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evebestt · 3 years ago

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A prompt that resulted in a fic written from Farah’s point of view, this was a good exercise for me! Thank you hon 🖤

Rated Explicit for smut. Send me a message or an ask to request a fic. Title from the Hozier song because I couldn’t resist the joke

To Noise Making

Farah had a weakness for partners that were loud in bed.

It drove her wild to hear her effect on her partner, to know she was pleasuring them well enough for them to moan and cry out her name, to hear them whimper as she drove them over the edge and to know it was all because of her.

You, however, were not loud in bed. It wasn’t a dealbreaker, not by any means, but still she dreamed of the time that she’d pull a whimper out of you, so much so that she’d made it a secret personal mission of hers to hear you moan at least once, to see what you looked like when you were so overcome with pleasure that you couldn’t control yourself.

She did know about your affinity for control and how it came from your volatile start with magic, the way control had been drilled into every aspect of your life, and as much as she wished you could have had a better mentor, to teach you of light instead of suffocating control, she loved you for who you were and wouldn’t change you for the world. For that, she felt guilty occasionally about wanting to make you lose that control in bed just for a moment. But you were always more than willing to fall into bed with her, and she rationalized that if the side effect of her mission was to pleasure more than anyone had before, then she couldn’t be faulted for that.

And what fun she had trying to pull a noise from you. She’d tried going slow to see if she could make you so desperate with want that you’d whine and beg for her. Starting at your neck, she’d kissed her way down your body, pausing at sensitive spots to nip and suck until she could feel your muscles quivering underneath her. Still you’d been quiet, even when she’d found the mess between your thighs, but you tasted divine, and any thoughts about your moans had flown out her head when she’d first put her tongue on you.

She’d been loud herself, hoping to spur you into your own moans. It wasn’t hard to make noise, not when your clever tongue had her clutching your hair and bucking her hips, but instead of your own moans you’d just shown a smug glint in your eye as you’d gone down on her, only spurring on Farah’s own cries. You hadn’t so much as hummed while you ate her, but none of that even occurred to Farah when pleasure consumed her and you’d crawled up her body to kiss her, tasting of herself and something uniquely you that made Farah melt.

She’d pulled out a strap with a sly smile, grinning at the way you’d scrambled onto the bed, shedding your clothes. She’d fucked you hard, teasing you first until you were squirming and dripping on the sheets before sliding into you in one thrust. Your jaw had dropped and your back arched, and then Farah was pulling your hips up to meet her thrusts, watching the strap disappear over and over again while you spilled into her lap. Still you hadn’t made any noise other than your gasping breaths when you came, but how you had looked while your thighs quaked around her hips and your hands gripped the sheets had been more than satisfying.

She’d pushed you to your breaking point of pleasure, making you come over and over and over to try and get you to cry out. She could feel how swollen you were underneath her fingers, the hard nub of your clit sliding back and forth as she stroked you faster and faster until you were gripping her shoulders hard enough to bruise, but still no noise as you’d come for the countless time that evening. Still, the flush of your cheeks and the heaving of your chest as she’d pulled you into her arms had been more precious to her than any moan.

It had been the most unexpected time that Farah had finally heard you moan, on a night as mundane as they came. You had come home late, carefully setting your things in their places before flopping next to Farah on the couch, relaxing into her side as she wrapped her arm around you.

“How was your day?” she asked quietly, and you sighed, pressing closer to her.

“Alright,” you replied. “But I’m happy to be home now.”

Farah smiled, her heart fluttering in the way it always did when you called her place home, and leaned down to press a small kiss to your shoulder.

You’d pulled her in for a kiss before she could straighten, your tongue slipping into her mouth as she steadied herself with a hand on your waist. Heat rose in her body, head becoming dizzy as the kiss continued, and soon she was tugging you into her lap, running her hands up your thighs as she nipped at your lips.

She kissed down your neck, aiming for a spot she knew made you twitch, when you grabbed one of her hands and pulled it to the waist of your trousers. She smirked, sucking lightly on your neck — so you were desperate tonight. She undid the buttons and slipped her hand down to your folds, humming at how wet you were already. She stroked your sex, spreading your arousal, and when you bucked your hips, pushed two fingers in to the hilt.

You sighed, head thrown back as she filled you, and Farah paused, struck by you in the moment — you looked like a goddess, she thought, unabashed in pleasure, your cunt tight and warm around her fingers and she was overwhelmed by how beautiful, how wonderful, how amazingly perfect you were in her lap, bathed in the soft lamplight.

You looked at her, puzzled, and Farah smiled, bringing her free hand up to cup your cheek. “I love you.”

You beamed, every feature softening with love, and you threaded her fingers in her hair before kissing her gently. “I love you, too.”

She made love to you then, slowly rocking you together as she curled her fingers in time with her thrusts until she felt her hand coated with your arousal. You had her forehead pressed to hers as you moved in her lap, arms around her neck, and Farah felt as though you were connected — heart to heart, soul to soul.

Your walls fluttered around her fingers, spasming as your movements became erratic, and Farah curled her fingers hard, rubbing circles in the way she knew drove you wild.

And you moaned.

It was a little, high pitched thing, but it sent a bolt of arousal to her core, her chest swelling with love and lust and making her dizzy with it all, the sound of your pleasure echoing in her ears as you quivered on her lap and she pushed you higher.

She turned her head, nipping at the shell of your ear before murmuring, “Do that again.”

You cried again, quieter this time, but still it shot straight to Farah’s core. She pumped her fingers faster and pressed her palm flat, rocking you so that she rubbed your clit. Your thighs trembled around her, your head buried in her shoulder, and she murmured quiet encouragement in your ear, desperate now to push you to your peak.

You came with another small cry, panting into her neck as Farah rode out your orgasm, relishing in the way your walls clenched rhythmically, slick and hot around her fingers. She kissed at your neck, so proud that she’d finally made you moan, and so dizzily happy that you’d trusted her enough to make such a noise.

The moment you picked up your head Farah kissed you, pouring every emotion into the kiss until you slumped against her, boneless with orgasm and love. She wrapped her arms around you tight, bumping her nose with yours. “You’re beautiful when you come in my lap.”

You blushed and chuckled, an endearing look, and Farah couldn’t help but kiss you again, slow and sweet this time, feeling as though everything in life would be perfect — as long as she had you in her arms.

