#except for a shirt from a thrift store

[cyberstabbing]

my dad and little brother are flying to japan tomorrow so i get to ask them to bring a bunch of stuff back for me :))) i'd ask for some obscure manga but most of it will be in japanese (duh), so maybe not. although wait i would love the new edition of sugar sugar rune! and some make up!

[throwing-roses-into-the-abyss]

how to show you have no clue what grunge is: make a high fashion grunge design for a fashion show

[wheeboo]

laundry day | hansol vernon chwe

SYNOPSIS. in which it's laundry day and you're in a bit of an embarrassing predicament. PAIRING. hansol vernon chwe x gn!reader (however, sorta implied that reader is more leaning toward fem) GENRE. fluff, humour?, best friends/roommates to lovers WARNINGS. cursing, vernon is checking reader out lowkey, reader embarrassingly wears hello kitty underwear i don't make the rules, ik vernon is mainly chill but in this they bicker <3, this was very stupid n silly lmfao WORD COUNT. 1.6k

requested from @weird-bookworm: lemme be annoying already— noni + #16 and #59 from list 1!! - #16: "You hugged me like your personal pillow." - #59: "Laundry day doesn’t mean walking around in your underwear, but for you, I’ll make an exception."

notes: i'm never good with writing humour but i thought of this stupid scenario and idk how i feel BYEE (cuz ur girl lowkey struggled on figuring out how to put #59 in the story lmao) tysm for submitting this in sky <3 and ty @bananabubble for reading it over for me!

join the 2k celebration!

You are so stupid.

So fucking stupid.

How could you let yourself get carried away in loading all your laundry that you forgot to save a pair of pants to wear in the meantime?

You replay everything in your head: your overflowing, neglected laundry basket, the utter satisfaction you felt after loading it... right up until the moment you realised every single pair of pants you own was now basically swimming around in a goddamn whirlpool, and now you're left sporting nothing but your underwear and a shirt that didn't offer much coverage than expected.

You let out an annoyed groan, burying your face into your hands and mentally slapping yourself in the face. The chill of your room sends a trail of goosebumps running up the exposed skin of your legs. There really was nothing you could do but wait for your laundry to finish.

Then your head shoots back up, and maybe your bedroom lights up a bit brighter at your metaphorical lightbulb moment, because you think of Vernon. He's the only other option you have.

Tip-toeing up to your closed door, a bit of hesitancy gnaws at you for being so dumb, before you yell out, "Vernon!"

He's probably in the living room right now𑁋you can overhear the faint music of the record player the two of you snagged at this vintage thrift store the other week. A very good and lucky find, nonetheless.

Taking another (and maybe regrettable) deep breath, you call out again, a little louder this time. "Vernon! Can you hear me?"

The music seems to dip down slightly, and after a moment, the record stops spinning, replaced by the sound of footsteps approaching the door. You brace yourself for the door to swing open to reveal the embarrassing state you're in right now, but it doesn't.

Instead, you hear Vernon's voice respond to you through the door, "Yeah?"

"Uh..." You bite your lip because you can't believe you're about to ask this. "Do you have, um... a pair of pants or shorts I can borrow? I'll give it back to you tomorrow."

For a moment you think he didn't hear you because it's completely silent on the other side of the door, and it does absolutely nothing at calming down your racing heart. You see, you probably should be fine with walking around in your underwear with Vernon because he's your best friend and roommate and he definitely would not judge at all, but it's simply not that simple𑁋

"Did you, like, spill Monster on yourself again?" Vernon asks casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world that you would do (it's happened one too many times).

"Yes, I mean, no, I mean𑁋look, just fetch me a pair and I'll bring it back to you later?"

"Uh, yeah, about that..." He pauses. "I'm wearing my only pair right now since you loaded yours first."

You really should've considered that being best friends with Vernon meant collectively sharing the brain cell of procrastinating when it comes to doing your laundry. Great, just absolutely fantastic. This was very much how you wanted your day to go. Perhaps this is why you're best friends, after all.

"Well, shit," You murmur, more to yourself but Vernon hears it anyway.

"Look, I'm sure it's not that bad, right?" Does he seriously still think you spilled Monster on yourself? "You could probably just𑁋"

You can hardly act by the time the doorknob twists and Vernon peeks his head around the door. But the second he catches sight of you, his eyes flicker over you, before he quickly averts his gaze to the Radiohead poster on your wall. Was it the lighting in your room that's making his face look pink?

You stand there awkwardly, suddenly feeling so exposed in front of him as if some sort of gigantic spotlight was shining down on you. It's not like you haven't been half-naked around each other before, but this feels different... somehow. You don't know why, or maybe you don't want to know.

A cough erupts from Vernon, breaking the sudden silence.

"Oh, wow, um..." He toys with the black hoodie around his head. "I didn't look. I swear."

His eyes dart everywhere except back to you, lingering on the Radiohead poster, the slightly askew picture frame on your desk, just anywhere but you. You don’t know whether to feel relieved or embarrassed.

"Ugh, I'm so stupid." You run a frustrated hand through your hair. "And I have this meeting for work in an hour and I know the laundry won't be done by then. I'm actually screwed."

Vernon thinks for a minute. "You can't like... virtually attend the meeting?

"No."

"Or it can't be postponed?"

"Nope."

"What if I file you as a missing person to the police?"

"You're seriously no help, dude," You say, giving him a light shove to the shoulder, but it's hard to suppress the curve to your lips and the small chuckle that leaves your mouth when you see him fall back dramatically.

Vernon snorts lightly. "Well, it's probably better than showing up to work in your Hello Kitty underwear𑁋"

"You said you didn't look, you idiot!" You exclaim furiously, and Vernon literally does not see the way a pillow practically spawns in your grasp and flinging toward him before he can even react. The pillow hits him square in the chest, causing him to stumble backward with a surprised yelp. "Oh my god, just report me missing at this point."

Vernon just laughs as he catches his breath to stand back up, grabbing the pillow up the floor and lifting it up like a shield as if to defend himself from you. Your face is burning brighter than the lava lamp glowing on your bedside table.

"This is so embarrassing," You mutter sheepishly, wanting to unleash another defeated groan again. "I can't believe I'm this stupid to forget to..."

"You're cute."

"...and then I'm probably going to get fired𑁋what?"

Vernon tosses the pillow back onto your bed and clears his throat.

"I said you're really dumb."

That is not what he said.

For a second, the disastrous situation seems to lighten up just a little bit, and your heart is doing some intense, unrhythmic tap dance against your ribs. You heard exactly what he said𑁋that he called you cute in this ungodly predicament𑁋and now he's trying to brush it off?

Vernon cracks a teasing, boyish smile. "And stupid, yeah. You're not wrong about that."

You open your mouth to retort, but the words get caught in your throat, almost like a choked sound coming out instead. So you point an interrogative finger and step closer to him (and yes, still in your underwear), eyebrows furrowing together.

"You called me cute," You state, all firm and serious now.

Vernon's playful look falters slightly, expression shifting to something a bit more guarded now. He rubs a hand at the back of his neck, that nervous habit you've always found sort of endearing throughout time. Perhaps there's a bit more meaning to it now.

The few moments of silence that follow is absolutely suffocating. You can't even tell if time is passing by quicker or slower as the two of you stand there, shifting this uncomfortable weight between both of your feet.

"Yeah," Vernon says simply, quietly. "I did."

You nearly want to laugh for some reason, but you can feel the nerves tickle up your spine. "I'm standing here in fucking Hello Kitty underwear and you think I'm cute?"

You can visibly see the way the lump in his throat tightens as he swallows, his eyes flickering uncertainly between you and the floor.

"Look you just... You caught me off-guard. Like... laundry day doesn't mean walking around in your underwear and all that," Vernon explains, in a tone like he's trying to reason with you. "but for you, I'll make an exception because𑁋"

"𑁋because I'm cute?"

"Because you're so stupidly cute from freaking out when I could just go to the store right now and buy you a pair of pants to wear." Then he sucks in a breath. "And yeah, the Hello Kitty underwear is cute, I guess."

You feign a shocked, traitorous look to your face. "You guess?! It's Hello Kitty, man."

"Dude, do you want me to snatch you some pants to wear or not? Because I'm deadass about the missing persons report," Vernon asks, half-annoyed yet somewhat half-amused. The twitch to his lips doesn't go unnoticed. And the voice of him calling you cute just minutes earlier also doesn't go unheard of too.

You wear a cringy, exaggerated pout to your lips. "Please."

Vernon's face contorts in slight disgust at that. "Please don't do that eve𑁋I'm leaving." And before you can say anything, he's turning around and leaving your room.

You hear the clinking of keys, assuming that Vernon is getting ready to leave to presumably retrieve you a pair of pants to wear for the day. You step up to your doorway to peek into the living room.

"Hey, I owe you!" You holler out to him. "Let me know how much it costs and I'll pay you back."

