#evelyn strum

[firelance2361]

Marvel Studios’ The Superior Spider-Man

This has been a crazy idea in my head for a while.

Basically it was what I initially thought we would get in No Way Home when Doc Ock was returning, and then after watching Moon Knight and reading the recent End of Spider-Verse comic storyline, it kept bugging at so I decided to do this piece.

Basically it would be if Doc Ock had been transported to the MCU after Spider-Man 2.

[In this headcanon, Doc Ock’s normal body and mind was so broken after the multiversal travel, that he was on the edge of committing suicide until he was stopped by the Spider-Goddess, Neith.

In this moment, Neith offered Otto the chance to live if he would protect and aid this world’s Spider-Man. Otto agrees, and his mind is transferred from his own into the mind of a young Peter Parker, now acting as a guardian angel of sorts, but remaining hidden to Peter all these years.

Flash forward to this timeline’s Far From Home aftermath, Peter starts to have moments of sleep deprivation and memory loss, which is affecting his relationships with Aunt May, MJ, and Ned.

Eventually, after a close encounter with the main villain of this story, Peter discovers Otto’s existence in his mind and the two form an unlikely alliance along with Peter’s friends and Otto’s apprentice: Peter’s old classmate Cindy Moon, who is revealed to also have Spider-Powers.

The unlikely band of heroes, along with Neith, must then prevent the villain Cadaverous - a former Spider-Totem who went rogue and gained the powers of Chaos Magic thanks to a relic called the Siege Perilous - from unleashing the Wasp Goddess, Shathra to “purify” the multiverse of its poison: the Spider Totems.

I know it’s a silly headcanon idea, and that it’s basically just Moon Knight with Marc/Steven/Jake swapped out for Peter/Otto/Ben, but I figured I’d get it out there just for those who feel disappointed we never got to see the Superior Spider-Man storyline adapted on screen.

Plus, looking at it this way, not only would it have been a interesting take on the MCU’s Spider-Man 3, but it also would be a good way to merge the comic origins of certain characters (Cindy Moon, Ben Reilly, Neith, & Shathra) into the main Superior Spider-Man storyline to give it more character and story depth.

But again this is just a headcanon, so don’t expect their gonna adapt it anytime soon.

And before I forget, here’s the character roster for this headcanon. (Left to Right)

Otto Octavius/Doctor Octopus

Ned Leeds/Archimage

Cindy Moon/Silk

Michelle Jones Watson/Iron Spider

Peter Parker/Spider-Man

Otto Octavius/Superior Spider-Man

Ben Reilly/Scarlet Spider

Neith

Evelyn Strum/Madame Swarm

Oliver Octavius/Cadverous

Shathra

Let me know what you guys think! Hope you like it!

[whydowebothertostay]

((tag dump 2!!))

[tylermileslockett]

Hey folks, this image of Apollo was done for a private commission. Xoxo

The following text is reposted from my previous Apollo Olympians image.

“Phoebus, of you even the swan sings with clear voice to the beating of his wings, as he alights upon the bank by the eddying river Peneus; and of you the sweet-tongued minstrel, holding his high-pitched lyre, always sings both first and last…And so hail to you, lord! I seek your favor with my song.”  (-Homeric Hymn, translated by H.G. Evelyn white)

APOLLO (uh-PAH-low), God of prophecy, oracles, music, art, protector of and disease of boys and men, and archery. Just as his twin sister Artemis is patron to women and girls, Apollo is both protector, and killer from disease of boys and men. In my Illustration the god holds his bow and arrows behind, while he strums the lyre gifted to him by trickster Hermes. Near the sun flies his ally and divine messenger, a white raven. The column on the right is capped with a cow, representing his sacred animal as a god of herds. The serpent Python sits dead at his feet, killed by Apollo’s arrow so that the god could take over the Delphi temple location. The temple complex sits beneath the god, while on the far right, the Pythia (Apollo’s oracle priestess) sits upon a tripod, breathing the hallucinatory gasses seeping up from the earth to get her prophecies which she bestows upon visitors.

The laurel tree has associations with Apollo because the god, chasing a Naiad (water nymph) named Daphne call out to Gaia (mother earth) for help, who transformed the nymph into a laurel tree, which the god adopted as his sacred tree. In book 1 of the Iliad, Apollo supports the Trojans by raining down a plague on the Greeks, and later helping Paris to kill Achilles. Apollo’s cruelty is shown in Ovid’s mythical lyre contest with the inventor of the flute; a satyr named Marsyas. When Apollo suggested they play their instruments upside down, the satyr lost, and was flayed (skinned) alive as punishment for his hubris. 

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined------------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6

Aaron Hotchner x Original Character x Spencer Reid

in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest youngest member

Chapter Five:

Evelyn and Genevieve stepped into the haven of nostalgia for them. The walls, adorned with vintage photographs and local memorabilia, were faded brick and wood. Laughter bubbled up from tables around them, mingling with the soft strum of a guitar somewhere in the background. The air was rich with the scent of garlic and oregano, and the warm glow of string lights above cast a soft inviting glow overhead as she slipped into the warmth of the dimly lit corner booth.

Genevieve's eyes, sharp and observant, had the kind of clarity that came from her experience on the force, yet they sparkled with the same intensity that had driven her to become a cop in the first place. Her skin had a sun-kissed glow, a testament to countless hours under the Californian sun, but it was offset by a certain weariness that spoke of sleepless nights and too much coffee.

"So, tell me everything, Evie," she coaxed, leaning in. "How's life treating you at the BAU?"

Evelyn's smile was a burst of sunshine, lighting up her features with an infectious joy. She fiddled absentmindedly with her spoon. "It's been intense, but amazing," she replied. "Though, I must admit, it's refreshing not to be around people who can deduce your life story based on your coffee order, let alone how you're feeling before you've even fully woken up."

Genevieve laughed, her eyebrow arching in playful accusation. "Tell me about it, you've been doing it to me since we were twelve," she said, her eyes narrowing with mock severity. "But anyway, tell me about these infamous coworkers. Anyone... interesting?"

Evelyn's enthusiasm bubbled over as she began to gush about her colleagues. "Oh, they're incredible! JJ--she's got this uncanny ability to connect with victims, and Penelope, our tech goddess, can unravel anyone's dirty secrets with a click of a button. Morgan--he's like the best protective older brother, Rossi--he's like a walking encyclopedia of criminal behavior. And Prentiss, she can read a room like no other, she's been through a lot, but it only makes her stronger."

She paused, taking a sip of her wine, her cheeks flushing slightly. "And then there's Hotch. He's our unit chief, you know? So poised, so... commanding. And Reid," she sighed dreamily, "he's just a genius. His mind works like no one else, and he's got this awkward charm that's just..."

Genevieve smirked, leaning in, accusation on her tongue. "Sounds like someone's got a bit of a crush."

Evelyn's eyes widened, and she nearly choked on her wine. "What? No, I mean--they're just my coworkers, well, and my boss."

"Uh-huh," Genvieve teased, winking. "Just coworkers. Got it."

The laughter was cut short by the shrill ring of Evelyn's phone. She fished it out of her purse, the screen flashing Hotch. Her heart skipped a beat as she answered, "Gideon here."

"Evelyn, wheels up in 20. Kidnapping case in Rapid City, South Dakota. Two children, siblings, taken from their backyard. Local PD found an abandoned car with possible evidence. I need you here, ASAP." Hotch's voice retained a steady composure, yet there was an undercurrent of urgency that subtly underscored each word, compelling immediate attention.

A shadow of disappointment passed over Evelyn's features as she offered Genvieve a wordless apology. "Understood, on my way, sir."

She stood up, throwing on her purse with practiced haste. "Sorry, Gen, duty calls. Raincheck?"

"Go. Those kids need you," Genevieve said, her tone laced with mixture of pride and concern.

With a smile that conveyed her thanks, Evelyn hastened to the exit. As she swung the door open, she couldn't resist yelling over her shoulder, "Just coworkers!"

--

Evelyn burst through the doors of the conference room. The sharp click of her heels punctuated her every step, commanding the room's attention. She glided past the long table, her dress--a cascade of midnight blue that clung to her like a second skin--captured the soft light, giving her an ethereal glow. Her hair cascaded down in a tumble of soft girls that gently brushed her shoulders, giving her an air of relaxed grace. As she moved a hint of vanilla trailed behind her, a delicate perfume that lingered in the air, turning heads as she passed.

"Hi, everyone, sorry I'm late," she chirped, her go bag landing with a decisive thud. "You would not believe the traffic, and then I--,"

"Whoa, mama, someone's bringing the heat tonight!" Garcia interrupted, her eyes twinkled with delight, a grin spreading across her face as she took in Evelyn's appearance.

Morgan's laughter was a low rumble, his posture relaxed into the chair, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Damn straight. What's the occasion, doll face?" he teased.

Evelyn flashed a playful grin, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Oh, you know, just saving the world in high heels and haute couture," she joked. "But no, I was out with a friend, didn't have time to change. I'll do that on the plane."

Hotch's penetrating stare, typically reserved for dissecting the minds of unsubs, now settled on Evelyn with an unspoken intensity. His deep brown eyes, usually so adept at observation, seemed to capture every nuance--the graceful sway of her hips, the faint scent of her perfume. It was a gaze that missed no detail, yet the depth of his focus was unusual, a quiet deviation from his usual professional detachment.

Spencer, usually lost in thought, his mind a labyrinth of facts and theories. But now, his attention was undeniably on Evelyn. His eyes held an analytical sharpness to them, but this time they held a different kind of curiosity, one that lingered on the ample flesh of her chest.

