest until each breath tasted sharp, like the metallic tang of blood from battles fought too long ago to matter and yet too vivid to forget.

  Stanford’s eyes turned to the viewport, where the stars blinked back at him with their indifferent light. Once, those points of light had been symbols of promise, of adventure and uncharted paths. Now they were cold eyes watching as he drifted— an eternal voyager, bound by his own choices and the mistakes that clung to him like barnacles on a shipwreck.

  Cause my head is underwater.

  The doctor’s fingers found the edge of his sleeve, gripping it tight as though it could anchor him. The silence roared in his ears, the kind that made old wounds ache with the sharpness of fresh cuts. Memories of splintered wood and that familiar bite of ozone filled his senses. The frantic fight, the blinding light, the hole that had torn through his chest— a wound that should have marked the end. He let out a shuddering breath, feeling phantom pain coil around him like a serpent.

  I’m here by choice by my own hand.

  The most damning part was knowing that every fracture, every scar, was carved by his own hand. He’d walked into the chaos willingly, driven by an insatiable need to prove something— to whom, he couldn’t even remember anymore. A need that had led him to make choices that, at best, haunted him and, at worst, had cost him everything.

  I’m a lamb sent into slaughter.

  He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling the silver strands that had once been a youthful umber. The weight in his chest grew heavier, spreading through his limbs. He remembered the moment he’d sealed his fate with a handshake and a grin, signing away pieces of himself to a demon who promised everything and gave nothing but ruin. Even now, the jeers of that one-eyed triangle haunted the corners of his vision, mocking him with every beat of his undying heart.

  I’m aware of my own body.

  Every nerve ending screamed in protest as memories flared to life. The repair box’s nanobots— an endless legion that buzzed beneath his skin— worked tirelessly, a ceaseless reminder that he wasn’t wholly his own anymore. Some days, he could almost feel them moving, an itch he could never scratch. His hands curled into fists, knuckles turning white as he resisted the impulse to claw at the sensation, to rip it out and make it stop.

  I can feel beneath my skin.

  But he didn’t. He never did. The discipline of centuries held him captive, a slave to his own stoic facade. He swallowed hard, letting the tension dissipate as much as it ever could, settling like sediment at the bottom of his soul. The fire’s light flickered over his features, casting deep shadows that made his face look carved from stone.

  I can wash away my insecurities.

  He stood abruptly, the sudden motion sending a wave of dizziness through him. The doctor steadied himself against the back of the chair, eyes closing as he drew in a breath. The act was as much a ritual as any he performed— a way to wash the fractures of his spirit, to convince himself that he was still whole. But deep down, he knew.

  But can’t wash away my sin!

  No amount of time, no act of heroism, could ever cleanse the burgundy that stained his hands. It was a truth that gnawed at him, a constant shadow that whispered during his moments of quiet. He turned toward the shelves, running a finger over the spine of a book he’d read a hundred times but never truly absorbed. Knowledge without purpose— just like him.

  They say a picture’s worth a thousand words, but I disagree! I can’t imagine anything—

  The holographic stars in the library blinked and swirled, shifting constellations that once spoke of wonder and exploration. Now, they were a cruel reminder of all the places he’d been, all the faces he’d left behind. He raised a fist, hesitated, then let it fall to his side. He couldn’t even find the anger to break the illusion.

  Cause I can’t see!

  His vision blurred, not with tears— those had dried up long ago— but with the weight of exhaustion that pressed down on him like a vice. Every accolade, every whispered praise, fell flat, their meaning washed away by the tides of time and repetition. The applause of civilizations felt no different than the hollow sound of silence.

  I won’t break the ice though what else Is there to do?

  The cold chill crept into his veins, a familiar companion that had shared his endless nights. Yet, he dared not crack the veneer he’d cultivated— that smile, that reassuring nod. It was a mask, as impenetrable as the TARDIS walls. To break it would mean shattering the delicate balance that kept him standing.

  Cause suffering in silence is better—

  Stanford’s fingers brushed against the journal again, the touch almost reverent, as if it held the answers he’d long given up searching for. The one story he couldn’t write was his own— each word caught in the tangle of what-ifs and could-have-beens that ensnared his mind.

  Than suffering with you!

  He swallowed back the ache, pushing it down to the depths where it simmered and seethed. To bear it alone was better; it was safer. The doctor would stand, resolute and silent, a guardian of time burdened by its cruelest truths.

  And as the night deepened, the stars outside continued their silent vigil, unmoved by the man who carried the weight of universes in his lonely fractured heart.

Tell me what you think about these two! I've got more drabbles in store for them aside from the content already on both their blogs @gftimelord & @gftimelordstwin! Also posted here on Ao3!

[cha0ticspacebi]

Moving on after a break up is never easy. But ice cream and that bartender who won’t leave my head definitely help.

Chapter 2･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. Series Master List

Pairing: Post Canon! Eddie Munson x Witchy! Artist! Female OC

Word Count: 14.5 k

Series Tags: Eventual smut MDNI 21+, slow burn, canon divergence AU, Eddie is a soft sweet traumatized boy, rockstar Eddie, Bartender Eddie, female OC is a witchy, aspiring author/artist, hurt/comfort, eventual happy ending, additional tags will be added.

Author’s Note: This story is a labor of love between me and my good friend 🦇 🖤 They play an incredible Eddie! We’re writing an ongoing RP together and I am so enamored with this story I just had to share it out as a fic. This story is written in a very different format than my usual work. It’s going to be posted exactly as we wrote it together, separated by our names. I’m so proud of the work we’ve done together. This story is incredibly important to me and has made me fall in love with writing all over again.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

The next morning I am incredibly thankful that I have the day off because if I had to try and work right now I’d probably just get sent home anyway and lose out on the shift that I kinda need now. Not only did Jackson break my heart but he left me with all of the expenses. I should be ok, might not be able to eat out for a while but I’ll be ok. That brings my train of thought back to you and how it might be awhile before I can go to The Hideout again and see you. I start to wonder when or if I’ll see you again. Even though I don’t know your name, in just our short interaction, you sparked a feeling of happiness in me that I haven’t felt in a long time.

As a few days go by I get back into a routine but I find myself getting less sad and more mad. One evening standing in my kitchen chopping vegetables after work I think, fuck it. I should just cut my losses, leave my lease early and go back home. But some part of me doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I couldn’t handle it here on my own. Also, I find myself oddly saddened at the thought of never seeing you again.

It’s almost been a week since that night and I head into work for my open to close Saturday shift. I’m reshelving the return cart from last night when Caroline, the only coworker I’d consider kind of a friend, walks in. She greets me with a smile and we talk through the gaps in the shelves of the mystery section as the both of us work to get this cart cleared.

“So have you and Jackson checked out that bar I told you about yet?”

I bristle at her question, “Um no,” I pretend to be reading the author's name on a book, “He uh, he broke up with me actually.” She tries to console me but I can tell she’s not sad, I follow it up quickly not wanting to dwell on the thought too long, “I did though! I went the other day and I saw a really good metal band. I think they were called Coffin something…Corroded Coffin! That’s what it was!” I feel my voice getting excited that I remembered your band’s name! For some reason words about you keep spilling from my mouth, “I talked with the lead guitarist before the show. He was really sweet. He works there too, maybe you’ve seen him before.”

As I describe your appearance, Janice, one of the older ladies who’s probably worked here her whole life, butts into our conversation, “I know that boy. You should stay away from him. Back in ‘86 he killed a young girl. Still haven’t figured out how he’s walking around free, seems like after that earthquake struck, everyone just sorta forgot about the satanic murders he’d committed.” Even Caroline nods in agreement.

When she accuses you of murder the wind gets sucked from my lungs. There’s a sudden heaviness in my chest. There’s no way. I can just feel it. I think about your kind eyes that made me feel all warm and fuzzy. No. They have to be wrong.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

When I work at Saul's auto shop the next night, it’s with you on my mind. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t seem to stop thinking about you. Everything I did today, you were at the back of my mind all day, your smile invading my memory out of the blue.

A few days later, while Steve is over at my place hanging out and having a beer, I decide to ask him if he knew you, giving a description of what you look like. Steve shakes his head, a bit surprised that he doesn’t. “Usually I know all the hot chicks in Hawkins, but not this one. Why?” I bite my lip before shrugging. “Just wondering. Saw her at The Hideout the other day and she seemed cool.” Steve looks at me for a few seconds before a knowing grin spreads slowly on his lips. “She seemed cool, huh?” I roll my eyes and sigh, shaking my head. “Forget it, Harrington.” He tries to get me to talk about you more but I tell him to drop it and Steve knows not to push things too much with me.

After nearly a week, I don’t think about you as much but you’re still there. And I can’t help but still wish that I at least knew your name. I have the night off of work, but I realize I’m out of a lot of groceries. Cursing to myself, I wait until it’s pretty dark out before deciding to head into town. I might not live in Hawkins, but everything is still a lot closer there than if I were to continue into the town I live in now. Anxiety fuels me every time I need to make a stop in town when it isn’t for work, afraid someone will recognize me and harass me like how they did which was the reason I moved in the first place.

With my hair up in a low bun, I have a hood over my head as I walk inside the grocery store, grabbing a cart and going about everything as quickly as I can.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

After work, that conversation with my coworkers fills my mind. Almost to the point where I forget about my breakup for a little while. Almost. I finish cleaning up a bit, as I’m changing into my pajamas, I find one of Jackson’s shirts that he must’ve stuck in my drawer by accident. Just the sight is enough to get the water flowing from my tear ducts again. I try not to let myself slip down that path of thinking about all the fun times we had together but it doesn’t work. I realize that what I need is just a good ol’ fashioned post break up ice cream binge so I throw on a sweater with my cotton pajama shorts and head to the grocery store.

It’s a clear cool night so I decide to walk. The grocery store isn’t very far from my apartment. Bonus, because it’s late, It’s not that busy. So I can grab what I need and head back home to cry some more.

I head right to the back of the store where the frozen section is and survey my choices. I stand there debating between Rocky Road and mint brownie fudge when I hear the wheels of a cart moving quickly in the next aisle over, looking up at the sign I see that the next aisle has frozen pizza. I decide to spoil myself and grab one of those as well. I put the rocky road back and head into the next aisle, stopping in my tracks because as soon as I turn the corner I see you!

You’ve got your hood up but I can still see your face and little pieces of your curly hair sticking out, is the rest of it tucked back? I’m pretty sure your hair was longer than that. Just the sight of you brings me joy that I might finally get to learn the name of the boy who has invaded my thoughts.

I walk over to you with a wave, “Hey stranger! It’s me, Long Island girl.” I smile at you, suddenly worried that my eyes might still be red from crying earlier. A new fear rises up too, what if all week I’ve been thinking about someone who doesn’t even remember I exist. I mean all he did was make me a drink and tell me briefly about his band. Why would he remember me, shit this was a mistake. Oh god- what if he thinks I’m here about that story Janice told me? I start to panic that thinking you’d want to talk to me again was a mistake.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I grab essentials, bread, milk, beer, etc. but then I get distracted by a tv dinner I used to eat when I was younger and decide to grab a few of those and…why not and get some more frozen foods? It’s way faster than cooking, anyway. I’ve tried to cook more lately since I’m now living on my own, but all of these frozen dinners look so tempting.