#farah dowling x reader #farah dowling #eve best #ftws #fate the winx saga #farah come and fuck me until I moan please and thank you

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heli0s-writes · 5 years ago

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As it Was

Summary: Sam warned him when he arrived at the compound, returned to the timeline he ran from: It’s different now, she doesn’t do the superhero thing anymore, she’s got another life now, but he wouldn’t listen. He can’t. He must hope that some things are the same, that your love is the same. Pairing: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader A/N: ANGST. Re-written Post-endgame kinda thing because I’m bitter. 3.3k word count. Very inspired by Hozier’s “As it Was” :^)

As it Was Masterpost

There is a roadway.

The tires crunch over rock and gravel as Steve drives down the familiar path. Flanked by overgrown grass and wildflowers in full bloom, insects flutter around the petals, sunlight glistening on waxy blades of green. He can smell it, even inside the car, ignited in his nose and blazing into his chest.

The smell of summer. The crushed earth beneath muddied boots.

He can taste the watermelon sugar, tingling on the sweet tongue encased in an even sweeter mouth.

Your bright pink lips wet with cold bites of fruit. He loved the way you would collect the smooth seeds and pinch them between your teeth. He loved the way you’d spit them into his face—silly with joy under the shade of a tree. Too slow, baby!

He can hear your laughter in the dead air-conditioned chamber of one of many compound cars. If he could bottle it up into a music box and wind it up just to hear now, he would.

He would.

Steve’s heart twists tighter as the road continues its winding way deeper through the thicket of verdant trees. Sunlight pours through in golden rays, slipping past the cracks of parted leaves. A pathway the two of you walked many times over, hand-in-hand.

There’s a separation of the blades to the left, a well-worn spot leading into an open space where you would spread the picnic blanket, stuff him full of cold cut sandwiches and fruit pie. Iced lemonade, tart. Then, under the light of the sun, or moon, or any time or season in-between, you would wrap yourself over him, love him so sweetly he could weep now.

But then is not now.

For the past three years of your time, then had been now.

But now that he’s back... now is something else.

His phone rings, echoing through the car with its shrill tittering. Sam’s number appears, as it has been every five minutes for the past two hours of his journey. Sam calling. Sam leaving messages. Sam texting.

Don’t, Cap. Don’t go there. It’s changed, Cap. Things have changed. Trust me, man. It’s better if you don’t go.

But Steve has to. He has to change your mind. Make you forgive him because he loves you so much. He has to make it all go back to as it was.

Back then, on the platform, he had been sure. In the sepia-colored minutes of his wayward past, he had been sure. That unreachable possibility had become so nearly tangible he could grab it in his hands. He was inches from her—from Peggy, and it took him decades away from you.

So, he leapt. He followed his foolish boyish heart to its dream. He told you the night before under the awning in front of the cabin, windchimes striking in the draft, fireflies all around. He’s never been a part of this world, not truly. He’s got to go back to where he belongs.

With Peggy, you mean?

You cried and cried then, wrapping your arms around your middle, refusing to say anything else, and he had never seen you so shattered. But he had been sure.

And then, only four weeks into the returned years of Steve Rogers, suddenly, like a cold hand tugging him awake, the dream slipped.

He wasn’t sure after all.

Sam calls again, but Steve is obstinate. The cabin peeks over the hill, sunken in the distance of the field just as he remembered—the little cobblestoned well in the field, string lights around the perimeter, mailbox at the edge of the road, rainbow pinwheels you’d planted in the ground because they’re cute, Steve.

From the thick branch of the oak tree you have hung a tire swing-- endearing, and so like you. Next to it is a picnic table where a single copper watering can sits in the middle, bunches of wildflowers sticking out. A tangle of yellow and green. Like your arms wrapped around his waist, linked fingers squeezing him tightly, playfully, pretending you could crush him.

Gonna kill you! Crack ya ribs!

He would grunt dramatically behind a muffled chuckle, Yes, baby. I’ve died! You’re so—ugh! Strong! B-Bucky! Avenge me!

Bucky would roll his eyes with a smirk, You two are nauseating.

You would stick your tongue out, turn it back around to Steve and lick a stripe from his throat to his chin, making him shudder all over as he watched your pretty pink mouth curl into a grin, and growl. Steven Grant Rogers, growled, and Bucky‘d throw his hands up and abscond before his eyes might see Captain America do something indecent.

He didn’t have that with Peggy. He didn’t have the twinkling of your mischievous eyes, the flame of your passion. He only had the bitter chill of your absence and the stark realization that a first love and a true love are two different things.

Sam warned him when he arrived at the compound: It’s different now, she doesn’t do the superhero thing anymore, she’s got another life now, but he wouldn’t listen. He can’t. He must hope that some things are the same, that your love is the same.

How long would you wait for me?

Steve pulls the car into the patch of trodden grass he once parked in, steps out, and closes the door quietly. There’s a clattering inside before the wooden door creaks open— as it always has, even after he loosened and tightened all its hinges— it still creaks, same as ever.

Your shape in the doorway.

One leg at a time, you emerge.

A weightless gauze dress hangs from your frame as you linger in the opening, back turned to him. In one hand is a small twine basket lined with gingham fabric. A pair of garden shears sit nestled inside. He remembers this— the walks to clip flowers and pick berries. You would put the berries in the pies, place the blossoms and leaves in mason jars all over the countertops until it looked wild in the house, too.

Your hair is longer, he smiles as he continues to watch, gazing at the loose braid you’ve fashioned your locks into. You used to complain about how fast it would grow, annoyed at how the buzzed side with the sharp chevron pattern needed to be maintained closely.

He supposes you’ve grown tired of the upkeep. You’ve let it grow out now.

The braid is new. The dress is new. But the way you lean into the house, so relaxed and carefree, that is familiar.

Steve is unsure how to approach. He doesn’t want to startle you, even though his very presence is startling. He knows your capabilities, and with those razor-sharp shears next to your elbow he wouldn’t try it. No, you couldn’t crush his ribs, but you could slice him gullet to belly in a second.

He opens his mouth to call your name, but the door creaks louder as you lean down and push it further back into the house, urging faintly. You turn, duck your torso behind the wall, leaving a deliberate space by your legs.

And then he sees it. The change Sam warned him about. The life.

His heart drops. And trembles. And feels like it could burst entirely.

Two tiny bare feet tap forward, kicking with each step. A happy, shrill, cry leaps into the air as the boy clumsily jumps one foot at a time, and lands past your dress.

The child.

“Wait for me, baby,” you call, still tucked halfway inside, “Wait for mama.”

“Mama!” He sputters and giggles, “Mama!” Mama.