Evelyn, caught in the crossfire of their stares, felt a blush ignite her freckled cheeks.

JJ's curiosity piqued, and she leaned forward, her lips curving into a sly smile. "Oh, a friend?" Her voice was light, but the twinkle in her eye suggested she was fishing for a story colorful than just a casual catch-up.

Hotch's brows lifted almost imperceptibly. For a fleeting moment, a shadow of something unfamiliar flickered across his features--a tightness around his eyes, a slight downturn of his mouth. It was a sensation he couldn't place, an odd twinge that gnawed at this composure. He quickly schooled his expression back into neutrality, but the momentary lapse did not go unnoticed.

Spencer, on the other hand, was less adept at masking his reaction. His eyes, usually so full of thought, now reflected a clear disturbance, as if the mere suggestion of Evelyn being on a date had disrupted the very logic he held dear. His gaze lingered on her just a beat too long.

Evelyn's laughter was light, a clear note that brushed away any hint of scandal. "No, an actual friend. She's in from LA," she clarified, her tone breezy and unconcerned, dispelling the playful suspicions with a wave of her hand.

The room settled back into routine as JJ's gaze landed on Hotch, who appeared adrift in thought. "Hotch?" she called out, her voice a gentle tether pulling him back to the present.

Hotch cleared his throat, a stark interruption to the silence, a clear sign he was wrenching himself from the distraction. "Sorry, right," he stammered, a falter in his usually unwavering voice. His eyes, which had been tracing the contours of Evelyn's form, snapped back to the case file with a newfound intensity. "Let's get started..."

--

Evelyn stepped out of the bathroom, hastily adjusting her blouse. In her rush, she didn't notice Spencer standing right outside the door. With a sudden thud, their bodies met in an awkward tangle. Evelyn's hands flew up in surprise, grazing Spencer's chest as she steadied herself.

"Oh! Sorry, Spence," she exclaimed with a bright smile.

Spencer, equally taken aback, managed a flustered smile. "You're fine," he assured her, his voice a notch higher than usual as he stepped into the bathroom, his gaze lingering just a moment longer on the disarray of her attire.

Evelyn, straightened up, smoothing her clothes once more before taking a deep breath and heading back to her step.

Evelyn took in the sight of her team, already gathered and poised for the briefing. With a subtle clearing of her throat, JJ commanded attention, her fingers deftly pressing the remote. A soft click echoed in the hushed room as the screen flickered to life.

"Alright, team, we have a situation in Rapid City. Two children, siblings aged 7 and 9, were taken from their backyard near Sheridan Lake Road. The unsub left a clown mask at the scene. Local PD found an abandoned car three blocks away with candy wrappers and a handwritten note saying, 'Let's play a game'. We need to establish a profile and find these kids before the unsub escalates."

Hotch's voice was firm, his orders clear as the team prepared for landing, Reid emerging from the bathroom as he spoke. "Reid, Gideon, once we're on the ground, I want you two to head to the last known location of the children. Look for anything the local PD might have missed. After that, go to the local police station and assist them with victimology."

Hotch's phone rings. He answers with a curt. "Hotchner," and listens intently. The team watches him, reading the shift in expression as he receives the update from the local PD.

He ends the call. "The local PD has a lead. A performer known for his clown acts at children's parties was just taken into custody. They found evidence linking him to the abduction site. So change of plans. Reid, Evelyn, you're with me. We're going to interrogate the suspect. The rest of you, coordinate with the local teams. We need to cover all his known locations and find those kids."

--

The BAU's SUV glides to a stop in front of a local police station, a low building that seems to buzz with the day's frenetic energy. Hotch, with his characteristic stride, escorts Evelyn and Reid through the maze of bustling officers and ringing phones to a briefing room. The room is a testament to the case at hand; walls plastered with maps, timelines, and the faces of the missing children staring back at them. Hotch distributes the case files--thick filled with witness statements and background checks.

"Here's everything we have on the suspect," Hotch begins, "Known as 'Pogo the Clown' at parties, real name Jeffery Willis. No prior record of violence, but plenty of complaints about his behavior around kids."

Evelyn flips through the pages, absorbing the details. Hotch pivots towards her, his gaze steady and assessing, "Evelyn, you're new, but you've got a fresh perspective. That's valuable. Reid will take the lead, but I want you to watch the suspect. Look for inconsistencies in his story, any sign of deception."

Reid nods, his eyes already scanning the suspect's history. "We'll start with a cognitive interview, try to unlock any repressed memories or details he's not consciously aware of. It's a technique we use to get past the lies."

Hotch explains further. "Willis, he's got an ego, sees himself as a performer, above others. He's likely to underestimate both of you."

"Reid, he'll see you as harmless, someone he can easily outmaneuver. And Evelyn, he might dismiss your authority due to his preconceptions. But he's wrong, and that gives us leverage. Use his biases against him. Make him feel superior; it'll make him talk. He'll want to boast, to prove he's the smartest in the room. That's when he'll slip up."

Reid moves with a purposeful stride, his silhouette cutting through the dimly lit corridor towards the interrogation room. The gears in his mind turn swiftly, already sifting through the myriad of psychological strategies that might give him an edge. Evelyn started to trail behind him, her footsteps a soft echo to his confident march.

Hotch emerges before her, a figure of quiet authority. He positions himself before Evelyn, an unspoken barrier, his expression etched with a gentle concern that belies his firm stance. "Evelyn," he begins, his voice a low thrum, "this isn't going to be an easy interrogation. Willis is a performer; he thrives on attention and control. I need to know you're ready for this."

"I've trained for this. I've got this, Hotch," she lifts her chin, her gaze ascending to meet his.

Hotch regards her intently, his scrutiny thorough as if he could peel back the layers of her resolve. Yet, he finds no fissure of doubt. He grants her a slow, affirming nod. "Alright," he concedes, his voice a low rumble. "Remember, he's going to try and get under your skin, to throw you off balance." His proximity is close, almost invasive, but she didn't feel that way. "Stay focused and use his arrogance to your advantage."

Evelyn's head tilts up a fraction more, her eyes never leaving his. She nods. "I will."

Hotch's approval comes not just in a nod but in the subtle relaxation of his posture, a silent concession of her capability. He steps aside. As she passes, the air seems to hum with the vanishing of his body heat.

The interrogation room is stark, illuminated only by the unforgiving glow of overhead lights that cast long, dramatic shadows across the room. Jeffrey Willis is a disconcerting figure at the metal table, his clown makeup running in haphazard streaks, giving him a grotesque appearance. His eyes dart about, betraying a nervous energy as his leg trembles rhythmically beneath the table.

Reid steps into the room with an air of composed assurance, his intellect a sharpened blade ready to dissect the situation. Evelyn follows, her silhouette rigid against the doorway, her expression meticulously neutral. They take their seats, Reid assuming the lead with a gaze that never wavers from Willis.

"Jeffery, I'm Special Agent Reid, and this is Special Agent Gideon," Reid begins, his voice steady, "We're with the FBI, the behavioral analysis unit. We're here to talk about the children."

Willis' response is a smirk, his eyes alight with a disturbing spark of amusement. "Ah, the children," he drawls, a perverse delight curling the edges of his words. "They do so enjoy their games, don't they? High stakes make it all the more thrilling." His gaze shifts to Evelyn, taunting. "Isn't that right, sweetie? Or do they not trust you to speak?"

Evelyn's silence is her armor, her stillness a counter to his provocation. Beside her, Reid's jaw sets, a subtle clench that speaks volumes of his restraint. "Let's keep the focus where it belongs, Jeffery," he directs firmly.

"You ever been to the carnival? I used to love it. The toys, the sound of the water," Willis mused, leaning back as if the metal chair could transport him.

His chuckle breaks the reverie. "My mother, she loved games too," he continues, the smirk returning as he locks eyes with Evelyn. "The best ones, until she disappeared when I was sixteen." His gaze is probing, challenging. "But you, with a face like yours, life must've been easy, huh? Everything handed to you on a silver platter."

Evelyn's reaction is subtle, a slight narrowing of the eyes that betrays a flicker of emotion. Yet, she holds her silence, allowing Reid to handle the waters of Willis' provocations.

Willis edges closer, the space between them charged with his malice. "Or perhaps," he hisses, the words laced with spite, "mommy get sick of the guys giving you more attention than her?"

It's a low blow, one that slices through the air and lands precisely where he intended. Evelyn's facade falters, a minute shift, but it's there. "My mother is irrelevant to this," she retorts, her tone sharper, icier than she means for it to be.

From his vantage point behind the one-way mirror, Hotch catches the fleeting lapse. With a swift stride, he's in the room, his presence commanding. "Agent Gideon, a word," he commands, his voice leaving now room for argument.

Evelyn rises, her gaze lingering on Willis with a silent challenge before she pivots, her heels clicking a sharp retreat. She steps out, the chill of the corridor seeping into her bones, but it's the weight of Willis's words and her own slip that sends a shiver down her spine.

"Hotch, I--" she starts, her voice barely above a whisper, but Hotch is already there, his presence a wall of contained frustration.

"Agent," he interjects, his tone clipped, the word a reprimand in itself. "What did I say about maintaining control?" His proximity is unsettling, the heat of his frustration palpable, yet it's the closeness that somehow steadies her, sends a shiver down her spine, causing her thighs to clench together.

