#sandpaper x pencil

[bensonsrandy]

this is for a very VERY small target audience but i wanted to let the rock paper scissors cartoon enjoyers know i recently i finally finished my papercut fic!!

rating: explicit | archive warning: no archive warnings apply | category: M/M

relationships: Scissors/Paper, Sandpaper/Pencil, Rock & Paper & Scissors

word count: 9.3k, 2/2 chapters :)

notable tags: human AU, there was only one bed, intricate rituals, etc…

it was so fun to write, i hope yall like it!😭

[whatermelown]

"My favorite spell is a spell to make a field of flowers..." 💐✨

Plate: Oil pastel Techniques- Triptych: Continuous Narrative

"Lieblingszauber"

Oil Pastel and Color pencil on sandpaper

13in x 20in

4/10/24

one of my favorite plates so far ;w; Chose to do Frieren because what's more of a continuous narrative than a thousand year-old elf mage ;0; <33 inspos with Monet impressionism esp for his way with flowersss

shoutout to @antenenaa for helping me start a bit HAHAHA GO COMMS THEM NOW PEOPLE

my first uno plate tooooo,,,, I'm so happyyy... the first time I really made this plate with fun and the first to get a high grade,,, such a frieren coded ep HAHAHHAHA CHZ

Magic is supposed to be fun and I guess that goes with art too

over all im super happy with how it turned out and might make a print of it soon :33

[thebearmage]

Reborn - Five Hargreeves x Dolores - Chapter One

Rated 18+/Mature

(Chapter One) (Chapter Two)

Chapter One - Awake "Do you trust me?"

"Viktor!? What are you doing!? Stop her!"

"Allison, don't do it!"

"Allison, wait!"

The entire universe goes dark as if someone turned off the power on an old TV - there's a beat, then two, then three. 

She startles awake with a gasp, breath filling her lungs, looking up at the white ceiling tiles. She's laying on her back, trembling, body working overdrive as it struggles to grasp its new mechanisms. 

Everything is too bright; everything is too loud. Her head hurts, her body hurts, and everything felt constricting and too loose at the same time. Before they can process what's happening, they turn onto her side and vomit. 

It's mostly bile, for her stomach has nothing in it, never has. She pants roughly as spots dance before her vision, black threads falling into her face as they attempt to push themselves into a kneeling position. 

A hand is on her back. She looks up to see a store worker - a kind-looking woman, pear-shaped, with gray hair and soft eyes. 

"Are you alright, honey?" She asks, "Did you fall?"

The words sound like gibberish for a moment, her neurons firing faster than ever before. They blink in confusion for a moment before the words finally register. 

"I…" 

She turns and coughs as soon as she tries to speak. Her throat feels like sandpaper; she grips it softly as she coughs, and the woman rubs her back. 

"Easy, now, take it slow. You must have passed out," 

The store worker helps her to her feet, and she has to grab the clothes rack next to them in order to stand properly. Her legs felt weak…unused. 

How…how did she know…anything? She didn’t know what a store or clothes were; she knew nothing 30 seconds ago. But now she has all this shit in her head, thoughts pounding against her skull as she tries to make sense of it all. 

"Oh honey," The worker helps balance her, "What happened?"

They don't answer her at first, looking behind her to see small platforms. Two nicely dressed mannequins occupied two platforms, but the third - the one in the middle - was empty. 

Thoughts come streaming together in a whirlwind, causing her head to hurt. They look down at themselves: black and white polka-dot t-shirt, black pencil skirt, pale skin. 

They look to the side to see a black beret and matching shoes near the base of the middle pedestal. Her breathing picks up. They grip her arms so hard they feel her fingers dig into her skin. Panic starts to rise within her, and the worker gently grabs her face to make eye contact. 

"Sweetie, look at me," she instructs softly, "Can you hear me? What color is my jacket?"

Her eyes flicker down to the woman's vest, "B-blue," her voice is raspy as if she's never spoken before.

"Good, what color is your skirt?"

"B-black?"

"Very good," the woman smiles as they slowly start to calm down, "what color is the floor,"

"Gray,"

The woman helps them take deep breaths, and soon, her pounding heart slows. 

"Now, what's your name, darling?" the woman asks again. 

She blinks before answering, "Dolores,"

»»————　★　————««

Dolores sits in the department store's break room. She looks at her reflection in a little mirror. She guessed the women used to correct their makeup during their breaks. 

Dark hair and green eyes looked back at her; her face was not too angular but not round. Her eyes lidded but not tried looking. Her cheeks were rosy, and her lips a soft pink. Dolores's dark hair stopped right at her shoulders, straight but with a slight wave. 

It's not what either of them imagined. 

Dolores breaks the intense eye contact with her reflection to look at the cup of a dark liquid in her hands. 

Coffee…right… it's called coffee. 

Dolores, curious, raises the drink to her lips and takes a sip, nearly spitting the bitter liquid out. 

"Not a coffee fan?"

They looked up to see the woman before walking into the room. Dolores tried to smile. Her mind was slowly piercing itself together, memories fitting back into place. She didn't know how it happened, but she was alive. Plastic was replaced with skin, and a hollow torso was replaced with organs and blood. 

"Not really," Dolores laughs softly, coughing a bit. Her vocal cords were still not used to working. Or rather, she was still getting used to having a voice.

"Well, it'll help either way," the woman sits in a chair across from Dolores, looking at them softly, "That was one nasty fall you took there,"

Dolores nods, "I remember…"

"What happened?"

Dolores takes a moment to answer, her newly born thoughts firing rapidly. What happened isn’t normal. She isn’t normal. She can’t tell the truth. She’d be accused of being insane and convicted. She had a lie. To hide. Protect herself.

"I was trying to see the hat the mannequin was wearing. I was too short, so I stepped up on the platform to see. I slipped," Dolores took another sip of the coffee, wincing at the taste again, "It was stupid, I'm sorry,"

The woman looks sympathetic, "Well, you're okay, and you learned not to do that again," she laughs softly. Dolores smiles. 

"Is there anyone I can call for you?" the woman presses. "Family or friends?"

Dolores shakes her head, "No,"

"Spouse? Wife? Husband?"

A face flashes in her mind - well, two faces: an old man and a teenage boy. But Dolores knew it was the same person. It was--

"No," she says, "I'm…alone,"

The woman looks concerned, "Are you--"

"Thanks for the coffee," Dolores gently cuts her off, "And for helping me, but I better get going,"

The worker sputters as Dolores exits the break room, walking down the aisles to the door. 

"Wait!"

Dolores turns back around to see the woman hobbling after her, "Are you sure you're okay, honey? I can call someone to help you,"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dolores tries to smile, "Thank you again,"

The woman looks like she wants to protest, but Dolores turns away and slips out of the store. 

»»————　★　————««

Dolores doesn't know how long she's been walking. Her feet were starting to hurt, but she felt like she couldn't stop. She's never been able to move, walk, or pose independently; she's always been guided by someone else to pose silently, frozen. 

What was she going to do? She had some understanding of how the world worked; he would keep complaining about it to no end, and he sometimes brought her to different places, riding around on the back of a wagon…or was it a bike? Maybe both?

Should they go to him? Ask him to take them in?

Dolores shook the thought away. No. Hell no. They were not going back. Every time they were around him, they got shot at, thrown, used as leverage, or abandoned. Yeah, no fucking thanks. 

So what are they to do? They need a job, a place to live, food and water. 

Dolores noticed that it was getting dark out. In a slight panic, they looked around, seeing they were in the…darker parts of town. 

The only establishment nearby was a club, and there was nowhere else to go. Dolores crossed the street and entered. As soon as the door closed, she felt eyes on her. Most of the patrons were men, with scarcely dressed women dancing on poles, serving drinks, and even sitting with them. 

Dolores felt uncomfortable but knew she couldn't back out—not with how the men looked at her. Most were older, with graying hair and crooked teeth. Some were younger, middle-aged, and handsome, with evil glints in their eyes. Dolores felt like…she…they were looking at her as if she were a doll again. For a brief moment, Dolores thought she had turned back, only to snap back to herself when a voice behind her went. 

“You going to walk in, missy, or keep blocking the door?”

Dolores paused; she also didn’t have anywhere else to go. So, holding her head up high, she walked to the bar at the end. 

"Hey, sugar, what can I get ya?" The bartender asks, looking happy to serve someone other than a sleazy older man. 

"Just water is fine," Dolores answered, and the woman nodded and walked away. 

Dolores nurses her water for the next hour, ignoring the men talking and staring at her. She needs a job, but what sane person would hire a woman with no history - no birth certificate, no social security number, no driver's license, no fucking proof of identification. 

This…was going to be a lot harder than they thought. Dolores sighs, racking her head. Many of her memories were fuzzy and incomplete, but a few were vivid and clear. On top of that, she had a lot of information flowing into her head like a river, as if someone had activated the default settings on a video game character. 

She knows what a video game is…?

"Hey, princess!" A gruff voice calls out. Dolores looks up to see a nicely dressed older man in a crimson suit looking at her. He was big, with graying hair, flushed skin, a double chin, gold bracelets and necklaces, and a golden tooth. He beckons her over. 

"Come sit next to me, darling. I wanna get a good look at you," 

Dolores' eyes narrow, and she sips her water without breaking eye contact or moving. The man's smile is full of false warmth. 

"Oh, come on, princess. I won't do nothin' honest! Just wanna get a closer look at you,"

Dolores was about to refuse when she noticed the fear on the bartender's face. They made eye contact, and the woman gestured for her to go over. With a sigh, Dolores took her water and plopped down beside the man. 

"There we go. That wasn't so hard, right?" The man leans closer to Dolores, who leans back a bit, "You're a pretty one, all right. What's your name?"

"Dolores," Dolores answers shortly, "Yours?"

"They call me Mr. Higgins. A pleasure to meet you, Miss. Dolores," 

Higgins takes Dolores' hand and kisses it. They want nothing more than to rip it away. They steel her expression and sip her water. 

"So, Miss Dolores," Higgins speaks casually, either not noticing or ignoring her discomfort, "What does a pretty thing like you do?"

Dolores sees the trap before it's laid, but they also see an opportunity, "I don't have a job right now,"

Higgins has the decency to pretend to be shocked, "Oh? Well, that's a shame. How do you pay for your house?"

Dolores starts to wonder if this man has been following her, "I don't have one,"

Higgins gasps in fake horror, "You're homeless? Oh princess, that's not right," he retakes her hand, "Let me help you, darlin'. I can help you get back on your feet! Work for me. I'll let you stay in one of my backrooms," Higgins's smile is full of malice. Dolores can also see the sharp teeth, "Nobody like you should be wandering around alone, I'll take good care of you,"

Knowing this was a bad idea but desperately needing the money, Dolores struggled with her decision. She knew she was walking into a trap, but the allure of a job and a place to stay was too strong. She plastered a grateful smile on her face and nodded, "Thank you very much! I'd like that!"

As she agreed to Higgins's offer, she felt a surge of anger and frustration. She wanted nothing more than to punch that wicked smile off the man's face as it grew in triumph. But they knew they had to play along, for now. Dolores was determined to find a way out of her current situation, no matter what it took. 

[somediyprojects]

DIY Large-scale Picture Frame

Project by Erica Loesing:

Tools + Materials

-Large print/photo/something pretty to frame (see tips below!) -White illustration board (make sure it’s thick/dense enough to stand without waving) -Acrylic sheet (such as Plexiglass, I used a 32 x 44 inch sheet) -Spray mount -Straightedge + utility knife -4 wood boards (I chose 1/2” x 2” Poplar – you won’t want much narrower than this) -Pencil -Tape measure -Saw + miter box -Fine sandpaper or sanding block -4 corner braces (I used 1/2” x 2.5″), + tiny screws that won’t puncture the face of your wood frame -Drill + Phillips bit (could use a manual Phillips screwdriver, too!) -Square tool -Wood glue (I like Elmer’s) -Paint or stain (I used a black satin spray paint) -Turn buttons (I used nylon) -Large picture hook (you may need a hammer to attach this)

Notes

Somewhat of a secret is that most office store print shops (I used Staples) offer something called an “engineer print.” Large-scale prints for only a few dollars! So that’s what I did here. I had this super cute pear illustrated and then printed nice and big in a matter of hours for only a few dollars. (I have also seen people print photos using this process and have great results!) The paper is pretty thin and the print isn’t necessarily photo quality, but I think it works so great for this application and would totally recommend it if you’re mindful of your costs and feel it wouldn’t compete with the aesthetic of your project.

Now I want to mention a few constraints here. Of course there will be a maximum print size at your local print shop (most likely 36 x 48 inches). But the largest acrylic I could find locally was 33 x 44 inches. So I sized my print to be no larger than this, choosing 33 x 40 inches. And here are the reasons I chose acrylic over glass — while it does have more size restrictions (yet you can typically buy larger pieces of acrylic than glass at a basic hardware store), the acrylic is very lightweight (and I didn’t want to have to build a frame within my frame to support glass), you can cut it with a knife (and they’ll also cut it down for you in the store, typically for free!), and it won’t shatter. I just didn’t have the courage to handle such a large sheet of glass. The downsides are that it is, well, plastic and not glass, and I think it tends to have a bit more of a glare. I don’t love that you can tell it’s acrylic, but again, I was trying to be mindful of costs, time, and my low skill level. And honestly, I never notice it now that it’s hanging on the wall.

How-to

First, spray mount your print to a board. Since my print was on thin paper with a lot of negative space and you could sort of see through it, I used a white illustration board to back it. You want to use something that isn’t too thick (the thicker this backing is, the further from the wall your frame will rest), but also something dense enough that can stand on its own without waving or warping. This will be the backing of your frame. I first tried sandwiching everything together without mounting, but since my paper was so thin it looked terrible behind the glass (since it’s so large and gravity wants to pull it to the bottom). Also, if you are using something thin like I was, be extra careful for bubbles and other ugly errors when spray mounting. I may or may not have had to redo mine the first time around…

You can now trim the mounted print down to whatever size you’d like it to be, keeping in mind the size constraints of the acrylic. Measure your print. You want your acrylic to be about the same size as your mounted print. Again, you can have this cut exactly to size at your hardware store. Or, if you’re feeling up to it, acrylic sheets can be cut at home with a utility knife and a straightedge! You don’t even have to worry if your edge isn’t perfect because it will be hidden behind the frame.

Moving onto the frame. All you need for this step is a pencil, a tape measure, a saw, and your four wood boards. (For this step I set up my wood on sawhorses in my backyard, but the sawhorses aren’t necessary. I just prefer working at table height.) I created mitered corners for my frame, which is typical for framing, so I also used a miter box for accuracy, which came with my saw. I love that I can get the exact angle I need, and everything will fit together nicely without needing any fancy tools or causing extra frustration. Of course you could opt for square corners and skip this step! Or use a power saw, or a handy friend! There are a bunch of ways to achieve the look you want.

When measuring your boards, first consider the size of your mounted print + plexiglass. Then consider the size of your corner braces and how much space you’ll need to leave for them. (I would sketch this out. See below for the sketch I did for my project, based on the measurements I was using.) Obviously, you want the interior measurement of your frame to be overlapped by your plexi/print, and I recommend planning for a solid 3/4” on all sides.

Using your saw, cut your measured boards down to size, at 45-degree angles. You want your frame to be as square as possible, which means cutting equal angles and equal lengths. I always check mine after each cut to be sure.

Once all four boards are cut to equal size, use a fine sandpaper or sanding block to sand the rough edges.

Now we are ready to assemble! For this step you need wood glue (I love Elmer’s), and I also like to use a square tool to check that the corners meet up nice and, well, square. Apply wood glue to each mitered end, and join your frame together, checking your corners with the square as you go. Give the glue a little bit of time to dry. Now, you could choose to stop here. Depending on the size of your frame and how tight your mitered edges meet, maybe you don’t need the corner braces. While the wood glue is surprisingly strong, I still chose to use the braces, just for peace of mind that my frame would stay together when it was all said and done.

