#*rinky dink music starts playing*

[chirpsythismorning]

Robin’s first appearance in ST was Mike walking up to her and demanding that she give him exclusive access to gay activities and I think that’s beautiful

[luveline]

𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you and miguel have different definitions of the same word. he finally gives in to temptation —featuring a cranky but lovesick miguel and a flirty, head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This has to be your favourite song in the whole world. 

You sit in the hall beside the entrance to Miguel's office (this week, you're thinking you might call it The Bedroom, on account of all the magic happening inside), headphones on, a bottle of lemonade beside you. 

Today has the makings of a great day. You're at the Spider Society headquarters and not at home, for starters, and one of the Peter Parkers you'd made friends with in the med-wing saw you this morning and recognised you, which is brilliant because he looked super similar to every other Peter Parker you've met. He offered to help you fix your rinky-dink headphones, and now they're working again and loud enough to cover the sound of Spider Chatter, even with your enhanced senses. 

What's more, Miguel has finally emerged from his dormitory, and he's walking toward you looking confused. That's a step up from unhappy. 

He asks you something. 

"What? I can't hear you." 

He says something else. You shake your head, music too loud to catch even a hint of what he's saying, and Miguel eventually crouches down to push your headphones around your neck. He's surprisingly gentle. 

"What are you doing?" he asks. 

"Waiting for you, what did you think I was doing?" 

"Why are you sitting on the ground?" He gestures backward to a red-lit control panel. "Chair right there." 

"I think that's someone's desk." 

"It's really not." 

Miguel stands up and doesn't hesitate to grab your arms and help you up too. It means more to you than it should, because it's not necessary and a few months ago he wouldn't have bothered. Which isn't to imply that Miguel is a mean guy, Lyla says he used to be a loser (code for sweetheart), and you get flashes of it every now and then in chivalry and kind smiles. 

He's not mean, he's cranky. 

"Don't sit on the floor," he says. "Just– just go inside if I'm not here." 

"Well, The Bedroom doesn't come when I call." 

Miguel's lips part in confusion for a second. Lyla appears at his shoulder, and says, "She can't get the platform to come down without you, genius." 

"Put her name on the command list," Miguel says. 

Your eyes widen. Lyla flashes to his other side, closer to you, and smiles playfully. "Done." 

"Stop sitting on the floor," Miguel says, turning around. He walks a few steps and pauses when he realises you're not following. "Are you coming with me?" 

You jog to catch up with him. Music plays against your collar, a slinking, indie sound that makes Miguel wrinkle his nose. You turn it up a little bit and smile when he glares at you. 

You enter the atrium that houses The Bedroom. Miguel hops up onto the platform because he's too tall to see sense while you struggle, but you're pleased when he takes your hand and pulls you up properly. All these familiar touches today, anyone might think Miguel liked you. 

He definitely does. 

You sit down in the spinning chair near what you've decided is your desk but certainly isn't, again pleased beyond words when you find your sketchbook from last time still there, cleaned away carefully, pencils in a pot and a brand new pencil sharpener by the side of it. It matches your spider suit. You look over your shoulder, your face lit up with thanks, and Miguel swiftly looks away from you. 

"It's electric. Tell me when the battery's dead, I'll charge it." 

"Thank you," you say, flipping your sketchbook open to the last entry. 

You aren't Picasso, but most members of the Spider Society are somewhat artistically inclined, considering the suit-making rite of passage they must all endure —if you don't know how to sew before you start, you will by the end. 

Or like Miguel, you could cheat and make the suit out of nanotechnology. 

You haven't really been designing any suits lately. Spidering is tiring, you need to relax, and your reluctant friends are the easiest subjects, though Miguel's face is painstakingly difficult to get right. He's very angular, high cheekbones with that divot that needs kissing stat, and his nose… He's really pretty, but you almost wish he wasn't so your sketches of him held a better likeness. 

He's the only one of the regular crew that stands still long enough to be drawn. Jessica doesn't like you (or maybe she does, it's hard to tell, but she hasn't forgiven you for asking if her baby was like a maraca bead when she fights) so she doesn't let you draw her. Lyla will stand very still if you request it, but after a few portraits she got bored and started changing her hair or glasses, and after a few more she gave up. Margo is hard to focus on because her blue light makes everything else seem super orange, though she does stand in one place usually. She takes up a lot of pages, but it's Miguel you've drawn most of all. 

You go around the Spider Society sometimes asking people if they'll sit for you, but again your skills aren't impressive, so it's awkward when they want to see how you've done. There are drawings of all kinds of Spiders, including yourself, between Miguel, and Miguel, and Miguel. 

His back, the side of his face, his hands ungloved. His pointy bottom teeth mid fight. The naked stretch of his arm and his Rapture injector positioned over it. He might not appreciate that one. You rip it out and toss it in the waste paper basket under your desk, where it incinerates, paper smoke curling up toward the extractor fan on the atrium ceiling. 

"What are you doing?" he asks without looking at you, his gaze on one of his marigold coloured monitors. 

"Drawing." You're not drawing so much as sitting there with a coloured pencil in hand, trying to think of conversation starters. "What are you upto?" 

"According to the program, there are no Canon events today at risk of disruption," Lyla chimes in, "so Miguel's doing chores." 

"What, not one bad thing is gonna happen today?" you ask. 

"Nothing we can predict," Miguel says. 

You swap your pencil for your drink, unscrewing the lid of your lemonade to sip at it leisurely. Today is your favourite kind of day. No fighting, lots of time with Miguel, and music to go with it. You're so happy you could melt. 

Miguel turns to you and sees your stickying smile. 

"What?" 

"Nothing. Just happy to be here with you," you say.

"Don't say stuff like that," he says, turning back to his screen. 

"Scared you'll actually experience sincerity?" Lyla asks. 

"Lyla," he warns, as though Lyla might be afraid of any consequence he had the power to inflict. 

"Sorry," you say, not very sorry, but not wanting him to be uncomfortable, "it's just nice, being friends with you."

"We aren't friends." 

You're not quick to take offence with Miguel. He can be cruel. He's hurting, he's unhappy, he has a lot on his plate. Oftentimes he's so tense with apprehension his neck locks up and you hear it clicking as he turns one way or another, or if he isn't apprehensive he's disappointed, furious, upset. You give him the benefit of the doubt because you know him, but you don't know the tone of voice he uses now. It's like he's offended at the insinuation. Like he would never, ever be friends with you. 

You put your lemonade on the desk and don't know what to do. His insipid floating platform is too high now to leave without causing a scene. Maybe when he's busy you can web down and go home. All you know is that you desperately don't want to be near him. But home sucks, and the dormitories are worse. You're stuck. 

"You can be so mean," you say softly, turning back to your sketchbook and pencils. 

You're thinking you might draw him with a bunch of bee stings, or find a previous sketch and cross his eyes out.

"What?" he asks. 

Your hackles rise. "You're mean. Don't talk to me." 

"What?" Miguel stands very still. "Y/N, what?" 

"What do you mean, what? I said something nice and you said something cruel. I get it, okay, we aren't friends, so don't talk to me." 

"I've upset you." 

You stare at your blank page. "It doesn't matter." 

"No, I've said the wrong thing." 

"Miguel, don't bother. What else could you mean by that?" You laugh with little humour. Crestfallen doesn't begin to describe how you feel. "I'll be quiet. I just don't want to be at home." 

"What's wrong with home?" 

"Is there ever much right?" 

"Did something happen?"

"We aren't friends, so why ask me?" 

You bite the inside of your lip as Miguel approaches, his footfall hushed over the lightweight metal flooring. You turn to him in your chair, head tilted back to meet his eyes, arms crossed over your stomach defensively. 

"That's not what I meant when I said that." He speaks slowly, firmly, to avoid any misunderstanding. "What's wrong with home, mi cielo?" 

You tap his ankle with your shoe, looking away from his gaze. You don't want to tell him, and if he keeps looking at you like that, you will.

"¿Qué pasó?" He bends at the waist slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, dark hair falling into his eyes.

"I don't know what that means," you murmur.

"Did something happen?" he asks.

"Nothing happened, it's just– it's lonely there," you say, squirming under the weight of his gaze, his sudden caring. "What's with you? One minute you're not my friend, the next you're worrying about me? You're giving me whiplash." 

He stands up, and his face falls back into a more typical emotionlessness. He's clearly feeling something, but he's wiping the slate clean. 

"When I said we aren't friends, it didn't mean–" He grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you were staying in the women's dormitory?" he asks, frustrated.  

"I am, but I'm useless, and they don't really respect me because I'm–" 

"Eccentric?" 

"–not as experienced," you finish, eyes flaring. 

"Oh, my god," Lyla says, appearing in front of him to make sure he sees her delight at his slip up. 

Miguel bats her hologram with an annoyed grunt. She disappears again, her tinkling laughter cut short.

"It's a good thing," Miguel says quickly.

You stand up. "It's not the point." 

"You should feel at home in the dormitory, and if you don't, I'll find you somewhere else to stay here, you don't have to be in there if you don't feel welcome."

"Miguel, you're sounding awfully friendly right now." 

"We aren't friends," he says again, stepping closer to you. "What's so hard to understand about that?" 

"But we spend time together. We have fun. You like me, Miguel, you do, you tell me jokes sometimes, you make me things for me. You… you do like me, right?" 

"You know that I do," he says, his eyebrows pinching together. 

"You like me, like, you want me," you say, just to make sure.

His fist clenches hard enough to make an audible sound. Miguel's voice is fraught, and through barely parted lips, "If you know that, what's the problem?" 

You don't know. Maybe it was silly to worry about how he sees you, because you do know that Miguel likes you, but you also know he hadn't wanted to like you. His attraction to you was reluctant, you're not stupid enough to miss that, and it was important to you that whatever tension sexual or otherwise lingering between you had bloomed into mutual affection. 

"I want us to be friends, too," you say. 

"I thought we were more than that." 

It's such a quiet admission. He isn't afraid to say it, and he isn't reluctant like you feared. 

"Miguel," you say. "I want you to like me. I know I can be off-putting, I know I tease too much, but I don't want you to like me despite those things, I just want you to like me. So, when you say we aren't friends…" 

"I've never heard you say three serious sentences in a row," Miguel says, reaching out for your hand. He pulls you toward him slowly, his fingertips gliding up the length of your arm. "Then again, it's the same nonsense as usual." 

"Miguel–" 

"Of course I like you. How else do you need me to say it? I like you and I want to kiss you, I like you and I like that you're irregular. You want us to be friends? Then let's be friends." Miguel's hand closes around your bicep. His thumb presses against soft fat and muscle alike. "But not just friends." 

Relieved, you sigh. "So you're saying we really weren't friends?" 

Miguel leans down until his face is the only thing you can see. His smooth skin, his dark eyes, their darker flush of too-long lashes; it's unfair how pretty his eyelashes are, how they curl, how they bunch in triangles you have to fight to resist touching. His eyebrows so often slightly set, giving him an unhappy expression even now. 

He brings the hand that isn't clasped at your bicep to the hill of your waist. It's hot as a brand, and it pulls you closer, your neck craning with every inch he steals from between you. 

"We can be friends," he says. 

His fingers twitch against your arm, and his hand begins to climb. It's not as slow as it feels, conquering the curve of your shoulder, your neck. His hand is big, his thumb pressing into the column of your throat gently.

He looks at you for a measured lapse of time, and you know, finally, that you're on the same page. 

"What you said before, 'mi cielo?'" You hold his elbow. "What does that mean?" 

"My sky," he says. "My… my heavens. It's saccharine. It's something teenagers say, when they're," —his voice dips, the hand at your waist squeezing tight like you might slip through his hold—  "infatuated." 

"Just teenagers say that?" you ask.

"No," he allows. "I always thought it was too much." 

"But you–" 

"Yeah. I did." 

