#Thumbtack Book

[browsethestacks]

The Marvel Comics Art Of Wally Wood

Thumbtack Book (1982)

#Comics #Marvel Comics #Wally Wood #Artists #The Marvel Comics Art Of Wally Wood #Vintage #Art #Marvel #Books #Thumbtack Book #Fantasy #Horror #1982 #1980s #80s

[chiropteracupola]

Hildegard of Bingen's Theophany of Divine Love, 1174 / Tom Cardy and Brian David Gilbert's Beautiful Mind, 2023

#hildegardposting #incident called 'you are listening to tom cardy to help encourage your brain to get up and go and then you look across the room and see tha #there is an illustration from hildegard's book of divine works thumbtacked to your wall'

[comediakaidanovsky]

i’m so tired of hardcore matches being booked where only one side is actually into hardcore stuff?? like oooooh they’ve booked “guys who love being dragged through glass and have to be restrained from drinking their opponents blood” versus “guys who think blood is icky and don’t like to use weapons” for a carnage bloodbath fuckfest match, that should be a fun watch

#i mean shoutout to matt jackson for taking that nasty fucking thumbtack bump in anarchy in the arena #but both anarchy and blood and guts as match types have been so boring to me this year #also the fact that blood and guts wasn't booked for the women after the outcasts build is criminal #if it didn't culminate there what was even the fucking point #please ignore this i'm just in a mood lmao #maybe i should just watch some ecw and i'll feel better

[sluttish-armchair]

Had a 1984 book Revelation (that was absolutely a pun):

Mr. Goldstein supposedly was a very high-profile member who left “the party” and went on to publicly disprove the belief system… So assuming he isn’t a completely made-up lie………

Wouldn’t that make him their equivalent of Raymond Franz?

#I’ve got my thumbtacks and red string out lol #oh! and I found his book and downloaded it #yar har fiddley dee #I would support him but I need this book in my life NOW and I don’t wanna get burned at the stake for it #1984 book

[imissanthonybourdain]

finally almost finished w the gallery wall

#i have black heart shaped thumbtacks coming in on thursday #to hang my rosaries and pages of the book of margery kempe #tag urself i’m the anachronistic nightstand decor

[inkskinned]

i know some of the poets outside of their books, like cameron awkward-rich; who was my seminar teacher for a semester in grad school. you know him, he wrote about keeping his hand on the walls of his stupid heart. he gave us a journal without lines in it, so the pages were all blank and naked. we had to write down 3 words every day, ruminations on our own lives.

in pink glitter pen, i watched my handwriting cramp and spill from pristine and well-meaning to the slant of someone deeply suffering. the words stopped being lyrical over the course of february. bad, it said. bad and bad and bad. each day carving out a little bit of marrow, the sparrow of my heart acting as roadkill. that winter i was only allowed to eat apples, like a horse. my ocd had decided i could only touch food if it was red. i was sleeping on the floor and a spider bit me.

i wanted him to be my thesis advisor, but it was covid the next year, and we never spoke again, and i'm worried that i embarrassed myself by asking him repeatedly. for my final project in his class, i wrote about my disability. i called myself a rat, fondly.

his most famous poem is titled Meditations in an Emergency. i didn't know it until three weeks after i had graduated from that university.

at one point, he sat me down after class just to discuss some of my work. it was a night class, and we were all a little drowsy. he blinked up at me. i think sometimes the way you see the world is a little bit alarming. i wonder about that, in hindsight. i wonder if all of us who are walking on thumbtacks always recognize when someone else's spine is the undulating form of a siren. i could see it in him and you can see it in me, if you're looking.

yesterday nat said some of this is worrying.

i told cameron i was fine and i told nat i was fine, but i think maybe all of us had learned a long time ago how to be fine the way a poem is fine - because it happens outside of you. it can be honest, the confession, but it cannot be spelled out across your ribs. we make our art so that the sorrow can hang, limbless, trembling on the fetid walls beside us.

you learn to turn the ugliness into some kind of work, because you must smash the entire human experience of your stupid bones and teeth and tongue into something, so that you have anything to show for it. otherwise, what is the fucking point. why were you suffering, if not to polish the runoff and say - the melancholy is the signature of my art. i took the splinters out of my gums and filed them down into a thesis. the thesis has been turned into a book which is getting published.

cameron, to my knowledge, still has not read it.

i hope he has found his way out of the maze. i hope you and i one day write our own lanterns. i hope we are able to find some kind of peace without viscera. without having to fight for it. i hope we are able to stumble without falling. i hope one day the sky is empty of vultures and we can cross the desert of our memories without starving.

in the meantime we get up and leave the circled shadow in the writing.