The corner braces are as simple as screwing them into place, one at each corner. (Be sure to choose screws that will not poke through the front face of your frame. I had to buy smaller screws than the ones that came with the braces.) It is helpful to place your print/acrylic sheet on the glued frame at this point to use as a guide; be sure there is enough space for the braces to be screwed outside the outer edges of your acrylic. The braces make a nice little shelf on the bottom for the print to rest upon, too! (I recommend marking the location of each of your four braces with your pencil.) Once the brackets are screwed into place, flip the frame over and use your square to once again check your corners. If everything looks good, hooray! As a final detail I like to use a little bit of the wood glue to fill any open spaces where the corners meet on the front face of the frame, especially if you will be painting over it. This is the last step using the wood glue. Once this dries, use your sandpaper to lightly sand all of your faces and edges that will be visible when displaying your frame.

Time to paint! I chose to spray paint my frame in a black satin. You could choose to leave the wood bare, stain it, or paint it any color of the rainbow.

Once your paint is dry, flip the frame over and set your print + acrylic into place. During this step I finally removed the protective coating from my acrylic. I like to keep it on as long as possible to prevent any scratches. Note that the acrylic is extremely attractive to any bit of dust or dirt or whatever may be nearby. (In hindsight, I would have done this step inside on a clean surface.) Time to install your turn buttons. Just like the corner braces, these are as easy as simply screwing in place. They are the same as you’ve probably seen used on a wall mirror. Again, check the length of screw you’re using given the thickness of your wood frame. For the size of my frame I used five turn buttons up the sides, then four at the top and bottom. (Avoid placing one in the center of the top, since a picture hook will eventually go here!)

It will be so tempting to flip your frame over and call it a day, but there is one more tiny step! Measure across the top of your frame and mark the center point. Use this mark to install a picture hook if you plan on hanging your frame (probably using a hammer). I chose the largest picture hook I could find to accommodate the thickness of the backing. If you choose too small of a hook, the frame may not hang flush on the wall, but instead protrude out at the bottom. Even though I used a really large picture hook I still went back and used the back of my hammer to bend it slightly outward to accommodate the board + turn button thickness.

VOILA! My frame is hung and I am just so pleased with the result. It’s large and cool and makes such an impact for only a little bit of cost + skill. And I was glad to spend a pretty day outside working with my hands and building something I could show off on my otherwise big, blank wall. I hope you will be able to follow my instructions and learn from my many mistakes on my first go-round, but please don’t hesitate to ask if you have any questions!

[moomingitz]

How You make You custom Cosmo from Sonic X figure? I REALLY WANT a cosmo figure in Jakks Pacific Sonic figure scale

To give you the sort-of brief version, for the base/parts I used:

A Jakks Pacific Amy figure

Boots from a Jakks Pacific Rouge figure

Hands from a Jazwares Tails figure

Lower legs from an Equestria Girls minis figure(Rainbow Rocks Rarity, to be precise)

2 6mm X 5mm X 2.9mm ball joints (used those to give her elbow articulation)

Mind you it took quite a bit of prep work and sculpting. Oh, and buffing and sanding, before and after doing the sculpting job. Sooo much buffing and sanding.

You don't even have to use all of the listed figures or parts I just listed. Heck, you don't even have to use an official Sonic as your base. This is just how I went about making mine. But, I would highly recommend that at the very least you use an Amy head for your custom Cosmo figure.

This is a complete list of supplies I used to make my Cosmo figure. Keep in mind, it's not necessary for you to use single thing listed here. But the materials that are absolutely necessary, and what you would need at the bare minimum, will be in bold text:

2 Part Apoxie Sculpt (if you can't get it or don't want to use, I've heard cosplay foam clay works as a good enough substitute)

Fine grit sandpaper and cosmetic blocks

Acrylic paint (I personally use Delta Creative Ceramcoat most of the time)

Watercolor brushes and miniature brushes of varying sizes (I mainly watercolor brushes because it helps the paint go on more smooth)

Worbla

Heat gun

Mechanical pencil and a good quality eraser (I use it to sketch the eyes before paint)

Toothpicks or wire (I sculpted her rosebud buns onto toothpicks and then used the tooth picks to anchor them onto the head)

Sharpies or paint markers (to better color match the joints, as it's easier to do since paint chips off of them the majority of the time even when sanding them and using watered down paint)

Derwent watercolor pencils (you can easily just paint the eyes on, but I prefer to use this method as it's easier for me to do)

Tin foil (in order to fill in the head before sculpting the back of her hair on, and not to use as much apoxie clay)

White felt (I used this stuff to make her petal skirt, but there are many other potential fabrics and materials you could use too)

X-acto knife (for the love of God be super careful and don't accidentally slice a chunk of your finger off like I did once)

Gorilla super glue or hot glue

Mr. Super Clear UV Cut Flat- or Duraclear Matte or Ultra-Matte

I can further go into the specifics of how I made my Cosmo figure. But as far as what I used to make, well, there you go.

[artoftypographyprogress]

Cliff Sands Serif

In this assignment we were asked to create a type face inspired by the city of our city. We were required to either rework an existing type face or one from scratch. This type face could include all lowercase, all uppercase , or a combination of the two. I chose to do the lowercase alphabet. The second part of the assignment includes a type specimen to showcase the created typeface along with a pangram to show how the typeface will look in use.

In the beginning I was unsure of what my inspiration would be until I looked out my window at the cliff faces surrounding the river valley. in those cliff faces, I started to see letters in the crevices that are naturally formed there. From this ideas started to take shape as to what characteristics my new typeface was going to form. I was reminded of an assignment I did in Typography 1, where I wrote out the alphabet with a calligraphy pen and specifically the letter I thought of was the lowercase m.

This letter contained a form that was a little bit compressed with a little bit taller x-height, thick and thin strokes, and curve in the humps that I instantly connected to the river cliff. Using this m as a starting point I started to develop my typeface. I researched information in textbooks to learn point sizes, x-heights, ascender and descender heights and legibility distances and different point sizes

It began with a blank piece of paper and the information I learned. I started with a 1 cm x 1 cm square where I recreated the m from my type 1 assignment. I already decided by this point that I wanted all my letters to be made up of thin, medium and thick strokes mimicking the crevices of the river cliffs. I wanted consistency across all the letter formations and decided to make them the strokes thin on the left of letter, medium in the middle and thick on the right side of the letter. Here on this paper I applied this to the m, o, n and e in the 1cm x 1cm square.

At this time I also started to plan ahead for how I was going to present the finished typeface specimen. It did not take me long to come up with presenting it on sandpaper as the cliffs are made of sandstone right? As per the suggestion of my professor I did research to find out for sure what the cliffs were made of and discovered they are made of siltstone, a finer grained sandstone, so the sandpaper was perfect. I also knew right away that I wanted to recreate the crevices in the sandpaper once the typeface was on added to the surface. This resulted in a sandpaper that was in a 3.5 inch by 25 foot roll, allowing me to create the crevices easily through while allowing the sandpaper to stand on its edge mimicking the cliff faces in the same manner you view them in nature.

Next came size. This time I sized up my letters to see how they would look at a large point size along with the kind of spacing I might need in between the letter. I wanted to do an approximate size of 72 point type which gave ma a measurement of 1 inch x 1 inch with a 0.5 inch of space between the letters. My size had been determined!

But how does on draw letters on sandpaper you might ask...

Well... the answer is using an abundance of supplies. Turns out sandpaper very quickly wares down pencil, fine tip micron pens and sharpies all the same without discrimination. This proved very difficult as the pencil would not stay sharp for more than 3 seconds and the micron pen lasted about 4. Coupling that with the fact that pencil does not stick to sandpaper, the drawn lines were constantly disappearing and had to be redrawn at the smallest breath. I started with a baseline and measured my 1 inch to create the x-height , drawing that line, followed by measuring 1 inch for my width. all the letters fit inside this box.

It was time to bring my typeface to life. First I tried India ink and found that it was to thin. I sat on top of the surface versus soaking in and when the paper was moved it ran and bled everywhere. Next I tried my calligraphy pen. It was ok in the beginning but it was hard to control the flow of ink for consistency. The sound of the metal pen tip on sandpaper?? not good! 10/10 do NOT recommend. I then tested micron pens and sharpies and this gave me more control but they did not last long. I decided sketching the letter on first to get the letterform down before committing in ink was the way to go. I worked letter by letter; first in pencil followed by a large number of micron pens. 16 in all.

As I was going and starting to run out of pens...I realized I had to find another way to fill in the wider parts of the letters. India ink was to thin and gouache was to thick. I added water to the paint but again lacked control in finding the necessary consistency needed and then it hit me... mix the ink with the gouache. it worked perfectly and was able to paint with a small brush the thickness of the letters.

Once the letters were on and the pangram added, all that remained was to add the crevices and the other hierarchal type.

I enjoyed this assignment and learned how to problem solve while experimenting with different materials and mediums .

[punk-in-docs]

🕷Your web,I’m caught🕷

Eddie Munson x Pencils (OC) slow burn series, Part I

7.6k words 

Summary: Snorting laughter at the disappearing Jocks back. Marlboro red clamped between his lips. Smoke slithering out his smile. Between the cracks of his straight teeth.

When you saw who it belonged too. The laugh. The cigarette smoke.You weren’t even suprised. 

Who else could it be-Who else would be doing a drug deal on the outskirts of a high school party, in the woods, at almost eleven at night, but Eddie “the freak” Munson.

Authors note; So, I wrote this because I probably have Eddie Munson brain rot, and because I just love this funky lil freak ok? It’s kinda long. No smut (yet) I might do more parts. We shall see. ~ (any feedback or comments are very much welcome folks)

It was through Hawkins like wildfire on bone dry kindling. One spark of friction and the whole thing soared to churning flames in a hot second.

No survivors.

Kyle Rothman’s parents were going to visit family in Elwood for some big fancy party.

 Anniversary, you’d heard. Funeral, someone else had bemoaned.

 Eight o’clock Friday night. Kyle’s House on 1280 Abalone Drive. Bring your own beer. 

This is how you found yourself bundled unwillingly into the plump passenger seat of your friend Linda’s station wagon come Friday night.

Bouncing along on the safe suburbia streets to a godawful party, peppered with the usual dumb jocks and poisonous cheerleaders. The freaks and nerds tended to stay in their own lanes. Keep well away.

Lucky fucks.

Two six pack of Coor’s sat rattling at your feet. She’d spent half an hour teasing your kinked hair all big, and persuading you to slick on some blue eyeliner and glitter. You drew the line when she approached you with this tube of waxy fuschia lipstick.

You batted her hand away with contempt and let her slip huge plastic blue earrings in your ears instead. It goes with your top. She’d chirped.

Technically, her top. It was a loaner.

Really, you’d tried so goddamned hard to weasel out of it.

You considered pulling an all nighter as an excuse. A painting you’d forgotten to do for art class. A Chem lab final. The fact you didn’t take Chem non-withstanding. Or a sudden very fast acting sick spell to dodge the draft.

Mom’s away. It’s me and Charlie. And she’s on nights now. I can’t leave the house, Linda.

Your door has locks, now doesn’t it? Don’t be square. We’re seniors. One little party to take the edge off.

I’m good with my edges the way they are, thanks.

She wore down your stubbornness with the sugary sweet relentless attitude. Harder than grainy sandpaper against your onerous mood. She won. Softened you into submission. Ground you down and drowned the fight out of you with her strong army of ‘pretty pretty pleases’.

With a heap of maraschino cherries dumped on top for good measure, she wrapped you round her little finger like a silk ribbon with promises of movie nights and lots of beer. Pizza too. And her eternal love and devotion. She promised to buy you some weed. Give you her Soul. Her first born.

She really really wanted you to go with her to this fucking party. God knows why. She’ll spend the night with her jock. Not you.

She sat next to you in the drivers seat. In her hot pink tiered skirt and skinny white high heels. Blond curls all frizzy and piled half up on her head with a pink scrunchie.

Her little lilac purse with a long strap sat perched on your hip. Containing four condoms, gloss, and a pack of lifesavers zipped securely inside.

Told you right away what kinda night she was expecting to have.

She’s brimming with energy cause her meathead is going tonight too. On the basketball team and practically a clone to High School royalty, Jason Carver. And her new squeeze is persona-non-grata with her strict parents for bringing her home once past curfew, and half cut. So this is one of the only chances they get to make out and do hand stuff in the guest bedroom.

Atleast someone’s excited for tonight. And thank god it’s her. You want to stay festering in the land of piss and vinegar with a scowl slapped on your face. Razor slashes of your glaring eyes landing on all those preppy idiots.

Because you liked to sit at an easel, armed with your mad array of bold paints and a brush. And you actually liked and were good at it. That instantly afforded you some hatred from the athlete crowd.

Linda reaches over and nudges you with a bony elbow. Knocking you out your self imposed funk. You side eye her for being a pest. She sing-songs cheery cooing words at you over husky Joan Jett on the radio. Words all prim and sickly like butter wouldn’t even melt.

“C’mmooon. There’ll be drink. I heard that Jason is bringing some of his dads liquor.” She trills away like tweetie pie.

“There’ll be a lot of jocks too. Lot of jocks on a lot of drink. They won’t know the difference between a viable mate and a wet hole in the ground.” You pointed out. Scuffing the door with the tip of your shoe. Black. Faux leather kitten heel boots.

She’d shoved those at you too. The boots. You wore the same size. Annoyingly. Instead of clinging to the comfort of your usual paint spattered reeboks. She wrinkled her nose up and tore your sneakers away from your grip. Turned away to dust more neon pink blush on her cheekbones.

“You’re gross.” She grimaced at you as she turns a corner. The bracelets on her arms slap and click together as she shuffled the wheel.

“Gross but right.” You poured back. Flicking hair out your eyes. It felt stiff and dry with all the stuff she rubbed and sprayed on it. The noxious chemical stink of too much hairspray and her candy-like Revlon perfume choked the interior of her car. You usually kept your hair back with a scrunchie. Possibly with a pencil or a paintbrush tucked into the bun.

“Just try and not be a catty bitch. Get a drink. Have a dance. Take that iron rod out your ass for once.”

“Its good for my posture.” You sniped at her as she smacked her glossy lips together in the rear view - not checking the car behind her or anything important like that.

“Pretty bad for your sex life though. Yours is particularly tragic right now.” She shot back dryly. Dry as sand and that dig was below the belt.

“Volume series tragedy is what I was actually aiming for.” You grinned at her. Layering the charm on thick.

Not letting her blows have anywhere to land. You scooped up her words and threw them back at her before the typical Linda shrapnel got it’s chance to pierce your skin.

It had been a while, sure. But that didn’t mean you were going to a kegger, to get blackout wasted, and end up dry humping the nearest small dicked athlete in a letterman two tone jacket. You liked to think you had taste. And a little modicum of class.

“You know I don’t get to see Jonny very often. Not since he made the team. I’d look like a loser turning up tonight all by myself.” She whines. Bitching. Stomping her foot on the gas pedal like a brat.

“Next thing I’ll have to start having to sit with the freaks at lunch. Christ, can you imagine?” She scoffs. “Me at the losers table with freak Munson and the rest of his social rejects.”

You gave her a look for that. Blasted her your chilly side eye for her small mindedness.

They were nerds, sure. Into D&D, metal music or band.

They weren’t lepers.

God forbid you ever said this aloud. But, you actually admired the way that some people didn’t conform to the mind numbing rules of popular or preppy. You liked that they cared enough to be themselves. Fuck what others say or think. The punk attitude clinging deep in you found it ballsy and brave.