The first kiss is surprisingly sweet. On the tail end of words, Miguel presses his lips half-parted to yours, slowly, softly, like the brush of a downy feather. He lingers, and it's your own movement that spurs him on —you shudder up into his lips and he loses control. 

The sound he makes is a shock. You try to pull back to check he isn't hurting, and he lets you until he realises why it is you're pulling away. "It's fine, it's okay," he says quickly. 

Assuaged of your concern, he pulls you back in and he kisses you, he kisses you, his hand squeezing too tight and his nose bridge sliding up against yours from the force of it all. Your chest feels like a pit and you need Miguel closer if you're ever going to fill it, your hands snapping up to his face like magnets. There's no need to pull him down to you, he's already wading in, not wading —crashing, kissing you so hard your lips burn. 

You make a sound that says, hopefully, This is really fun, but don't give me a bruise.

His tongue is a heat at the seam of your lips. Your weight bends, your chest leaning into his front. He doesn't hesitate to ease his hand behind your back and prop you up against him as things get heady, and the only thing you can feel is him. 

All those times he almost kissed you, all those times he couldn't cross the gap. He poked and prodded and provoked you into getting into his space and each time you called his bluff. You wanted Miguel to give in, and now he has, it's the meltiest, most stickying warmth you've ever felt. 

Voices sound far away, off the platform and down the hall. Jessica and someone else, approaching fast. 

Something sharp snags your bottom lip as Miguel pulls away. You press your finger to your sore lip. When you pull it away, blood spots your skin. 

Miguel takes your face into his hand and angles your face to a glowing screen carefully, in total juxtaposition of the grip he'd had on your waist. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, the tip of his fangs catching the light. His adrenaline must be high. 

"Excited?" you ask him breathily. 

He wipes your lip with his thumb. The other hand pet's your cheek. You feel suddenly and smotheringly adored, all his attention on your pinprick wound. 

"Everything okay up there?" Jessica calls. 

Miguel drops your face like he's remembered himself. You turn to your newfound company, Jessica Drew and an unhappy looking Gwen Stacy. This high up, there's no way they can see the state of either of you, mussed hair and Miguel's blushy cheeks, but they'll see you eventually. And Miguel might like you, might want you, might be your more-than-friend, but he's a stickler for appearances, and being found kissing your subordinate dizzy when you're supposed to be working would mortify him.

"I cut my lip on a lemonade bottle," you call cheerily, waving at grumpy Gwen. Her lips perk up. "Miguel's trying to tell me it's my fault. Is lemonade usually sharp?" 

His hand flattens subtly at the small of your pack. 

"Thanks," he murmurs. 

"Welcome, handsome. Is it bad?" you ask, turning back to hip with your lip pouted. 

His eyes visibly soften at the sight of you. "Not that bad." 

"Alright, good. You'll have to let the platform down, I need to go." 

"What? Where are you going?" he asks. 

"If we're friends now," you say, lilting, performing a half spin in front of him just to watch his eyes narrow, "I'm going to have to make us bracelets. Friendship bracelets." He clearly doesn't like the idea of being friends still, so you amend with a softer tone, "Friends and whatever that was. Come on, you'll love it. I'll make it match your suit." 

He rubs the space between his eyebrows. 

"Will you bring your stuff here?" he asks, the platform beginning to lower under your feet. 

"Duh. I need to take lots of measurements. I'll be in your hair all day, you'll hate it." 

He nods like he agrees. "I'll hate it," he says, deadpan. When he's sure Jessica and Gwen aren't looking, he gives you a smile you've never seen before. 

You and I have a secret, it says. 

Lyla appears by your shoulder to instantly tell him otherwise. It goes without saying that she's mildly disgusted and extremely smug. "Don't match it to his suit, Y/N. Mr. Heartthrob here needs something soft. How about some baby pinks, hm?" 

Miguel sighs, but you barely hear him over your excited gasp. "Yes! Pink and white, for sure, that would be so nice." 

"Great," Miguel says. "Perfect. Thanks for that, Lyla."

"You're so welcome!" 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D please reblog if you have the time ♡

[rubycruzin4abruzin]

never been (stage) kissed

Summary: After years of being a struggling actress in Los Angeles, you finally land your big break! The only problem is, you’ve been cast opposite your longtime celebrity crush… Ruby Cruz. What will you do when the director demands a kiss between the two of you?

Pairing: ruby cruz x actress!reader

Contains: mature language, small amount of adult humor, kissing, fluff, thigh touching, in depth details of Hollywood movie shooting, anxious!reader, publicity tweets and comments, ruby being the sweetest girl EVER

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This is a Real Person Fiction. I’ve included a mass disclaimer of RPF guidelines here. Make SURE to click the link before reading, it’s extremely important for the safety of all Real People involved in this fiction.

———

You stared at the movie script in your hand, biting your lip to stop from squealing. After being in Los Angeles for the past five years, you had finally landed your big break.

You had known that you wanted to act ever since your mother signed you up to be a munchkin in a community theatre production of “The Wizard of Oz.” Of course, being a stubborn elementary schooler, you fought her on it, saying the songs were “stupid” and the costumes were “itchy.” But as soon as opening night came, and the lights hit your face, you put on a smile and celebrated the death of the Wicked Witch like it was something you’d been waiting for your entire life.

After the song's last note, deafening applause echoed around the theater, causing adrenaline to course through your veins. In that moment, you decided to spend the rest of your life chasing that feeling.

When you reached middle school, you joined their drama department, taking theatre as an elective class while occasionally participating in the school plays. Once high school rolled around, you began to take some of the more advanced classes, and even competed in a couple One-Act Play competitions. A lot of the people you started taking classes with eventually got bored and left to pursue other hobbies, but over the years you just fell more and more in love with acting, and became completely dedicated to your craft.

Instead of attending college, after you graduated high school you packed up whatever you needed and moved across the country to a small town about half an hour away from Los Angeles. The area was slightly sketchy, your apartment was small, and you had to work two jobs while sharing with four other roommates just to make rent.

Los Angeles kinda… sucked. But you had stars in your eyes and couldn’t be happier.

Unfortunately, you were kind of in for a rude awakening once audition season rolled around. Back in high school, you would book leads left and right. Now, it seemed like the only gigs you could book were background work, maybe a role in a rinky-dink student film if you were lucky. You always took what you could get, but you longed for something that could get your foot in the door.

One day, one of the short films you starred in entitled “Attack of the Killer Zombie Prom Queens” got entered into some film festival, and not only did it win an award you couldn’t remember the name of, it ended up going viral on YouTube, and not in a bad way either. Your performance in that film was astounding.

Plus, not that this was the sole reason the film blew up, but as an actress in your early 20’s who tended to take care of herself, you were kind of… well… hot.

Suddenly, you were getting recognized in public, signed with an agency, and landing more notable roles. You were featured in a music video for an up-and-coming country artist, booked a commercial for a costume makeup company (in which you brought back your look from “Attack of the Killer Zombie Prom Queens”), and even starred in three episodes of a new series on HBO Max.

Just when you thought life couldn’t get any better, one day you were coming back from what was either your third or fourth audition of the day, when you got a call from your agent on the drive home. You groaned, almost certain she was calling to schedule another “last-minute” audition. Sure you appreciated how hard she worked to get you booked, but you were also so tired after a long day.

To your surprise, when you picked up the phone, she ecstatically announced that you had booked a huge role.

In a feature film.

Starring alongside your celebrity crush… Ruby Cruz.

You had to pull over on the side of a highway to keep from swerving out of excitement.

Ruby had been your celebrity crush since you saw her in the Disney+ series “Willow.” Her masculine ambience, her devil-may-care attitude, and the way she swung her sword had you absolutely drooling. Somehow, you finished the entire series in two days, and immediately ran to IMDB to add Every Single Thing she’s been in to your watch list.

Now, you stood in front of the building where your first read-through was supposed to take place, the script for “Aliens of Atlantis” resting in your shaking hands. You gulped as you pushed open the door, wondering how you were going to keep your cool around Ruby when the very thought of her practically sent you into cardiac arrest.

Walking into the reading room, you were met with several chairs arranged into a circle and sounds of chatter from the other actors. You recognized a few of them from some smaller projects, even recognizing one from a movie that had come out the previous year. Your eyes scanned the room for Ruby, heart beating out of your chest when they landed on the back of a choppy brunette bob.

When Ruby turned around, you swore her blue eyes sparkled under the fluorescent lights. She caught you staring at her from across the room, and shot you a wide toothy smile before walking over to you.

“Hey,” she started. “You must be Zephyra.”

You blinked at her. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Zephyra.” She repeated. “You’re playing the alien queen of Atlantis, right?”

She furrowed her eyebrows at you slightly and tilted her head, worried she may have gotten you mixed up with someone else.

Her words clicked in your head, finally. “Oh! Yes! I’m playing the role of Zephyra.”

Ruby’s smile returned as she let out a lighthearted chuckle. You swallowed, trying to keep your cool. You still had trouble wrapping your mind around the fact that you were standing in front of the Ruby Cruz, and having a semi-successful conversation.

She stuck out her hand, offering a handshake. “Hi, I’m Ruby. I’m playing Calantha.”

You took her hand, electric shocks vibrating through your body at her touch. “Nice to meet you.”

After removing her hand (much to your displeasure), she turned to walk back over to her seat, but not before flashing you a smile over her shoulder. “Can’t wait to work with you!”

God, why did she have to be so cool?

The table read went fairly well, in your opinion. The movie was about Calantha, an underwater adventurer, finding the lost city of Atlantis during an expedition. Once there, she finds the city being ruled by aliens who’s spaceship crashed near the area about 100 years ago. Calantha finds Zephyra, the alien queen, who makes her promise to keep their secret, and in return, Calantha will help her run the city.

You were playing Zephyra, of course, since being in “Attack of the Killer Zombie Prom Queens” proved you looked hot even in otherworldly makeup. You kind of thought there might be some romantic or even sexual tension between Calantha and Zephyra, but you brushed it off as you thought that might not be the artistic intention.

Once filming started, your days were basically exclusively spent on set. Not that you were complaining, you loved every second. Even after coming home at 1am when you left for work at 6am, a blissful smile would be painted across your tired face.

The only thing that bothered you was that you barely ever got to talk to Ruby on set. It was more your fault than hers. Every time you two were working together, your brain short circuited and you couldn’t get out anything more than a few dim-witted babbles. Ruby was always so sweet about it though, always lightheartedly chuckling at your barely-comprehensible speech, sometimes even giving your upper arm a squeeze if you felt especially nervous.

You knew she meant well, but any touch from your celebrity crush was sure to do the opposite of calming you down.

One day, during a filming session, you and Ruby were meant to be sitting especially close to each other. You were sure you felt some romantic tension between the two characters, but you chalked it up to your crush on the actress and tried to downplay it. The director, however, seemed very frustrated today, this was the nineteenth take of this particular scene and he still wasn’t happy.

“Cut!” He yelled, letting out a frustrated sigh as you and Ruby turned your attention towards him.

“Everything alright, sir?” Ruby asked, making you glad you weren’t the only one who noticed his irritation.

“This scene… it’s missing something.” He brought his hand to his chin and squinted at the both of you. “Do we think we could add a kiss? Right here?”

Your heart stopped, and all the moisture disappeared from your mouth.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t kissed people before. You had your fair share of dates back in high school, that wasn’t the problem.

You’ve kissed, but you’ve never stage kissed.

Sure you had plenty of acting experiences, but the roles you played never required kissing. Instead of playing Aurora, you made a fabulous Maleficent. While Elle Woods locked lips with Emmett, you were busy portraying a hilarious Paulette. And of course, nobody wants to make out with a zombie prom queen.

You had no idea if there was any difference between actual kisses and stage-kisses. Obviously, sex scenes in movies weren’t real. But kisses? What if there is a difference and you go to kiss Ruby on camera and make her uncomfortable? What if she pushes you away? What if she gets mad? You don’t know how you’d recover from something like that, and your mind swarmed with plans to flee the country if that did happen.