I’m looking down at a box of frozen macaroni with broccoli, a bit perplexed that it has the words “Vegan” on it and reading the ingredients on the back to see what makes it vegan, when I hear someone talking to me. I flinch a little, not expecting to run into anyone and trying not to feel panicked until I lift my head to see who it is before you’re telling me who you are. And holy shit it’s you. The girl that’s been on my mind for almost a week is standing in front of me, smiling and actually looking happy to see me.

I take you in, noticing your oversized sweatshirt and cute sleep shorts before I’m looking at your face. Has she been crying? Last time I saw you, you were sad then, too. I feel a tightness in my chest before I realize I haven’t said anything. I smile back, pushing the hood off my head so I don’t feel so ridiculous. Although it does leave the scar on my neck and jaw a bit more exposed.

“Hey! It’s good to see you.” I tell you genuinely before I look at the box I still have in my hand and saying fuck it, dropping it into my cart. “Was starting to think I made you up in my head,” I admit with a chuckle, shaking my head a little. “I never really caught your name, though. I’m Eddie, by the way.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Eddie. Eddie. I play your name on repeat in my head like my favorite song. When I hear your voice lift with a chuckle as you tell me you thought you’d made me up in your head, the butterflies I’d felt that night at the bar awakened in my stomach. Maybe you’d been thinking about me too. All my anxiety that you wouldn’t want to talk to me or that I bothered you melts away.

“Nope,” I giggle and smile up at you, just the sight of you has lifted my spirits. Now that we’re not separated by the bar counter I’m very aware of your height advantage. “I’m very much real.” I step a little closer and hold my hand out towards you, “My name’s Erica. It’s so nice to officially meet you Eddie. I’m glad you’re real too because I didn’t get a chance to tell you the other night how much I was enjoying your show.”

I let my eyes soak up your appearance. I suddenly feel underdressed. Your frame fills out your leather jacket so nicely, the boots you're wearing really make you look the part of a rockstar. Your curls pulled back in a low bun look so soft and effortless I'm actually a little jealous. I try really hard not to stare at the scar I see peaking out along the neck of your hoodie. I distract myself by wondering maybe if one day we could be good friends and you’d feel comfortable telling me the story.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Your giggle is like music to my ears and I chuckle when you tell me you're real. I falter the slightest bit when you take a step towards me before you’re taking out your hand for me to shake. Usually I would think of Lucas’ little sister when hearing the name ‘Erica,’ the now spitfire of a 13 year old having grown on me over the years and still an important person in my life after everything that’s happened. But hearing you say it as your name, the kid leaves my memory and I can’t help but think of how well it fits you, fits your smile.

I take your hand, hoping to god mine isn’t sweaty and give it a shake but I don’t let it go as you tell me you’re glad that I’m real. It makes my heart swell and my stomach to feel all weird, and I feel a lightness to myself. My smile widens when you tell me you enjoyed the show. “Yeah? M’glad to hear it, sweetheart.” I realize I’m still holding your hand and drop it with an apology before I see your basket of groceries. Well, ice cream, and I raise an eyebrow. “Running low?” I gesture to the basket with a grin.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Your hand feels so warm against mine and I don’t really want to let go. I’ve never experienced this before, making a friend on my own as an adult. All my friends I left behind in Indy were people I knew from high school, or his friends. Your smile when I say I liked your show makes me believe that we could be friends. I see you realize we are still holding hands which I actually also forgot and I’m grateful when you quickly drop my fingers because I don’t want to accidentally make things weird before I even get a chance to know you. I see you gesture towards my lone pint of ice cream sitting in the basket.

I let out a little nervous laugh and reach up to fidget with a piece of my hair between the fingers you’d just been holding, “Well um no. Not exactly,” I let out another nervous laugh, trying to maintain my composure. I can’t look you in the eye because I don’t want to start crying again but for some reason I find it oddly easy to talk to you, “The reason I missed the rest of your show was because I was kinda getting dumped in the parking lot.” I stand there quietly for a second, unsure of what to say next, “Guess I thought maybe ice cream and frozen pizza would make me feel better.”

I bend at my waist and wrap my arms around my back to take a peek at your cart and see that you're doing what looks to be a real grocery run grabbing the essentials, “Of course Mr big heavy metal star needs to shop at night when all his fans won’t bombard him. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me, your newest fan.” I wink up at you through my bangs with a smile.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I immediately feel like an asshole when you mention you were getting dumped in the parking lot, concluding to me why you are so upset when you came back inside with Tracy and also why it looks like you’ve just been crying. Although I am a bit confused, because who would break up with you? If anything, I thought it would be the other way around. I’d let you ruin my life if you gave me the chance.

I clear my throat to get myself to focus back on you in front of me now instead of the thoughts of you swirling around in my head. Your words make me remember where I am, why I’m here and that I should probably leave soon if I want to avoid anyone else noticing me. I can’t help but feel a little flustered though when you wink at me and call yourself my newest fan. But I do laugh a bit nervously and roll my eyes a little. “Right, fans. Let’s call them that.” Instinctively, I pull my hood back up as I look around the store, especially when I hear the bell ring indicating someone else is walking in here.

I know I should leave, but I don’t want to stop talking to you. I just learned your name for Christ’s sake. “M’really sorry to hear about that, sweetheart.” I tell you genuinely. “If you ask me,” I place a hand on my chest over my heart as I grin. “It’s his loss.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

For some reason you sound a little nervous when I make that comment about your fans. My mind briefly wonders why but then my heart pumps hard in my chest when you smile at me and say it was his loss. Your smile looks so genuine that I can’t help but bat my eyelashes back at you with a wide grin. Especially hearing you call me sweetheart again, “Thank you Eddie. That means a lot.”

Talking with you has made me decide at least for tonight, I don’t want to focus on what I lost anymore. Instead I want to lose myself to the possibility of what I may have found. I adjust the grip on my basket and walk over to one of the doors and grab a frozen extra cheese pizza, “You know what? You’re right! It is his loss! I have a few more things I should probably grab while I’m here. I’d love it if a certain handsome metalhead would keep me company.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“Of course,” I say with a small nod as you thank me before you’re walking over to the freezer and grabbing a pizza. I try not to admire your body when you’re turned from me, looking anywhere else but my eyes seem to glance over every now and then. Soon, you’re facing me again and asking me to keep you company with your shopping. You want me to walk with you? You want to walk next to me and talk with me? Jesus Christ is my luck finally looking up for once? “Uh yeah,” I agree easily, sounding a little surprised and maybe a tad eager. “Yeah, I can keep you company.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

My smile covers every inch of my face when you agree to walk with me as I grab a few more things. In truth I don’t actually need anything else but I don’t want to stop talking with you yet. I’ve always been the odd one out with my social group when it comes to music, so I’m not going to lose out on the chance to talk to a fellow metalhead about it. I walk towards the end of the aisle slowly and try not to stand as close to you as I actually want to while we walk together.

I make a contemplative humming noise and look up at you over my shoulder, “Ok! Top 3 bands that inspired you to play guitar— go!” I twist and turn to walk backwards slightly in front of your cart after grabbing a box of cereal that was displayed at the end of the row because I don’t want to stop looking at you.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I let out a small, playful scoff. “Metallica, Sabbath, and Dio. Too easy, sweets.” I grin mischievously, my eyes watching your every move as you walk backwards while talking to me. I grab a box of cereal as well and toss it in my cart, giving it a glance to make sure I had grabbed the right one but I don’t really want to take my eyes off you.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I curl my lip in a little pout as we make our way to the next stop on our little journey through the grocery store, “Alright mister how about this one? Dio solo albums or Dio with Sabbath? Because I myself love Last in Line,” I drag out my words playfully, “But I think I prefer the Heaven and Hell album he put out with Sabbath.” I get a little carried away talking about my favorite bands, secretly jumping over the moon that we have those in common.

I feel a familiar feeling creeping up though that I’m being too much. After years of not being able to talk to anyone about my interests though, I can’t help it. Soon we are grabbing the last thing I can think to pretend that I need and I lead us towards the register.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“Alright, I will say that Heaven and Hell is fuckin amazing, but come on, Erica. Dio’s solo albums are classic. Can’t go wrong with those, ever.” My smile hasn’t disappeared since we started shopping together, feeling normal for the first time in a long time. That feeling goes away quite quickly however when we get to the register and I see the way the cashier is looking at me. My smile drops and I go quiet, letting you go first in the line since you have a small amount of stuff compared to what’s in my cart.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“Fair point,” I set my few items up on the counter as I keep talking to you, “Damn, it is so nice to have someone to debate music with. My um- my ex hates metal.” I go about paying the cashier and grabbing my 2 bags from the end of the counter and I turn back to you and see your smile gone.

I want to try to help bring it back so without a word, I start helping you set your stuff on the counter for the cashier to scan all the while a content smile on my lips as I think about how happy I am that I decided to go out tonight because I got to see you again, even if it was fleeting, it was worth it.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I give you a small smile when I notice you helping me, causing butterflies to swarm in my stomach at the kind gesture. I mentally pray the woman at the register doesn’t say anything, my heart pounding a little faster than normal with anxiety. I pull out my wallet and take out some cash, counting the bills and handing it to her when she tells me my total. “Keep the change.” I mumble, quickly grabbing the bags and putting them back in the cart so I can just get the hell out of there.

When we get outside, I notice that it has started raining and I stop so we are still under the covering. “Where’s your car?” I ask, looking down at you.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I see you rushing through your transaction and I’m wondering if I missed something. Especially when you tell her to keep the change.

When we get outside under the entrance cover, I look up to the sky with a worried look, “I may have walked here.” I try to stay positive though! And meet your gaze from where you’re looking down at me. I feel my cheeks flush with how close we are suddenly standing. I can’t help but stare into your warm brown eyes for a moment before looking back up at the falling raindrops, “It was so nice earlier I didn’t even think about it. Good thing I don’t have very far to go.” I point vaguely in the direction of my apartment building. I ready myself for the sad goodbye I know is coming now that we have to part ways.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

My brows furrow together when you tell me you walked here, glad to see that you’re okay but thinking about just how dangerous that can be. Things may be over, but it doesn’t mean I don’t still get scared about the possibility of the upside down and what it holds returning. Not to mention the creeps that wander around at night. It doesn’t take long for me to come to a decision. “I can take you home,” I offer. My eyes widen after I say it, realizing how forward that sounds. “Drive. I can drive you home.” And after that, I can’t stop talking. “I just don’t think it would be safe. It’s late at night and you’re a pretty girl walking home and not to mention you could get sick from the rain.”

I look in the direction you pointed in, seeing your apartment building and noticing that it is pretty close but I know I won’t feel okay knowing I let you walk home, but I also don’t want to force you to ride with me. “If you don’t want to, I’ll understand, having just really met and all. But it would make me feel a lot better knowing that I got you home safe and dry.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Your offer has my head swirling for so many reasons and all of them give me a pleasant ache in my chest. First, I can’t help but wonder if your terms of endearment like sweetheart and pretty girl are things that you just use on a regular basis or if you actually think I’m pretty, if you do I think I might melt because you are possibly the most handsome man I’ve ever seen and in our brief interactions you’ve made no indication that you are seeing someone. Second, your concern for my safety is something I’m not used to but I could definitely get used to having someone who cares enough about someone they just met to make sure they get home safely. There’s a third thing in there mixing around but I don’t pay it too much attention, I don’t care what rumors this town is spreading about you. I recall your face when I greeted you earlier tonight and you’d looked shocked that someone was actually talking to you. Not like someone on the prowl for an innocent victim.