Maybe they were all braver than you were- hiding yourself away in art class or the Library day after day instead of having to decide what table you’d be sorted onto. Or welcomed at. Chained too.

You weren’t entirely sure Linda would save you a space at the table with the royalty. You didn’t belong there. Your clothes weren’t preppy and cute. You didn’t wear bubblegum neon colours. Or trade gossip. You knew who Siouxsie and the Banshees were. That most likely tipped you into nerd territory. Loser crowd recruit.

You’re sure there’d be a place carved out, so where, for one the arty type, like you. Eternally graphite smudged hands, or flecks of paint dried gummy in your hair. Leafing through your sketchbook and scribbling away. Eyes down, plugged into your Walkman and latest Talking Heads or Smiths cassette.

“Could you be more of a stuck up snob?” You asked with rising hilarity in your voice.

“Yeah.” She preened. Slowing down to make the dreaded turn onto Kyles. Bounces the huge clunky thing onto the nearly busy, paved driveway.

“I am dating a jock now, you know.” She hums. Pleased with herself.

Your eye roll was almost audible.

“Don’t forget to wash your hands after and check for crabs.“ You bat your mascara thick lashes all sickly as you coo the words at her.

You grab the beers and grumpily make your feet leave the car. It’s a trudge but you manage it. You slam the car door because you needed to direct your still seething annoyance somewhere.

She bumps her door shut with her hip and properly wiggles her feet into her heels. Long tanned legs of hers bare and peeping out her pink skirt. A gauzy white top and swingy pink earrings stood neon out her bouffant blonde perm. You weren’t flashing nearly as much.

You wore your white leather jacket with the squeezing black and gold belt she nipped around your middle. Made your tits look awesome, and bigger, her words not yours. Her bright blue top that hangs off one shoulder. Soft black jeans and her back heeled pirate boots which click as you walk. She’d been obsessed with Adam Ant for a while.

Onto your wrists she’d threaded yet more bright jewellery. And the plastic hoops dangling from your ears, you kept on having to untangle it from your hair every four seconds. Your wavy fringe kept on flicking in your eyes.

You stand with the beer and look up at the split ranch style house in front of you. Cicadas humming already. The lawn is green and fuzzy short and the street lights cast a dozy orange thrown into pools everywhere. The house is set back and stood alone. Well spaced out from the neighbours. It backed into the tall dark woods. No risk of noise complaints.

Brown wood and overhanging eaves. It’s a big place. Each window lit up a drowsy yellow. And crowds of voices roils. The tell tale whump-whump of whatever lame ass pop music is blasting along and pulsing at the walls and shaking the windows from the inside.

You step towards the front door. Linda actually scurries along in her heels. Jason’s jeep parked right upfront means the cavemen had already descended. She fluffs her hair and grips the door handle. Slowly jerking it open. It was too loud to hear knocks anyway. The party was in full swing already.

The first thing you do when you come inside? Wince.

Club Tropicana is bellowing loudly through the house on what is very clearly very deafening speakers. The drum beats drown your ears. The thrum of the base plucks the air. You feel the thud of it through the thick squashing carpet.

Someone’s made a vain attempt to party up the place. Twinkle lights glimmer in the living room where many bodies are dancing and throwing hands in the air. Fierce chilli red. Neon green. Sapphire sea blue, spots of light dotted and swimming around the dark ceiling where the lights were poorly tacked. Last minute attempt you’re guessing.

Red cups sloshing drink everywhere. Half drunk beer cans and bottles stood on every flat surface. Some toppled over and leaking dark dribbled spots into the carpet. The dank smell of cigarettes and some musty weed clouds the air.

High schoolers are strewn across the couch. Some making out. Two seconds from dry humping right in the open. Some were chatting. Laughing at their own drunkness. Crowding the narrow hallways.

Linda scans around the crowds. Flirtily shimmying her fingers in a wave when she sees her Jock. She almost bounces on the spot. Giddy smile splitting her lipstick.

Her boyfriend lumbers across and you’re quickly forgotten on the doormat. She takes her purse off you. And one of the six packs.

“Bye?” You state to her with a frown as she preened and laughed as they joined hands.

“Find you later.” She breezed. Her smile was so wide. Cheeks full of blush. Fake and real.

“Wrap it before you tap it.” You growl at her. Narrowing your eyes to pin slits. She flips you the bird when she totters off after her gorilla in basketball threads.

Not four seconds later they’re wrapped around each other like leeches. Tongues down throats. Waxy glossy lipstick all over their chins. He whispers something in her ear when they break apart and they wind through crowds headed for the stairs. Beer forgotten. She’s giggling he’s got a shit eating grin on.

That had taken all of eight seconds past your feet crossing the doormat before your abandonment.

When Four Tops starts blasting. You’ve decided; you must seek out some liquor. You can’t be forced to suffer this indignity of a night in any kind of sobriety.

You growl to yourself. Your mood just plummeted so way far down it could be in the South Pole by now. A pit of acid and spiky nails and broken glass was your stomach. Mood went from foul to fouler.

Armed with one six pack, you heft your way to the kitchen. Pushing past dancers and athletes that line the doorways. Elbow past a couple very loudly making out. They don’t even notice your shouldering byYour reward for basically commando busting your way through crowds is the sight of the kitchen. For some reason the lights are off and purple lights are drowning the room. The colour of Lilac and moody nightshade bruises. A huge bowl of ruby red punch half gone sits on the island. Spiked no doubt. Fine by you.

Liquor bottles stand with tops ripped off, cheap whiskey and vodka. Beer kegs on rosy towels on the floor in the far corner. Red solo cups are scattered everywhere. Crushed, used and not. Chips are half eaten in a messy bowl. Popcorn too. Spilled all over the place. You didn’t envy the cleanup.

You grab a clean one and dunk it into the punch. It spills down your fingers and you suck the drips away. Sip some. The terrific cheap sugar of something that tasted like it was trying to be fruity, combined with the bitchy bite of vodka. Perfect.

You lean against the counter and nurse a cup. You dive back for another. The first slipped down way too easily. Cherry red staining your tongue. Vodka seeping into your legs and arms with its lazy sluggish heat.

You wrap one arm around yourself and stand leaning against the counter. The granite dug into the back of your hips painfully.

Some Basketball jocks who barely lift their eyes to regard you as a form of life, bustle rudely past and knock into you. Sloshing your cup to spill down your top. Drink rolls in drips off your chin.

“Watch it loser.” One of them drunkenly snickers at you. Tossed the words carelessly over his shoulder as they go to draw more shitty beer from the keg. His friend laughed at his crass remark to you.

Fuckin meatheads.

You scoff under your breath. Mood sour you slam your hand down on a can of beer and take your still somewhat full cup out the back door you can see left wide open the other side of the island.

You mumble a curse word at them loud enough to hear as you slip past. “Pricks.” You catch one of their hands with their cups so they drop it by surprise.

“Bite me, babe.” One slurs. Leaning over and holding the handle. Opening his arms at you like some twisted invitation. His gruff words didn’t threaten you.

You turn your head and spit words at them. Eyes narrow under your frizzy fringe. The drink helping get your tongue bold.

“Go find some balls to play with. Idiots” you snipe as you feel the delightful sensation of stepping out the house and into the dark back yard.

You brandish the V’s at them with your fingers and your chipped blue nail polish as you slip out the door and into the mild night. Shoes clicking down the steps. You hear their sneers as you leave.

“Stupid bitch.”

You walk around the perimeter of the pool. You don’t want to know why there’s floating beer cans and a bikini top strewn at the bottom.

You keep walking. Your feet only just unsteady. Out towards the very far back of the yard. The dark border of the trees seemed threatening. Huge towering trunks and dark leafy tips barely grazed by the starlight. Silent sentinels of night. No light snuck back here. Barely any orange light from the street or the rooms of Kyles house reaches all the way out here.

There’s ratty lawn chairs and a couple of empty cans rattling around on the lawn. Evidence that some people were partying here before you. But went back inside to dance or drink. Or went into the huge woods looming just behind you for some clandestine privacy. Or to try and scope out a bedroom.

You take your jacket off and spread it beneath you before you settle down on the end of a blue lounger. The plastic creaks with your weight. Sinks just a bit into the spongy grass. You sit yourself down and take your first deep breath.

You look at that busy house down the slope of the garden. The trash floating in the blue square sear of the pool. The windows limned in yellow. Crowds jump and burst within. Many voices and thudding party pop carry out to you. It’s a Madonna song now. Drifting up the grass that freckled, speckled with slithers of ochre light from the street. The other half carved in dark linear shadows.

You were drunk. Slightly. Not wanting to be here. Definitely. On the peripheral like a distant planet in orbit. Trying to find the place you could belong too. You didn’t know if you ever would. For some people it seemed damn easy. The need to fit. To be.

You had your art. Your drawings. Your craving for your Walkman and the solace of your music and what that bought you. Your job at the record store which you live love loved. Even though your boss, Sal, who was mercurial and was all cynical-moody as anything. But underneath that crusty exterior he was good to you. You still loved it.

You had a sad set of dreams pushed back, way back, nesting under your skin.

One day maybe if you were very lucky, you’d be far outta this town living them dreams. You sure as shit hoped so.

It wasn’t so bad. When all was said and done, at the very least, you didn’t just melt into an easy personality to please other people. Slap on a fake persona to get others to like you. Paste it on every morning. Beam a smile and wear things falsely. You couldn’t bear being that shallow just to have girlfriends to chit chat with at lunch. You couldn’t live that way.

When you tip your head back. You find yourself all of a sudden laying back. Body dizzy. Mind swirling. That punch was strong. You suspect it wasn’t just vodka. Maybe some tequila thrown in there too. You drank it too quick to decipher.

You don’t fight the movement. Spreading back. You can see stars. The majesty of the heavens. All those endless scattered white pearls that wink and shimmer in the endless blue between spots of murky smeared cloud.

After a long minute, you sit up to keep on knocking back your drinks.

You toss back more red vodka punch and don’t stop until the cup is empty. Red dregs. The wonderful snap of vodka makes you hiss through the sting as you finish it.

Nothing is stopping you tonight. One down, then you’re cracking open the cold beer. The satisfying hiss and the hoppy cheap mist spurts over your fingers.

“Here’s to edges.” You toast your beer up to no one. “Mine in particular.”

Your head felt fuzzy. Your tongue loose. You welcomed the sensation. Let it bleed through you and unwind the taut bowstring of your tension. You could really use a smoke right about now. You have to hide them at home. Charlie wouldn’t approve.

You swig the beer. It’ll have to do. It’s definitely cheap and tasted like it. But it’s cold and you just need to unwind your tightening steel wire spool of anger.

Fucking Linda. Fucking Jocks. Dragging you here only to ditch you in favour of sucking face and now probably busy right now sucking other body parts with her gorilla of a boyfriend.

You kick one of the crumpled cans on the lawn with your pirate booted foot. The resounding crunch and rattle comes off far far louder than you’d thought. Knocking off into the trees. Bouncing back like a slap, off the house.

It’s then you hear that maybe you didn’t have as much privacy as you had previously thought.

An odd sort of whispered hissing starts growing louder. The steady crunch of a twig being broken underfoot. Rustling of brittle paper leaves under a sneakered foot. The distant tang of Marlboro smoke curling around the trees.

Someone. Or more than one someone, was in the woods behind you.

The voice comes again. Deep enough to be a guys. Pitchy enough to still be a whisper. “The fuck was that?”

Another voice answers. Louder. Confident. Whispers not tamping down his volume. His tone is mocking.

“Look man, I don’t have all night. Quit wasting my time. 25 for a half ounce. Or I walk away right now and take the sweet stuff with me.”

Your drunk head strains to hear more. You lean further back. Like that will make one scrap of difference. You slosh down more beer and listen through the breeze ruffling the imposing wall of trees.

You hear some more rustling. The unsteady shuffling of feet. A sighed huff. The slap of something into an open palm.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” The sarrcy confidence voice answers. There’s a soft rustling of a plastic baggie.

“Whatever, freak.” Comes the grumble.

“My, my, Such manners. You kiss your mommy with that mouth.” Sneers back the voice. Lilt of humour and sarcasm composing his words.

You turn your head back to see someone break out the shadow swallow of the tree line. A guy in a letter man jacket breaks away and stalks drunkenly through the garden on wobbling legs. Shoving something like a crinkly plastic bag down deep into his pocket. Green and white baseball cap backwards on his head.

He doesn’t seem to notice you sat in your spot. When you raise your beer to take another sip your movement catches his eye. He almost trips over his own feet. Frowns at you.

“What you staring at, loser?” He barks grumpily at you. Bit his teeth around the insult.

You don’t offer a response. You swallow your retort down.

Something about pot making you lose brain cells, him not being so stupid as to take the risk. Needs all the help he can get.

You kinda hate yourself for staying silent But you let it go. You chug more beer. And just try and sit here and not feel.

He turns back and lumbers his stupid way back towards the house. Feet stomping over empty beer cans. You swallow down more beer and watch the party continue on without you.

Apparently, so was someone else.

A sudden flick coming from behind you makes you startle. Twisting back. A lighter being struck to life as this amazingly noiseless person behind you finally came out the tree line.

“That was one hell of a charming duuude.” Mocked the voice. Snorting laughter at the disappearing Jocks back. Marlboro red clamped between his lips. Smoke slithering out his smile. Between the cracks of his straight teeth.

When you saw who it belonged too. You weren’t even suprised. Who else could it be-

Who else would be doing a drug deal on the outskirts of a high school party, in the woods, at almost eleven at night, but Eddie “the freak” Munson.

The undisputed ruler of the geeks table in the cafeteria. Adored by his crowd of younger freshmen. His followers. His little band of devoted lost sheep. Recruited to the dark side to play his sadistic D&D campaigns. This older senior who was always gilded in chunky metal rings, chain bracelets, and rock and roll.

Something about him from afar shrieked messy danger; whether it was the careless swagger he walked with, or the unpredictability of when he’d burst into something crazy or unstable.

Climb on tables, throw food, shout at the top of his lungs with his hands cupped beside his mouth. Antagonise Jason and his pack of Jocks every chance he got. Spray paint ‘Hail Satan’ in glaring neon red across Principal Higgins door like he did last semester.

That last one was technically a rumour that it was him who did it, but you still kinda believed it to be dead true. It seemed his style.

He saw how you’d sprang around to look at him. Heart kicking in your chest as he made you jump.

“Sorry. Shit. Didn’t mean to startle you there.” He held his hands up. Skull bandana in his back pocket flapping against his ripped jeans. Orange tip of the cigarette burned bright like an evil eye in the dark. Lighting up his face and his pillowy lips.

His earlier cocky confidence seemed to have been flipped away, perhaps as a sign of how genuinely he meant his words.

You watch him slowly saunter across to where you’re sat. Nimble footsteps on the soft grass in his sneakers. The only noise coming from how the chain on his jeans swung into his legs. The zips and some of the metal badges on his jacket shining dully in the night air.

The deep tar pit of those black eyes tugged you in. The frizzy rockstar mane curling down to his shoulders. Sticky Ink black, echoing the shade of his eyes. The messy cut of his Jean jacket draped over leather. That blood red demon blazoned on his white raglan Hellfire Club t-shirt - you’d never seen him wear anything else.

“You’re the least scary thing I’ve come across tonight. Trust me.” You tell him. Sipping more beer. Hearing it slick around against the sides of the can.

You weren’t sure why but him being here had you on edge. You didn’t get nervous walking through a whole house of preppy morons. But here, now, you notice nervousness crunching down on your stomach.

Why nervous?

Not because you were scared of him. You felt safer alone with him out here than any of those knuckle-heads inside.

You think in some warped kinda way you wanted to impress him-

Ok, where in the cursed fucking pits of hell had that proclivity bloomed from?

He stops a decent distance away from you. You couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. He was looking at you warily.