Ruby opened her mouth to answer the director, before looking at you for confirmation and noticing your overly-panicked state. She sent you a reassuring smile, and placed a gentle hand on your back.

She turned to the director. “Could we pick this up after lunch? I think my scene partner and I have some things to discuss.”

The director agreed, and since it was still about thirty minutes to lunch, decided to use that time to record some “room noise.” You and Ruby were meant to sit still and quietly, the only thing you heard being the echo of your heartbeat in your ears.

Suddenly, you received a text notification, causing sound to go off and the director to groan and shoot you an annoyed look. You mumbled a quick “sorry” before switching your phone to vibrate and looking to see who texted you.

After wolfing down a sandwich from the craft services table, you stood in front of the trailer with Ruby’s name on the door, wringing your clammy hands while deciding whether or not to knock. You took a deep breath, raised your knuckles, and knocked three times, taking a step back after.

She answered almost immediately, staring down at you with a comforting grin. “Hey, come on in.”

Walking up the stairs and into Ruby’s trailer, you couldn’t help but notice how much cleaner it was than yours. You weren’t necessarily sloppy, but your vanity was covered in various bottles of blue face paint, while your floor held multiple alien-like prosthetics. Ruby’s was tidier, with a small couch pushed up against the wall, and her vanity holding nothing but some makeup basics and a half-full can of Dr. Pepper she had been drinking right before you walked in.

Ruby took a seat in her vanity chair and took a sip from her Dr. Pepper, motioning for you to sit on the small couch. “What’s going on? You didn’t seem too comfortable with the kissing scene.”

You gulped, staring down at your lap. “It’s not that…”

Ruby sat up, leaning forward to gawk at you. “Oh my god… have you never been kissed?”

“What? No! Of course I have…” you trailed off. “I just… I’ve never stage kissed before, and I know you have, so is it any different from regular kissing? I feel so stupid for asking and I’m so sorry but I didn’t wanna do it wrong while filming and I’m kinda embarrassed that I don’t know the answer so that’s why I wanted to ask you privately because I didn’t wanna fuck up…”

Ruby stared at you, silent and wide eyed. You felt your heartbeat in your ears as you tried to decipher what she was thinking. Suddenly, she threw her head back and let out a hearty laugh. Your heart sank. Here you were being awkward and vulnerable in front of your crush, and she was laughing at you.

Just before you decided to get up and walk out, Ruby calmed down, wiping away a tear and smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m not making fun of you. I didn’t mean to laugh, really. You’re just so cute.”

You felt your cheeks burn at her words. She thinks you’re cute?

Ruby threw her soda away in a nearby trash can and moved to sit next to you on the small couch. She criss-crossed her legs, turning to face you while pondering how to answer your question.

“So… stage kisses are different from regular kisses, but they’re also not, you know? Like, we’re kissing but we’re not like… kissing.”

She peered over at you, studying your facial expressions. You looked more confused than ever, so she continued her explanation.

“So, if you’re asking if my lips will physically be on your lips… then the answer is yes, they will. But they’re not exactly like the real thing, because it’s more of a demonstration to the audience rather than an act of passion between two people.”

“A demonstration?” You cocked your head. Ruby nodded.

“Yeah, so say the camera was over there…” she pointed out in front of you. “…then you might cup my jaw, or cradle the back of my head. But if you were to grab my face or something like that, it’d look pretty awkward in a fifty-fifty profile shot.”

You nodded in understanding. “Ok… I think I get what you’re saying.”

“There are also different types of kissing.” Ruby continued. “Like, it should portray how your character feels about the other character. When Zephyra has scenes with Calantha, how does she feel?”

You gulped, focusing on your lap again. “Well, to be honest, it kinda feels like there’s a lot of romantic or sexual tension between our characters, but I’ve sort of been suppressing it because I’m not sure that was the intention.”

“But you feel like Zephyra is attracted to Calantha sexually?” Ruby asked. You nodded. “Great! You don’t necessarily have to make it explicit, but something like that can help you dive deeper into your character.”

Ruby scooted closer to you, taking your hands in hers. She gazed at you with half lidded eyes, causing your breathing to accelerate.

“I want you to kiss me.”

Ruby’s words barely resonated in your head, there was no way you heard her correctly. “You… huh?”

“For practice.” Ruby clarified, letting go of your hands. “Like you would during filming. Is that ok?”

An involuntary swallow forced itself down your throat as you nodded. You couldn’t believe you were about to kiss your celebrity crush, even if it was only for practice.

You pressed your hand into her warm cheek, pulling her close and quickly pecking her lips before retreating away. Your face burned from embarrassment while Ruby cocked her head, clearly confused.

“That’s it?” She asked. “My bad, I didn’t realize Calantha was your grandmother.”

Ruby moved closer and cradled the back of your head, entangling her fingers into your soft locks. You felt your hands sweat as her big blue eyes gazed into yours. “I was thinking maybe something more like this…”

She crashed her lips into yours, causing warmth to explode in your chest. Her fingers played with your hair as you began to kiss back, and your arms wrapped around her waist. Holy shit could she kiss! You could barely fathom how soft her lips were, tasting faintly of Dr. Pepper and vanilla lip balm. As hard as you tried to act professional and pretend there was a camera in front of you, every inch of your body screamed at you to succumb to your most primal instincts.

You lifted one hand from her waist and moved to rest it on her mid-thigh, causing a gentle moan to escape from her lips and a shiver to run down her body. Startled, you moved back, throughly convinced that you majorly fucked up.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” You exclaimed, pulling back your hand like it had touched fire. “I wasn’t thinking, fuck. I got too swept up in the moment. I shouldn’t have touched you, that was completely unprofessional.”

“Hm…?” Ruby blinked, still in a daze. “Oh. Oh! You’re good! Don’t be sorry. I liked it. Really.”

Ruby grinned at you shyly. You stared back at her, a question you weren’t quite sure how to ask lingering at the tip of your tongue. “Ruby, are we still… practicing?”

Her smile faded as her eyes went wide, her gaze dropping to her lap. It was her turn to be coy, a sight you’d never seen before.

She dropped her voice to a low whisper as she choked out her question. “Do you want to be?”

Before you could even open your mouth to answer, your phone alarm screeched from your jacket pocket. You took it out, groaning as you turned it off.

Ruby furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “What was that?”

“My alarm,” you answered. “I have to go.”

“But lunch isn’t over for another twenty minutes.” Ruby pointed out, trying to hide her disappointment.

“Yeah, but I have to head back early so they can touch up my makeup and fix my prosthetics.”

Ruby sighed in understanding. She supposed your costume might have a bit more upkeep than hers. Your prosthetics did look a little wonky after the lunch break, never mind your smudged blue lipstain that made her apprehensive to look in a mirror.

You collected yourself and turned to walk out, but looked over your shoulder before opening the door. “Uhm… Ruby?”

“Hm?” She answered.

You wrung your hands anxiously. “Do you think we could maybe… do this again? Sometime?”

Ruby’s head shot up to look at you, and a playful smile spread across her face. “Do what? More kissing lessons?”

You rolled your eyes as she chuckled, then gave you a lopsided grin. “I’d like that. Lunch again, tomorrow?”

A blush pink color sprinkled across the apples of your cheeks as you smiled back at her, trying your best to stay cool and suppress the giddy feeling that was bubbling inside of you.

“See you then.”

[sheepscot]

You know a fandoms gotten to you when you dream up a fic: In dream I loaded my Danny phantom DVD and saw a new episode? One I hadn't watched before and selected it.

It starts with Batman sitting in the back of a theater waiting for whatever it is to start, people around asking him why's he hear in this rinky-dink town? And Batmans like "what, a man can't enjoy a night without it getting interrupted by villains?" And people accept this

But then we learn the real reason is when the screen rolls down and a silent film starts playing with Cassandra Wayne playing the heroine. Cass who had been kidnapped by magical means.

Guess who plays the leading man? Danny Fenton. But notice how I didn't call him the hero- that's because this story is a tragedy where the girl is ripped away from the young man by a vampire villainess (played by the irl kidnapper) and is haunted by his failure.

For some reason this story is split into a trilogy and played over a week cause after the first show Casper high and the rest of Amity Park (where this is taking place) are obsessed (like Ember McLain levels obsessed)

And for some weird reason outside of the silent film trilogy my dream was a musical? Like all the kids are getting to school and having a musical number about how great and amazing the silent movie was. Dash Baxter specifically sings that he chose a grayscale outfit because of how cool the movie is.

Danny manages to astral project himself to Sam and Tucker and explain that it's a ghost that's done this, like the ghost writer but for film. And that his body is trapped in a ghost lair film studio where the story is actually being filmed live when the audience sees it so the only way to save him and Cass is to mess up the ghost directors story so could they please save them? Because the story has Cass get turned into a vampire by the villainess and Danny really doesn't want to find out if the vampirism sticks after the story is done.

Sam is like "I volunteer as tribute"

Danny protests like "I know it's your dream to be a goth vampire but the story also continues to follows me as an 80 year old man being depressed about losing the young love I once had and being confronted by said lost love being a vampire. Please just get the specter speeder and the boo-merang and save us!" Because Danny's body gets locked into the roll of tragic lead once the cameras start rolling

And then I woke up (⁠ノ⁠ಠ⁠益⁠ಠ⁠)⁠ノ⁠彡⁠┻⁠━⁠┻

So I imagine how the story ends is with Batman teaming up with Sam and Tucker to go into the ghost zone and save the day. But how? And does Sam get her dream of becoming a vampire?

I might continue to work out the ending and write the fic

[superblysubpar]

thank you so much for requesting @pastel-pillows I love writing Robin so much, and I'm also SO soft for her 💛 I hope you love this, thanks for your patience!

1439 words | my blog is 18+

“That guy’s totally going to spend all of his last paycheck getting that pink bear.”

“Who?” She shook her head, searching the crowd hard and making her forehead wrinkle.

You leaned closer to match her eye line, whispering, “There.”

Her breath hitched, and you’d like to think it was from the bump of your nose against her cheek as she followed your finger pointing down to the idiot in question. She gasped, before a burst of laughter shot out of her.

“That’s Steve!” Robin laughed harder, swiping at her eyes as the boy at the bottom of the hill in the gray jacket missed the bottles with the baseball again when a pretty girl ran her fingers through the back of his hair.

“Oh my god,” you laughed with her, leaning against each other to avoid falling over.

It had been the perfect night, if such a thing could exist.

The Indiana air wasn’t too sticky yet, the promise of a beautiful Summer making things buzz louder, shine brighter, and had the whole town out for the rinky-dink carnival.

When Robin had asked you to go with her, it was a string of jumbled and rushed thoughts spit out at you as she played with your fingers and a blush made her freckles stand out. She’d blinked up at you under fluttering eyelashes, the definition of hope and excitement and a little bit of nerves.

It had been an easy yes.

You’d spent the day changing your outfit six times, and reminding yourself that just because words like weightless, giddy, complete, were what you’d use to describe how Robin Buckley made you feel, you didn’t want to get too ahead of yourself. For all you knew, this wasn’t like that for her at all.

And maybe that’s why you’d suggested dragging each other up the huge hill for some innocent people watching after filling up on too sweet of treats and riding all the rides (or well, the ones you were fairly certain wouldn’t break down). Because maybe watching her try and fail to eat cotton candy without making a mess, or laugh when she sabotaged your throw so she could win a game, and swipe at powdered sugar on her lips with her tongue as she asked you if she got it all had your stomach swooping more than the rides did.

So when she grabbed your hand as her laughter subsided and squeezed your intertwined fingers, her thumb swiping over your knuckles as she did, you couldn’t help but shiver.

“You cold?” She whispered, turning her head to catch the end of your exhale and the rise of goosebumps on your neck.

“I’m fine…” the word trailed off as she didn’t waste a second before shaking off her jean jacket.

Robin wrapped it around your shoulders as your heart pounded louder than the music playing below you both. Her fingers lingered on the collar of the jacket, playing with it as your eyes traced her jawline.