"No need," Vernon calls back over his shoulder.

"Come on, I'll feel bad," You insist, leaning against the doorframe. "I'll do anything, I swear."

Now that seems to intrigue him, and you watch the way Vernon slowly turns back to you, and maybe you're starting to regret ever saying that to him.

"Okay," he says lightly. "We're watching a movie tonight."

"A movie? What are we..." Then your eyes widen in realisation. "We are not watching Shrek again. I'll end up falling asleep on you because we've rewatched too much."

Vernon just shrugs. "Yeah, like last time. You hugged me like your personal pillow, remember?"

"I..." You stop yourself from responding immediately, feeling a flush creeping up your cheeks at the memory. "Fine, whatever. If I fall asleep again, you can just wake me up this time."

A low, thoughtful hum runs out of Vernon's mouth. "I mean, I really don't mind if you fall asleep, you know. If you're tired and stuff."

You blink up at him dazedly. "Really?"

"Yeah," he answers, and the corners of his lips lift up ever so slightly. "You're cute when you fall asleep on me, anyway."

another note: guys idk what i just wrote lol its like 90% dialogue n rushed HAHSADSA

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @roziesmei @mirxzii @bookyeom @parkjennykim @melodicrabbit @bewoyewo @honglynights @bananabubble @treehouse-mouse @tanya596carat @starshuas @totomoshi

[puppys-tiny-space]

👑Tips for littles on a budget👑

This is some tips for tinies (or carers looking for gifts for kiddos) on a budget! Of course you don't need any gear to be a good regressor but a lot of us like toys etc. and it's okay to want them!

🧸thrift stores, a lot of thrift stores have toys and plushies, sometimes they are a bit broken or dirty but there are lots of tutorials on YouTube for cleaning and restoring plushies and toys🧸

🐾e-books, you can find kids books online as e-books which are often pretty cheap or you can watch tiktoks of people reading those books🐾

🩷diy onesies, a lot of regressors like onesies but the prices are pretty steep, if you can't afford them don't fret! Its super easy and affordable to make one yourself all you need is an old t-shirt and snap buttons plus a way to attach them, just get a big t-shirt, sweatshirt or even hoodie and add 2-4 snap buttons in the crotch, boom you have a super cute and discreet onesie!🩷

🧸diy toys, there are lots of toys you can make yourself either by sewing or crafting and there's lot soft videos on YouTube for it, or get creative🧸

🐾mobile games, I love to play video games when im regressed but game consoles are expensive so free mobile games are a great alternative🐾

🩷dollar store etc, while you shouldn't rely on stores or websites that use cheap labor for everything it's okay to make exceptions every now and then, especially for toys, pacis, sippy cups and similar🩷

🧸pull ups, instead of cute printed diapers get big kid pull-ups in the baby-section or medical diapers from a drugstore, they are less then half the price of a pack of adult diapers from brands like tears etc.🧸

🐾learn to diy, making things yourself is often the most affordable thing to do, not with everything obviously but with a lot of things, learn as much stuff as you can so you can make lots of gear yourself🐾

🩷look for affordable stores, lots of paci stores on Instagram are very affordable and the ones that aren't often have sales so keep an eye out for that, lots of shops also have promoter codes they are happy for you to use, for example with my code 'bunnybab' you get a small discount at pacisbybunnie and cozypacicorner🩷

🧸buy second hand, thrift stores are a great place but if you want little specific stuff looking on vinted, swoop or even insta is a great idea! Lots of people sell gear they no longer connect with🧸

Fun fact of the day: Bluey's pilot was only a minute long and never actually aired

[mintmatcha]

tw: implied abuse, no curses au

"Can I ask a question?" Yuuji digs his heel into the wood chips as he swings, digging a growing trench behind him. "You don't have to answer."

Ash falls from the end of Choso's cigarette. He leans against the anchor of the swing set, cheek against cold metal, and sighs. Twilight has passed and the streetlights have turned on, giving the playground a hazy, barely lit glow. Yuuji's guardian will start calling soon, but Choso decides the extra time together is worth the future ire.

"I already told you that I'm not giving you a tattoo."

"Aw, damn-" Yuuji clicks his tongue against his teeth. Ever since they met, he's been dying for a tattoo of his own, throwing out wild new ideas almost every day. One day, when he's eighteen and likes an idea for more than a month, Choso will bring him to his studio and comply.

But, not yet.

"That wasn't my question though," Yuuji says.

"Then go for it."

The younger boy takes a deep breath, then lets it out even slower, pulling the tension longer and longer until it snaps.

"Why weren't you... around? Like, when I was a kid and stuff."

Choso takes his own breath.

"Your mom-- our mom." The taste of that sits bitter on his tongue. He never called her mom, even back then. "She was different for me."

And for our other brothers, he adds silently. Yuuji doesn't need to carry that weight yet, the knowledge that he was the exception to it all.

"Why?" Yuuji pumps his legs a little softer, the back and forth motion of the swing slowly dying out.

"I dunno." Choso wishes he had the answer to that. "She was sixteen, did bad things. Don't worry about it."

Finding out about Yuuji wasn't a shock, somehow. Years after Ken had surrendered her children to the state, Choso had received noticed that she had died. The news felt overdue. No tears were shed, no love lost; the group chat of siblings had all agreed not to go to any service, but the day of, Choso had changed his mind.

He had put on his nicest outfit -some thrift store pants that didn't fit and a shirt he stole from foster dad three- and went expecting to be the only one there, the only one willing to say goodbye.

Choso hadn't known about her new family. They hadn't known about him either. It was typical of Ken to leave a mess in her wake.

Turns out, through a series of lucky breaks, the woman had clawed her way out of poverty and into the arms of a rich, but nice man. Her life was easy and sweet, filled with luxuries and love, including a son ten years younger than her eldest.

No one knows why Yuuji was different than the others, why she decided to be good to him and no one else. Mental illness is strange like that, picking and choosing how it pleases.

Yuuji huffs, gripping the metal chains tighter. "But-"

"Yuuji." Choso drops his cigarette and crushes it under his boot. Then, he thinks about the child that will play there tomorrow, shoveling wood chips into their mouths like idiots, and decides to pick it up. He jams it into his pocket. "You have good memories of her. Don't ruin that."

He used to resent how much Yuuji loved her. He was eight when she died, the same age Choso was when he first had to dial 911 for her. That anger had long faded, replaced with a strange amount of pity.

"But I want to know. What she did and stuff." Yuuji's voice jumps high with emotion. "I'm basically an adult, I can handle it."

"You're sixteen."

"Well, mom was doing this stuff at sixteen, so-" Yuuji is seething suddenly, brow furrowed and teeth grit.

"So?"

"So, she was old enough to be doing bad things and I'm not old enough to know about it?" He stands and the swing clatters behind him. He's stocky, yet tall, bunched with muscles that he's built from baseball. On one side of his cheek, there's a bit of chocolate stuck there, a remnant from the ice cream Choso bought him. Below it, there's a rosy hickey on his neck, a remnant of the boyfriend he hasn't told Nanami about yet. He thinks they're having sex, maybe, but doesn't know how to broach the topic without scaring his brother into never talking about it again.

"And you had tattoos at my age, by the way!"

Choso lets him stew in it, huffing and puffing. The blown out edges of first tattoo peek from under his sleeve, the image barely legible now. An older woman gave it to him at fifteen, in the basement of her house. It became so insanely infected that he ended up in the ER a couple days later.

"I'm not a kid. I can handle it." Yuuji states, calm and clear. "I'm not a kid."

A car passes, it's headlights stretching and pulling the shadows across the park. In the changes, Choso can see his mother in his brother, those soft eyes and thin lips and the same slightly crooked nose that Choso has himself. He thinks, maybe, if time was kinder and his father was better, they'd look more alike each other, but then the moment is gone and they no longer even look like siblings.

"Okay."

Yuuji untenses a bit. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Like, okay, this conversation is done, or okay, I'll tell you?"

"I'll tell you," Choso says, jamming his hands in his pocket. The cigarette butt is there, mushed and still warm against his knuckles. "But not tonight."

"What?!"

"Next time, I promise."

Choso doesn't understand why Yuuji insists on rushing away from innocence, but he knows that he can't stop him. Yuuji will find out about the abuse, the neglect, the other brothers, and the other horrors in some way or another and then things will never be the same.

"Stay a kid just a little longer." Choso resists the urge to ruffle his hair. "For me?"

"Yeah, sure," Yuuji sighs. "One more day."

[vincentbriggs]

I keep forgetting to post these because they're kinda boring, but these 4 nightgowns are another thing that had been on The Pile for about 2 or 3 years before I finished them this summer. They're for the most miserable sweaty part of summer, which surprisingly was not too bad this year considering I'm now on the second floor of a very old house.