You stared at the grass below your borrowed pointy leather shoes and the half empty warm beer in your hands.

“Are you, uhm. Alright?” He seeks. Gone was the earlier plucky confidence. His voice is fully tender.

“Oh I’m just peachy, thanks.” You smite nicely at him. Voice dripping dark sarcasm.

Those wild black eyes narrow with more concern.

“Sure about that?” He checks. Voice tipping up. Smoke exhaling from his mouth.

You summon the courage to look over at him. Bewildered.

He explains by tapping his finger twice under his eye. Still looking intrigued.

You shrink in self consciously. Folding in. Wipe under your eyes. When you bring back your hand, mascara sits weepy and smeared on your finger. Probably running under your eyes a little in your annoyed frustration. You hadn’t realised.

You sniff and wipe your eyes. Who cares anyway. No one was looking at your makeup. They weren’t bothered with you. That stung. But it was true.

Eddie was the first person to actually acknowledge you as a fully fleshed human being. To actually speak to you.

“It’s nothing. Really.” You assure him. Smiling mildly. Unable to believe the guy who had the words loser and freak tossed at him like bullets every damn day is asking you if you’re okay.

“Don’t worry I’m not so wasted that I’m out here sobbing by myself. You don’t have to deal with an emotional girl.” You consider your mood. “Maybe a pissed off one though-“ You added softly.

You loosened your grip on your beer. Flicking your fringe out your eyes again.

“Hey-“ He starts. And it’s so sweetly tender it makes your lungs skip. His voice seems to deepen a little from that anarchistic shriek and shout you often hear from him.

You peer over under your kinked fringe. He thinks how freakin adorable it looks on you. Hits him like a freakin clap of lightning.

Your hair all wild and teased, back combed to hell, and then those eyes. Doe, bambi, sparkling eyes shining in the dark. Side of your face caught all caramel smooth in the peachy-orange light from the street. Despite the smudged eye makeup blacking under your eyes, actually, he kinda likes that dark smouldering look.

You’re fucking pretty.

Fancy that. Eddie Freak Munson talking to a real pretty girl at a High School party. What’s becoming of him?

“You’re out here drinking alone, sweetheart. I just put two and two together is all. My mistake.” He admits sheepishly. Meshing his fingers together as he spoke. Animated. You watched the way his rings glinted in the darkness. Cig wobbling on his lips as he spoke.

“Well. It’s coming out four. Munson.” You admitted gently.

Your very girlish instincts did a little elated hop with the way he called you sweetheart. Those idiots inside had called you a bitch and loser. He had called you sweetheart-

“You know my name.” He grinned all boyish. Hands on his hips, clasping onto a belt that had a handcuff buckle.

“Colour me impressed.” He flits a wink at you. “I didn’t know we were on a surname basis.”

“You’re the local troublemaker and weed dealer. Of course I know your name.” You answer. You didn’t live under a rock.

“Mommy and Daddy have my picture pinned on the dart board at home, huh sweetie?” He tilts his head again and grins all wide and playful. Framing his face with his thumbs and hands like a mock photograph. Smoking cig trickling lazily up to the sky.

He walks a slow circle around you on the lounger. He can’t keep still evidently. Kicking beer cans out the way. Kicks one down the slope of the lawn. Comes back around you like he’s assessing you coolly. Casually. Grey smoke trails in his wake.

Something tells you he’s almost proud of the accomplishment of being considered near infamous. Anything but the poisonous fucking trap of being considered ‘normal.’

“Yeah. They show me a picture of you every morning. Your face slapped over wanted posters serve as a warning to parents all over Hawkins county.” You joked with fake gravity. “I might be indoctrinated into your dangerous devil D&D cult if I don’t watch out.”

“I relish the chance to corrupt more innocent souls. Especially pretty ones.” He says in a mock gravelly devil voice. Sticking his tongue out at you. Widening his eyes to look scary. It makes you almost spit out a mouthful of beer for laughing.

He’s a goof under all that threatening metal persona. You suspect a soft warm heart of gold lurks under that denim and leather chest too.

You offer out the can of beer to him. “Sorry. It’s a little warm but-“

He smiles and stands for a moment. Assessing you. Eyes growing almost warm.

“Poisoned, Snow White?” He jokes.

“I don’t need that on my conscience. Not to mention the stoners in school would flay me alive for taking you out.” You comment. Waving the can out at him between two fingers.

“Sold.” He says.

He drifts in just close enough to take it from you. His rings clack against the thin metal. Crosses and skulls and all things bad bad bad and demonic adorn his hands.

“Sharing beer and we’re not even on a first name basis.” He says as he takes it and pulls back a swig.

You absolutely kick yourself for the way you watch his neck elongate from tipping his head back to drink. Hair down his back. Wavy over his shoulders.

You give him your name. First and last. It tumbled out your mouth before you could stop it. Your drunkenness sliding you right on into trouble.

He raised the can at you in a salute. Repeated your surname at you. Rolled it around his mouth. As if he was tasting it like he was the beer.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He smirked as he did a mock bow and dipped his head at you. Swigging the beer once more.

You bite your lip and wipe your clammy hands on your soft jeans as you turn away and force yourself to look at something much less- distracting. Dangerous?

You settle on looking at the house. Music still bouncing out the place. Voices spilling out boisterous. You watched a guy stumble out the back door to puke into the bushes by the kitchen window. Maybe a newbie.

Eddie saw it but ignored it. Kept his dark gaze stuck on you instead.

“How’s it you ended up out here?” He asked. Passing the can back to into your hand. You take it and cold silver rings brush your hand. Sparks skip over your skin.

“Well. Firstly the music-” You grimaced.

He chuckled archly.

“Fuckkkk I know right? This party could totally use some Motörhead.” He proclaimed.

“Or some Talking Heads.” You agreed.

His eyes lit up. “Stop making sense.” He said approvingly. You smiled at the inside joke.

“I did actually come with someone. But they ditched me before we were even in the front door. They’re upstairs right now, and probably having sex on the pile of coats in the guest room.” You estimate.

 You watched Eddie’s brows raise up a little. Ballsy.

“That’s real shitty.” He states without hesitation. But that smile is creeping back.

“Tell me to get lost if it is none of my business. Sweetie. But uh, did you come here with a… boy. A boy who is maybe a friend. A boyfriend?” He seeks slowly. His head tilting. Rolling his hands as he talked. Manic sprinkled on manic.

Leaning to one side as he asked. That floppy hair leaning over his shoulder. Coming closer and making an unsure grimace as he slowly chewed over that last word. Cig at his side between two fingers.

You shake your head for no. His eyes glint a little.

No boyfriend. Knows who Talking Heads are. Goddamn it, he may have to start turning up the dial to flirt with you some point soon.

His smile turns up at the corners. How have you never noticed that under that manic rock n roll energy it’s actually such a great smile.

He takes another drag and spun away for a second to toss away his cig before it burned out. You hear the way the chains on his arms hit the leather jacket across his chest.

You clarify as to why you were here. How you were dragged along here by your teeth.

“My party friend, Linda, dragged me here. Blonde perm. No braincells, lots of leg and hormones. Idiot Jock strap for a boyfriend.” You explain.

“Alright for some.” Eddie grins at you. His eyes look sharp as black ice in the dark.

“I guess.” You smile. Stretching your feet out. “Maybe not for her though.” You snark in dirty insinuation. It makes him smile across at you.

You both laugh at your joke and it softens him a little to see it.

He spins away and suddenly hops up onto the lawn chair near to you. Flurry of energy. Standing on it and trying to keep his balance. You looked up at him where he stood. Dirty sneakers balancing on the plastic slats.

“I swear I do know you from some place.” He says. A calculative look on his face. He repeats your surname again. Tasting it in his mouth. Arms now crossed over his chest. He leans towards you so slightly. Bending down.

“Uh, School?” You state obviously.

He clicks his tongue. Looks mischievous. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

That figures, actually.

“Big building. Students. Teachers. Classrooms. Finals.” You explain.

He’s walking up the lounger. Testing precarious steps on the cracking plastic. “It’s vaguely familiar to me.” The chain on his leg swings again with his steps.

“We had a history together in middle school. Mrs Grey’s class.” You offer. Though he’d looked different then, his mannerisms weren’t dissimilar to now.

Just now he had the demon tats and rocker hair to back it up.

“We did?” He questions. Or states. He’s unsure. Or testing the waters. You can’t tell. His mystery is his charm. Unreadable expression.

You remember some of his antics. You doubt he’d ever turned his eyes toward the classroom board even once the whole semester.

On the days he deigned to turn up, he usually spent more time scribbling his own little lyrics or campaign ideas over the assignment paper he’d been given on his desk. Or drawing devils, monsters and skulls with leering forked tongues, in a thick stubby sharpie. He took tormenting your teacher as a personal mission.

Any time he was called on, he answered with bite, with wit and a - deeply buried disguised - degree of intelligence that meant he could walk this class - if he really, really wanted too. You found it almost admirable. It was almost enough to make you develop a crush on him.

His dislike for conformity and following the establishment rules had him cemented as this jagged little pill of a troubled guy who couldn’t care less about school. Or grades. People looked at him and saw no more than trailer trash trouble. The rebel Munson kid who lives in the trailer park off Kerley.

“I’m memorable from all the way back then?” He asks. Doubting he was even worth remembering from last week. Let alone going back years.

“Yeah. You made me laugh.” You tell him bravely.

Whether it was the way he snuck in late, or asked to borrow a pencil. Threw balled up pieces of paper at the popular crowd to antagonise. Made stupid distorted faces behind Mrs Grey’s back. Contradicted her til she was red in the face.

“I sat behind you, didn’t I?” He remembered. Then he snaps his fingers. His chain leather bracelet jangles. “Pencil girl.”

You nod. “Nice nickname.”

He drops suddenly in a jump to the ground. Burst of energy. Sits himself facing you on the end of the lounger. Knees spread. Holds out a flat hand to you to shake.

“Nice to properly meet you again. Pencil girl.” He grins at you.

You blush. You actually feel your blush crawl it’s molten way up your cheeks. Eddie Munson is offering his ring clad hand out for you to shake.

You meet his eyes as you look over and take it. Slip you palm into his warm one. Clutch of metal surrounding your fingers as you shake. The brackets on your arms clack together as you jerk your arm.

“Nice to properly meet you too, Eddie.” You grin.

His eyes look warm as he beams at you. Those dark eyes all melting and dark liquid chocolate in their gaze. Your knees almost brush his ripped jean kneecaps where you’re leant over to shake his hand.

He seems awfully unconcerned about letting go of your hand any time soon.

Because he’s come closer to you, you can smell the beer on his breath and the the sharp acrid of cigarettes woven into his clothes. Along with some faintly tangy scent of weed, powdery laundry detergent.

Up close he’s even more terrifying. Those wild eyes bordered in shade by that even wilder tangle of hair.

“How come I rarely see you around. Pencil girl.” He asks genuinely. Sliding his hand out of yours at last. When you break away to look at his hand sliding off yours, you only realise then you’d been staring.

“Well I do actually go to my classes.” You tease.

He clutched over his heart like he’d been pierced with a mortal wound. Choked, Gasped your name.

“Mean.” He grins. Those melting eyes turn all puppyish. Holding the space over his heart like it hurt.

“I guess I mostly live in the Art classroom at school. Or the library. That’s where I am most days. Most lunches and my free periods.” You tell him.

He smirks. You can’t tell what that means.

“You’re telling me you’re secretly one of us.” He lowers his voice to a whisper.

You frown. Oh it’s a good look on you. It bunches up little wrinkles between your brows.

“One of us?”

“A freak.” Eddie grins. His grin slowly grows.

“Is that an official diagnosis? Dungeon master?” You ask him.

Twisting to fully face him where you sit on the lounger. You feel Linda’s top slide down your shoulder. Your bra strap is showing. Eddies eyes flick to it for the barest second.

“Totally. I hereby brand thee. Fellow freak. Pencil girl. Welcome to the club.” He puts his hands over his hair, mimes placing a crown on your head. Arms outstretched around your head. Surrounding your puffed up hair.

You smile. The scent of warm old leather and cigarettes smacks you in the nose. He waved his fingers either sides of your temples. Your stomach squirms. Butterflies kicked to life.

He’s a freak. And a goof. And so are you.

And, oh christ, you think you might like him-

“Great. So when’s my swearing in ceremony. What do we do? Sacrifice virgins or goats, what?” You play around.

“Friday nights. I’m afraid the sacrificing of virgins is messy. But necessary.” He waggles his brows. Trying to look serious. You doubt he ever looked serious in his life.

You snort. You can’t help it. You cover your mouth. He shakes with laughter too. Chest bouncing with it.

Your head is swimming drunk and you can only just believe you’re sat out here shooting the shit with Eddie Munson of all people.

And for once in your life, you’re enjoying one of these terrible shitty parties.

The new music dancing across the lawn catches Eddies ears. The mellow base and chirpy singing.

He rolls his eyes over to the house in disgust. ‘Just the two of us’ is crooning across the lawn. Tacky. Saxaphone riff, and Bill Withers smooth whiskey-dulcet voice.

“I’m gonna be puking in the bushes soon if they carry on with that shit.” He nudged his head across to the open door. The golden rectangle of the kitchen door that glowed in the night. Spilling light up the slanted yard.

“I think, my friend isn’t going to be surfacing any time soon.” You wince at the thoughts and all that could possibly entail. Whether or not she’d bother to come find you. Skirt twisted around her waist. Lipstick all smeared around her puffy mouth. Hair mushed. Cheeks glowing.

You should go and find her. But- you really don’t want too. Nothing could move you from this lounger.

“I should go back inside.” You say out loud. You stay stock still.

Eddie shoots you a look. Disbelieving.

“Listen. Anyone who sits on the outskirts of this fuckin idiotic makeout party and listens to Talking Heads is plenty alright with me. You’re better off.” He points a thumb into his Hellfire clad chest when he says ‘me’.

Where his t-shirt was disturbed, you see a dark triangle of a guitar pick on a necklace around his neck. Some ink on his skin. You want to see just exactly where those tats end and begin.

Your gaze is drawn to the house as a gang of jocks come out to the back yard. Some to stand and chat with their friends. Some to smoke. They seem to have clocked you both. Eddies mood changes.

“Let me give you a ride home, pencils.” Eddie says suddenly out of nowhere. His voice took on a deeper tone. Duller.

You aren’t sure you heard him right. What?

You turn back and see a very sincere look stained across that anarchistic expression. His eyes almost deepen.

“Are you serious?” You ask him.

“Not often. But just then? Yeah. I wouldn’t feel right walking away, leaving a pretty girl like you alone and vulnerable out here. Not with that crowd of assholes circling.” Eddie says as he scans along the row of them with, clearly, no love lost in his tone.

“Uhm.” You churn over your thoughts. Fragments of choppy sense returning to your tipsy head. “Yeah ok, Sure. Thanks.”

Eddie smiles. That palm of his is offered to you once again. And you take it.

You wobble on your feet on the soft grass.

He smiles. Steadies your elbows with his hands. Both hands clutching on for your safety. He draws you close. Just a little. His dark eyes dart with slight starlight.

“Us freaks gotta stick together. Man.” And then comes that rock n roll mischief smirk. Your belly melts.

You think you like being a freak after all.

 ~

🕷 Fancy a sneak at the next part? 🕷

[moma-prints]

Collage, Joan Miró, 1934, MoMA: Drawings and Prints

James Thrall Soby Bequest Size: 14 1/2 x 9 1/4" (36.9 x 23.6 cm) Medium: Corrugated cardboard, felt, gouache, and pencil on sandpaper

http://www.moma.org/collection/works/34034

[paragonrobits]

i wonder how many people who go off on a tangent of ‘im better and sexier than you because of x thing’ and x thing honestly reads as an ablest problem that reminds me of the teachers i used to have that would call me slurs for not instantly understanding something, or passive aggressively implying i would get my fingers cut off if i counted on my fingers, or just got pissy at me for wanting to use pens instead of pencils because the feeling and sounds of pencils were ungodly unpleasant to feel and listen to OH MY GOD I HATE PENCILS SO FUCKING MUCH ITS LIKE SANDPAPER ON YOU EVERY SECOND.

