#what do you mean you just... add your own songs to my playlist...

[crystaltoa]

Me: I should make some blorbo playlists! Nobody makes blorbo playlists anymore!

*opens Spotify for the first time in years*

...Oh so THAT'S why.

[demaparbat-hp]

Hiya!! 👋🏼😄 How's it going? Your fashion taste for Zuko in a Modern AU seems to be artsy, or maybe "formal" is the word. That shirt he wore when he gave Sokka romantic song advice looked Versace🧐. Anyway, I was wondering how you came up with it, he always struck me more as the type that didn´t care much about fashion, so I'm curious about other´s opinions and heacanons about it. And do you have any other fashion headcanons for the rest of the GAang? Also, their music tastes. How did you come up with them? Especially Katara's! 😍

Hello! As it happens, I have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings™ about this, so I'm leaving these over here, and the rest of my ramblings down below the cut!

Let us begin with the Gaang, shall we?

SUKI always struck me as that Pretty Girl from the Gym. She is so incredibly fit it isn't even funny. She could kick anyone's ass, and we'd all thank her. She has this casual gym style that somehow always looks glorious on her, as it should! Comfy yet fashionable clothes for a nice workout or a day in town.

Her music tastes are basically any and all power songs from the eighties and nineties. (Eye of the Tiger, anyone?) She also enjoys metal via Toph, and bands like BSB, NSYNC, or Boyz II Men with Katara. My girl has a very eclectic Playlist and we all love her for it.

SOKKA is That Guy™. Loose T-shirts and shorts everywhere he goes, no matter the weather. He's stupidly into fashion but it doesn't show! At all! And everyone teases him about it. His closet is about 90% Cactus Juice merchandise, hence the "it's the quenchiest!" shirt.

His fashion and music tastes are pretty much the same. He loves poetry but isn't really into lyrics. He'll misinterpret just about anything you place in front of him. His Playlist is mostly vibes and tiktok songs he kind of enjoys. He isn't really into music...at least not as much as his sister.

AANG owns exactly one hoodie, one pair of shorts, and one beanie (THE beanie). Oh, and the crocs—don't forget the crocs. Somehow, he's always wearing the exact same outfit. Every. Single. Day. Ancient Gaang lore suggests that the day Aang goes out without his beanie, it's the end of the world.

His Playlist is the poppiest, most bizarre thing ever. Every single song is Happy by Pharrell Williams levels of happy. Yet sometimes, among the bouncy dance-to songs, you'll find the strangest of things... (He does know what Good Day by Twenty One Pilots is about. That's the reason he likes it so much, actually. And it's so weird.)

KATARA is all about sundresses and loose pants. The epitome of comfortable loveliness. Light fabrics in blue shades, careful embroidery, delicate shoes, and little to no accessories—hers is a simple, yet quite adorable, style. She just needs to add more colors to her usual palette...

She is, first and foremost, a Florence + The Machine girl. It's the Dark Goddess of the Sea vibes, to be honest. Florence Welch is her idol and yes, she will fight you about lyrics interpretation, and win. It may not seem like it, but her music tastes are also very varied.

She draws a little from each member of the Gaang, so you'll hear her humming along to Gorillaz (where did you even find out about them, Aang?), The Weeknd (I...don't think this song means what you think it means, Sokka...), and Hozier (Zuko why did you dedicate Talk to me, Zuko WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY THAT).

TOPH...ah, lovely girl. I'll summarise everything about Toph’s fashion sense in two words: comfort and rebellion. Stuffy dresses forced on her by billionaire parents? No thank you! Give her tank tops with loose shirts and short pants. Bandaids shared with Aang, bracelets from Katara, and even piercings she got in tandem with Sokka. Shoes? What even is that?

Something I love about this fandom is our collective agreement that Toph is into the dirtiest, heaviest, most ear-splitting and soul-crushing death metal of all times. Her Playlist is full of the most obscure names to ever exist, and she can and will blast through your walls with the sheer volume of her speaker.

Zuko. ZUKO.

Even in a modern AU my boy must suffer. That being said, I envision Tales from the Couch as—well, exactly what it is: an ATLA modern AU. While there is not a war to fight, and a lot of plot lines are discarded or expanded upon, much about the core story remains the same.

This is my way of saying that Zuko still goes trough his redemption arc, and it reflects on his fashion choices.

The way you described it works perfectly because of one single reason: in this AU, Zuko is an artist. He had to suppress his love for writing and drawing because of his background and the expectations Ozai had for him (taking over the family company), and a very large part of his redemption arc directly affects his relationship with art.

In the Couch equivalent of S1, Zuko has fallen out of Ozai's graces, and is desperate to protect his place in the company and the Kasai household. He's pretending to be someone he isn't and trying to live up to his Father's image of a perfect heir while still being somewhat cut-off financially, and it shows.

He's all about imposing long coats and a semi-formal style, imitating what he knows Azula and Father would respect. He's striking and sharp and dark. But no matter how he dresses or carries himself (that air of cold superiority and arrogance)—it won't help him when he needs it the most.

In S2, Zuko has hit his lowest point. He's officially disinherited and tossed away by his father, and would be out in the streets if it wasn't for Uncle Iroh. He goes from sharp, high-tailored outfits to old second-hand clothes that hang loosely on his frame. He starts smoking and cuts his hair off, forgoing the undercut for the first time in years.

But then...Father accepts him back. When Zuko returns home, it's with respect to his name and a very high position in his father's company. He's finally the perfect Kasai heir, dressed in overly expensive suits and finery, even at home... But Father forbids him from wearing Lu Ten's earring, and Zuko can no longer recognize himself without the familiar glint of gold dancing on his peripheral vision.

When Zuko leaves the Kasai name behind him and goes back to living with Uncle Iroh...he's finally at peace with who he is, and what he wants in this life. The sharp edges aren't gone (they'll always be a part of him, after all), but now they're dulled by looser clothes and softer hairstyles.

He's an artist, and for once in his life, he is determined to pursue his own ambitions. Zuko's outfits may not be designer-made anymore, but he takes what he has and makes himself look like he wants to look, like the person he wants to be.

He doesn't read fashion magazines or keeps up to the latest trends like Azula does. He's just...Zuko. And his newfound confidence makes everything he wears look like it belongs on him.

As for music...well, Ursa raised a literature boy.

He loves lyric-heavy music and natural voices, be they soothing or powerful. Dissecting song meanings and possible interpretations with Katara is one of his favorite parts of the day. They're both very passionate and strong-minded individuals, so it stands to reason that their debates can get quite...heated.

Zuko's Playlist is both incredibly eclectic and somehow very...him. There's a common thread that binds together every song and artist he likes, and he's hilariously unaware of this. To take a look into his Playlist is a higher honor reserved only for those closest to him.

In the wide spectrum of things, it is no wonder that Zuko is, first and foremost, a Hozier man. But though Andrew is his God in all aspects of this life, there's someone else that has had a huge impact on him...

Two someones, actually.

Zuko refuses to tell anyone how he got into Twenty One Pilots, but it's kind of a moot point when the beginning of his obsession is nothing compared to everything that came after. They have just about the right amount of everything that makes Zuko...well, Zuko. The poetic lyrics, the soothing or raging music, the heavy, intensely resonant themes...

Up there, in the second artwork, I placed an album cover behind each period of Zuko's life. The election of these records is intentional, as I feel like their general themes work incredibly well with Zuko's arc and growth.

Blurryface in S1. For the demons within us. For giving a name to our fears and shame.

Trench in S2. For escaping the confined walls of a depression city, and fighting to understand the depths of the map of your mind.

Scaled and Icy in the first half of S3. For returning to places you had left behind. For convincing yourself and everyone around you that you're fine, that you're perfect, even though everything is crumbling inside...

Clancy in S3. For recognizing that you can backslide, that you can have fears and shame and pain—but you're shaping yourself with each step you take. For knowing that seeking help from others is okay. Nobody learns to walk on their own.

(And, in the end, you'll always be better than the person you were yesterday. If only because you're still here. You're still alive. You're still yourself.)

.

Overall, I rambled a bit too much, don't you think?

If you made it all the way down here—thank you so much for reaching out and being interested in this crazy AU! I hope you enjoy these ideas and tell me some of your own ❤️

[hyunjincanraptoo]

congrats on 500!!!!! i would be happy with literally ANY chan prompt 🥹

Hi, baby! I chose number 11 to you 🤭 This is somehow very self indulgent and so Chan coded imo. And idk about you guys but I miss blonde channie so I had to bring him back. I also reunited all the songs in one playlist :)

11. You made me a mixtape? (I forgot to add this sentence to the story 😅)

Word count: 0.7k

No warnings, this is pure fluff & shy Channie 

Alexa, play Love Language by TOMORROW X TOGETHER 

It starts with a knock you almost miss. Just one— soft, fain, kinda shy 

By the time you open the door, the hallway's already empty, except for a small brown paper bag on your welcome mat. There’s no name, just a little doodled heart on the label, and a playlist titled:

“What’s your love language? This is mine…”, scrawled across a CD sleeve 

Inside you found a carefully labeled CD, five small sticky notes, each folded and numbered. And a slightly crumpled pack of banana flavored candy.

For a moment, you know who made this.

You laugh— because it’s very him.

You slide the CD into your laptop, press play, and sit cross legged on the bed as the first track starts.

Track 1: “Friday I’m In Love” – The Cure

 You unfold the first sticky note.

“It was a Friday. You borrowed a pen from me and tapped it against your lip while thinking. I couldn’t focus for the rest of the lecture. That’s when I realized: I was screwed. I liked you. Like, really liked you”

You press your hand to your mouth to stifle a grin.

Track 2: “Out of My Head” – Khalid & John Mayer

“I tried not to fall. I really did. But then you leaned over to help me find a page in my textbook and your fingers brushed mine. I didn’t sleep that night thinking about you. Still don’t, sometimes”

You clutch the note to your chest.

Track 3: “Banana Pancakes” – Jack Johnson

“Okay… this one’s kind of a dream, but I think about it a lot. Just… you, me, a rainy day, coffee and bad banana pancakes. You laughing at my kitchen while wearing one of my hoodies... I’d be the luckiest man in the whole world”

That explains the banana candy. Of course, Chan doesn't miss details.

Track 4: “Sweet” – Cigarettes After Sex

  “If I ever get to kiss you, I want it to feel like this song. Slow, careful, like we’ve got all the time in the world. I don’t want it to spark and disappear, I want it to stay. I think you’d taste like something sweet. I’d never get tired of it"

Your cheeks burn so hot you have to pause the music for a second.

Track 5: “I Wanna Be Yours” – Arctic Monkeys

“I know this song is kind of dramatic, but I mean every word of it... but in my own way. I don’t need grand gestures, I’d rather be the one who walks you home, who remembers your coffee order, who stays even when things aren’t easy. I wanna be yours, in the quiet, lingering way”

The music fade gently, and you swear you can hear Chan’s heartbeat in every note.

Whipping some tears, you’re already grabbing your hoodie, barefoot, heart racing, mixtape in one hand.

You swing open the door— and there he is, waiting by the stairs.

 His blonde hair is falling in his eyes, one hand behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels. The other hand holds a small, but beautiful, bouquet of your favorite flower .

He stands there under the porch light, with his hoodie sleeves covering his fingers like they’re trying to protect him from how exposed he feels.

You’re holding the mixtape to your chest. Your heart's pounding messy in your chest.

Chan tries to smile, but it’s shaky.

“So…” he starts, voice breathless, “do you… wanna live this story with me?”

You don’t answer, not with words.

You just lean in and kiss him— warmly and gently.

At first, he doesn’t move. Just freezes, widening his eyes. A faint gasp gets caught in his throat like he’s not sure this is really happening.

But then, his shoulders relax. His fingers uncurl around the flowers. And he kisses you back like it’s the first time he’s let himself feel the full weight of hope.

When you pull away, his cheeks are bright pink, lips parted, eyes searching yours like if he blinked he would wake up.

“W–was that… real?”

You grin and tuck your hand into his.

“Yeah”, you whisper, “And I think we just wrote track 6”

He blinks, stunned, “track 6?”

You hold up the mixtape with a playful tilt of your head, “The beginning. Every playlist needs a good opener for what comes next”

You pull out your phone, and hit play.

The smooth beat of 'Day 1' by Honne spills out of the speaker

“'Cause from day one, I was already yours. And if this is where we start… I can’t wait to see the rest"

He makes a shy noise, something in between a laugh and a whimper, and buries his smile behind the flowers.

“I think that’s the best one", he mumbles.

You nudge his shoulder, “Now we just have to write track 7 together"

"I want to write the whole album with you"

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep , @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa , @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts , @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin

[queenimmadolla]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐎𝐮𝐭, 𝐁𝐨𝐲, 𝐒𝐡𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐔𝐩

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

previous ─ next part ┊ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( + playlist)

Summary: After your stepmother's ahem accident, and now brimming with confidence, you decide it's about time to make Eddie whole again and lend him a hand in doing so, while Eddie regains new and old sensations along with some feelings. An excruciatingly heavy dose of jealousy, included. And you confirm that Eddie Munson is hot. Eddie is so very hot.

Chapter Warnings: he's not super stinky anymore but his feet still are, dark humor, unpleasant home life, intense longing. oh yeah, and murder. again. so there will be descriptions of violence and blood but its a creep getting what's coming. includes references to SA which occurred in a previous chapter.

a/n: surprise, bitch. bet you thought you'd seen the last of me. anyways, got a new macbook so here we are. this chapter was a lot longer but i actually forgot to add crucial details for my plot, so, I'm going to split it into more chapters. hope you enjoy this one! and yes, we are pretending certain songs existed during the year this is set.

light dividers ℗ cafekitsune ♡

“I mean—I haven’t stared at his hands or anything, he’s just got to be dexterous with all the books he handles. It’s perfect.” You’d decided on the next unwitting donor for Eddie. A suitable hand to replace the one he lost.

  Of course, with the hand meant there’d be another body to dispose of. You’d planned it out carefully and quickly. You only had about a week until Laura was due back from her conference, or whatever the fuck it was. Regardless, you knew she wouldn’t be making another appearance, alive that is. You were sure her photos would assault you on news channels when she was discovered missing and you were relatively fine with that. It’d be the last of your abusive step-mother you’d ever have to see. You really were finally free of her, and it surprised you how relieved that made you feel.

  From the moment she came into your life, she’d made it almost unbearable for you to exist in your own skin, in your own life—in any space or capacity. The months spent enduring her verbal, emotional and mental abuse had eventually made you grow used to it, not that it ever became tolerable or normal to you. You just…stopped realizing you weren’t yourself anymore; always hunched over, eyes staring at the ground, walking on eggshells every minute you weren’t locked in the safety of your room. You’d become meek, doing anything you could to seem small so she’d leave you alone. Always holding your breath.

  You could finally breathe.

  There was a bit of guilt present, only because you knew regardless of how horrible Laura was to you and how she’d been to Chrissy before your step-sister had graduated high school (she’d told you all about it when you’d first moved in), she was still Chrissy’s mother, and Chrissy would no doubt feel the loss.

  She’d get over it.

  Eddie slowly made his way into your bedroom after you, and you took the chance to really look him over. He certainly did look more lively. Still dead as fuck, but not so much a corpse rotting for years. Maybe just a few months.

  “I’ll see him tomorrow, so we’ve got to do it then.” You kicked off your boots, letting them land wherever they wanted as you padded over to your bathroom with Eddie trailing behind you. 

  The bathroom light flicked on and you quickly got to work, pulling out your makeup removing balm and skincare products. You got started, making sure your hair was out of your face before you were massaging products into your skin, “You know, my dad said this move would be a new start for us—really, I didn’t have a choice unless I wanted to be homeless—and I thought that was a huge load of crap.”

  You stopped the motion of rubbing the balm to pry your eyes open, blinking past the product coating your eyelashes as you stared at Eddie’s reflection in the mirror. He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, staring intently at your reflection and not at all bothered with the state of your severe raccoon eyes, “I still think it’s crap. But maybe this happened for a reason, maybe I was meant to tend to your grave until lightning brought you back to life kinda. Maybe Laura only ever existed so she’d be around to give you another ear when you’d need it. I mean she always gave me an earful so, I think it’s poetic justice. Now, she’s the one who only has a singular ear. Ear-y, if you will.”

  You quickly rinsed off your face and patted it dry with a towel, pausing to contemplate.

  ”And she’s dead now, too, so it’s like you guys just traded places. Freaky Friday and all that—did you ever see that movie? Jodie Foster?”

  Eddie nodded his head.

  “Did you like it?”

  “Mm.” He shrugged, sticking his hand out and letting it teeter. 

  You pursed your lips as you applied your moisturizer, “I mean it’s got its moments, some real nice mother-daughter understanding but I thought it was just okay, too.” 

  You were expecting him to make some sort of zombie sound of acknowledgement, so when he remained silent, your eyes drifted once more to his reflection, finding him now staring intently at the shower curtain, fingers of his good (the other one wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t there) hand twisting it this way and that. The shower curtain was bright pink, holographic and shifted to reveal a bunch of kittens when angled correctly.

  Eddie looked perplexed and you had to bite your lip to keep your grin from taking up your entire face at such a blatant display of boyish ignorance.

  Slowly, as you watched Eddie continue to fuck around with the curtain, the grin twisted into a small frown. 

  Sure, Eddie looked a little rough around the edges, had apparently been in the drug dealing business while he’d been alive—but you couldn’t imagine someone wanting a guy fascinated with shower curtains designed for late 40 something year-old women with no taste (Laura had picked out the curtain), dead. 

  You wondered if they’d been behind his missing appendages, too. Glancing down at his wrist to take in the wound—bone still visible, a heavy feeling settled in your stomach, one similar to the feeling you’d get when you’d watch Carrie; see her smiling on that stage, overwhelmed with joy at finally feeling accepted, but you couldn’t be happy for her. As a reader and viewer, you knew about the bucket.

  With your night routine finished, you turned to face Eddie, clapping your hands twice to get his attention. He reminded you of a puppy the way his head tilted in confusion at you.

  “Back to my room.” You swept your arms out in front of you, gesturing for him to leave first and when Eddie stood up he tried to do the same thing, only his arms weren’t as loose as yours, so it just looked like he was doing the robot.

  You smiled, turning to walk out the doorway when you stopped short, eyes honing in on the dark, red stain on your carpet.

  Fuck, you had to clean the crime scene still. Panic filled your chest while your brain tried to recall your dad and Chrissy’s schedules for the day. Chrissy had said she’d be out with friends so she probably wouldn’t return until well past the time your father went to bed, and he’d probably be home by dinner time. Even if he did return early, he rarely—and by rarely you meant never—went into your room. Not to lecture you, not to say goodnight, not to check if you were still alive.

  You were in the clear.

  Moving to stand directly in front of the stain, your sock covered foot tapped rapidly as you fidgeted. There was no way you’d be able to get all that out, Laura had bled harder than you did when you sneezed on your period. You could soak up most of the blood, scrub out the rest but the stain would always be present, no hiding the dull red amongst the pink fibers. 

  But maybe…

  Your eyes trailed over to the rug placed deliberately under your bed. It was a piece you brought from your room back home, a nifty find from the estate sales you and your mother would frequent with a shared love for antiques and the unique.

  You could pull it out a little, have Eddie lift the bed and then you’d be able to cover the stain left behind after you cleaned the carpet. Your lower lip became the victim of nervous chewing as you wondered if Chrissy would notice the difference in placement. Did she even pay that close attention to you? Could you risk it?