#writeblr #warm up #idk what this is

[figonas]

I’m sorry but you all aren’t listening, lyctorhood itself is not the “indelible sin” and you can pry this theory from my cold dead hands, honestly, maybe not even then. TazMuir herself could not dissuade me until she explicitly tells me otherwise. My proof for this you ask? Pyrrha’s conversation with Varun in NtN chapter 9.

But let’s backtrack for a second. John has stated that the resurrection beasts are after him and the lyctors for committing the indelible sin of lyctorhood, and as such the lyctors can never return to the Dominican System for fear of drawing the RBs back to the Nine Houses. I’ve never believed this was true given the fact that John is always the greatest common denominator when it comes to the presence of an RB and there’s no mention of an RB going after a lone lyctor. Sure, lyctors have been killed fighting resurrection beasts but there’s a huge difference between being caught in the crossfire and starting a firefight. For me, Nona the Ninth only reinforced that what we’ve been told is the “indelible sin” is either John misunderstanding the RBs (doubtful) or lying for his own purposes (more likely).

In chapter 9 of NtN, Nona recounts the story of her disastrous beach trip and towards the end of this recitation Nona says that Pyrrha;

“…crossed to the taped-up window, bottle and glass in hand. To Nona’s awe, she twitched the blackout curtains aside—stood bathed in the hyper-blue light from the sky as Nona held her breath—and she said to the window, “Here’s to Camilla Hect, yet another of devotion’s casualties,” and knocked back the glass. Then she said to the light, quite gently, “No, I don’t blame you, man … He was always looking for things to throw himself on.”

Pyrrha stands in front of Nona, bathed in the light of Varun the Eater, and proceeds to have a conversation with it. We only get one side but based on the context of the last line, “No, I don’t blame you, man … He was always looking for things to throw himself on.” Varun seemingly apologizes to Pyrrha for killing G1deon. It’s proven later on in the book that Varun can speak to Nona, and while it could be argued that since G1deon is dead and his soul is gone the “indelible sin” has been undone this still begs the question; why would the punisher apologize to the sinner?

If Varun and the other RBs are hunting the lyctors to dole out justice for their sins why would they apologize for doing the very thing they sought to do unless that wasn’t their true intent. The “indelible sin” is not the consumption of another soul, it is the consumption of a specific soul. It is John taking Alecto into himself, not being able to house all of her and instead making an exchange. Housing a piece of her in him, and a piece of him in her. Splintering the soul of a great and terrible force into manageable parts. Which explains Varun’s ominous presence hanging over the planet in the first place.

If RBs are hunting Lyctors there are no lyctors on this planet. Palamedes has not consumed Camilla’s soul, G1deon is gone, Harrow is in the River, Gideon is thumbtacked to her dead body, the only soul of any significance to Varun is Nona. Later on in chapter 13 Varun, by way of Judith, says to Nona;

“…what they did to you and what they wrung from you and what shape they made you fill—we see you still—we seek you still—we murdered—we who murder—you inadvertent tool—you misused green thing—come back to us—take vengeance for us—we saw you—we see you—I see you.”

And in chapter 27,

“….what did he do to you, to make you this way.”

What did HE do to you!!! what did HE do to YOU!! To give John credit he doesn’t deserve he may not realize it himself but the RBs have been looking for Alecto this whole time. They don’t want the lyctors, they want what John stole, they want the piece of Alecto inside of him. Want to make her whole again, their misused green thing. She’s almost there. She has her piece back from harrow’s body, united with the piece of her hidden in the locked tomb. She only has 1 piece left to collect. And god knows what will happen when the green and breathing thing is whole once again.