From living in the city my whole life I’ve definitely learned to be vigilant when walking by myself and my gut isn’t telling me to run from you. It’s telling me that you wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“Thank you Eddie, I’d love not to get rained on,” I gesture to my bags, “Besides my ice cream might melt.” Something in me decides to be a little bold, “Not that I need it anymore for the reason I bought it. Something else has already made my night a whole lot brighter. Lead the way, brave knight!”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Relieved when you agree, I give a small grin before you say that something else made your night brighter. Is she talking about me? I made her night brighter? Me? I clear my throat and turn to look away from you as I try not to blush, especially when you call me brave knight.

“Alright, well, here.” I take your grocery bags from you and put them in my cart before I’m shrugging off my jacket and placing it over your shoulders. “So you don’t get wet.” I’m looking into your eyes now, realizing how close I am to you like this and I feel my heart in my throat for a moment before I’m grabbing hold of my cart again.

“That’s my van over there.” I point to it, grinning mischievously. “I’ll race you. You ready? Go!”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ─

My whole body threatens to fall over as you make my knees go weak by placing your jacket over my shoulders. As soon as the soft worn fabric hits my body, my senses take in the smell of leather along with a scent that is so uniquely you it just became my favorite smell ever. Ok it’s official, I think to myself in a soft, accepting tone as you look down at me, your brown eyes boring directly into my blue, nervously I adjust my glasses back properly onto my nose…I have a crush on this boy!

After pondering it this past week, and despite the fact that I still miss him, Jackson and I were over as soon as we got here. He may have just moved out but he’s been gone for months and I think I’m allowed to entertain the possibility that someone else might be able to make me even happier than he ever could.

You make me fall even harder when you grin and challenge me to a race towards your van. You catch me off guard and despite my best efforts to catch up I reach the van just seconds after you. I wrap myself up tighter in your jacket wanting to savor the moment as long as possible. Before I get too far ahead of myself though, I don’t even know if you’d want to be with me. I mean knowing my luck you’re probably already taken.

“So,” I pretend to count on my fingers as I put my hand on the passenger door handle, “You’re a gentleman, funny, incredibly handsome, you make the world's best Long Island, and you play guitar? Your girlfriend is one lucky lady Eddie.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Being here with you like this, I start feeling somewhat normal again, like I’m not trying to hide from everyone in this city. It makes me feel warm to see that someone is actually enjoying my company and not looking at me like a murderer other than Dustin or Steve or the rest of the party. It does make me wonder if you even know, if people have told you what they think of me. Probably not, considering you’re being so kind to me. And maybe I should tell you, but I don’t think I’d be able to handle the same look the rest of these people give me coming from you.

I want to savor this. For as long as I can. I’ve already established to myself that I am interested in you with the way my stomach flops around and the fact that you hadn’t left my mind since the other day at The Hideout. And, if this isn’t the last time we see each other, if there are other chances of us hanging out again, maybe I’ll tell you down the line. Maybe I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. This is only our second time meeting, but I can’t help but feel hopeful.

When you say “your girlfriend”, a loud laugh leaves me that I can’t hold in. “Girlfriend?” I snicker as I unlock your door and open it for you. “Definitely don’t have one of those, sweetheart. No one is really looking to date me.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Your loud laugh seems to echo through the empty parking lot as it fills me with joy. That is definitely a sound I want to hear again, daring to look directly at your face more and more. I can't help but notice a little hint of sadness when you say no one is looking to date you. I want to erase it.

“Well Eddie,” I step closer to where you’re standing after opening the door for me and leave barely a few inches between us. “If it’s any consolation,” I tilt my head slightly back so that our eyes meet. My face brightens with the happiest smile I’ve made in the months since I moved to Hawkins as I mimic your earlier words, “I think it’s their loss.”

I slip past you and sit in the passenger seat and cover my face to prevent you from seeing the blush covering my cheeks, although I could just blame it on the rain. I’m barely in the seat long enough to contemplate that I should just tell you I’ve heard the rumors about you and I don’t believe them before I realize that I left you with all the groceries. I instantly hop back out, “Oh my god how rude of me. Here let me help you put those away!”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

When you step closer to me, I tense up the slightest bit before softening at your words. Holy shit I like this girl. She’s definitely going to fucking ruin me. I keep my hands to my sides, itching to reach up and touch you in some way like moving hair from your face or giving you arm a light squeeze, but I keep to myself, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I say when you offer to help me put the groceries in the van, but I don’t stop you. “Thanks.” I grab as much as I can at once so it’ll be faster to get everything in and I can get you home. “So um…where are you from? I lived in Hawkins most of my life and I’ve never seen you, so I’m assuming you’re not from here.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Retaking my place in your passenger seat and buckling my seatbelt I answer your question, “I grew up in Indianapolis. I’ve only been in Hawkins a little over 6 months. Just renewed my lease actually,” My head is nodding a bit as I speak and look out the window, “Jack- my ex, wanted to move here and settle down.” I let out a nervous laugh and fidget with my fingers as my gaze falls to my lap, “I guess just not with me. He didn’t say it but I’m pretty sure he was seeing someone else.”

I don’t really want to make things uncomfortable with you so I give my thighs a light pat and turn back towards you, “Anyways, I still love the city but I have to be honest, Hawkins is starting to grow on me a little. Right now I work at the library and one day I’d like to publish my own book.”

My apartment building is rapidly approaching and I can’t let you leave without knowing when I will see you again. I nervously twirl my fingers around a strand of my hair, “When’s your next show? As your newest fan I want to make sure I attend all of them! Corroded Coffin might’ve just dethroned Dio at the top of my metal gods list.” I hope the smile I make sends you the hint that even though we just met, you’ve already completely captivated me.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I let out a huff when you tell me you think your ex may have been seeing someone else, shaking my head and trying not to roll my eyes at the fact that this guy had really left you. You! Who could be that dense?

When you tell me you’d like to publish your own book, I decide to take a mental note to ask you more about that later. Even though I don’t know if there will be a later. Would you want there to be a later?

My question is answered when you ask me about my next show, perking up a little and smiling broadly before answering, “We play every Tuesday night.” I feel a little giddy when you say my band dethroned Dio. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me, sweetheart.” I wink at you before looking back to the road and pulling up in front of the apartment.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

My heart flutters at the prospect of getting to see you again so soon, “I’ll be there, and for the whole thing this time too!” I hold out my hand for a pinky promise, “Thank you Eddie. I’ve never had more fun grocery shopping in my life.” I have one hand on the door waiting to get out and leave. I feel like I could spend a lifetime talking with you but for now I’m just going to savor every moment I get with you.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I look down at you sticking out your hand to give me a pinky promise, melting inside as I think you just get even more adorable the longer I’m around you. Reaching over, I hook your pinky with mine and grin. “I take pinky promises very seriously, Erica. I hope you know that.” Keeping hold of it for a little longer, I finally let it go when I realize you have to leave even though I really don’t want you to. “I had a fun time too.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I giggle when you say you take pinky promises very serious, “I would never break the sanctity of a pinky promise good sir! I hope my favorite bartender is there because I would love another one of his delicious long islands.”

With a heavy heart I finally open the door and go to grab my groceries from the back. Before turning to leave I wave at you through the closed window of your van with a big smile before I start hurrying into my apartment building to avoid getting any more wet from the rain.

I make it all the way upstairs and I walk into my kitchen to start putting away the groceries before I realize I still have your jacket wrapped snugly around my shoulders.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“Oh, he’ll be there, sweetheart!” I call to you when you get out of my car, the passenger window down. “He’ll be looking forward to seeing his favorite customer.” I watch you walk inside, making sure you made it in okay before I finally drive off, a smile playing on my lips throughout the entire ride back home.

My heart is hammering in my chest in the best way and I feel like I’m on cloud nine. That seemed like it went well. Did that go well? She called me her favorite bartender, there’s no way that didn’t go well!

When I get home, I realize you still have my jacket and I grin to myself, thinking about how cute you looked when you were wearing it.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

When I left earlier this evening feeling down and broken hearted I just wanted something to make me feel better, now? I’ve never been happier that I decided to go out on a whim because I got to see you again. All night I can’t stop thinking about you!

I finish putting my groceries away and chuckle to myself as I just stick the ice cream in the freezer for another night. If you hadn’t also been shopping my night would be looking very different. I hug myself one last time before removing your jacket.

Even though I know you’re not here, I want to be respectful of your things. So as much as it kills me to not sleep while snuggling with your jacket that thought that you would somehow know and be weirded out by me is too much. I hang your jacket on the back of my dining chair. I decide I’ll give it back to you on Tuesday when I go see your show. Finally, I turn the lights off and head into my bedroom.

I go over every detail from our shopping trip in my head as I get ready for bed, discarding the sweater I had on, settling on a loose tank top and fresh sleep shorts since the other ones got a little wet from the rain.

He seemed like he was having fun right? God I hope he didn’t think I was weird or too forward. He said flattery works with him and he must’ve called me sweetheart a dozen times— gah!! I flop down on my bed and stare at the ceiling, I really hope that’s not just how he talks. He’s such a sweetheart himself. I hope he knows how much he helped me tonight and I hope I helped him a little too. He looked so nervous at the checkout lane. Those rumors have to be lies! There’s no way a man that sweet and gentle could commit murder. If I hear anyone talking shit again I’m going to say something.

At some point I fall asleep with thoughts and images of you invading my dreams.

The next few days are the longest of my life! Every hour that passes closer to Tuesday night builds my anticipation for seeing you again. Your very being has taken root in my chest and knowing that you’ll be looking forward to seeing your favorite customer has the seed of affection sprouting. I have to make an impression tonight!

I wake up that morning early because my excitement won’t let me sleep in. I give myself a little self care day since I don’t have to work. I light some candles, do some light stretching, take a warm bath and make sure I pull out my favorite scented soaps. I style my hair in loose big curls and put on some light makeup. I check the time and start getting dressed. I pull on some sheer tights, a black skirt with some silver metal details, my favorite Dio concert shirt tucked in, and I pull on some short heeled black boots. As I grab my bag, I look at your leather jacket. I had every intention of giving it back to you tonight but that doesn’t mean I can’t wear it first.

My heart is pounding the entire time I drive to The Hideout. The last time I made this drive was under very different circumstances and I cannot wait to see your smiling face again.

My lips are curled in a permanent grin as I step inside the bar with your jacket around my torso. My eyes immediately look behind the bar hoping to spot your curly hair.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I thought I was already thinking about you too much before we ran into each other at the store. Now? You’ve invaded my every thought. The next couple days are fucking torture, wishing I could see you as the days drag on way too slow in anticipation for when I do get to see you again.

When the day finally arrives, it’s hard to stay asleep as I’m wracked with excitement but also nerves, wondering if you actually will show up and oh I hope that you do. I even tried a little harder with my clothes for my shift at work, wearing a Black Sabbath shirt I made into a v-neck a long time ago and my best pair of ripped black jeans along with a red flannel. This v-neck is one of the only ones I still wear after what happened to me in the upside down because it doesn’t show my scars. I also decide to wear a newer pair of doc martens and I adorn my signature rings and chain on my jeans. Over everything, I throw on a denim jacket I got as a hand me down from my uncle Wayne a while ago since you have my leather jacket, hoping I get to see you wear it tonight.