[idjitlili]

Don’t stop me now

Spike btvs x reader

Summary:Imagine looking like  Freddie Mercury as a woman like in a 'I want to break free' with a hoover  dancing only for an 100+ vampire to join in, unknowingly.

A/n: what can I say , I've been busy with college , and I'm British so we know spike is gonna know Queen too.

Word count: 3891 Y/c=country(or just a state in America I don't know, the whole world isn't America lol.

It was strange to say the least; working for wolfram & hart, you had came from y/c to here, working for a law firm run by a vampire with a soul.  

Mental if you ask yourself , you had known Wesley when you was younger, actually he had brought you a ticket to Los Angeles , since your parental figure had called him , and let him know about everything really. Well just that you were now y/a , and in need of a job. That was it you were here now.

You weren't sure what your job was really , you definitely was not a social butterfly, Wesley had mentioned you had to crack codes? Now that you think about it , something to do with researching different demon rituals? That's not the correct word , anyways to do that had write summaries for Angel's upcoming meetings with these different species.

You ever had your own office, you could live in there honestly.  

There was a lot going on all the time, frankly it was kinda scary , knowing no one apart from Wesley, who clearly knotted up by the scientist, Fred. Yet you was always invited to the important meetings , you had guessed Wes had put in a word , to help you feel welcome or included. There wasn't really a purpose for you being there.

You were a little nervous that maybe one of them, probably the vampire ,Angel , not knowing that the blond British man was one too, could read your mind. What would he find the that  was terrifying (except you read dirty smut) . You were sat by Wes , at the end of the table closest to the window. Which also meant you were sat next to Angel, with the jelled blond bad boy opposite you.

"Okay, so cannibal vampire cult...what's with that, and why is that a problem?" Angel had began , with the same brooding face as , he had on 24 hours a day.  

Gunn , had cleared his throat briefly, causing everyone to turn their heads towards him. "Well, it's quite simple, they are killing all our clients."  Yeah this was waste of your life, you had already began doodling on the notepad in front of you. Unknowingly forgetting you were in an 'significant'  meeting.  

Not knowing how much time had gone by, felt like hours , freshly finished school and know you were here? Sucky. You were only jolted out of your thoughts when a foot had nudged yours, looking up slowly to the man in front of you , waiting for your reaction.

He was quite handsome you could not deny that, a small blush had raised to your cheeks , as he had caught you in a trance of boredom, you had lifted your eyebrows at him in confusion. With nothing but a smirk in response you had tried to listen again to the meeting.

"So you are saying we need bait? But who would we use? This whole place is monsters, "  Fred's face with disgust at the word 'monsters' as she delivered her thoughts, Wes thought for a moment his hand at his lip, indicting so as he looked at the pine table.  

"No,not necessarily," He had gestured to you , all eyes on you, feeling like a stripper, wow this is attention? Blush upon your face once again,"w-wha" choking on your own words ,before Angel had shook his head "Absolutely not, Wes, that's not fair."

"Yeah! I'm human too."

"And me, hey! So are you Wes."

"Uhhh, Mister Angel, " What else was you supposed to call him? Dad?  He had looked at you from the disagreement, nodding for you to go on.  

"S-say if I was, uh, what's the chances of me dying?"   The pencil in your hands being gripped tightly in your now sweaty palms, but Angel is not given chance to reply. "He wouldn't allow that, love. Would you 'mister' Angel" the blond vampire smirk was evident as he looked at the brooding brunette.

"Hold on a second, why do they want a human, if they are cannibal?" Okay that did make sense, use your ears y/n.

"They can't just drink each other , they need something other than other vampires. That's only when they actually find one of ours." Yeah, you guess that the blond man did make sort of sense, you had just "hm" in response.

You had turned to Wesley, gesturing for him to come closer, so that you could whisper into his ear, the rest watched in confusion. Hold on Angel still didn't answer your question. "Uh, um, did you volunteer me because I'm a virgin? Does that make me more attractive to the vampires?" You had really hoped that no one had super hearing, Wes pondered for a second, your hand still on his shoulder.

"I'm not quite sure, I'm probably not the best person to ask , you should bring that up with Angel." Wow thank you , so much. You moved back into sitting in your chair correctly. Twiddling your thumbs, to pretend like no one was looking at you,felt like hours that you were sat there, before your foot was nudged again, you peeped up to see the same blond man looking at you. Who else is it going to be? Johnny Depp? No.

"Come on ,love." You weren't even sure of his name, and he was calling you love. Instead of speaking you had just stared back blankly. Most awkward meeting. "Would you just ask me then? Surely it's not that bad,no one else has to hear." Only his Spike saw the look Angel was giving him, awww soft boy. He did not seem like he was evil..only if you knew him a couple of years ago.

You had stood up, in hopes spike would do the same,so you wouldn't have to kneel next to him and whisper. He stood up as you made your way to him , moving away from the table, before turning back to the others. "You lot carry on, " With that he led you away out of Angel's office to an empty one. This is so dramatic but you don't really want to be talking about your virginity to these people, well except spike.

"So,love, what's the problem?" He had towered over you, he was quite handsome yes, but you felt intimidated in honesty. "Uh,well, since I'm going to be bait...well ,um,  Are virgins more at risk at being snacked on? If that makes a difference to vampires? Oh I'm sorry, uh I-" he let out a chuckle at you, you moved your gaze to your feet. Why did you have to wear these heels, you didn't see Patrick swayze anywhere.

"Yes, they can smell it as soon as you walk into a room and it tastes different to other humans. ,love."

"W-wait how do you know?"

"I've had my fair share, now come on , love-come on I'm not going to eat you."

"Pfft- I'm not a virgin."

"Sure love,"

And with that you both headed back to the meeting , before you left to be bait Fred had informed you Spike had a soul like Angel after you had questioned him to her and Wesley.

Now you were in the middle of a park at 1 am , which happened to be not even a mile from the vampire base. It was freezing , in a poncho with a tank top, apparently to show off your neck under the street light, you were pretty sure that the vampires didn't give a shit if you were wearing Michael Myers mask.  

Ah yes, first day on the job, risks of death 99.9% , lovely.

What exactly are you supposed to do?  Pretty sure that mister mysterious and mister Stevie Nicks/vanilla ice are hiding in the bushes or something. Oh how you wish that Keanu Reeves would swoop you away from this situation.  

Stood in the open park, kicking the mud with you shoe , well until you are body slammed backwards onto the floor, by obviously an indeed ugly vampire. Where's David from lost boys you wouldn't mind if it was him , but this dude stank. He was not even a second away from biting you- wait sorry his fangs were in your neck.  It hurt like period pains in your neck, well until it was over , when he was yanked off by a blurry figure , as you felt your body being lifted, that was it.

You had woken up the next morning under a blanket on the sofa in your office, a plaster on your neck, water on the table. You were never going to do that , with the huge headache and the low sugar levels. As you looked down realising your movie white tank top was now drenched in blood. Deciding it was best to go talk to someone to go home, you left the office.

Your heels now discarded , your bare feet padding against the carpet floor , all the way to Angels office, Harmony informing you that he was in a meeting with the others. One brief knock on the pine door, was all it took for the similar brooding vampire had opened the door , gesturing you in.

Okay it was a bit naughty to not changed the blood stained tank, since there are two vampires in the room. Soon you were sat exactly where you were 24 hours ago, as were everyone else. "Uh, um ," No one was speaking , just staring at you really. "Y/n, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have forced you into doing that , I didn't mean for you to get hurt." Wesley was undoubtedly guilty, probably thinking about how made your parental figure was going to be more like.

"I just like to say, I could've gotten aids."

"Uh, that's not how that works." Fred was honestly shaken by your words, well not really she just thought well actually you don't know.

"That was just dramatic effect. I'm quite annoyed , I did not want fucking Edward sucking me like I was juice carton. Did you even kill the cult?" Your voice sounded like sandpaper, as you delivered your anger with pop culture references and dramatic gestures.

"Yeah we did, well not me but still." Lorne smiled at you with concern , he had felt sympathy for you , hoping the bite wouldn't scar.

"Well good, um, I was wondering if I could go home now? Please?" You already hate this job, Angel had nodded, queuing you to stand up , doing a small bow in respect , going home to have a bath and sleep.

Wesley had called you not long after you gotten home , to inform you that you had been given an extra few days off. Wow first day then long weekend, mental.

Once you had gotten back on Monday, your neck was not healed still, but you had to come back otherwise you was going to be homeless.

Surprisingly , the work was easy , too easy, but you weren't to complain... there was tv with a DVD player, you were absolutely chuffed. It happened that you had brought cds in your bag accidentally. After storing those cds in that bag when coming to Los Angeles.

So , you did work through your work a little too fast, nothing to do, so since the demon cleaners  suck arse , and didn't clean up the blood from last week, you had went and gotten a Hoover and cleaning supplies. Queen and david bowie, playing on the tv, you know you can use DVD players to play cds, if you didn't know.

Maybe it was a little bad you playing slightly loud music while hoovering, dancing as you went, it was a shitty Hoover so it was taking a while. Your cardigan and heels discarded, your forehead laced with sweat, what could you say who does like Queen. Thus I want to break freebegan to play.

"I want to break free I want to break free I want to break free from your lies," The fact this song was a parody of coronation street. As soon as the beat began , you had also began aggressively Hooving, the long dramatic strides, even the the lip twitches as you lip-synced.

"You're so self satisfied I don't need you I've got to break free God knows, God knows I want to break free," You had stopped to flip the fringe of your hair , before resting your hands on your hips , the self confident head shake, another hair flip out of your face.

"I've fallen in love I've fallen in love for the first time And this time I know it's for real I've fallen in love, yeah God knows, God knows I've fallen in love It's strange but it's true, yeah,"

Obviously you couldn't take your shirt off , like Freddie, but yeah your skirt rising up , blouse too buttons undone was enough. Your hands hands spread out like a star for moments, you didn't know that Spike had heard the music and began to locate the source.

"I can't get over the way you love me like you do But I have to be sure When I walk out that door. Oh, how I want to be free, baby Oh, how I want to be free Oh, how I want to break free"

Looking up to the ceiling, arms lift out to the sides , legs apart. Dramatic spin, clenching of fists to your chest. Spike walking up to the do slowly opening it , seeing you shaking your head 'I want to break free' Now some elves but you can't do that your not Legolas. Or cows you are not sure.

Now not sure how you didn't see Spike .  This was embarrassing, spike wasn't copying really, not much anyways. It wasn't long after that dont stop me now started. Wow this is embarrassing. You had just abandon the Hoover at this point.

"I feel alive and the world I'll turn it inside out, yeah And floating around in ecstasy"

Bringing you hands in front  of you up near your neck , wiggling your fingers, spike did the same.

" So don't " You looked forward, "stop," Looked towards the window , as did spike . "me" Back forward. "now" "don't stop me 'Cause I'm having a good time, having a good time I'm a shooting star, leaping through the sky Like a tiger defying the laws of gravity." Jumping up , scratching like a Tiger standing side on,  moving your arms around you 200 degrees , you were doing a duet , without knowing it.

" I'm a racing car, passing by like Lady Godiva I'm gonna go, go, go" Honestly you don't know how to describe these moves in honesty go watch Paul Rudd do it.

"There's no stopping me I'm burnin' through the sky, yeah." Your arms almost touching spikes as you lift them up as you circle your arse in a small circle, before pointing up.

"Two hundred degrees That's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit"  

Okay you had climb onto the desk , spot Spike oh my god , you couldn't of represented the fear , well until he had threw his jacket on the sofa ripped his shirt off, winking at you, shaking his shoulders.

"I'm traveling at the speed of light I wanna make a supersonic man out of you "

"Don't" you had wiggled yours back, before pointing at the platinum vampire,gesturing him to come to you .

"stop me now, I'm having such a good time I'm having a ball Don't stop me now"  As he reached you , you held out your hands for him , helping him up onto the table.

"If you wanna have a good time, just give me a call" Each of you looking at each other, as you danced ,sorta looking like Rick I'm never going to give you up, a lot of twisting , and hand movements.

"Don't" "stop" " me now ('cause I'm having a good time) Don't stop me now (yes, I'm havin' a good time)" Spike had grabbed your hands twirling you, ending up with you in front of him facing away. Throwing out thumbs up to the side of you as you got closer to the desk top.

"I don't want to stop at all" Before rising your arms up , Spike pulling you up, honestly if you knew him deeply you wouldn't believe that he would do this, he's a vampire.

"Yeah, I'm a rocket ship on my way to Mars On a collision course I am a satellite, I'm out of control I am a sex machine, ready to reload. Like an atom bomb about to Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh explode." Throwing your head back then forwards quickly , with your leg up, clicking your finger.

"I'm burnin' through the sky, yeah Two hundred degrees That's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit" Neither of you had noticed the music had gained more attention then you may of realised , Angel ,Wesley, Gunn, Fred and Lorne were hiding behind the sofa.

"Don't stop me, don't stop me Don't stop me, hey, hey, hey"

Spike jumped off of the table turning back to you , five feet away, holding his arms out to catch you.

"Don't stop me, don't stop me Ooh ooh ooh, I like it"

With that you had jumped, (Spike watched dirty dancing? Probably Harmony's fault.) Effortlessly he had caught you you lifting you up, for a few seconds.

"Don't stop me, don't stop me Have a good time, good time"

Lowering you down slowly , your arms around his neck, panting slightly, uh he wasn't sweaty , he's dead but you were covered in sweaty.

Soon enough the song came to an end , you were still in the vampires embrace , his arms around your shoulders securing you.

It hasn't even been an minutes ,clapping begins, someone turns of the Hoover and the music. You both turn around slowly pulling out of the embrace to see , the brooding Angel laughing with everyone.

"Bloody hell, perverts much." Annoyance interweaved in Spikes voice, you could share that embarrassment.

Looking at your feet realising how inappropriate you look , your blouse now see through due to the sweat , the cotton clinging to your body, wrapping your arms around yourself, to cover."uh , Angel , I was only cleaning and that because, um I completed my work, uhh there was still blo-""it's fine, as long as you are feeling better, " you had nodded at him before going back to looking at your feet.

Moments go by with silence from you and Spike as the others are talking away , no doubt about you two. You are soon pulled out of your trance when a heavy weight is placed on your shoulders , looking up to see Spike placing his long leather jacket on you , sending you a small smirk before walking out of your office , still shirtless.

"I haven't seen him like that in a long time, he is fond of you." With that Angel left too. " Aw, I'm glad you are settling in y/n/n , I just never thought you would do so ,by dancing to Queen with a vampire." Wesley had patted your back , leaving with Fred who just smiled , followed by Gunn and Lorne.

Thus you grabbed your stuff , to go home , you had danced to the end of the day. Walking out of the office , hoping Harmony didn't see you and kill you for Spike giving you his jacket.

She had already gone thank god , no death today, the next day , you had brought Spikes jacket with you. In search of him in the morning, you had hidden it in your bag , heading to Harmony's desk.  

"Uh, have you seen Spike today?" Please don't kill me. She had looked up at you with a polite smile. "He's literally just left Angel's office, something about going to taking a car or something? Why?"

"Oh, I just need to pass a message from Wesley to him, thank you." You had lied , but you hoped that Wesley would go with it, if she asked him.  Rushing down to Angel's private car park, in hopes of catching Spike, which you did but he almost hit you with the car.