The bodice pattern is 2 pieces, and the skirt is an approximately 1m x 2m rectangle, except for a little bit cut out from the underarms, for which I made a negative space pattern piece. The shoulder seams are flat felled, and the centre back is a French seam just because that's a bit easier in such wiggly fabric. The gathers are finished the same way the tops of the sleeves are in my shirt tutorial, and the neck and arm holes are finished with bias binding.

I'd made a few before these, and the rayon one was the most comfortable, so all of these are rayon. The burgundy was given to me by @howshouldibegin, the white was from the thrift store, the blue was from the clearance pile at Fabricville, and I have no memory of acquiring the pink one.

[sparkles-and-trash]

dabi & shouto bonding + dabihawks, fluff

It's almost noon when Touya comes shuffling into the living room he shared with his boyfriend, PJ pants hanging low on his hips, no shirt in sight.

"Well, good mo-, no wait, good midday to me, handsome," Keigo quipped with a grin and Touya rolled his eyes.

Yeah, yeah, I'm a lazy bum, I know I know," Touya replied with a yawn and a stretch.

"We can't all just call home office and lunge around in sweats all day and call it work, yanno," he added and Keigo laughed.

"So staying up until 3 am gaming with Spinner and Tenko counts as work, now?" the hero asked with a sly smirk, and Touya sighed.

"I need a shirt for this conversation, and either their all in the wash or you stole some again, and I think we all know which one is true."

Keigo raised his eyebrows at that.

"I haven't taken any more than you've given me, I swear!" he said with hands raised in surrender, and Touya sighed dramatically.

"Well, what am I supposed to wear then?"

-

Listen, Touya loves Keigo.

Everything about him, actually.

Except for the fact that, ever since the war ended and the hero was allowed to develop his own style, that style turned out to be a mix between cottage core lesbian and confused grandpa.

Actually Touya didn't mind it when the clothes were on Keigo, he actually kinda loved it.

But while Keigo looked ridiculously hot in Touya's band shirts and big hoodies, Touya didn't quite have that same luxury.

So, there he sat, in a crowded coffee shop, a busy afternoon, out in public, with his white hair, scarred skin, piercings, tattoos, ripped black skinny jeans and... a very eclectically colored cardigan Touya suspected Keigo had dug out of a thrift store that should have been closed decades ago.

Yeah, fuck his life.

Just as the former villain pulled the bucket hat he had also borrowed from his boyfriend further down on his head in a vain attempt to hide he noticed the person he was here to meet come in trough the door.

"Shouto," Touya said out loud, raiding his hand to grab his brothers attention.

His dork of a younger brother smiled, as brightly as he ever did, and moved over to Touya quickly.

"Nii-san!" The young hero greeted and Touya huffed.

"Yeah yeah, sit down ya dork, I ordered you your..."

Touya's voice trailed off as Shouto took off his jacket.

"Todoroki Shouto, are you wearing my fucking shirt?!"

Shouto looked up at him with a hint of surprise on his face as he looked down on himself , before he nodded.

"Yes, it appears that I am," he said simply before happily taking a sip of his bubble tea.

Touya just stared at him.

"Why?" he finally asked as Shouto didn't elaborate.

Shouto took his time enjoying his tea before he answered.

"It's like a hand-over, it's normal for brothers to do, you know?" he replied with a shrug.

Touya blinked a few times trying to catch up.

"A hand... over?" he finally asked, trying his best to wrap his head around this.

He decided this was a bucket hat off situation, and just as he placed the hat down, Shouto picked ip back up and put in on his head.

"Like this, see?" the young hero said as if that answered all the questions.

Touya just stared back and Shouto sighed.

"Iida said he used to get his older brothers stuff all the time, Nii-san, I really think you're making too much out of this."

Oh.

Oh, god.

This poor, clueless, sweet bastard.

"You're talking about hand-me-downs, aren't you?" Touya finally asked, and Shouto nodded.

"Yes, that was the phrase."

Touya bit his lip, trying to figure out how to go about this without being too mean.

Look at him, all reformed and shit.

"Look Sho, I get that we have a lot of catching up to do, but if you want my stuff as hand-me-downs or whatever it'd be great if you asked first, okay?" Touya explained.

Shouto hummed.

"I must have misunderstood the tradition then, I apologize."

Touya huffed.

"It's okay, kid," he said with a small smile, and Shouto smiled back, before his gaze fell to the cardigan Touya was wearing and his brown furrowed.

"You can keep that one, though," Shouto said seriously, and Touya couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"Yeah, I don't judge ya there, kid," he replied with a grin.

Before they parted ways a few hours later Touya quickly snapped a picture of Shouto in the bucket hat to send to Keigo with a warning that he'd probably never seen that hat again.

It was handed down now, after all.

[amywritesthings]

I love the Hallo-sleepover idea! Can I request "my friend abandoned me at this halloween party and I don't know anyone. But you look as miserable as I feel" at a bonfire with Levi (:

hallo-sleepover '24!

of course!! this was the most requested prompt in 5 separate asks, so of course i wanted to present you a little levi on halloween day. xo hope you enjoy!

homemade.

pairing: levi ackerman x reader word count: 1.2k tags: modern au, adult language, halloween parties, first meet, levi ackerman as ghostface, reader as bride of frankenstein, mention of annie as your friend credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

read on ao3.

Everyone’s too loud. The Halloween music keeps repeating.

Not even swirling the bright orange plastic cup in your hand can salvage the separation of pineapple and white rum.

At least the warm crackle of the open fire pit in the backyard feels nice.

You’re not sure why you agreed to come to this Halloween party with Annie — you knew she was going to see one solo cup and run for the pong table to demolish the competition — but you’d worked tirelessly on your costume this year.

Not that you had anywhere to go to show it off — cons got too expensive this year, work days blurred into nights, and before you knew it the date of October 31 was sitting impatiently on your doorstep. 

Waiting on your front porch handing out candy to little ones wasn’t a bad idea.

Trick or Treaters are cute.

(Except you can’t imagine any of the kiddos willingly taking a Snickers bar from the hands of a screen-accurate rendition of the Bride of Frankenstein.)

So you'd get dressed up, fill a pumpkin bucket, and hang out for the night, right?

Wrong.

That plan wasn’t acceptable to your friend, Annie Leonhart.

The moment she arrived at your doorstep in full costume, Annie acted as if staying home was a cardinal sin.

“You didn’t have a plan for this?” Annie asked incredulously. “Are you joking, dude? Come on. This costume is sick.”

Before you stood an elaborate (see: terrifying) rendition of Lady Death: Annie’s blue eyes were sunken in by copious black eyeshadow, her lips cut into the illusion of teeth under a terrifying black veil obscuring most of her face. On her body was what looked to be a dyed thrift store wedding dress, dark as the night sky above.

She gestures to your wrapped mummified dress and large cylindrical white-and-gray wig — all hand-sewn, all homemade — with equally blackened fingertips, gooey with fake blood.

“What?” you murmur, looking down at your dress like something has gone astray.

“What?!” she repeats with a snort. “Oh, no. You’re not wasting this on sitting on a porch. C’mon, we’re going to Reiner’s thing.”

“Annie,” you groan, giving her a pleading look. “You know I hate parties.”

“Yeah? And I hate idiots who waste good costumes,” she retorts, grabbing your hand with hers to fly into your house. “What do you need? Grab your keys and phone, we’re going.”

(Yeah, you’re used to her bulldozing by now.)

It’s what brought you here — stuck at a bonfire, waiting for an appropriate time to ditch and call a Lyft back to your house.

Annie’s no doubt in the semifinals of the competition, so you can’t imagine you’ll see her for the rest of the night.

It’s fine.

It’s fine, you’ll just wait another ten and—

A flash of black clothes shuffles past you to flop unceremoniously into a lawn chair. With a grunt, their legs extend towards the bonfire, the tip of their boots tapping the brick surrounding the pit. 

Slumping into the chair, you recognize the costume right away: it isn’t a traditional Ghostface given the dark denim jeans and the black henley shirt with rolled-up sleeves, but the elongated white and black ghoulish mask is unmistakable.

Unable to help yourself, you watch as the fire illuminates the veins in their forearms. His gloved hand palms the entire mask and rips it off of his face, causing your whole body to have a hot flash.

Oh.

Oh, no.

The Ghostface at the party is hot.

Immediately his bluish-gray eyes find you when he sits back in his chair once more. The black fringe of his hair clings to his forehead like the mask had been suffocating him to a sweat, complimenting his high cheekbones. 

Lips parted, you note the way he gives your costume a once over before speaking in the most rumbled, honey silk voice.

“Bride of Frank, right?”

Blinking twice, you continue to stare. When a few beats of silence pass, the stranger’s chin drops closer to his chest, brow expectant with an arch.

“You’re looking at me like I missed a reboot this year.”

Wait.

He’s talking to you.