#the locked tomb #Nona the ninth #john gaius #alecto the first #tlt #tlt theories #this has been rattling around in my brain since Gideon the Ninth #John’s explanation of the RBs just doesn’t add up #and you know he has to be lying about it because he straight up lies to Harrow about the number of RBs in HtN

[bruisedark]

genuinely what the fuck is up with all these people recently just posting pictures and pointless quotes (often stolen, ofc) to a billion random tags???? the tag system on here was already fucked, but this is making it virtually unusable. do you know how insufferable that makes you look, also. 

#personal #don't even get me STARTED on ppl tagging their selfies with book titles and shit #i am going to build a machine that will turn your blood into thumbtacks

[hbyrde36]

Chapter 1: Under My Skin

Written for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang

Art (coming soon!) by @glitterfang

Beta'd by @penny00dreadful

Rating: E | WC: 5937 | Chapters: 1/2 | AO3 Link

Not for the first time, Eddie was really regretting his decision to book a client on a Friday night, and a new client at that. 

It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do, exactly. There were no dates on his calendar, and going out to random bars and clubs on the weekends to look for quick hookups had begun losing its appeal lately.

But it’d been a long week, and he’d much rather have been getting ready to plop down on the couch with Chrissy to split a bottle of red wine while they watched Drag Race, than preparing to do a cover up for some idiot who’d gotten his girlfriend’s name tattooed on his body, only to fall victim to—The Curse. 

Ask any tattoo artist and they’d be the first to tell you, there was no surer way to guarantee a breakup than to ink your significant other’s name on your body forever. 

And yeah, it probably wasn’t fair to judge the guy before they’d even met, but there were only two kinds of people who tended to make that particular mistake—dumbasses, and hopeless romantics. He just kind of assumed his client fell into the former camp, rather than the latter.

Eddie had just started wiping down the front desk counter, which doubled as a display case for the various accessories and body jewelry they carried trying to kill some time between his last appointment and cover-up-guy, when Chrissy came walking out of her studio.

It was one of the biggest perks, in his opinion, of owning their own shop. Not only did each of them finally have their own work spaces—no more having to listen to other client conversations or fighting over a single bluetooth speaker—but being their own bosses also meant they could decorate and customize their own studios to their heart’s content. 

The main area of the shop was a bit of a catch-all, much like his and Chrissy’s shared apartment. It featured neutral walls lined with a mishmash of all the things they loved, sprinkled in and amongst odd antiques, knick-knacks, and various pieces of unique artwork. There was everything from vintage vinyl record jackets tacked to the wall, to faux taxidermy mountings of creatures that had never existed in real life. 

Entering Chrissy’s studio was a little like stepping inside a Lisa Frank notebook cover. All vibrant rainbow colors and aggressive animal print. Eddie had painted the walls himself, color matching the exact shade of fuchsia as the adjustable chair he’d custom ordered just for her. He was no interior designer so she’d taken it from there, and though the finished product was a little too bright for his tastes, even he had to admit it was still pretty fucking metal. 

Eddie’s space was the polar opposite, featuring dark stained wood furniture and a style of decor that could be best described as a slightly more grown up version of a teenage boy's bedroom. Band and movie posters lined three of the walls, but instead of being held up with thumbtacks, or scotch tape, they were neatly laid in matching frames with thick black edging. The remaining wall held a gallery of photos. Him and Wayne from their last fishing trip, one from when he and Chrissy had received the keys to the parlor unlocking its doors on the first day that it was theirs, and an old snap of him and his high school bandmates standing in front of their homemade banner, among many others.

It wasn’t until Chrissy came up to lean on the counter with her jacket zipped-up and her purse slung over her shoulder that he realized something was up.

“Don’t forget to lock up when you're done.” She said, tapping her nails on the glass. “Oh! And can you stop and pick up some oat milk on your way home? We’re out.” 

“Wait, where are you going? Didn’t you have a client booked tonight too? I thought we were in this together, Cunningham!”

“Not anymore.” She said cheerfully, leaning across the counter to rest her elbows on the glass, leaving an ink smudge on the exact spot he had just finished cleaning. He swatted at her with the damp rag and she jerked back with a giggling-gasp.

“Mine had to cancel.”

Eddie groaned. “I hate when clients do that.”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. It’s like a free night off I wasn’t expecting.”

“Not exactly free, since canceling means not paying in full.” He grumbled.

“Oh lighten up! It’s not like we’re that behind on bills or anything.”