God. The boy is beautiful. He is barefoot and his face is eclipsed by a canvas bucket hat, shielding the plump, pale skin of him from the summer sun. Even if Steve can’t see his face yet, he knows, because of you, any child would be perfect. A cherub. A little cherub that could have been his.

“I’m coming, just… let me get my hat. And sunscreen for you. Ah, mama has been so bad with that sunscreen.” There is more fumbling as you drop the basket on your arm into the dark house and briefly slip inside.

The boy stops at the step leading down, pondering his own confidence to tread forward. He sits, instead, letting his bottom save any potential fall before he scoots his legs over. After braving the first step, he looks up. He blinks slowly, and Steve catches sight of his enormous blue eyes, and long lashes, button nose, rosy red cheeks, slightly open mouth slack with surprise and a little bit of wonder.

“Mama.” He says, before tilting his head, “Mama, Mama. Body! Some here.”

“Someone’s here?”

You quickly emerge, hand fisting a wide-brimmed straw hat, arm reaching forward to scoop your child up and away. He is plopped firmly on your jutting left hip before you tear the hat off your head, stare into the tall and broad figure of a man you have known too well. A surprised breath tears itself from your throat.

“Steve?”

His mouth jerks into a careful smile. Nothing he had practiced during the car ride feels right in this moment; all his words have been tossed into the yard by the hands of a three-year-old boy. The hat drops from your hand, quietly slides on the dusty wooden patio, speckles of it catching light and blowing away in the easy wind. You blink, eyes shifting side to side as if questioning your reality.

“Steve?”

His name slips off your tongue so sweetly and he can’t help but close his eyes to memorize you again. That voice, his name, the years have passed, and he hasn’t forgotten it. He is so goddamn sorry to have left it at all.

From the first time you called it, to the first time you whispered it, promised your allegiance to it, to the first time you sobbed it, following him into the unknown and the darkness for five years. No matter how black the night, he had you.

Your love was unmoved.

“Sweetheart,” He pleas, stepping forward with a shaky outstretched hand.

You stand frozen like a statue, everything stiff and still except for the fluttering of your creamy dress and the boy on your hip, babbling freely. His little fingers and their little fingernails prod and poke at your neck, grabbing onto the strands that frame your face—too short to stay in the braid.

God. You’re beautiful. You glow, softened by the years without fighting and training, tanned by the sunlight, kissed by the breeze and rain and butterfly wings, and everything else but him.

“Mama, mama. Want down, down!”

The boy squeezes and releases his soft fists, reaching out and kicking your back with his foot. He begins to grunt and whine, head thrown behind and lolling over at Steve. “Down!”

“Hey,” Steve smiles, taking a finger to caress the boy’s palm, calming his motions, “What’s your name?”

You slowly turn to look at your child, eyes beginning to focus on him, as if suddenly remembering his weight perched on your side. A quick breath is sucked into your lungs as he blinks and grins, laughing. “Jams! This is mama an’ this is Jams.”

“J-James.” You correct with a broken, wet, laugh, “H-he’s.. his name—it’s James.”

Steve watches him continue to thrash against your side out of joy, now, as if being held by you is a game in itself. He brings your hair to his mouth, blubbering into it, giggling when it tickles his face. He taps on your collar with a finger, gnaws impishly on your shoulder until a line of drool trickles down. Then, he laughs again, and pushes his cheeks into it, hugging your bicep tightly.

The boy—the angel—James. Steve feels himself clench up with the new knowledge. His name is James.

“James?” There is betrayal in the way he questions it. As much as he tries to steel it, a tiny rupture creeps through the single syllable.

You pull the boy close to your body, maneuvering until you’re holding him with both arms, one slanted over his back, the other under his bottom. He sighs and leans his head onto your shoulder, makes soft noises of contentment. “Mama… walk? Go for a walk, mama.”

Between your overcast eyes and Steve’s inspecting blue ones, James is tucked like a pebble in a cobblestone wall, desperately holding back the torrent from both sides. You grip him unwaveringly, shush him now for the time being.

“Is he—Bucky? He’s Bucky’s?”

Steve inspects the front yard, the blindingly hopeful curtain finally lifting from his eyes—there are three seats on the porch, three flowers painted on the mailbox, three little stumps further away surrounding an extinguished fire.

A home—his home, his place, now filled in with the bulk of someone else. And not just anyone else, he thinks bitterly, but Bucky. His best friend, now his old lover’s new lover. It spins him out of control.

Your face scrunches up with disdain, mouth twisting into a scowl he’s known rarely, but still—he knows it.

“Yes, Steve.” You spit, nostrils flaring with anger, “He’s named after his father. He’s named after his real father.”

Steve frowns, broken-hearted, apologetic, confused. Your eyes have welled up with unshed tears, your lips pinched tightly together, as if holding back your words will keep the tears at bay, too. He doesn’t know what you mean as he stares vacantly at your protective stance.

But then he sees it.

He sees it when James grunts, bored now of a conversation that is years beyond his interest and comprehension. He beats his fists on your chest and leans back in agony.

His hat tumbles from his crown. Down, down, it falls noiselessly and when Steve looks back up to where his perfect little head is—returned to your collar, he sees brilliant flaxen curls, catching sunbeams.

Blindingly gold—almost white.

James twists his little body around and stares at Steve with some mysterious indulgence now that they are both wholly revealed to each other.

“He was there for me, you know.” You whisper, heavy teardrops running down to your chin, pooling until they barely hang on. “He was there the entire time. Nine whole agonizing months, knowing that I was growing something that was yours. I had nobody but Bucky.”

You press your lips to James’ head, inhaling the sweet scent of his skin, “I was out of my mind with grief. Th-thought, I couldn’t—I couldn’t have it. Couldn’t have a baby that was yours—you’d left me. You left what we had for something that was barely a dream, Steve.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—I didn’t.”

“Bucky was there.” You continue, ignoring Steve’s confession. He bites his tongue, hopes it draws blood, hopes in secret you might take his very life from him. He can’t stand to be alive anymore, staring now at two people he left behind.

“Bucky was there, and he loved me through it. And when this little… when this sweet boy—” you press your eyes to his forehead, “When this boy came, we held each other and wept.”

A little laugh is muffled in James’ hair.

“So, yeah. He’s named after his real father, not his biological one.”

James leans his face towards yours, places his palms onto your cheek and pats the wetness away, “Mama. No more rain, mama. Mama, sunny outside.”

You burst apart, crumbling into tears against his little palm, pressing kisses to his fingertips, and Steve crumbles too. The boy, the precious boy, who is both his and not his, turns and looks at him earnestly. You whisper to him, kiss him on the cheek, Mama’s okay, baby. Mama’s got you with her now. Sunshine boy.