Clearing your throat, you sit up taller and absently reach for your tall wig to make sure it’s in place. 

“No, you’re right. The Bride from the 1935 film.” 

You try to smile, though it gets lost somewhere in your anxiety. 

“And you’re Ghostface, right? From the movie Scream?”

The stranger nods. 

“Sort of. Found a mask half-off at the store, but I wasn’t wearing a damn nightgown.”

“The black clothes still fit the look,” you try to reassure, and he snorts.

“You’re far more forgiving than the Michael Myers I came here with,” he states, “but that friend abandoned my ass at this Halloween party, and I don’t know anyone else here, so.”

Crossing his legs by the ankles and his arms over his chest, he continues to observe your costume. From the flicker of the fire, his expression almost seems appreciative of your work.

“You did a damn good job,” he adds, “which is a shame, because you look as miserable as I feel.”

The surprise praise causes your face to heat up.

“I wouldn’t say miserable.”

“Bored?”

“Oh, definitely bored.”

He snorts. “Yeah, me too. I hate this shit.”

“Parties?”

“Halloween parties,” the stranger clarifies. “If everyone showed up to this shit dressed as elaborately as you, then I’d probably eat my own words.” He tosses a thumb back to the house. “I can’t tell you how many goddamn half-baked Jokers there are in that house.”

Somewhere in the midst of his rant is another compliment.

Toying with one of the ends of the mummified dress you wear, you find yourself shrugging a shoulder. “Not everyone has busybody time like me to make a costume, to be fair.”

“Wait.” He sits up more, sitting the Ghostface mask on his lap. “You made that?”

When you nod, you feel your body match the bonfire’s temperature. Annie gave you compliments by the plenty, but that was Annie. Everyone else at this party had been too busy getting drunk or too occupied to notice.

But he did.

“How’d you do it?” he asks with what seems to be genuine curiosity, though you wave it off.

“It’s boring.”

“Doubt it.”

“No, it really is,” you state, but the stranger leans closer with intrigue. You can’t move away, too mesmerized by how damn gorgeous he is. “And knowing me, I could ramble on for hours, so—”

“Hey, I have time.”

The man clears his throat and holds up the Ghostface mask as if it’ll somehow convince you.

“Might as well make the most of this damn thing while we’re stuck here, right? If anything, you’d be saving me from another goddamn Scary Movie reference inside, so you're doing me a favor by rambling for hours.”

The mention brings a slow and relaxed smile to your lips.

Right.

The ye ol’ wasssssaaaaaap to anyone with a Ghostface mask.

“Fine,” you relent, and you swear your mind is playing tricks on you when it sees a half-smile form on his own face, but the fire swipes it away just as fast. “But at least tell me your name — unless you want me to call you Ghostface.”

The man shakes his head, the fringe of his black hair following with him.

“Levi,” he introduces, softer this time. “Just call me Levi.”

[strawbby-shortcake]

Dating Tyler Durden! ♡︎

Tyler isn't one to wait around with his feelings, so he's very open and honest when it comes to you. He knew what he wanted, so he went to get it.

Honestly though, he doesn't take rejection well. So if you refused him the first time, you'll have to do it again and again until you give in. He'll display grand gestures to prove that he's the man for you.

If you didn't refuse, great! You're now with an anti-capitalist that kicks ass!!! He's not so bad once you get used to him though.

Tyler is a mix between talking a lot and not talking at all. He likes to talk to you about society and how he's going to change it for the better because you actually listen to him.

When he goes quiet, it usually means his mind is at work or he's focused on a task at hand. That doesn't mean he wants you to leave him alone though. He would rather you be by his side while he's planning.

When he starts Fight Club, you're the first one to know. He makes you promise three times that you won't say anything about it to anyone.

You are NOT allowed to fight, but you can watch him beat people up or tell them that they are "not their fucking khakis."

If you really wanted to fight though, Tyler would only allow you to fight him. Of course, he wouldn't hurt you or anything, but he'll get to see how strong you are.

Every member of Fight Club/Project Mayhem is super kind to you and often steals you things from stores. Whether it's because Tyler told them to do it, or they just wanted to, you didn't know.

For example, one day you were out with Tyler and a few of his space monkeys, and they noticed that you were staring at an item from one of the store's windows.

We all know how Tyler feels about consumerism, BUT he makes an exception for you. Plus, it's not like they're going to pay for it *hint hint*

The next morning, you wake up and see the item placed on your bed with a sticky note that has smiley face on it.

You often hear Tyler yelling at the members, but he never yells at you. He's quite respectful towards you.

Tyler takes you with him to all his odd jobs. You help him splice frames of explicit images into family films. When he has to work as a waiter, he seats you at a table and brings all the clean food you want. He gets distracted by you though and goes to your table far more than the actual customer's tables.

HE MAKES AND HE SELLS SOAPPPP!!! So that means you get to help him out and watch! Be prepared for late night liposuction clinic dumpster runs.

The first time you went with him, you threw up because of the smell. Tyler forced himself to throw up too so you didn't feel embarrassed.

If you have a complaint about anyone or someone is bothering you, there'll be a missing person report on the news within the same week. Tyler does not mess around.

Tyler doesn't force you to smoke, and if you don't like the smell of it, he doesn't smoke around you. In fact, if you really wanted him to, he would attempt to quit. It would be near impossible for him though, but you gotta give him credit!

He loves going into alleyways, hotels, or apartment buildings to dance with you. He doesn't care if anyone is watching. He'll probably have several of the guys to keep watch near the building though, just for safety reasons!

He likes to go thrifting with you. He will pick the most non-matching shirt, jacket, and pants and do a whole fashion show in the store and then walk out with it on. No, he didn't pay. He might borrow your clothes too if he sees something he likes.

Smashing cars around town at midnight? Check. Going to Lou's Tavern multiple days a week? Check.

He'll ask you to play with his hair all the time. He loves it when you do because it relieves tension and makes him sink into the floor.

CUTE EXTRAS:

Makes you special bars of soap with your name on it in different colors.

You get to try on all his cool glasses that he owns.

You'll always be protected no matter where you go.

He's extra cautious when he's out since he doesn't want to die without coming home to you. He could be bleeding out or have a limb ripped off, but he'll manage to come home to Paper Street just to see you one last time. But don't expect that because he's not going to die any time soon.

He shares his gum with you.

He's a great listener when you need him to be.

If you tend to his wounds or scold him when he gets hurt, he doesn't complain. He just sits there, grins, and leans in, knowing you'll kiss him afterwards.

He doesn't say "I love you" super often, but when he does, it's genuine.

Teaches you all about glycerin and the wonders you can do with it.

[seawardboundsammy]

after many months of work, I reveal my magnum opus. The Sidestep Battlejacket.

pov: ortega seeing sidestep whole for the last time

Holy shit! It's finished!!!

This was my final for my costume design class and it took. so long. Weighing in around 800 pounds in faux leather and spikes, this is by far the most polished and focused battle jacket I've ever made. also noting that typically i wear big glasses! i just had to show off sidestep's eyebags (my hair is always teal though! ult fave color). The prop gun is a nerf gun covered in so much paint.

This design is based off my sidestep Arbor's suit combined with the dog themes sidestep has (eg: bite the hand). More thoughts and wips under the cut!

So this jacket has actually existed in some form since 2020. I bought this leather jacket with the intention of covering it in studs and spikes and then i petered out half way through. Then, after sitting in my closet for 4 years, i finally started back up on it.

These images were my gospel through the project. The design on the left was made a while before and then you can see in real time how i developed my ideas. I had the idea of the front side being "sidestep" and then the back side with the teeth being "retribution/vsona". like a mullet of trauma. the gun was made to match the organic flowing designs of the jacket, to fit the arboreal theme.

the painting of the teeth was a painstaking process filled with much masking tape and clean up. the arm stripes were free handed in a mad dash to the finish. I used Angelus Leather Paints (which i bought WAY too much of, a little goes miles also its so good not sponsored its just good paint) and every section got two coats of white and two coats of teal. The only exception was the orange which is much more transparent which took more coats and hand cramping with those letters. (which btw! no stencil! just moving my brush around all silly style).

i really wanted a prop to make the jacket into something that actually feel like a cosplay, so i hunted down the most sci-blaster nerf gun i could find on amazon and threw gallons of paint at it. the experienced among you may note that nothing wants to stick to that smooth of plastic, but with a solid sanding and angelus acrylic hardener i made it work. originally there were more stripes but it looked busy. there were also going to be two charms for charge and anathema but i um. forgor.

unsanded vs sanded (and some acetone to remove paint) vs final

the hood! good god that hood. that was ripped off an old hoodie and then i found a shirt at a thrift store that just happened to match the color perfectly. its. attached. if you know anything about sewing, please look away from this evil seam. the purple is just to keep it from fraying btw, the actual connection to the jacket it with a much thinner thread in big stitches as to not weaken the faux leather too much. also you can see where i was testing the paint lol.

if you read to here, thank you!! im so proud of this thing and i cant wait to wear it everywhere (when the weather allows.) have a sleepy steppy as a treat for sticking around

[jjeongddol]

I'm home, my love.