“Tell that to the electric company.” He said, mostly to tease her, though he couldn't help glancing up at the excessively large and kitschy skull chandelier he’d found on Amazon that definitely didn’t use high efficiency light bulbs, but he had sworn at the time was worth it for The Aesthetic™.

“Why are you always so grumpy?” Chrissy asked, jutting her lip out in a dramatic reenactment of him pouting. 

Not that he was one to pout. 

“I’m not!”

“Look at your face, you're grumpy right now!”

“That's because y- you’re…” He cut himself off with a sigh. 

He couldn't begrudge her the time off, he’d be hightailing it out of there just the same if it had been him. 

“Just get out of here.” He said, conceding defeat.

She beamed. “Okay! See you later!” She said, all but sprinting to the front doors. “Don’t forget about the milk!”

“Wait, why can’t you–” He started to ask, but she was on the other side of the door before he could get the words out.

“Oh forget it.” He mumbled, stashing the glass cleaner away where it belonged. 

About fifteen minutes later the bell above the door chimed, signaling the arrival of what Eddie assumed to be his last customer of the day. 

Except, it couldn't be.

It couldn’t possibly be because the Adonis that had just entered his humble tattoo parlor was, quite frankly, bonkers hot. There was no way, absolutely no way someone had this guy—this guy—so obsessed with them that he went and got their name tattooed on his perfect body and then just… let him go. 

It was unthinkable.

“Hi, you must be Eddie. I recognized you from your Instagram.” Pretty-boy said with a shy smile.

“Steve?” Eddie asked, blinking hard, completely unable to mask the tone of disbelief.

The other man nodded.

Shit, okay.

So this was him—Steeeeeeve Harrington. This was the guy. 

Maybe there was something wrong with him? There had to be a catch, a series of very red flags or something because all Eddie could think about at that moment was, if he ever got a chance with Steve? He’d never let him go. 

Get it together, Munson!

The bright side, of a sort, was that Steve smacked of straight guy energy, so it was unlikely Eddie would even be in the running for a chance anyway. Better to just put it out of his mind.

Though, he supposed he could still… look. It's not like looking ever hurt anyone. Not that he made a habit out of ogling the clientele. Of course, none of his other customers had ever come in wearing vintage Levi’s that fit their ass like a glove, not to mention the way they fit around his–

“Eddie?”

Fuck. 

Had Steve been talking this whole time while he’d been off daydreaming about what those sinfully tight jeans might look like on his bedroom floor?

“Yeah.” A soft chuckle fell from Eddie’s lips as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “S- sorry, man. Spaced out for a second there I guess.” 

What the fuck was wrong with him today?!

“It’s okay. I was just asking if the plan was still the same? In your last email you suggested we should do this over two appointments.”

Work question… yes, good. Focus on the job! 

“Right. With what we talked about I'd like to concentrate on just the outline today, maybe a little shading, and then in six weeks or so once that’s healed have you come back for the color. If you’re still alright with that?”

Eddie could do the whole thing in one shot if Steve really wanted to sit that long, but with something like this he didn't want to feel rushed. He’d done a few concept sketches after emailing back and forth with Steve about what he was looking for, and honestly what they’d come up with wasn’t really his usual style. He could do it, he was more than capable, but he had to wonder why Steve had picked him, out of all the tattoo artists in the city. He’d seen Eddie’s Instagram, so he knew the kind of work he usually churned out. Hell, Chrissy would have been the more obvious choice for this.

Of course, now that he’d gotten an eye-full of Steve in person he was glad he hadn’t tried to pawn him off on her. He was also really hoping Steve would agree to the split sessions, it would give them an excuse to see each other again.

“Whatever you think is best. I’m putting myself in your expert hands.” Steve said, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks.

That was… interesting. 

Maybe Eddie had been a little bit hasty in his initial straight assessment?

Steve’s deposit had been paid, and they’d already gone over pricing through email so there wasn't much to discuss as far as that was concerned, After signing some paperwork and getting the other man’s ID scanned into the system there was nothing left to do but walk Steve back to his studio and get this show on the road.

“You can go ahead and take your shirt off, get comfortable. I’ll show you the stencil I drew up and if it looks good we can put it on and get started.” Eddie said, gesturing to his client chair.

He leaned over his desk while Steve got situated, taking a second to gather his thoughts, as well as add a small finishing touch to the transfer sketch before turning back to his client. The sight made his throat go dry. 