  Well, it’s not like you had any other option. With the clean up plan in mind, you turned to your doorway and jumped when you nearly collided with Eddie’s chest.

  “JESUS! Fuck, sorry dude—I forget you’re so quiet.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, and you were almost taken aback with the amusement you could see in his eyes. Eddie had found some amusement in having freaked you out by doing literally nothing—and his eyes kind of…sparkled with it. They hadn’t done that before you electrocuted him. While big, they hadn’t been all that expressive.

  Interesting.

  Whatever—you’d have to look into that later, right now you had something to cover up. And you needed to keep Eddie busy while you did.

  “C’mere.” Rather than just have him follow after you, you grabbed his hand—tugging him over to your bed. When Eddie was in front of you, you pushed on his shoulders to get him to sit down and then grabbed your beat up Walkman, your headphones, and rummaged through your bedside drawer for a certain tape. 

  No luck. You scowled, slamming the drawer shut as you scrutinized your room. You eyed your school bag, on the ground by your door and scrambled over to it, arm reaching in to search around before dumping the contents out. Damn, still no tape and your irritation was beginning to fester. 

  Sure, you had more but you needed Eddie to listen to that one. It was important for a reason you didn’t care to delve into. So, you handled your lapse in memory with grace.

  “WHERE THE FUCK IS IT?” You shoved everything carelessly back into your bag, practically throwing it back down as you rushed over to your dresser, moving all your crap aside in search of the plastic rectangle.

  Not there either.

  There was absolutely no way you’d ever misplace your tapes in the drawers of your dresser but you ransacked those, too, slamming them each when they proved futile. Your blood was practically boiling.

  “Eddie, cover your new ear because I am about to LOSE MY FUCKING SHI-oh, there it is!”

  It had been on your dresser, hidden under an open copy of Frankenstein, with the corner sticking out.

  You hummed, annoyance fleeing your person as you held the cassette case up between your fingers to show off to Eddie. During your little bitch fit, he’d made himself comfortable on your bed, laying back and popped up on his forearm. The lower half of his face was cinched up and you had the sneaking suspicion he was smirking at having witnessed you lose your cool, but he was a dead guy so who was he to judge?

  “This is gonna change your freaking life, I swear.” And then, as a guilty afterthought, “Uhm. In a good way.” You tucked his hair behind his ears, fingers gentle, and placed the headphones over them before you were pulling The Lion and the Cobra out of its case. “It’s one of my favorite albums and—honestly, I bought it because she’s bald. Well, I guess not bald bald, she’s got a buzzcut. This is Sinead O’Connor. I told you a little bit about her last night.”

  After slipping the tape into place and closing it in, you offered the case to Eddie so he could see Sinead on the cover of it, wrists crossed over her chest, and her normally soulful stare avoiding all those gazing upon her.

  When Eddie stared down at it a little too long for your liking, you snatched it out of his hands, an unpleasant feeling in your belly, heart clenching a little. It was a simple cover, he didn’t need to scrutinize her, didn’t need to admire her for that long. 

  You knew his eyebrows would be raised—if he could, but the most you’d seen them do is twitch—with the look he was giving you.

  “Shut up. Just—listen, okay? Every single track is a work of art, but some feel a little more…personal than others. Tell me your favorite afterwards, ‘kay?”

  Eddie stared at you for a couple of beats and when he nodded, you pressed the play button, giving him a smile.

  You could feel his eyes on you as you walked out of your room to retrieve a sponge, some hot soapy water and the carpet shampoo mix Laura concocted and always drenched the floors in.

  While you worked on making sure no one would ever know Laura took her last evil, foul wench breathes in your bedroom, Eddie had managed to shift into a different position, lying on his back with his head dangling off your bed, the ends of his curls pooling on the rug below.

  Now Eddie had always considered himself a music connoisseur, loved discovering new artists—but he was a little unfair in his practice. As in, he didn’t give a shit what other people told him to listen to. 

  Well, people he didn’t care about. Eddie cared about you. 

  Eddie cared about you a lot. 

  He’d been rediscovering his body the longer he remained alive, still marveling over his ability to reanimate from the grave. With his apparent deceased status, came the sensation of knowing where every organ in his body was.

  Eddie had been tempted to cut himself open, confirm with his sight what was going on in there, but he had a feeling you would have yelled at him so he settled for taking mental notes. He could think, so his brain was clearly working, maybe jump started by that lightning strike. He could tell the exact location of his stomach, feel things moving around in there and he’d spent a great deal of time hacking the creepy crawlers up after he’d spat one up in Laura’s lunch—he didn’t want to gross you out by accidentally coughing one up on you or something since he’d already puked on you.

  After making sure he didn’t feel any more bugs roaming around in his organs (and he was extremely grateful they’d yet to make his way to his lower intestine because there was no way you’d be normal about him shitting out bugs—if he even could shit), he realized he had a couple of broken rib bones. 

  Eddie couldn’t remember much about the night he was murdered, couldn’t recall too many images—mostly just experienced an intense wave of fear that clawed its way out of some crevice in his chest and up his throat, desperate to break through with a scream, so he tried not to think about it much. They must have broken his ribs in the attack, if he pressed just below his left pec, that particular rib bone would move inwards with a popping sensation. 

  Definitely hadn’t done that before he was dead, would have been a sick party trick, though.

  And then came the matters of the heart…it’s the one thing he couldn’t really feel, couldn’t locate, unlike his other organs. Eddie had briefly assumed that shit was still dead or dust but then you’d returned home, radiating with jubilation—a far cry from the miserable girl he’d observed that first night, so beautiful and marred with self deprecation.

  You’d said it was because of him, of the dress he’d seen hanging in your closet and then fantasized about seeing you wear all night while you’d slept. 

  Eddie swore he felt the heart he thought had given up, clench. It had been a fleeting sensation, but he’d felt it nonetheless. He had no idea what it was doing, had no idea if was actually beating or just responding. All he knew was that it belonged solely to you.

  And then you had to go and mention Steve fucking Harrington. 

  He wasn’t exactly fond of the self proclaimed King of Hawkins, had sold him some really shitty weed because the blockhead didn’t know the difference. He was an asshole, even worse than Eddie. 

  And for some fucking reason, the love of Eddie’s life—who read him poetry, talked about all her interests, shared her secrets with him along with the very same loneliness that had plagued him all his life and followed him to his grave, and who was far out of Steve’s league—wanted him. Not Eddie.

  No, because this is Eddie’s second life, he still can’t be happy. You wanted Blane and your movie Pretty in Pink ending. Eddie was just Duckie and he had a feeling this wouldn’t be the novelization ending. 

  When the fourth track began to play, Eddie’s despair was calmed by the sound of a guitar strumming, and he was able to yank himself out of his head. No point in dwelling. This wasn’t about him anyways. 

  Yes, he’d come back from the dead. The circumstances of his return were still unclear, but he knew it was somehow your doing, somehow because of you. And he’d spend the rest of his life (he had no idea if he was gonna age or not, he’d only been alive for like a day) expressing his gratitude and protecting you.

  Besides…

  Ah when you close my eyes, babe, I can see most everything, Sinead sang.

  And Eddie understood it. 

  His gaze bore into the side of your face, admiring the tick between your brows as you scrubbed at the stain, the pout of your lips and Eddie wanted nothing more than to be able to get up without his limbs literally creaking, saunter over to you with the confidence he knew would make you swoon over him, pull you up into his arms and kiss you until you forgot Steve Harrington even existed.

  He closed his eyes and let the scenario play out, changing a few details in the scene.

  The two of you weren’t in your room. Pink carpet switched out for his dingy, stained bedroom carpet. Generic in color, you didn’t seem to mind it at all as you rifled through his vinyl collection, greedy fingers flicking through the covers at an impressive rate. 

  Sinead’s voice was still comforting Eddie, just not through a pair of headphones. Her voice crooned out from the turntable on his dresser. 

  He’d been passively engaged in a sketch of the main villain for one of his favorite DND campaigns, still needed a ton of details that wouldn’t be hitting the page tonight. Not with you present, not with you sitting there engrossed in your own world and oblivious to his appreciative stare.

  Eddie didn’t like to consider himself particularly vain, and truthfully it hadn’t mattered to him what you’d look like the entire time he was—whatever. He didn’t care. But oh did someone up there have to favor him just a little bit, because when he saw you for the first time with his soil embedded dry eyes, he was sure it was love at first sight. Would have popped a woody if he had any sort of blood flow and if you hadn’t freaked out at having a dead guy crash through your window.

  Oh, fuck, he was ruining his own fantasy by remembering the circumstances of his existence. Back to it.

  While he could envision you in that black dress, as hot as you were in it, it was the pajamas he first ever saw you in that covered your skin. Hair ready for bed as the two of you winded down in a show of domestication. 

  Thump, thump.

  There it was again. Not always lively but always coming to life when you were around, even in just his daydreams, ready to beat for you. And since this was his fantasy…

  Eddie tossed aside the sketchbook and pencil, not caring where they bounced to on his bed in his haste to stand. He padded the short distance to you, snatching the vinyl you’d been checking out right from your hands.

   “Hey!” You cried out, any semblance of protest disappearing the moment you turned to look up at him and caught that mischievous Munson Smirk on his face as he dangled the album in front of you. He was teasing you.

  Your eyes narrowed up at him playfully and for a moment you were still until your arm darted out in an attempt to snatch the album back—a move Eddie was already anticipating.

  The album was quickly held just out of your reach and your grin was sheepish as you moved to get up from the ground. Clearly, your boyfriend (yes, he was your boyfriend in this fantasy, sue him) was feeling playful, and honestly, he just really liked it when you threw yourself at him just as you did right then.

  Eddie still held his ground, arm sticking straight up in the air to try to keep the album out of your grabby hands. 

  Teasing would always get a little physical, since he’d known what it was like to be without another’s touch for so long, he was keen on forever feeling yours.

   “You’re such an asshole!” You laughed as you did this pathetic little jump to try to reach it and Eddie snickered, the arm not clutching the album snaking around your side to bring you impossibly closer to him. Keep you there. Preferably forever.

  “Mm, but I’m your asshole,” Eddie cooed down at you, angling his head down so the tips of your noses bumped. The gentle curve of your lips had his heart thumping again as you settled against him, one hand stroking up his chest to rest on his shoulder. He could feel your breasts against him but it didn’t excite him as it should have (okay—it did, he just wasn’t paying attention to his dick in the fantasy), what he really cared about in that moment was how he was able to hold you so close, he could feel your heartbeat. And it wasn’t beating for Steve Harrington. It was Eddie who made your heart flutter and race, “and you can do whatever you want with me.”

   “Gross,” you whispered, breath ghosting over his lips.

   “You say that and yet you still let me─” The rest of Eddie’s sentence was lost against your mouth, soft, and a little tacky from your lip balm but oh so sweet. He let out a pleased hum, flicking the album onto his bed so he could cup the back of your head as your tongue parted his lips. The two of you stood there, holding each other, kissing each other with no ulterior motives. Just the burning desire to ensure the other knew exactly how wanted their very presence, very existence was. Sinead echoed her own statement over and over again in the background, making it the perfect soundtracked moment.

  God, there was nothing more he could ever possibly want.

  Actually—there was one thing he wanted more, he realized as his eyes opened once more, and your profile came into focus with a couple of lazy blinks. 

  Eddie wanted you to want all of that. 

  Wanted you to want him back, because you deserved more than what Steve Harrington could give you. Materialistically, sure okay—the rich douche could give you more considering Eddie was technically homeless without a penny to his name, but you didn’t care about material things. Not like that. It hadn’t been objects or devices you’d told him you longed for at his grave.

  You longed for something Eddie was positive he could give you. He just needed his body to be up to par, needed what he was missing so you could see the whole—Eddie as a whole—was greater than the sum of his parts. He could make you happy. He could make you so happy.

  If only he wasn’t a fucking zombie—and really, c’mon, that’s the main thing Steve’s got over him. He’s…y’know…more alive.

  You must have felt Eddie’s heavy and romantic, not creepy, stare because your head snapped up and you gave him that gorgeous smile again. Then you were knee crawling over and Eddie wanted to bite a chunk of your mattress out—you were so damn cute.

  When you were in front of Eddie, and still very much so upside down to him though you were actually right side up, you lifted the headphones off his ears, “How you liking it so far? You good over here?”

  Oh, you know just, yearning over a love we’ll never share because I know I could be everything you’ve ever wanted and anything you need, whatever you want, if I weren’t a corpse and I have to listen to you talk about another, much less cool guy when I’m right here and I’m missing a hand, so I could be better.

  Eddie held up (down, technically) his thumb and you leaned your body over so you were kind of upside down too, grinning brilliantly at him. Eddie had never wanted an upside down kiss so badly.

  “I don’t know if I’ve told you this yet, Eddie. I really like hanging out with you.”

  Eddie let out a groan, rolling his eyes and gently pushing your face away from him after your terrible pun while you cackled. 

  After you finished cleaning the stain to the best of your ability (so not well), you enacted the rest of your solution and had Eddie lift your bed frame so you could pull your rug a little more out and successfully cover the stain.

  Before bed, you asked him what his favorite track of the tape was. When Eddie pointed at Just Like U Said It Would B, you nearly jumped up and down on your bed before revealing that was your favorite song, too.

  Eddie wasn’t even remotely surprised. Yuuuuup. You were definitely his soulmate.

  When you woke up the following morning, squinting like an elderly chihuahua as you once more fumbled out of bed to pry your closet doors open, Eddie had another outfit waiting for you. Unlike yesterday, Eddie wasn’t awake.

  He was sitting against the wall of the closet, head resting against the bottom of various dresses and long skirts as a makeshift pillow. His eyes were closed and he was unnaturally still. 

  Alarms started to blare off in your head and you nearly shit your heart out of your asshole because you thought Eddie had somehow died again. Your reaction was instant, eyes filling with tears as you got on your knees and crowded into his space, hands gripping his shoulders and shaking him with a strength you didn’t know you possessed, “Eddie?! Eddie, c’mon, don’t do this to me—don’t leave me, I just got you, c’mon get up.”

  When he stirred, chest rising as he inhaled, you nearly dropped dead from the relief, allowing yourself to fall back on the carpet and partially on the rug sticking out from under your bed.

  “Oh my god.” You breathed out, lifting two fingers to check your own pulse. You still had one so you were kicking, and Eddie was still very much alive or whatever he was, “Okay, new rule, you gotta tell me what your body can and can’t do anymore—I thought you were DEAD, Eddie!” 

  You pushed up on your hands before you launched yourself at him, arms wrapping around his upper half. In that position, his hairs rubbed at your nose and the scent of your own shampoo filled your nostrils and he felt very hard overall, but his arms wrapped around you too. He was fine. Except for y’know, his current state of existence—but at least he still existed.

  When you pulled away to look at him, you noticed his eyes looked kind of hazy, bleary. Tired. He was full alert yesterday morning, and you were pretty sure he hadn’t slept that night, nor had he been tired when you got home. 

  “Are you okay?” You asked, fingers raking through his bangs to settle them against his forehead. 

  Eddie nodded slowly with a grunt, and grabbed the items that had been resting on his lap when he fell asleep, pushing them into your arms.

  A sheer black mesh long sleeve, a red corset to go over that and keep you from getting arrested for the public indecency, and a sleek midi black skirt that was sure to hug your hips and flow the rest of the way down to stop a little past your knees. 

  “So, yesterday it was Madonna and today it’s Cyndi Lauper?”

  Eddie pushed you out of the closet but before he could shut the doors, you wedged your way between them to prevent him from doing so.

  “Wait—okay, you win again. Are you tired?” You pried the doors all the way open again so you could see Eddie more clear with the light, his head nodding slowly.

  ”I didn’t know you could sleep,” You mumbled and the look Eddie gave you made you think he hadn’t known either. You were beginning to suspect your little Dr. Frankenstein moment did more than simply bring Eddie’s ear to life, “Well get up. You can sleep in my bed, I’ve got a couple of classes today. Chrissy likes to carpool on Tuesdays and my dad’s gonna head to work, not that he’d ever venture to this corner of the house anyways. Get some rest and I’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

  He looked a little unsure of himself so you had to pull him out. And once you remembered he was in the same pair of clothes, you gave him another band shirt and some plaid pajama pants you’d received on some birthday in the wrong size, to wear to bed.

  By the time you’d finished getting ready and doing your makeup, Eddie was asleep again. You found him lying on his stomach, head nuzzled into your pillow with his feet hanging off your bed.

  You walked over, grabbing your comforter from where you’d bunched it up on the other side of the bed after you’d thrown it off you and pulled it over him. Whether or not his blood circulation was working wasn’t even a thought, the action of tucking Eddie in was more so an affectionate one than rational. 

  It’d been years since he’d slept in a bed, having been wrongfully sentenced to spend eternity with worms and everything beneath the earth’s surface. You hated that, something hot simmering in your belly. Laura’s much deserved murder aside, Eddie hadn’t done anything wrong! Yeah, okay, you didn’t exactly know him—but you knew him. The dead dude, currently sleeping (?) in your bed, had acted earlier only and solely to protect you. You hadn’t been in Hawkins when he was alive so the odds of him running around with a sewing machine to bash people’s heads in for you were pretty slim.

  Impulsively, your hand reached out to run through his hair with ease, fingers twisting into the curls. His tresses were still surprisingly soft and there were no tangles. Part of you wanted to lean forward and smell him but you didn’t because it’d be creepy and he’d just smell like your shampoo, probably. 

  With a sigh, you retracted your hand and silently gaped when some of his hair came out with it. 

  Oh, shit.

  Rolling your lips together and with no alternative, you rolled the hair into a little ball and tucked it into your bra to dispose of later. The last thing you needed was for him to be nosey and bored enough to go through your bathroom trash and find his hair in it, without him having put it there.

  You were just about to head out when you remembered his shoes and how uncomfortable going to bed wearing them must have been so before you could USE YOUR FUCKING HEAD you were carefully pulling one off (it would be just your luck to accidentally pull his foot off or something) and once his foot was free—you realized immediately why he’d kept them on.

  The stench hit your eyes first, tears filling them faster than you’d ever experienced before and stinging them something fierce. When the smell breached your nostrils, it triggered your gag reflex and you did everything you could to keep your dry heaving relatively quiet. 

  After you threw up in your mouth a little, you managed to put his shoe back on and ran for the bathroom. Once your stomach was settled, you held your breath and braved your room, lunging for your body spray to aggressively mist over Eddie’s sleeping figure before hurrying out, gasping for air once you were in the hall leaning against the bedroom door. 

  God, your wallpaper was fucked. No way it wasn’t curling in on itself.

  You were still in a state of shock and recovery when you ventured downstairs, almost snapping to attention when you heard Chrissy gasp and your head lulled towards the dining room where she sat at the table across from your father. He had his head buried in some magazine while she stared at you in awe, hands covering her mouth.

  “My goodness, Sissy! You look like you could have walked straight out of that witch movie that Cher was in! You know, the one with the three witches?”

  “I’m familiar, let's hope men in real life are easier to knock dead.” You commented, leaning against the entryway with your arms crossed and the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

  Chrissy laughed, the sound ringing out like the most annoyingly pleasant wind chimes as she explained to your father who wasn’t really listening, “Because in the film, daddy, there’s this awful man and they’re trying to get rid of him and really all the men in the film aren’t the greatest.”