Now playing - screen time

ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤ

jeonghan x reader

— "how could i possibly find someone else, when all you've done was love me right?" he could still see the spark and love in your eyes except, they were buried behind the glassy tears that were building up again at the brim of your eyes. it made your orbs look shinier than ever.

tagged: @nihyunluvskookie @hanicore @seaweedsoop

part I | jeonghan's pov | part II

ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫

It was 6:48pm, you're finally done with a yet another exhausting day at work. Ah, finally. The comfort of your own bed.

A heavy sigh left your lips as your back was met with the soft, silky comforter. Hair still wet from the shower, finally changed into your comfiest clothes—basketball shorts with that one white shirt that reeks the smell of Jeonghan.

It's been exactly a month since your drunken confession to your boyfriend. nothing's changed. He still leaves before you're awake—you can hear the rustle and his quiet footsteps as he paces around to get ready, trying to make the littlest amount of noise. ensuring not to leave before giving you a quick kiss on your forehead or shoulder as he rubs your arm soothingly—and reaches home after you head to bed. It's like a routine now—one that you'll never get used to.

You tried pushing down the negativity that has been clouding your mind. You're stubborn—why aren't you leaving him yet? You asked yourself the same question every day. Yet, here you are. still anticipating greetings in his presence.

Every corner of the apartment was awfully quiet. His side of the bed had been immensely cold. your fingers swiftly gliding across the vacant space. 

After a long day, there was no comfort in this well-filled space. All because this isn't your home; it was just a house you lived in.

Where could he possibly be?

It's starting to get to you that maybe, just maybe, Jeonghan was really over you. over all the things you had done together—to all the many firsts, anniversaries, lego dates—just anything you could possibly think of.

I'll give him one last week...

ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤ

Pushing yourself off your shared bed, you moved towards the sleek chrome vanity that your boyfriend was able to find at the thrift store when you both first moved into this apartment.

Living with Jeonghan has been easy. You both have almost the same hobbies and interests, which allowed living together to be comfortable—something you were most worried about when he proposed for the two of you to live under the same roof.

Sure, you'd bicker all the time. How can you not when your partner is a literal menace? But you could never recall having big arguments. Jeonghan had always been soft with you. Even when you're having an argument and the pent-up anger is evident, he'll gently reach out for your hand to calm you down. Jeonghan always admires your beauty and cherishes your presence and company throughout the years you have spent together.

"I might seriously go crazy if we're not married and growing old together," he chuckled as his thumb brushed over your knuckles.

Sigh, what a sweet memory.

Bringing yourself out of your thoughts, you picked up a pan to get together a small meal before heading to bed. rinsing off the pans as well as your hand, moving towards the cupboards to gather your ingredients. making sure you weren't cooking a portion for two.

ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤㅤ

click *the tune of your keypad pierced through your apartment*

Who could it be? There's only a few people who know the password to your home—your family, his family, and obviously Jeonghan—but it's unlikely for any of them to visit or be home at this time.

And there, he stood.

It took you a second to realise that he was home. But at this hour? You could feel yourself frowning at his sudden appearance.

Grounded as you take in the realisation that he was back home. "Are you okay? Did you forget something?" you questioned, eyes laced with concern.

Your eyes were locked with his, and your mind was frantically trying to figure him out. Breath hitching as you study him. Oh, how bitter it was for you to feel this way, but that wasn't your Hannie. The man standing feet away felt like a stranger.

Your hannie was bright and cheerful, even when he was drained out physically. Your Hannie would approach you with open arms and drop whatever was in his hands just to be within your embrace. Your Hannie didn't look as solemn even when he had lost his little pet rock.

This wasn't the Jeonghan you knew and loved. This is the Jeonghan you couldn't recognise. The one you felt so emotionally detached from, the one you've tried so hard to reach out to but failed.

Where did my hannie go?

ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤㅤ

The silence was deafening. Your thoughts were so loud that you think Jeonghan could hear them screaming. Your eyes faltered to the ground as your lips formed a little pout. Oh boy, you knew this was going to be hell to calm yourself down.

Unintentionally, a loud sob slipped past your quivering lips as you choked on your tears. And with that, Jeonghan took big strides to have you in his arms.

Arms securely holding up your trembling figure as the other found its way through you damp hair. Pressing you up against his heaving chest. His own painful sobs escapes his lips melodically above your head, fingers lightly rubbing along your spine.

It hurt him to hear your cries and watch you crumble because of him. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry for leaving you confused like that," He coos at you, leaving a longing kiss on the top of your head as he gently swung your bodies.

"You must've been scared. I'm sorry, little one"

ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤㅤ

Jeonghan's words were only turning your sobs into wails. hands hitting weakly on his chest, mumbling your pent-up rants towards him.

Where have you been?

I don't even know how you've been?

Do you know how worried I am?

Was it easy for you to leave me like that?

I thought- I- I thought I lost my person.

Jeonghan's cold hands gently cupped your heated cheeks, placing butterfly kisses all over your face which managed to stop your rambling. Your eyes fell shut as you felt his plump lips against your glistening cheeks.

One on the left, and another on the right. On the crown of your forehead and the gentlest one on the bridge of your nose.

Resting his forehead against yours as, yet again, another heartbreaking sob escapes his mouth. You willed yourself to open your eyes, to be met with his reddened ones staring back into your glistening, puffy eyes.

ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ₊˚ ⋆ㅤ۫ ㅤㅤ

"I love you, baby. I really do. I was overwhelmed by the thought of us," taking in a gulp of air as he continues. "I've never been so comfortable with anyone like I have been with you. I'm aware that dating someone like me isn't easy. With my never-ending practices and even tours for months, I'm afraid you'll give up on me soon and find a new person."

He sounded so wrecked over you. Your ugly cries have not died down. Hearing his last sentence made your hands shoot up; now you're the one cradling his face.

"Yoon Jeonghan," you paused as you waited for him to look at you again. Fingers gently wiping away his tear streaks. "How could I possibly find someone else when all you've done was love me right?" He could still see the spark and love in your eyes except, they were buried behind the glassy tears that were welling up again at the brim of your eyes.

How your gaze became warmer than before.

"Stay with me, y/n," he murmured under the soft glow of the sunset streak. In that tender moment, he uttered promises of forever, resounding in your ears as your lips met in a delicate, soul-stirring kiss.

Your arms find their way around his neck as you deepen the kiss. Parting slightly to catch your breath as you stabilised your overwhelmed self. "I missed you. So, so much," you whispered, your voice filled with longing and love.

"You know, I'll always be here for you, no matter what. I signed myself up for this, Hannie. I'm not going to back down after I've spent years with you and your teasing ass," which brought a soft laugh out of you and your boyfriend.

After a long separation, your lips reunited in a tender, homecoming kiss. In that moment, time stood still, and the world around them faded away. It was always meant to be like this, leaving only their love and longing.

[catboybiologist]

So I'm realizing that I basically have one outfit that I just make minor alterations/swaps with. I wanna keep tabs on where I got this stuff, and since I'm an attention whore, I might as well make a post out of it. With a few exceptions, everything has been stuff I've nabbed when it's on sale online or I see in a thrift store within the past couple of months.

Here's a dump of pics, some new, some old, to give you an idea of what I wear basically every day:

I really like this fit. It's professional without being stodgy, showy on the figure without being inappropriate, casual without being sloppy. I'm def "dressing up" by grad student standards, esp compared to what I used to be like as a guy, but I'm okay with that.

Now, let's steal her look!!!

Bra:

https://www.calvinklein.us/en/underwear/women/bras/perfectly-fit-lightly-lined-full-coverage-bra/52013837-643.html

Underwear:

Shirts:

Khakis:

Alternate khakis:

https://www.calvinklein.us/en/cotton-stretch-straight-fit-chino-pants/198294081239.html

Cardigan:

https://www.uniqlo.com/us/en/products/E472074-000/00?colorDisplayCode=30&sizeDisplayCode=004

Flannel:

https://www.rei.com/product/192987/rei-co-op-wallace-lake-flannel-shirt-mens

Glasses:

Shoes:

Note that the shoes are absolutely the most expensive part of my outfit, but I have 0 regrets. I do NOT fuck around with shoes. I'm a hiker with messed up feet, I need to keep those babies working. And so far, these have been amazingly supportive on my messed up arches and ankles, I've used them in hikes even, and they support my ankle well. They also look really nice, far cuntier than hiking boots, so y'know. That's nice too.

There are two additional things I'll mention here that I know aren't easily accessible. I have pride colored hiking socks that I wear a lot which were given to me by the trailQTs. My belt was also something I got years ago from a leather worker at an art show.