It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. 

At Eddie's direction, in preparation, Steve had shaved his chest. More specifically, Steve had shaved half of his chest. The side Eddie would be working on, that sported the existing tattoo, was bare—smooth as a baby's bottom. The other side was… 

It was…

Jesus Christ.

It should have looked ridiculous actually, and it was a little funny, but honestly all Eddie could think when he stared at the untrimmed side of Steve's upper body, resplendent with the most glorious chest hair, was that it was a travesty, a crime even, that he’d never get to see the whole thing grown out in its full glory. 

The lack of a shirt also highlighted the fact that Steve was incredibly toned, much more so than he had initially appeared even through his slim fit henley. 

Eddie shook his head, praying it had suddenly become an etch-a-sketch and he could clear out his thoughts by sheer force. 

He truly didn’t know what had gotten into him. It was hardly the first time he’d worked on someone he found attractive, but usually he didn’t notice it quite this much. When you pierce and tattoo for a living you get used to seeing a lot of bare skin, including occasionally, areas typically reserved for romantic partners. Professional hazzard, but it’d never been a problem for him before. He was an artist, this was his craft, and bare skin was just another kind of canvas.

He blamed it on his current dry spell, self-imposed as it was. 

It was easy enough to go out on a Saturday and find a guy or girl to bring home for the night, but he was so tired of one night stands and meaningless hookups in bar bathrooms. Where was the substance? He wanted companionship. He wanted a partner. He wanted to fall in love. 

Eddie cleared his throat and crossed the room to hand Steve the stencil, busying himself with raising up his stool to the proper height and pulling on a pair of thick black neoprene gloves while the other man looked it over.  

“It’s great.” Steve said. 

“Good.” Eddie quietly let out the breath he’d been holding. “Alright I'm gonna put this on and have you take a look at the placement, make sure you like it, then we can get started.”

Eddie squeezed out a dime sized amount of the stencil gel and rubbed it into Steve’s chest, laying the transfer paper down in just the right way so that the final design would sufficiently cover what was underneath, assuming he had scaled it right. 

It was perfect. After a quick check in the mirror, Steve agreed. 

While they waited for it to dry Eddie double checked his set up to make sure he had everything he would need for the session.

“Ready to get started?”

Steve took a deep breath and blew it out slow. “Yeah. I am.”

His reply felt heavy, like maybe he was talking about more than just the tattoo. Had they known each other at all Eddie might have asked about it, but they were basically strangers, and it wasn’t his job to pry. 

With steady hands he set the needle to Steve's skin and got to work. 

They weren’t at it for very long before Steve started to squirm. 

Eddie ignored it at first, he could tell the guy was trying hard to keep himself still, and he wasn’t really moving enough to actually disturb the work. Sometimes it took a bit for clients to sink into the feeling, to let the pain fade to the background enough that they could relax a little bit or at least be able to keep their body from trying to react to the odd sensation. But then he noticed the light sheen of sweat spreading over Steve's upper body, and would have sworn he could somehow feel the other man’s pulse quickening beneath the hand he had pressed so closely to his heart, even over the vibration of the tattoo machine.

He should probably stop and do a check-in, suggest a breather or some water. It wouldn't be the first time a seemingly tough muscle-bound guy had struggled to sit for him. 

He opened his mouth to say something about it, lifting the needle as he took a quick glance up at Steve’s face, but what he saw had the words dying on his tongue. Steve was staring back at him, face flushed, breath coming quick and shallow, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. 

That… did not look like a face that was in pain—or rather—it didn’t seem like the pain was unpleasant. 

Fuck.

Eddie flicked his gaze quickly back down to his hands, the needle, fighting the urge to look lower. 

He shouldn’t. 

It wasn’t right.

The professional thing to do would be to ignore the reaction completely. 

But Eddie was a weak, weak man.

He looked. 

Just a quick peek, less than a half-second that his eyes wandered south, and immediately he regretted it. 

Oh fuck, fuck, fuuuck.

Suspicion confirmed. Steve was hard. He was also huge if the unmistakable outline was any indication. Eddie bit his tongue, fighting back the groan that was trying to fight its way out of his throat. 

Those jeans should be fucking illegal. The only thing worse would’ve been a pair of gray sweatpants. Now he was the one sweating.