“Better?” Murmured as her finger dared lower, swiping over your collarbone.

You hummed, not trusting your words with her too close to the erratic throb of your pulse point. She was still so close, you could count each freckle dotting her nose and cheeks if she’d let you sit there all night. Could smell the cotton candy on her skin, mixed with apple shampoo and you were starting to convince yourself it was all too sweet, too unfair if you didn’t get a chance to taste it.

It was a little like right before a ride starts. The rules have been given, and you’re locked in, but they’re doing their final checks. And everyone around you is talking, restless. Nerves or excitement bubbling out of you all in the only way humans know how to deal with it. Joking and laughing, and talking to fill the space riddled with anticipation, legs swinging or fingers tapping. And then, as if you’re all under this sort of same agreement, a thumb’s up is given, and nobody moves or talks, and the ride starts.

Robin’s fingers skated up your neck, down, and back up as she swallowed, her eyes staring straight at your lips as she spoke like she didn’t know what a period was.

“So I really like you and I mean shit I really hope I’m not reading into all of this so wrong and if I am can we just agree to forget it but if not I think you’re amazing-“

“Robin, stop talking,” you interrupted, voice scratchy and rough and sounding nothing like yourself as your hands grabbed her elbows.

“Right, yeah,” her breath exhaled against your lips as her nose traced down the bridge of yours and her eyelids blinked rapidly, “Once I get going it’s hard to stop and it just sort of keeps tumbling out and-“

“Robin, I need you to stop-“

“I know sorry-“

“So I can kiss you,” laughing quietly as your hands traveled up her arms to her shoulders.

And Robin Buckley was finally speechless.

The thumb’s up had been given, and if you just tilted your head an inch, your top lip could bump her bottom, and maybe you both knew it, so neither of you moved for a moment.

A first kiss can be magical, but a first kiss with someone like Robin Buckley?

Her lips slotted over yours with ease, leaving too quickly and drawing away as if she was waiting for you to run, but your fingers curled around her neck and pulled her back eagerly and that was all she needed. Her mouth parted over yours slowly as her hand cupped your jaw and yours moved up into her hair.

It felt a little like you were on the sizzler again, brain scrambled and breath caught. Butterflies in your stomach not knowing if they should fly right or left or tumble forward in a somersault.

Robin’s lips moved with yours patiently, like she was going to take her time for once and nobody could stop her. She sighed when you pulled at her bottom lip harder, her free hand curling around the hem of your shirt at your hip like it was the only thing keeping her on the ground.

It was addicting, sweet sugary lips that you were greedy for, wanting the high that you hoped you’d never come down from. Your fingers cradled the back of her head, honey waves tangled around them as you tilted her and broke away against your will.

Stupid lungs needing air.

You kissed over her pink cheeks, to her jaw, ragged breaths taken against her skin as she did the same against your temple. Mouthing at her neck until she arched, and made a gasping sort of sound when your lips found a spot below her ear. You had every intention of getting her to make it again when a loud air horn blasted.

“Winner! Winner! We have a Winner!”

Dazed faces blinked at each other before you glanced down at the commotion, Steve standing in front of the booth holding a giant pink bear out to the girl.

Robin turned to you, chest heaving, eyes sparkling as her thumb dragged over your bottom lip and let it go softly.

“Idiot,” she murmured.

“Me?” You laughed, kissing her wrist as you asked, “Or Steve?”

Robin studied your face, fingers trailing over your cheekbones as she shook her head, “Me.”

Your head tilted, eyebrows lifted in a silent question and she smiled, a little lost in a big Robin Buckley brain thought.

“You know when you spend so much time being anxious before a ride, and then you finally convince yourself to do it, and it becomes your favorite one, and you’re so damn mad at yourself because of how much time you wasted being able to ride it?”

“Telling me you want to ride me, Robin?” You grinned, laughing when her cheeks grew brighter red and she sputtered around her words that you couldn’t help but notice weren’t quite a no.

You stood, and held out your hand, waiting until she grabbed it to start to pull her back down the hill.

“Where are we going?”

“Riding the ride some more,” you called, tugging her fingers as you stepped backwards. “You’re about to win your girlfriend a giant bear in way less tries than your best friend.”

Robin practically rolled you both down the rest of the hill she started running so fast, your hand clutched tightly in hers, proudly. As if they were always meant to be intertwined, like without them laced together, she wasn’t complete and neither were you.

[g1rld1ary]

sex on the beach - spencer reid x bartender!reader

next

wc: 1134

cw: swearing, alcohol, i am a beer hater to my core!!!!!!!

working in a bar right near quantico was never dull. certainly not the most interesting job in the world, but you supposed you would rather be a bartender there than in some rinky-dink town in bumfuck nowhere. plus, most of the FBI agents tipped pretty decently.

you'd only been working for an hour or two when the agents started filing in, all eager to let off steam on a friday night. sometimes the job made them disagreeable but mostly it just made them want to drink, and who were you to deny them? so you were kept busy refilling glasses and mixing drinks, making small talk when you could over the pumping music.

just as a kesha song came to an end you watched the bau walk in, all serious expressions and purposeful strides. you guessed from their demeanours they'd probably just returned from a case, looking to destress together -- not that you were a profiler. ssa derek morgan sent you a nod; both a greeting and a request to get started on their drinks for him to collect once they were all settled at a table. you returned the gesture, quickly counting how many of them had made it. your eyes flew across all the usual suspects, landing on an unfamiliar face.

he was definitely younger than the others, easily able to pass for a college student if he tried -- not much older than you. he must be a new recruit, you figured, turning back to your job.

as expected, morgan was over a few minutes later, handing you his card as he collected the beer bottles between his fingers.

"who's the kid?" you looked towards the skinny brown-haired boy. morgan laughed.

"doctor spencer reid, our very own kid genius," he explained and you hummed in approval.

"his first time at a bar?" in your defence, he looked like a wolf in sheep's clothing. or more accurately, a sheep in fbi clothing. his brown sweater vest and thick brown glasses made him look adorably dorky, even in a room full of agents. morgan shrugged.

"not sure. first time with us at least, after heavy convincing from the girls." you looked as doctor reid was squished between penelope and elle, who looked to be teasing him about something or other. "he's only 23, joined the team last year so we don't know too much about him outside of work, but the kid clearly doesn't have much life experience yet."

"he's cute. send him to get the next round." derek raised an eyebrow.

"crushing on pretty boy? didn't peg him as your type." you laughed.

"as opposed to what, you and your rippling muscles?" you pretended to swoon as he scoffed good-naturedly, stepping away from the bar.

"just play nice with him or he'll never come back!" he called and you shook your head, laughing to yourself as you attended another customer.

you couldn't help glancing over to the bau's table more than was strictly necessary, unexpectedly fascinated with the young doctor. he was clearly the youngest of the group, not just by appearance, but you could tell the others teased him relentlessly without needing to hear any of the specifics. you watched him take it, but you were most interested in his drink.

you were by no means a profiler, but as someone who was frequently in charge of creating other's drinks, you were pretty in tune with their reactions. it was abundantly clear that doctor reid hated his beer. you weren't offended, it was just a bottle the bar kept stocked and you thought it tasted like ass anyway, but it was a little funny watching him struggle to make it through the bottle.

sure enough though, he was meandering awkwardly up to the bar where you stood, looking a little like he wished the ground would swallow him up. you rushed through the drink you were mixing to attend to him, much to the dismay of the other patrons waiting to order.

"the famous doctor reid," you greeted, "what can I getcha?" he looked a little alarmed that you knew his name and you smiled, explaining that morgan had pointed him out before.

"right." he swallowed awkwardly, "can i just get, uh... whatever we were just having?" you held back a laugh, figuring it would probably just make him more anxious.

"of course," you hesitated, "you don't like beer do you?" he tried to put up a fight, stammering out that he did in fact like beer, but seemed to give up before you could even start to be convinced.

"it doesn't matter though, it's just one night."

"you know it doesn't matter what you drink, right? your team isn't gonna stop inviting you because you drink something that actually tastes digestible. i mean, look at penelope," you stage whispered the last part, gesturing over to garcia's electric blue sugar rush in a glass you learnt to make specially for her. reid looked at you for a moment, clearly trying to decode something.

"what would i even have?" he asked, clearly self-conscious.

"not much of a partier? we could start you with sex on the beach--"

"what!" he blurted before you could finish, then slapped a hand over his mouth, immediately regretting it. you answered patiently,

"it's a cocktail i like; fruity and actually tastes good, like peach and cranberry so super tasty!"

"uh yeah, ok, i can try that." you nodded with a smile you hoped was friendly as you got set on making the drink for him. he watched you closely, and you found yourself uncharacteristically nervous under his gaze, despite it having no clear judgement. rather, he seemed intensely curious, eager to learn the proper procedure at a bar.

"let me know if this isn't the one for you and next time we can try something else!" you handed him the glass and he thanked you profusely, leaving you a generous tip on top of the round of beers and his cocktail.

"please come again soon," you joked, glancing down at the bill in your hand, "but doctor reid?" spencer came back toward you, "if morgan gives you any shit for what you're drinking, just tell him we all know that he drinks cosmopolitans." you chanced a wink and reid blushed, nodding. he stuttered out an affirmation, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear as he rushed back to the table.

as you watched morgan tease him about the drink reid must have taken your advice, because in a second the table was all looking at you, morgan with a particularly scandalised expression. you waved coyly, concealing the excitement you felt after your interaction with the young doctor. you thought garcia might've seen through you and avoided eye contact, busying yourself with whatever was in your sight.

this is so not what i thought I was gonna write when I started this so if u see me write another bartender one shot just close ur eyes...

[creaturefeaturecommando]

Watching The Beyonder episode of Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur and Yeah, I've already made an OC to ship with him with because I want him to come to Lunella in a gay panic because he's never felt romantic love, especially for a human.

Lunella, working on something:

Beyonder, popping out of nowhere and scaring the shit out of her: GIRL ! I NEED YOUR HELP !

Lunella: Bruh, cant you knock ?!? I'm busy !

Beyonder: Your little rinky dink project can wait ! I am having a CRISIS !

Lunella: What's so bad that it's got YOU in a panic ???

Beyonder: I was coming back from one of those mani pedi thingies Casey told me about and I saw this human male playing one of those human percussion sets on the street and it made my insides feel like they were going 'boom' !

Lunella:O...Okay ?

Beyonder: Girl, you know I love music ! Then he had a microphone and started singing while playing the percussion set and the more he went on, the more entranced I became and the more attractive he became and now I can't stop thinking about him and I don't know why !

Lunella: Aren't you all knowing ? Why can't you figure this out yourself ?

Beyonder: Because for once in my existence, I actually DON'T KNOW what's wrong with ME or what these feelings are, so I need you to HELP ME !

Lunella: If I help you, will you leave me alone ?

Beyonder: For a moment, yeah.

Lunella: You're in love. NOW BYE !

Beyonder: .....What is 'love' ?

Lunella: 🎶Baby don't hurt me~🎶

Beyonder:....

Lunella: Oh. You're serious.

Lunella, groaning: This is gonna take forever.

[shellylynn89]

Hawthorne Heights - August 18

In their heyday, I wasn't real into Hawthorne Heights. My sister and I joked about how they were *too* emo for us, which was saying a lot. Despite this, when we learned they were bringing their 20 Years of Tears tour (complete with many opening bands of the same era) to Earth Rider Brewery's outdoor space in Superior, we had to buy tickets.

I came close to bailing. My anxiety was raging that Sunday afternoon, and my sister and her boyfriend were meeting friends there. I wasn't terribly invested in any of the bands, and no one was terribly dependent on my presence. The regret of missing a concert the night before (Green Day's Saviors tour in Minneapolis, with The Smashing Pumpkins and Rancid) kicked in and I knew I couldn't miss another show (though logistically, I don't think I would've had the stamina for both so quickly after Childish Gambino + driving home from southern Wisconsin).