Anyways. Idk if my assessment of this actually holds up, but I figured I'd record this all somewhere.

[a-strawberry-mouse]

When do I give up on something?

(And how I low visibility mend jeans)

That depends on several things(what doesn't).

Sentimental?

Usable to me?

Usable to someone else?

Take these pants as an example.

Rejected by local thrifts(except for fiber recycling)

Not my size(it's Pre-K sized)

And it holds no sentimental value for me.

The bottoms and side pockets have significant wear as does the back. There are also stains and paint splatters.

Understand now that these are not staying pants. These shorts are pining for the fjords.

Now!

I've been needing a sacrifice for a demonstration. I now have one.

Let's see if these are compatible with an invisible or low visibility mend, shall we?

First step because of how thin this fabric is compared to regular denim, a back patch. I have a light blue flat sheet I bought years ago specifically for this purpose.

Other things I've used include denim from other jeans(I'm currently out), blue quilters cotton, a scrap of non-stretchy t-shirt, etc. Basically if it's anywhere near the color, then I'll use it.

Due to budget constraints, the closest thing I have is DMC 793. If you can run to the nearest fabric store and color match your pants, then definitely do if you're looking for that full low visibility. I will be turning this into pockets, which gives me wiggle room.

The outside and the inside.

Make sure your stitching follows the visual lines of your fabric!

At first I did tiny stitches to tack the patch down. Then I did a sort of, side by side running stitch for most of it. The worst parts I did lines of back stitches.

Invisible at almost any distance. Low visibility if someone is right up at you.

Unless you know what you're looking for; your eyes vibe past it.

And if you use a thread that directly matches your clothes? Invisible in the truest sense!

[polyamorouspunk]

Making a Work-Appropriate Punk Shirt for Under $5

Because the company I work for is rolling out new dress code that bans any sort of graphics/logos/etc. except for the actually store logo/graphics, that leaves my wardrobe a little bare for what I will and will not be able to wear. Because of that, I’ve decided to kick my DIY skills into gear so I can have something that’s alternative and yet work-appropriate to wear.

I started by buying this black t-shirt which is currently on sale in our store for under $3. With my discount and tax it came out to $2.24, but we’ll round it to $3 since not everyone is going to be getting an additional employee discount.

From there I took this grommet-filled ribbon that I bought at the thrift store my grandma works at. This was a few years ago, so I don’t remember the price really, but it was somewhere around $1. We’ll round it to $2 just to be sure.

From there I hand-sewed the ribbon around the hems of the shirt. While still being a plain black shirt with no sort of logos or graphics, it now has a DIY alternative touch that doesn’t go overboard.

And here’s the finished product! I’ll try and remember to post a picture of me in it when the new regulations kick in!

[xiaq]

Steddie outsider POV fic Pt. 4

AO3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

Eddie watches Steve leave the hospital room and Will watches Eddie watch Steve leave. 

The longing is familiar. Will thinks—he hopes—that he hides his inadvisable crush a little better. Then again, Will is not currently high as a kite on painkillers recovering from a near-fatal injury. Eddie probably can’t help the way he looks at Steve right now. 

“Are you in love with him?” Will asks. It’s maybe unfair to ask, all things considered. They barely know each other. But if Eddie is like him; if Eddie knows, he’d give anything to find someone to talk to. To see himself in. Especially someone like Eddie.

Eddie closes his eyes.

He doesn’t answer for several seconds. When he does, it's resigned. “Maybe.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Will says, because he’d want to hear it.

Eddie opens his eyes to roll them. “I know, kid. You ain’t too subtle either.” He makes a moue of distaste. “And you have shit taste in men. You could absolutely do better. At least I chose a suitably gorgeous out-of-my-league object of worship. If you’re going to pine after someone unattainable, have the self-respect to pick a really,” he sighs, the roll of words slowing to a crawl, “really impressive specimen.”

“Hey. I do not have—I think you’re hot.”

“You’re just confirming my point,” he says, gesturing to his admittedly pretty battered face. “Shit taste in men.”

Will feels like he should probably tell Eddie not to talk about himself like that, but he’s never been good at stuff like this.

“Steve has been here every day,” Will points out. 

“Because we bonded through trauma and he thinks he owes me for valiantly saving Henderson’s life at the near expense of my own. We all know Dustin is his favorite.”

“I’m just saying. My situation is hopeless. I know that. Yours might not be.”

“Please stop talking, Byers.”

“Sorry. Can I ask about something else?”

“Sure kid.” Eddie sounds exhausted.

“When did you know? That you were—uh.”

“When didn’t I know,” he mutters. “I don’t think I ever had the luxury of not knowing.”

“But you’re so…”

Will gestures at him: the bandana holding back his curls, the rings and the nail polish and the oversized Metallica shirt Steve had cut down the back and added a safety pin fastening to at the top so the nurses still had easy access for bandage changes.

“You’re so cool. Different. Loud. And the guys said you aren’t afraid of anything. That you’ll get in jocks’ faces and make speeches standing on cafeteria tables. How do you do that without being afraid?”

“Being afraid of what?” Eddie asks, “Afraid if I’m noticeable people might notice? That I’m gay?”

He says it so easily. Will has never even said the word out loud. “Yeah.”

Eddie shifts, wincing, as he reaches to scratch his chin. “I was never good at being subtle, is the thing. So I didn't have much of a choice. But in middle school I started getting into fights. Because people suspected. By high school I figured if people were going to stare I’d give them a reason before they could make their own. It was—”

He drops his hand, flexing his fingers, considering the rings on them.

“It was sort of like designing a character. Except the character was myself. The summer before freshman year, my uncle took me to Indy and we hit all the thrift stores. Found me a whole new wardrobe, and he taught me to sew to customize some vests. I figured it’d be easier to BS my way through acting brave if I looked the part.”

“And that worked?”

“It worked,” Eddie agrees quietly, attention still on his hands. “Maybe a little too well.”

“Huh.”

Will touches the slightly jagged line of his hair. He tugs the collar of his shirt and studies the scuffed toes of his sneakers. “If I wanted to do something like that, would you help me?”

“Of course,” Eddie says. “Yeah, of course. Just say when.” 

***

Three months later, Will drives to Eddie’s trailer in his shiny new bribe-from-the-government car and knocks on the door.

There’s a crash, a muffled thump, and then Eddie hissing, “Ow, fuck—no don’t, I’m fine, just stay––I know, but hold on. I think it’s one of the kids.”

“Uh…Eddie?” Will calls. “Are you ok?”

“Fine! Totally fine. One second.”

And then Eddie is wrenching open the door just wide enough that he can poke his head out. His mouth is red. His face is flushed. He’s wearing jeans that are neither buttoned or zipped and it is readily apparent that there’s no underwear underneath them. Will drags his attention back up to Eddie’s face, probably slower than he should, but Eddie is hot, even with––maybe especially with––all his scars. Sue him.

“Hi,” Eddie says, more a panted exhalation than an actual word. “What’s up?”

“Hi.”

Will may have woefully nonexistent sexual experience, but he knows what a hickey looks like. And Eddie has…a lot of them. He has like, an entire necklace of hickies.

Eddie frowns at him, follows the direction of his attention, and then brings up a hand to cover his throat. “Oh, you motherfucker,” he mutters.

“Sorry?”

“No no, not you.”

“I can…come back later,” Will says. “If you’re doing something else.”

He thinks he hears muffled laughter from inside.

Eddie sighs. “It’s fine.” he glances behind him, running a harried hand through his even-wilder-than-normal hair. “My boyfriend is here, but he can wait.”

“Oh. Oh.” Will is sort of dumbfounded that Eddie found someone in Hawkins. Maybe he’s not from Hawkins. Maybe he’s visiting from somewhere else? “That’s great. That’s really great, Eddie. But what about––”

“SO,” Eddie says loudly, before Will can say Steve’s name, “why is it that you’ve graced my humble abode with your presence, Will the Wise?”

“Um,” Will says. “You know that thing we talked about, in the hospital?”

“We talked about numerous and sundry things in the the hospital.”

“About not being afraid anymore. About giving people something to look at.”

Eddie’s expression softens. “I do.”

“I think I’m ready to not be afraid anymore. But I need help.”

“I see. How wild are we getting here, kid?”

“Hair and clothes. And maybe…I was thinking maybe get my ear pierced.”

Eddie whistles. “I’m honored you’ve selected me to accompany you on this journey. Is there anyone else you want to join the party?”

“I was thinking maybe Steve. Except he wasn’t home when I went by earlier. I thought I saw his car parked a few houses down from here, though. He might be at Max’s.”

Eddie presses his palms together like he’s praying, and touches pursed lips to his index fingers. “Give me a minute,” he says. And abruptly disappears behind a slammed door.