  Your dad just grunted, still thoroughly engrossed in his magazine, “Uh-huh, I’m sure your sister’s a regular maneater.”

  The sarcasm was evident and unappreciated by both you and Chrissy. The brief glare you spared the oblivious sack of meat was lethal before your steely gaze was back on the strawberry blonde.

  “You ready?” You usually carpooled with Chrissy on Tuesdays since your last classes lined up.

  “Ohhhhh, here she comes. Watch out, boys, she’ll chew you up.” Chrissy teased, popping the last of her eggs into her mouth. You noted, with great satisfaction, specks of pepper peeking out from her gums and between her teeth, “You know, sissy—you seem a lot more confident without mom around.”

  Your dumb bitch of a mom, you internally corrected her, lips curling into a smile as you recalled exactly where that woman was. Probably arguing with Satan about which ring of hell she’d be damned to for the rest of eternity. It had to be one of her choosing or she wasn’t going to budge an inch, you could imagine her telling the fallen angel. 

  “I do have to admit,” Chrissy continued, “It’s pretty peaceful without her here. I’ll have to convince her to go out more often.”

  This next part pained you, and you could actively feel your stomach clenching as you forced the words out, “Not too often. I kind of miss having her here.”

  Oh, you were so gonna throw up, “I mean—everyone needs a Debbie Downer to put life into perspective.” 

  Or make you want to kill yourself. The sole reason you were even voicing these lies was because you needed to establish a somewhat ‘healthy’ relationship with your stepmother, for investigative purposes. 

  Sure, you argued a lot; she hated you, you wanted her dead and now she was, but if you went around saying you missed her, you likely wouldn’t be number one on the suspect roster once she was determined to be missing. 

  That caught your dad’s attention and he finally looked up in confusion, “Really?”

  “Of course! I know we fight sometimes but she’s a good example for me.” You had to put your all into this performance, forcing your expression to appear somewhat genuine even if you were really mocking her, “Because of her, I now know it’s possible for you to be a bitch your whole entire life if you don’t fix your attitude and outlook while you’re young, and that if you don’t start caring for your skin sooner rather than later, you’ll have wrinkles the size of California. I know she doesn’t want that same bitter existence she goes through, sunup to sundown, for me. That’s why she’s so tough on me.” 

  Chrissy looked touched, a dainty little hand over her chest as she blinked back tears, “You are so right. I know she’s hard on you but I’m glad you’re starting to see she can’t help it. She’d probably rather die than not be a little judgmental.”

  You scratched the back of your neck and cleared your throat, “Mhm. So, school?”

  “My, aren't you eager to just snap the neck of every boy at school today?” Chrissy gathered her utensils after she’d cleared her plate.

  “Just certain ones.” Your nose crinkled with your smile. Chrissy briefly disappeared into the kitchen, and when she emerged, she was tightening the ponytail she’d sectioned the top half of her hair in, allowing you to see a faint bruise just below her jaw.

  “Hey—you good?” You reached up to rub a knuckle over the same area on your skin and her eyes widened as her fingertips flew to her jaw, pressing at the skin until she seemed to feel the tender spot.

  “Oh, yeah. I must have got myself with my straightener this morning.” She laughed, nervously and your eyes narrowed as you followed her into the foyer. 

  “I thought you valued not ever using heat on your hair.” You reminded her, having had to often listen to her brag about how her hair was sooooooo healthy and sooooooo long because she never used heat on it. She only slept with curlers on, and judging by the bump to her ends—that had been exactly the case. 

  Chrissy’s eyes darted away and you knew she was lying, “I-I—I do! I mean I don’t! We were just doing each other’s hair at the sleepover yesterday, and I let them─”

  “Sleepover? I thought you just went out for some bowling and a kickback. Did you not sleep here last night?” You quirked your head, mouth setting in a frown. There was nothing more you hated than being lied to. Except maybe getting the shit slapped out of you by Cruella de Vil yesterday.

  Chrissy’s eyes widened and she began to stammer, “No, no! I-I did! It was, you know, it was supposed to be a sleepover but I didn’t stay all that long. S-School night and-and all.”

  “Huh.” Was all you said, deciding to let it go after making her a little more nervous with your stare. It was powerful when lined with kohl. Chrissy looked like she was about to start shaking in her white princess Reebok’s and you started to feel bad for her. It had been over a year since her boyfriend had broken up with her and she still always felt guilty about being with other guys. You had a feeling she was still holding out for him. That, coupled with the fact that you were feeling sorry for Chrissy—and not the other way around—made you feel good about yourself so you’d happily look the other way while she tried to find affection she probably craved.

  Oh, how the turn tables.

  The ride to school was filled with chatter, Chrissy’s way of trying to make sure the subject didn’t return to her escapades from the previous night, no doubt.

  You let her chatter away as you pulled a piece of paper from one of your notebooks to jot down a quick note. Much flirtier than you had originally planned to write it, but after spotting Chrissy’s hickie, you were inspired. 

  Once you were done, you folded the pink lined paper up and pressed a kiss to it, leaving your lipstick stain on it. The paper was rubbed discretely against your neck as well, an effort to get some of your perfume on it. 

  I’m tired of playing games. No more interruptions. Meet me at the old bench in the woods behind the high school at 4pm?

  Yes /  No

  Leave your response on the windshield of the white miata

  Xoxo

  When Chrissy pulled into the parking lot and the two of you parted ways, you scanned the area for a certain car and placed the note under one of the windshield wipers before making your way to your first class. Luckily, your seat was right next to the window that overlooked the parking lot. You spent the entire class nervously fidgeting until you saw him making his way towards his car. 

  You watched, with bated breath, as he paused in his approach when he noticed the note. Your asshole clenched when he pulled it from its secure spot and unfolded the note to read its contents.

  He was too far for you to make out the expression on his face but he dug around in his pocket until he produced a pen and scribbled his response before jogging over to Chrissy’s car to leave the note exactly where you instructed and you wanted to stomp your feet against the ground in victory but no.

  No. You couldn’t, not in front of all these people and certainly not in class. You were just beginning to garner a cool reputation and you weren’t about to let a guy ruin it.

  You did, however, maintain a constant smirk throughout the day and it briefly morphed into a genuine smile when you’d intentionally wandered in front of the library, catching Steve’s eye. He’d traded you a secretive smile, fingers waving in your direction and you returned the sentiment before carrying on your way to beat Chrissy back to her car.

  You were in such a rush to make it to the parking lot before her, you didn’t stop to think someone could be coming around the corner and crashed right into a broad chest, dropping your back in the shuffle.

   “Shit. Sorry,” You mumbled, dropping down to your knees to grab your bag and the subsequent items that had fallen out of it. The mystery person bent down in time to grab the tube of your mascara before you could, the last item you needed, and held it out to you and you glanced up, body freezing as Tommy Hagan stood before you.

  “No harm done.” He shrugged, appearing nonchalant as he smiled down at you, “You really should take those corners slow. They’ll get you.”

  Tommy Hagan was…something. You didn’t really like him. 

  He hadn’t given you much of a reason to not like him, since you never interacted with him, it was just…something about him. He was a wildcard. You’d seen Tommy in many different states; cool, calm, collected, goofing off. Then, with a snap of a finger, it was like he was a completely different person. 

  You’d witnessed him lose his shit on someone before, crowding some poor guy up against his car as he threatened to bash his face in with the door. 

  He wasn’t much of a bully to you, Carol seemed to target the girls and while you’d heard Tommy used to be a big bully in high school, you hadn’t seen him pick on people continuously. Just those he actually seemed to have friction with, so you assumed he’d grown out of the bullying. 

  That being said, up until recently, he was still involved with Carol and anyone that could willingly want to deal with her in a romantic situation had to be bad news, and that’s why you stayed away.

  How he could go from Carol, to appreciatively eyeing you up in the middle of the corridor, you had no idea. 

  You didn’t like it.

   “Uh, yeah.” Was all you could say when you realized you hadn’t responded to him. “I-uhm-I was in a hurry.”

  He nodded, brown eyes sweeping over you once more, sending a bad shiver down your spine. You definitely did not like it and you couldn’t even explain why because there had been nothing inherently crude about the way he looked at you. It wasn’t anything like with Fred the other night, Tommy wasn’t looking at you like he was about to have his way with you…you couldn’t explain it. There was just something so ominous about his presence. Something dark attached to his freckled, ‘friendly’ face. 

  “Do I know you? From somewhere? We have a class together or something?” He asked, apparently keen on making small talk with you.

   “No, I don’t think so.”

  ”You’re Chrissy’s sister!” He supplied, eyes lighting up and you weren’t fond of being linked with him any sort of way.

   “Yeah. She’s-Chrissy. My step-sister.”

  How the fuck can I end this conversation?

  Tommy smirked, and you could feel your stomach drop as the ominous aura came over him, his face somehow darkening. Not in color, in nature. “Is she the evil one, or are you? Hmn?”

  You didn’t know what that meant, didn’t know if he was cruising around for his next cruel girlfriend, but it wouldn’t be you.

   Instead of answering his question, you laughed nervously. The sound wasn’t pretty, nor was it modest. You laughed loud, and you laughed obnoxiously. It’s not like you could help it!

   “I gotta, I gotta go.” You managed to get out between rounds of your laughter as you backed away.

  He watched you with something akin to interest, as you whirled around and made a dash for the parking lot.

  You could hear him call out a see you around and since you didn’t want to see him around, you just lifted a hand in acknowledgment without turning back.

  Good god, that was unpleasant. That was extremely uncomfortable and it made you feel the need to panic poop. The urge faded, when you saw Chrissy’s car. A white square was under her wipers.

  You snatched the note up, quickly unfolded it and the smirk made its way back onto your face, mimicking that of the Grinch’s when he’d come up with his plan to ruin Christmas for The Whos.

  Yes was circled, several times, so it looked like you had a date with destiny after school.

  “What are you so happy about?” Chrissy asked on the drive back home, a smile on her own face as bright eyes darted from the road to you and back again. The maniacal smile remained firmly in place on your face. You couldn’t help it. Everything really was falling into place for you.

  “We watched Bill Nye in a segment of Almost Live in my Lab class today.”

  “I love that guy, they really should give him his own show. He is kind of cute, isn’t he?”

  You gave Chrissy some side-eye, “Uuuuuhhhuuuh.”

  When she pulled up along the curb outside your house, you noticed she only put the car in park and made no move to unbuckle her seatbelt.

  When you raised a questioning brow, she supplied, “I’m gonna run into town for a little bit. You need anything?”

  Immediately, you were suspicious and if it weren’t for your plans, you might have pushed at the lame excuse. This worked for you, she’d be gone for a while and out of your business, “Nope.”

  You made sure to wait until her car had disappeared around the corner before you entered your house, jumping when you saw Eddie trying to yank his good hand out of one of the vases Laura had placed near the fireplace. It had been one you made in art class back at your old high school, so naturally, she deemed it hideous, and hid it behind an even bigger vase. 

  It was also where you stashed your weed.

  Eddie turned to you, his hand still stuck in the vase, and somehow managed to look sheepish.

  You glared, shoulder sagging enough to have the strap of your back rushing down it, “Seriously?” 

  He shrugged his shoulders, grunt sounding small.

   “Can you even smoke weed?” You asked, abandoning your backpack on the floor as you bounded over. 

  Eddie’s grunt in response sounded more like a scoff. Can he even smoke weed…

  You took hold of the bottom of the vase, holding it still to allow Eddie to pull his hand from it, still intact—thank god. In his grip, was a brightly colored Lisa Frank pouch, meant for holding your school supplies. 

  It obviously did not hold your school supplies.

   “Alright, bloodhound. We’ll give it a shot. Later. Right now, we’ve got big plans.” You gestured for him to follow you upstairs and he did, after stopping by the front door to retrieve your bag for you.

  You shoved your bedroom door open to find the bed fully made, and Eddie’s pajamas haphazardly folded on top of your duvet. 

  Sparing a glance at his approaching figure, you made a mental note to stop at one of the stores in town to get him some more threads. He couldn’t wear the same thing everyday. Actually, he could but you didn’t want him to. That was gross when guys did it, especially dead ones. 

  Your bag was tossed to the side, and you began rummaging around in your closet in search of spare sheets, “Did you get everything else ready?”

  Eddie grunted in confirmation. After he’d woken up, he’d put the items you’d requested in your van and discovered a discarded filter in there, which resulted in him searching your house for the stash you had to have.

  When you emerged from the closet, arms around balled up sheets which you soon transferred to Eddie’s waiting arms, you gave him a determined look. 

  “Let’s do this.”

  The van ride had been a quick one, and it was parked somewhere in the woods away from the roads and any foot traffic once you made it.

  A quick detour was made at the cemetery before you walked over to the area behind the high school, not too much of a walk away from the cemetery. How appropriate. 

  You assumed it was once a family location back in the glory days of Hawkins, but you had no idea why there was only a singular picnic table there.

  Come to think of it, you didn’t see any sort of grills or anything else that would make this area a popular destination, so why the hell was there a random picnic table in the middle of the woods???

  Before you could give it much more thought, you heard the sound of leaves crunching and turned your head to see Eddie’s latest donor walk right through the treeline.

   “Hey,” Fred grinned, a surprisingly thick finger reaching up to push his glasses further up his nose. His hair was wet, and you tried to keep your lip from curling at the knowledge that it was sweat and not just water. You had a sneaking suspicion the walk had been a challenge to him.

  Show time.

   “You got my note,” you breathed out, making sure the statement sounded airy and affectionate despite how the hairs on your arms were rising at the sight of the guy who’d touched you so brazenly without your consent. 

  “I did,” Fred confirmed, nearing you and you stood up to stop his approach, “I was really hoping you’d come around. And-And don’t worry, you don’t have to be embarrassed about the other night or anything.”

  You don’t have to be embarrassed about the other night.

  You.

  Fred had tried to take advantage of you while you were under the influence of a drug you hadn’t known you’d taken, had whisked you away to an empty room where something sinister could have taken place had you not saved yourself—and you didn’t have to be embarrassed about what he’d done to you.

  Something in you snapped, blood boiling so hot you could feel yourself sweat a little.

  You didn’t even like Fred as a person, and yet you could feel something lodged in your throat, heart pumping heavy in your chest and loud in your ears. It wasn’t fear, wasn’t the anxiety that overtook you more often than not. 

  Rage coursed through your entire being.

  You had no pity for him, Fred was going to get exactly what people like him deserved.

  “I was just so nervous,” you lied, tips of your fingernails dancing over the wood of the table top as you slowly moved to the other end, “And you were so kind to look after me.”

  A glance was spared in his direction, your gaze heated through your lashes.

  His cheeks flushed, splotchy face gaining more color to it.

   “It was nothing, really. We freaks gotta stick together, right?”

  You scoffed, the sound playful though you held nothing but malice for the guy across from you.

  Fred was no freak. He was a monster disguised as a nerd. You’d gone through Chrissy’s yearbook before, had seen how small he used to be. He’d evidently gained a bit of muscle since high school, swapped out a wardrobe for something slightly better, but all the physical change could do nothing to hide the little man he really was. A self-titled nice guy who wondered why girls never went for him while trying to take advantage of ones that could barely stand up on their own two feet. 

  At least the creeps made their nefarious intentions obvious. Fred was dangerous; someone calculating who hid his intentions behind a pair of frames and a somewhat friendly approach.

  “You’re right. You’re so right, and I feel really guilty about the way I ran out on you. I was hoping…” You fiddled with your fingers, feigning a coy demeanor, “Would you let me make it up to you?”

  If Fred really was worthy of some sort of stupid fucking redemption, of living, he’d say no. He’d realize how fucked up in the head he was, this whole situation was, and go get help or put himself on some sort of registry if not just disappear from the face of the earth altogether. In an ideal world, those would be possibilities. 

  This wasn’t that world, so Fred only nodded his head frantically as his knees began to shake. 

  As you led him through the woods, you briefly wondered what was going through his head. What exactly did he think you were going to do to him? Not like it really mattered, since he’d proven to be the type to try and force people to do whatever he wanted.

  You felt something swipe against the side of your pinky and pulled your hand to your chest just in time to prevent Fred from taking hold of it.

  At his questioning look, you just gave him a demure smile, “That’s for later.”

  He just shrugged his shoulders, not at all upset about being unable to hold your hand just yet because he’d get to do other things to you.

   “Where’d you say you parked your car, again?” Fred asked as the two of you approached the back of the cemetery. It was eery in this section, the area even creepier after the lightning strike. You could feel Fred’s nerves.

  “Just outside of the cemetery, it’s quicker if we cut through it. Although, I have to say, I quite enjoy strolling through it. Really puts life in perspective, don’t you think?”

  Fred gave a nervous chuckle, hair dampening again, “Uh-huh. I don’t have many dead relatives, so, no-uh, real reason to come on by this place.”

   “What’s the matter, Freddie? You scared?” 

  “No way, just not one to take romantic strolls through a cemetery. I’m not scared though.” He huffed out.

  You should be, you thought.

   A chuckle was the only response you gave him as you neared Eddie’s grave.

   “That one’s my favorite,” A polished finger was pointed in its direction and you could hear Fred’s intake of breath. Eddie’s gravesite was particularly fear inducing, the stone cracked and blackened. Patches of the grass around it had also been charred, with black arms seemingly reaching out from it. Patterns from the lightning strikes.

  Fred’s steps slowed significantly, tension building until it all came to a head when he finally noticed the mounds of dirt pushed aside, a large hole in the ground just in front of his tombstone.

  “We—We should really be g-getting out of here,” He stammered in fear.

  “Nonsense. What? Does it creep you out? Relax, Fred. It’s just from that shit weather that night, remember? Lightning, is all. Not like the dead can just climb right out.”

  Your tone was reassuring but if the noob couldn’t see the marks Eddie had made when he’d clawed his way out, couldn’t see the footprints of his shoes embedded in the mud—well, that was on him.

  But Freddy boy had had enough, walking right up to you to grab hold of your wrist so he could drag you away, “Let’s just go to your van already, this place is evil as shit and his grave is not a welcome place for anyone, let alone me.”

  Fred pulled you to his chest, which sent you into a panic. You hadn’t been expecting him to get physical with you so soon. Your body went into fight mode, squirming to get away from him which seemed to only annoy him as he fought to subdue you.

  Before you could even voice your protest, demand he let you go or kick him in the balls, Fred yelped. His grip on your wrist disappeared and you jumped back in time to avoid his body colliding with yours as he went crashing down to the ground.

  Your breathing was labored, relief morphing into the best kind of elation when you spotted the hand, coming from the hole in the grave, wrapped around Fred’s now twisted ankle.

  Fred turned to stare down at it, too. His mouth dropped in horror, body shaking like a leaf as the two of you watched Eddie Munson rise from the grave.

  The shriek Fred let out was decidedly girlish in nature, high pitched and almost impressive. You couldn’t have anyone hearing him though, so you dealt a swift kick to his mouth.

  You didn’t use much of your strength, but the kick still sent him onto his back. He groaned, reaching a hand up to his mouth and you noticed his teeth were staining a shade of red, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

  “Feeling ambushed, Freddie? Violated, perhaps?” You hissed down at him, mind flashing back to that night, feeling so disoriented and lost and wrong as he’d cupped your breast, felt you up while you could barely string a coherent sentence together and still said no.

  Fred groaned again, hunching over to spit out some blood, “What the fuck?” He asked, voice sounding dazed. 