And then you turn your eyes to him. Those once doting eyes he always found gazing longingly, even after he was yours. Now they cut him, sharp and cold, holding him in their deep, dark light.

“You need to leave, before he comes home.” You whisper over the sound of insect wings and birds in the distance. The trees rustle and sway, as if egging your words on.

Home. Your home is with Bucky. Not Steve, not anymore.

“He’ll want to see you, but not like this.”

He wouldn’t even know what to say to Bucky. He wouldn’t know what to expect to hear, either. You and Bucky, and his son—your son, Steve’s son, Bucky’s son. All strung up together in a terrible web, waiting for the spider.

Somehow, he feels like the spider.

“Steve,” you call, and for a second, he hears it lovingly. Like how you might have called his name in front of the fireplace, nestled in his arms, snow settling in sheets outside. Steve, I love you.

“Steve.” It’s firm again, hard and cutting, ice chips crunched through your teeth, “When you left, you left Bucky, too. In your absence, we found each other. You didn’t just break me, Steve; you broke him. And you need to go, because I won’t let you do that to him again.”

You don’t have to say it, but he can parse it from your clenched jaw and the way you aim your words at him. You love Bucky.

The trajectory of the truth burns straight through his guts. It churns and twists and drugs his entire being until it leaves every last cell numb.

Once upon a time, you loved him, too.

But that was before he knew the darkness, before he knew the possibility and lost himself in the what if, the then, burning away the now and the love he already had.

You set James down softly in the dirt after landing soft kisses to his cheeks, watch his toes flex and grip the grass. He places the hat back over his head, lopsided, but on, regardless. He bounces on his feet, bending his knees and getting a feel for the ground beneath him. The silly ritual completes when he pads away, chasing a hovering dragonfly. Every few seconds, he looks back and laughs.

Steve’s heart cracks open with every inch of the boy’s smile.

The two of you stand for what seems like an eternity, trying to find something to end it on. He can’t do anything more than laugh resentfully, because if he doesn’t, he’ll cry, and he’ll never stop. It comes out as two clipped scoffs before he splinters anyway.

So, he nods, accepts the defeat he’s given himself and lets the tears trickle down his face to match you. Blinking the sea from your eyes, you sniffle loudly and turn, splitting the grass with your feet to follow the trail James has made into the field.

Pulling out of the driveway, Steve watches you next to your son, his son, Bucky’s son— that beautiful boy, blue-eyed like both of them. You bend and lift him, toss him gently, nuzzle him and smile before you take him down into the grass and continue the walk away from the house. He plucks flowers and raises them up and you let him tuck them inelegantly into your braid, still lovely.

Steve closes his eyes one last time to sear the image into his mind. He interjects himself into the scene, walking hand-in-hand down that habitual path. He imagines James on his hip, stares into the phantom face of that boy of his, your laughter ringing next to him like the wind. He laughs and laughs, and cries and cries. And then, he drives until the house is gone from the rearview mirror.

No, it will never be as it was again.

The dream, honeyed, sweet, as beautiful as it may be, it would only be half as beautiful as the truth could have been. Half as beautiful as the boy. Half as beautiful as you.

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader x bucky #steve x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #stucky x reader #post endgame #fanfiction #reader insert #as it was heli0s

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goodnight-socialiite · 5 years ago

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What a Shark Puppy Concert is like (+ setlist of covers)

I have a FUCKTON of headcanons of what a Shark Puppy concert would be like, and i must eject them into the void before i go crazy. I sure hope everyone is still thinking about the clown movie and their shark band. I always imagine them doing something like Ninja Sex Party’s “Under the Covers” albums.

Here’s my playlist of Songs that Shark Puppy totally covered

First and foremost:

Mike: plays the primarily drums and the trumpet (when songs call for it)

Beverly: plays primarily bass, but also lead guitar, rhythm guitar, acoustic guitar, and keyboard, when the other boys sing

Stan: plays primarily keyboard, but also rhythm guitar

Bill: plays primarily lead guitar, bass when Beverly sings.

Eddie: plays keyboard, rhythm guitar, bass, and lead guitar interchangeably, when one band member wants to sing without instruments (a real jack of spades).

Richie: plays primarily rhythm guitar, but also drums.

Ben: I read a fic where he was their manager, and now i can’t see him as anything else, but he plays the acoustic guitar.

These kids? multi-faceted. I like to think that they went to a music school, where they learn multiple instruments.. I also think them learning multiple parts for songs would help if one member is sick, or needs a break during the concert.

Since people are trading between instruments, there’s a lot of chatter and crowd interactions, it’s super lit.

Set List and breakdown under the cut:

1. Killing Me Softly- Roberta Flack

The concert opens with the boys all standing in a line, like an acapella group, with microphones on stands. Beverly is standing either by the side, or in the middle, with an electric guitar. They sing this beautiful cover of the song, with Beverly accompanying on the guitar; which seems like it wouldn’t work, since the song is so gentle, but it does. the fellas are singing their hearts out about a their man who’s killing them softly, while Beverly is shredding, and the crowd is losing their minds. The boys are doing this crazy five part harmony, and they can barely hear themselves over the fans.

2. No Scrubs - but the Wheezer cover

From “Killing Me Softly”, they immediately transition to No Scrubs. Everyone fucking books it to their instruments, while Richie and Bev go into the first verse. Mike on the drums, Stan on the keyboard, Bill on lead, Bev gets back to the bass, and Eddie on rhythm guitar. Richie really knows how to get the crowd riled up. He jumps around and has so much attitude, and the fans eat it up. Everyone is seriously eating up the gender bending of the songs.

3. Istanbul - They Might Be Giants

Possibly the most chaotic song they perform, Eddie takes over keyboard while Richie picks up rhythm, and Bill’s on lead. they belt out the lyrics, and dance across the stage. Stand and Richie do the answer and call for “Why’d they change it I can’t say,” “PEOPLE JUST LIKE IT BETTER THAT WAY!” it’s just... the drama, and the chaos, ugh, it’s a spiritual experience to see them perform it live. Stan and Richie get each other really hyped, and Stan is stand in between Bill and Richie while they play.

4. I Like (The Idea of) You - Tessa Violet

Beverly takes on the lead vocals, while all the boys do backup. She loves the bass part tho, and demands that she play it while singing. Stan takes back the keyboard, so during the song, Eddie doesn’t have an instrument, so he plays the tambourine, and dances like a 60′s backup singer (something like the Supremes) and it becomes a meme. like people captioning 240p pictures with “When the group leader doesn’t assign you any work” but they love it. the song itself is so fun, the band really plays with it.