Your hands placed on the hood, breathing roughly before moving to the drivers side , as he rolled down the window, smirking yet again. The car had had black out windows so you guess that's why he was going out in the day?

"Awe, all out of breathe for me , love?" You had ignored his comment , pulling out his heavy jacket from your bag, passing it to him.  "Cheers,love." You had nodded, turning away to head back up.  That was it until about 2:45 , again all your work was done, just sitting there doing nothing, but twiddling your thumbs.

So you decided , maybe you should go get some air outside, or go home you weren't sure. Swinging the office door open to see , Spike.

"Ah, oh Hi."

"Going somewhere, love?" Well that sounded like a threat , but he was not smirking like I'm going to chop your fucking head off.

"I don't know really , I think I'm going home."

"I'll drive you."

"Really?" He didn't seem to be the type to drop you off home to to your mother , not that she was there, but still, he had nodded , and that was it you walked with him. Until  Harmony stopped you both, she had frowned slightly before smiling again.

"So you got the message from Wesley then, spike?" You looked at Spike who didn't notice you looking , just stood looking at the blonde girl in confusion,until you pretend to resist your bag accidentally knocking him with bag.

"Yeah,"  

"What was it?"

"Mind your own business, wanker." With that he had walked around her with you ,guiding you with his arm around your shoulder.

Once you were both were sat in the car , you had given Spike your address , immediately he had started driving.  "So what was that about?"

"Well, uh, Wesley informed me about everyone ,  said you had something with Harmony, and she's a vampire. So I asked where you were this morning to give back your jacket but didn't want to say that, just in case she tried to eat me." Spike had let out a laugh, "I can see your concern, love , she's a bloody nightmare." You had let out a small laugh of understanding.

"Hey, do you still eat food?."

"Yeah, not a lot , but sometimes I do, why do you ask?"

" y-you've been very nice to me , since I'd been here, and you are driving me home.. uh so I was wondering if you would like to come in and have something. I don't have blood , uh other than my own and uh I lost a lot of that last week. You don't have to , um, I jus-" "I will, love,"

"Oh brilliant, uh I make some nice cookies."

"Great, love. Can't wait."

[dalgikiss]

Catch-22 // h. iwaizumi

index

part 10

It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to avoid you now, tips of his ears turning pink when your name is mentioned and flashbacks of his word vomit replaying in his mind. 

You pretend not to notice when he comes in late and how his eyes avoid looking in your direction. It totally doesn’t hurt

It definitely does

Oikawa notices the unspoken tension between you two whenever he decides to come into your classroom, observant brown eyes narrowing in on how Iwaizumi refused to turn towards you, answering his questions rougher than usual and how you’d stare at everything but Iwaizumi. 

“What’s this all about?” He asks you one day, early in the morning before school has started. He had snuck out of his house much earlier than usual, claiming he had a morning meeting with his teacher before class started to get out of walking with Iwaizumi. 

“What’s what all about?” you ask sleepily, eyes struggling to stay open. He lets you lean your head against his shoulder, sitting underneath the giant Weeping Willow in the school courtyard. Your stray strands of hair flutter in the breeze, tickling his nose. 

“You and Iwa-chan don’t even glance at each other anymore. How am I supposed to live when my best friends aren’t talking to each other?” 

You pretend you haven’t heard him, twisting your head so you could face his neck, breathing in the smell of his cologne and let the warmth from his neck flush through your body when you rested your forehead against him. 

“Is my crush on Iwaizumi obvious?” You ask instead and he looks down at you in surprise, eyes studying your relaxed expression. An involuntary shiver runs up his spine when your eyelashes sweep against his neck and tickle him in the process. 

He thinks back to your blushing face and stuttering words when iwaizumi looked at you just a little too long, your slender fingers always reaching for him in crowded areas so they wouldn’t get separated and soft eyes that saw him with something that spoke of a little more than friendship. 

Obvious? Maybe, at least to the trained eye. 

He weighed his options, wondering what kind of answer you were looking for before deciding to deflect your question with another one. “Why do you ask?”

A breath of air fans over his neck and he holds in his laughter when your lips move against him, tickling his neck in the process. “Ryuoko told Iwaizumi that i liked him”

It was as though a lightbulb went off in his head, the pieces all clicking together. Oikawa nods in understanding as he makes sense of the strange behavior the both of you were exhibiting. 

“I didn’t confirm or anything” You continue, “I was just wondering if it was obvious” 

“If it was, Iwaizumi would have gotten the hint by now” Oikawa reassures you but it does nothing to calm you down. You screw your eyes shut, Oikawa feeling the folds of your skin against his neck. 

“What if he totally did know and was just trying to find a way to reject me nicely and I’m actually the oblivious one”

Oikawa thinks back to the late summer afternoons where he watched his longtime friend go numb in position because he was too scared to move and awaken you in the middle of your nap, how Iwaizumi’s tanned skin would turn red under your gaze and he’d blame it on the sweltering summer heat and his calloused hands after years of playing volleyball wrapping around yours in crowded rooms. 

“Do you like her?” Oikawa had asked one summer day, lying on the grass next to Iwaizumi. They both stared ahead at the sky, the setting sun casting brilliant shades of purple and gold along the horizon. 

Iwaizumi watched the plane fly past, the roar of the engine bringing a rush of wind that rustled the tree leaves and made the birds chirp in annoyance. “Don’t ask me stupid questions” He responds gruffly. 

You had long gone home, accompanied by Hanamaki and Matsukawa with the promise of stopping at the convenience store by the park to buy popsicles. Iwaizumi had stayed behind with Oikawa, promising Oikawa’s mother he’d take him home once the sun was no longer in the sky. 

Oikawa let Iwaizumi brood over his answer, raising his fingers to try and trace the shapes of the clouds in the sky as he waited. 

“It doesn’t really matter if I do or don’t like her” Iwaizumi finally admitted and Oikawa dropped his hand back down to his side, rolling over to look at iwaizumi’s side profile and the even rise and fall of his chest with every breath.  

“If she doesn’t like me back, is there a point?” 

Oikawa fell back onto his back, smiling softly. “So you do like her then?”

There’s a small puff of air that’s released from Iwaizumi’s mouth when he heard the question and he finally sat up, stretching his arms up past his head. “Stop asking me questions you already know the answer to” 

Iwaizumi leaned over to poke at Oikawa’s side, gesturing with a nod of his head. “It’s time to go home before your mom gets upset”

Oikawa let out a whine at that, wanting to stay outside longer but got up anyways, picking his volleyball up off the sandy floor. The park behind them becomes further and further with every step they take until it’s swallowed into the darkness. 

He blinks when you pull his hand into yours, interlacing fingers with him, reminding him he’s here in the present. Your thumb smoothes over his, your finger cold against his heated skin. 

“Class is starting soon” You murmur, the courtyard growing louder as students begin to file in. The giant clock that hangs in front of the entrance reminds him they had to go inside soon, class starting in 15 minutes but your soft breathing and relaxed hand held loosely in his said to wait a little more.

Just a little longer, he decides, just a little longer

x.

“Aren’t you tired of ignoring [surname]-chan?” Oikawa asks, sliding into your seat at lunch after you had been whisked away by Matsukawa. 

Iwaizumi stares hard at Oikawa, envisioning burning holes into his forehead. “You’re annoying” 

“I think you need to come up with new insults, they’re getting a bit old. Do you have enough brain cells for that?” 

Iwaizumi reaches forward, sharply tugging on a tuft of Oikawa’s hair and he lets out a yelp of pain. He doesn’t hold the same hostility he used to, mind occupied. Ryuoko passes by the windows, brown eyes glancing once into the classroom before turning back in front of her. Iwaizumi follows her figure, unconsciously making a face when he remembers their last conversation. 

Me or your friends  

Oikawa follows his gaze, cocking his head to the side at the sight of her. “By the way, isn’t she usually here during breaks?”

Iwaizumi returns his gaze back to his desk. “We got into a fight”

“Oh I see, about what?”

Iwaizumi turned to look at him, wondering if now was the right time to bring it up. Oikawa waits patiently, doodling small flowers in the corner of random pages of your notebook. 

“Her or my friends”

Oikawa keeps his eyes on your desk, pencil stilling in the middle of drawing a tulip before resuming, finishing the petals and beginning to draw the stem. 

“And?”

Oikawa’s tone is still as lighthearted as ever, teasing Iwaizumi but Iwaizumi’s already seen it- the fleeting look on his face, chocolate brown eyes darkening and eyebrows furrowing and the hair on the back of Iwaizumi’s neck stand to attention. 

Dangerous

It’s only there for a fraction of a second, gone so fast that anyone else wouldn’t have noticed it but Iwaizumi is not ‘anyone else’. He waits for a few moments, quietly deciding between whether he should bring it up or say nothing at all and goes for the latter. 

He reaches over to tug on Oikawa’s hair again, but it’s not the same. It’s reassuring, the sharp tug on his curly hair reminding Oikawa he wasn’t going anywhere. “Of course I’m not leaving you guys, dumbass”

Oikawa lets out a sharp yelp, hands coming up to try and free himself. “Stop it! My hair- I spent all morning on it, let go!”

It’s only the slightest change in his tone, practically not even there but Iwaizumi knows his job is done and everything is okay. He lets go of his hair, but not before taking his hand and running it through Oikawa’s styled hair as revenge. 

“I’m sure you’ll make the right decision, iwa-chan” Oikawa says as he uselessly tries to fix his hair, “After all, even though you’re a brute with only two braincells-”

“I dare you to finish your sentence” Iwaizumi threatens and Oikawa shrinks back into his seat with a small laugh

“Relax Iwa-chan! Even with your lack of brain cells, I’m sure you’ll be able to make the right decision!- ow!”

The sting on Iwaizumi’s hand reminds him he needs to buy hand lotion and he admires his work, a nice red welt forming at the very center of Oikawa’s head. Oikawa grumbles something about Iwaizumi being too strong for your own good and your hands are rougher than sandpaper before running away, just in time to avoid another smack in the head. 

Make the right choice, Iwa-chan! 

Oikawa doesn’t say it out loud but Iwaizumi knows the hidden meaning beyond what’s not said and he chews on his left cheek as he watches Oikawa make faces at him through the safety of the classroom window. 

What’s the right choice?

He watches Ryuoko walk past his classroom, stopping only briefly to greet Oikawa who waves her away with a half hearted smile that makes his fangirls swoon and Iwaizumi already knows Oikawa has begun to hold a grudge against her. 

The right choice is your friends

[somediyprojects]

DIY Peg Wall by Christine Wisnieski:

When I moved into my studio fifteen months ago, I knew I wanted to create a feature wall near the entryway that felt curated, functional and peppered with color. It’s a place where I’d greet clients and a space to display my work and objects I’ve collected. While I would have loved to contract a carpenter to build out a drop-dead shelving system like this, it was simply not in my budget. So, out of necessity, I came up with a solution that was pocketbook friendly, doable with limited tools and offered flexibility.

The solution was inspired by the old pegboard system we were tasked with climbing in grade school physical education class, except this one would not require climbing. We used wood dowels and double-sided screws to create the pegs. The shelves we picked up at the local hardware store. Filled with some art and a few of my favorite objects, this project made a big step forward in shaping up our entryway. Not to mention, it created a perfect spot to drop your coat on your way in! To see more of the studio space, stop by my Instagram feed and say hello. –Christine Wisnieski

Here’s what you’ll need:

For Planning -stud finder -tape measure -level

For Shelf System

-1″ diameter hardwood dowel rods (cut into 7 1/2″ pegs) -shelves (four 8″ x 36″, one 8″ x 48″) -5/16″ x 2 1/2″ dowel screws (1 per peg)

General Supplies

-drill -saw -sandpaper -vice -pliers -drop-cloth -all-purpose paint brush -white paint (we used leftover latex paint from our walls) *lathe

Steps:

Determine your shelving plan

First, sketch out your shelving plan. My wall is 12′ tall x 14 1/2′ wide and features 24 pegs. Pegs are spaced 24″ horizontally (2′ in from the adjacent walls) and 20″ apart vertically (starting 4′ from the floor). For extra support, I placed pegs on studs.

Measure out design

Following your plan, use pencil, stud finder, tape measure and level to grid out your peg positions onto the wall. I found a laser level to be a helpful tool.

Trim down dowels

Using a saw, trim dowels into pegs 7 1/2″ long (…or ask the folks at your local hardware store to assist you with this). Sand any rough edges left from cutting.

Prep pegs

Next, drill a 1 1/4″ hole into the center of each peg to hold screw. The most accurate way to do this is by using a wood lathe. If that’s not an option, simply find the center of the 1″ dowel, secure rod in vice and drill a 1 1/4″ deep hole. Once holes are drilled, insert screw into dowel using pliers.

Paint pegs

Wipe each peg with a damp towel to remove any dust. Using an all-purpose brush, paint all sides white. Tip: For drying, we found it easiest to tie each peg up using a piece of string and hang from an extra dowel.

Install shelf system

Next, drill holes into marked wall to hold pegs. Once drilled, screw pegs into position by hand and arrange shelves into desired configuration.

Style

There are endless configuration options–objects can be placed on shelves, hung from shelves and shelves can even be stacked.

[witchy-anna]

Ok, so I have this idea. I want Hawks to react to a horror manga artist/writer (Junji Ito but female) who stares at him from afar (using him as a ref for her protagonist) and when he tries to confront her about it, she either ignores him or runs in the opposite direction and he thinks it’s because she hates him but in actuality she’s too anxious to deal with a confrontation and doesn’t want to have a panic attack. Headcannons or scenario, please and thank you hun!

Hawks x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3k~

Warnings: Mentions of mental health (panic attacks/anxiety), mild cursing, mild gore

Playlist: Haunted by ADONA, Devil’s Playground by The Rigs, I See You by MISSIO

A/N: This ask is so dang interesting, this turned out much longer than I intended it to. I know everyone experiences panic attacks differently but I went with what helps me ground myself. Honestly, I’m not very confident with this one, nonetheless I hope you enjoy! 

~~~

Hawks’ stomach growled audibly. He sat far above the civilians walking and going about their daily lives below his perch. “Just a couple more hours,” he muttered to himself. 

The swollen sun dipped low in the sky, reflecting off glass windows momentarily blinding him. 

He throws his head back letting out a groan, “I’m hungry!” Coming to a decision he pulls his phone out to find recent calls and selects one. The line connects almost immediately, “This is- oh hey Hawks! Let me guess, your usual?” 

“You know me so well,” Hawks laughs loudly. 

“Give me five minutes,” the chipper voice replied.

“Great! I’ll be there,” he says ending the call. Standing, he stretches languidly eliciting a couple pops from his stiffened joints. Hopping off the building he glides easily to his destination. Making it to the empty restaurant in less than two minutes, and strolling inside like he owned the place. At this point he practically did as he was their most frequent customer. 

The young man who answered the phone waved from the counter, “Hey! I said five minutes, I’m still working on your order so take a seat over there.” He gestured to the table by the window which Hawks raised an eyebrow at. “Please? You attract customers and it’s empty in here!” the man wiggled his own eyebrows.

With a dramatic sigh he settled into his seat pulling out his phone out to absentmindedly scroll through social media. 

The young man who was the owner’s son dropped into the seat across from Hawks, “See, you do attract customers.” He slid a food tray containing Hawks’ opulent order of various types of chicken, including fried of course. 

Hawks grinned, “You didn’t have to bring this out, I could have grabbed it.” Turning to eye the growing amount of patrons queuing up at the counter to order. 

“Nah, my old man told me to sit here in case anyone tried to bug you,” he shrugged. “You’re doing us a favor anyway. Plus my sister can handle the orders.”

As Hawks ate, the restaurant gradually filled with more and more patrons. Soft whispers and chatter increased in volume. A loud shutter sound came from across the room followed by a curse. The owner’s son sighed and leveled a hard look at the offender.

“It’s fine,” Hawks said quietly. At this point people snapping photos of him was a common occurrence. 

A little kid sat in a booth openly gawking, he spared a little wave at them and got a wide excited smile in return. He felt more so than saw all of the people staring. 

A movement outside caught his attention, sitting across the street on a set of stone stairs tucked into the side of a building sat a person. 

His eyes narrowed and rapt gaze took in a woman sitting partially obscured by shadows with her head down scribbling something into a notebook. A small penlight stuck between her teeth. Every so often she would look up to stare intensely at him before returning to the scribbing. He shoveled the food into his mouth faster because of the curiosity itching at him. An edge of worry creeping along behind it, what if it was a spy or someone out to harm him. What was she writing? He felt the small feathers at the base of his wings stand on end. 

Just as he finished his meal he watched out of the corner of his eye for her head to duck back down. Shooting to his feet he startled the owner’s son from whatever was so interesting on his phone, “Woah, finished already?”

“Yep, duty calls!” Hawks gave him a cocky grin and moved to hand the food tray to the girl at the counter. He waved before slipping outside into the cool air. 