"I'm aware, and I apologize. It won't happen again," Evelyn responds, her words tumbling out in haste, her apology laced with urgency as she seeks to convey the clue Willis unwittingly dropped. "But I--"

Hotch is relentless, his words slicing through her attempts. "We can't afford distractions. There are two children out there; focus is imperative--"

"But the carnival," Evelyn cut in, her voice firm despite the brief hesitation, aware she's overstepping driven by instinct. "I'm sorry, but he talked about a carnival his mother would take him to. Have there been any carnivals in town lately."

For a moment, Hotch's stern facade falters, his eyes softening, betraying a flicker of curiosity. "Check with Garcia," he concedes, his voice still firm but the edge blunted.

--

Garcia's sanctuary of screens cast a soft glow in the dim room, her fingers a blur as they dance across the keyboard. "Nothing," she breathes out, the word laced with a tinge of defeat. "No carnivals, fairs, or anything similar within a 50-mile radius."

Reid's voice filters through the phone, tinged with concern as he leans in close over Evelyn's shoulder, almost whispering. "Did he grow up here? Maybe there's a connection to his past."

A pause, then Garcia's voice, distant yet clear. "No, grew up in a small town in Ohio--Millersport, near Buckeye Lake."

Reid's mind races. "Carnivals? Anything of the sort there?" he presses, hopeful.

The clacking of keys halts, a momentary silence before Garcia's voice returns, tinged with resignation. "It's a dead end. No recent events, nothing."

Evelyn chimes in. "He mentioned the sound of water, didn't he? It was deliberate, specific. Maybe it's less about an actual carnival and more about a place that felt like one to him."

A collective pause blankets the team. Garcia resumed her search. "Got something," she announces, a triumphant lilt to her voice. "An old cotton mill, nestled rise beside--get this--a carnival supply shop. It's about ten minutes from you guys."

"And here's the icing on the cake," Garcia continues, "his mother, Reyna Willis, was employed there. I'm sending you guys the address now."

--

The BAU team arrives at the desolate cotton mill, its dilapidated structure casting an ominous shadow in the fading light. Evelyn's heart pounds against her ribs, fear etched on her face. They move cautiously, guns drawn, the silence punctuated only by the soft crunch.

"Stay sharp." Hotch's command is a low murmur.

Evelyn nods at Hotch's words, paired with Morgan, as they make their way through the creaking corridors. The air is thick with dust. Room by room, they clear the mill, the tension mounting with each passing second.

Then, a soft whimper breaks the silence. Evelyn's head snaps towards the sound, her training taking over. She signals Morgan and approaches the door. With a gentle push, it swings open, revealing a small, frightened girl, nestled in the shadows.

Evelyn holsters her weapon, her stance softening as she kneels to the child's level. "Hey, it's okay, you're safe now," she whispers, her voice a soothing balm as the child curls into her side, her sobs muffled against Evelyn's shoulder, "you've been so brave."

"In here!" Morgan's call, firm and clear, cuts through the hush.

Hotch and Reid rush in, relief flooding their faces as they take in the scene. Meanwhile the sound of a relieved shout echoes through the mill. "We've got him! The boy's here!" Prentiss calls out from another room.

--

As the team wraps up the case, Hotch finds himself inadvertently watching Evelyn. She's a picture of compassion, the child in her arms so natural. There's something about this scene that stirs a warmth within him, an unfamiliar flutter that he can't quite place but pushes to the back of his mind.

He's always known she'd be good at this job, but this is different. It's hard to teach that. The way her eyes soften, the gentle tilt of her head as she whispers reassurances. It's a side of her he hasn't seen yet, one that didn't fit into the neat compartments of his professional demeanor.

Hotch feels a pull, an inexplicable draw to the tenderness she exudes. It's disconcerting, this reaction--like a chord struck deep within him. He watches her, the soft glow of the setting sun casting a halo around her silhouette.

He clears his throat, stepping closer, the gravel beneath his feet a subtle announcement of his approach. "We're about to head out," he says, his voice steady and low, not wanting to disturb the girl, her eyes fluttering in sleep.

Evelyn looks up, her eyes reflecting the last rays of the day. "I'll stay with until her parents arrive, if that's okay," she responds, her voice a low whisper. "She just fell asleep; I don't want to wake her."

Hotch nods, understanding her decision without a word. "We'll see you back at the jet, then," he says.

Evelyn smiles. "I'll be there," she assures him, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary before returning to the child in her arms.

--

The cabin lights flicker, a soft glow against the encroaching darkness outside. Evelyn rises from her seat, navigating the narrow aisle with a practiced ease. Evelyn is suddenly caught off guard by an unexpected jolt of turbulence. She lurches forward, her balance betraying her, and without warning she finds herself tumbling into Reid's lap. Her ass landed on his crotch as her lips fell open in surprise. He let out a soft groan, his hands instinctively reaching out to stabilize her. The rest of the team, deep in slumber, remained oblivious to the sudden closeness between the two.

"Whoa, are you okay?" Reid asked, his voice rising in pitch as his fingers dug into her hips.

Evelyn's breath hitches, her heart racing from the fall, the warmth of his hands, and the feeling of his crotch pressed firmly against her backside. She let out a giggle in an attempt to shake the feeling. "Gosh, sorry, Reid," she stammered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

For a moment, they are both still, the silence enveloping them, their eyes locked in a gaze that speaks volumes more than the words could. Then, as quickly as the moment came, it passed. Evelyn carefully extricates herself from his lap, her movements hurried, eager to put some distance between them.

next

taglist: @nonamevenus @aceofspades190

[gaiahypothesims]

327

Evelyn- There's my sweet baby! How are you? Were you a good girl? Did you stay with Aunty Perry the other night? How was she?

Jonah- She was good. Didn't wake up once.

Evelyn- Well its good to know she's better for everyone else than she is for me. Isn't is sweet girl?

Verity- Dadada Da da da

Evelyn- AND say Dada... of course. What about Ma ma? MA MA.

Verity- Da da.

Evelyn- Well that's a kick in the groin. What are you up to today?

Jonah- I'm going to check on the prisoner later. Otherwise there's just that paperwork you sent over.

Evelyn- Is he making any progress?

Jonah- I dunno. It all sounds the same to me. Lalala, nanana, strum strum. I'm not really familiar with the style of music he plays.

Evelyn- <snorts> Well I hope its better than that. I'd like to get rid of him as soon as possible. I'm sorry he's been a pain.

Jonah- No, its alright. Its probably karma or whatever Ashley calls it.

Evelyn- Yikes... quoting Ashley? You sure you're okay?

[pricelessemotion]

Lectori Salutem | E.M.

Summary: [5.1k] you and eddie shoot pool and spill secrets.

Pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!music journalist! reader

Warnings: drinking, language

Notes: things are finally picking up! next chapter will include some 18+ content so you must have your age in your bio for the taglist!

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Eddie clambers into the passenger seat of your car. Upon leaving the diner, you managed to convince him to let you drive to your next destination, citing a general need to live. 

The drive back to Eddie’s was considerably less nerve-wracking. This go around, he decided to obey the speed limit and not split lanes like a maniac. Not only did he give you peace of mind but he also spared the delicious french toast that you ate from making a reappearance. 

Turning the key, the car starts with a light rumble. The sound of electric guitars and heavy drums shatters the silence between the two of you. 

Fuck.

You still had the Corroded Coffin tape in your stereo. 

Eddie is turned away from you, grabbing the seatbelt. At the sound of his own voice being played back to him, he slowly turns around to look at you. The grin on his face would put the Cheshire cat to shame. 

“I didn’t know you were a fan, sweetheart.” The nickname is saccharine coming out of his mouth. 

“I–” You sputter, trying to come up with a good defense. “I’m thorough in my research.”

Eddie is obviously amused at the fact that he’s caught you red-handed. His seatbelt is already buckled, but it’s stretched thin as he leans across the center console. He smells like syrup and cigarettes. For a second, you consider turning the stereo off completely. 

“Should I be scared? Do you have a shrine to me in your room? Do you have my face tattooed on your ass?” With each question his voice gets louder and louder, filling the tiny space with his velvety timbre. 

Though your face is hot with embarrassment, you’re secretly relieved. Any semblance of tension from bringing up Evelyn at the diner has dissipated. It’s been shredded with every strum of a guitar. You find it’s easier to be around Eddie this way. It’s easier to give in to his playfulness, rather than try to maintain the facade of professionalism. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You say, casting him a sideways glance. 

Eddie, for the most part, remains stoic. But you catch the twitch of his mouth and see the tell-tale shade of pink flood his cheeks. If anything should be indicative of the fact that you’ve stunned him, it’s that he’s stopped talking for the first time since you met him. Another thing you’ve learned about Eddie Munson: He never shuts up. 

You release the parking brake and peel off into the streets. If Eddie is at all bothered by listening to his own music, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he takes the opportunity to quietly sing along, only stopping to pepper in commentary about the track or to give you directions. The richness of his voice is so distracting that you haven’t even noticed that you have no idea where he’s taking you.

Trying to find street parking in East Hollywood is a fruitless endeavor. You almost wish you had taken up Eddie’s offer to ride his bike. Eddie directs you around the backside of a building where a sign indicates that it’s a private parking lot, not meant for public use. He assures you that you won’t get towed.

The Blue Line is a bar tucked in between a Thai restaurant and a dry cleaners. Walking up to the doors, you’re hit with the clashing scents of peanut sauce and fresh linen.  

There are very few people inside, given that it’s a bar and it’s barely even five o’clock yet. The soles of your shoes stick to the floor, making a quiet but awful velcro-like sound with every step you take.

“Buckley!” Eddie’s voice booms as you enter the establishment, echoing off the concrete floors and exposed brick walls.