  You didn’t notice your kick had also knocked his glasses off his face until he was shakily reaching for them. One of the lenses was cracked. It didn’t impair his vision too much, though, because he started screaming again when he caught sight of Eddie again, who’d climbed completely out of the grave and stood just over your shoulder, glaring menacingly down at him.

   “Stop screaming, you banshee.” You quickly squatted down, scooped up some dirt and shoved it into his mouth. He fought against your palm, but the idea had the desired effect; Fred was too busy coughing the dirt out to scream.

  “Please,” he croaked out, tongue sticking out of his mouth, “Stop! Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t know what I was doing!”

  The chuckle you let out was void of humor. Of course, when a man has to answer for his evil ass actions, suddenly he’s capable of admitting what he did wasn’t in the right. Too fucking bad for him. You were about to tell Fred it was far too late for pleas, until his next round of statements made you realize his begging wasn’t directed at you.

   “It was Chance! An-And Andy! It was their idea, I had nothing to do with it! I mean—I mean, I was just the lookout! How was I supposed to know what they would do?”

  Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you looked over your shoulder at Eddie who appeared just as perplexed as you.

  His brown eyes bore into yours, searching for the question in them before he shook his head.

  You turned your attention back to the weasel cowering on the ground, “You know him?”

  Fred’s gaze darted frantically from you to Eddie as he kept stuttering. He’d clearly caught on to you being unaware, and possibly Eddie. You couldn’t have him keeping secrets, though, so you reached for the ax Eddie had pulled out of the grave where’d he’d hidden it and Fred let out an inhuman line of gibberish.

   “Yes! Yes, okay, yes, I know him!”

  You weighed the ax in your hand, glaring down at Fred. You just needed this fuckers hand for Eddie. That’s it, just needed his hand and you couldn’t let him live after that. 

  It’s not like he’d just let Eddie have it, go about his life pretending like he didn’t know there was a deadman walking around with his hand after the two of you cut it off.

  That’s all you needed of Fred, and now he was mentioning having known Eddie. Implying something was done to Eddie, and you had a sickly feeling you knew exactly what.

  Did Eddie want to know? Would it do more good than bad?

  You turned your attention to Eddie once more, and found that he was already watching you. There was nothing expectant in his gaze. Despite the circumstances, and the guy shaking like a leaf on the ground with broken teeth and a broken wrist, Eddie didn’t appear menacing to you at all. 

  Just looked like he was waiting to follow your cue. And you remembered how he’d come to your rescue so many times already. It was high time you started showing up for him.

   “Explain.” You demanded of Fred, handing the ax back to Eddie.

  Fred looked hesitant, only speaking when you turned to Eddie as if to deliver the instruction to kill Fred, “It was…It was after graduation. Look, I don’t know everything, okay? Chance and Andy told me I had to meet them at the Quarry and just make sure no one else came by but Eddie. I wasn’t thinking, I was just scared as hell about someone else showing up, like what was I supposed to do to stop them? I was a twig! And then—And then, everyone came running out and yelling to scram and run for it! So…I did.”

   You watched as Fred seemed to shrink before your eyes, back to that scrawny boy you’d seen in the yearbooks.

   “I…I didn’t find out until my mom turned on the news later that night…I didn’t know Eddie was dead until then.”

  You couldn’t do anything to stop the shaky croak, a hot tear trailing quickly down your cheek as Fred confirmed Eddie had been murdered.

  Your Eddie, the sassy guy with long curly hair, a mischievous and playful nature, so far from hostile unless someone was a direct threat to you.

  He’d been harmed, his life stolen. The rage you’d felt earlier was nothing compared to the craze you were spiraling into.

  “They killed him,” You whispered out, nearly shaking. When Fred gave a slow nod of confirmation, you just about shrieked, “And you didn’t tell anyone?! You didn’t go to the police!?”

  Fred looked at you like you were out of your mind to even suggest that of him, “And tell them what? That I was the one making sure no one interrupted? I would have gone to prison.”

  Your mouth dropped open. 

  Okay. 

  Yes, you were fucked up. Your emotionally, mentally, and apparently physically abusive mother was dead and you’d played a role in that. But she was only dead because she meant to seriously harm you, and Eddie had stepped in to protect you. If it had been someone innocent, someone like Chrissy, you would have taken the blame and the prison time. You wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself.

  But this motherfucker knew Eddie had been murdered that night, had not been too far away when it happened, and hadn’t told a soul because he was afraid of possibly being held responsible. Always only thinking of saving his fucking skin.

  “You selfish son of a bitch!” You spat out, “Eddie died that night, you knew he was murdered and you let them get away with it! If you weren’t an accessory then, you sure are now!”

  “Does it look like I was meant to be in a cell!? Admonish me all you want, I did what was best for myself! I can’t take it back, what’s done is done. Besides, you didn’t know him. Eddie–he was a burnout. He wasn’t gonna do anything worthwhile anyways.”

  You couldn’t believe someone so pathetic EXISTED!

  It made you want to scream, but you held it in, physically having to close your eyes and take deep breaths before you made the last demand that would determine what would happen next.

  “Go to the police. Tell them everything. You can even tell them about me, and you can try telling them about Eddie,” You jabbed a finger into your zombie boy’s direction, “They’ll never believe you about that, though.”

  Fred blinked at you, incredulous. 

  “I’m not telling anyone anything. I’m not going to jail. I’m not.”

  You nodded your head a couple of times, running a hand over your hair. “Yeah, okay, you’re right.”

  Then, you grabbed the ax from Eddie’s grasp, swinging it down onto Fred’s propped up wrist. It was a clean cut, hand perfectly severed and Fred let out a scream.

  “You’re not going to jail.”

  Blood spurted from the wound and you cringed back a little, wishing he’d aim it away or something. Gross.

   “Why’d you do that—oh my GOD, my HAND!”

  Fred was in hysterics, clutching his arm, and really you couldn’t blame him. It probably sucked to lose your hand this way but he wouldn’t have to suffer for long.

  You picked up the appendage, waving it around triumphantly.

  “Why are you bitching? What’s done is done. I’m holding your hand like you wanted.”

  Eddie made a sound behind you and turned to hand him the…hand.

  “Here, this is yours now.” 

  Fred whimpered as you positioned yourself over him, ax in hand and poised near your head.

   “The hand is Eddie’s, but chopping it off was for me. You’re never gonna touch another girl, never gonna cause harm with it. Never again. This, however,” you adjusted your grip on the ax, making sure you had a good handle on it, “Is for Eddie. It’s nothing personal, it's just that I hate you and you shouldn’t have been too much of a bitch to report a murder.”

  With that, the ax came down. Fred didn’t make any more noise.

“So, you really don’t remember much about dying?” You asked for the third time, perched on Eddie’s headstone as he shoveled dirt over the grave to seal it once more. 

  “Uhn, uhn.” 

   “Can’t remember faces?”

   “Uhn, uhn.”

   “…Did it hurt?”

  Eddie paused in his ministrations, stabbing the shovel into the ground as he leaned against it and seemed to ponder your question. You wondered if he was trying to recall the answer, or if he was debating on whether or not he should answer. 

  You got your answer a few moments later when Eddie slowly nodded his head, shoes smoothing over the surface of the dirt before he pulled the shovel out and gestured for you to follow him back to the van.

  Eddie was quiet, something had changed. Aside from, you know, your body count.

  You had an inkling it bothered Eddie to not know what happened to him. Not a whole lot of your thought went into it, but Eddie had to have been mourned by someone. He had that tombstone, the inscription. Those weren’t cheap and someone had to have cared for him enough to make sure he had it. Did he have a mom and dad? A guardian? Family?

  He’d left people behind, against his will and probably had no idea where they were now.

  You hoped he didn’t feel alone in the world. 

  It wasn’t impulsive, it was an action that came from a great deal of caring… you reached out for the hand still attached to his body. It wasn’t warm, and it wasn’t cold, either. What it was, was comforting.

  From your peripheral vision, you could see his head turn to you in surprise and you met his gaze, offering a smile and a squeeze to his hand you were sure he couldn’t feel.

  Until he squeezed yours back.

  “We didn’t even need the sheets.” You realized out loud. Originally, you were gonna wrap Fred up, weigh him down with some rocks and throw him in Lover’s Lake. It had been Eddie’s idea to bury him. By that, you meant he just dug out the rest of his grave (impressive with one hand) and rolled Fred into it.

  RIP FrEddie Munson.

After a quick trip into town to get some things for Eddie (he had to lay down in the back), and pick up some more thread, the two of you made it home to find no one else had which worked in your favor. 

  You didn’t bother changing out of your bloody clothes just yet. You still had some Frankenstein work to do with a live-ish appendage, so you found yourself on Eddie’s lap, sewing his new hand into place.

  It would have been quicker if you could focus but Eddie’s face was just a few inches away from yours and he would not look away. The side of your face his gaze was boring into felt hotter than the other side and it was making you nervous for some reason. Not a bad nervous, just…nervous.

  You decided to break the tension.

   “Oh, shit, this is the wrong hand.”

  That did the trick, you felt him tense up underneath you and Eddie’s head darted down to make sure he didn’t have two of the same hand, body relaxing when he realized you were joking.

   “Got’cha.” You grinned, eyes scanning over his features. You felt your heartbeat stutter when you noticed the twitch at the corner of his lips. Eddie was smiling at you.

  Swallowing hard, you cleared your throat, gave him a tight smile, and went back to work. 

  He groaned on one particular tug of the thread, and you paused with a wince, “Did that hurt?”

  He shook his head, but he was also making a bit of a face.

   “Feel unpleasant?” 

  “Mm.”

   “Sorry,” You were a little more gentle in your actions, trying to carefully weave the needle through his wrist, and his new hand, making sure your tugs were extra gentle which he appeared to appreciate, nuzzling his head against yours for a brief moment.

  You nearly convulsed.

  Once the hand was on, the thread had been snipped and neatly secured, it was to the tanning bed!!!

  You got him all situated, made sure he didn’t hit his head and then watched him light up.

  The smell of burnt hair filled the mini garage, and you made a mental note to pick up some hair products later. Eddie’s curls were gonna need it if they wanted to stay attached to his scalp, though you supposed you could probably scalp someone should he need a replacement.

  Argyle, a guy who worked at one of the local pizza places, had long luxurious locks of hair, but you couldn’t do that to him. He was a nice dude, stuck in a permanent trip for sure, and so always pleasant to you. He was also your dealer and you were pretty sure his girlfriend was a witch. The last thing you needed was to be cursed or hexed. Or turned into a goat.

  Settling in for what you expected to be a long wait while Eddie tanned, you were surprised when just a few moments later, all sparking stopped. Figuring you didn't set the right temperature to bake him at, you moved to mess with the dial only for a hand to curl out and push the lid of the bed up.

  Eddie’s time in the tanning bed, while somewhat briefer this time, still seemed to have cooked him. Smoke dripped out, flowing almost syrup-like down to the floor where it all seemed to pool and twist around your ankles as the bright blue lights of the bed’s panels cast the room in a euphoric glow. 

  You stared wordlessly, mouth parted in complete enchantment–and you swore you could hear the intro to Ozzy Osbourne’s No More Tears in the background like some godly music video on MTV–as Eddie’s figure emerged from the smoke still gathered in the bed.

  And in seemingly slow motion to your captivated self, Eddie pulled the goggles over his head, hair tousling just the right amount. His movements were fluid, not a stiff limb in sight. In fact, he even stretched out, shirt riding up to expose his pale—no longer a completely sickly shade—stomach and a smattering of dark hair that made up his happy trail. 

  Uh oh. Something was going on in your body.

  It was only when that happy tail was covered again, Eddie hunching forward, that you realized you were staring at his crotch region. Your eyes drifted up to find Eddie staring at you, more life in those warm, gorgeous eyes of his, framed by attractive dark circles as he smirked at you. No twitching of his lips, no maybe smiles. It was a full on smirk. Eddie was in complete control of his face (and you noticed his cheeks dimpled when he smiled).

  He lifted his new hand and wiggled his fingers at you in greeting. That’s when you lost it, jumping up and down in elation. 

  “OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!”

  Eddie was fast, pushing himself off the tanning bed to dart forward and sweep you right out of the garage, spinning you around and around.

  You clung to him, laughing and filled with so much joy at the knowledge that Eddie was coming back to life. When he decided you’d been spun enough, and your head was a whirlwind, he released you and you stumbled a little, finding your balance with the hand Eddie offered to you for stabilization.

   “Look at you.” You breathed out in amazement. It was more of a whisper but Eddie heard. He looked pleased, gesturing to himself with a sweep of his wrists, Look at me.

  You were correct in your scrutinization of him when you’d first played dress-up.

  Eddie Munson was very much so hot when he was alive. There was no doubt in your mind. You hadn’t seen a whole lot of his movements, what with him finally being able to move freely occurring just a few moments ago, but you were inclined to believe he was extremely theatrical in them. Probably in everything he did. 

  And confident.

  Eddie seemed to have had enough of the small distance between the two of you, twirling you back in his grasp so you were pressed right up to him, his hands on your sides to hold you. He was grinning like an idiot and you were positive your face was no better. Your cheeks were beginning to hurt from your smile.

  “So. You’re the infamous Eddie Munson.”

  He rolled his eyes and you laughed, something inside of you warming up at the smile he gave you in response to it.

   “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie. I’ve been wanting to for a while now.”

[lunaandco]

guys my age; part two

pairing: alexia putellas x ofc

summary: claudia is getting on alexia's nerves. a punishment was long coming

warnings: smut, spanking, age difference, power imbalance, angst

author's note: many wanted a part 2, and i usually deny any request, but after i had this idea i kinda had to... there will be a final 3rd part and that will be it!

masterlist // part one // series masterlist // I do not take requests

Claudia was doing it on purpose. Alexia watched her as she sat on Salma's lap, giggling about something she was showing her on her phone, her pretty smile directed towards someone other than herself.

Alexia knew she was being punished, in a childish petty way. Claudia was pissed at being denied more of their illicit activities, since Alexia insisted their one off in the hotel room had been a unique mistake that would not happen again.

She should be happy Claudia was finding someone else to be with, but jealousy was blinding her completely.

Alexia needed a full intervention, if she wanted to keep her dignity and reputation. A twenty year old starlet could not be the end of her.

The worst thing was, it was starting to be obvious. The night before, Irene had looked at her with an arched eyebrow and the knowing curl in her lips of a woman that was being lied to her face, when Alexia said nothing was going on with Claudia.

She obviously ended up caving. Irene was not necessarily approving, but she didn't blow off at her either.

"Sometimes we want thing that we can't have," she told her. "Be wise, capi."

Alexia hated how much that nickname reminded her of Claudia and what happened between them.

"Capi?" Alexia shot her gaze back to Claudia, who had left Salma's lap to approach her silently. "Can you take me home, please?"

"Can't Salma do it?" Alexia didn't mean to be rude, but as they got closer, Claudia started to get lifts almost exclusively from Salma.

"She's got family stuff she can't be late for."

"Ah."

Alexia should come up with an excuse. Say she also had something with her family or a dentist appointment. But just as it was unprofessional to sleep with her players as a captain, it was to avoid them at all costs.

So she ended up leading Claudia to her car, heart risen to her throat as she watched the youngster buckle up her seat belt. They had been in this situation cuntless times, but this was the first since they had... well, Alexia did not want to think about it too hard.

It would get her in trouble.

Claudia didn't seem to care about the tension—or percieve it at all—as she connected her phone to the Bluetooth to put her own playlist, humming one song or another.

"You've been avoiding me," she stated calmly.

"I—" Alexia didn't want to deny it, it would only add gasloghting to the list of crimen she had committed up until now. "We should keep a profesional distance. That is what I'm trying to do."

"Bullshit."

"I'm sorry?"

"I said bullshit."

Claudia's eyes were blazing with emotion.

"You want me. I can see it." Claudia's whole body was turned towards Alexia.

"Claudia we..."

"No. You. All our issues are actually your fears." Fire started filling Alexia's veins. "You're just a coward. You don't have the balls to take what you wan—"

Alexia took the wrong turn, and began driving in direction to her home, not Claudia's. It was closer and it had private parking. And her bed was there, if things escalated. Which theye were going to.

"What—"

"Silence."

Claudia gulped, the fight gone from her body. Alexia might have skipped a few traffic laws in order to get them there sooner, parking in her garden and exiting the car immediately. She swung open the passengers door, grabbing Claudia by the arm and quite literally dragging her inside.

The girl had very little time to stare at her surroundings and drink in Alexia's living space, before they reached the bedroom. She was not going to cower under Alexia's wrath, though. With a quick turn, that drove rival players insane, Claudia got on her tip toes and kissed Alexia, relishing in the way the captain returned the kiss.

But a sharp slap hit her ass.

"You need to be taught a lesson on repeat," decided Alexia. "I am your captain. For better or for worse. You will address me as such."

"Yes, capi," she breathed. Alexia gasped. She was still not used to that fucking nickname coming out of Claudia's pretty pink lips.

Still, she was not deterred. Alexia helped Claudia strip, who obeyed without protest, too enthralled by Alexia's sudden burst of passion. It was what she had been hoping for, by being a little more touchy with Salma than was necessary.

Once she was completely nude, Alexia sat on her bed, still dressed. She palmed her lap a clear non-verbal order. Claudia draped herself across her thighs, her ass right in front of Alexia, who squeezed one cheek.

"I presume you already know what is going to happen, you've been hoping for it, haven't you?"

"Yes, capi."

"You wanted this?" A harsh slap fell on the cheek she had been groping.

"Yes, capi."

"You understand this is a punishment, not a reward?"

"Yes, capi."

Another harsh slap on the other thigh.

"I would give you a count, but I don't want you to know how much is left."

Claudia gasped. It was as if Alexia already knew what she needed. The onslaught on her ass was non stopping. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, as she cried out. Claudia loved it.

Once her vision was blurry, and her throat was dry, Alexia's hand returned to gently squeeze the reddened skin.

"You were good, baby," she praised.

"Thank you, capi."

💙❤️

Claudia woke up later that evening. The sun was long gone, there was a dull throb on her backside, that had been clearly treated for the bruises with cream. A blanket was thrown over her body, and Alexia was sitting in silence by the foot of the bed.

"Capi?" she called with a stuttering voice.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure?"

Alexia's face was lined with worry. Claudia's body tensed, as if she could feel the thoughts swirling through her captain's head.

"Yeah," she whispered. "I really liked it, earlier. I—"

"It should not happen again."

Ah.

Claudia knew this would happen, in the back of her mind. Alexia clearly wanted her, there were already two instances of her doing exactly what she said they shouldn't, but the rejection still stung.

"Oh, c'mon. It's not a bad thing, I know you're hungry up with the age difference, and the captain thing, but I'm sure there is a way for HR to—"

"I said no, Claudia."

"Alright."

Furiously, Claudia got up from the bed, quickly finding her clothes and putting them on, even if it ached in the bruised areas of her ass. If Alexia still insisted she didn't want her, then Caludia would not beg forever.

"Wait, let me wash you up and make you some dinner at le—"

"No!" Interrupted Cludia with tears of frustration streaming down her face. "You don't get to reject me and then have aftercare. If you want to be all sweet and attentive, then fucking date me!"

Alexia looked hurt, but Caludia didn't care, storming off the house.

[skzstarl0ver]

I know you did a long distance Felix but can you maybe do an in person one. It would make me really happy. and if you would allow me I'd love to reblog it if you do. But over all I absolutely love your work ♡

if you do accept my request please make sure to tag me if you can.