There’s frantic whispering, a choked off laugh, and then the door is being pulled open again by—

Steve.

“Holy shit,” Will says.

Steve is also shirtless; his pants are at least buttoned. His chest looks like it’s been clawed by an Eddie-sized cat, though.

Will tries to tell his dick that the situation is mortifying, not sexy. His dick does not agree. 

“So,” Steve clears his throat. “Impromptu trip to Indy?”

“We’ve both got work tomorrow,” Eddie says, “but Saturday?”

“Yeah,” Will agrees.

He can’t stop staring at Steve’s arm, curled proprietarily around Eddie’s waist; at Eddie’s hand resting on Steve’s wrist, like he’s not even conscious of its placement. Will wants that. He wants it so bad it winds him.

“Hey. Don’t make that face,” Eddie says, like he knows exactly what Will is thinking. He probably does. “You’re sixteen. You’ve got time. Hardly anyone ends up with their highschool crush. I’m an outlier.”

“And no offense dude, but Mike?” Steve says, “You could totally do better.”

“That’s what I said!”

“Hold on,” Steve backtracks, turning to look at Eddie. “I was your teenage crush?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “What? No.”

“That’s literally what you just said.”

“We really need to get you back to that concussion doctor,” Eddie says, “because clearly you’re hearing things, and auditory hallucinations are very concerning.”

“Hey,” Will interrupts. 

Those both turn back to look at him.

“I’m driving,” he says, trying to sound firm. “I’ll pick you both up here at 9am on Saturday.”

“You’re assuming I’ll already be here?” Steve asks.

“Won’t you?” Will argues.

“I like this assertiveness, Byers,” Eddie says approvingly. “A+ start. But maybe you pick us up at ten.”

“Nine,” he repeats. “See you then.”

He nods decisively and turns to walk back through the yard.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters behind him. “These kids are going to kill me.”

“Shut up, you love them,” Eddie says, and then, louder, “Hey Byers, keep this to yourself, will you? At least for now.”

Will holds out his hand, thumb up.

When he gets back in the car, Will puts in a Dio tape and cranks up the volume. He grins all the way home.

***

Will arrives at the final Hellfire club meeting of the summer wearing a cropped Black Sabbath shirt, ripped jeans that rival Eddie’s, and shitkicker boots that were well worth the eye-watering amount of money he paid for them. His hair is fresh-shaved on the sides and slicked back on top. The guys are mostly used to his new look by now but Max and El both give him appreciative once-overs that are gratifying. 

“Bitchin,” El says approvingly.

Will’s attention doesn’t linger on Mike. Doesn’t look for his specific reaction. It hurts less to look at him, now; gets easier every day to see him and El and not feel like their affection is engineered to hurt him. It helps that he’s gone back to Indy twice since he went with Steve and Eddie. He’s still too baby-faced to get into the bars, but he can wander through the record stores and thrift shops in the neighborhood. Sit in a cafe where no one knows him or his name. Flirt, carefully, while bumming a cigarette from a cute guy with a bandana in his pocket. The world is so much bigger than Hawkins. And he’s going to see it one day.

However, he’s still stuck there for two more years, and he plans to make the best of his time. Exhibit A:   Today is both the end of Eddie’s final campaign, and the day in which Eddie selects his successor as dungeon master.

Will thinks, maybe, it might be him. He wants it to be him.

Except when he gets to the basement, there’s no sign of Eddie. And Eddie is never late.

“Has anyone talked to him today?” Dustin asks. He’s pacing.

No one has.

“Have you tried calling him?” Will asks.

“Yeah.”

“Have you tried calling Steve?”

“Why would I call Steve?”

“Maybe just try? They’ve been hanging out a lot recently.”

Max meets his eyes and Will gets the distinct feeling she knows.

Dustin stomps up the stairs, then back down again a minute later.

“No one picked up at Steve’s house either.”

“Robin?” El suggests.

Dustin groans and heads back upstairs.

“No,” he yells down. “Any other suggestions?”

“Family Video,” Lucas shouts. 

“Or the garage!” Mike says.

Dustin has a muffled conversation first with someone who is clearly neither Steve nor Robin at Family Video, and then a longer conversation with someone else at the garage. It’s full of stops and starts and anxious-sounding questions.

“Guys,” Dustin says, coming back down the stairs. “I think Eddie and Steve might be in trouble.”

“I’ll drive,” Will says. 

They’re piled in the car and tearing off toward the garage in a matter of minutes.

“Tell me again what he said,” Max demands.

“Jason Carver and some of the guys came in to drop off a car and they were harassing Eddie last week. Since then, they’d been waiting in the parking lot across the street sometimes when Eddie got off work. So Steve has been picking him up.”

“Okay but what about today?”

“He didn’t know!” Dustin’s voice cracks in Will’s ear where he’s leaned forward over the center console from the back seat. “He said that Eddie came in to work a few hours in the morning and Steve picked him up. That Jason and his friends may have followed them but he wasn’t certain.”

“What time?”

“Over an hour ago.”

“Shit.”

“Where would they go? If they’re not at their houses?”

“The quarry,” Will says. “Or skull rock.”

“Why would they go there?” Dustin shrieks.

Will meets Max’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

He abruptly changes course.

Quarry first.

His stomach goes sour when they round the corner. Because there are two vehicles at the quarry. One is Steve’s BMW.  There’s a rucked quilt on the hood and one glass coke bottle tangled in it, tipped on its side, staining the floral fabric. A second bottle is on the ground, shattered by the front tire. Steve’s keys are laying in the gravel next to the broken glass.

 The second vehicle, parked at a haphazard angle beside it, is Jason Carver’s truck. All four doors are open. The engine is still running. The radio is still on. But there are no people to be seen.

“Oh no,” Dustin says. “Oh no, no, no. This is not good.”

“Shit,” Lucas says, “shit, ok. So they probably ran for the woods, right? Do we have any weapons?”

“Lucas,” El says.

“Ok, obviously you. But we’re going to have to split up to search for them and the rest of us can’t exactly defend ourselves with our minds.”

Will pops the trunk.

And gets out the bat.

He’d felt kind of ridiculous when he’d made it, carefully hammering nails into the wood until it looked like Steve’s. He hadn’t even practiced with it or anything before he’d put it in the trunk with the first aid kit and the jumper cables and the tire iron: all things he’d hoped he’d never have occasion to use. He’s grateful for it now as he swings it experimentally.

“Dude,” Lucas says.

“Nice,” Max says. She takes the tire iron.

“Let’s go,” Will says.

***

It probably shouldn’t come as a surprise that Will is the one who finds them.

It feels right, all things considered. Less Deus Ex Machina and more destiny. 

Eddie is on the ground and Steve is standing over him, arms out, like he can protect him from Jason––Jason who is pointing a gun at Steve's chest, while his three goons are circled around them, watching. 

A gun. God, it’s almost insulting. The very idea that a gun might be the thing to end one of their lives.

Steve’s voice is low and frantic.

And Will is angry.

He knows he should be scared. Maybe he is. But he’s faced far worse that Jason fucking Carver. And when he looks at Jason he sees Lucas’ battered face and Max’s casts. He sees every bully with straight teeth and a letterman jacket that ever shoved him in a hallway.

The hand not holding the bat curls into a fist.

“Hey,” he shouts, and stalks forward.

“Stop right there,” Carver says, swinging around wildly to take aim at him.

“Or what?” 

“Do you not see the gun in my hands?”

“Yeah, you see the bat in mine?”

He keeps walking.

“You think I’m joking?” Carver’s arm is shaking.

“You think shooting me will work?” Will shouts back, heart loud in his ears, but voice shockingly cavalier, “I came back from the dead once, maybe I’ll do it again.”

He keeps walking.

“What the fuck,” one of the guys says, “is that Beyers?”

“Jason,” another one says, “Jason, come on, this isn’t what we talked about. Harrington and now the Beyers kid? You can’t––”

“Shut up,” Carver yells.

Will keeps walking.

He brings his free hand to his mouth and whistles. Loud. Piercing. Something the party had practiced until they all could do it three summers before.

He immediately gets three whistles back.

“Over here!” he shouts. He stops walking just within range of Carver. 

He plants his feet. He taps the bat against the side of one boot.

“You’re about to be outnumbered,” he says.

“Fuck man,” one of the guys says. “I’m out.” And with the sudden departure of one, the rest follow. Including, after a moment, Jason himself. He starts with a few steps backward, then his arm drops to his side and he scrambles into a run.

Steve watches them until they’re out of sight, and then he’s collapsing like a puppet whose strings have been cut, reaching for Eddie as Eddie reaches for him, colliding in a tangle of desperate hands.

“Are you okay?” they demand of each other, and then, after a moment of frantic reassurances, they turn to face Will.

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Steve says, eyes on the bat. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Gee, can’t imagine where he learned it from,” Eddie mutters, spitting blood as they struggle to their feet. Steve doesn’t look to be in much better shape than Eddie but at least his face is mostly unscathed.