“Sorry.” Steve said, voice strained.

Eddie stilled, lifting the machine away from Steve's chest again before looking back up to meet his eyes. 

“For?”

Steve raised an eyebrow, challenging him to continue to pretend he hadn’t noticed. 

“It’s fine, really. It… happens. Everyone reacts differently to the pain.”

Steve let out a high pitched and breathy huff of laughter. “It wasn’t like this last time.” He muttered under his breath.

Eddie tried hard not to read into that, not to think about what the difference might be.

“Do you need to take a break?” 

“No,” Steve swallowed hard. Eddie watched, momentarily mesmerized by the bob of his adams apple. “But, uh, can we talk or something? To distract me?”

He sounded so vulnerable, and a little embarrassed. It was enough to snap Eddie out of his daze. The last thing he wanted was for the person in his chair to feel uncomfortable. Talking he could do, it was one of his best things. 

“Sure, what do you want to talk about?” Eddie asked casually, getting right back into his line work.

“You.” Steve answered quickly, pausing to clear his throat. “Um, I mean, did you always want to be a tattoo artist?”

Eddie chuckled. “Yeah, pretty much. I used to spend all my time, including the time I should have been using to study or do my homework, drawing, sketching, painting, you name it, and it just kinda developed from there. I gave myself my first stick-and-poke when I was about 15. My uncle was pissed. Not about the tattoo exactly, but he was worried I wasn't being safe enough about it—sanitary and stuff. Of course, he wasn’t wrong. So, Wayne took me out the next day and we got a book about it, and he bought me all the right materials. Even let me practice on him when I graduated to a tattoo machine.”

“He sounds like a really great guy.” Steve said.

“Yeah, he is.” Eddie could feel the wistful smile spreading across his own face. “Not just anyone could step in and raise someone else’s kid like that. Just wish I got to see him more. I go back to Indiana to visit him a few times a year, but it’s not the same.”

“I don’t see my family very much either, but we’re not close.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. My parents, they’re–” Steve trailed off as if looking for the right words. “Well, let's just say they're not as supportive of my—life choices, as your uncle was for you.”

“Oh?”

“I, uh, came out to them a while ago… as bisexual? They didn’t take it very well. Said I was just going through some kind of phase or crisis or something. Sorry, this is probably, like, way too much information to share with someone I just met.”

“No. it’s—Okay, maybe to a normal person it might be but I've never been what anyone would describe as normal. And… I get it.”

Eddie didn’t really have to say it. The outside of the shop sported every kind of pride flag you could think of. There were pictures right behind him on the wall of him and Chrissy at their first ever pride parade right here in the city. Not to mention his social media profiles, where he had a bi  flag right next to his age and pronouns in his bio. Steve knew, was the point, and Eddie was glad he’d felt safe enough in his shop—with him, to talk about it.

“Wayne was really good about that too.” Eddie said softly. “I’m sorry your parents weren’t.”

A comfortable silence settled between them after that and Eddie left it unbroken, better to let Steve decide which direction their conversation went from here—if he wanted to continue it. He seemed more relaxed already and his… predicament had mercifully gone down as they spoke. 

“When did you—how did you… know?“ Steve asked after a while.

“Junior High.” Eddie answered quickly, smiling to himself as he indulged in a little nostalgia. “Kinda the opposite of the usual story, I guess. I thought I was gay. I had such a crush on this boy a grade above me.  Nobody that would have given me the time of day mind you, I was a band geek and a huge nerd, but he was very nice to look at. Then he changed schools. I was heartbroken of course, which is my excuse for why I let this girl drag me under the bleachers during gym class. One second we were just sitting there talking and the next she was in my lap with her tongue down my throat.” 

“And?”

Eddie shrugged. “And I didn’t hate it. I reacted exactly the way a young boy reacts when a pretty girl is kissing them and grinding in their lap. Honestly, it blew my mind a little bit—had to reevaluate my whole world view.”

Steve hummed in understanding.

“It’s still mostly men for me but–” Eddie sighed wistfully, “Women.”

“Women,” Steve agreed reverently, letting out a soft laugh. “It was a bit more recent for me. A friend took me to a gay bar—dragged me there actually.” He started to shake his head, stopping instantly when he seemed to realize he might be moving too much.