I managed to get a parking spot within two blocks of the venue, and could hear the first band - This Wild Life - from my car while I mentally prepared for socialization and loud music. I walked in as they finished their set and found my sister & company at the back of the crowd, near the sound booth.

Emery played next, and while I didn't feel like I did enough homework before this concert, I knew a couple of their songs and enjoyed their set.

Armor For Sleep were next on the lineup. I knew more of their songs, and felt so deeply nostalgic for high school. They sounded good, better than I expected. We joked about how manipulative the lyrics of Car Underwater are.

The somewhat rinky-dink stage setup - with only a fence separating the field from a major roadway - and the speedy stage turnover reminded me of mid-2000s Warped Tour in the best way. Anberlin were next, my sister was most excited for them but I only knew a couple of songs. They had rotating lead singers; their actual lead singer is on hiatus, and the singer they'd been touring with was sick, so the lead singers of some of the other bands filled in. It seemed to be the best way to handle a bad situation, and interesting to hear how different singers sounded with the band.

Thursday played next. I had always been a bit indifferent towards them in the era this entire tour was celebrating. I liked them more after reading the chapter about their album War All The Time in Dan Ozzi's book Sellout: The Major Label Feeding Frenzy That Swept Punk, Emo, and Hardcore (1994 - 2007). I immediately understood the stage presence and energy referenced in the book. They were electric. Geoff Rickly talked about the significance of this show for him - his mom is from Duluth. He seemed genuinely excited about getting to check out the city a bit. They played a new song, Application For Release From The Dream and I really enjoyed it. During their set, the moon - one night away from being completely full - rose just right of the stage. It added a spookiness that felt appropriate for the moment.

When their set ended, everyone I was with decided to call it a night and leave, but I didn't listen to The Silence In Black And White in full three times the previous week just to leave before Hawthorne Heights. It was after 9:00 PM, but my husband was working the overnight shift and I knew I could just work from home the next day if I was out too late. There was no reason for me to leave. We said our goodbyes and I made my way closer to the stage.

I worked my way into the crowd, energized by now being solo at a concert. As soon as Hawthorne Heights started playing, a very drunk man in a trench coat behind me started pushing everyone in sight. I hated feeling so distracted and scared, but figured realistically, this is at a brewery. I am one of very few not drinking alcohol. He wouldn't stop, and eventually was literally thrown out of the crowd by a much larger, less drunk man. I didn't see trench coat guy again. I was enjoying the music and knew all the songs, since they were playing The Silence In Black And White in its entirety, celebrating 20 years since it's release. A drunk girl to my right started bumping into me, her friends looking embarrassed and apologizing profusely. She didn't bother me like trench coat guy; she was excited and rocking out clumsily. She added to the Warped Tour vibes I was basking in.

It became apparent to me early in their set that I had massively underestimated Hawthorne Heights. The songs sounded tight and well rehearsed (but not too well rehearsed) and their rapport with the crowd was genuine and sweet. Later in the set JT (lead singer) stepped off stage, perched himself on the crowd barrier and talked to the everybody a little closer. He talked about how it felt being an emo kid in the Midwest when they started. He talked about not giving up. He talked about how important we (the crowd, the fans) are and have always been. The energy felt different, more like an intimate basement show than what it was. I felt a bit fraudulent, given my previous lack of interest in the band, likely sparked by the palpable sincerity of everything JT was saying. They played a new song called Gold Econoline and it was beautiful.

JT stopped to talk a bit more afterwards, this time about early shows they played, when they were building a following and The Silence In Black And White hadn't been released yet. Everyone was asking the same thing after their sets: why didn't you play Ohio Is For Lovers? It turns out, they didn't think the song was that good, and had no intent to release it as a single. They had their own question: how do you know that song? "Oh, I downloaded it off Limewire."

If you know Hawthorne Heights at all, you know that was the song that really put them on the map. JT acknowledged that, how that unflinching honesty led to them putting Ohio out as a single and changing the trajectory of their career, and ultimately making this show, right now, possible. He added that he would be at their merch tent signing things for people as long as there was a line. They then launched into Ohio Is For Lovers, everyone on stage and in the crowd giving this one last song everything they had. It felt cathartic, and I hoped and assumed everyone around me felt the same.

After the show I decided to wait in line because, why not? Cory was at work for the night, it was already past my bedtime and I felt wired, I wouldn't be ready for bed after the 15 minute drive home. I knew I'd end up sleeping in and working from home in the morning, so what's a little more time here? I scrolled through my phone while the line slowly chugged forward. I ended up buying a t shirt so I'd have something to be signed (as much as I hate signed shirts because I feel like I can't wash them, meaning I can't really wear them). JT was kind, the sincerity I saw on stage translating just the same here. He thanked me for coming to the show and took a picture with me. I walked away feeling the giddy fan girl glee I hadn't felt since similar encounters at Warped Tour, half a lifetime ago. 🖤

[niizhniizh]

Kookum was always adamant about burning my hair. After my hair would clump up in my brush, she would collect it and wrap it in a small yellow cloth, making sure that every strand was accounted for. She would hand me the small ball and tell me to burn it, giving me the strangest warnings.

“Remember, noozis, to take good care of your hair. Don’t ever let anyone take it, and remember to burn it. If you don’t take care of your hair, an old lady will steal it and make you fall in love with her.”

“Okay, Kookum, I will,” I would say, doing it even if I was skeptical.

For years, I took it upon myself to burn my hair instead of throwing it away, even long after my grandmother passed on, more so out of habit than an actual fear.

I was particularly proud of my hair in college. My routine was long and arduous, but it paid off. My hair was shiny, the color of obsidian as seen in the sun, and it reached all the way to my lower back. More than a couple of aunties had been jealous of my hair, and I still made sure to burn any that had left my head.

It was on one night that I found myself at Azure’s, a local joint that served cheap drinks and had live music. There was only ever one band that played, Rez Dog Blues, and their looks were nothing to be impressed by. More often than not I saw their lead man’s guitar missing a string. But looks aren’t everything, and they could play a song like no other. Sounds of harmonious twang echoed throughout the bar as I sipped on a glass of whiskey.

“...Don’t trust the devil with those iris eyeeeeees… one glance will leave you paralyzeeeed…”

I sat there listening to the music while staring at the faded lipstick mark on my glass. I was feeling extra somber that night, and the light of a neon blue moon highlighted the loneliness of my face. I sat there for a long while, just taking in the music when I saw her walk in.

She was a new face, a surprise for myself as I thought I knew everyone in this rinky-dink little town. New Face walked in with a denim jumpsuit and an exaggerated gait, making wide steps as she made her way to the bar, as she made her way towards me. With her short bleached hair and shining black eyes that almost seemed violet if you looked at them right, I couldn’t help but gaze at her. New Face noticed and decided to sit down next to me.

“What’s your name, stranger?”

I was stunned by the sound of her voice. Smooth like honey, but with an undertone that stung like a bee. Before I could tell her, she chuckled to herself.

“Nevermind, it doesn’t matter. How about you buy me a drink and we can talk some more, ay?”

I did as she asked, feeling an odd compulsion to do so. We got to talking, and soon the time flew by. She drank liquor like it was water, and to not seem like a wimp, I tried to match her pace. I remembered less and less the more we spoke as more and more drinks went down my gullet. I was near passed out when she leaned in close to me and began to whisper.

“Ya know.. I always wanted long beautiful hair like yours. But no matter what, it never grew past my shoulders. No matter what I do, it never grows longer. I have to go now, but do you think you could give me a lock of your hair to remember you by?”

I sat there in shock for a bit as my spirit started to scream at me. But tonight, the liquor was stronger.

“Go ahead… but not too much…”

She smiled wide and pulled a pair of scissors from out of a pocket. Leaning in close, I could feel her breath on my neck as she grasped onto a small strand of my hair and snipped. She took the lock, stuffing it into another pocket. As she started to make her way towards the exit, I felt a sense of dread start to pile up in me.

“Wait!” I yelled at her as I stood from my seat, “What’s your name?”

From the door with her back to me, she slightly turned her head, the light of the neon moon giving her hair an almost white sheen.

“It doesn’t matter.”

[hops-hunny]

College Girls

Pairing: Rodrick Heffley x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.2k

Request: anon “How about Rodrick invites the reader to a party (he’s been crushing on her for the longest) but she plays hard to get and at the party her friends try to convince her to give him a chance and later it leads to them playing 7 minutes in heaven and they confess to each other and it goes from there ;) it could end in smut or fluff your way ly <3”

Summary: (college!au) College girls and their games, good thing Rodrick loves to play.

Warnings: Mentions of weed and alcohol, making out, teasing

A/N: Ok I forgot to make them confess but it’s implied sorry anon. I still hope you enjoy it!

If there was one thing Rodrick knew, college was a shit ton different than high school was. However, that wasn’t a bad thing. Unlimited booze and bud, hot chicks, and parties that never ended? He was practically in heaven! He had grown into himself, feeling more confident than ever since Heather had rejected him his senior year. In fact, he couldn’t recall the last time he thought about her but if he had to pinpoint it, it was a few months ago when she had hit him up, begging the boy to give her a chance. Oh the irony behind that. That was another good thing about college. In high school, all the girls thought he was just some loser who wasted too much time on a band that would always be shit. 

But with years of experience under their belt and more free time to practice, Löaded Diaper was beginning to become a big deal in their rinky dink shithole off a small town. God was he glad too because with clout, also came hot girls in skirts that barely covered their ass. The opportunity for endless amounts of hookups was an absolute dream come true, but all dreams lose their shine eventually. When fucking became a mere thing to pass the time between class, gigs, and parties, he realized that it wasn’t as great as he thought it was. He was starting to crave something more, something like or, someone like- her.

God she was a babe. Rodrick still remembered the first time he saw her. Löaded Diaper was doing another house gig, everyone in the crowd dancing and moving to the intense music. And all of a sudden, a strobe light glossed over her perfectly, almost like a halo of blue light and his eyes were hooked. She was there with her friends, one of them whispering something in her ear which caused her to lock eyes with his. Pretty (e/c) eyes meeting his own brown ones. It was almost perfect, almost. As soon as they had finished the last note of their song, without missing a beat she swiftly made her exit and he made his way after her. Rodrick jumped off the stage, chasing after her and her friends all the way till they reached the curb. He grabbed her arm causing the girl to look back.

“Hey, uh, did you enjoy the gig?” He asked, running his fingers through his sweaty hair nervously. He felt his nerves rise even more at the sound of her friends’ giggles.

“I wouldn’t have stayed the whole gig if I didn’t, would I?” she retorted, rolling her eyes as she began to open the passenger door of the black mercedes.

“Yeah, I guess that was a dumb question..” he trailed off as she closed her door. His eyes widened at the fact he hadn’t gotten her name prompting him to take off after the car. He felt relieved as the girl rolled down her window, looking up at him through her thin framed sunglasses. “Wait! I didn’t get your name, I’m Rodrick.” he smirked, watching as she pulled her sunglasses up to rest on the top of her head.

“Didn’t give it.” she quipped, sending him a wink as her friend took off into the distance. Who was she? All he knew about her was that she had a mouth on her and lived on the other side of campus. A lot of girl’s fit that description so it wasn’t easy asking around about her. However, as he stood here in the corner of the party his fraternity was throwing, he’d recognize a pair of nice legs like that from anywhere. His eyes took in her appearance. She had on a denim mini skirt, black turtleneck and a pair of knee high boots that matched. The boy had to practically stop himself from gawking at how good she looked, curves clinging to every bit of the form fitting outfit. He cleared his throat as his friend nudged him, looking to see what he wanted.

“Uh don’t look now, but I think that girl you were eye fucking is definitely eye fucking you back dude. Is that the chick from the gig a few weeks ago that you won’t shut up about?" Rodrick glared at the man, shoving him into the wall before walking towards her. He watched as her friends “coincidentally” all began to head off in other directions, leaving her to offer him a flirty little smile behind the drink she’d been nursing.