Love, Ember_Fires ♡

ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕪𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕗𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤

Hii @emberfiresbitchy I wasn't 100% sure what kind of fic you prefer so I just mixed a little bit of smut and fluff, I hope you like it xx

Lee Felix x reader / classmates to lovers / slow burn / smut / fluff / one shot

**involves!!** sex, strong tension, cursing, teasing, dirty talk

enjoy xx (request open)

★.•☆•.★★.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★ skzstarl0ver ★⡀.•☆•.★⡀.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★

There’s a rule in our class that everyone hates, except for maybe two people.

Every Friday, Ms. Jang makes us add one song to the shared class playlist. She says it “fosters emotional intelligence and communal bonding through sound.” I say it’s just a way to expose everyone’s deeply embarrassing music taste.

But fine. Whatever.

At first, it was funny. Someone added “Barbie Girl” ironically, another added a 12-minute Norwegian death metal track that played at full volume while we were doing worksheets. But then..

The first time I notice it, I’m curled up in my dorm bed at midnight, trying not to cry over a theory exam I definitely failed. The shared playlist starts auto-playing, and instead of some chaotic EDM garbage or meme audio clip, it’s… soft.

Lo-fi. Gentle. Intimate.

The lyrics?

“I keep noticing you.” “How you laugh. How you lean back in your chair like you own the world.” “I shouldn’t, but I do.”

The title is even worse: “if you knew what i felt, would you smile?”

My heart clenches.

I glance at the username. felixlee

We barely talk. He sits a few seats behind me in class, always in hoodies, always with that quiet, raspy voice that makes you want to lean in closer. He laughs easily. Smiles like he means it.

We’ve had small talk about—coffee machines, shitty printers, dumb assignments—but never anything real.

So why does this song feel like a secret he accidentally let slip?

The next week, he adds another one. And then another. Every Friday night like clockwork, after everyone else has already dropped their songs, he adds his: quiet confessions buried in dreamy lyrics.

“You smile at me like I matter. I don’t think you know what you do to me.”

I don’t say anything. I pretend I don’t notice.

But I do.

I start listening alone in my room, legs tangled in blankets, headphones in, heart in my throat.

I start looking at him differently, too.

The way he drums on his desk absentmindedly. The way his hair flops into his eyes. The way he’s started waiting at the classroom door for me.

I tell myself it’s a coincidence.

But when I laugh too hard one day and glance behind me, he’s staring.

And smiling.

We get paired for a midterm project.

Three weeks of working together. Study sessions. Shared notes. Coffee runs. Him leaning over my shoulder to look at my screen. Me catching his scent—clean and warm and a little vanilla—and pretending it doesn’t do things to me.

He teases me constantly.

“You always chew your pen when you’re stuck. It’s cute.”

“Is that a playlist of sad girl indie music? On brand.”

“You gonna steal another one of my pens?”

I roll my eyes. I call him annoying. I think about kissing him every goddamn day.

It finally breaks one night, deep into our last project session.

We're sitting side by side on the floor of an empty practice room, laptop between us, snacks spread out, low music playing from his speaker.

“I like your taste in music,” I say casually.

He glances at me. “Yeah?”

I nod. “I’ve been listening to your playlist songs.”

A pause.

His voice drops, quiet. “What do you think they’re about?”

“I don’t know,” I lie. “Someone you like?”

He looks at me. His eyes are soft and unreadable. “Yeah. Someone I’ve liked for a while.”

My breath catches.

He leans closer.

The air between us snaps.

And then he kisses me.

It’s soft. Gentle. Warm.

His lips move against mine slowly, like he’s giving me time to pull away.

I don’t.

I kiss him back—harder, messier. My hands in his hoodie. His fingers sliding into my hair.

We’re breathing into each other’s mouths, flushed and panting, when he pulls back just enough to whisper, “Do you wanna—?”

“Yes.”

We stumble into his dorm thirty minutes later, soaked in rain and adrenaline.

He shuts the door behind us, then pins me to it—gently, hands braced beside my head. He kisses me again, slower this time. His tongue slides against mine and I groan softly.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he breathes.

My shirt is gone before I realize it. His hoodie follows. I run my hands down his chest, and he shivers under my touch.

He lifts me. I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to the bed and lays me down like I’m something delicate. Then he kneels between my thighs and just looks at me.

“Been thinking about this for weeks,” he murmurs, fingers sliding under my waistband.

I whimper. “Then stop teasing.”

He grins—and pulls everything off me.

His mouth on me is heaven.

He licks slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on mine while he holds my hips in place. I moan shamelessly when he flicks his tongue just right. His name slips from my lips like prayer.

When I come, it’s with his fingers inside me and his tongue still working my clit.

He climbs up my body after, kissing his way up my stomach, chest, throat, lips. “You okay?” he asks softly, voice hoarse.

“Condom,” I whisper.

He grabs one from the drawer. Rolls it on. Lines himself up—

And sinks into me with a groan that sounds like he’s been holding it in forever.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, forehead pressed to mine. “You feel so good.”

He moves slowly at first. Deep, languid strokes that leave me gasping. He holds my hands above my head, kisses my mouth every time I moan. It’s not rushed. It’s not just sex.

It’s him saying everything the playlist couldn’t.

When I come again, I cry out his name. He kisses me through it, whispering how beautiful I look, how much he likes me, how he can’t believe he finally has me like this.

He follows right after—hips stuttering, breath catching, forehead pressed to mine like he never wants to let go.

We lie tangled in his sheets after, sweaty and breathless.

His arm is wrapped around my waist. I’m tucked into his chest. He kisses my forehead and murmurs, “You know they were all about you, right?”

I smile against his skin.

“I do now.”

The next morning, he adds a new song to the playlist.

“your name tastes better than coffee.”

And that’s when the class group chat blows up.

I feel like this one was kinda short but I still hope you liked it xx

[hatakemrs]

Hq boys and the little things they do in their relationship pt.2

Warnings: None

Characters: Sugawara Koshi, Tsukishima Kei, Kozume Kenma, Bokuto Koutaro.

Pt.1 Pt.2

Sugawara would remember small details about you. And when I say small, I mean even the tiniest ones! This man doesn't forget anything when it comes to you. He knows your go-to-coffee order. How much spice you want in your food. He remembers every achievement you told him about.That one time you won a debate in 8th grade? Or the one time you won a race? He remembers everything. One day you were wearing your shoes and he goes, "You're not gonna put the left one first?", seeing you confused he clarifies, "You always put on your left shoe first." He holds your hands whenever he sees you playing with your ring or fidgeting your fingers because he knows you're anxious.

Tsukishima makes playlists for you. It's probably something dumb named like "Eww love songs" but will have the most soft comforting love songs. He will share the playlist with you but will never admit that those songs remind him of you because that's so lame right? Also shares his headphones with you and only you because he doesn't like sharing. Look I also kind of think he listens to Taylor Swift but will rather die than admit it but when you play a song by her you can see him lip sync the lyrics. When you send him a playlist of the songs that reminds you of him, he teases you but does he play that playlist on repeat? Yes, especially if he misses you. Kei would also make a playlist where you can add your favourite songs along with his.

Kenma is weirdly attentive towards you. 'Weirdly' because he will play a game and it might seem like his whole focus is on the game but he hears everything you say. You would be ranting about your day while he's on his console saying, "Why did you stop? Tell me what that friend of yours said next." He would get off the console after a few minutes of course but you're surprised that he actually attentive and remembers what you told him. "How do you do that?", you finally asked him one day. " Do what?", his eyes were fixed on the screen. "Play the game and yet hear everything I say?", he just shrugs and says,   "Kuro should get credit for that. When we were young, he talked about volleyball and I just played my game but I had to pay attention to him or he would get annoying."

Bokuto lets you put makeup on his face. First he didn't agree to the idea, but you somehow convinced him and now he asks you sometimes to do it. You put fake eyelashes on him and he was shocked at how good he looks with those. He also likes when you paint his nails. He always picks black nails but sometimes he goes for colourful ones. He would even let you style him for a date. His own fashion sense is….. well not good. So you're his personal stylist and he doesn't mind if you put a little makeup on when he goes out because it makes his face look better. He would even show off his nails to his friends (especially Aakashi and Kuroo) and tell them how much you love him. He would be so proud that he was dressed by his s/o. Most of his fans online loved and appreciated this while others criticised him as it was not manly but he didn't care.

A/n: Hope you guys liked it<3 Take caree <<3

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Laugh Tracks

Avenger!Agatha 2.0 x Fem!reader

Word count: 5,208

Content warning(s): MDNI; This is the most depressing oneshot I've ever written, heavy angst, reader gets blipped, majorly depressed Agatha, sedative use

Summary: Agatha Harkness has been through many harrowing events in her long life--her own execution, the loss of her child, and now, the blip that wipes out half of all living creatures.

A/N: Hi! I had a super vivid dream where I wrote this prompt and I just couldn't not write it. This is ofc set during Infinity War/Endgame so this is a different Avenger!Agatha (hence the 2.0). Our original Avenger!Agatha and Avenger!reader are still domestic and happy in NYC with the team and their baby. Also thank you to @sweetmidnights for giving me heartbreaking ideas to add to this oneshot.

Official song for this oneshot is In the Stars by Benson Boone

Spotify playlist I listened to

Masterlist

Part 2 (coming soon)

London, 2018

“Agatha, dinner’s going to burn!”

Your laughter in the kitchen can be heard from every room in the rental house as you’re hoisted up onto the counter. Agatha’s lips kiss endlessly over your face and neck. 

“That’s alright,” she mutters. Her breathy words over your skin makes your hair stand up and she grins. “We’ll go out. We’re on vacation. You shouldn’t even be cooking.”

“Well excuse me–oh!” You gasp as her teeth bite and her hand slips under your shirt. You continue, words slower this time. “Excuse me for–wanting a home cooked meal instead of–fuck–pub food again.”

“Honey, you–”

“Ow!” As your head tips back and you go to brace yourself on the counter, your hand lands right on top of the hot stove. You jump out of your skin and jerk your hand back, sticking the burned portion into your mouth as Agatha laughs.

“Are you okay?” she snorts.

“No!” you cry. “I’m not okay! I just burned my fucking flesh on the stove!”

She kisses the pout off of your lips and takes your hand, covering it with both of hers. There’s a dim purple light and a feeling of warmth encapsulates your hand. When Agatha opens her hands, the irritated, red skin has returned to normal.

“There,” she says, and presses a small kiss to your palm. “All better.”

As painful as it is, reality beckons. You should know by now that with your job, a vacation will never truly be a vacation. A single phone call pops your blissful, domestic bubble.

When you see the contact, you groan. “Hello?”

“You still in London?” Steve’s voice on the other line is hard.

Still on the counter, one of your arms is wrapped around Agatha’s shoulders as she nuzzles into your neck. Her lips place scattered kisses on your neck, unrelenting as you try to focus on the phone call.

“Yeah,” you say, trying to steady your voice as Agatha’s teeth start nipping. “Why? Wh–Agatha, stop,” you hiss–which she ignores. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re at the Compound. Wanda and Vision were attacked in Scotland,” he says.

Your stomach drops. “Wait, what? What do you mean?”

When Agatha hears the panic in your voice she straightens up. “What’s wrong?”

“Wanda and Vision were attacked in Scotland,” you say quickly.

“I need you and Harkness at the jet hangar,” Steve says. “I’m sending you a car in the morning. We’ll meet you in Wakanda.”

“Wait, what? That’s all–!”

He hangs up without another word.

“What’s happening?” Agatha asks.

“I don’t know. I’m gonna go pack our stuff,” you sigh, hopping off the counter. You place a tired kiss on Agatha’s cheek as you pass her. “Steve’s sending a car in the morning to take us to Wakanda. Our vacation is officially over.”

When you land on the tarmac in Wakanda, the whole team–minus Tony and Peter–are waiting for you. You hug Wanda tightly, holding her out at arms length to look over her.

“Are you okay?” you ask. “Steve told us what happened.”

“I’m fine,” she says. “Thank you.”

Steve greets you both with a warm, “Here’s your earpiece." He hands you one each with a flat smile before everyone is escorted inside.

The information relayed to you and Agatha almost gives you a headache. “So, Thanos is coming here to wipe out the whole planet?” you ask Bruce.

“No,” he says, walking with you through the corridor. “Just half. He’s trying to get all the Infinity stones. And when he does he’ll be able to manipulate reality as he wants.”

“Like wiping out half of all living things,” Agatha sighs.

Bruce grimaces. “Yep. And two of the stones are here on Earth.”

“Which ones?” you ask.

“The Time Stone is with Dr. Strange and the Mind Stone…” Two large doors in front of you are pulled open by guards, and the view in front of you is harrowing. Vision lays on the table as a woman examines his mechanical structure. Bruce sighs, “...Is in Vision’s head.”

“Of course it is,” Agatha huffs. 

An alarm sounds through Kimoyo Beads. Okoye’s palm spreads out in front of her and a white hologram of the planet is displayed. Small blinking dots surround your location and her expression is grim.

“Something’s entered the atmosphere.”

Sam’s muffled voice is heard through the earpiece. “Hey, Cap, we got a situation out here.”

“I should’ve known this was gonna happen,” Agatha mutters under her breath.

And then a loud explosion. 

When you rush to the window, you see a ball of fire and smoke on top of the forcefield, and in the distance, fifteen or so more. They begin hitting the ground outside of the dome, and despite there being a forcefield, the shockwaves are still strong enough to be felt. The trees around the dome begin to catch fire and the forcefield lights up blue as it protects the citizens from the adversaries. 

“It’s too late,” Vision says, standing up “We need to destroy the stone now.”

Nat turns her head quickly. “Vision, get your ass back on that table, now.”

“Wanda,” Steve says, “as soon as that stone is out of his head, you blow it to hell.”

Wanda’s face is hard and filled with determination. “I will.”

Wakandan warriors stand in battle formation. At the frontlines, you stand tall with Agatha, watching as some kind of alien quadrupeds surround the perimeter. 

“You know, we’re supposed to be on the West End seeing Hamilton tonight” Agatha grumbles.

You chuckle. “Seeing the West End production of Hamilton would be much better than this.”

As the forcefield opens slowly and the aliens rush through, you rise off the ground with Agatha following. You have a birds eye view of the field now–the trees beyond the dome rustle violently as the quadrupeds sprint forward and there are even more being deployed by the spaceship.

Battle cries are shouted as every man and woman charge toward the enemy. It’s easy at first, simply flinging the animals into the air or throwing them to the side. But at the speed they’re charging, and at the speed they’re multiplying, it becomes exhausting. 

You lose track of Agatha quickly when you’re on the ground. The Outriders are quick, and even with help from Nat, they’re still almost overpowering. To your right, in the near distance, you see Bucky being tackled to the ground.

Orange glows around the alien as you lift it off of him and throw it far into the distance. You walk up to him, lean down, and pick up his gun, handing it to him without a word.

“Thanks,” he huffs.

You offer him your hand to help him stand. “You’re welcome.”

When you’re up in the air again, you get the briefest flash of Agatha before you’re knocked to the ground. There’s a rumbling beneath the ground, vibrating through your chest, and when you pick yourself up, heading towards you is a row of threshers.

 They’re fast, rolling over everything in their path and sparing no one and nothing. You get up quickly, searching the field desperately for Agatha, and even when you’re in the air, you can’t seem to find her. But the threshers aren’t stopping, and soldiers are being killed left and right, and–they’re glowing red.

Your head turns quickly. “Wanda, what are you doing here?” you shout.

“Go!” she yells. “I’ve got them!”

As the threshers speed away behind you, you drop back to the ground, sticking by Nat’s side. Through the herds of disgusting quadrupeds, you cover each other's backs closely. 

The entire time you’re fighting, you’re also searching for Agatha. She doesn’t tend to stay on the ground during these things, and if she’s in the air, it’s pretty easy to keep track of her. 

Through your mixed thoughts, you’re caught off guard and tackled into a ditch made by a thresher. The Outrider shrieks at you, hot spit splattering your face as you struggle beneath it. And then a blade is driven right through it. The beast goes limp on top of you and you heave it over as you roll onto your side.

You sneer and take Nat’s hand as you stand up. “These things are fucking disgusting. Thank you.”

“Hey, guys, we got a Vision situation here.” Sam’s voice is crackly through the earpiece, and you can just barely hear Wanda respond before she’s cut off with a grunt.

You can see her just a bit away, laying on the ground in pain. “Nat! She’s over here!”

“Go find Vision!” she calls. “I’ll help Maximoff!”

You carve a path through the quadrupeds as you fly low to the ground, still in search for Agatha. In the distance, the surrounding woods are aflame, but the aliens have seemed to have fallen back. You venture further and run straight into Steve.

“Rogers!” you call out. “Have you found Vision?” 

There’s a low, gravelly voice nearby.

“I thought you were a formidable machine,” he says. “But you’re dying like any man.”

You and Steve run at a full sprint toward the man–or whatever he is–standing over Vision. Steve tackles him to the ground and before he can get up, orange strings of magic wrap around him. They lift him up in the air before slamming him back down on the hard earth. 

Your name is called out by Steve, and you have less than a second to catch the spear he throws at you. And when you do, you drive it straight through the man’s chest.

The two of you run back over to Vision. His red is turning dull now and his chest is flickering from the stab wound. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” Steve pants. He looks up at you and nods. “Secure the perimeter, make sure no one gets their hands on this stone.”

Loud footsteps are heard and Wanda comes barreling through the brush, dropping to her knees in front of Vision. “Are you okay?”

You do as Steve says and guards the perimeter of this small sanctuary made for Vision. It’s quite out in the woods, but it’s no longer peaceful. It’s eerie. It’s unnerving. 

Steve’s voice crackles in your earpiece. “Everyone, on my position. We have incoming.”

You’re in between Wanda and Vision with Steve now, and through the brush and trees you can see the rest of the team too. But not Agatha.

A calm, but disquieting breeze starts to pick up. Everyone’s looking around–at the sky, in the trees–for any sign of commotion. 

A small orb of blue light forms in mid air, surrounded by gray clouds as it grows bigger and bigger. And when it reaches its full size, he steps out.

“That’s him,” Bruce says in the earpiece. “That’s Thanos.”

Steve activates his arm shields. “Eyes up. Stay sharp.” And with no hesitation, he makes a direct run for Thanos. 

Bruce is before him charging at him with full force, but he turns blue and transparent, and is lodged into a rock wall. You follow Steve, gaining air advantage, but before you can even reach Thanos, a purple light is thrusted upon you. It knocks every breath of air from your lungs as you’re launched into a tree, gasping in pain as you lay on the ground.

Your head is fuzzy, but you climb back up on your feet and make another run for Thanos, and in your peripheral vision, you finally see her. Agatha’s doing the same thing as you, as the rest of the team. Even when you’re knocked back a second time, you get up–even if you struggle. But when the Mind Stone is shattered, nobody gets up.

You lay on your back, struggling to breathe, but you still manage to roll onto your side and get up. Everyone watches as Thanos turns back the clock and takes the Mind Stone for himself. Wanda lays on the ground, unable to pick herself up, and just a few yards away Agatha is starting to sit up again.

But the Mind Stone has been placed in the gauntlet. 

And there’s a bright flash and loud crack of lightning as Thor rains down his fury, right into Thanos’s chest.

He groans, and mutters something to Thor, and then, with a loud snap, there’s a bright flash of light and a wave of energy.