~~~

As soon as your paycheck came in you hightailed it to the local art supply store. With your eyes sparkling as you drank in the wonderful sights of shelves and cabinets chocked full of goodies. The faint scent of graphite tickled your nose and the more overpowering scent of paints.

Your phone chimes, breaking you out of your happy daze, from a Twitter page you were ashamed to follow when you first discovered it. The photo with the attached location is luckily a short walk away. 

You sigh, What an artist will do for inspiration. Rushing to ring up your purchases, you not so subtly run outside to get to the location before he leaves.

Why, why, why did your brain insist on Hawks of all heroes to use as inspiration for your protagonist. To late at this point. 

Arriving at the restaurant you internally groan, it was busy. Very busy. Excitement constricted your throat at the sight of brilliant vermillion wings showcased in the bright window he sat in. The lights from the restaurant washing over the outside street and people impatiently queuing in the growing line. 

You puff your cheeks out, What should I do now? Luckily you spot a secluded staircase across the street with a perfect view of the window. A little far but it would have to do. Unfortunately for you it’s out of the light provided from the street lamps and business windows. You make yourself as comfortable as possible on the steps and pull out a sketchpad and your favorite pencil to sketch. 

In person sketching was substantially better than using random photos from online. Taking a photo of him without permission feels a little too invasive of his privacy. 

The soft sounds of the pencil scratching over the rough paper fills your senses. His wings in person are so much more magnificent, folded behind him. Much different than the photos are red-tailed hawks you tried to use. 

“Whatcha doin’ there?” a cheerful voice chirps. 

A strangled squeak escapes your throat, Oh no. Someone caught me. 

Ignore it (Y/n), he’ll go away. You jolt when inquisitive eyes come into your view and you visibly flinch away from Hawks himself. Well shit.

“Anyone home?” you watch frozen as his hand moves towards you. 

“No!” you shout and scramble away, it echoes down the street. Pedestrians pause and turn towards the commotion. 

Hawks’ eyes widen at your reaction and his voice drops to a gentle tone, “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you.” He slowly withdraws his hand, eyes rapty watching your reactions. Maybe she wasn’t looking at me, he thinks to himself. 

Hurrying to fold up your supplies and go to move around his giant wings. “Excuse me,” your voice comes out sharper than intended. 

“I-, what?” his eyes follow your quickly departing form, completely dumbfounded. “That’s a first.” A soft tap of something falling from your grip diverts his attention. He bends and picks up a pencil, starting at it curiously. 

The panic sets in, breathing sawing faster and faster from your mouth. The quick intake of breath bringing dizziness along with it, hand in hand with nausea. You slip into a nearby secluded alley and press your back against the stone. 

“Okay,” you take a shaky breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth. After a few moments your breathing slows and to stop sounding quite as much like sandpaper is stuck in your throat. “Breath (Y/n). Okay, I see: my shoes, a cigarette, a flyer for a restaurant, a person with an umbrella, and a leaf. I feel: the scratchy wall, the hole in my sock, the breeze, and my sketchbook. I hear: someone laughing, a bicycle chain, and a bell. I smell: something grilling, and is that trash?” You wrinkle your nose, “Lastly I taste the (flavor) candy I ate earlier.” 

Just as you are about to step out from your resting place, a small red feather drifts down the alleyway. Carried by its own invisible breeze. It stops for a moment before turning to move to you, causing your breath to hitch and panic sets back in. 