A tall, freckled girl springs up behind the counter. At the sound of her name, she grins, her dark lipstick contrasting pearly white teeth. 

“Munson!” She yells back. The few patrons that linger around various areas of the bar are evidently disturbed by the sudden change in volume, turning their heads and scowling. She doesn’t seem to care. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Just looking to shoot some pool in the best bar in L.A.” Buckley audibly snorts at the last part of his statement. “My tab still open?”

“Always.” She shakes her head and raises her brows at him as if to say, of course. She turns to look at you. “Who’s your friend?”

Your mouth opens, but the words die on your tongue. You and Eddie are not friends. At least, you’re not supposed to be. But you don’t know if you want to tell this woman, who Eddie is clearly close with, that you’re here on assignment to try to cherry-pick the best parts of him and turn them into something palatable. 

At your hesitation, Eddie swoops in and makes the introduction for you. He doesn’t mention the fact that you’re a journalist. Whether the omission is for your benefit or his, you’re not sure.

“Nice to meet you,” She throws the rag she was using to wipe down the counter over her shoulder and extends her hand. “I’m Robin.” 

Her handshake is firm, but her eyes are soft. The fine bottles of liquor behind her are backlit by an unseen light source, giving the illusion of stained glass. She quickly turns around and rummages through the minifridge and grabs two beers. 

“You know the rules, Munson, don’t get too rowdy and clean up when you’re done.” She says, popping the caps off of the beverages and setting them down on the counter.

“Me?” Eddie grasps his chest in faux incredulity, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Too rowdy? Never.” 

Robin sticks her tongue out at him in response right as she’s being flagged down by a customer at the far end of the bar. She salutes the both of you, flouncing away to refill the man’s old-fashioned. 

To your right, there’s something akin to a hall of fame. A collage of pictures of different celebrities that have visited the very room you’re standing in. You wonder if Eddie is up there, but you don’t dare to go see for yourself.

“Can you play?” He asks, walking towards the pool table. 

You make a noncommittal noise. You had played your fair share of games of pool, sure, but never in a setting quite like this. Never with someone like Eddie. Setting your bag down on one of the empty tables that lined the perimeter of the room, you pull out your tape recorder.

“You mind?” You ask, holding up the device in Eddie’s direction. 

Eddie grimaces and shrugs off his leather jacket, draping it over a bar stool at the opposite end of the table. The motion draws attention to the plethora of ink that litters both of his arms.

“Do we have to?” His face scrunches up as he asks the question, a slight whine in his tone. 

You almost feel inclined to say no, if only just to see the wrinkle that has formed between his brows disappear. Another thing you’ve learned about Eddie Munson: he is very hard to say no to. That’s how you ended up in this bar in the first place. 

It would be easy to forgo the tape recorder and pretend that the two of you are just friends hanging out. But if there’s one thing that you know, it’s that the human memory is fallible. You can't risk the quality of your article for the sake of his comfort. 

“It’s what I’m here for.”

Eddie bristles at your response but says nothing. He takes a square of blue chalk and thoughtfully rubs it on the end of his pool cue. The sunglasses he took off are tugging down at his v-neck, exposing sharp collarbones and even more ink. 

“I have a proposition for you.” Eddie declares. 

You raise an eyebrow. 

“For every ball you sink, you get to ask me a question about my life. For every ball I sink, I get to ask you about yours.”

You let out an incredulous laugh, thinking that he can’t possibly be serious. But he just stands there, staring at you as he sets the blue piece of chalk down at the edge of the table. 

“Final offer. Take it or leave it.” He throws both palms up in the air, pool cue tucked into his side. 

For the second time today, you take Eddie’s words as a challenge.

“You’re on.” 

Eddie takes his time setting up the game. While he’s leaning over the side of the table gathering the scattered spheres, you can’t help yourself from admiring his silhouette. The back of his shirt rides up, revealing a strip of skin that you cannot tear your eyes away from. 

Oh my god.

Eddie Munson has a tramp stamp. 

A chaotic collection of branches and thorns surrounds a Latin phrase: lectori salutem. You rack your brain, trying to remember the one semester of elective Latin that you took back in freshman year of college when Eddie suddenly turns around. You quickly look up to meet his eyes, but the smirk on his face reveals everything. 

For the second time today, Eddie has caught you staring. 

“Ladies first.” He says, grandly gesturing toward the table. 

You break the rack. A blur of colors bursts forth in every direction. Despite your best efforts, none of the balls make it into a pocket. Looking back at Eddie, you see he’s still got that smirk on his face. He leans over and effortlessly knocks a ball into a pocket. Stripes. 

“Where did you go to school?”

“NYU.” You reply, having been asked this question so many times that the response is practically automatic at this point.

Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Out-of-state tuition must’ve cost a pretty penny.”

“I had a scholarship.”

“Wow. Pretty and smart. You’re kind of the whole package, aren’t you?” The teasing lilt in his voice doesn’t take away from the sincerity in his words. 

The compliment flusters you, which you’re sure is the whole point of Eddie’s making it. 

“Only one question, remember? It’s still your turn.” 

Eddie sees right through your attempt to deflect. Graciously, he doesn’t point it out. He just leans down once again and lines up a shot. Stripes Twelve. Right lower pocket. 

“Why do you hate New York?”

The sureness with which he asks the question throws you for a loop. Whatever you had expected to come out of Eddie’s mouth, it definitely wasn’t that. 

“What makes you think I hate New York?”

“Tsk tsk. I’m asking the questions here.” Eddie scolds, but his voice is devoid of any real ire. He plants his hands on the table, leaning towards you. You can just barely see the faint outline of a gravestone on his right forearm. “You don’t hate it, but you don’t love it either.”

In the five minutes that have passed since he started questioning you, Eddie has managed to see right through you. You’re starting to wonder if you’re actually that transparent or if he is just that good at reading people.

“I don’t know. My dad is from there. Whenever he talked about New York, it always seemed like some mythical place. He always said ‘Don’t live in New York so long it makes you hard. Don’t live in California so long it makes you soft.’ I guess I went to New York to prove to myself that I could, y’know. Prove that I could leave the nest and not fall flat on my face.”

Heat blooms in your chest during your ramblings. The pressure you feel is so much that you’re surprised steam hasn’t started coming out of your ears. Despite knowing exactly why you went to New York, you’ve never said the real reason out loud. It didn’t seem like it mattered to anyone but you. 

Eddie has a thoughtful look on his face. “3,000 miles is a long way to go to prove a point.”

You shrug. Eddie pauses for a moment, waiting for something. At the realization that you’re not going to say anything more, he leans over the table and shoots.

Stripes. Thirteen. Top right pocket.

“Did you?” Eddie posits, elaborating on the quirk of your brow. “Prove your point?”

You want to laugh. That’s the same question you’ve been asking yourself since you made the move back west. The prodigal daughter returned with nothing to show for it. 

“I proved that living in California my whole life made me soft.” You admit, gazing down at the table, the floor, your shoes, anywhere but his face. 

Eddie frowns in your periphery. He has a clear shot at the far end of the table. You wish he would take it already. 

“It’s not a bad thing, y’know.” Eddie’s fiddling with his pool cue, generously rubbing more blue chalk on the end. You don’t know much about pool, but you doubt that it’s necessary. It seems like he’s doing it more to prolong the inevitable. “Being soft.”

“Isn’t it?”

You’re almost sure that he’s joking. Actually–you’re sure that he’s making fun of you. He must be. The notion makes you angry. Oh, of course, the heavy metal rockstar is extolling the virtues of being soft! You look up, a snide remark already on the tip of your tongue. But when you finally meet his eyes, his gaze is intense. Contemplative, even. You take another sip of your beer and hope it washes away the lingering bitterness. 

Eddie Munson and his damn sincerity.

He looks as if he’s about to say something, but then decides against it. He leans over, lining up that clear shot that you had spotted earlier. His necklace hangs from his neck, the red guitar pick grazing green cloth. 

Stripes. Nine. Middle left pocket. 

“So,” Eddie starts, smiling satisfactorily to himself. “Do you actually have my face tattooed on your ass?”

If his earlier question about hating New York shocked you, then this one was like being struck by lightning. You gape at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. You should’ve known that this would come back to bite you.

“It’s just a question.” He defends. “I’m genuinely curious.”

“No, Eddie, I do not have your face tattooed on my ass.” 

“But you do have a shrine of me in your room.”

“I am this close to using this pool cue to poke both your eyes out.” You threaten, absolutely buzzing with mortification. 

“Fine! Fine, I’ll let it go.” He concedes, before saying the next few words under his breath. “For now.” 

Eddie is the opposite of a bad sport when he misses his next shot. He only clicks his tongue and gives a slight shake of his head. You’re relieved that you finally have the chance to get out from under his microscope. 

Solids. Four. Bottom left pocket.  

“What do you like most about living in LA?” You ask. You know that it’s cliché, that everyone who moves here is asked the same question. But you can’t help but want to hear everyone’s answers. Each person you meet paints a picture of your hometown with vibrant colors. It’s always refreshing to hear a new perspective. 

“The food, oh my god, the food!” He practically moans. “I swear whatever bullshit they were passing off as Mexican food back in Indiana should be investigated.” 

Eddie goes on a whole tangent about tortillas that could easily be used in a commercial advertising the food scene of southern California. All of the talk about tortillas reminds him of his favorite food truck, located in East Los Angeles. It’s parked right across the street from a record store. He discovered it while trying to visit every record store in the city. 

“And speaking of record stores… I mean, fuck, you can’t find half the obscure shit that you have here back in Indiana. There’s no point in shipping your shit out to the midwest if no one’s gonna buy it I’m guessing.”