While at work, my eyes wander to the door every time the door opens, hoping to see you. Even when customers aren’t coming in, my eyes wander to the door constantly as I wonder when you’ll get here.

Coworkers of mine notice I’m a little distracted but don’t give me too much grief for it, just hoping that I’m okay and whatever is on my mind isn’t something to worry about.

At one point a couple of girls come in and take their place at the bar. They come in every other week or so and always compliment me and my band, flirting with us. I’ve noticed I seem to be a favorite of one of the girl’s, always coming up to talk to me and trying to pull me away to have a cigarette outside with her. This night is no different. As I’m making their drinks, she says something about my shirt and how it shows off my necklace and chest. I just give her a chuckle with a grin as I slide her drink over to her. “Thanks. I haven’t worn it in a while.” I look at the other girls. “Can I get you guys anything else?”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I spot you right away behind the bar. I mean how could I not with how fucking hot you look tonight? Even from the door I can see the little dip in the collar of your shirt, exposing just the slightest bit of your chest. Shit, he really is going to kill me. I hope he likes that I wore his jacket.

I slip past the few people between me and the same spot I sat the last time I was here. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed me yet because I see you helping a couple girls. I wait patiently for my turn and can’t help but overhear parts of your conversation with them. The one girl is clearly flirting with you but your responses are having a likely unintended effect on me. Despite the girl's comments, you seem to be all business. Not once do I hear you call them pretty or sweetheart. I press my thighs together remembering all the times you called me those delightful words in just our first meeting. It’s making my cheeks flush and I haven’t even had any alcohol yet.

I wrap myself tighter in your jacket and try to discreetly lean down and smell it. After a few days in my apartment, it doesn’t smell quite as good as it did the night I accidentally brought it home but I can still smell your lingering scent clinging to the worn leather.

I prop my elbows up on the bar top and allow myself to take in your appearance as I wait for the big bright smile I hope you’ll have when you see that I did honor the pinky promise. I laugh in my mind, as if there was any chance I wouldn’t come see you again.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“Your number would be nice,” the girl continues to flirt with me. I’m a bit surprised and flattered that she wants my number, but I’m not really interested in her like that. I mean yeah she’s beautiful, but she seems like the type of girl I would mess around with in high school. The ones who would just be with me because it would upset their parents or their ex or because they want to know what it’s like to be with the freak.

“Let’s keep it professional, yeah?” I chuckle before my mind is suddenly back on you and I start to look around again. It doesn’t take long for my eyes to land on you, seeing you sitting at the bar staring at me. A smile lights up my face immediately before I take in how you look. I don’t see your whole outfit since you’re sitting at the bar, but I see your Dio shirt and…holy shit, she’s wearing my jacket. Oh fuck she looks so good in it, too. I want to see her wear it all the time, Jesus Christ. I groan internally at the sight of you before I’m pulling my shit together and walking over.

“There she is,” I say once I make it over and set down an empty glass in front of you, pulling out the liquor I like to use for the Long Island. “Was beginning to think you changed your mind, sweetheart.” I tease before I start pouring. “How’s my favorite customer?”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Your smile lifts me up out of my seat and onto cloud 9! Then hearing your voice again after missing it these past few days really solidifies how bad I’ve got it. I give you a little wave as you walk over towards me.

“Never! I wouldn’t miss the chance to see you again for the world!” I lean my cheek against my hand as I watch you work, “I’m good. Really good actually, how’s my favorite guitarist doing tonight?”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“Who me?” I scoff playfully when you say you wouldn’t miss the chance to see me for the world and call me your favorite guitarist as I pour some gomme syrup into the glass followed by whiskey. “I’m pretty sure you’re just after this drink.” I can’t help but flirt and tease you whenever I’m around you, it comes to me like second nature.

“I’m good, sweet girl, thank you for asking.” Once everything is poured into the glass, I then pour it into the shaker, sealing it up with the other end before I start to shake after sending you a wink.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“You caught me,” I playfully wink back, “I can’t help it, you had me hooked with that first sip. You’re a pretty close second though.” Teasing you back gives me a fuzzy feeling in my chest that I want to keep chasing.

I giggle into my hand when you call me sweet girl, “Of course, sweet boy! I promised I’d be here for your whole entire set tonight so I need to make sure you’re feeling your best!” I lean in towards the bar trying to get as close to you as I can, “Do you’re best out there ok? Because I’ll be right here cheering you on!”

Just out of sheer curiosity, I glance over at the girls you’d been talking with when I walked in and the scowl coming from the one who’d asked for your number made me feel so thankful that I’d somehow managed to catch your attention. Not that I’m trying to make strangers jealous but knowing now that your flirty nicknames aren’t something you do with just anyone makes me feel desired in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.

I forget about everyone else in this bar and look back at you as though it’s just the two of us here and you’re about to play just for me. I know that’s obviously not true but hey I can pretend, “I’m really looking forward to the show Eddie. I can’t wait to watch you play.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“I’m glad you were able to make it out,” I admit truthfully, softly, breaking the seal on the shaker before pouring your drink. I put a little umbrella in it again in the same color you said was your favorite. “Um…” I rub the back of my neck as I look you over once again, not able to take my eyes off you. “You look really nice tonight.” I feel a bit shy at giving you a compliment, blushing a little and playing with my rings.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I lock eyes with you as I take a sip of the drink you made me, I let out a please sigh, “Ahh! Delicious! It’s a shame that these are so strong and I don’t have a sweet metalhead who could drive me home if I got a little tipsy,” I watch you play with your rings and I wonder if we are feeling something similar. Even though this is only our third time seeing each other, something feels a little different than when we ran into each other at the grocery store. Hearing that you think I look nice feels like such a direct complement, I can’t be reading this wrong, right? When you tell someone you think they look nice…I take in your body language again, he’s definitely blushing…that means more right? He wants to get to know me more than just as a friend.

My cheeks join yours with a light flush, “You look really nice tonight too Eddie. The v neck is a really good look for you. Your um, your rings are really cool. Can I see them closer?”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I lift my gaze back to yours when you compliment me back, blushing a little more when you tell me the v-neck is a good look for me. When you ask to look at my rings closer, I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Sure.” I nod a bit dumbly before I give you both of my hands so you can see the single ring that still adorns my right hand while the three larger rings are on my left.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

My heart pounds when you extend your fingers towards me. I lean into the sight of them, thrilled to see them so close. I look up into your eyes silently asking to touch your hands, moving really slowly as I lift them up into my own and pull my gaze away from your warm brown eyes to examine the shapes of your rings. I run my thumb over the large skull, “I like this one. They suit you.” Your hands feel so warm in mine. I realize I’m basically holding both of your hands and I don’t want to let go.

I gently set your hands back down, then tuck my hair behind my ears and grab at my glass to keep them from touching you again, “So, umm, when did you start playing guitar? The little bit I got to see last time, it’s no doubt you’ve been playing for a while.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

It’s like I’m holding my breath the entire time you hold your hands in mine and look at my rings. The first thing I notice is how small your hands are compared to mine and I swallow down a whine that had threatened to escape from the sheer need to hold you in my arms. I watch you as you look down at my rings, the way you examine them. When a hair falls in front of your face, it takes everything for me not to tuck it back behind your ear. But you do it for me when you pull away, and I finally let the breath go.

My eyes land on your hands on the glass of your drink, seeing the condensation collect at the sides of your fingers before I realize you’re asking me a question. “Uh…” I have to think about it for a second, one of my eyes squinted shut as I cock my head to the side in thought before I remember. “I was 10 when Wayne gave me his old guitar so…12 years? Yeah, 12 years.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Oh damn, he looks so cute! Look at that cute little squinty face he just made, “Wow that’s a long time. No wonder you’re so good. Who’s Wayne?” My first assumption is your father but then I wonder why you wouldn’t have just said father.

I take a big sip of my drink and let the liquor loosen my inhibitions a bit because my lips just keep moving, “Your jacket is really warm. I don’t know if I want to give it back,” I look up at you with a playful flirty smile and continue sipping my drink, “I mean the weather is getting colder out.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“Oh, sorry, Wayne is my uncle.” I chuckle before I look around, happy that it isn’t too busy so I’m able to talk with you.

My eyes wander to the way my jacket frames you, making you look even smaller and adorable yet hot at the same time. Grinning mischievously at your words, I say, “Keep it warm for me then, princess. It looks better on you than it ever could look on me anyway.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

The air in my lungs empties in an instant at your words. For a moment I feel weightless, my heart feels so light that I might float away. You called me princess. I would die happy if I could hear that just one more time. And you think I look good in your jacket? This new development is sending sparks through my body. I feel warmth spreading out from my chest all the way into my fingertips.

My bottom lip drops and then curls back up as I bite it lightly between my teeth, “O-oh, well I mean if it’s ok. I didn’t really mean I wouldn’t give it back, of course it’s yours, but it’s definitely doing a good job keeping me warm, oh” I let out a little nervous laugh, “I’m rambling sorry. Oh god, you’re supposed to be working. I’m sorry I’m keeping you from your job.” I try to distract myself by finishing the rest of my drink and playing with the little umbrella.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“I know you didn’t really mean it, Erica,” I assure you with a chuckle, placing a hand on your forearm to try and calm your rambling. “Just like how it looks on you, yeah? And, do you see many people in here?” I look around the somewhat empty bar despite a couple regulars and the girls. “You’re not keeping me from anything, sweetheart.” I notice your glass is empty before raising my brows once I meet your eyes again. “You want another? I think I recall you saying something about how you don’t have a ‘certain metalhead’ that could drive you home.” My grin widens a bit. “I happen to be a metalhead and I’d gladly drive you home.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Your reassuring words help stop my nervous rambling. I sit up a little taller and try to regain my composure, “Thank you for the compliment Eddie. It makes me really happy. I enjoy talking with you so I don’t want you to get in trouble, but you’re right, it looks kinda slow tonight.”

I consider your offer to drive me home. I would love to have some alone time with you again but I don’t want to be selfish of your time, even if you offered I don’t want you to feel like you have to just because I want another drink. There’s also the little spout of feelings for you growing in my chest.

I can already feel the alcohol loosening me up. I’ve never been this flirtatious in my life and if I have another strong mixed drink, I might not be able to stop myself from kissing you goodnight and I’m already worried that you’ll think I’m coming on too strong, “Raincheck? That very kind metalhead told me walking around outside at night could be dangerous so I drove tonight and I wouldn’t want to leave my car here. I will take one more, lighter, drink though before your show starts.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I look over your expression after I ask you and start to internally panic for a moment. Did I overstep? She’s gonna think I’m trying to get her home and take advantage of her. Oh god I hope she doesn’t think that I just want her to have fun and make sure she gets home safe.

My heart is beating hard in my chest before you ask if we could raincheck and I let out a quiet breath of relief before you say you drove and wouldn’t want to leave your car. I grin and nod in understanding before I’m putting your empty glass away and taking out a clean one to make your second drink. “I can do that.” I say with a wink before I notice Gareth, Berry, and Jeff arrive and are setting up the stage. Once I’m finished making your drink, I set it down for you and smile. “Enjoy that, yeah? I have to go now, but, you remember Tracy right? She’ll be lookin’ after you since I can’t. Enjoy the show, princess.” I give you one more wink before I start heading for the stage.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I give Tracy a friendly smile and wave, remembering how nice she was the last time I was here. Your wink has me biting my lip again as I watch you head to the stage.