Before it can reach you, you take off sprinting into the crowd of people making their way to the train station. 

~~~

On the train home, you dig through your bag before upending it into your lap. “No no no, where is it!” 

Great, if that pencil wasn’t like an extension of your own hand it wouldn’t make much of a difference. 

Running graphite stained fingers through your hair you groan at the situation. Do you accept its gone? Or return to the scene of your “crime” and risk Hawks still being there? 

You check your watch resigning to suck it up and go back there; cursing at your clumsiness. Trains were still running so you manage to catch one back, twisting your fingers together the entire time. 

Back at the scene of your “crime” you shine your pen light searching the area. Of course, you hadn’t lost the cheap little light but too late at this point. 

“Hey you,” the familiar voice says cheerfully. 

Nope, you pivot on your heels shoving the still lit pen light into your pocket. Please go away. 

“Wait!” Hawks voice calls from behind you. “I’m just trying to return this to you!” 

Nope, nope, nope, you chant internally. 

“Gotta be quicker than that!” Hawks’ laughing voice is suddenly in front of you. 

Your yelp is muffled as you smack face first into a warm coat. His hands reach up to settle on your arms and steady you but also blocking any attempt at escape. 

Unable to look him in the eyes you instead settle on the collar of his jacket. “Please don’t,“ you say weakly. “Please let go.” This entire situation has already spent your reserves of energy. 

There’s a pause before he lets go and steps back, “You won’t run again?" 

No promises, you think but shake your head anyway. 

A long drawn out sigh comes from Hawks and you glance up at him with widening eyes. Your breath leaves you, creeping across the street was nice but standing this close is a whole different level. His eyes narrow slightly, "What were you doing earlier?" 

"Wait! You saw me?!” you exclaim, then clap a hand over your mouth. 

Hawks’ eyes study your face, seeming to settle on a decision and expression softens. “Here,” he reaches inside his coat to pull out the pencil. 

“Oh, thank you,” you say genuinely. Some pent up tension in your shoulders lessens. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he presses.

“I was-,” heaving a sigh out you pull the sketchpad out that was tucked under your arm. “I was sketching you. I’m an aspiring mangaka.” 

“Honestly I thought you were suspicious,” he laughs wryly. “But I definitely did not expect this.”

Hawks crouches slightly coming into your line of site, another squeak escapes your mouth and you quickly raise the sketchpad to cover your face. He chuckles and raps his knuckles against it, asking, “Can I see?”

“It’s Hawks!!” someone shouts. 

Hawks turns to grin and wave in the general direction of the shout but says to you quietly, “Can I take you somewhere? I’d like to continue this conversation without interruption." 

At your look of apprehension he offers, "I’ll let you draw me in person!”

“Really?!” you exclaim and again clap a hand over your mouth. 

Hawks nods happily and moves to pick you up but stops when you flinch away. “Hmm, alright I won’t push,” he beckons you to follow. “This way.” Not waiting for an answer he turns on his heels and quickly leaves you behind. 

“Wait,” you call weakly and struggle to catch up. 

His pace slows and he spares a glance over his shoulder to check you’re following. Abruptly he takes a turn into a side alley between two stores.

“A-are you going to mug me?” you joke but your voice wavers.

Hawks spins causing you to crash into him again, which he laughs at loudly. Stepping backward he holds up his hands in a finger gun motion, “Gimme all your money!”

“Very funny,” your smile betrays you.

He gives you a dumbfounded look when you smile that morphs into a satisfied smirk. “Got you to smile, didn’t I?” he spins back around to resume the journey, weaving an impossibly strange route through alleys and streets.

“Here we go,” he says with his gaze traveling up a tall building. “Sorry, we need to fly for this bit.” 

Before you can answer he scoops you up and strong wings propel the both of you straight up into the air. A choked scream is cut off and a moment later he set you down on your feet. With shaky hands you clutch at his coat and gasp out, “You could have warned me!”

“That’s no fun!” his laugh is close enough to ruffle your hair. 

To close, you step away and try to distract yourself with the place he had taken you. 

“Oh, this is..” you pause. Cut off from the gentle but still chilly breeze is a small oasis at a penthouse suite. A small greenhouse sits beside the glass walls leading inside the house. You frown, wondering if this is his place or someone else’s. 

“No one lives here,” he laughs at your expression. “At least not at this time of the year.”

“Anyway, how do you want me?” he questions with a shit eating grin.

“Whatever is comfortable for you,” you roll your eyes.

“Oh! So like this?” he says and proceeds to strike ridiculous flexing poses.

Rolling your eyes again you settle down onto a grassy patch of the ground. Vaguely wondering how people afforded places like this, Must be a hero. Hawks follows you and plops down across from you crossing his legs with wings relaxed behind him. 

You clear your throat, “Why are you letting me do this?” 

He shrugs, “Boredom I guess. Plus you interest me.” 

“I-,” you start but shake your head dismissing his teasing. You move to take out the sketchpad and supplies and settle them onto your drawn up knees. The familiar and comforting sounds of the pencil scratching against paper fills the quiet atmosphere. 

“Why did you run?” he asks quietly, staring off at something in the distance.

You groan and he cocks an eyebrow at you, “I’m no good with confrontation.” 

“So I scared you,” his easy-going expression drops for one of worry. 

Shaking your head you say quickly, “No. No, that’s not it! I was already embarrassed to be sketching you without permission. I felt like I was caught with my hands in the cookie jar.” You smile sheepishly but it falls and you look down at your lap, “I got overwhelmed is all.”

“I can understand that,” he says with another unreadable expression. At his silence you return to your sketchpad, this time with a stick of charcoal. After some more time passes he says, "I find it difficult to believe you happened upon me by chance. How did you know I was there?" 

You duck your head down to avoid his prying eyes and admit, “There’s a twitter account people post sightings of you.” 

He hummed, “I would be lying if I said that wasn’t bizarre but I’ve seen worse.” His brow furrowed remembering something, “Much worse.”

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. 

“No more apologizing, it’s not your fault,” he said with an easy smile. “I’m used to it,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “Comes with the job. Why do you want to draw me? You still haven’t told me.”

A bright smile on your face leaves him with a dumbfounded expression again, “Oh! I’m working on a horror type Manga and wings are just so much fun to draw.” You gush and point at his wings, “Your emotions show through your wings! I want to convey that in my drawings." 

"Can I see?” he asks again. “I mean, I am letting you use my body." 

Puffing out your cheeks you sigh and reluctantly hand the pad to him, "Please don’t laugh." 

"No such thing,” he tuts and greedily grabs at the pad. It starts off as simple lose sketches of red-tailed hawks, next focusing on the wings before evolving entirely to various positions of Hawks himself. He flips a page to reveal the first full body fleshed out design of your protagonist. The character stands with a cocky grin, wearing a victorian style suit and top hat balanced on his fluffy hair. Only his wings are left with a light outline and where his hands should be, are left blank. 

The last and most detailed drawing eliciting from him a soft, “Woah.” The one you were most proud of, the dark-haired version of Hawks stood grinning maniacally and pulling the coat wide open. The abdominal cavity gaping wide open, empty of organs except for the heart hanging suspended. He hums, “You did say it was a horror.” He suddenly sits forward into your space, “You have to show me when this is finished! Please!”

Taken aback at his excitement you mumble a soft, “Okay.” Hawks bounces slightly in his excitement and hands you back the notepad. Adorable, you muse. He has an almost calming personality, even for as pushy as he is. 

Focusing your attention on his face you touch up the corners of the character’s eyes. Muttering out loud to yourself, “Is it eyeliner or not?” 

“They’re natural Little Mouse,” he smiles as bright as the sun. “Why didn’t you draw my hands?" 

“Little Mouse?” you squeak. 

"You squeak a lot. It’s cute,” he winks causing you to sputter. “Again, you didn’t answer my question." 

Is he flirting? Haha funny (y/n), as if that would happen. Shaking your head you explain, "I want to draw your, I mean his fingers with talons. You sure ask a lot of questions." 

An unreadable expression settles on his face, "Talons?” His brow furrows and after a moment asks, “Promise you won’t tell anyone?" 

"Tell anyone wha-? Oh,” you watch as Hawks slips a glove off to reveal his fingers sporting sharp black nails, much like his namesake. Abandoning your art you reach out to grab him hand, running your fingers over his nails and up over his knuckles. 

“Full of surprises aren’t ya?” he quips. 

“I’m sorry!” you cry tearing your hands away from him. 

“It’s okay I don’t mind,” he hums and gestures at your hands to retake his. 

Your mouth betrays you and you blurt, “You keep making me flustered!” 

Mischief glinted in his eyes as he leaned into your personal space. His voice dropped an octave, “Afterall, my Little Mouse I am a bird of prey.”

[illshowyourhurricanes]

He Loves Me

Here, you’ll get another glimpse into the life of one non-gold digger, Mr. Benjamin Greene, in the form of another series of little moments that all leads up to something much bigger. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Image prompt 10: Benjamin Greene x reader (requested by the lovely @breanime)

Rating: PG-13ish for mentions of nudity

Word count: 1712

Tag list: @obscurilicious @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor @logan-deloss @lexxierave @madamrogers @yannii04 @gollyderek @carlaangel86 @bicevans @maydayfigment @thisisparadisemylove @ladyofnaps @malionnes @thesandbeneathmytoes @crushed-pink-petals-writes

Follower event tag list: @luminex3 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @witchygagirl @breanime 

If anyone wants to be added to/removed from my tag list, please just send me an ask!

Special thanks to @the-blind-assassin-12 for beta reading a little bit of this one!

This is related to all other Benjamin Greene x reader fics, which can all be found in my masterlist.

You woke up smiling. Eyes swollen from sleep, you rubbed at them with balled up fists, clearing morning residue from the corners. Reaching upward, you wiggled your fingers as you stretched your arms, feeling the overnight stiffness melt away from your fingertips to your shoulder blades. Your eyes were still adjusting to the sunlight streaming in between the slats of the blinds covering your windows. Pale yellow light decorated the floor in long parallel lines, breaking up the shadows. Benjamin’s soft snores as his chest rose and fell were the only sounds hindering the house from complete silence. It was tranquil. Perfect. 

Rolling onto your right side, you admired the beautiful bouquet of flowers Benjamin had surprised you with the night before. It was bright with spring blooms, pink tulips and pure white irises; pale peach miniature roses, striking orchids, and daffodils the color of the bright sunshine. Eucalyptus leaves and tiny blooms of sweet pea and chamomile as fillers, the arrangement was quite fragrant. It was colorful and different; definitely not the typical flower bouquet. 

“I chose them all,” Benjamin had told you just after bursting in the door, the bouquet wrapped in paper, all long stems and pops of color and a kiss in greeting. “Nothing pre-arranged said Y/N.” He offered the bouquet to you, a slight flushing of his cheeks as he did so. “You’re stunning and remarkable and an amalgamation of beautiful things all mixed perfectly.” He nodded to the flowers, tickling your nose with sweet aromas. “They suit you; they're mostly wildflowers.”

Your eyes shone with awe and the threat of tears. The wrapping around Benjamin’s hand-picked array crinkled as you carefully accepted them. “You’ve stolen my words,” you said as you glanced down at the flowers. You’d have time to admire them later, but for the time being you were entirely enamored with Benjamin. “Have I forgotten something? Is today significant?” Your brows knitted together in worry as you searched your mind.

“No,” Benjamin said with a chuckle. “Just a Saturday.” He regarded your face, the top knot you wore your hair in, your old oversized university t-shirt and boxer shorts. “You’ve been working.” It was more of a statement than a question. 

“Just finished,” you replied with a smile. “Thank you. Let’s get them in a vase, yeah?” You held out the flowers for Benjamin to take, freeing your hands so you could rummage in the cupboards under the sink. 

You climbed out of bed quietly, making an effort trying not to wake Benjamin. After making a cup of tea, you rummaged around making little to no noise until you found what you were looking for. Using your drawing board as a makeshift tray, you piled the remainder of your supplies on top: pastel paper, tape, and your collection of Prismacolor pastels, as well as colored pencils to outline. Your cup of tea was also precariously balanced atop; your mind had been so trained on your task at hand that you hadn’t thought about the clattering of the cup. Thankfully, Benjamin was a fairly heavy sleeper. 

Once back in the bedroom, you smiled at you peeled over at Benjamin, who hadn’t moved a muscle. Carefully, you placed your drawing board on the floor before sitting down beside it, first placing your tea to the side after taking a sip. Your pastels were put to the side, colored pencils placed in your lap, and you tore off four tiny pieces of tape to secure your pastel paper to your drawing board. Smoothing your hand over the paper, you paid attention to the way it felt beneath your palm, the toothy surface of the paper that was akin to the feeling of sandpaper, only finer. 

You gazed up at your bouquet. You'd all but memorized the way they were arranged in the case, which flowers had thicker stems, how bright the yellow of the daffodils were, how saturated the pink petals of the tulips, the shadows the larger blooms cast over the sweet pea and chamomile. Precariously, you opened the tin your pencils were arranged in, squinting your eyes as you regarded the flowers, then peering into your lap. Your pencils were just used for a rough sketching, an outlining of sorts that would be completely obscured by the pastels as you worked. It had been awhile since you’d  been inspired to play with color, the time to mull over saturation and warmth versus cool, to meticulously muck over the stark difference it was to shadow with pastels instead of charcoal. 

Your thoughts regarding color always started and ended with Benjamin’s eyes, the particular deep, warm brown of his irises, the chestnut undertones and flecks of gold within them. They were a color, you thought, that not even legendary artists could get just right. You loved the way they darkened even more with desire, when his mind was full of nothing except all the different ways he could devour you. 

After about five minutes of sketching later, you looked up from your work and over to Benjamin, who was very much awake, just watching you. You’d been so immersed in your work, you’d missed the change in his breathing. He smiled at you, creases forming at the outer corners of his eyes. “Good morning, love. You should come back to bed.”

Benjamin’s smile was contagious. Since the two of you had met, his smile had always drawn out your own; the expression held with it warmth, affection, and sometimes a bit of mischief. Your smile was broken by laughter at Benjamin’s invitation. 

“I’m working,” you said simply, still wearing a residual smile. Repositioning himself, Benjamin propped himself upward over the pillows. He glanced to the array of supplies around you, garnering that you were playing with color, and color had absolutely nothing to do with charcoal. He raised his brows just a shadow, yet you didn’t have to look up to witness it. You knew Benjamin Greene. 

“Congratulations on the new job, Y/N! Now, come back to bed and allow me to congratulate you properly.” And there was that smile, the one with a bit of mischief mixed in. 

Playing as if you were toying with the idea, you glanced longing over at your pastels, untouched as of yet. Without another word, you began clearing your lap of kelly green and sunshine yellow, candy apple red and tangerine orange. The pencils slid easily back into their tin container. You heard the rustling of bedsheets as you turned your back and bent to pile your things back into your old drawing board. 

You righted yourself back upward and stretched toward the ceiling, straightening your spine. You turned back toward the bed, but were captured by a pair of strong arms instead. You hugged Benjamin tight around his middle and your eyelashes fluttered against his bare chest as he placed a lingering kiss to your crown. 

“What are you working on, Ms. Kahlo?” Frieda, is it?” A warm breath of laughter followed the slight tickling of your eyelashes over his skin and Benjamin relished in those small, unconscious touches. He held you for a moment longer until you pulled back to nod toward your bouquet.

“Hand-picked flowers by a bloke called Benjamin… something-or-other. He has a good eye for colour, yeah? His name really should be renowned, the surname, too. Benjamin  is just too common a name, but so is Britney and everyone knows when the name is uttered, exactly who you’re talking about… oh, baby, baby.” 

Your impression left a lot to be desired, but that just added to the level of ridiculously adorable you’d hit without trying, and a loud timbre of laughter bounced off the bedroom walls. “I love you, Y/N.”

Your smirk was completely erased as your jaw dropped and your mind whirled. He...what did he just say? It couldn’t have been— he had never—

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sudden beat of silence throughout the house, just as it had been an hour before. He dipped his head in an effort to catch your eyes. You looked up to see his own, much darker ones, filled with worry. 

“That’s… that’s what the flowers were for, Y/N. I had a bit of… something prepared, just a rambling of things that have made me realize over time that…” His hands slid down your arms, around the curving of your hips and waist, down to the small of your back. “But I was late and I could tell you were working. You were beautifully smudged but I wanted you to hear it. To know. It just wasn’t the right time, and—“

“Benjamin.” Your voice was a whisper as your hands rose to gently press against his chest, but firmly enough for his hands to fall from your back as he took a step back. “Y/N, I’m—“

You turned to see the hurt in his eyes, as if his heart had been pulverized. Turning away, your own heart seizing in your chest, you clutched the frayed ends of your old t-shirt, fabric bunching between your fingers as you lifted it up and over your head. Your hair tumbled down and over your shoulders and you bent to rid yourself of the boxer shorts, pushing them down and stepping out of them. Finally, you slipped between the sheets, the cool material sending a pleasant chill over and under your naked body. 

“I think we have another thing to celebrate,” you spoke finally. Your eyes shined, not with tears but absolute awe. Benjamin blinked, one, two, three times as he strode to the opposite side of the bed and crawled in beside you. 

“You don’t—“

“Shhh.” You hushed him by lightly touching your finger to his lips. The man before you was simply exquisite. “I love you, Benjamin Greene. It's been for awhile now.”

Shock passed over his features briefly. Before he could say another word, you took his cheeks in your hands, meeting him halfway for a long, lingering, deep kiss. He smiled against your lips and pulled your body atop his own, skin to skin. Drinking you in with darkened eyes, he kissed along the curve of your shoulder. “Show me how much, Y/N.”

You never finished your sketch.

[pffbts]

hobi x y/n just sitting down and journaling together, whether it be digital journaling, pen to paper journaling, and filming a journal with me video together. ( this really is just for me to feed the y/n college life that I can only dream of)(tbh,its really hard to imagine hobi journaling, so maybe have him just looking at me journals?? looking at my old journals maybe instead of writing his own?? or maybe even being a brat and going off on how it doesn't help him and he thinks that its weird)

(cont.) + and like, continuing what i just wrote, maybe he’s reading my old journals and talking about the past me vs the present me??? ( I’m just giving u ideas I swear I’m not trying to direct u onto writing like a commission or some ish) 🙇🏻‍♀️

GENRE. fluff; angst (minimal)

CHARACTERS. jung hoseok x reader | no supporting character.

W.C. 2K

AUTHOR`S NOTE. this is, at the end became a really cosy fic. i, though planned to write something energetically―maybe it`s because i was listening to this while writing, i ended up making a peaceful fic. anyway, thanks for sending in your idea, baby! and happy reading, bub!

LIYAN`S VERSION | the one who requested.

[10:44 AM] [and, there will only remain the words we wrote.]

―beads of perspiration gather up across your forehead sticking your baby hairs against it in that annoying way as ever. but you had to finish your laundry, so you lift your laundry basket up in both of your arms and walked further away from your apartment and towards the destination.

hoseok had exactly ten minutes left before he arrives at your place from his quick visit at the dance academy but while on his way towards your place, he couldn`t pin out what came over his mind, he dropped by a stationery shop to buy some stickers because he knows you love them but you also love it the best when he buys them for you as a complimentary gift.

though his ways of telling you are very little and like flash before your eyes, you`re always quick enough to catch up on it. after all, you had your own ways of knowing him.

you witness the flush of the water inside the machine and the cup of coffee that you held in your hand remain tightly captured in your palm. you`ve always been a nervous wreck whenever you hold something in your hand. it`s strange how this might look really ridiculous to others but for you, this is the one thing you`re scared of and that`s letting go.

you feel the constant tapping of your feet and as you look at the clock on the wall and the spins of the machine simultaneously your mind goes back to that one place your person lives. you understand that you can`t wait to reach to him.

as you hear the sudden alarm of your laundry being finished, you jump from your seat, flipping the now empty cup in the bin next to you. crouching down in front of the machine, you pull out the washed clothes and settle them rather messily in the laundry basket. there`s a rush in your system and you could almost feel it reaching the tip of your fingers now. you watch the slight tremble of your fingers but chose to quickly rub it off you head.

no one knows apart from you that it`s been five months and finally you were having hoseok over at your place. when you had offered to visit him at his dance academy, he said not to worry about that and offered himself to come over at your place.

you smile at the casual remembrance and walk out of the laundry shop, your arms now filled with energy.

hoseok, who has another set of keys jiggling happily in his jean`s pockets, took them out ever so carefully and used it to open the door of your apartment but was met with a sudden empty air when he realizes that you`re currently not at home. his eyes quickly shift to the brand new neatly white painted chair and table you had bought two weeks ago. you had sent him the pictures the moment you settled them in their current place, right at the front of the biggest window of your apartment.

he walks forward, taking out the stickers he bought while on his way here. some days he would end up buying a whole month`s supply of stickers for you and that someday somehow ended up becoming today. he knows already that you`re probably going to scold him as usual but that`s not the biggest issue here. he was getting worried where you would be at this hour. it is disgustingly hot outside and he hoped you`re wearing light clothes.

while he kept himself worried, he decides to revert his attention on the occupants of the neatly coloured table. the top of the table doesn`t look much neat in his eyes but it looks kind of aesthetic which hoseok didn`t complain about. he knows you`re a little messy so he keeps himself casual and doesn`t bring up his own neat freak from inside. he settles himself in the chair and picks up the journal that was closest to his reach.

seeing from a far, anyone can tell how much that table said about the owner herself. the flowers are fresh as usual, which means the owner changes it every day. the lampstand is clean as a white cream, the pencils, the pens, the markers, the highlighters, the thin ribbons, the gum stick, the whitener and last but not the least the still stocked stickers. each and everything was sitting in their designated place. if anyone wanted to know if the owner has a person close to her or not, they can look at the photo collage stand where polaroids of her and her person`s smiling faces are prominently visible. their happy moments are captured in time and though the time has frozen in that particular picture, the feelings inside those two humans grow with abundant depth.

it dawns upon hoseok how much he has missed you. when he traces the edge of the journal with his fingers, he dies to feel a little bit of your warmth against his own too. without another thought, he opens up the journal to the page you last wrote:

[sunflower sticker] day 152 / time: 07:23 AM―first of all, today we`re going to use only sunflowers and if i run out of sunflowers we`ll use the sun because today hobi is coming back after five months!!! i missed him a lot [sad emoji] and i`m so happy that today he`s finally coming over. i don`t know why but i`ve a feeling that he`ll probably buy a bunch of stickers again. the weather seems better today. it`s been less gloomy and too much sunny. i hope it doesn`t become too hot later on. [three extra sun stickers]

[ten sun + two sunflowers stickers] time: 10:30 AM―TOO MUCH HOTNESS and i`ve too many laundries to do. ugh, [angry emoji] why didn`t i notice that i was piling up so much, maybe college was too stressful this week (?). it`s almost time and he`ll be here and i don`t want to get a nag from him because of how much messy and lazy i become when he isn`t here. anyway, it`s getting late. i should probably get down to business.

so you must be at the laundry right now―

as hoseok`s realization dawns upon him, he hears the sound of the entrance door opening. he gets up immediately and pushes back the chair in its place.

“aaahhh for a second, i thought i didn`t lock the door!” you exclaim, putting down the laundry basket in the rack beside the washroom, “also―”

without realizing what happened in front of your eyes, you feel trapped inside the warm encasement of hoseok`s arms and chest pressing right against you. you try squinting your eyes open and your eyelashes were met with the slightly moist strands of hoseok`s hair. your fingers move to softly caress them. so, he`s really been growing his hair out. you feel him giving you soft pressed kisses against your neck and as you crane your neck a little to give him that extra access, he pulls his face away only to lean in and give you a kiss on your mouth. it`s like you had the fastest shift in your moods and you weren`t complaining in any way.

“hobi―” you try speaking only to be cut off as he gives another kiss at the corner of your lips, “no talking.”

“but―” he pulls you against him much more tightly before you could finish your second attempt at talking. right that moment you realize that you`re completely wrapped in his arms, he had completely captured you in the nest and you had no other way out but to finally return the gaze he has upon you.

“i saw you were reading my journal.” you say and almost thanked the heavens for not letting him stop your mid-start.

he nods his head slowly and pushes out his lower lip humming at you, “you were all sunflowers and suns today. care to give out the reason?”

“i was planning to but then i thought i will let you figure it out.” you shake your head with disapproval.

“oh, but baby i already got it.” and when he smiled like that, you felt like your heart collapse from the insides of your ribs and ended up at the pit of your intestines. your felt your neck heating up while you tried wiggling out of his grip.

this time, hoseok did let you out of his embrace and followed you as you sat down to write down the next update of your day`s whereabouts. as your hand reached for the pen, you saw a sandpaper bag sitting there when it wasn’t there this morning. you lift your head up to catch the anticipation filled eyes of hoseok.

“i―” i always tell you not to do this, you almost said your usual sentence but because you are seeing him after a long time and because of your inner anxiety for people and things leaving you behind didn`t work out on hoseok, you decided to vocally appreciate his effort of at least remembering your likes. “i`m glad you always do this for me,” you tangle your fingers with his slim ones, his veins providing the smooth crests and troughs against your skin and before hoseok see through your mind, you take his hand and lay them across your cheek, closing your eyes for a moment taking in that familiar sense of protection and warmth from him. “i`m glad you`re here again. i missed you a lot.”

when hoseok leans in and holds your face against his stomach, he caresses the top of your head.

“i missed you a lot too. i couldn`t wait to come back home and see you doing things you love, saying things that are on your mind, eating things you crave for, and mostly, i missed reading your daily journals. i missed living in your world.”

later that afternoon, while you were lying down on your futon beside the table and reading the newly bought book after a heavy lunch date with hoseok, you watched him sitting at your place in the chair and with a heavily concentrated face he was taking one sticker out at once and pasting them on the sides of your writings, sometimes he was taking the markers to draw little lilies and sunflowers, sometimes he added little messages like reply here and there in-between your lines.

and, you, more than concentrating on the contents of the book in your hand or the interactions in-between the characters were mostly invested in observing the wonders that hoseok`s hands did and you were sure you felt tingles inside your chest when you saw him smiling that satisfied smile whenever he was happy with his input. his hair which has been growing out a lot faster these days gave him a casual and carefree look. his extremely loose white tee and his tightly fitted jeans gave him such a beautiful look, you thought how can a person look this ethereal without even giving any effort. also, the descending sunlight that covered the place where he sat. the fading sun illuminated and made his smile into a bigger picture.

you sigh and he catches that giving you smiling eyes before going back to doing what he was into. you stretch out your legs further and finally looked back at your opened book and dived in with the smell of happiness lingering in the air around you.

fin.

▶RULES. ▶ REQUESTS/QUESTIONS. ASK BOX

[ryanshultz]

Process shot of me working on a self portrait. When drawing on gessoed panel, I utilize the full range of pencils, as well as black crayon, India Ink, and sandpaper as an eraser. 

Self Portrait (Unit 631), 2020, Mixed Media on Panel, 16″ x 20″