“I never even thought of that.” You admit. Every time you walked into a music store, there was always a new shipment waiting for a band you had never heard of. “Growing up, my favorite thing was always to go to the record store. Even if I didn’t buy anything, I would just sit in one of the booths and listen to vinyl.”

You smile at the memory of the sun streaming through windows and chunky headphones too big for your adolescent head. The nostalgia clouds your mind so much that you fumble the next shot, accidentally knocking a striped ball into a pocket and giving Eddie the chance to ask you yet another question. 

“Do you regret going to NYU?”

“No.” You say, and you mean it. “I think it’s good to get out of your comfort zone. I think… I think it’s important to figure out what’s wrong for you. Maybe even more important than figuring out what’s right.”

Eddie hums in agreement and excuses himself to go to the bathroom. You take the opportunity to eject the tape from the recorder and put in a fresh one. Tucking the tape into your bag, you remember that you still have the mixtape Eddie made for you. You make a mental note to listen to it on the way home.

“Having fun?” Robin appears next to you, gathering a few bottles that hapless patrons have left behind. She lifts Eddie’s off the table and adds it to her collection. You hadn’t even noticed that he had finished it. 

“Eddie is absolutely kicking my ass at pool right now.”

She barks out a laugh. 

“I know the feeling. We used to play with each other all the time back in Hawkins. I think I only won once, and that was because he was high off his ass.” 

Your ears perk up at the mention of the small town in Indiana. You could tell from their interactions that they were close, but this was a whole other level. Does she know about 1986? 

“Maybe he’ll have mercy on me.” You muse, slightly wincing at the doubtful look Robin gives you.

“I have faith in you. Don’t let Edward get into your head.” She squeezes your shoulder as she leaves, the glass bottles clinking in her wake. 

So, you think to yourself, Eddie stands for Edward. It’s a regal-sounding name. A little too refined for the rockstar who’s rough around the edges.

When Eddie returns from the bathroom, he holds two more beers in his hand. You’re about to say that you still haven’t even finished your first one. That you think one is enough. You still have to drive back, after all. But he sets both of them down next to his leather jacket, making it clear that they’re both for him. He sniffles as he approaches, giving a small cough to clear his throat. His knuckles brush the tip of his nose until it glows an angry red, even in the dim lighting. He pulls up his pool cue right to the edge of the green-striped ball. He’s got a clear shot. 

He shoots.

He misses. 

You quietly breathe out a sigh of relief. Despite the fact that your job is to get into the nitty-gritty of people’s lives, you’ve never been on the receiving end. It’s unnerving. There’s a reason why you’re a writer. You like the control of rough drafts and rewrites and edits. It leaves less room for misinterpretation.  

Circling the table, you hope to find an easy shot. 

“You have to actually hit the balls with the stick for them to go anywhere,” Eddie says, taking a long sip from his second beer. “Just wanted to make sure that you knew that.”

You roll your eyes at his obvious attempt to psych you out. Leaning over the far end of the table, you balance the pool cue delicately between your fingers. When you finally make the shot you smile to yourself as not just one, but two of the balls go careening into pockets at opposite ends of the table.

“You know, I’ve half a mind to think you were hustling me, sweetheart.” Eddie takes a long sip from his second beer, the condensation dripping down his hand. 

“It’s not hustling if you just assumed I would be bad at it.” You’re so proud of yourself that you can’t help the smugness in your voice. “What’s your middle name?”

“Now you’re crossing the line.” He deadpans. “That’s just too far.” 

“Oh come on, Edward.” At the sound of his legal name, Eddie’s facade drops. The reaction encourages you to continue your teasing. “It can’t be that bad.”

“How do you know that’s what Eddie stands for?”

“I have my sources.”

“Your sources could be wrong. It could stand for Edison. Or Edmund. Or Edgar.”

“Something tells me my sources are correct.” Your eyes flick over to the freckled girl behind the counter. Eddie catches your glance and kisses his teeth, shaking his head in exasperation. 

“What if you’re secretly a fairy who’s trying to get me to say my full name so that I’m indebted to you for the rest of my life?”

“Fine. Don’t tell me your middle name.” You concede, trying to come up with a better question.  “How did you know that I was a writer? Back in your room–when I picked up the book–you called me a writer.” 

“Isn’t that like, your whole thing?” Eddie waves his hand flippantly. 

“Yeah. But there’s a difference between journalistic writing and fiction writing. How did you know that I do both?”

Eddie takes another drink from the beer in his hand, thumb grazing the label. 

“Maybe I’m ‘thorough in my research’ too.” He says, quoting your words back to you.

It’s a non-answer and both of you know it. You decide not to press the issue. Maybe Eddie isn’t such a good sport after all. You started winning and he stopped playing fair, dodging your questions left and right. For someone who is supposed to be getting interviewed, he isn’t doing a very good job. You settle on a topic you hope he’s willing to actually talk about. 

“Patsy Cline.”

“What about Patsy Cline?”

“She didn’t exactly fit in with all of the metal.”

“My Uncle Wayne loves Patsy Cline. He would always play her records whenever he was cooking or cleaning. I guess listening to it reminds me of home.”

“So do you actually like it? Or do you just find it comforting?”

“Is there a difference?” Eddie muses at you from behind the lip of his beer bottle, before taking a long swig. “Wayne actually gave me that vinyl as a parting gift. He said it’s for ‘when you want to listen to real music’. He was only joking. Kinda.”

Eddie visibly softens while recalling the man who raised him. His tense shoulders have drooped and his jaw unclenches. He speaks of the older man with an unmatched fondness. 

“Wayne sounds like a funny guy.” You smile, sidling up to Eddie. “What’s he like?”

“He’s the best. He took me in when I was just about this big.” He juts his palm out at his waist.  “I had big ears, a buzzcut, and a gigantic chip on my shoulder. I was so– I was so angry at the world. He was the first person who told me it was okay to feel that way. 

He was a trucker before I came along, but then he quit and started working at the plant so that he could be there for me. Everything I do, it’s all for him.”

The words make your heart clench. Sparing yourself the embarrassment of revealing just how much his words got to you, you take your next shot. With misty eyes, you see the flash of blue make its way across the table and into a pocket. You already know what you’re gonna ask him. 

“Say you get everything you want. You win Grammys. You sell out Madison Square Garden. What next?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Eddie polishes off the third beer. “I’d probably start by buying Wayne a house, but that’s if he’ll even let me. He’s always saying that I’m the kid and he’s the adult. That he’s supposed to be taking care of me, not the other way around.”

He lets out a quiet burp, which he muffles with his fist. His pool cue has been long forgotten next to him. The configuration on the table before you tells you that you can win in just two more rounds. You’re not sure if you want to. You try anyway. 

Solids. Three. Middle right pocket. 

“Does your reputation actually matter to you?”

“That’s a loaded question.” Eddie leans backward. He’s a little unsteady on his feet, the effects of the alcohol seeming to finally kick in. “Off the record?”

“Off the record.” 

You make a show of grabbing the tape recorder and clicking the stop button. You slide it over the wooded lip of the table, proving to him that the device really isn’t recording anymore. 

“Of course, my reputation matters to me. Anyone who says they don’t care about their reputation is lying. Sure, you learn to brush it off. You learn to expect that everyone you meet is gonna have preconceived notions about you. Whatever. People have always had some shit to say about me, I say let ‘em talk.

But it never gets any easier realizing that everyone you meet thinks they know you just because of some shit they read in a magazine. It never gets easier knowing that nothing you do belongs to you anymore.”

Eddie’s words weigh on you. Whether or not he realizes it, you fall into both those categories. You had turned your nose up at the lousy headlines. You had thought he was just another reckless rockstar. Now, you’re tasked with writing him a new one, one that’ll make people like you see him in a better light. It's still the same. He still doesn’t get to control how this story ends. 

“Is that why you agreed to this interview?”

You know you’re essentially wasting a question. Whatever his answer will be won’t matter in the long run, because you won’t be able to use it. You want to know the answer anyway. 

Eddie looks down at the table and then back to you. You know that he could tell you that you used up your question. That if he was a little less drunk he would probably diffuse the tension by quipping back to you, only one question, remember? He doesn’t. He sees that you have the winning shot perfectly laid out for you. This time, he doesn’t prolong the inevitable.

“Yeah, it is.”

You make the shot. Just like that, the game is over. Your victory feels hollow. 

A blue-striped ball sits lonely on the table. A question left unasked. An answer left unheard. 

Eddie puts his leather jacket back on and brings the empty beer bottles back to Robin. You pick up the tape recorder. It feels like dead weight in your hands.

You meet Eddie at the counter, where he’s happily chatting with an amused Robin, all previous tension regarding your last question seemingly forgotten. You bid your goodbyes. The two of you shuffle awkwardly together towards the entrance before Eddie gets distracted by something.

“Oh my god, I love these!” Eddie regards the gumball machine full of small, shitty prizes with a childlike wonder. 

He grabs his wallet from the pocket of his jacket, dutifully pulling out two quarters. He shoves them both into the coin slots and cranks the handle. The machine spits out a plastic capsule with a bright green lid. He takes the prize and thrusts it into your hands. 

“For you.”

You’re confused by the sentimental gesture but decide not to question it. Shaking the contents out into your hand, the prize reveals itself to be an 8 ball keychain. 

“Hey! We match!” Eddie pulls out the motorcycle keys from his pocket, and sure enough there’s an 8 ball hanging from the key ring that’s identical to the one you’re holding in your hand. 