I sip my drink and watch the stage waiting for you and your band to finish setting up. My anticipation builds every minute I sit there. My mind wanders to being dragged away from your show last time but not this time. What I got to see last time was incredible so I know I'm in for a good show. I want to see you closer.

I stand from the bar stool and flatten down my skirt, grabbing my drink. I wander through the bar to an open table I see closer to the stage.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

When I get on the stage and start helping the guys, they notice you and look at me. “Is that the same girl from last week, Ed?” Jeff asks with a raised eyebrow and a grin. “Sure is, Jeff, good eyes,” I tell him as I start to hook up the amps, not looking up from what I’m doing. “She moved closer to the stage.” Barry tells me and my head shoots up, my eyes landing on you almost immediately.

I can see the rest of your outfit now. The skirt, the tights, the boots. The skirt. Jesus H Christ she’s going to be the death of me. I mentally fall to my knees with a groan at the sight of you, trying not to pay attention to your thighs too much. When I realize I’m staring, I blush deeply and give you a small wave before going back to what I was doing and cursing under my breath. I hear the guys snickering and turn to face them. “Unless you want your characters to die next session, I would shut up.” I warn. To which they roll their eyes and get back to setting up.

Once we finally do get everything set up, I walk over to the mic and tap it a few times to see if it’s working. When I see that it is, I grin and look at the small amount of people in here before my eyes land on you. “Hey, everyone. I’m Eddie, that’s Jeff on rhythm guitar,” I start to point to the other band members, my friends. “This is Barry on bass, and Gareth on drums. And we’re Corroded Coffin. Let’s break some shit.” I say with a chuckle before the owner pipes up from behind the bar, “There will be no breaking shit!” I pull away from the mic to laugh loudly. “No fun, I swear.” I look to Gareth as he counts us down.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

You look so focused on your task I wonder if you even notice that I got up. When you finally look up I smile wide at you and wave! You look so good up there I find it really hard not to just stare at your shoulders as I watch you plugging things in and moving things as you set up.

The mic feedback as you tap it gets my heart racing because I know that you’re going to start soon. I hear you introducing your bandmates and I instantly want to get to know your friends. I let out a loud laugh when the voice from behind the bar tells you not to break shit. As the music starts playing I can’t help but notice a spark in your eyes that I haven’t seen yet.

In the short time I’ve known you, seeing you perform is showing me a side of you that I want to see more of. You with your guitar up on stage, you literally seem to light up as I watch you during your first song.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Watching your reaction to each song we play is becoming one of my favorite things, encouraging me to put on my best performance as if this were a sold out show at The Garden. We play some originals, some covers, even a few metal versions of pop songs that we put together.

My eyes land on you the majority of the time I’m up on stage, taking in your smile and the way you move to the beat of the songs. It leaves me feeling a bit hot under the collar, but that could also be from playing on stage.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

As your set continues I find myself lost in your sights and sounds. My body dances and moves along in my chair and my neglected drink sits dripping condensation onto the coaster. I cannot take my eyes off of you the whole time.

Listening to all your different songs I find myself enjoying your original works the best. I want to ask you questions about who wrote them, where your inspiration comes from. Your energy that you project to even this small bar makes it seem like a crowded stadium full of screaming fans. I let my imagination run wild and picture myself supporting you as you chase your dream of being a world famous rockstar! I realize that despite our new friendship I would follow you anywhere. Some may think me naive to trust someone I barely know so blindly but they can fuck right off because the glow in your eyes as I catch you looking back at me from up on stage tells me everything I need to know.

I could watch you play for hours but sadly the night goes on and as it tends to do time passes, leaving your show nearly complete. As soon as the last note hits I jump up from my chair and cheer my heart out— clapping my hands and waving to you with a big smile.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I grin widely, a bit wild as you clap and cheer for us and the other people in the bar start to join in, I chuckle and feel a bit sheepish, rubbing the back of my sweaty neck before my eyes find yours and I send you a grateful smile and wink. Watching the way you cheer for me, for my band, it’s something I want all the time. Your encouraging words, your compliments, the way you seem to look at me. And I hope to god I’m not reading too much into this but I could swear those cheers are more for me than my band and it makes my heart skip a beat.

“Thanks for having us. We’ll see you next week!” I say to the crowd before I’m slinging my guitar off my shoulders and setting it on its stand before hopping off the stage. At first, the girls from earlier try to stop to talk to me but my eyes don’t leave you for a second. “Excuse me.” I murmur, stepping through them and making my way over to you. My breathing is a bit heavy from my performance, my bangs sticking to my forehead a little as I’m a bit sweaty. I put my hands into the back pockets of my jeans as I grin at you. “So you liked it?”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I watch you hop off stage and my heart rate quickens as you walk directly over to me without stopping. I’m definitely going to blame my boldness on the alcohol but before my brain realizes what I’m doing, I hurry to meet you in a hug as you ask me if I liked the show.

My arms reach up and wrap around your neck and my feet press up on my tiptoes to squeeze our bodies together. My head tilting to the side of yours. You’re a little sweaty from being on stage but I couldn’t care less. I hug you close to me once more before pulling back, “Eddie that was amazing! I loved every second! Do you write your original works or is it one of your bandmates?” I don’t take my eyes off of you the whole time I’m talking and I feel my cheeks heating up as I made no effort to widen the gap between us after hugging you.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I’m stumbling back a little in surprise when you’re suddenly hugging me, my heart racing moments ago from being on stage to now pounding in my chest for another reason. I wrap an arm around your middle instinctively, my other hand hovering over your hip but not touching.

When you pull back, my eyes are wide from shock but I look down at you in awe as you say you loved every second, my arm loosening a little when you widen the gap. “Gareth and I both write songs.” I huff out in a breath, not realizing I stopped breathing for a moment.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

When I see how wide your eyes are as they look down at me I’m biting at my lip again, nervous that I crossed a line with my hug. I feel your arm that was wrapped around me loosen a bit as we stand there together. I tuck a loose curl behind my ear and step back just another inch and let out a breathy sigh, “That’s so cool!” I start gushing about my favorite parts and singing little lines as I remember from my favorite of your songs, getting myself all excited again I end up spinning around and dancing with excitement, “You’ve definitely got a new fan Eddie! I’ll be here every Tuesday for your shows.”

The sudden noise of your bandmates moving things on stage breaks my focus, “Do you guys need any help packing up?” I really want to find out what you're doing after this because I would spend all night talking to you if I could.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

My arms fall to my sides when you step away and I can only yearn to touch you again, my chest aching the slightest bit. But I’m soon matching your excitement when you talk about the songs we wrote and, wanting to memorize the way you sing forever and I chuckle happily when you dance a little. “Memorizing our lyrics already? You really are a dedicated fan.” I tease, reaching over and squeezing your elbow lightly.

Usually after the show is when I clock out for the night, Tuesdays always being a shorter shift for me since I’m all sweaty when I come off the stage and they don’t want me stinking up the place if I were to stay and make drinks. But I don’t want the night to end, wanting to be around you and talk to you longer. So when you offer to help, I don’t hesitate to agree. “Y-Yeah! Yes, that would be great, thank you.” I say before I walk you to the stage, offering you an arm to help you up. “Guys, this is Erica.” I look at each of them, giving them a look that says ‘be cool.’

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ─

Hearing your praise when you call me a dedicated fan has a goofy smile covering my face, sheepishly I twist my ankle back and forth on the tip of my boot and it only gets harder to hide how I feel when you touch my elbow.

When you help me onto the stage and introduce me to your friends, I feel like I’ve stepped into your world and I’m honored that you are letting me into the glimpse of who you are so I can get to know you better.

I give each of your friends a shy little hello and a wave, “It’s really nice to meet all of you. The show was amazing! You all did a really good job.” I nervously tug at the sleeves of your leather jacket, “So what can I help with?”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Jeff and Gareth are both giving you a skeptical look. With everything they’ve been through in high school, with everything I’ve been through, they tend to keep their guards up when it comes to letting people in. Barry is the first to speak, “Nice to meet you too, Erica. I’m Barry.” Jeff and Gareth put on their best fake smile and mumble a ‘nice to meet you’ before they get back to putting things up.

“You can help roll up the cords,” I suggest as I hand one to you while grabbing one myself to show you the proper way so they don’t get twisted. “Real simple.” I ignore the looks I saw from Gareth and Jeff for now, hoping you didn’t notice them. I just want you to feel welcome.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

When Barry introduces himself I smile at him politely, “Hi Barry, cool shirt,” pointing loosely to the Iron Maiden logo. The other two members seem to be keeping me at arms length, offering little more than a curt nod. I definitely feel like an outsider standing with your group, especially now that the band/audience dynamic is gone. I’m thankful when you speak again and give me a task that I can help with.

For now I try to ignore the unsure stares that I get from the other two and I watch you carefully when you show me how to wrap up the cords, “Ok!” I grab one of the cords and wrap it up just as you showed me, presenting it to you hopeful that I did a good job.

While I continue wrapping cords, my eyes wander to your guitar sitting safely on its stand. The same one that I just spent the whole show staring at while it was wrapped around your body being played by your expert hands. I think back to how your fingers felt when I was looking at your rings. For some reason seeing it up close now feels different. I keep wrapping the cord up that’s in my hands as I walk over to where it’s sitting to get an even closer look. The heels of my boots clicking along the stage. I tuck my skirt under with my hand as I bend down to gently rub the tips of my fingers over the smooth polished surface, “I really like your guitar Eddie. It suits you.” I turn my head over my shoulder to look back at you with a big grin before trying once more to engage with your friends, “So how long have you all been playing together? From the sound of it I’d guess a while. You really seemed to be in sync.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

At your question, Jeff chimes in, “Ed and I have been playing together since we were little, but we started the band in 8th grade. We’ve known each other a long time.” He keeps his eyes on you for a moment longer after his last statement before looking back to what he’s doing.

“Yeah since we were wee lads,” I chuckle, grabbing Jeff’s head by my inner elbow and giving him a noogie before I let him go and he shoves me with a laugh. “Didn’t I tell you to stop doing that when we were 12?” My grin widens and I place a hand over my heart. “Come on, Jeffy, you know you love it.”

I walk over to you after that exchange and take the cables you had rolled up. “Thanks, sweetheart. You’re a real peach for the help.” Maybe it’s the fact that I still have a high from performing, maybe it’s you willingly wanting to be around me, but I can’t seem to stop smiling right now.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Watching you light up as you joke around with your friends helps me relax a little, even if they are still a little weary of me or my intentions, I’m sure it’s out of love because they care about you. It’s clear that you are all very close.

Maybe it’s the stage lights, maybe it’s the way they create a halo of shine around your hair as you stand in front of me, it could just be that big beautiful smile that has been such a source of joy for me this last week— but I’m pretty sure it’s your voice as you thank me for my help. Whatever it is, it’s warming me from the inside out and I feel my hands practically aching to hug you again, “You’re very welcome Eddie. It was my pleasure.”