5. Pieces of Us - Mark Ronson feat King Princess

Eddie takes center stage, and just fucking destroys this song. He has the range, he has the moves. The fans love it, because they didn’t start #moreeddieplease for nothing. and Eddie definitely doesn’t make the most intense eye contact with Richie through the whole song. When they perform this song more, Reddie likes to rile up everyone, and get particularly... creative. Especially at the line “the way you turn me on,” because Eddie can dance, he can move his hips, and he loves it when Richie’s jaw drops and he forgets to play. The crowd loses their minds.

Intermission: I Love You - Bill Wurtz

While the band takes a short break between songs (water, towels, and the fastest bathroom breaks), it’s just Stan, fucking shit up on the keyboard and singing, while wearing sunglasses. Before he even begins, he dedicates the sog to Patty, and the crowd goes fucking mental. it’s odd, but he makes it work, and the fans go fucking buck wild. It’s the wild card for sure, but the vibes are... off the charts. Stan would survive the vibe check.

6. Baby I’m Yours - the Arctic Monkey’s cover

Everyone jumps back in, with Richie hangs back and plays the drums while Bill and Mike do this gushy duet with each other. Everyone pretends not to enjoy it, gagging and playing begrudgingly, but the crowd is swaying to the tune, and making heart eyes. Someone took a candid photo of Mike with his arms around Bill’s waist while Bill plays the guitar. Stan gets his designated break during this song, (No keyboard needed) and he is just watching the cheesy, romantic shit happen in the wings with Ben, while sipping a cup of water.

7. Everybody Wants to Rule the World - but the Ninja Sex Party cover

This is the song where they each sing different verses, and the way they sing lines extra loud, oof, it really resonates with the crowd. Sometimes its more screaming than singing, but they need that.

8. The Only Exception - Paramore

Ben joins the band for this song, because he and Beverly sit on chairs at the center of stage, and he plays acoustic while she sings, then the whole band joins in. This kind of display of love gets people a little teary-eyed, waving their phones an lighters in the air.

9. Starry Starry Night - Don McLean

Sometimes they play one or the other. Bill always introduces the song, and dedicates it to Georgie. Georgie always encouraged Bill to keep drawing and creating art. They had gone to an art gallery together, and seen a print of Van Gogh’s Starry Starry Night. It means so much to Bill. If people weren’t crying during the display of Benverly, they were in fucking tears. The first time Bill performs Starry Starry Night, it’s just him and his acoustic guitar, and later, twitter is filled with support and messages of love. Every time he plays it, number one trending on twitter is #starrystarrynight. The occasional #fuckimcrying was thrown in.

10. Say my Name - but the Hozier cover, and a bit more metal.

Eddie nails this song, and he gets real playful whenever they perform it. He likes to antagonize Richie, always singing the verses to him, as though he were the man in question. Rich plays along, bless his heart, and they get the who crowd to sing along.

11. Eddie my Love - The Teen Queens

This is Richie’s fucking pride and joy. Whenever he sings it, he tries to sing to Eddie (who’s trying to play Richie’s part on rhythm), while Eds tries not to blush and instead look pissed. The fans are screaming at this. One time, they had tricked Eddie into thinking “Eddie my Love” was removed from the set list, (he was equal parts happy and sad). When they started playing it, Richie got a chair, and sat Eddie in it, and was on his knees, singing so dramatically. Eddie covers his face, so people think he’s embarrassed, when actually, he’s so flushed with affection. The crowd is wild, and Eddie can’t help but peck Richie’s cheek as a reward.

12. What the World Needs Now is Love - Jackie DeShannon

Mike opens on trumpet, and no one has ever seen a crowd get so hype with just a trumpet, but people begin to s c r e a m. There’s one point, where the band stops singing and playing, and the crowd is singing to them “What the world needs now, is love! Sweet love!” and it reminds them that maybe the kids are alright.

#shark puppy au #shark puppy #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #beverly marsh #benverly #bill denbrough #mike hanlon #hanbrough #stan uris #it 2 #it chapter ii #it 2019 #it 2017 #ben hanscom

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bleedingccity · 5 years ago

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THE SHADOWS OF REBELLION CHARACTER INTRO (1/5)

ANGELO ABRAHAMS.

“no masters and kings when the ritual begins,

there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sins,”

- hozier.

“What makes you think I will not hesitate to kill you with my bare hands? I was born with a burning flame at the core of my being. When I was younger, it was just a gentle, flickering flame, swaying with the wind, able to be extinguished with my mother’s touch. Now that I’m older, it has grown into a raging fire, so bright and beautiful. If only you knew how quickly you would crumble into a pile of ashes at my touch, you would never dare to come near me again. The violence in my veins is running wild, I’m waiting for the day it finally breaks free from its thinning walls, and I lose every part of me that is human. I will run to the devil at the ends of the earth, he will greet me with open arms.”

ABOUT

Angelo is often described as quiet and hostile by his class. A lover of the Renaissance era. An extremely talented painter, no one is allowed in his studio at the Abrahams Mansion. However, his professor dislikes him greatly as he often refuses to adhere to the college approved format of creating artwork. The only reason he hasn’t been kicked out of school is because the Abrahams family made a huge donation to the school, in exchange for Angelo’s admission to the school. Always wears a brooding and thoughtful expression. No one truly knows Angelo inside out, a living enigma. Has a battered journal where he sketches and writes, no one has ever seen the contents of the notebook. Only speaks when necessary. A genius, and is good at everything he does, he is very much aware of this and prides himself on it. Does not have any other friends except for Michael, Leonardo, and Jackson, but prefers to be alone. A lover of tragedy. Can speak multiple languages (Latin, French, English, Greek, English being his native language).

APPEARANCE

Dark hair, and dark eyes. His fringe is often in his eyes. A strong build, tall. Slender, ink-stained fingers. Often dresses in black coats. Walks in a calm, composed manner. Has an elegant air about him, just like his father. Constantly wears a thoughtful, brooding expression. Despite his preference to remain unseen, one can’t help but notice his presence every time he steps into a room. A hush would fall upon the room, all eyes fixed on him, accompanied by curious stares. However, Angelo never returns these looks.