“Yeah.” You smile to yourself, twirling the small sphere between your fingers. “We do.”

The drive back to the house in West Hollywood is quiet this time. You elected to switch from the cassette to the radio as soon as you got in. The sounds of classic rock drift between the two of you. Eddie spends the entire drive looking out the window, proving himself to be a quiet and contemplative drunk rather than an obnoxious and outspoken drunk. 

Pulling up to the curb, you feel slightly awkward. You’ve never been good at goodbyes. 

“You doing anything tomorrow?” Eddie’s head flops in your direction, his body language giving away the depth of his inebriation. 

“Um.” You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what he might be planning. “It depends. What time?”

“Around noon? We have a recording session tomorrow and I just thought maybe you’d like to hear some of the stuff we’ve been working on. Plus you’d get to meet the other guys. It would be good, right? For your article.”

He says the last sentence as if it’s an afterthought. 

“For the article.” 

“It’s at the recording studio near Sunset? Big red sign, can’t miss it.” He’s using his hands again as he talks. The silver rings glint under the yellow of the street lamps. “Can I have your number, though? Just in case it gets canceled or something. I don’t want you to show up and think I’m sending you on a wild goose chase.”

“Sure.” You rattle off the number for him. Eddie continues looking at you, glassy-eyed and rosy-cheeked. “Are you sure you don’t want me to write it down for you?”

“I have a good memory.” He grins toothily, tapping his temple with his index finger. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

With that, he tumbles out of the car and stumbles to the front door. You watch his retreating figure with the realization that you’ve barely scratched the surface of who Eddie Munson is.

You remember to swap cassettes before pulling away. As you begin mentally writing the beginnings of his article in your head, the mixtape plays softly in the background. 

Living in a world of make believe 

I can hide behind what's real

But wearing your emotions on your sleeve

And they all know what you feel

taglist: @twisted-wonderland-of-wren@cloudroomblog@amira0303@forrestfae6@aysheashea@vintagehellfire@poisonedluv @kimmi-kat@mmunson86

if your username is crossed out it means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you 💔

[roppongi-division]

Hypnotic Summer (Sextet Squad Ver.)

[Ren:]

In the heart of summer's blaze, melodies rise, a story untold

Through the rhythm of the city, my legacy unfolds

[Max:]

Whispers of the forest, secrets in the light, a silhouette's quest

Chasing the echoes of a presence, in summer's warmth, I never rest

[Kaiji:]

In the glimmer of the spotlight, a mysterious allure behind the fame

A masquerade of glamour, where intentions remain pure and untamed

[Lovesick:]

From Kobe's vibrant streets, our unity resounds

Lovesick's rhythm, a symphony of summer's profound sounds

[Asato:]

In the summer's heat, a silent beat, melons rise to a strange feat

Fields whisper tales, in the sun's detail, where my stoic smile veils a trail

[Yano:]

Glass sculptures catch the summer's fire, reflecting dreams that never tire

Wherever the stars may conspire, in Toyama's embrace, I'll just fly higher!

[Kensaku:]

Summer's green, in lab serene, where life's elixirs are unseen

With a latte's flair, in the nature's care, my research dares

[ECO BooN:]

We're ECO BooN, summer's green in our monsoon

Under the same sun and moon, our lyrics bloom, a natural boon

[Sextet Squad:]

Oh! Yeah! Oh! Yeah! Oh! Yeah! Oh!

Quash the thoughts running through your mind

It's time for a burning hot show

We're survivors with a sudden burst of motivation

Fire that big flower into the starry sky

And let it bloom just like we planned

Those simpler days

Feel awfully precious now

Dance in the depths of disdain

But trying something new isn't so bad either

[Ace:]

BBQ's glow, football flies, beachside cheers

Summer's liberty, we conquer, with absolutely no frontiers

[Evelyn:]

Beach's calm, sun's embrace, with love, no stress

Okinawa's charm, in summer's dress, we impress!

[Rashaad:]

Bar's alive, cool sips 'neath neon's hum

Summer's patrons find solace, to Eagle's Nest, they come

[Liberty Guild:]

Red, white, and blue, our unity's song

In summer's embrace, Liberty Guild stands strong!

[Akihisa:]

Whiskey on ice, summer's vice, I watch over the crew

In Katsushika's haze, a father's gaze, guiding true

[Touya:]

School's chains break, mischief's wake, with friends I'm free

Summer's spree, we roam, we see, in wild glee!

[Rintaro:]

Summer's heat, I don't skip a beat, I do whatever the fuck I please

Fires catch with ease, in the scorch, that's where I find my peace

[Death Row Block:]

Katsushika's sun, our stories spun, in summer's flame

Death Row Block, we claim our name, in this heated game

[Sextet Squad:]

Oh! Yeah! Oh! Yeah! Oh! Yeah! Oh!

Quash the thoughts running through your mind

It's time for a burning hot show

We're survivors with a sudden burst of motivation

Fire that big flower into the starry sky

And let it bloom just like we planned

Those simpler days

Feel awfully precious now

Dance in the depths of disdain

Drowning in something new sounds nice

[Ryūnnosuke:]

In the dojo's silence, a tempest stirs, my spirit's alight

Summer's rhythm in my blood, a fire burning bright

[Kyō:]

The beach's heartbeat syncs with mine, a perfect harmony

Summer's sentinel, in the tropical symphony

[Naoki:]

In the embrace of the stage's glow, I weave summer's narrative

A tapestry of emotion, in each performance, I live

[Wild Shīnu:]

We are Wild Shīnu, with Naha's heart in our beat

In the summer's fervor, our fiery lyrics meet!

[Nellie:]

Summer's narrative, in my hands, stories weave and laughter lands

Journalist's ink, family's link, in the sun's narrative, we sync

[Eden:]

Guitar's hum, flirts come, in summer's beat, I strum

Stage's charm, arm in arm, in the heat, I spin yarn

[Kaede:]

Sun's caress, even 'zombies' confess, in the light, my tunes progress

Twilight's dance, a chance, in summer's song, I advance

[Trickstar:]

Hamamatsu's heat, in summer's feat, our lyrics meet

City's tale, in the sun's veil, we sail, in the summer gale

[Sextet Squad:]

Oh! Yeah! Oh! Yeah! Oh! Yeah! Oh!

Quash the thoughts running through your mind

It's time for a burning hot show

We're survivors with a sudden burst of motivation

Fire that big flower into the starry sky

And let it bloom just like we planned

Those simpler days

Feel awfully precious now

Dance in the depths of disdain

We don't mind trying something new

Oh! Ey! Oh! Oh! Ey! Oh!

Oh! Ey! Oh! Oh! Ey! Oh!

Who needs cheap tricks when you have Hypnosis Mics?

Everything's mixed and shaken in this special take

Who needs cheap tricks when you have Hypnosis Mics?

Everything's mixed and shaken in this special take

Quash the thoughts running through your mind

It's time for a burning hot show

We're survivors with a sudden burst of motivation

Fire that big flower into the starry sky

And let it bloom just like we planned

Those simpler days

Feel awfully precious now

Dance in the depths of disdain

But trying something new isn't so bad either

Ow!

@kobedivision @toyama-division @okinawa-division @katsushika-division @naha-division @hamamatsu-divison

[bastardsofravenkroft-blog]

ok so for pints of guinness i wrote this:

i really like the beginning. "evelyn i'm not coming home tonight" immediately makes me think of emily dickinson. love the vocals. the rawness and drawn out words "toniiiiiiiiight" is excellent.

i love that i can hear the strumming pattern of the acoustic guitar (i think that's acoustic. it might be unplugged electric idk tho)

there's a song that this reminds me of. it's by Crywank, it's called Welcome To Castle Irwell. i recommend you give it a listen! anyway back to pints of guiness make you strong.

the "i just wouldve let myself die" part made me tear up augh. i really like the SLIGHTLY out of sync backing vocals it makes it feel real. i dont know how else to explain it haha!

i liked the little short strum at the end i pictured fingers trying to strum one last time but just falling down and off of the strings from lack of strength or will to strum anymore. yeah 👍

9/10 i very much enjoyed it and i'll be listening to this again!! sorry that was so long 😮‍💨

DO NOT APOLOGIZE FOR LENGTH. LENGTH GOOD.

anywhos

it was written abt her grandmother!, i just think thats so sweet

pretty sure its all acoustic on that album and it was recorded in like one day? maybe two, but very fast and yes GOD the RAWNESS of everything just cuts so deep (when you can fucking understand what shes hollering lmao)

since you like it i very much recommend the whole of reinventing axl rose, the self titled ep, the crime ep, and also stay alive which is laura’s solo album. its different way more similar in vibe to the mountain goats but h o l y s h i t

[nithrissa]

The Bard and The Champion - Rewritten

 Eloise slumped against the makeshift tables that constituted a bar, stein in hand. She brought the cool bitter liquid to her lips as she scanned the Herald’s Rest for a face she did not recognise. The bar had recently been repaired and opened for operation. They had only been at Skyhold for a few weeks, and the workers needed a place to let off some steam after all the hard work they were doing. Thus the tavern was once again packed to the gills, and Eloise was searching through a sea of familiar faces to find someone who was just passing through, someone who wouldn’t be sticking around this dilapidated yet seemingly indestructible keep, because Eloise needed to let off some steam of her own.

She eyed Bull in the chair he recently claimed as his own. He was laughing loudly and drinking with his Chargers. Bull had been kind enough to offer his services back at Haven, and Eloise had considered it, but since they spent a lot of time together on the road with Evelyn, it was too complicated for her. Eloise did not mix business with pleasure. 