You get up quickly and rush over to Agatha, but you stop abruptly.

Because something doesn’t feel right.

“Agatha.”

She runs to you. 

She runs quicker than her feet can carry her.

Just in time for her arms to wrap around you and bring you gently to the ground.

The birds are no longer singing. Around you, the people you’ve known and loved for the past decade are crumpling and turning to ash. 

You lay across her lap, watching as pieces of you flake away. Your throat tightens and you see Agatha holding back her own tears and failing.

“Oh, god, no,” she chokes out. “No, no, no, no!”

You can already hear the grief thick in her throat, straining her voice and rouging her cheeks. You can’t tell whose tear it is, but Agatha’s thumb reaches down and wipes it off your cheek.

“I don’t wanna die,” you rasp. Your fingers claw at her jacket, desperate to stay in her arms. “I don’t wanna leave you, Agatha.”

Her hand softly strokes your hairline. “Don’t worry about me,” she sniffles. “It’ll be okay.  

You nod your head lightly. “Okay…I love you,” you mutter.

And you can see it in her eyes. She wants to deny the whole thing. She doesn’t want to face the truth that she’s going to lose for good. But more and more pieces of you are flaking away. More and more of you is slipping through her grasp. 

“I love you,” Agatha sobs, and presses a wet, teary kiss to your forehead. “I love you so much.”

Her hands, rough and calloused to others, but soft and warm to you, hold you tightly against her chest. You can feel her fingers digging at your scalp as she weeps into your hair.

“I love you more than anything in this world,” she mutters into your hairline. You watch as your feet disappear, and Agatha pulls away. Her hand is on your forehead, thumb stroking along your brow as she talks quietly to you. 

“It’s okay,” she sniffles, lip trembling uncontrollably. Her voice is thick as your hips flake away. “You’ll be okay.” Your torso is now gone. 

She sees the panic in your eyes. She sees every single day you’ve been with her. She sees every moment you’ve taken care of her when she wasn’t able to take care of herself. 

Making sure she’s eaten.

Cooking because you know she’s not the best at it, and gets impatient even when scrambling eggs. 

Drawing her a bath after a long day and remembering her favorite bath oils.

And when she asked you why–why you cook for her, why you wash her hair when she’s too tired to, why you do any of it–you responded with a kiss on her nose and a smile. 

“Agatha, I love you. And when you love someone, you take care of them.”

The words are quiet, but they reach you as Agatha tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “…I’ll be okay. You don’t have to worry.”  

As your chest disappears she leans down quickly and kisses you one last time on the lips. “I love you.”

And that’s the end.

When she opens her eyes she’s staring at her lap. 

Her jacket is weightless.

Her hands are limp, and holding nothing but the remnants of your ashes in them. 

__________

It’s been just over three weeks.

Governments are in shambles.

Communities are collapsing.

But Agatha is quiet.

Agatha’s world has completely crumbled.

The only time she leaves her room is to go to the bathroom. When she showers, they’re hours long in scalding hot water. She doesn’t go down to the compound’s kitchen. She doesn’t go to any common areas. She doesn’t talk.

She lays in bed, day after day, curled into a ball and clutching your pillow to her chest. She stares anywhere but at the picture of you on her nightstand–the ceiling, the wall, the unpacked suitcase from your trip to London, where a tiny ring box sits inside.

Her tears never dry. Every part of you has influenced her life in ways she didn’t realize.

The way she folds her clothes–which now sit in heaps on the floor.

The way she makes the bed–which she now never leaves.

Even the TV in your once shared room stays on–because when you were around, it was never off. She found the idea of background noise silly, but now the room is far too quiet.

So the TV stays on.

When Agatha sleeps, it’s not for long. Dreams are vivid–the good, but mostly the bad. She sees you almost every night.

She sees you in the kitchen.

She sees you smiling and laughing.

Small feels kisses on her cheek.

She feels the touch of your hand in hers.

And then she feels the pile of your ashes in her palms, and she sees your face flake away and disappear for good.

When she wakes up, she’s screaming and sweat soaks through her shirt.

She can still feel the gritty ash and dust clinging to her palms as she rubs them together, scratching and sobbing as she tries to erase the feeling.

But it never works.

In a last ditch effort, she goes to the bathroom and runs her hands under the searing hot water until they’re red and irritated–but the gritty feeling no longer remains, and that’s what matters.

__________

It’s late at night when Tony’s brought back to Earth. 

What remains of the Avengers–minus Agatha–sit at a round table. Holograms are projected and a picture of each Avengers’ face is shown. 

“World governments are collapsing,” Nat explains now. “And the parts that are still working are to take a census, and it looks like he did…exactly like he said he would do. Thanos wiped out fifty percent of all living creatures.”

“Where is he now?” Tony asks. “Where?”

Steve leans against another table in the room, arms crossed and a sullen look on his face. “We don’t know. He opened a portal and walked through.”

When your headshot is shown, Tony sighs. “How’s Harkness holding up? I notice she’s not down here.”

“She hasn’t been down here in weeks,” Nat says solemnly. “She won’t come out of her room or eat–and when she does it’s not much.”

“I guess that’s what happens when you’ve known someone for a century,” Tony says. “Has anybody tried talking to her?”

“Yeah,” Nat sighs. “But she doesn’t listen.”

Tony scoffs. “She didn’t listen even when she wasn’t grieving,” 

“We’ve been hunting him for weeks,” Steve continues. “Deep space cams, satellites, we got nothing. Tony, you fought him.”

Tony’s head jerks toward Steve. “Who told you that? I didn’t fight him. He wiped my face with a planet while the Bleeker Street magician gave away the store. That’s what happened. There was no fight, ‘cause he’s not beatable.”

“Did he give you any clues?” Steve asks, and both of them are becoming increasingly frustrated. “Any coordinates, anything at all?”

Tony sputters. “I saw this coming a few years back. I had a vision. I thought I was dreaming.”

“Tony, I’m gonna need you to focus,” Steve huffs. 

Tony’s jaw clenches as he stares at Steve with sunken eyes. “And I needed you. As in, past tense. That trumps what you need. It’s too late, buddy.”

__________

The morning light is peeking through the curtains drawn tight over the windows. The TV is bright, with a rerun of your favorite sitcom playing.

“You need to eat something, Agatha.” There’s a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon in front of her. Natasha kneels at the bedside as Agatha stares off into space, clinging to your pillow. Her voice is soft, but there’s a twinge of begging as she continues. “You haven’t left your room in weeks, we’re worried about you.”

Agatha’s eyes are puffy and red after being pulled from a nightmare just an hour before. “Get out,” she mumbles, not making eye contact.

“No,” Nat says. “Not this time. It’s been three weeks, you need to get out of bed.” When Agatha doesn’t respond, Natasha huffs. “In two hours, we’re leaving Earth to kill Thanos.”

That grabs her attention. She doesn’t move, but her eyes finally meet Nat’s. “What?”

“We’ve been tracking the Infinity Stones,” Nat continues. “They were last used on some planet that Nebula said Thanos was going to.”

“Who the fuck is Nebula?” Agatha asks, voice thick and face puffy from crying. 

Nat sighs. “It doesn’t matter. The point is…we’re killing Thanos. And when we do, we’re going to use the Infinity Stones to bring everyone back.”

“Everyone?” Agatha whispers.

Nat nods her head. “Everyone.”

Agatha slowly sits up, setting your pillow aside with a sniffle before picking the plate up. She takes a few bites of eggs, a nibble of toast, and eats one strip of bacon before setting it on the nightstand. When she stands up, there’s a newfound motivation in her bones. She wipes her tears with her sleeve and walks past Nat with her chin held high.

“Alright,” she says. “Let’s go kill Thanos.”

When Natasha leaves and Agatha is dressed, she stares at the bedroom. For the first time in weeks, she starts cleaning. She folds her laundry the way you used to–the way you’ll start doing again when you’re back. She cleans off the nightstand and dusts the frame that holds your picture, and her fingers trace over your features as she smiles sadly.

The final thing she does is make the bed. She makes the bed, because if she doesn’t, you’d bicker about it when you get home. And when she finishes–when the floor is clean, and the curtains are open, and the bed is made–she stands in the doorway looking at her work. 

You’ll be back soon enough. And when you get home, she’ll gather you in her arms and press kiss after kiss to your face. She’ll laugh and cry, and she won't let go of you once. She’ll cook you your favorite meal, even though she knows you’ll end up taking over. And you’ll eat it in bed with a cheap bottle of wine on the nightstand. When you get home, life will be worth living again.

When you get home.

What a beautiful thought.

__________

“Okay, who here hasn’t been to space?” Rocket asks.

Sitting in Rocket’s ship, Agatha raises her hand with Nat, Steve, and Rhodes. 

Rocket glares at them. “You better not throw up on my ship.”

Nebula’s hand lands hard on the arm of her chair. "Approaching jump in three…”

Everyone braces for the count down.

“...Two…”

Agatha grips the arms of her chair tightly.

“...One.”

There’s a loud rumble and a boom as the ship flies forward. Planets and galaxies whiz past with bursts of purples and blues. When the ship stops, everything is quiet, and through the window, a large planet with rings can be seen.

Carol leaves the ship immediately and her voice sounds over the speakers. “I’ll head down for recon.” It takes less than five minutes for Carol to return. “No satellites. No ships. No armies. No ground defenses of any kind. It’s just him.”

The air is warm and humid. Greenery and plantlife span for hundreds of miles. Everybody’s quiet as Steve goes over the plan.

“Only when Carol attacks do we go in,” he says sternly. “Once she has him, then we move.”

Bruce and Rhodes are positioned under the house, while the rest are surrounding the perimeter. Agatha can feel every ounce of grief and anger taking hold of her magic as she watches Carol shoot down from the sky.

And when she bursts through the side of the bungalow, everyone moves. Agatha throws the door open violently, jaw clenched as her hands wave and strings of purple light wrap tightly around Thanos. Bruce breaks through the ground with Rhodes and they both grab an arm, and before anything else can register Thor breaks through the ceiling and cuts the Infinity Gauntlet off.

Thanos screams in pain as Steve and Natasha walk in, but as they do, Rocket rolls the gauntlet over.

They’re gone.

The stones are nowhere to be found.

Steve looks at Thanos with nothing but hatred in his eyes. “Where are they?”

Carol tightens her chokehold on Thanos. “Answer the question,” she seethes, and Agatha’s magic wraps tighter and tighter around him.

“The universe required correction,” Thanos rasps. “After that, the stones served no purpose beyond temptation.”

“You murdered trillions!” Bruce shouts, and pushes him across the room.

Agatha’s quick on her feet, stepping forward and binding his arms to his body. Her anger is unshakeable. Her hope is shattered. And now, her hand reaches out as a band of thick purple magic glows around Thanos’s throat.

“You should be grateful!” Thanos chokes out, and Agatha’s hand tightens. 

She smiles wickedly as her hand closes further, taking immense pleasure in watching him struggle. “Where are the stones?” she snarls.

“Gone,” Thanos chokes out. “Reduced to atoms.”

“You used them two days ago!” Bruce yells.

Thanos groans in Agatha’s hold. “I used the stones to destroy the stones. It nearly killed me. But the work is done.” Thanos looks at Agatha again and there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “And it always will be. I am inevitable.”

Agatha sneers, tears prickling her eyes as her fist closes more and Thanos squirms. “If the stones didn’t kill you, I will.”

“Wait!” Rhodes says.

Agatha snaps her head toward him and there’s venom in her eyes. “What?”

“We have to tear this place apart,” he says. “He has to be lying.”

“No,” Nebula says softly. “My father is many things, but a liar is not one of them.”

Thanos looks at Nebula, his eyes melting as he talks. “Thank you, daughter. Perhaps I judged you too harshly.”

But Nebula doesn’t respond, and nobody gets the chance to. Because in less than a second, his decapitated head is laying on the ground. His eyes, still open, stare up at Agatha as her lip trembles. She drops her hands and the glowing purple threads around him vanish and his body drops to the floor, limp.

“What did you do?” Rocket mumbles.

Thor stands there, nostrils flared, and hands clutching his axe tightly. “I went for the head.”

Agatha stares at her room–the room that you’re supposed to be back in right now. Her hand cups her mouth as tears slip down her cheeks. The door shuts and she walks further in–the bed made just for you, laundry folded the way you would’ve folded it, your phone on your nightstand, plugged into the charger with a full battery.

She sits down on the bed, her head in her hands as she sobs. “No, no, no, no!”

The TV was never turned off. Through her heavy breathing and tears, she can hear the soft voices and laugh tracks. And it’s too much.

Agatha stands up and reaches for the lamp on the nightstand. She throws it as hard as she can toward the TV, missing it by inches. 

She screams as she throws more objects–bottles of perfume from the dresser shatter against the wall, books from the shelf are scattered around the room, clothes are pulled out of the dresser, and then, without thinking, her hand lands on a picture frame.

Her eyes land on your face and she stops just as she’s about to throw it across the room. She lets out a loud sob as she holds it tight against her chest, knees starting to shake as she hyperventilates as falls to the floor. She lays on her side, spit dripping from her lip and tears flowing steadily down her temple. 

Agatha doesn’t move. She lays there, light headed and holding the picture of you to her chest. When there’s a knock at the door, she doesn’t get up.

Even when the familiar voices ring out on the other side.

“Agatha?” Nat calls out.

There’s another knock and Steve’s there too. “We heard screaming. Can we come in?”

She still doesn’t move.

Even when the door opens.

“Agatha?” Nat calls out softly. When she sees Agatha on the floor she sighs. She’s surrounded by glass and clothes and books with broken spines. Her hair is frizzy, her face is puffy, and she stares off into space as she mouths words to herself.

“Oh, god.” Nat kneels down and her hand gently touches her hip. “Agatha?” When her hand makes contact, Agatha jolts and grabs Nat’s hand, eyes wide and breath fast. “It’s okay!” Nat reassures her. “It’s okay.”

Agatha’s head drops back onto the floor and she closes her eyes. As Natasha carefully takes the picture of you from her hands, she speaks quietly. “Steve, can you clean up the room? I’m gonna go start a bath for her.”

Agatha sits in the bath, quiet as her knees are pulled to her chest. She stares straight ahead as Natasha washes her hair. Agatha just barely manages to dry herself off.

A soft knock on the door sounds.When Nat opens it a crack, Steve stands there with a pair of pajamas

“Here, I found some pajamas that don’t have glass on them,” he mumbles. “Also, there’s a sedative on the nightstand for her

Natasha doesn’t say anything, and only gives him a curt nod. When the door closes, Nat sets the pajamas on the counter.

When Agatha’s eyes land on them, her lip starts trembling and her throat tightens. Her fingers run over the soft cotton as she sniffles. 

“Thank you,” she croaks, watching Nat leave. And when the door clicks shut, the tears start falling again. She holds your pajamas to her face, rubbing the soft fabric over her face, over her lips, burying her nose in them to smell the perfume that still lingers.

When she gets back to her room, broken glass no longer litters the floor. Books are back on the shelf, clothes are neatly folded and put back into the dresser, and the picture Agatha was clinging to is back in its rightful place on her nightstand. 

She picks it up carefully, breath shaking as her fingers run over the glass. The tears don’t fall, though. Her eyes are puffy and red, but no tears fall.

“There’s a sedative right there,” Nat says, walking in with a couple blankets, a granola bar, and a bottle of water. She hands Agatha the items in her arms. “You don’t have to take it, but–oh, okay.”

Agatha takes the sedative immediately. She washes it down with the water and the granola bar.”Thank you,” she rasps. “Really.”

When Nat leaves, Agatha climbs into bed in her usual position–curled up, facing your side, and clinging to your pillow. The TV is still on and she lays there, waiting for the sedative to kick in, and letting the voices and laugh tracks lull her to sleep.

[txmxkis]

i'm only really me when i'm here with you

pairing. boothill x gn!reader

genre. hurt/comfort

wc. 1.5k+

summary. you're determined to help boothill heal from his trauma by... doing his hair?

warnings. i took liberties with this, who knows what specific parts he actually has left or whether he can blush or not (in my heart he can lol), mention of boothill picking u up but i mean. he’s literally so strong he could handle anything, i made him soooo sad and it’s possibly wildly out of character, selfship coded as usual rip

a/n. continuing the tradition of using lyrics from songs on selfship playlists for fic titles lol. based on my tags on this post

they say that trauma is stored in the body, and while boothill didn't necessarily have a complete body anymore, this was still something that you thought about frequently when it came to his physical form.

regardless of just how much of his original self remained, there was still enough of him left that you were sure it had to be true in some capacity. after all, he retained his head and his heart—at least you were fairly certain—two of the most vital components of human anatomy.

it was so hard to read him. the real him. he tried so hard to always act confident and cool. actually, he didn't even really have to try or act. it seemed as if it came to him naturally and endlessly. there was a perpetual air of optimism surrounding him that was difficult to dim even on his most wearisome days.

even after experiencing whatever horrors he had to face from mission to mission, when he came home, the door to whatever room you were currently in would fling open—sometimes scaring you half to death—and he would greet you so happily that it felt as if there were no terrible things in the universe whatsoever.

you cherished his mannerisms, especially because you could be a pessimistic sort of person. rather frequently, in fact. you loved having him near you, able to draw laughter from you, however unwillingly it might be on your part at times. he was oddly skilled at making you feel assured and comfortable, in a way that nothing and no one had ever done before. you couldn’t seem to remember how you ever lived without his encouragement, and you didn’t think you could ever feel truly whole without it again.

there really was no accounting for his relentlessly positive attitude. given what he'd seen and endured, you thought it was damn near impossible to be as carefree as he seemed to be. at any rate, he did manage it. however, there were times, moments he rarely ever allowed you to witness, in which his façade would falter slightly and betray just how heavily the past weighed on him.

occasionally, you would catch him staring at his reflection, a downcast expression painting his beautiful features. every time you spoke of your family, you could detect glimpses of sadness in his eyes, albeit hidden behind a smile. once you even caught him crying as silently as he could—you assumed so as not to alert you—his shoulders sagging under an unforeseen weight, a look on his face that you could only describe as heartbroken. your own heart broke with his in that moment.

you always tried to be particularly attentive following those moments, but it was so difficult to get him to open up to you. he just wanted you to be happy. to not bother worrying about him. you had your own problems, after all, and there was no need for him to add to your burden. no need for him to ask for your pity.

he knew you cared for him deeply enough that it would cause you pain, and even if it was only a fragment of the grief that he lived with every day, he was sure that he would feel terribly and incessantly guilty about it. if he could remove every single aspect of your life that caused you suffering, he would do it in a heartbeat, and he could say that because it was one of the few original parts he had left. how could he add to that suffering by forcing you to imagine all the horrors from his own life?

it took so much time and effort on your part to convince him to open the door to himself, if even just a tiny crack. he was still extremely careful with his words and the details that he disclosed to you—he didn't want to overwhelm you, and he certainly didn't want to hurt you. in reality, these conversations, painful as they were for you to hear, actually helped you to feel as though you could comfort him more effectively.

yes, it hurt immensely to know even a small fraction of how much anguish he had experienced. yes, you despised the people who had done this to him and wanted to fight them yourself, in fact. yes, your chest felt tight with ache and sadness on his behalf. still, you could help him more by knowing than by not knowing.

eventually, you were able to make it this far, brushing through his hair as gently as your hands could manage. he had confessed to you in one of his more vulnerable moments that the white shock of hair on his head often served as a stark reminder of worse times, of the trauma and stress inflicted on his body. the admission gave you an idea, one that made boothill feel more than just a little bit exposed. he wasn’t accustomed to being looked after like this, with so much affection and love.