RELATIONSHIPS WITH OTHER CHARACTERS

strained relationship with younger sister, Ava Abrahams

best friends with Michael Collins, close confidant

friends with Jackson Adler

is often annoyed by Leonardo Wiley

TAGLIST GANG

@ladyymacbcth @aelenko @aphronysus @peachiekittenwrites

drop an ask / message to be added / removed!

COMING SOON

character intro for Michael Collins

character intro for Ava Abrahams

wip page // pinterest (still in progress and a little messy though!)

#oc intro #original character #writeblr wip #writeblr wips #wips #character wip #angelo abrahams #the shadows of rebellion #tsor #repost cuz there were too many mistakes arghh #tsor character intro

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kplr-radio · 5 years ago

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Broadcast: Rob Kranken, 01/18/19

[Fire Escape Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness]

Rob: Good evening everyone, this is 103.5 KPLR Radio, that was “Fire Escape” by Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness. I’m your host, Rob Kranken, with you on this Friday night going into Saturday morning. It’s about 30 degrees outside and I am huddled in my studio with my jacket on and a blanket that I found in a storage closet. No one is on the road, and I’m hoping it stays that way ‘cause we got a lotta ice out there after Thursday's storm. In more personal news, I talked to Angelo as someone last week advised. I’ll respect his privacy on-air but I do think you were right. And besides, he’s alright to talk to. Much better than some of the interns. Speaking of which, those kids are so easy to mess with. You’d think a strange town like Kepler would give you immunity to a few scary goofs. Anyways, I’ll stop blabbering, here’s “Daydreamer” by Young The Giant.

[Daydreamer Young the Giant] [Shutdown Joywave] [Train Brick + Mortar] [Way Too Much Wavves]

Rob: That was “Shutdown” by Joywave, and then “Train” by Brick and Mortar, and “Way Too Much” by Wavves. It seems like it’s gonna be a pretty quiet night so I’ll go ahead and fill the silence before I leave you all to more music. So it’s January, right, the start of a new year. And people make those resolutions, and this, maybe two weeks in, is when a lot of people start falling off. First of all, if your goal involves weight loss, I’d recommend not bothering. Unless a medical professional tells you that and means it, and they’re not just being a prick, then you don’t need to lose weight. Second of all, if you drop off now you don’t have to wait ‘til next year to pick it up. Say you’re trying to learn a language. That Duolingo owl is still gonna be there in a month if you get too busy. And besides, languages are not easy and are never gonna make sense, so I’m proud of you for even trying. Now I’m an old man, I’m— I’m 42, so I haven’t made a New Year’s resolution in quite some time. But this year I was… well, I had something in mind. I was thinking this year I should get some hobbies outside radio, something I can do on my own. And I… I haven’t found anything that really sparked my interest yet, but like I said, the year isn’t over. So keep searching, I’ll keep searching, we all gotta keep searching. Then we’ll start over next year, hopefully as better people. I’ve rambled enough. This is “Cringe” by Matt Maeson.

[Cringe Matt Maeson] [I See You MISSIO] [Salt Bad Suns] [So Tied Up Cold War Kids, Bishop Briggs]

Rob: So that was “I See You” by MISSIO, “Salt” by Bad Suns, and “So Tied Up” by Cold War Kids and Bishop Briggs. It looks like someone’s calling in, and now is as good a time as any, so I guess we’ll move into this part of the broadcast. Listeners, feel free to call in with whatever. Questions, comments, messages for other Keplerians. Hello, you’re on the air.

Caller: I was out in the woods the other day and I stumbled upon some mighty weird tracks. They looked a bit like goat prints, but they was looking like each goat was up two legs. I followed 'em for a bit before they turned into normal footprints. Actually, now that I'm thinking 'bout it, I suppose they was just some bored kids out havin' some fun.

Rob: Well, you never know. The woods are a wild place. Who can say? Maybe there’s goat people out there. I don’t know. Just keep an eye out, or better yet leave that area alone. Stay safe. [click] Howdy.

Caller: Hey Karen, I’m really sorry that I pushed you in front of me when that weird thing was coming at us. I was a coward. Please talk to me.

Rob: Karen, if you’re out there, and listening at such a late hour, this person seems sincere, maybe give them a chance. Or don’t, I don’t know what happened. [click] Who’s next?

Caller: Play some bleachers please? I'm feeling angsty.

Rob: Can do, listener. How’s five songs work for you? Great. This first one is “I Wanna Get Better.”

[I Wanna Get Better Bleachers] [Rollercoaster Bleachers] [Wild Heart Bleachers] [I Miss Those Days Bleachers] [Don’t Take The Money Bleachers]

Rob: That was “Rollercoaster” “Wild Heart” “I Miss Those Days” and “Don’t Take the Money” all by Bleachers. Feels kinda fitting for tonight’s mood. I didn’t mean to make it as angsty as it ended up, but you know how it is. Every plan adds to the amount of mistakes possible. Anyways, I’m gonna play this ad for y’all that I’ve been meaning to do.

[Audio advertisement transcript: [haunting orchestral music] Have you ever heard a true story that couldn’t possibly be real? Or maybe seen something you couldn’t believe with your own two eyes? No? [music cuts off] Then you’re not living, my friend! Come on down to the Cryptonomica, we have centuries of hidden knowledge of the arcane and the mystical! Stories beyond suspicion, creatures beyond compare! We’re just off State Route 16055. The Cryptonomica: a museum for the mysterious.]

Rob: Thank so much to the Cryptonomica for sponsoring us this week and every week since I’ve been here. This means that Ned Chicane is directly responsible for every impulse purchase I have made. You did this, Ned, you’re the reason there’s a gold metallic Slinky on my desk right now. I’m gonna talk about my personal life now, because no one is here to stop me. And I’m sure you’re all dying to hear the gossip here at the station. So, of course, station management is on us constantly about our use of the office materials here. We’re on a budget, you can’t be using this many sticky notes, where are all the pens, blah blah blah. Whatever. Now, I can be a little loose with my sticky note usage, but I promise I’m not wild with it. I usually leave them for whoever is next in the studio, usually Angelo, and I’ll mark the settings that need to be adjusted. Believe it or not, Angelo is actually new at radio, despite his wildly successful podcast and powerful voice. Don’t tell him I said any of that. But yeah, I’ll leave notes around. Then, the other day, station management says they won’t keep buying the sticky notes if I keep using them up. Which seems counterintuitive, but I don’t know. I’ve never understood capitalist business models. This is community radio, anyway. But I was starting to cut down on my notes. Only four notes instead of seven. Only one in the kitchen with all the stuff crammed in tiny lettering. Is that what you wanted, supervisor? To try and read my illegible handwriting, extra-small? Well, Angelo was actually using those notes, like I said. And apparently, when I was out today, he got me one of those huge packs of the pink ones, my favorite. I came back and they were sitting on my desk with a green sticky saying they were from Angelo. Now I don’t know about any of you out there, but when the sticky note revolution comes, I know whose side I will be on. There is no greater solidarity than rival coworkers coming together against an oppressive anti-sticky note management. I… it’s late, sorry y’all, I’m not too sure what that was. Anyways, I’m going to cut out a little early tonight, but I’ll leave you some extra tunes to make up for it. Thanks for listening, here’s “I Don’t Wanna Dance” by COIN.