“Well if it isn’t the little drummer boy! To what do I owe the pleasure, Rodrick?” she purred, sitting down her now empty cup. She stepped forward, leaving them to be pressed chest to chest. It could easily be blamed on the crowded room but the two knew otherwise. He smirked back at her, wrapping his arms around her waist securely.

“I’m a simple man. I see a pretty girl sending looks my way, I come.” his eyes widened as he began to overthink his word choice. “N-not like that! Like I come over not like cum in my pants. I-I’m not like some virgin...well I’m not some man whore either! I don’t fuck around a lot. Not like the option isn’t there bu-” he quit his nervous ramblings at the sound of her laughter. He relaxed, smiling as the girl wrapped his arms around her neck. He began to lean in thinking she would ask him for a kiss but instead she missed his lips, putting hers next to his ear before whispering,

“Wanna dance?” Before he could answer, the girl (who’s name he still didn’t catch) was dragging him to the dance floor, moving his hands to rest on her hips. He tried to keep his movements as fluid as possible. It took him a bit but eventually his movements matched hers, as they swayed to the beat of the song. She pressed her head against his shoulder, looking up at him as she continued the movements against his pelvic area. “I love this song, it’s one of my favorites.” she whispered. He didn’t know if it was because he was cross faded or his enjoyment of the movements but D’Evils by SiR was beginning to become one of his favorite songs too. How could it not when there was such a pretty girl pressed against his front?

“Yeah? It suits you.” he muttered, leaning his head down to hover his own chapped lips above the girl’s soft gloss covered ones. She hummed in agreement, both of them slowly inching towards each other before she stopped, letting out a cheeky giggle.

“Did you really think I was going to kiss you that easily? You’ve gotta earn it.” She said, dragging a manicured hand against the skin of his neck. He shivered a bit as goosebumps formed, watching as she disappeared back into the crowd. He swore some, groaning as he fiddled with the growing bulge in his jeans. Was he out of the game for too long or had girls always been this hard to get? Either way, he didn’t care. Rodrick was gonna get this girl and her name by the end of the night if it was the last thing he ever did. He broke out of his thoughts, keeping sight of her figure making its way through the beaded curtain which led to the basement of the large frat house. Quickly he chased after her, trying to keep up with her. And, as if on purpose, every time he’d get close she’d flash him that breathtaking smile and continue on her path. Finally, she reached her supposed destination, a small group of people on couches, discussing the plans to play something. 

“So, what’s the game?” He asked, causing everyone to look up at him as he sat on the couch farthest from her. He looked at the bottle in the center of the table, proud of himself and his seating choice. The further he was away, the more likely the bottle was to land on the pretty thing across from him.

“7 minutes in heaven. You down?” A brunette girl asked, a flirty look in her buzzed eyes. He ignored her small attempt at an advance, nodding as he locked eyes with the girl of the hour. He shot her a wink, smirking as she rolled her eyes, biting her lip to hide the smile that was making its way onto her face. For someone so adamant about playing this game of cat and mouse, she seemed to be fighting off her feelings very harshly. None of that mattered now though. If there was a god, he hoped he’d be on his side. Never had he wanted to be stuffed inside a muggy dark closet with someone so badly.

“Of course I’m down. Do I look like a pussy to you?” he asked, watching as the (h/c) haired girl opened her mouth. He gave her a pointed look, tilting his head at her. “Don’t answer that, legs.” The girl looked surprised at the nickname but didn’t say anything, trailing her acrylic nails up the curve of her thigh. His brown eyes followed curiously, jumping slightly as she closed her legs quickly giving him a mocking pout. Tonight was going to be a long night.

-------------------------------------------------

Round after round was filled with surprises, none involving Rodrick or the mystery girl of his affections. Sometimes, the two people involved would cheer or jump up excitedly, ceasing the moment that they were desperately waiting for. Other times they would groan in disgust and hell, he couldn’t blame him with the hygiene of some of these people. Have they ever even heard of a shower, deodorant? Only their BO could tell. However, his odds grew more and more as it was finally his turn to spin the bottle. He picked it up, kissing the empty beer bottle as he made up some prayer. He let out a deep breath before spinning the bottle. As he watched it spin, the only thought he could seem to form was, ‘Please, please please. Cmon, cmon, cmon!’

Finally the bottle began to halt, making a rumbling noise as it stopped. His eyes followed the nose of it, letting out an internal cheer as his eyes met the (e/c) eyes from across from him. He pulled up his jeans before walking over to the girl, holding a hand out to her. She eyed it before smirking up at him, allowing her to pull him up. Rodrick looked down at her hand before tangling his fingers with her own, pulling her towards the closet. Once they both were in there, silence overcame them leaving the muffled music from upstairs to be the filler between silent space. He cleared his throat some, catching the shorter girl’s attention.

“Sooo, um. Would this count as earning it?” He quipped, giving her a flirty grin. The girl rolled her eyes before moving closer to him, pulling him down to her own height as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Rodrick wasted no time, pulling the girl by her hips and planting his on hers. The kiss was everything he’d hope it’d be. Passionate, hot, and filled with every bit of desire that had built up over the course of the party. He nibbled at her lip, causing a moan to slip from her lips. He smirked a bit, pulling away some to look into her eyes a bit.

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you to be a good kisser. You looked like you would give me a lot of teeth and too much tongue.” she giggled some, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth before releasing it. He rolled his eyes, smirking as he leaned in, nibbling on her neck a bit. He felt victory overcome him at the soft whimper that came from her lips.

“My pride’s a bit wounded, princess.” he purred, lifting her up as he pinned her against the wall. He leaned back in for another kiss, this one more deep and intense than the last. He groaned softly as she tangled her fingers in his hair, gripping at it slightly. He slid his tongue over her bottom lip, quickly tangling it with hers when she opened her mouth. They’re tongues danced a bit, fighting for dominance before he won. He absorbed her moans, sucking on her tongue as he slid a hand under her skirt, stroking the skin of her upper thighs. Rodrick noted how soft her skin was before gripping at it harshly, stroking her hips with his thumbs.

Just as he slid his hands under her shirt, a knock broke them out of their kiss. He groaned in annoyance, pulling away and fixing her clothes for her as the door was ripped open. The (e/c) eyed girl was the first to walk out, looking back at him as if she had something to say.

“(Y/n).” she said, causing him to look at her in confusion. “My name? It’s (Y/n). I hope this isn’t a habit of yours, making out with girls whose names you don’t even know.” she said, looking up at him expectantly. His mouth opened and closed as he stuttered, searching for the words to say. He cleared his throat before grabbing her hand, beginning the path to his own room.

“Not anymore it isn’t.”

[askmissthunder]

To the gang: What are your favorite Christmas songs?

Miss Thunder: One last question then I have to go to bed super early to catch my flight but, oh my goodness, I have so many favorites! Where to even start?!

Red Rabbit: How about we start with the old carols first then we can pick out the more up-to-date music?

Eli: Sounds good to me! Talon, are you gonna join us or…?

Talon: *Skimming through magazine* Nope. You kids go ahead though. Enjoy your rinky-dink fa-la-la music.

RR: Alrighty then! Penny, you first! What's your favorite old-timey Christmas carol?

E: Wait wait wait! What's the difference between a song and a carol? Aren't they the same thing?

MT : Oh, I can answer this, Eli. A carol is specifically a hymn (a religious song) that sings about Jesus or the Nativity. Very spiritual stuff! 

E: I see! That's to do with the statues of the baby and people in robes I see around town?

MT : Right! As for my favorite carol, I'm gonna have to pick three because I love playing these on my flute, "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen", "Good King Wenceslas" and "Silent Night". Here’s a particularly well done version of "Silent Night" by Julie Andrews.

RR: Oh, good pick with "Silent Night"! That one always puts me in a peaceful mood. Plus, "Good King Wenceslas" makes me think of A Christmas Carol or just 1800s London in general.

MT : It's definitely appropriate for the setting! When it's closer to Christmas Day, I like going to sleep listening to "Silent Night". So cozy…

RR: When I used to be in Choir at church, my favorite carol to sing was "Away in the Manger".

RR:

♪ Away in a manger

No crib for a bed

The little Lord Jesus

Laid down His sweet head ♪

 

RR and MT :

♪ The stars in the sky

Looked down where He lay

The little Lord Jesus

Asleep on the hay ♪

E: Very pretty! 

MT : Thank you! And what's your favorite carol, luv?

E: Uhmm…I don't know the name but the one that goes ♪ Rum pum pum pum ♪!

RR: Ohhh, "The Little Drummer Boy"!

E: Yeah, that one! I don't know about all that god baby stuff but I just like doing the Rum pum pum pum part. It's fun!

MT : You know what? As long as you enjoy the song, that's just as valid a reason as any, Eli.

RR: *Sniff!* That song always gets me teary-eyed, it’s such a a sweet song. Now on to the more modern music! I remember very vividly as a kid, and I still do, loving the Jackson 5's version of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus".

MT : "I did! I really did see Mommy kissing Santa Claus and I'm gonna tell my Dad"! Hee hee!

RR: God, little Michael's voice is soooo good in that song! That last note?! *gives a chef's kiss* It's so beautiful! 

MT : Agreed! A more recent song I like is "Last Christmas" by Wham!

RR: Hmm…I don't know, it's nice but that song always feel like kind of a downer for me. I mean, he's singing about getting his heart broken at Christmas.

MT : I always saw it as a hopeful song meself because ♪ This year, to save me from tears/I'll give it to someone special ♪

RR: That's true.

E: Heh heh heh…I think I know my favorite Christmas song!

*Eli hops up on the couch and performs an air guitar*

E:

♪ Out of all the reindeers you know you're the mastermind

Run, run Rudolph, Randolph ain't too far behind

Run, run Rudolph, Santa's gotta make it to town

Santa, make him hurry, tell him he can take the freeway down

Run, run Rudolph 'cause I'm reelin' like a merry-go-round! ♪

RR: WOOO! GO ELI!

MT : *Wolf whistle* Bravo, sweetie! That was ace!

E: *Blushes* Heh heh! Thanks! It's the song that get me the most excited when I hear it on the radio at Christmastime! I love it, it doesn't sound like any other Christmas song!

RR: Well, that's Chuck Berry for you!

MT : Well then, if no one has anything else to add…

T : I got something to add.

RR: Wha_You got a song, Talon?

T : I just want to say that even when I was a kid, I always found Christmas music to be incredibly cheesy and annoying, especially when you're forced to hear it at work but…

MT : …But?

T : I do like one song. Well, it doesn't have any words but it does put me in a good mood when I hear it.

RR: *Gasp!* Tell us, tell us!

T : *Sighs*

E: Hey, that's the Charlie Brown music!

MT : That's a fantastic choice, Talon! Well, I think that'll about do it for us this year, folks. so from all of us at Ocean City, and soon to be England, we hope you have a happy and safe holiday! Take care out there and Happy New Year!

[beautiful-and-terrible]

dazed ‘n’ confused (part 1)

A/N: Literally this is just a combination of frustration and gender envy I have for rodrick heffley. both characters are 18 :)

Ship: rodrick heffley x OFC

Warnings: none in this part, probably NSFW in later chapters

---

Nicole had never had a more boring summer.

She and her family, (Mom, Dad, and two younger sisters) had moved to this rinky-dink town in April, and Nicole squeezed in two months of school without making any friends before summer hit in a disgusting, sweltering mess of dry lawns and humid nights.

She managed to get a job life-guarding, and that was the highlight of her days through July and August. Her initial blistering sunburn on the tops of her feet and legs turned into a nice tan, and she usually walked the two miles from her house to the pool, so she stayed in good shape (minus the five or six ice-pops she would eat during her shifts).

Mainly, the reason she enjoyed life-guarding so much was because her neighbor, Rodrick Heffley, would come to the pool almost every day and stay until closing time (which also happened to be the end of Nicole’s shift). She tried not to think too much into it.