Much to my sadness, with 5 of us working it doesn’t take long to get all your gear packed up. The last thing to get put away is the drum set. I decide I want to make something for you to thank you for helping to be a source of light in my life during what could’ve been a very dark time, “Wait!” I shout before Gareth packs up the large bass drum. I hurry over to my bag that I’d set down when I started helping you and pull out my camera, “Do you mind if I take a picture of that?” Pointing to your band’s logo.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I look at you curiously when you ask to take a picture of the band’s logo before smiling. “Uh, yeah, that’s fine.” I agree with a nod before having Gareth set it back down.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

As soon as Gareth sets the drum back down, I walk over and snap a quick picture on my camera, “As soon as I get this film developed I’ve got a surprise you,” I look to you with a wink first and then I address the rest of the band, “All of you!” I walk over to where you're standing and look you in the eye as I grab your hand in mine and squeeze, “I'm going to go pay my tab, I’ll be right back handsome.”

Over at the bar I wave Tracy down, “Hey, I need to pay my bill but I also wanted to thank you for the other day. That was really kind of you.”

She smiles at me, “No problem.” She takes me money and promises to slip you the tip I left without knowing it was from me.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I’m surprised when you say you’ve got a surprise for us, a bit speechless and before I can say anything you’re grabbing my hand and giving it a squeeze which just nearly sends me into orbit. I’m probably blushing like crazy when you call me handsome as well before you’re walking off to pay your tab.

“You hear that, Ed? She says she’s got a surprise for you,” Gareth nudges my side with a chuckle and I whip my head to look at him with narrowed eyes as I shove him lightly. “She said she has a surprise for all of us, dipshit, don’t make it weird.” Jeff and Barry laugh along with Gareth and I roll my eyes before I’m looking over to you again.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I hear laughter from the stage as I walk back through the bar thinking about how much fun I’ve had tonight. I know I should really get going but I don’t want tonight to end. I wish I could spend every minute with you. I take a deep breath before I reach you and decide that if I can't at least ask for your number, then nothing will ever happen.

When I reach the stage again I look up and try to catch your attention, “Eddie? I should probably get going. Would you mind walking me to my car?”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

As I look at you I’ve decided in my mind that I am going to ask for your number, feeling hopeful the more I’m around you and going with my gut. I want to see more of you, and I want to be the one that makes you smile. Oh, you are definitely going to ruin my life, and I can’t fucking wait.

After you ask me to walk you to your car, I perk up, seeing my opportunity and not wasting it for a second. “Uh yeah! Yeah, no problem.” I hop off the stage to stand in front of you, giving you a slightly nervous smile. “Shall we?”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I swallow hard and nod. Walking slowly beside you, savoring your energy, your smell, and the warmth that your presence has on my mind. Walking this close to you has my heart pounding! I wait until we are outside to speak again, “I know I’ve probably said it a dozen times but I really enjoyed your show Eddie. Your friends seemed really nice too,” I let out a nervous little giggle, “Although I’m not sure Gareth liked me very much.”

Just as I finish talking we reach the driver's side door of my car. I know my face must be bright red but my eyes are locked with yours again as I try to keep my courage and ask you for your number. The words build up in my throat but when I open my mouth again all that comes out is, “Thank you for walking me to my car Eddie. You’re a real gentleman.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, sweetheart.” I place a hand on the small of your back briefly before dropping it back to my side and clearing my throat. When we get to your car, my heart is pounding and I try to muster the courage to ask for your number. All I have to do is ask. It should be easy. Why is this so hard?!

“Thanks for coming out tonight, Erica,” I say softly as I look over your features, seeing your flushed cheeks and I bite my lip. I notice a loose curl in your face and my fingers twitch with the want to tuck it behind your ear but I resist. “Um…” Jesus why won’t the words come out?! Just ask for her number! “Drive home safe, okay?”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

My body somehow simultaneously freezes and melts at the same time when I feel your hand on the small of my back, I want to grab it and tell you to keep it there forever, fuck! Your soft touches are going to make me fall to my knees for you!

My lips part and suck in a very shaky breath before chewing on my lip again, “I will Eddie, you too. Um,” I’m screaming at myself in my head— just ask! I start talking really fast, so fast I’m not even sure you will understand what I said, “IfyougivemeyournumberIcancallyoutoletyouknowIgothomesafe…”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Eddie .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I give a small nod and go to turn away to walk back in, already mentally yelling at myself for being such a coward before you’re suddenly talking really fast. Did…did she just ask for my number? Did I hear that right? Quickly, maybe a bit too quickly, I turn back around to face you. “Come again?” I ask as I take a step closer.

“Was that cute little ramble of words just now you asking for my number?” I place a hand on my chest. “Because that isn’t fair, sweetheart. I was supposed to ask for yours.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ Cha0ticSpaceBi .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I relax a bit when you say you were about to also ask me the same question. In the hopeful part of my brain it makes me wonder if you are also dancing around these budding feelings, just as I am. Too afraid that the other might not reciprocate, “Oh yeah?” I can’t help but smile at you when you place your hand over your chest.

I go digging in my bag for a pen, “Well in that case,” I take your hand in mine and lift it up. The tip of my tongue sticks out in concentration as I write my phone number onto the back of your hand, adding a little heart next to my name afterwards, “How about you call me and let me know my favorite rockstar got home safely?” The amount of self control it takes not to kiss you goodnight is palpable, “Goodnight Eddie. I’ll see you later.” I give your hand one last squeeze before getting in my car and heading home.

Once I get home I definitely don’t feel like a giddy teenager again changing into my pajamas and waiting by the phone hoping that it’ll ring.

[hcneygemini]

𝖝. 𝖆. 𝖓. 𝖆. — lyrics sentence starters.

A collection of sentence starters from some singles released, minus anything featured in Tantrums ( the meme featuring those is here ). Do not add to or steal this meme. Feel free to change pronouns, edits phrasing, or generally slightly edit or combine lines as needed. Some lines have already been slightly rephrased for rp purposes. tw: cheating, toxic relationships, suggestive

MONSTER

i hold your mistakes high over your head, especially when they look like mine.

i'm not one to hand out forgiveness.

it pains me to admit you were right.

someday i will be someone you resent.

honey, the pleasure is all mine.

i heard you're calling me a traitor.

i owe you a good apology, i'll do it later.

i paint myself the good guy.

i heard you're calling me a monster.

after all the shit i pulled, you could do better.

i'll do what i want over what's right.

you gave me your all.

it was intimate.

i guess it ain't your fault that i can't commit.

i never listen.

i couldn't help but feel so indifferent.

all my failures are visceral.

i still taste blood from years ago.

you ain't good enough.

i can't even be honest with myself.

how could you believe i'd do that for someone else?

i don't want that life.

i'm kissing boys in the back of their cars.

it's half past 3.

you were fast asleep while i was on the phone with [ Jodie ].

will i ever know why i am like this?

i go for what i can't have, like i'm righteous.

i can't face the shame.

if you wanna place blame, just say my name.

i go home alone and i think it's strange.

i got what i want but it don't taste the same.

everyone who's ever loved me is the enemy.

i get high on all the jealousy.

you can't forgive the infidelity.

i don't wanna be someone who lives like that.

i was supposed to be a good friend, trusted.

i snuck around with the love of your life.

after all the shit i pulled, you should do better.

HOMEWRECKING ERA

wrap your thighs around me.

i could keep all your secrets.

cross my heart and hope i mean it.

think of all the damage i could do.

say less.

push me on the counter.

call me princess.

wish i could say no, but it's hopeless.

i'm losing focus.

i wonder if [ she ] knows about those pictures on your phone.

you should feel guilty, but you don't.

i'm in my homewrecking era.

got things i wanna do to you.

i feel bad for a minute.

you make me feel so good.

i taste something bitter in my mouth.

i left my bralette on the ground.

i can't help myself.

nobody fucks like me.

i'm the [ girl ] of your dirty dreams

the silence is deafening.

do you miss me?

i think [ she ] can taste me.

i can give you what you want.

we called it love.

we might've fucked it up.

baby, just fuck me up.

i'm the flame that keeps you warm at night.

don't i bring out the green in her eyes?

you like how pretty [ she ] is when [ she ] cries.

[ she ] loves you so much, even the lies.

we're both the one, but never the only.

you get so lonely

crown me the villain and hero tonight.

fucking me brought you together so nice.

i got a taste for the drama.

i spilled your guts 'cause i wanted.

look at all this damage that i do.

BETTER KIND OF BEST FRIEND

i can see [ her ] in my dreams.

i see [ her ] in my bed.

[ she's ] the goddamn vision that ringin' in my head.

i'm waitin', patient.

we could be good together.

let me release the pressure.

i think i found my treasure.

[ she ] tastes like heaven and she knows it.

i'm eager.

i just wanna please you.

she's got me prayin'.

i could be a better kind of best friend.

i'm a fan.

i don't die for my [ women ] anymore.

i'll do anything to have you.

i swear to be true.

i don't die for my [ women ] anymore, i kill for them.

you don't need to ask, you got my permission.

lord knows we tried.

can't stay away from each other.

you know i'm a sucker.

watch as i swallow my pride.

i wanna make it intimate.

i've got my finger on the trigger.

they come and go.

YOU DON'T WANT ME LIKE THAT ( also by Rachel Bochner )

if you hated me it'd be easier.

i know what's coming is really gonna hurt.

if i hated you, i would've never tried.

it's a habit you conditioned.

i wonder if you know you're bad.

i wanna tell you that i miss you.

you wouldn't say it back.

you don't want me like that.

you don't want a picture of me sitting on your nightstand.

you don't wanna touch me in the way we both know you can.

you just like the way i feel stuck in the palm of your hand.

where do you get off on it?

i do the extra credit but you're never satisfied.

i keep you center stage.

you keep me on the side.

i'm crossing all the lines.

you won't call it what it is.

you just call me when you're blue.

the fantasy is cute.

i would give you all i have.

i stay up waiting for you.

i can't keep waiting.

BABYBLUE

baby blue was always your color.

it's a little strange how we're seeing each other.

god, you look just as i remembered.

it's been a few years.

i've known you forever.

you packed your bags and moved to [ Boston. ]

you needed a place that you could get lost in.

time will tell.

you got my youth on your bedpost.

say it ain't so.

our picture's getting dusty.

you smell vanilla and don't think about me.

i hope it's alright, your life without me.

you ran to my house in the pouring rain.

i've cried every damn day since you left.

i don't mind if i never get over it.

i've been watching reruns.

i should call my little sister, i worry about her all the time.

you hold other hands.

i'm biting my tongue.

you're making new plans.

i'm coming undone.

i watch your old films.

looking at it now, i think i love you still.

i try to be cool.

if i never say a word, does it make it less true?

i feel the time go.

i fear the unknown.

it's getting so old.

all of my anxieties are filling up my diaries.

the water ran cold.

there's so much i don't know.

i think i gotta go.

you see green and don't think about me.

BAD BANDIT

i've been lonely for awhile now.

i'm tired of this ghost town.

[ she ] looks pretty on [ her ] poster.

i'm thinking i could hold [ her ].

i want you on my body.

won't you face it?

you wanna make or break it.

you wanna feel me naked.

i'll show you how to take it.

count your blessings when the devil ain't got nowhere to go.

maybe i'm bratty.

i taught that [ man ] a lesson.

[ he ] was charming and i loved [ him ].

[ his ] urges were disgusting.

i bed [ him ] down to nothing.

that little [ lady ] wanted love.

it's such a damn shame.

you better run, babe.