“Oh, don’t even try to pin this on me.” Steve wraps one arm around Eddie’s waist to keep him upright and throws out the other to gesture half-heartedly at Will. “Look at him.”

“Well sure, but I don’t go around with a fucking nail-bat in my trunk and I sure as hell don’t provoke people when I’m up against stupid odds unlike some dipshits who have no appreciation for their own mortality.”

“The safety was on,” Will points out. He whistles again. Three whistles back again, this time accompanied by shouting. 

“What?” Eddie says.

“Jason,” Will says. “The gun he was holding. The safety was on. I definitely could have hit him before he could have shot me.”

Eddie lets out a hysterical little laugh. 

He trips on something and nearly takes Steve down with him.

“Whoa, hey.” Steve hoists him back up as Max and Lucas come stumbling through the undergrowth. 

“Oh shit,” Lucas says, “guys, are you ok?”

“Peachy keen,” Eddie warbles.

Steve uses his shirt to wipe blood off Eddie’s upper lip. Will thinks his nose might be broken. 

“Hey, look at me,” Steve says. “How’s your head?”

“Fucked,” Eddie groans. “Probably still better than yours, though, sweetheart. Should change your name to King of Brain Damage.” He blinks blearily at Steve, smiling through pink-stained teeth. “ Or maybe King of pretty eyes.”

“Stop trying to flirt when you’re concussed.”

Dustin crashes into the clearing next, throwing himself at Steve and Eddie and nearly dumping them back onto the ground with his exuberance. 

And then El and Mike are there and Will is handing his bat to Lucas and pulling Eddie’s other arm over his shoulder, nodding to Steve as they move forward.

“Hospital?” He asks.

“No,” Eddie whines between them.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “And we gotta call Hopper to come get pictures and take our statements.”

“Hopper is gonna kill us,” Mike sighs.

“Nah,” Steve says. “But Joyce might kill Jason for pointing a gun at Will.”

“...do we have to tell them that part?” Will asks. 

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” Steve says.

Will sighs. 

It’s going to be a long night.

Ten minutes later, they stumble out of the trees and make their way down the quarry rim to the cars. Carver’s truck is gone.

“Will,” Steve says, “you mind driving us?”

Will glances across Eddie’s ducked head to meet Steve’s eyes. “Sure.”

“You’re going to let someone else drive the BMW?” Dustin says incredulously. “You never let anyone else drive the BMW.”

“Special circumstances,” Steve says. “Hey, Sinclair. You got your permit, right?”

Lucas looks like this might be the best day of his life.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “Passed with flying colors.”

“Be still my heart,” Eddie croons, “for King Steve cannot bear to be separated from his humble bard.”

“Bard, sure,” Steve mutters, “humble, not so much.”

“You wound me, sire. And on my deathbed too?”

“You’re not dying,” Steve argues, aggrieved. “Hold on.” He opens the back car door and Will helps Steve slide Eddie inside.

“I can sit with him,” Dustin says. “If you still want to drive, I mean.”

“No,” Steve says. “It’s fine.”

“We cannot be parted!” Eddie shouts from inside, “For Lo! Young we are and yet have stood like planted hearts in the great Sun of Love so long (as two fair trees in woodland or in open dale stand utterly entwined and breathe the airs and suck the very light together) that we have become as one, deep rooted in the soil of Life and tangled in the sweet growth!”

“Is that…” Dustin bends, hands on his knees, to frown at Eddie. “Why are you quoting Tolkien’s wedding vows?”

“Boys are so stupid,” Max says. “No offense, Will.”

“None taken,” Will murmurs.

“No offense Will?”” Lucas repeats.

Steve exhales loudly, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose, but he’s smiling. He crawls into the back seat, pulling Eddie’s head into his lap. He runs his fingers, gentle, through the mess of Eddie’s hair. He smooths his thumb against the quickly swelling curve of his cheekbone.

“Wait,” Lucas says. “Wait, wait, wait. Are they––”

“Uh,” Mike says.

“So stupid,” Max repeats, stooping to pick up Steve’s key’s from the ground. She tosses them to Lucas. “Come on, let’s go. We can deal with your complete inability to see what’s right in front of your faces at the hospital.”

Will agrees. Dustin slides into the passenger seat of Will’s car, still spluttering, as Will is buckling his seatbelt. He starts the engine.

He glances in the rearview mirror just in time to see Steve duck to press his lips to the mangled bridge of Eddie’s nose; to see Eddie’s grin in response.

“Wedding vows, huh,” Steve murmurs.

“I’m concussed,” Eddie says primly, “I’m out of my mind.”

“On that we’re agreed,” Steve says, but he’s looking down at him with such fondness it makes Will feel like a voyeur.

He suppresses a smile of his own and puts the car in drive, turning up the radio over Dustin’s demands for details. 

If he wasn’t before, Will is definitely going to be Eddie’s choice for dungeon master, now. Did Dustin save Eddie’s life by threatening Jason Carver with a nail bat while Jason Carver was pointing a gun at his face? No. No he did not. 

Will did.

Pt. 5 (Tommy Hagan)

[vampire-meta-knight]

Goth DIY: Altered Clothing part 1

Since some of you crafty goths were interested in seeing the clothing I've altered, I decided to compile it all in one place! I hope I can inspire your creations,give you ideas, and teach you new techniques. This will be a long post, since I've been making alterations to my clothing since high school, which also means some of these projects aren't as polished as others, since they were made when I was newer to DIY and have mistakes I've since learned from, but that's okay! Goth doesn't have to be polished and perfect, and don't let the fear of mistakes stop you from creating!

I've already done posts about the shorts and pants I've gothified, so part 1 will focus on t-shirts, camisoles, and button-up shirts. Part 2 will have sweaters, skirts, and dresses. Some alterations are as easy as adding safety pins or lace trim, and others involve more sewing. Lots of these are very beginner-friendly projects and take less than an hour. All of these items were completely plain when I got them--anything metal, lace, embroidered, or painted that you see was added by me. I'll add more about each garment in the image descriptions. As always, feel free to message me if you want better or more thorough instructions or DIY advice. I'm here to be a resource to my fellow crafters! <3

(Also, please pardon the cat hair and my hair on the clothes--I don't take perfect pictures. A couple pics are also old since those shirts are in storage so I could make room for my winter wardrobe, so you'll notice a change in backdrop and a dirty mirror.)

Let's start with t-shirts and camisoles! Use an old shirt, a thrifted shirt, a shirt from Walmart, etc.! I like to get plain unisex t-shirts from Walmart and paint on them using freezer paper stencils, bleach them, shred them, and/or add safety pins to them. The camis also came from Walmart, and I changed the necklines and added lace trim to make them cuter.

To make a sweetheart neckline on a cami, you can cut it, or you can just pinch the middle and sew it into place (I did that for all of them except the black and white one--that one ended up a little lower-cut than I meant it to, so I decided to stick with the pinching method). The lace trim I used on the black camis isn't stretchy, but still works just fine, as long as you pin it into place while you're wearing the shirt and stretch the shirt a bit as you sew to maintain stretch in those areas. Stretchy lace, like I used on the pink and red camis, works a bit better, but is harder to find. I still like pinning the lace while I'm wearing the shirt to get the placement down, but if you wear a bra, make sure you're wearing the one you plan on wearing with the shirt while placing the lace. I found it doesn't sit right with bras that fit a little differently than the one I based the placement on.

The long-sleeved Emily the Strange shirt has a neat detail, albeit a wonky one because my placement is a bit off sometimes. You'll notice two little striped triangles at the bottom. I cut slits in the shirt and added triangles of striped stretchy fabric, then sewed zippers over top of them to hide the seams and add extra detail. I also sewed the zippers on with red thread for contrast.

My button-ups are a bit more involved. I treat them like how I treat shorts--patches, lace, embroidery, pins, grommet tape, D-rings, charms, chains, oh my! The pink one is my most recent, and I'm so proud of it. All of the patches came from ToothxNail on Etsy, except the Rat King patch, which came from Katiewhittleart on Etsy. The flowers on the collar were buttons that I glued onto flat-back pins from a craft store (I used E6000 glue). Made super quick collar pins that I can remove when washing the shirt or put on something else when I want.

The orange button-up was by far the simplest. I just added lace trim to the cuffs and cropped it (it had been high-low, but I wanted to wear it tucked into a skirt and the long back was annoying me). I also added collar clips with a chain that I got at a craft fair, but that's more like styling an accessory with it than altering it, since I can just un-clip them.

The leather jacket is old and doesn't fit well, so I don't wear it anymore, but I kept it because it was my first leather jacket. Adding the sew-on studs and faux-fur trim on the neck took the longest. You'll also notice that a mouse chewed a hole in the outer shell on the pocket.

Part 2