Nicole wouldn’t usually be attracted to boys like Rodrick. He was loud, and generally harassed the other kids in the pool, and splashed the old ladies when he cannon-balled off the diving board. He and his friends were always goofing off and violating pool rules. Nicole blew her whistle more times for him than she did for anyone else. Every time she did, she would point at him silently, and slowly give him a thumbs down.

And every time, he would give her a salute back and a shit-eating grin. It made her heart flutter funnily, and she would glower at him from behind her sunglasses.

Still, Nicole only worked at the pool four days a week - that meant her Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays were all abysmally, utterly free. Nicole tried to do things that made her happy - she practiced bass, and even a little guitar, and learned a few songs by heart. She redecorated her room, twice. 

From her window, she could occasionally see Rodrick pass by in his attic room - never anything indecent of course, but it always made her tummy feel funny to think of him, in his room, doing Rodrick things. She knew he was in a band, and played the drums - the whole block could hear their band practice on Friday nights. It was a little cringe, she knew, but she moved her bed under the window so she could glimpse his shadow when he walked by, coltish and gangly as it was.

She wanted to know more about him though - his favorite song, what he put on his burgers, even what his sheets looked like (which she blushed to think about. Get a grip.)

One blisteringly hot Thursday in August, Nicole decided to bike to work instead of walking. It would take less time, and would hopefully generate a little breeze to cool her off instead of trudging along on the soft asphalt. And, of course, right as she was about to turn off her street, her tire blew.

“Are you shitting me?” Nicole said under her breath, moving her long hair out of her eyes to look at what could’ve possibly punctured her tire. 

As she knelt down, a voice called “Need some help?” from behind her.

She turned to see Rodrick on his own bike, standing on the pedals and arms braced in front of him on the handle bars. He was wearing cargo shorts and a DIY tank top, obviously an old t-shirt with the arms cut off. Nicole’s eyes were drawn to his toned brown arms and the slip of torso she could see. She swallowed heavily before replying.

“Yeah, stupid tire blew out. Do you have a spare?” she asked, not really thinking about it. She didn’t know why she felt so comfortable asking Rodrick for help. They had never really talked before - only passing on the street, raising a hand to each other in greeting. The only other consistent interaction they had was Nicole reprimanding Rodrick for pouring cherry slushies in the kiddie pool.

“For sure - follow me. I'm Rodrick, by the way,” he said. "I know who you are - everyone at school told me to stay the hell away from you," Nicole teased, and began to follow Rodrick back toward his house, Nicole carrying her gimp bike over her shoulders and Rodrick walking his bike beside her.

"And all my friends said to avoid Nicole Tagliaferi like the plague,"

"It's Tagliani, dipshit. It's Italian."

"Sure, sure, whatever," Rodrick said teasingly, before turning to look at her, “You like lifeguarding?”. She could tell he was trying to make conversation, and it made a small secret smile appear on her lips.

“It’s alright - when you aren’t making trouble for me,” she replied, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. She saw his signature devilish grin appear, white teeth flashing.

“But otherwise, you’d just be sitting in the hot sun all day, watching old ladies do aqua-cize or whatever they call it.”

“Do you mean water aerobics?” Nicole laughed, trying not to let her mirth get away from her and let out a snort of amusement.

“Exactly. At least I bring something good-looking to the table,” Rodrick preened, jumping on his bike and riding it up the last leg of his drive way. Nicole followed him into the open garage - it smelled as most garages do, of rubber and dust and wood projects that the men of the family have yet to finish.

Nicole watched as Rodrick moved some boxes aside and reached up to grab a spare bike tire off the wall - her gaze slipped down to see his shirt ride up over his hip bones, revealing a flat stomach and a dark happy trail. Her mouth went dry, and she became increasingly aware of how hot the back of her neck felt, even in the dim shade of the garage.

“Let me grab a wrench and I can get started. You want anything to drink? Coke, lemonade?”

“Coke sounds good - thanks,” Nicole replied after a moment, still recovering from her earlier lapse of concentration.

While she waited, Nicole decided it wouldn’t be the worst thing to look for some music - she found an old radio in the corner and found her favorite classic rock channel. Luckily, they happened to be playing Led Zeppelin, and one of Nicole’s favorites, too. The slow, wailing guitar guided her hips as she started to dance a little around the garage. Being the nosy busy-body she was, Nicole had no qualms about letting herself get comfortable in other peoples houses. She was always looking in boxes and admiring little trinkets, imagining what it would be like to live there. Not that there was anything particularly interesting in the garage besides Rodrick’s drum set.

She swayed over to the shiny instruments and picked up the sticks, sliding around the back to the seat and beginning to try and replicate the beat from the song. 

“Sorry, neighbor, there's only room for one hot drummer in this band,” Rodrick said as he came back in the garage. Nicole stopped playing immediately, feeling flustered at being caught and simultaneously being called “hot”.

“Is that the noise I hear coming from this garage? You call that music?” 

Rodrick rolled his eyes, handing her the ice-cold coke. “You sound like my Dad. Let me guess - you listen to Taylor Swift?”

Nicole shrugged, taking a sip of her coke. “Taylor Swift is fine. So is classic rock, and nu-metal, and Mozart. I’m not picky.”

Rodrick gave her a funny look, wandering over to her bike and beginning to unscrew the washers from the flat tire.

“So what's your favorite classic rock band, then?”

“The same as many others, I suppose. Zeppelin, AC/DC, the occasional Metallica. My dad raised me on Rob Zombie and Bob Marley, and my mom learned more toward The Beatles and Carly Simon.”

Rodrick stopped what he was doing to look back at her, his mouth slightly agape. Nicole felt a swell of smugness at flooring this over-confident boy with her knowledge of music he obviously thought was “superior”. 

“Loded Diper was originally a Motley Crue cover band, did you know?”

Nicole hid a laugh behind another sip of coke. “No, I didn’t know that. I’m assuming now you write your own songs?”

Rodrick blushed, turning his gaze back to the task of fitting the new tire onto the frame of the bike. “Yeah, I dabble in song writing. Mostly the chords, I’m shit with lyrics.”

“That’s a good skill. It takes practice to learn how music sounds good together. You can’t just throw random chords together and expect it to sound good.”

“You talk like you know music,” Rodrick said, looking over his shoulder at Nicole. 

“Yeah, I dabble.” Nicole replied, throwing his own words back at him. Rodrick tightened the last screw on the tire and reattached the chain.

“There. Good as new,” he said, swinging the bike back around toward Nicole. She reached for the seat and the handlebars at the same time, and without thinking about where she placed her hands, ended up putting them right over Rodrick’s. It only lasted for a moment, but she swore she could feel all the air leave the room. Her eyes met his liquid dark ones. 

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly, and hopped on her bike without another word, coasting down the driveway and pedaling as nonchalantly and quickly as she could toward the pool. 

Rodrick didn’t follow her. She wished that he had.

[sucksahoy]

RE .  ABOUT

               there was a time that hawkins, indiana was normal. just your run of the mill small town in the middle of nowhere. great place to grow up. you could do anything, go anywhere, and everyone knew every move you made. ideal, right? you could stay out in the front yard until well after dark and there wasn’t a damn thing you had to worry about except getting back before the streetlights came on. the hardest thing about growing up was that rush on your bike to get from point a to point b and racing the sunset. it was the best life. why do things have to change when you grow up? why couldn’t that part just stay the same?

               growing up was supposed to be fun. sure it would have all those weird things that came with puberty, but being a teenager was supposed to be cool. you were supposed to be the cool kid on the block. no one was supposed to be able to touch you. teenagers ran the world, didn’t they? they played with makeup, had cool hair, dated, stayed out past dark. it was supposed to be fun. it was supposed to be the best time of her life. but thirteen for robin buckley? meant realizing that she was never going to be normal. that she wasn’t going to be the kind of girl hawkins would be quick or easy to accept. it was at a friend’s thirteenth birthday party that she knew she couldn’t go back. a party that she found herself tucking away in a corner so that she didn’t get caught, so that somehow the girls didn’t read her mind.

               why couldn’t she have a crush on steve harrington like every other girl in the room did?

               robin had always been a tomboy. from the age of five, she threw herself into soccer, playing every season both with school teams and with summer leagues. her parents were ecstatic. it meant that their little girl with way too much energy had an outlet… an outlet that might actually get her somewhere in life, might score her a scholarship. but her future was the last thing on her mind. she just wanted to play, just wanted to kick a ball, run around, and make sure that her entire world revolved around her team and the game. it made it easier as she grew up, easier to pretend that anything weird she felt was just part of the adrenaline of the game.

               it was even easier to pretend when she picked up trumpet in elementary school. she fell in love with the sound of dolly jones and begged her parents to let her have a trumpet. it started with a rental, a little rinky dink piece of metal that had been beat to hell and back but god did she love it. after a year of private lessons, she was surprised with her own trumpet, one that she kept all through middle school and high school marching band. she didn’t care that it was a boy’s instrument. she didn’t care what anyone thought of it. all she cared about was playing music.

               when all that mattered was music and soccer, she didn’t have time to think about being a teenager and not being one of the cool kids. it’s hard to be a cool kid when you’re the school lesbian. easier to just be the band geek and the soccer player.

               something changed her junior year of highschool. it was like a switch flipped and her give a damn broke. her sixteenth birthday brought some kind of coming to terms with who she was. it was… kind of refreshing in a way. she was gay. lesbian. and even if she wasn’t willing to let the world know, she was willing to accept it. she was willing to accept the fact that she had a crush on tammy thompson, that nancy wheeler was only prissy because she was cute and had this little button nose, and that the girl who sat in front of her in english would be nice to hug. even if she kept it to herself, it was nice to just be, nice to exist, good to just be okay with the girl she’d grown into. to cement it? in the comfort of her room with the radio turned up to ten, robin took a needle dipped in ink and gave herself a stick and poke tattoo that was a little better than any sort of home job should be. just a small symbol of venus on her inner left ankle. something no one would notice unless they were looking for it, but something that would remind her to be herself. to be comfortable in her skin. to give up trying to be someone she could never be.

               and maybe her life would have continued down that sort of normalcy. if she hadn’t taken a job at scoops ahoy, the most interesting thing about her would have been an obsession with languages, a tattoo no one knew existed, and her gay little secret. but no… she had to take a summer job at scoops ahoy and meet steve harrington and realize that, even if he was a complete idiot, he was best friend status. and he had his own weird shit going on in his life.

               weird shit that she would quickly find herself dragged into. a world of russian secret bases, monsters, superpowers, possession, and a million other things that she would have never dreamed could ever exist.

               when had hawkins lost its chill?

[digital-oddballs]

Menace of the Dragon Realms

@luteoflaughs​ wanted a thread between Impmon and Tomas!

Oh, what Impmon wouldn’t do to make people think he was the greatest. How did this all start...? Ah, right. It was a fine day in the Artisan Realms of the Dragon Realms- The blowing wind made the grass sweep through, as if there was an invisible wave of water crashing into the land. Impmon himself was enjoying the sun when his ears picked up on the tell-tale sign that Tomas was starting to play his music, and, possibly, cast some magic.  Perhaps its about time he asks the Dragon about that.  Hopping from his little resting place to find Tomas, Impmon whistles to get his attention.

“‘Ey! Old Geezer!” The Digimon started, before crossing his arms. “Y’ ever gonna let me in th’ know int’a how ya do all that crazy stuff without even bein’ a Digital Creature y’self? Y’ can’t tell me that y’ really doin’ all that with that li’l rinky dink banjo ya got there.” He blurts out, before giving a smirk. Oh, that smirk was the telltale sign that he didn’t have any good ideas in store...

“I mean... If dat were da case, den I’d be able t’ cast all that magic, no problem! Even a baby could do it!” The Imp boasts, a cocky grin across his face.