She heard the strum of Maryden’s lute as the bard began to sing “Empress of Fire” her talented fingers plucking with ease as her delicate voice carried over the mummering of the crowd. She played the song well, although it was more beautifully sung in its original Orlesian. The bard - no, not bard merely a minstrel - did a lovely job bringing music to the Inquisition. 

As Eloise’s gaze drifted lazily she was roused out of her daydreaming by a cowled figure entering through the door. Eloise could see under the hood, a man with a dark tightly cropped beard and piercing golden eyes. He stood in the doorway for a moment, searching through the sea of faces until his eyes met hers and, blushing from being caught staring, she quickly brought her drink to her lips averting her gaze. She emptied her stein and turned back towards Cabot, “One more good sir.” She winked at the surly dwarf as he grumbled to himself. 

“I’ll have one too.” Eloise glanced up to see herself joined by the newcomer. He glanced down at her and his piercing eyes softened as he gave her a side eyed smirk. Cabot haphazardly pushed two steins towards them, ale sloshing over the sides. The man quickly set some coins down for their drinks and sat on the stool next to her. “To you, stranger.” Eloise raised her glass and eyed him as she drank long from her stein. He dropped his hood and leaned on his left arm, shifting his body towards her. His mess of black hair fell playfully across his forehead framing his glimmering eyes and gave him a mischievous look. She could tell from his accent that he was Ferelden, but his accent seemed waning like he had spent a lot of time away from home. Was he a wandering mercenary that sought work with the Inquisition? You’re doing it again, she scolded. She promised herself not to get too in her head and have some fun for once, no more over-analyzing.

[perrys-place]

Evelyn Evelyn as Tobey bots lol

This may be random but if I can add two heads to a dress up game Im Immediately making Evelyn Evelyn heheheheh. They are so cool. I wish there was more random content of them

[hellwizards]

la minute tnm démasqué avec evelyne brochu

[tranzfalgar]

okay it’s time for some stardew valley headcanons for the bachelor/ette(s) so let’s GOOOO

Alex:

- he always awakes before his grandparents, and on warmer days he’ll go down to the beach to watch the sunrise.

- friends with elliot! the two of them sit on the side of the dock sometimes and just chat about life.

- knows how to make cookies, as evelyn taught him when he was a bit younger

- wary of the saloon, as he doesn’t really like the smell of alcohol and only goes into it if he’s forced to!

- if you marry him, he can and will pick you up randomly to surprise you while you’re working!

- if married, he will “bench press” your kids once they become toddlers, and it always makes them giggle

- hates the winter and gets cold really easily. on the first day of fall he’s already bundled up wanting it to be summer again.

Elliot:

- willy is like a father to him. the two of them sit on the docks and watch the fish swim by together

- sometimes he’ll braid his hair, and leah will bring flowers from the forest and weave them into his hair.

- has a rlly pretty singing voice, and likes to record piano covers in his spare time

- if you marry him and the two of u have kids, he’ll always braid their hair in the morning and tuck flowers behind their ears.

- he brings home fresh fish he caught and makes himself dinner every night. that’s why he’s an excellent cook.

- has actually caught a legendary fish before!

- his eyes change color, they can go from blue to green to brown in the same day. people call them the “prismatic shard of eyes”

Harvey:

- he’s so clumsy that sometimes he’ll even trip over air. due to this, he has little bruises all over his knees and elbows.

- his favorite animals are birds. sometimes he’ll go outside and just give them some bird seed. he loves watching them fly around.

- not only is he fascinated with planes, but he’s also fascinated with the weather. as a kid he used to watch the weather channel, and he dreamed of becoming a weatherman.

- when he needs to focus really hard, he’ll pull his hair back with a headband

- him and his mother were and still are very close, and he writes letters to her at least once a week

- he cannot cook to save his life, but he’s an incredible baker! will make you little treats if you’re friends or married

- he always wears a wristwatch, but the time is always 6 minutes behind. he likes it because it has a plane engraved into the side against his wrist.

Sam:

- he had adhd, and his stims include flapping his hands, tapping his foot and strumming his guitar

- he has a beautiful singing voice, think like wilbur soot but a bit more high pitched?

- the reason he likes cactus fruit so much is because he just plants them and lets them grow. he loves succulents because they don’t give him an allergic reaction!

- cannot play video games for shit. sebastian and abigail have banned him from multi-player games because he just sucks so bad.

- love language is acts of service, simply because he likes singing for people he cares about and doing little things for them!

- if you marry him, he will bring his guitar into the coop and/or barn and sing to the animals. they have learned to run over a greet him, since they love his singing.

- his hair is actually curly, but you���re unable to tell due to how much he gels and straightens his hair.

- has mastered the art of the puppy dog eyes

Sebastian:

- loves the hell out of halloween, but is scared of literally everything. he nearly cried watching a horror movie with sam and abigail.

- really good with a slingshot! so if he were to go into the mines, he would wreck some monsters shit with his slingshot skills

- he had glow in the dark stars on his ceiling, but removed them. he used to love the stars and space, but came to resent them because it was his sisters thing.

- he like…irl blushes. like an anime character. when he’s embarrassed, upset, flustered, his face will go all pink. everyone picks on him for it.

- has/had a crush on most of the towns singles. he is a bisexual disaster and secretly a romantic so….take from that what you will.

- a natural born ginger, but dyes his hair. he also has freckles on his nose! and he has an eyebrow slit because of a scar!!

- for some stupid reason, he takes really good care of his hands? like he always makes sure they don’t get calloused, and his nails are always painted black, despite using his hands all the time for work.

Shane:

- he cannot cook. he burned pasta noodles because he didn’t know you had to put water in the pan.

- he still has a chicken plushie from when he was a baby, and it still sits on his bed. and if he cuddles with it at night? no one needs to know.

- has a huge birthmark on his side shaped like a heart

- really good at mixology, so i think that when joja gets shut down, shane works at the saloon and makes the drinks while gus cooks. he adds a whole new section on the menu!

- friends with sebastian. they paint each other’s nails from time to time, or sit in the rain together and just talk.

- kinda strong as hell? he lifts boxes in joja for work, as well as carrying around jas, so i’m assuming he could just….pick the farmer and his friends up?

- he has the most contagious laugh, it used to be a rare sound, but now that it’s a pretty common occurrence, shane makes people laugh all the time with his own laugh.

Abigail:

- buff. she is buff as hell. her and alex work out together sometimes, since she expressed a desire for adventure. she has picked up sam and sebastian with no warning and thrown them into the ocean

- can talk to animals due to her being the daughter of the wizard! so sometimes she’ll go to marnies farm and just chat with the cows or something

- if she sees a tree, she WILL climb it. she loves it so much, it’s just so adrenaline inducing for her.

- her and sebastian tried to go into the mines before but sam stopped them because it wouldn’t have been very safe. they were all 14.

- trying to learn to play the ukulele with a little help from sam. it’s frustrating, but she really likes the sound of it, and she’s determined as hell.

- absolutely cracked at any and all video games he plays. mario kart? she will kick your ass. animal crossing? her island has 5 stars. pokémon? she always wins. you can’t stop her, she’s too powerful.

- she has glasses, but prefers contacts, since glasses would get in the way of her adventuring.

Emily:

- not only can she sew, but she also makes her own soaps and candles! any form of creation she adores.

- loves flowers, and has a lot of little potted ones in her room. she raises them, gives them little names and personalities, and then brings them to sandy and tells her all about each flower

- she can roller skate, and it’s her preferred method of transportation. she can do a bunch of fun tricks as well!

- has an eyebrow slit

- making cute little baskets of homemade gifts is her favorite thing to do for her friends. sometimes she’ll just leave them on their doorsteps for no reason other than she wants to!

- can SPRINT in heels. like even 6 inch heels she can just RUN and it scares everyone who sees it.

- she loves the sounds of birds chirping in the morning, and she’s able to identify the name of the bird by its chirping and calls

Haley:

- is able to perfectly crack and drink from coconuts. that’s why she loves them so much.

- has the worst sense of direction. she’s lucky she lives in a small town, or she’d get lost all the time

- the spring is her favorite time of year, simply because she loves to capture life coming back in those spring months. baby animals, blooming flowers, her friends on the beach or just chilling in the sun, all of it

- her most prized possession is the very first picture her and emily took as kids on their parents polaroid. it’s taped to her mirror

- has a little beauty mark under her lip, but it normally isn’t visible due to being covered with makeup!

- she’s able to do her own nails! this is because she is ambidextrous, yet she doesn’t know, because it’s never been brought up

- she fucking LOVES learning about and identifying plants, trees and flowers. she knows so many it’s crazy. she has a great memory.

Leah:

- resident true crime enthusiast and ghost hunter. she drags elliot with her around town to go hunting for ghosts. they also watch documentaries together!

- has a bunch of little scars on her hands from her artwork

- to get inspiration for works, she’ll go on walks at different times of the day, different seasons, different routes, and she’ll turn each walk into a work of art. depending on all the environment and those who she runs into, each piece is vastly different.

- animals love her, and will sometimes just follow her around for no reason. she doesn’t mind at all, she kinda loves it.

- friends with emily. they are currently teaching each other their own forms of art, since they love learning from each other!

- really good at dancing, she’ll dance while she’s working on projects and she’ll hum a song to herself

- her favorite statue was created after she went on a walk, ran into abigail, and the two of them went swimming in the ocean and stayed there as the sun set and the stars came out. she has a little crush on abigail.