you began to make a routine out of it. every day you would do something with his hair—whether it was braiding it and tying it up intricately to make him feel pretty or simply combing through the strands and allowing them to cascade around his shoulders and down his back.

sometimes you would sit him in front of a mirror while you worked so that he could see exactly what you were doing in the moment. he didn’t quite understand how it all came together, but he found it fascinating to see how you twisted and weaved. at times, you were so focused on the hair in your hands that your brows would furrow, tongue poking out slightly between your lips. in the reflection, you genuinely looked like you were enjoying yourself.

even more noticeable to him was the expression you wore when you looked at him through the mirror. your gaze was so full of tenderness that his chest ached. he could swear that his heart actually skipped a beat. whenever that happened, you could see a flaring blush creep up his cheeks and into his ears, and you couldn’t help but laugh just a little bit at how endearing it was.

other times, you would settle on the couch, with him seated on the floor between your legs, adorning his hair with the cutest accessories, the two of you laughing and joking the whole time. you would delicately twist the locks back, securing them with pretty, multicolored clips that shone in the light.

when you were done, you would lead him slowly to a mirror, hands over his eyes, nearly stumbling over his legs as you walked behind him. you would pull your hands quickly from his face, revealing your handiwork, beaming with pride and grinning at how adorable he looked. he loved every minute of it—and every bit of you, he would think to himself as he turned to pick you up and spin you around, laughing in that deep voice of his. then he’d set you down gently, thanking you for your hard work with kisses sprinkled across your face.

days that were particularly trying for him would simply be spent in comfortable silence. when he didn’t feel like talking from the pain of it all, he would wordlessly lay his head on your chest as you ran your fingers through his long locks. feeling your touch—the slight pull on his scalp, the tickle of shifting hair—it all made him feel so relaxed that he could melt right into your skin until you absorbed him fully into you. often, the combination of this and the gentle, steady beat of your heart would lull him to sleep, and seeing his expression ease and soften in these moments was all the reward you ever needed.

in the beginning, it was unclear whether this dedicated time spent caring for his hair was helping or not. over time, however, you noticed a glimmer in his eyes—something that told you he would be alright, despite everything.

pain still remained; it always would, but instead of constantly gazing at his reflection with grief, every once in a while you would catch a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. it was as if he was remembering how you hummed while placing those clips, or how he had teasingly whipped you with his hair on a more playful occasion, or any number of positive memories that you had put so much effort into lovingly crafting with him.

you were determined to do your best, slowly but surely, to lighten his burden—or at least help carry it. there was no reason for him to feel alone when he had you by his side. and if creating these happy memories was what you had to do in order to help him, well, you would gladly continue forever.

reblogs & interactions are appreciated! thank you for reading! <3 — txmxkis

[neverthatsirius-jo]

CONGRATS ON 200 FOLLOWERS MY TWINNIE 😋 had to jump on this fic fest and request something with my babygirl james potter <3 and i got these from the gifs !

randomized a song from a playlist and got about you by the 1975 :3 and mayhaps u could add a sprinkle of mutual pining?? 🥰 THANK U LOVE U 🫶🏼

| SOMETHING ABOUT YOU ⊹₊⟡⋆

“In which James is more oblivious to your drunken love confessions than you think and he eggs you on into an even more embarrassing one in a broken lift.”

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

genre: fluff <3

w/c: 1.6k

tags: muggle au, coworkers to lovers, kinda drunken confession, mentions of alcohol...

jo’s note: how could i NOT write my twin @foodiegoogie's request first? thank for requesting and i hope you enjoy reading this, even though i think i was bit stingy with the pining. LOVE YOU RESE <333

also i know i received all the event’s requests back in january, but school and my own perfectionism won't let me do things in a timely manner. i'll be posting all the other requests over the next few weeks <3 nerve-wracking to be posting after so long helpp.

“No, no, no, no, no. Shit! Shit!”

You smash the buttons of the lift as if that will magically make its doors open. You press floor after floor and buttons you’ve never even touched before and don’t know what they do.

You lean forward with your hands on the door; your back cracks after sitting for hours typing away on a computer. You’d had to stay late and so had James, it seems, who clears his throat behind you.

“Alright, spill.” 

You close your eyes and purse your lips but don’t turn around just yet. You can’t face him; not after what happened.

The same bubbles of the fizzy, sweet alcoholic drink one of your coworkers had given you were running through your blood and getting to your brain, getting in the way of your neurons and their synapsis. Quickly. 

Weirdly enough that hadn’t stopped you, accepting a few more drinks that would only deteriorate your capacity to make decisions further. It was New Year’s! Not yet really… and it was an office party but still…

“We’re doing—hip!—karaoke! Come!” A hiccuping woman, in a much more grave state than you, grabbed your arm. You were pretty sure it was one of the secretaries but you couldn’t tell, not even squinting your eyes.

The events that followed are one of the most mortifying experiences you have lived and you wish a wizard would come down from the skies and give you a magical object with which you could erase said events from everybody’s memories. Especially James’, who you have been ignoring since then.

“There was something ‘bout you! That made my heart surrender! It’s the same darn thing, something, something surrender,” you ended with an off-key mumble, forgetting the lyrics.

You had pointed! Pointed at James Potter.

James who definitely wasn’t in any need for you to stroke his ego. James Potter whose self-esteem definitely wasn’t a topic he needed to discuss in therapy. James Potter who would show no hesitation in using your little show against you.

To be frank, you had no idea why he hadn’t already started doing exactly just that.

As much a blur as that night had become, the only thing that you could still replay in your mind and in great detail, like under a magnifying glass, was the way he had looked at you. Smug smile, arms crossed, and the promise of future bullying in his eyes. 

If you now have to stare at the grey, metallic wall of the lift until someone comes to your rescue then so be it. 

Ironically, there’s a sign taped to the wall informing about the upcoming halt of all lifts next monday due to an inspection that you can use as a prop and pretend to read.

You make a sound, something in between a question and what you imagine an ant sounds like as they’re about to be stepped on, when he asks his question. You mean to articulate something, but it doesn’t quite come out. You certainly feel as small as an ant.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he clarifies. “Is it some kind of new year’s resolution?”

You smile despite yourself. “Of course, James. All my new year’s resolutions revolve around you.”

You turn around, leaning back on the wall and swinging one leg about in an ‘I’m so bored, you see?’ way but still not looking up.

“Alright, then. What is it?” He asks.

“Don’t be patronising. It’s not a good look.”

“I’m not. Swear.”

When you look up at him, you’re surprised to see his expression matches yours. You roll your eyes when you look down and see him holding up his pinky finger in sign of a promise. 

Weirdly enough you know he’s being truthful, given he didn’t take the opportunity to respond that ‘every look of his is a good look’.

“Okay, then.” You shrug. “Then it doesn't matter.”

He nods, pursing his lips unconvinced. “Matters to me. Doesn’t make for a good work environment if you can’t even look at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

He scoffs. “Congratulations. First time in this whole week.”

“You’re so insufferable. Anyone ever told you that?”

“I would rather call it persistent.”

“Semantics.” You click your tongue on the roof of your mouth.

“Quite an important branch of—”

“Keep talking, and I’ll start jumping until the lift takes pity on me, gives in, and we both fall to our deaths. I mean it.”

He smiles in the way you only see when he knows he’s managed to get under your skin. The silence that follows bothers you greatly but he navigates it with ease, waiting for something, not concerned in the slightest.

“So…” He starts.

“Oh, bloody hell!”

He laughs, and if your face wasn’t burning in anger you’d have relished in the sound, as you usually do but never admit, not even to yourself. 

“I know it’s about the party.” He shakes his head to emphasise his statement as obvious.

“Great observation, Sherlock. How did you manage that?”

“Then I really don’t get what the big deal is.”

You look straight at him and blinking rigidly, like your eyelids weigh triple what they used to and opening them up again costs you greatly.

“You don’t get,” you grit your teeth, “what the big deal is that I serenaded you, drunk, in front of all our coworkers?” 

You don’t break eye contact even when it becomes almost physically painful.

“And all because I have the most embarrassing crush on you! Yeah.” You turn around mumbling petty insults at him. “You don’t see how that could be a big deal? Bloody hell.”

The chuckle he lets out from the deepest part of him makes your head turn at a neck-break pace. 

If looks could kill and what not.

“Now you’re laughing at me. Very mature.”

“I’m the immature one?” He pretends to be offended, bringing a hand to his chest.

“You always have been, I’m not sure why the surprise.” You try to act nonchalant but the wavering in your voice gives you away.

You begin pressing the lift buttons frantically again. Not because you believe it will actually do anything, but because you don’t think strangling James is the way to get the promotion you so desperately want and have been fighting him over. It’s not a good marketing strategy for yourself either, given he’s quite beloved within the company.

Unfortunately, you understand better than anyone why.

He brings both his hands, intertwined, right before his mouth, like he’s pondering about something; not unlike when you stare from across the office to catch him in between files of paperwork. “This is about to get a whole lot more funny for me.”

Most of the time you understand why all the love, anyway.

Not right now.

“Why on earth,” he starts, bringing his hands up with a big grin on his face, as if to cup your face except he’s a few feet back, “would I take your drunken karaoke show as a serenade specifically dedicated to me?”

A feverish chill makes its way across your whole body; your clothes all of a sudden feel too tight, as does the lift you’re standing on. 

“You’re—” you lick your lips; a nervous tick. “You’re saying you didn’t know.”

“That is exactly what I’m saying.” He snickers. “I must say, I’m extremely fla—”

You huff before he can squeeze another word in. “I don’t like you, James. Matter of fact, I find you quite insufferable; and just because I can’t handle my alcohol and it makes me lower my standards to a degrading point, doesn’t mean that you have me in the palm of your hand. Not by a long shot.”

Your feet have taken you only a few centimeters before him, and you can feel his breath, almost as ragged as yours, tickling you. 

You’re fuming but he finds the whole of it exhilarating, which you can see and it doesn’t help your emotional state at all.

“See, I don’t believe you anymore.” He goes to flick an imaginary something off your shoulder. “I reckon the exact words were—”

“Don’t.” You give him a warning look but he’s too busy examining all your face, except your eyes.

“An embarrassing crush?” He rearranges a strand of hair that falls in your eye and tucks it behind your ear. You wonder if he can tell its temperature it’s at boiling point. “On silly old me?”

“You never shut up,” you barely manage to breathe out but he makes out the words somehow.

“I can be persuaded into it. Definitely.”

Without you realizing it, he’s cornered you into the opposite side of the lift. It’s only when the back of your head hits cold metal that you notice you’ve been walking backwards trying to get away from him.

“Plus, my dilemma is far, far worse, y’know.” He tilts his head down to find your eyes that keep trying to evade him. “I happen to be mortifyingly in love with you.”

He inches his face closer to yours, and your stomach drops. You have to look at the side to make sure it’s not the lift falling down.

“It’s too mortifying to even call it a crush, really,” he whispers with a shrug of his shoulders, before he joins your lips and his.

You don’t have time to process much of anything. Not when he has you like this. 

Your initial reaction is to freeze and you can feel him starting to pull away, thinking maybe he’s misread the situation. 

You reassure him he hasn’t by latching onto his hair to pull him closer if that even is possible. 

“Does that make us even? He whispers into your lips once you pull back to get some air. “Or do I need to jump on my desk and sing you something first thing tomorrow?”

You bite your lip to stop from smiling.

He smiles back. “You know I’ll do it.”

You know he would. Which is why you press your lips to his once more before he can start thinking of his choice of song.

thank you for reading, reblogs and replies are appreciated <3

back to masterlist

[defjux]

Here's a 12x12 of some of my favorite albums that aren't rap albums. I did one of those recently as well, which you can find here. I think some years back I also made a similar list of the albums that were most influential for me, but this is more of an inclusive list of the stuff I generally just enjoy listening to the most these days. One album per artist, and only the first two rows are in order. I might do another one these in the future with all of the albums I love that didn't make the cut this time around, but for now i'm happy with how this turned out Chart with album titles included Maybe I could add as many of these albums as possible to a spotify playlist - is that something any of you would be interested in? What albums are your favorite, do we have any in common? If you've got any kind of list of your own i’d love to see it. Peace.

 1. At the Drive-In - Relationship of Command  2. Björk - Vespertine 3. Portishead - Third 4. Gospel - The Moon Is a Dead World 5. Stereolab - Dots and Loops 6. Glassjaw - Worship and Tribute 7. Cocteau Twins - Treasure 8. Sade - Love Deluxe 9. The Dillinger Escape Plan - Ire Works 10. Sun Ra - Lanquidity 11. J Dilla - Donuts 12. Grouper - Dragging a Dead Deer Up a Hill 13. John Coltrane - Sun Ship 14. Converge - You Fail Me 15. The Mars Volta - De-Loused in the Comatorium 16. Slowdive - Souvlaki 17. Jeromes Dream - Seeing Means More Than Safety 18. Max Roach - Members, Don't Git Weary 19. Boards of Canada - Geogaddi 20. Joni Mitchell - Hejira 21. Isis - Wavering Radiant 22. Broadcast - Tender Buttons 23. Interpol - Turn on the Bright Lights 24. Charles Mingus - Let My Children Hear Music

25. Q and Not U - No Kill No Beep Beep 26. Fugazi - Red Medicine 27. Orchid - Orchid 28. My Bloody Valentine - Loveless 29. Tim Hecker - Harmony In Ultraviolet 30. Candy Claws - Ceres & Calypso in the Deep Time 31. Natural Snow Buildings - The Dance of the Moon and the Sun 32. toe - For Long Tomorrow 33. maudlin of the Well - Leaving Your Body Map 34. Ichiko Aoba - マホロボシヤ (Mahoroboshiya) 35. United Nations - The Next Four Years 36. Miles Davis - In A Silent Way 37. Nujabes - Modal Soul 38. Unwound - Repetition 39. Aphex Twin - Drukqs 40. Ornette Coleman - Science Fiction 41. Agalloch - Ashes Against the Grain 42. Siouxsie and the Banshees - Tinderbo 43. Yves Tumor - Heaven to a Tortured Mind 44. Boris - Flood 45. Massive Attack - Mezzanine 46. Boredoms - Vision Creation Newsun 47. Akira Yamaoka - Silent Hill 2 48. Paddy McAloon - I Trawl The Megahertz 49. Panopticon - Autumn Eternal 50. Kate Bush - Hounds of Love 51. Krallice - Years Past Matter 52. Every Time I Die - The Big Dirty 53. Kayo Dot - Choirs of the Eye 54. The Blood Brothers - ...Burn, Piano Island, Burn 55. Pavement - Brighten the Corners 56. slauson malone - A Quiet Farwell, 2016-2018 57. Sonny Sharrock - Ask The Ages 58. Drive Like Jehu - Yank Crime 59. Flying Lotus - Cosmogramma 60. Sonic Youth - EVOL 61. The Field - From Here We Go Sublime 62. The Cure - Disintegration 63. Madlib - Beat Konducta Vol. 5-6 A Tribute To... 64. Autechre - LP5 65. Marvin Gaye - What's Going On 66. Yusef Lateef - Eastern Sounds 67. The Chariot - Long Live 68. tricot - T H E 69. Funkadelic - Maggot Brain 70. Art Blakey & The Jazz Messengers - Moanin' 71. Prince - Sign "☮︎" the Times 72. Godspeed You! Black Emperor - F♯A♯∞ [1995–1997] 73. The Avalanches - Since I Left You 74. Sunny Day Real Estate - How It Feels to Be Something On 75. NoMeansNo - Wrong 76. David Bowie - The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust 77. Oh No - Oh No Vs. Now-Again 78. Alcest - Écailles de lune 79. Electric Masada - At the Mountains of Madness 80. Grant Green - Idle Moments 81. Julia Holter - Loud City Song 82. Frank Zappa - Hot Rats 83. Alice Coltrane - Journey in Satchidananda 84. Protomartyr - Relatives In Descent 85. Hüsker Dü - Zen Arcade 86. Chelsea Wolfe - Abyss 87. Tatsuro Yamashita - For You 88. Bruno Pernadas - Those Who Throw Objects at the Crocodiles... 89. Rahsaan Roland Kirk - The Inflated Tear 90. Discordance Axis - The Inalienable Dreamless 91. The Fall of Troy - Doppelgänger 92. Talking Heads - Speaking in Tongues 93. Death - Symbolic 94. Modest Mouse - The Moon & Antarctica 95. King Crimson - Red 96. Junko Yagami - Communication 97. Ne Obliviscaris - Portal Of I 98. Wayne Shorter - Speak No Evil 99. Wolves in the Throne Room - Two Hunters 100. Refused - The Shape of Punk to Come 101. Fishmans - Uchu Nippon Setagaya 102. DJ Shadow - Endtroducing..... 103. Hiatus Kaiyote - Mood Valiant 104. Pharoah Sanders - Karma 105. Brutus - Nest 106. fleshwater - We're Not Here to Be Loved 107. Lightning Bolt - Hypermagic Mountain 108. Burial - Untrue 109. NEPTUNIAN MAXIMALISM - Éons 110. Weyes Blood - Titanic Rising 111. Standing On The Corner - Red Burns 112. Taeko Onuki - SUNSHOWER 113. Pg.99 - Document #8 114. Alvvays - Blue Rev 115. Genesis Owusu - Smiling with No Teeth 116. Cibo Matto - Stereotype A 117. D'Angelo - Voodoo 118. Gouge Away - Burnt Sugar 119. Opeth - Ghost Reveries 120. The Number Twelve Looks Like You - Worse Than Alone

121. Ahmad Jamal Trio - The Awakening 122. Bill Evans - Symbiosis 123. Deftones - Koi No Yokan 124. The Chameleons - Script of the Bridge 125. Newfound Interest In Connecticut - Tell Me About the... 126. City of Caterpillar - City of Caterpillar 127. Minnie Riperton - Come To My Garden 128. Lil Ugly Mane - THIRD SIDE OF THE TAPE 129. mewithoutYou - Catch For Us The Foxes 130. Love Spirals Downwards - Flux 131. Ohbliv - Retrospective 132. Liv.e - Couldn't Wait To tell You... 133. Shinsei Kamattechan - tsumanne 134. Herbie Hancock - Sextant 135. Beach House - Bloom 136. Wormrot - Hiss 137. Fiona Apple - Fetch the Bolt Cutters 138. Anri - Timely!! 139. Cloud Rat - Threshold 140. Polaris - Home 141. Yes - Close to the Edge 142. Bloc Party - Silent Alarm  143. Coaltar of the Deepers - Submerge 144. Deafheaven - Lonely People With Power

[beeing1alive]

Cute headcanons with Tokyo Revengers boys Pt.3

f.t.: Mikey (Manjirō Sanō); Draken (Ken Ryūgūji); Mitsuya (Takashi Mitsuya); Chifuyu (Chifuyu Matsuno); Baji (Keisuke Baji); Takemichi (Takemichi Hanagaki); Angry (Souya Kawata), Smiley (Nahoya Kawata); Hakkai (Hakkai Shiba); Kazutora (Kazutora Hanemija)

Mikey's hands are always warm. No matter how warm or cold it is outside, his hands are always the same pleasant temperature. In winter you can always warm your hands on his. However, his hands are also warm in summer, which means that in summer you can just intertwine your little fingers.