[I Don’t Wanna Dance COIN] [Modern Jesus Portugal. the Man] [Giants Bear Hands] [Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene Hozier]

#broadcast #robkranken #1/18/19

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ronsenboobi · 6 years ago

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septembre 2018: pavane and sairsel, the now. 1,524 words. 🎧 shrike - hozier

As the adventurers left, Sairsel rose from his bench with plate in hand and returned with another steaming serving of stew. He laid a hand on Pavane’s shoulder under the guise of steadying himself as he sat back down, though it was more of an excuse to keep close at the sight of his concerned look. It was an unusual sight, but the time they’d spent together had been enough to understand that Pavane worried about much more than he let on. Sairsel was only of the lucky few who got to see it.

“Is that your third helping?” Pavane asked, glancing over at him as Sairsel picked up his spoon to shovel stew into his mouth.

“Yeah,” Sairsel said through a mouthful. “Been flying for hours to get here. I’m starving.”

“You didn’t have to rush over.”

Sairsel shrugged and ate a few more bites before speaking up, tearing a chunk of bread as he did. “They’re going to be fine, you know. The kids. I’ve seen stupider Striders live longer than they should, and my nain thinks they show promise and she’s—”

“An Immortal. I know. They know it, too.”

“That’s what you meant when you said they might come looking for her,” Sairsel said. He paused for a moment, running a hand over the stubble at his jaw. “Well, they’re not going to be doing that in Vinean, so it’ll be a fortnight or three before they’re going to be bothering her about it. We can keep going during that time, can’t we? You and me, our business.”

“Yeah,” Pavane said distantly. “Yeah, we can keep going.”

Sairsel noticed, but said nothing. He could feel something simmering from within Pavane, something quiet and more vulnerable than he liked to admit; Sairsel knew there was no point in reaching for it before it came to the surface. Once he’d cleaned off his plate, he put his hand on Pavane’s shoulder again.

“You still have a room here?”

“I do.”

Sairsel nodded and pushed himself up off the bench with a weary groan, then leaned down close to his ear. “I’m going to rest up for an hour, then I’ll stay in bed a bit longer. Join me whenever you'd like.”

“I could use a nap, too. Long night.”

Pavane followed Sairsel out of the inn's common room, and when they were both within the relative intimacy of the staircase, Sairsel reached back blindly and found his hand.

They were less than an hour gone from Blackhart when Pavane stopped in the middle of the road, walked off the path with a few curt words about wanting a moment’s rest, and stood staring at the trees with his arms crossed over his chest until Sairsel came to stand near him. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet since they had left, which made sense—Sairsel had seen how dulled those waking nightmares made him, the toll it took on both his body and mind. But this time, there was something heavy about the weariness that he hadn’t known in Pavane yet.

“Why are you here, Sairsel?” he asked at last.

“Why am I here?” Sairsel repeated, frowning. “Is your memory playing tricks? You’re the one who sent for me, saying we should meet up again.”

“I know what I did. Why did you come?”

Sairsel found himself at a loss for words—not because he had no answer, but because he did not know how to speak the one that came to him out loud. It could have been simple, no more than four words, but they stayed caught in his throat; somehow, telling him he missed him seemed like words in a foreign language he’d never learned to speak.

“Because you asked,” he said after a moment.

Pavane shook his head, dark and stormy. It was not an answer he could accept. “So much for your freedom. You’d think that after what happened you’d have the sense to get away and stay away and not come back just because I whistled for you like a pet.”

“Are you trying to insult me, or are you just that much of a prick?” Sairsel asked, taking a step back. He exhaled hard through his nose and shook his head, too, looking past Pavane at the line of the horizon. “No. That’s not it. You sent that message thinking I wouldn’t be coming back, did you? And I proved you wrong.”

“It’s not about me being right.”

“No. It’s about driving me away.”

Sairsel didn’t know why he was angry, but he could feel it rising from within him, burning in his lungs and driving his words out of him. His voice and tongue were sharp and quick in ways he hardly knew.

However Pavane felt, he wore it with a bitter smile. “You could barely look at me after it happened.”

“Yeah, because it was fucking weird, Pavane! If I’d had a mirror, I wouldn’t have wanted to look at myself, either,” Sairsel said, raising both arms before dropping them by his sides. He took a step forward again, closer to Pavane, who stayed rooted to the ground but seemed to want to move away. “I stayed behind because I needed to think about all of it, aye, but it gave me a clear head. I thought about you. About us. And I came back because I wanted to.”

Pavane shook his head quietly and wouldn’t meet his gaze. Say something, Sairsel thought desperately, say fucking anything so that I know it isn’t just me. But he said nothing. Sairsel let out a sharp exhale, frustration pushing at the words that wouldn’t come. If he was already lost, then what was the point of holding back?

“I came back because I care about you, but you just can’t fathom that, can you? Because everything is temporary or disposable to you, isn’t it? I was just an entertaining fuck, some exotic wild thing to warm your bed because it’s different to have someone who doesn’t worship the ground you walk on.” Sairsel shook his head again, running a hand over the lower half of his face as he put a hand on his hip and angled his body away. “Gods, I’m a fucking fool.”

It was strange, to know a shame of this sort. Sairsel had let himself be ashamed of much in his life, but never this, never men; and it wasn't Pavane being a man that made him so. It was that he'd lost his grip on himself so thoroughly that Pavane could hurt him.

When Pavane made to speak, a gust of wind rose, as though to wrap itself around Sairsel protectively, like the shadows that made Pavane strong but threatened to swallow him whole. So he waited, let it quiet down to a rustle in the trees, and when he did speak his voice was small and quiet.

“If you’re a fool,” he said gently, moving towards Sairsel the same way he spoke, “then so am I, and an utter arse to boot.”