[ she's ] taking aim.

[ she ] promised me [ her ] best.

i could see forever in [ her ] golden eyes.

my baby told me lies.

i swear i'm gonna die.

but i ain't the one biting the dust tonight.

i swear i'm gonna miss [ her ] for the rest of my days.

i still hear [ her ] voice.

BET YOU'LL GET OFF ON THIS

maybe in another year you might be different.

i'd rather not admit how many years i've been insisting.

you showed me your true colors.

you used to be the prettiest thing i'd ever seen.

what you said to me last sunday was disgusting.

i don't need to look at you to know you feel nothing.

you feel nothing.

maybe you like it better when i'm cool.

i don't give a shit.

did you really have to be so cruel?

all i ever did was try to love you.

i don't know who you are.

i saw the façade slip, and it was alarming.

i'm left with confusion.

how did you not ever learn to be human?

what did i expect?

you never grew up.

you think you're so deep, but you're so out of touch.

[ Natalie ] was right when [ she ] said that you were heartless.

i don't ever want you to touch me again.

i really can't stand the way you talk about your [ girlfriend ].

bet it hurts to know i'm no longer your forever.

i won't hold my breath, but i hope you get better.

i don't wanna belittle my love.

all we ever did was try to love you.

[baileythebean]

OPEN RP :3 (LONG-ASS INTRO, HEAVY BAILEY ANGST, TW: MENTIONS OF MURDER, BLOOD, THROWING UP, SUICIDE, EXTREMELY SAD BAILEY - I’D ALSO LIKE PEBBLE @the-sugar-demonboy TO BE IN THIS ONE IF POSSIBLE, THANKS )

*Bailey had an exact agenda in mind. Scam some lootbag into buying “modern art” at an insane price and then dash. He succeeded, obviously. He’s Bailey. What do you take him for?* *The problem came when he ran into a group of scraps in the alleys who he didn’t know. They were somehow aware of the formation of the sort of alliance that his friends had with Stone, Vinnie and Skipp. After further discussion, it became clear to Bailey that this was a threatening attempt.* “So, what’s it gonna be? You can give us that cash ya got there… or we can turn your little gang against you. How’s that sound?” *The G word alone was enough to make Bailey tense up, but he knew better than to give them a reaction.* ”and how exactly, are you going to accomplish that? You seem like the type of dumb fucks that like to get under people’s skin and never get anything done.” *The same one that had spoken up earlier went on:* “Oh we could uh… I don’t know… inform them of some… plotting you’ve been doing with them pretty weapons of yours. They’re not gon’ feel so safe ‘round you once you’ve been outed as an attempted murderer.” ”But I never-�� ”Oh, we know. That’ll be the fun part.” *He smirked as Bailey’s eyes widened. He was suppressing everything as best as he could, but everything kept coming back up. Like his brain was vomiting up something he was desperately trying to keep down.*

“…Leave me the hell alone.” *He shoved his way past, and hard. He needed to get out of here right now before everything came out.* ”Fine! You seem like the type that’d shoot all of ‘em up anyway if they got on your nerves enough!” (Dammit… I need to get away… fuck, fuck, fuck…) *His mind was clouded and his vision blurred as his eyes welled up with tears. He sprinted away from there as fast as he possibly could. He wouldn’t have been bothered by that petty comment but… he knew all too well what it was like to lose someone to your own two hands. He couldn’t help but imagine Sora, Finn, Jasper, Stone, Vinnie, Skipp - Hell, even Flynn as motionless bodies scattered on the floor. He needed to get it out of his brain. He finally found a quiet, empty ditch in an alley.* (fucking disgusting…) *he thought as he slumped against the wall and he finally let his tears spill down his face.* (I’d never- Yes you would.) *his own thoughts cut him off.* (You’ve done it before.) *the last thing he thought before everything came rushing back to him. The images were too vivid. Like he was seeing them in front of him right now. Brain vomit turned into physical vomit and after a few rounds of violent throwing up, he now had dry heaves. Drenching a tissue in water and wiping his face off, he started to forget how to breathe, how to neutralize his feelings. Why did it have to be like this today? He could normally get over this with a few minutes of mourning everyone… but this? He’d only felt this a few other times. He started to scratch at his shoulders as he hugged his knees to his chest and cried.* (What if I joined them…? Met the same fate myself by the same hands…???) (mod: WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT AM I ON TODAY?? I’M SORRY TO ANYONE WHO LOVES BAILEY AND DOESN’T LIKE SEEING HIM DEVASTATED.)

[thornesrookery]

*wheeze*

Hey, I wanted to take a moment to first of all, thank everyone who has reached out to me or listened to me the last day or so. The outpouring of support has been so wonderful, I can't even express.

But because so many of you have been concerned for me, I felt I would make an official, public announcement about what has happened with Felassan and Abelas on an IC and OOC level.

I am going to try my best to keep things as factual as possible and please note, I do not want anyone to engage with the writer on my behalf. They've deactivated accounts and after this post, I would like to start the moving on process.

Putting it bluntly, the ship was toxic.

I felt as if I could not write Felassan in any meaningful way without his actions, emotions, or lack thereof in some cases, triggering Abelas to spiral and essentially tantrum. By the time I chose to end the ship, they would have broken up for the fourth or fifth time. I genuinely lost count because in the last month of RP, it happened so many times.

As a writer, it started to wear on me Out of Character. I started approaching bsky and discord every day wondering, 'What is the drama going to be today?' Which was when I realized a hobby that I deeply love and only recently got back into, wasn't fun for me anymore.

I knew the source.

At the conclusion of “Emo Night” (which btw, was triggered because Abelas said something hurtful to Felassan, doubled down on it, then tried to be dismissive of his feelings and when Felassan didn't just magically get better, Abelas turned it into a whole, 'Love is dead and Felassan doesn't love me' victim complex. I was NOT. HAPPY.) at the end of emo night, and throughout, actually, I told the writer I was uncertain whether Felassan and Abelas should get back together as it was not a health relationship IC and to be blunt, I was pissed. Especially as they tried to frame it as Felassan “misunderstanding” something Abelas had said to one of the RP servers we were in.

(He said Felassan only gets jealous when he doesn't have all the attention. I'm not sure how many ways that could be taken, I'm js.)

REGARDLESS.

At the conclusion of Emo Night, they seemed willing to settle down with the drama and give both myself the writer, and Felassan a break. I desperately needed it and I was willing to give them another, final chance. I did warn the writer more than once in character and out, that if things were to kick off again any time soon, both Felassan and I would be done.

Not even a week later, we were back on our same old bullshit. It started with another player's character and then naturally, spilled over to mine. And once again, Felassan was going to have to clean up the mess because Abelas decided the character was going to run away after causing as much damage as possible. And while I know that not having my character participate is always an option, with Abelas' writer, it really wasnt. Because any time I didn't have Felassan swoop in to the rescue for whatever reason IC or OOC, it would be wielded against him and I'd have drama regardless.

That was the point where I reached out to the writer to let them know I was done shipping with them.

I realized several things that solidified the decision. That the RP I had been doing with them, was an emotionally abusive relationship in character. That they have no problem dropping triggering content into their RP without warning, pushing people into positions in which they were triggered for real because of the lack of decorum and communication. And that everything they did was to draw the maximum amount of attention to themselves.

I have been doing my best to try and write Felassan (when I'm not shitposting of course) as a very complex and struggling character. He has depth. His flirtatious nature is a facade and SEVERAL characters have managed to pick up on that through interaction. But not Abelas. Because Abelas' main focus was having a trophy to wave around.

I did not have the freedom to write Felassan the way I want because of Abelas needing to be the focus at all times. Felassan could not joke, could not get jealous, could not express hurt, without it somehow turning into him being the bad guy and Abelas the victim.

Also keep in mind. This is just the interactions I had between Abelas and Felassan. Their other characters are built the exact same way and in one interaction between out other characters, I had to have my character leave the RP and take a break myself, because they were pushing at one of my very few triggers. And despite attempts to topic change, express discomfort, and disengage, they kept going until I needed to leave. I shouldn't have to list my personal trauma history and experiences to feel safe walking into a space meant for everyone to gather and RP. I should not have to tell someone to have the BAREST of common sense and decency when including some of the most OBVIOUS and COMMON trigger warnings in their RP. And then to not only double down on it, but to act like both writer and character have no clue why people are reacting the way they are?

This has already gone on longer than I originally planned and I have obviously gotten a little bit emotional while writing this.

Bottom line is:

I appreciate your support and reaching out. It has made this much easier for me to navigate. It takes me a while to process certain emotions and events, which is why this is being delivered now instead of earlier or last night.

I'm not completely okay right now. I'm angry. Angry because when I reached out to say I was done shipping, I got a massive non-apology. I got, “If I had known, maybe I could have done something” and “I never meant to cross boundaries or upset you”. Despite communicating quite clearly, multiple times on my end.

It's a toxic, non-apology that tries to absolve them of blame while trying to guilt you and draw you back in.

And if there's one thing that pisses me off more than anything, it's Guilt Trips. I will not tolerate them.

This is honestly the tip of the iceberg in what I've been dealing with, but I did feel it would be better for me to openly share what was going on so that all of you wonderful people don't worry about lil' ol' Felassan. He and I will be okay. It's going to take a little bit to get over it. But it hasn't deterred me from wanting to RP with the community or chased me away.

I also wish to make clear, I don't care if you choose to be friends with their writer still. I think they need friends, but unfortunately, I can no longer be one of them.

The only thing I ask of you, is to respect that I want no further interaction with them and to not go after them trying to pick fights. I intentionally left their name out of this for a reason. As problematic as I have found them, they don't deserve harassment.

[lunar-rcp]

Memories meeting the star

. . ☕️ . .

hi guys! it has come to me that the rp has gotten a little long and its a bit hard to lose track, so i had decided to compile them into one big depressing pile of emotions!

note ; this is a very dark rp for those who haven't been caught up in the rp. note that there are multiple heavy themes in this rp.

part 1

venom that strikes back again

Poli's teacher and Poli had come face to face again. Poli feels small in the situation as his teacher downs onto him. Memories flow in as well as new openings for even the leader had yet to discover.

part 2

a call of stinging words

Poli's teacher had somehow managed to get a hold of the HQ's tv. Jin, confused and angered by this tries to cut him off. At her loss, he remains there with a grin as he speaks with poison pouring into her mindset.

part 3

let's meet over a cup of tea

Jin and the teacher had decided to meet at park late at night for them to face each other. Human to human. Jin wants to prove herself that she's more than the inventor soley, but tea gets spilled and minutes of the situation turn into scars.

part 4

new faces

After the month of the incident, another call is ringed through the HQ in the cold october. A new face, Emily; Introduces herself and states information that is handy to have. She offers to call Mr.Zorn's wife, Cheryl. The inventor and the leader click the accept button with a skipped heart beat..

part 5

what is love?

Cheryl, devasted by the situation at hand wants to find more about Andras. The 3 meet at the house he lives in. Emily and Jin find themselves into each other, but Jin theories that Andras finds himself in Poli. An arguement ensues when she tried to speak of that theory.

sun, star, blackhole

Jin and Poli seperate their ways after an heavy argument in the cold. Poli with complete exhaustion goes on to meet his teacher, again. A conversation that was supposed to confront him and win over justice ended with a gun on Andras' belt.