[darkarfs]

my favorite WWE matches of 1997

Though I officially started watching wrestling in 1995 (my family famously first bought SummerSlam that year, which would be my first wrestling show ever, because it was $25.00. 1995 was a bad year for wrestling), I became a regular watcher of both WWE and WCW Raw and Nitro, and was able to buy my own PPVs, around summer of 1996, when Hogan turned. The first show I bought with my own money was In Your House: Buried Alive, though I kept up with weekly TV. And, for better or worse, I've been a fan ever since.

1997 was a REAL rollercoaster year for wrestling. The NWO was becoming a bloated mess in no time at all, Bret Hart was riding high, while he and Shawn Michaels publicly hated one another, a young Rocky Maivia was slowly transforming into the most charismatic wrestler of maybe all time, a young Steve Austin has broken his neck and can only work 5 minute matches but is somehow the most OVER wrestler in the company, and by the end of the year, the Screwjob happens, Bret's in WCW, Shawn's on handfuls of SOMAs (yet main-eventing). In a lot of ways, I'm grateful, because I side-stepped all of Hogan's WWF and WCW run. But it was a tornado of a year for a business always on precarious footing, as it ever has been.

And it gave us some CRACKING matches! - The 1997 Royal Rumble I love me a Rumble, and it's REALLY hard (but not impossible) to find a bad one (1993, 1995, 1999). And I personally love one with a storyline that runs throughout, and in this case, it's the ultimate heeling of Stone Cold Steve Austin. He visibly dominates the match until he hears Bret Hart's music, and then goes into panic mode. And it furthers the characterization of Bret's hand-spun narrative as being rightfully pissed that he's being taken advantage of by the roster, screwed by the company, and booed by the fans. Fun bonus: this is also the only Rumble appearance of lucha legend Mil Mascaras, who was so full of old-school carny spirit he famously refused to let anyone else eliminate him, so he eliminated himself, pissed Vince off, and was not spoken of again on WWE TV until the 2012 Hall of Fame ceremony, where he was inducted by his huge prick nephew, Alberto del Rio. - Bret Hart vs. Stone Cold Steve Austin, WrestleMania 13 This match is considered legendary, and for good reason. The greatest technical wrestler in the company vs. the best brawler, months of build, the world's most iconic (and off-the-cuff) blade-job (so much so that the visual of Austin bleeding in the Sharpshooter going "DAAAHHHH!" became the cover for his first VHS) and the wrestling world's most exquisite double-turn. It's fun, it's thrilling, it feels at once timeless and modern. Fun fact: there's a fun version of this match you can watch with just Austin doing commentary over it, and it's entertaining as hell. A true classic, and one of the greatest 'Mania matches of all time. - Ken Shamrock vs. Vader, No Holds Barred match, In Your House: a Cold Day In Hell Vader, famously, while a big teddy bear and a for-all-accounts lovely guy outside of the ring, had a reputation of being a bit "snug" with other wrestlers. Meaning he hit a little too hard, had little self-control, and took liberties with people, especially rookies and younger guys. It's supposedly why Shawn Michaels didn't want to work a world title program with him from summer to fall of 1996, because he was "too rough." But what never occurred to Vader is that trying that with a guy who's had 2 matches but has almost 5 years of MMA experience might not be the smartest or most prudent idea. Shamrock gives Vader as much as Vader gives him in this match, and there are moments where you can tell the guys are going into business for themselves. There's a moment where Shamrock is clubbing Vader with punches, and you can hear Vader, as he's turtling up and putting his arms up to block, yell "SLOW DOWN!" and then he rolls out of the ring to catch a breather. Vader, by the end of this match, is bleeding through his mask, a product of a broken nose, which is why I assume he gives Shamrock the stiffest short-arm clothesline I've ever seen. It's brutal, it's stupid, it weaves in and out of the script SO many times like a drunk man trying to stand up straight on a canoe, and I'm fascinated by each and every instance. - Owen Hart vs. the British Bulldog, European Championship Tournament Finals, Monday Night Raw, March 3rd Somehow, a workrate classic is stuck on a rinky-dink episode of Raw from Berlin, Germany. Smith and Hart blended some of their acquired WWE-style of work with classic junior heavyweight wrestling, complete with intricate reversals and fast-paced offense that was unlike either man's designed ethos of the time. Hart's shift toward his underhanded instincts as the match wore on provided enough story to balance the beautiful grappling from two men with impressive resumes. You can feel that these two knew one another, grew up together, and most importantly, wrestled together. An honest-to-God sleeper hit, but everyone who knows this match calls it a classic. - Shawn Michaels vs. Stone Cold Steve Austin, King of the Ring It's a concept that would be beaten into the ground in short order: Tag Team Champions that hate each other's guts. John Cena, seriously, has only been tag champions with people he's feuding with. That's

not even a joke. Austin and Michaels won the belts out of mutual dislike for the Hart Foundation, and then were programmed together for a wild match at the King of the Ring, one without a winner. Early on, the two actually pieced together a tremendous wrestling match full of nifty counters (prior to Austin changing his style after August for obvious reasons), before it degenerated into chaos after both men assaulted referees in the heat of the moment. Granted, neither man could really lose this one, so the screwy finish did serve its purpose. Until that point, it's a different type of incredible Austin match. You're never so happy to see a double-DQ finish. - Owen Hart & the British Bulldog vs. Shawn Michaels & Stone Cold Steve Austin, Monday Night Raw, May 26th And now we have a match set! The previous 4 participants in a brilliant and brutal tag team match. The Tag Team championship switch marked Austin's first piece of recognized gold in WWE, in a match on free television no less. That's not to insult the match any, as it was a pay-per-view quality fracas that barely slowed down. It is a mere 14 minutes long WITH entrances, but it moves at a clip, and everyone has their working boots on. It was a harbinger of days to come for this new period in WWE's history, and the crowd ate it up.

- Taka Michinoku vs. the Great Sasuke, In Your House: Canadian Stampede What happened here? Just when you think WCW had the cruiserweights cornered, WWE pulls this shit...and then kind of ignores it for a few months. But not before importing two of Michinoku Pro's finest to have a TakeOver-length exhibition. At first, the crowd in Calgary wasn't sure what to make of the undersized performers, but it wouldn't take long to win them over. From Michinoku's hands-free springboard dive to Sasuke's beautiful Thunder Fire Powerbomb, the expansive crowd was positively hooked on the daredevils with each passing minute. Although Sasuke wouldn't be long for the company, and Michinoku's run as Light Heavyweight Champion faded as 1998 wore on, the display at Canadian Stampede was a wondrous experience. This wouldn't have looked out of place in a Chikara King of Trios tournament. - The Hart Foundation (Bret Hart, Owen Hart, Jim Neidhart, Brian Pillman, the British Bulldog) vs. Team Austin (Stone Cold Steve Austin, the Legion of Doom, Ken Shamrock and Goldust), In Your House: Canadian Stampede I would have put this match on the list for the entrances and the finish alone. The crowd is at fever static for the entire match, seriously at the level of Punk/Cena at MITB 2011. And even though the Harts are the heels, they're in Calgary, and they get rock-star level ovations for merely existing. Everyone plays it mad and delighted, and you can tell they're all having a ball. Especially Pillman, who is just magically unhinged, a template for a young Dean Ambrose during their feud with the Wyatt Family. It is a magical, unreal main event, one of the best B-ppv main events maybe of all time. Well...other than MAYBE... - Shawn Michaels vs. the Undertaker, Hell in a Cell, In Your House: Badd Blood The very first Hell in a Cell match may very well double as the greatest of its kind. What stands out to me (other than how the match ends) is just how GREAT Michaels' selling is. When he's running away, he's constantly looking around for an exit, like a scared rat. When he finally gets caught and struck, he sells almost to the level he did for Hogan at SummerSlam 2005. But while he was doing that to make Hogan's offense look stupid, he's doing it here to make Taker's offense and anger look legit, and it somehow WORKS. But as fabulous as the match and the psychology is, it somehow takes a backseat to the debut of the Undertaker's monstrous little brother Kane, finally confronting his older brother in perhaps the greatest character debut in WWE history. - Mankind vs. Kane, Survivor Series I dunno what it is about this match that does it for me. Mankind's emotional lead-up to the match, where he's sad that Uncle Paul (Bearer) left him. Maybe the fact that Kane sells like Michael Myers, not so much that he's in pain, but as if he's never been hit in the face with a steel chair, a DDT or a piledriver. Maybe it's because Mick takes more horrific bumps than he needs to to make sure Kane looks like a legit monster. Maybe it's the broken Virtua Boy lighting. But it's genuinely unlike any other Mankind, Kane or ANY match I've seen before or since. It's a perfect somehow sympathetic serial killer vs. bigger, scarier serial killer that feels nothing story in a wrestling match. I didn't even know you could DO that.

[firelord-frowny]

fjdkfhgldgh

my mom and some other ~older adults~ in my life have been kinda pressuring me to hurry up and start auditioning for grad schools, but like.

no way lmfao. 

i feel like waiting as long as i have before even DECIDING that i was even INTERESTED in grad school is one of the smartest decisions i have ever made, because like... if i had tried to get a masters in violin performance immediately after getting my bachelors... 

that shit would have been a DISASTER lmfaooooo. i still had NO. IDEA. how to actually learn. My practicing habits were abysmal. my understanding of the learning process was so ridiculously incomplete. and it’s not like i could have trusted that my future professor would have been able to see all the problems in me, and fix them, because NONE of my previous teachers had managed to do it! i mean, i can’t really blame my college prof for my meager improvement bc i admit that i was straight up Not Trying Very Hard since i’d already been feeling like i couldn’t do it. and by the time i graduated, i was still in my “i can’t do it” mindset. 

It took like a solid year after graduating before I realized: hey! Wait a minute! i CAN play scales if I do them slow enough! and then I started practicing slowly and working my way up, and it was amazing!

and then it was another year before i participated in a chamber music festival where just about every professor there was BEGGING me to reconsider grad school and telling me that the sky was the limit and that i was one of the most innately gifted young players they’ve worked with, and when i told one of them that i always felt like i was nowhere near as good as i thought i should be by now, he more or less said “that’s just because you haven’t been taught right. you’ll be unstoppable with the right teacher.” 

and i took that shit and ran with it, and though i haven’t had any lessons with anyone yet, the player i am right now and the player i was 2ish years ago are TOTAL STRANGERS to each other. and now i KNOW i am fully capable of getting into programs like peabody or indiana or NEC. 

BUT NOT RIGHT NOW LMFAOOOO. 

I am certain that at this moment in time, there are 0 credible music schools that would accept me. there are PLENTY rinky-dink music schools that would be happy to throw a whole DMA at me even if i butcher every single recital. but i don’t want a degree from a school like that. i don’t want a degree from a school that would accept me right now because that’s a school that doesn’t have high standards.

so i’m just straight up Not Gonna take any auditions until I know without a shadow of a doubt that I could thrive in a selective environment. 

Honestly like...

I know a looooooot of players who weren’t very good, and went on to pursue graduate degrees at schools that... weren’t very good! And yes, many of them improved TREMENDOUSLY. Some of them went on to earn mediocre doctorate degrees. And again, their playing improved. 

But even with aaaaaallll that improvement... if someone at that same skill level auditioned for a place like NEC, they still wouldn’t even get past the screening!!

Honestly, i would feel like i wasted both my time AND my money if i shell out all the cash for graduate degrees in violin performance, but by the time i leave, i’m still nowhere near being the kind of player who could solo with major orchestras and make bank doing it. 

like, why should i get a whole masters degree only to come out of it being as good as i already should have been when i started my undergrad education??? 

no!!! i’m gonna get as good as i should have been by the end of my bachelors, and THEN i’m gonna get my masters, and i’m gonna get my masters at a school that’s gonna push me to hold my own with the best players in the region! with professors that would sooner kick my ass out of the program than let me play a shitty recital!!!

i’m not gonna set myself up for failure like i did before! i’m gonna do this shit right!!!!