Sairsel glanced over his shoulder at him, all too aware of how strange it was to see and hear him so restrained, so diminished. Pavane touched his shoulder and waited until he had turned around to face him again, the other hand hovering near his jaw, before cupping his face and leaning in to kiss him. When Sairsel didn’t kiss back, he began to pull away; Sairsel grabbed a fistful of his collar and pulled him back in. They kissed softly, gently, and the breeze fluttered in the leaves around them with the same sort of unhurried reverence.

“What does that mean?” Sairsel asked against his lips.

“What?”

It was hard to stay away from Pavane; Sairsel kissed him again. “I’m going to need you to clarify that. If I have to worry about what you meant, where we stand, I’ll—”

“I meant that I don’t want you to be temporary or disposable in my life,” Pavane said honestly. “But I should be keeping you away, and it makes me be a prick that I can’t bring myself to.”

Sairsel managed to laugh; against the heaviness that lingered inside him, there was something that fluttered upwards, something he couldn’t quiet. “Why try? You said it yourself: I’m a wild thing. I’m going to do as I damn well please.”

“Of course,” Pavane said, finding himself smiling as well. “What a fool was I to think I had a say in whether or not to keep you around.”

“I think you’re going to be stuck with me awhile.” Sairsel gave Pavane’s chest a small shove and kissed him once more, smiling against his lips when he kept him close and lengthened it. “We’re in this together, Viper.”

For the first time, he had a purpose that wasn’t running away or keeping himself away. It felt like the ground was falling away from under his feet, but he was not falling with it. It felt the way he did when his body took the shape of a bird and he beat his wings and soared up into the sky, and instinct alone guided him north.

#mawd does a write #sairsel bloggin #pavane bloggin #mawd tries to dm

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danlands-moved-blog · 7 years ago

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92 questions

i was tagged by my fave hoe @sleepyphil (ily)

(questions under the cut)

THE LAST  1. Drink: water  2. Phone Call: @sleepyphil  3. Text Message: “ily hoe" (wow i’m a real catch)  4. Song You Listened To: riptide by vance joy  5. Time You Cried: i don’t even remember tbh but i’m sure it wasn’t long ago bc my emotions are fucked  HAVE YOU EVER  6. Dated Someone Twice: um i haven’t even dated someone once. next.  7. Been Cheated On: no  8. Kissed Someone And Regretted It: no  9. Lost Someone Special: yeah  10. Been Depressed: yes  11. Gotten Drunk and Thrown Up: not yet  LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS  12. purple  13. pastel pink  14. black (?)  IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU  15. Made New Friends: yes somehow people like me wtf  16. Fallen Out of Love: uhhh not yet but idek if its love so..  17. Laughed Until You Cried: who hasn’t honestly  18. Found Out Someone Was Talking About You: too many times wtf  19. Met Someone Who Changed You: yeah but i’d like to believe it was in a good way  20. Found Out Who Your True Friends Are: yeah which is literally why i have a grand total of like 2 friends  21. Kissed Someone On Your Facebook: whomst is she

22. How Many of Your Facebook Friends Do You Know in Real Life: i guess more than half? (i haven’t been on there in forever uhhh)  23. Do You Have Any Pets: i have a cat who i love and hate  24. Do You Want To Change Your Name: sometimes  25. What Did You Do For Your Last Birthday: i got a new haircut and new clothes  26. What Time Did You Wake Up: 12 pm oops  27. What Were You Doing at Midnight Last Night: what do you think  28. Name Something You Cannot Wait For: not hating myself  29. When Was The Last Time You Saw Your Mother: can’t answer  30. What is One Thing You Wish You Could Change About Your Life: my anxiety  31. What Are You Listening To Right Now: lorde, the front bottoms, hozier, etc.  32. Have You Ever Talked To a Person Named Tom: this is specific and no  33. Something That Is Getting On Your Nerves: my dad  34. Most Visited Website: tumblr probably  35. Elementary: a nicer time  36. High School: hell  37. College/University: honestly who knows man  38. Hair Color: dark brown with blonde ish highlights  39. Long Hair or Short Hair: long hair (but i’m getting my hair cut shorter at the end of summer)  40. Do You Have A Crush On Someone: unfortunately  41. What Do You Like About Yourself: ooooh that’s tough uhhhh,, my eyes i guess ?  42. Piercings: no im a wimp  43. Blood Type: idk  44. Nickname: meggo, meg, hoe, cutie, bebe, megan montana, meme mom, mum, (i have so many nicknames save me)  45. Relationship Status: single (probably forever rip)  46. Zodiac Sign: leo  47. Pronouns: she/her  48. Favorite TV Show: friends  49. Tattoos: don’t have any but i hope i can man up one day and get one  50. Right or Left Hand: right hand  FIRST  51. Surgery: none  52. Piercing: none  54. Sport: i don’t sport  55. Vacation: disney world  56. Pair of Trainers: idek?? kindergarten??  AT THE MOMENT I’M  57. Eating: nothing but i just ate some hershey’s drops  58. Drinking: water  59. About To: post this and waste my life away on tumblr  60. Listening To: nothing  61. Waiting For: my anxiety to go away  62. Want: someone i can’t have  63. Get Married: maybe one day  64. Career: probably a psychiatrist  YOUR TYPE  65. Hugs or Kisses: kisses  66. Lips or Eyes: lips  67. Shorter or Taller: tall  68. Older or Younger: preferably older or my age or close to my age at least  70. Nice Arms or Nice stomach: uhh nice stomach maybe  71. Sensitive or Loud: sensitive

 72. Hook Up or Relationship: relationship im too shy for a hook up  73. Troublemaker or Hesitant: hesitant HAVE YOU EVER  74. Kissed a Stranger: not yet  75. Drank Hard Liquor: nope  76. Lost Glasses/Contact Lenses: yep  77. Turned Someone Down: yes  78. Sex on First Date: how does one get a date  79. Broken Someone’s Heart: i don’t think i have the ability to but i hope i haven’t  80. Had Your Heart Broken: yeah  81. Been Arrested: no but a police officer pulled up on my friend and i playing pokémon go it was wild  82. Cried When Someone Died: ya  83. Fallen For a Friend: m o o d  DO YOU BELIEVE IN…  84. Yourself: nope  85. Miracles: nah  86. Love at First Sight: no  87. Santa Claus: no  88. Kiss on First Date: sure  89. Angels: no  OTHER…  90. Current Best Friend’s Name: audrey and julie  91. Eye Color: green with hints of blue  92. Favorite Movie: i don’t really know uhhh probably some horror movie (maybe the conjuring?)

i’m too anxious to directly tag anyone so i’ll just tag everyone who sees this and wants to do it!!

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