Thank you all so much for following the roleplay. I especially thank @polina-tvorozhok and @annintheclouds for helping me navigate the story. Those two were a huge help and I appreicate it so much.

[wiredhusks]

BOOTHILL ㅤ

ㅤ˚ ⌖

independent portrayal of BOOTHILL from HONKAI STAR RAIL, mvrp and ocrp friendly, canon divergent, quite headcanon heavy, can have crack / serious rp, semi lit .

BOOTHILL ROLEPLAY BLOG , FIRED UP BY KALEVA .

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ㅤ˚ ⌖ K'AA IŁ'TEE •

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his pronouns are he / him , they / them , and a bit rare but she / her as well .

i believe his age would be around mid-30s or possibly pushing 40 at this point .

EXTRA : headcanon name idea is from a cool reddit post talking about loaded gun translated literally to apache language . K'AA meaning bullets and IŁ'TEE meaning gun , this would literally translate to bullets in a gun if im not wrong , which is basically a loaded gun .

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ㅤ˚ ⌖ ADMIN •

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hello there, admin is KALEVA, he/him, aromantic, i am a minor ( 15 !! ), so please refrain from following if you're an "MDNI" or "LEWD" account, im SEAsian 🇵🇭 !

my timezone is GMT +1 , dms are free to mutuals and an ask page is available to anyone .

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ㅤ˚ ⌖ HEADCANONS •

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updated headcanons

i believe behind his bangs is a large burn scar from when the IPC destroyed his home as he tried so hard to look for a sign of anyone .

he has a pet eagle named antinanco , she'd sometimes help him with navigation or patrolling around but mostly hunting .

EXTRA :

he is a COLD cold mfer , blue artificial blood and all that .

ADORES physical touch , because he's not able to feel it , he tries as much as he can to try feeling something .

because of his operations to give him a second chance at life , he may have experienced some form of brain damage that caused him to forget bits and pieces of his past life . now he's looking for justice for his home and looking for those puzzle pieces that would complete his memories .

he doesn't cut his hair for above reason , as the quote goes . . . “ hair holds memories ” .

always wearing a tight braid when out on missions .

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TBA

ㅤ˚ ⌖ TAGS •

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ic boothill —- # he who is spite

ooc tag —- # kaleva rambling

asks —- # a talk over drinks

musings —- # what secrets spill out

art / doodles —- # and through art only

⠀

[myriadxofxmuses]

What color is your love?

Tagged by: @savagecuhnt

Tagging: @swimmingsirenindierp , @the-thieves-gambit , @homelander-rp-blog , @ruinedsoulsrp , @huntrcssqueen , @lunarruled , @reevezs , @heartxshaped-bruises , @7ndcvils , @lostxones , @mywilliingheart , @interxstitial , @apurekindness

Ethan

deep staining red

Ripped out confessions, warm velvety whispers and a heart like an open wound. Your love flows out like dripping blood, beautiful, flawed and twisted. It's gut wrenching, the type of painfully dramatic feeling that makes you clutch your chest, picturing dramatic monologues about love and loving and big screen over the top scenes of sobbing into your pillow until you fall asleep. It rips out of you, clawing it's way up your throat more so than tumbling out. Sticky words that just need to be let out, feelings so big they don't fit inside you. Your love isn't easy, it's a true bloody mess, dripping and staining everything it touches in a desperate attempt to be seen, to be felt, to be loved back. And you, you love so hard, so deeply, so much for someone who carries all that pain. Atlas holding up the world, how are you? Is your love still flowing? Is your heart still open? Still pumping and bleeding and dripping with blood and tears? Still painting your beautiful pictures and writing your love letters in deeply personal red ink? Because I see them, I read them, I love them and you, you, you, you. Clench your chest, scream your love, cry it out. Spill your words of loving, keep your heart beating, keep your love coming and paint the entire world red with it. Make it in your image, keep going, it's okay. Maybe one day the whole world can be red and loved and beautiful just like you.

Daryl

dark stormy blue

Sinking ships, raging seas and tumultuous hearts, love isn't easy for you. It's a struggle, a constant inner fight of should I? Can I? Do I? Feelings are hard and they rumble inside you in a dissatisfied mess that begs to be let out. Your heart screams and cries inside you and you... You can't, you won't. You're scared. And love is scary, it's hard and sometimes it just doesn't work out. People leave, people hurt, people change their minds. And you and your cold stormy heart yearn for the calmness, for the distance, to be allowed and able to simply not feel. And yet, you do. It rages, it fights and storms inside you and you try to keep it down, keep it quiet, to feel pretending not to. It's the burn of childhood friends growing apart, of parents that aren't quite there, of relationships that burn out. So you snuff it down with water, cold and calming and blue, blue, blue. But being loved by you is blue too, just not in that way. It's the soothing, embracing feeling of floating, the moment when you sink down bellow the waves and become one with the water, with everything. It's the balance, the dramatic yet calming sound of waves that crash against a rocky shore. You're the good and the bad, the violence of the storm and the watery peace right after. You're the blue, blue feeling and loving you is watery tears, yelled confessions that no one will hear and burying your feelings in a deep watery grave never to be found out about. Your love is dark stormy blue, it's vast and deep and all encompassing, it's safety in the surface of danger, it's trusting the unruly abyss and yet I'd gladly risk drowning just to feel what it's like being loved by you.

Emily

bright sunny yellow

Sweet tasting popsicles, summer dresses and shielding your eyes from the sun. Your love is the excitement of something brewing, something growing. It's the almost childish bubbling giggles of something new, but with the potential to stay. It's wide smiles, blinding sunny light and warm bodies that gravitate to one another. It's the the softness, the willingness, the slight holding of breaths in a crucial "what if" moment. It's the impatience too. The bouncing on tiptoes to see further than your eyes can reach, the holding out for a future that never seems to come even though you're ready, you're so so so ready. It's the constant feeling of warm sand beneath your feet, holding out for the crashing waves. And still you wait, dry and impatient and with burnt soles of feet. Your love is sour candy, enjoying it as your nose scrunches up from the aftertaste of it. It's hands that grab and take hold, that reach and ask them to stay and hope and beg and wait. It's bubbling excitement sure, but it's also demanding, focused, driven. It's love like a plan, with a path and route and a clear destination. And you bonce on your tiptoes, and burning, waiting for the soothing water, the crashing waves, you hold onto the melting popsicle, you wait and wait and wait. It's tiring almost as much as it's lazer focused ambition, deeply rooted desire and the unrelenting hope that it will work, that it will come. And it does, I promise it does. The waves crash, the beach floods and the pain passes, the water cool and soothing and you can let yourself fall in, sinking, sinking. And it's good, it's perfect, what you were hoping and more, holding and embracing you and welcoming you into the stillness you always knew you were reaching for.

Sydney

soft fresh green

Nice breeze, bare feet and freshly cut grass. Your love is a lighthearted hope for the future. It's protecting your eyes from the sun but enjoying the light rays still, it's laying on the grass and feeling it tickle your neck. You look to the side and they look back at you, full of hope and plans too. You plan together and laugh all day and your sunburn will feel like them. Your love is delicate, hesitant. A well curated binder full of collages for a future you can't be sure will come, but you keep going, you keep planning, you keep squinting at the sun and smiling, and running your hands through the grass so it will smell better. You keep holding onto the bright sky even as the sunsets, even as the starry night stares back. But you keep on holding, you keep on dreaming, you close your eyes and feel the sun on your skin and convince yourself that the sunburn is good, it's something to hold on to, just makes it linger a bit longer. Your love is a lighthearted hope for the future. It's sweet and wonderful and it keeps love alive, makes the world a better place. You run your hands through the grass, clench your fingers tighter and keep making plans. And I can only thank you and hope I can learn to love like you someday.

[ticklish-n-stuff]

Hello! I LOVE your writing! If you're still accepting prompts for tickletober, may I please request (bsd) Lee! Fyodor and ler! Dazai (romantic preferably, but whatever's easier for you) with day 18, magic?

Dazai can cancel Fyodor's ability, making him the only one who can touch Fyodor without dying. I have a headcanon that every time Dazai touches Fyodor in a certain, very light way, Fyodor will feel a tingly sensation wherever Dazai touches him as a result of their abilities interacting with each other. Usually, it's just a bit tingly, but it gets very ticklish when Dazai does things like poking, rubbing, tracing etc.

When the two are having a sappy romantic moment (not often, let's be honest XD), Dazai will be a little shit and place his hands on Fyodor's neck/jaw before kissing him, making Fyodor all giggly and flustered. For a more platonic scenario, Dazai is (just like before XD) being a little shit and he thinks it's funny when Fyodor loses his cool. So he quickly grabs Fyodor's hands, causing Fyodor to do a full-body shiver and try to yank his hand back, but since Dazai is stronger than him, he's stuck there, forced to endure the tickles until Dazai thinks he's had enough.

Sorry if this is long, feel free to decline. Have an awesome day!

Tickletober day #18: Magic

Hsjdhskhdjsh I hope this is okay, writing a russian rat and suicide maniac together is quite challenging and after the latest season, I have a hard time visualizing them as romantic partners

I am a Dazai x Sigma believer ✌️

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Fyodor x Dazai (interpret as you wish)

Lee: Fyodor

Ler: Dazai

Warnings: Tickles!

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“You’re not so scary now, are you?~” Dazai teased, having pulled Fyodor onto his lap with ease and more importantly, without getting obliterated in the process thanks to his special ability.

“And look, I can even touch you all I want~” and just like that, Dazai’s hands started to playfully roam all over Fyodors torso.

Being touched like this was foreign to him, to say the least, but he didn’t plan on it to feel so damn ticklish!

“Oh, what’s this? Did I hit a sensitive spot?~” Dazai whispered teasingly close to the russian male’s ear, causing him to jolt upright.

“Tch, I don’t get sensitive” Fyodor let out a huff, trying to cover up the laughter that threatened to spill out of his lips. How foolish of him to think that Dazai would just leave it there, it is Dazai, after all. He thrives on other’s misery.

“Then surely you won’t mind if I do this, right?~” there was an evil smirk on Dazai’s face as his bandaged fingers found their way under Fyodor’s shirt, making sure to touch every inch of his torso.

“Mph!” his eyes instantly shut tight at the growing sensation, trying to squirm away from the offender, but he was too weak when in such a vulnerable pisition.

“C’mon, y’know you wanna laugh~” Dazai’s index finger poked it’s way to Fyodor’s navel, earning a startled gasp from the latter.

“Gah! Pfft! Ahahahaha! Dazai nohoho!” the damn finally broke and Fyodor’s laughter echoed across the room. His pale cheeks quickly turning tomato red as he tried and failed to control his reactions. How embarrassing! Someone so feared being brought down with something so childish, and yet, it didn’t feel all that bad to be touched so gently. Not like Fyodor would admit it out loud, but knowing Dazai, he already has an idea.

“Better get comfy ‘cause I won’t stop for a looong while!~” and thus, Dazai kept softly yet consistently tickling all over Fyodor’s belly and sides. Feeling like he was on cloud 9 for hearing such genuine laughter for once from this man. Even if neither voiced their enjoyment of this moment, it was pretty clear to anyone the giddy expressions they both wore.

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Update: After doing a very crack rp of me playing as Fyodor, I can say I believe in FyoZai love LMAO