Darken usually has to leave the house very early, which means he never really has time to talk to you in the morning. That's why he always sticks a note on the mirror in your bathroom. Every day it says something different, but usually something like: "Have a great day, be safe, I love you -Ken"

Mitsuya organises a photo shoot for the two of you every few months. One of these couple photo shoots, and it's always super fun, especially because he already knows all the photographers. The pictures that come out are always so cute, and he prints out the best of them and puts it in his wallet.

Chifuyu insists on showing and introducing you to every animal in the pet shop. After closing time, he walks through the shop with you hand in hand and enthusiastically shows you all the animals. After a few months, you know every animal by name and its characteristics. He just loves animals, but he loves you more, he just can't help it.

Baji has got it into his head that he wants to learn how to cook. That's why he suggested that you cook something together at least once a week. He would like to pursue this habit but sometimes he just can't make it, but at least one evening is always reserved (if he can't make it, he feels bad and brings you something from out of town)

Takemichi regularly puzzles with you. He just finds it super relaxing, he already enjoys doing puzzles on his own, but it's a thousand times better with you. You usually watch a film or listen to your favourite music on the side. He could spend hours doing it. Just not having to think about anything, with you close to him.

Angry has a playlist with you, which is full of your favourite songs. He always pays attention to what music you listen to and when he sees how much you enjoy a song, he will immediately add it to this playlist. When you listen to music together, he always puts this playlist on and seeing you enjoy every song makes his heart melt.

Smiley introduced you to his brother first. He just cares what Souya thinks of you because he knows that his brother has a much better sense for healthy relationships. His heart skips a beat when he sees Souya talking to you enthusiastically, his face relaxes a little and he nods to him, and even if Souya didn't like you, he would have loved you.

Hakkai always left one thing in your house when he was with you at the beginning of the meeting phase. Whether it was a hoodie or a packet of chewing gum, just to make sure you'd see each other again. He always made it look like it was accidental, but it never was. He just always wanted to see you again sometime.

Kazutora writes you poems. When he goes to class for you, he usually gets so bored that he starts scribbling sweet words for you on a random piece of paper. Sometimes his texts stretch over several sheets of paper, it's just so easy for him to write how he feels about you. Much easier than telling you, he prefers to show it.

Note: I hope you like it and my requests are open. If you want to read the other parts, here is P.t.1 and here is P.t.2 :3

Attention: The characters and the gif do not belong to me. All credits go to the actual owners. If you want anything to be changed or removed, please write to me.

[heartofbusan]

👋🏼 Hi,

Love your blog so I’m feeling it’s safe to ask you this, or comment on it. Under the guise of not being attacked for asking or having a question that’s outside the accepted narrative. I’m a jikooker, I’m in love with their love, this question is coming from a place of trying to understand only…

On to the song lyrics in your previous post; I’m wondering if everything JK posts must be about JM. (we will stipulate they love each other to the moon and back), but those lyrics? They really have a ‘friend’ feel. He has gone to Japan with Cha Eun Woo, (yesterday in bird there were signatures from both from a restaurant, but without context if it was recent. Imagine that will all come out soon enough), met his band mate in Hawaii. Is it conceivable the song is referencing really just hanging out with his friends as he pleases without all the drama that solos and shippers attach to it? Perhaps the verse about knowing people are disappointed but telling them to just let it go, is actually referencing ARMY?

That he will continue to live his life exactly as he pleases?

Hoping this isn’t a tedious or huge ask, but if you have the time, would you be able to let me know WHY this specific song has everything to do with JM, and JM alone?

🙏🏼 thanks!!

Hi 👋🏼

No worries here about being attacked 🥺 I wouldn't dare.

Reminder: There are no coincidences when it comes to jikook.

Ok. Back to the program 😊

Your ask isn't tedious, but my post isn't suggesting that the song has 'everything to do with Jimin", at all. My use of pictures and gifs might be what is making you think that, am I right in assuming?

By using those pictures, I am not reducing that song choice to be ONLY about Jimin, I'm just not choosing to add other connections to my post just because those aren't as interesting to me personally. Yes, I know he went to Hawaii with Tae, and I think I read about his trip with his friend.

However, I think, for JK, at least, Jimin is, just like for me, his main focus. JK and I have that in common. So, my inclination is to see those lyrics in connection to either Jimin or whatever he's feeling at that moment. Because that's definitely a theme with him.

Again, this is just my opinion and not a gospel that I'm trying to convince anyone of. If you choose not to see it that way, then fine, right? There is no need to agree or disagree. Still good friends.

As we're here now, why don't we look back at some of Jungkook's previous song recommendations and how those might relate to his real-life mood at the time.

Jungkook posted a cover of Golden's Hate Everything shortly after news broke of Jimin’s acute appendicitis and covid infection. I mean.. nothing other than those lyrics combined with what was happening to him could alert us to a deeper connection to Jimin, anon. See what I mean?

Something very curious came to my attention regarding his song recommendations today. JK loooovees a meaningful date!

It's been exactly 10 years since he recommended another very particular song with 'interesting' lyrics.

Unrequited love for a boy 😭

His song choices aren't just random. You're doing the man a grave injustice if you think like that. Whenever he goes live, he curates his playlist. It's his work and his passion to listen to music. Sharing songs with someone you love (us) is a love language we need to acknowledge more of. Way back when casette tapes existed, people used to make mixtapes for their crush with songs that reminded them of that person. The little cover could be decorated with handwritten titles and maybe some doodles..how cute! It was a: 'Listen to this song, the lyrics speak words I dare not say' kind of idea. How romantic anon 😭 and it's just SO JK of him. He's per his own admission, not good with words. His song recommendations, therefore, speak for themselves.

Same source:

Add to that the fact that him and Jimin were on Weverse a little before or after (i didn't catch the timing) he posted those songs. I think it was after. So, after he made it clear that him and Jimin were sitting together as they were posting, he then also made us take note of a bunch of songs. So, connecting his mood to Jimin isn't that strange as they have been, were, and will be together while they're enlisted. And he's not hiding that. He is the one who keeps spilling the proverbial beans. He's showing off 😩!

He himself made us aware they were together. If he had just ignored Jimin’s comment, we wouldn't have been any wiser of where Jimin was at that exact moment.

Blame JK 😩 he's the first member of the Jikook fanclub, Hoseok is the president, Jimin is the honorary member. I do not make the rules. Cookie and Chimmy do.

And because @stormblessed95 did such an excellent compilation of JK's song recommendations way back when, I'll link it here, too.

Now, all that is left is to wait for someone to connect the dots on the time he posted/shared the songs, or the weverse message to a certain date, 8/11, and then you'll really see jikookers go hog wild 🤡 i love it!

Thanks for this ask!

EDITED TO ADD

Just after posting I saw @slaaverin (omg I worship your work) had posted the same connecting thread! Anon..so much homework to dive into..yay!

[xlibra-rising]

Musical Taste in the Natal Chart

Music taste can be seen in the birth chart in many different ways. Some methods through the Sun, Venus and the Moon, which can all be very accurate, but from what i have observed there is a correlation between dominant planets in your natal chart and others charts that can be used to identify your own musical preferences.

Sun Dominant

If one of your dominant planets is the Sun, you enjoy music with bright and warm energy— think pop music, dance and EDM. You like music that makes you feel alive and thriving in your own body. Upbeat sounds and rhythms are what you are most drawn towards.

Moon Dominant

You are drawn to music that is packed with emotion. You like music with good lyrics and songs that can make you feel cozy inside. This can tie nicely together with a Sun dominated chart, for example, you may like pop music with intense emotion and not so much the kind of pop you hear on the radio.

Mercury Dominant

You will be drawn to songs that are loquacious in nature. You might not be too fond of the background instruments and you are more brought towards the persons voice. This dominant planet can also say you can like everything at once in a song.

Venus Dominant

You are drawn to songs that are exquisite in essence. You love music that is rich in sound, instrumentals and most importantly, a good voice is what makes you add that song to your playlist. You might like r&b or classical music from earlier time periods.

Mars Dominant

You are attracted to music that is intense and assertive. When I think of this planet, i think of rock music and metal music, maybe punk. You like songs that make your body go into defense mode and have a taste for songs that express anger well.

Jupiter Dominant

You have a taste for songs that are abundant in sound or make you think positively. This is much like the Sun in this way, only Jupiter has a lot more going on than just happiness. You might really like to discover new songs and genres and have a wide array of different music in your Spotify.

Saturn Dominant

You like slower and more nuanced music. You can like older euphonies and songs with more complex meaning than others. When i think of Saturn, i think of psychedelic rock and shoegaze genres of music.

Uranus Dominant

You like music that is more experimental and interesting than average. You can have a wide variety of different musical tastes and preferences, rarely sticking to one absolute favorite. You might not even listen to mainstream anything or even know anything mainstream. Weird is the right word for your music taste and that’s a good thing.

Neptune Dominant

You love music that can make you escape from reality. You might be a big daydreamer when it comes to the way you listen, your head is mostly off in the clouds. Soft, delicate and ethereal songs come into your playlist often. When i think of Neptune, i think art pop, new wave and experimental music.

Pluto Dominant

You like dark and deeply profound music. Think of metal music, emo, punk or just heartwrenching stuff. You like music that stabs at your soul, and music can be deeply meaningful for you. It's almost as if music can profoundly affect you as well.

Ex. My dominant placements ↑

I find myself listening to mainly pop, rap and indie music. My dominants being Sun, Moon and Jupiter, i'd say I like good production and a smooth voice where the lyrics go well with it. I do listen to a variety of music, I don't only listen to one genre like i said. I have a Leo Sun, Cancer Moon, and my Jupiter is in the 12th house in Libra.

[fruutbaag]

BEEBO PLAYLIST FINISHED!!! at least as of now i'm very satisfied with it :]

(in both spotify and youtube flavors :>)

elaboration under the cut!! warning its Long lol

1–5: just kinda the first loop obviously, nothing really special yet. i had to put Stal because 1 similar vibes to Serious Detective Office, 2 its a little sillay with it, and 3 its a nod to beebo flirting via minecraft in the comic. :3 is there for the Vibe, its lighthearted and silly and i like it next question. Go Back (Death's Theme) is a given

6–11: The Ángel Songs, pt. 1. i could probably make a whole separate playlist just for him tbh. shoutout to my friend jon for recommending This Boy :D. Someone To Spend Time With is for the convo with oliver on the balcony in loop 2. A Mask of My Own Face is just like. a given. blah blah the different roles ángel takes during the loops.

Little Lion Man and The Scientist were just like. i was listening to shit and thinking about the characters and i was like ooooohhhh Fuck this fits:

Ángel "blames himself for things outside his control" Valdivia also time loop

just gestures vaguely at this one

12–17: house songs :) Labyrinth my beloved. most of these are just for The Vibe i will be honest. hi lemon demon. fun fact Scattered and Lost, for those of you who don't play Celeste, plays when you're in a haunted house (or haunted Hotel whatever). lol

18–19: um. ok eugenes segment is a little lacking because i moved people eater later on but. its fine ok. Had Enough is because eugene is an angy angy man who feels like everyone has wronged him

20–23: the endings 1/2 branch aka The Ángel Songs, pt. 2. uhhhhh i'll be honest Yellow is mostly there for these lines

Ángel Para Un Final is. the obvious. next

24–26: ending 2 songs aka The Ángel Songs, pt. 3. i thought about adding I WONT LET YOU GO HOME instead of Game Over - DLMAH because i think it fits better lorewise, but the actual songs vibe didn't really fit the vibe for ending 2 so i went with the next best thing

Ghost On The Dance Floor:

ough. Kiss Goodnight is mostly the vibe not any particular lyric

i was also tempted to add Starjump from the Celeste OST because of the sheer feeling of Anxiety it gives you (definitely give it a listen and you'll see what i mean). i ultimately decided there were too many ending 2 songs (and Game Over kinda already fills the space i would have Starjump at) but honestly i might silently add it later if i feel like it

27–29: endings 4, 5, and 6. The Villain I Appear to Be and People Eater are both givens. Bleed Magic is there because like. oughh the eugene vibes manipulating oliver. god hes such an asshole i hate him

"who would want to hire a shivering mess like me" eugene coli when i fucking Get You

30–33: and of course, endings 9 & 10 :) (mostly ending 10). you're at the party is like. well 1 its my favorite lemon demon song and 2 just Look At It. The Vibes. No Heart To Speak Of is also like just Look At It that's ending 10. that's ending 10. he misses ángel. Ghosting i was resisting adding because i thought it'd be too low hanging fruit but like. yeag.

escapism sat there at the very end since the First iteration of the playlist which only had 15 songs back then. most of the songs here were added just in the last like. week lol. i'm normal and sane

-

also!! i know there's a lot of regular beebo ost in there but it was nice to have as both a marker of where in the story it is and Also a kinda transition of vibe. also its just nice :]

ANYWAYS throws this out into the wild like a bird i'm releasing. be free my playlist hope u enjoy :3

[elixirfromthestars]

WELCOME TO MY CAFE! ˖°.₊˚☕⊹♡

I miss interacting with fellow writers and readers, so I decided to host my own little writing challenge ♡ Between juggling grad school prep and an internship, I wanted to do something to keep me connected to this lovely community, so welcome everyone to my cozy little cafe :) 

The writing challenge starts today and closes on September 29th (National Coffee Day). I will be reading + reblogging every fic. The masterlist will be posted at the end. (if you see this anytime later or can’t make the deadline do not fret, if anything below inspires you, you are welcome to write and tag me and I will add your submission to the masterlist♡)

Below are the rules, prompts, and guidelines ♡

who you can write for: all marvel characters are welcome / any fictional sebastian stan or chris evans characters are welcome too (any characters they’ve portrayed based on real life people will not be accepted though!!) (please keep it to x reader fics only!!)

some general guidelines: Below I’ve provided a number of different prompts and songs for inspiration ♡ Anyone can use them and mix and match however you’d like!! If you use any please let me know somewhere in the post! If none of them below inspire you, to stay within theme please include either a cafe or coffee somewhere in the fic :) 18+ fics are welcome, just please add warnings! Any length of fics are welcome, but if it’s over 500 words please add the “keep reading” option. If you write something as part of a bigger series please write your submission as a standalone ♡

˖°.₊˚☕⊹♡ This is a sweet and cozy little cafe, but of course, there is always a possibility of rain. If anything below inspires an angsty fic, then by all means go ahead and write it! Your submission does not have to include fluff! 

what is not accepted: no dark fics, anything involving minors, incest, rape, noncon/dubcon 

how to enter: please tag me and use #elixirscafe when you post ♡ i’ll leave a like to let you know I saw it and reblog it once I read it :) if i haven’t responded to your post send me an inbox or dm please and thank you! 

Happy writing! My inbox is always open for any questions or comments!! ♡  

What table are you sitting at? 

♡ Coffeeshop AU 

♡ Soulmate AU 

♡ Bakery AU 

♡ Regency Era AU 

♡ Western AU

♡ Neighbor AU 

♡ Pen Pal AU

♡ Small Town AU 

♡ Royal AU

♡ College AU

Would you like a sweet treat?

🍩 ༄ؘ “No, I’m not letting you go. It’s too early to get out of bed.” 

🍰 ༄ؘ Saying I love you for the first time.

🍪 ༄ؘ “ Would it be alright if I borrowed your sweater? It smells like you.” 

🍫 ༄ؘ  “ You...you learned how to cook my favorite meal?”

🧁 ༄ؘ “ I’m not going to get sick, you baby. Just let me hold you.” 

🥧 ༄ؘ  “ What else do I need when I have my whole world in my arms?”

🍮 ༄ؘ “ I’m only doing it because you’re cute.” 

🥯 ༄ؘ “ Could you hold my hand?” 

🥞 ༄ؘ “ I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” 

🍞 ༄ؘ “ I like hearing your heart beating when I put my head on your chest.” 

🍯  ༄ؘ “ Why don’t you tell me what I can do to make your day better?” 

🥐 ༄ؘ “ I’ve tried to forbid myself from falling in love, but now I can’t help it.”

Do you like the music in the cafe? Which song should I play next?

˖°.₊˚☕⊹♡ Feel free to use the lyrics below, the entire feel of the song, or any other lyrics in the song! The playlist is below in case you want to go through and listen to the songs while you write ♡

Apple Cider “ And I don’t even like you that much. Wait, I do, fuck. Call me at midnight. Let’s give this a try.” Beabadoobee

Apple Juice “ Don’t let goodbyes come too easy. Love me, just let me know that you need me.” Jessie Reyez

Apple Pie “I found you under an April sky, and you feel like city life, apple pie baked just right. Home is wherever you are tonight.” Lizzy McAlpine

August “ And I can see us twisted in bedsheets. August slipped away like a bottle of wine.’Cause you were never mine.” Taylor Swift

Bubble Gum “ Sorry I didn’t kiss you, but it’s obvious I wanted to.” Clairo

Caramel “ Love like a landslide, I kiss you goodnight. It used to be easy.” 5SOS

Cardigan “And when I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone's bed. You put me on and said I was your favorite.” Taylor Swift

Chai Tea “ I love sippin’ chai tea, with you across from me. I love hearing your voice, talkin ‘bout nothing.” Audrey

Champagne Problems “ You had a speech, you’re speechless. Love slipped beyond your reaches, and I couldn’t give a reason.” Taylor Swift

Chocolate “ I need more time off with you to turn you on. And I want to wake up without the alarm. A thousand eyes on me constantly, but I just want you.” Ziggy Alberts

Cinnamon “ It’s a slow cinnamon summer. Your spell is pulling me under. Rowing in a wooded hollow. Showing me the moves to follow.” Jome

Coffee Breath “ Make me fantasize,'bout you baby. And you smell so sweet, like fresh-picked daisies.” Sofia Mills 

Coffee Cup “ So we’re swapping our cups, and after a while, we’re swapping a glance. And I can think nothing better than starting the year with a drop of romance.” Anthony Lazaro

Espresso “ Now he’s thinkin’ ‘bout me every night, oh. Is it that sweet? I guess so. Say you can’t sleep, baby, I know. That’s that me espresso.” Sabrina Carpenter

Grapejuice “ I was on my way to buy some flowers for you. Thought that we could hide away in a corner of the heath. There’s never been someone who’s so perfect for me.” Harry Styles

Honey + Tea “Girls like flowers, clever poetry. That old adage doesn't work on me, but conversation and a cup of tea. Boy, you had me at philosophy.” Mōzi

Milk & Honey “ So come meet me in the garden, where the angels sing. We’re mixing up milk and honey, soft lips divine. Slow cherry and lay me down, oh, she’s coming to set me free.” Jessarae

Pancakes for Dinner “ I’ll try to hide the way I feel, but I’ll just wanna shout. What do I have to lose right now?” Lizzy McAlpine

Thin Mints “ If you let me lova ya like I wanna, write you all the poems like Whitman. You can take my Thin Mints, if you let me love ya like I wanna.” Evan Crommett

Too Sweet “ I think I’ll take my whiskey neat. My coffee black and my bed at three. You’re too sweet for me.” Hozier

playlist for the songs above can be found here: 🧸

to my lovely mutuals, please don’t feel pressured to participate or share, just thought I’d share this with you all ♡  

@peteyprecious616 ♡ @malum-forev ♡ @rosepetalsinwinter ♡ @inkedreverie ♡ @nickfowlerrr ♡ @missraion ♡ @pocolottie​ ♡ @sweetiebarnes ♡