Maru:

- her hair is ALWAYS tied up, it’s impossible for her to work if her hair is in her eyes

- when she was a kid she wanted to be an astronaut, because she loves the stars, but she found she prefers the science and math behind it all

- she pierced her own ears, she has little star earrings!

- watches cartoons and geeks out about them with penny when they meet up in town!

- for some odd reason, she is terrified of butterflies. no one who knows her, or even maru herself have ANY idea why, but she will run away if she sees one.

- her favorite memory was the one night her and sebastian stayed up really late as kids and snuck outside to look at the stars (back when sebastian still loved them) and they ended up seeing a meteor shower

- she presses flowers as a hobby, and just keeps them in a little notebook alongside her ideas for projects and gadgets.

Penny:

- while she’s cleaning her and pam’s home, she finds herself singing to herself. she has yet to be caught by anyone

- each day, her hair is done ever-so-slightly different. each morning, she likes to change it up, and sometimes jas or vincent will give her something to put in her hair

- also interested in ghosts, will occasionally join elliot and leah on their adventures

- she is naturally really warm, so she doesn’t have to bundle up as much during the winter. the kids cling to her because she’s like a human space heater

- has a bit of a geeky side, and she loves to watch cartoons a lot. when she can find the time, she always watches them. they being her lots of comfort.

- has a small scar on her side from when she tripped over as a child onto something sharp. she likes it because with two freckles, it makes a little smiley face

- loves the water and the feeling of sea wind in her hair. she secretly wants to learn to drive a boat, so she can feel that wind in her hair whenever she wants.

[angstm]

"i saw evelyn today," the news had been dangling from the tip of her tongue for a while now and it had taken more than a few sips of liquid courage to actually let it fall from her lips, uncertain how well it would land with vince. yet sitting on it felt equally wrong. so, she took the plunge.

from the corner of her eye sachi carefully tries to gauge his reaction to the sound of his mothers name being spoken unexpectedly, out into the comfortable air of their evening spent together. fingers flinch with the desire to reach out & curl around his own - an instinctive reaction, one she didn't listen to in that moment. perhaps unnecessary, or even worse - unhelpful.

"just in passing, i was on my way to work and she was on the other side of the street," she clarifies, lifting the heavy glass tumbler back up to her lips for another sip of the amber whisky - allowing the burn to distract from the tension building within her. she was quick to clear up any potential misunderstanding so that he knew there was no secret rendezvous behind his back. "we chatted just for a minute or so but..." shoulders lift in a non-committal shrug before setting her glass back down on the table. wondering if she should share that evelyn didn't seem all too well - wondering if that would be more of a burden than of interest to him.

"have you spoken to her recently?"

once in a blue moon, the balcony of vince's apartment would be used but only when he was at his calmest & seeking inspiration. SHE was his inspiration for today as she eclipsed the usual ballad about pain or whatever narcos that came to mind. the mention of his mother made fingers stop plucking strings for the soft melody he played; his soft hums followed soon after. there was no point to look at her - steadying pale oceanic eyes on his roughed up, yet patched digits. the blond listened to her even though he wished he could tune out the part about speaking of the other woman. everything. he'd tune everything out - basically.

“  y'know i've never written a love song before.  ”

he wouldn't answer her question - the dodge was enough to signal both that he hadn't & he didn't want to talk about it. a roll of the shoulder and close of his eyes; it was as if he was trying to find words for what he was about to say. cutely bandaged fingers would once again strum at strings to create a different tune - one that was still soft and almost tropical island-esque.

“  an interviewer pointed that out a while ago. it really surprised me at the time and she asked the question of if i even knew what love was … or if i'd ever been loved. i didn't take a offense or anything, but it really threw me, y'know? cause i had to sit there and wonder if i'd ever been truly loved before or if i'd ever been in love.  ”

pursing his lips and opening his eyes, vince looked from strings to her face - shaking his head with a lopsided smile.

“  you're distracting me as i try to write a song about a beautiful, radiant missus of mine sitting in a pretty sundress drinking whisky like some extravagant stay-at-home mum … that i love, of course.  ”

to hell with evelyn.

[tylermileslockett]

APOLLO

“Phoebus, of you even the swan sings with clear voice to the beating of his wings, as he alights upon the bank by the eddying river Peneus; and of you the sweet-tongued minstrel, holding his high-pitched lyre, always sings both first and last…And so hail to you, lord! I seek your favor with my song.”  (-Homeric Hymn, translated by H.G. Evelyn white)

APOLLO (uh-PAH-low), God of prophecy, oracles, music, art, protector of and disease of boys and men, and archery. Just as his twin sister Artemis is patron to women and girls, Apollo is both protector, and killer from disease of boys and men. In my Illustration the god holds his bow and arrows behind, while he strums the lyre gifted to him by trickster Hermes. Near the sun flies his ally and divine messenger, a white raven. The column on the right is capped with a cow, representing his sacred animal as a god of herds. The serpent Python sits dead at his feet, killed by Apollo’s arrow so that the god could take over the Delphi temple location. The temple complex sits beneath the god, while on the far right, thePythia (Apollo’s oracle priestess) sits upon a tripod, breathing the hallucinatory gasses seeping up from the earth to get her prophecies which she bestows upon visitors.

The laurel tree has associations with Apollo because the god, chasing a Naiad (water nymph) named Daphne call out to Gaia (mother earth) for help, who transformed the nymph into a laurel tree, which the god adopted as his sacred tree. In book 1 of the Iliad, Apollo supports the Trojans by raining down a plague on the Greeks, and later helping Paris to kill Achilles. Apollo’s cruelty is shown in Ovid’s mythical lyre contest with the inventor of the flute; a satyr named Marsyas. When Apollo suggested they play their instruments upside down, the satyr lost, and was flayed (skinned) alive as punishment for his hubris.

Support my book kickstarter "Lockett Illustrated: Greek Gods and Heroes" coming in early 2024.

Linktree:https://tr.ee/DcjSQDSEv3

[womanfromblackwater]

The Gang as ASMRtists HCs

Dutch really wanted a YouTube channel to explain his philosophy and fanboy Evelyn Miller, then realized that branding it as ASMR would get him more followers. It’s really just Dutch speaking in his normal voice, though. 

Hosea tells stories. Some of them are from his own life, others are just things he’s heard over the years, but his grandpa-ness and voice make him really popular. It’s just hard to fall asleep listening to him because his stories are interesting. 

Arthur is not aware that he has an ASMR channel. The other gang members heard him talking to his horse and loved the way his voice changed, so they make recordings of him and post them completely without his knowledge. 

John appeared in the background of one of Dutch’s videos by accident, but the huge number of comments about his voice made him start his own channel. He just rambles about his day, but people love listening to him. 

Charles has the most soothing voice on the planet and knows it, so he mostly just tells stories or reads from books so that the majority of the video is just him speaking.

Javier has a music-themed channel where he explains the meaning behind different songs while he taps on and occasionally strums his guitar. He records English and Spanish versions of all of his videos. 

Mary Beth reviews her favorite books, reading passages and stroking the paper. She also does some whispered thinking-out-loud rambles while she tries to plot out her own stories.

Tilly does makeup tutorials and role-plays that focus on techniques to get great looks with everyday products. She also does clothing and jewelery hauls so people can see all her new stuff.

Molly also does makeup videos, but is much more focused on comparing brands than on the actual application. Her accent adds to the ASMR effect and makes her even more popular. 

Lenny loves teaching people new things, and got himself a chalkboard to do teacher role plays. He practiced getting the chalk to sound good, and now he does little lesson plans so his viewers can learn something when they watch.

Micah learned how to do the soft speaking/whispering just so he can lull people into a sense of calm, then scream into the microphone. He thrives on the angry comments. 

Kieran records himself taking care of the horses, and his most popular videos are just of him brushing them. He likes the sounds the horses make, and he’s finding that other people do too.

Swanson just reads from the Bible. His voice isn’t particularly tingle-worthy, but his followers find his monotonous reading soothing. 

Pearson makes cooking videos, but no one has ever learned to cook from them and the appeal is really from the sounds that him preparing the food makes. 

Trelawny does close-up magic videos. He focuses more on his props than his voice, and is generally fairly quiet so he can highlight cards shuffling and coins clinking. He’s also made a few moustache maintenance videos. 

Uncle just posts videos of him slowly rocking in a rocking chair. It’s weird and no one really gets it, but he became a meme so he has a ton of views. 

[jokemoved2electricbugaloo]

Thick bundles of fairy lights hang from the awning to create a waterfall effect, parting the patio from the rest of the yard. He doesn’t bother to shout ‘surprise!’ when Nix shades his periphery, though an afternoon of labor sways in the wind before her. Evelyn sits beneath the twinkling waterfall, decorating a cut out tree stump with hunks of moss, flowers, figurines, and twigs Joker had bound together to resemble fences for a fairy condominium. A collection of crystals and small stones sit by her side to create furniture and decor.

Nippy night air doesn’t bother him. Shirtless with a cigarette hanging between his fore and middle fingers, Joker has one bare foot propped on the lip of the fire pit, which is lit, and curls his toes as if he’s warming them. Three fingers strum an aimless, impromptu melody on his Martin D-28 — the Porsche of acoustic guitars. Tongue-in-cheek, he hangs his head so long green hair tumbles over his shoulders and the shifting firelight contours him.

“Request Ed Sheeran and the wedding’s off,” he teases, then proffers a honey rose margarita in a purple-stained glass to Nix. “Don’t eat the garnish.” Pink rose petals float in immaculate formation on her cocktail’s surface. “If you hate it...” he quirks his mouth, “There’s an entire pitcher in the fridge.”

☻ @banschivs​ ⋆˚✩