Good boy.

Eddie smirked. “I bet you were popular.”

“You could say that. I’ve never had so many people offer to buy me a drink in my life.” As Steve went on he began to rub his hand along the chair's armrest, mindlessly drawing patterns into its surface with his long fingers.

“It’s funny, at 25 I didn’t think I had anything new to discover about myself, at least nothing big, but after that rather eye-opening evening I had to, like you said, reevaluate some things about myself. It wasn’t a huge shock I guess. Like, I had found guys attractive before—friends, celebrities, whatever, I just thought everyone felt that way.”

“Ah, the bisexual’s fallacy. Sure I think about other dudes sometimes, but only the normal amount.” Eddie said.

“How was I supposed to know it wasn’t!”

Eddie stopped tattooing as they held each other's gaze, both managing to keep a straight face for only a second before simultaneously dissolving into hysterical laughter. 

Figuring it was as good a time as any to take a short break, Eddie stripped his gloves off and slid across the room on his stool to a small mini-fridge he kept tucked under his desk, stocked with water and juice—something he always kept on hand in case a client got lightheaded.

As they sipped their drinks and both took an opportunity to stretch, Eddie decided it was finally time to put his foot in his mouth.

“So, how are you enjoying things on this side of the field? Someone as pretty as you, I'm sure you get asked out a lot.”

“No, uh, I don't know. I- I haven't really been out on any dates with guys.” Steve stuttered out nervously. “Kissed a few, but that’s all.” 

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Eddie said. He meant it too. Not only was Steve something special to look at, but he seemed like a nice enough guy. He deserved to be taken out and shown a good time. Maybe he was shy.

Steve laid back in the chair, puffing his chest out as he got back into position while Eddie slipped a new pair of gloves on. 

“Why, you offering to show me the ropes?” Steve asked, pointedly raising an eyebrow.

Eddie’s mouth went dry. 

Okay, not that shy then. Surely it was just fun friendly flirting though, right?

“Don’t tempt me.” Eddie teased back. Two could play this game.

“Why not?”

“First rule of the trade, or at least the Munson doctrine, no dating the clients.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Steve said, and without even looking up Eddie could hear the smile in his voice, a hint of–challenge accepted–in his tone.

The next hour flew by as they continued to chat, both remarking on the differences between small town life and city life, as well as lamenting how expensive it was, and how neither of them thought they’d still be living with roommates in their mid-to-late-20's.

For a while Eddie waxed poetic about Chrissy, who of course filled the roles of bestie, roommate, and business partner, which tickled Steve to no end. 

He told the other man how they’d met, apprenticing at the same tattoo parlor at around the same time. and wound up bonding for life almost immediately. They were total opposites on the surface but deep down they were remarkably similar. Eddie didn’t go into too much detail, as it wasn’t his story to tell, but alluded to the fact that he and Chrissy had the shared experience of being born to shitty parents, only to be raised by another family member. A grandmother in Chrissy’s case.

It meant that they understood each other more than most, and yeah, being around one another 24/7 also meant they got on each other’s nerves a lot, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

At some point Steve’s cell phone began to ring from where it was shoved in his front pocket. He apologized profusely for forgetting to switch it on silent before they’d gotten started, but Eddie assured him it wasn’t a big deal. 

Or—it wouldn't have been, except either it was some kind of emergency, or someone who was intent on reaching Steve immediately, and continued trying to call three more times. 

“We can take a break if you need to get that.” Eddie offered.

Truth be told he could use a little breather himself. All this time of being essentially face down in Steve’s incredible chest was getting to him a little bit, not to mention the way his forearm lightly brushed along Steve's stomach whenever he braced himself across the man’s body. The feel of their bare skin touching was almost too much, and more than once Eddie felt himself breaking out in goosebumps. 

“Yeah, I think we’d better. It’s gotta be my little brother and knowing him he won’t stop calling until I answer.”

Eddie busied himself removing his gloves and taking a long drink from his water bottle while he flipped through a few drawings on his side table, trying to look like he wasn’t hearing every word of Steve's side of the conversation. 

“Hey buddy, I'm a little busy right now. What’s going on?” 

Steve paused, listening attentively to the voice on the other end of the call. 

“Dustin, he’s not abandoning you. Just because he wants–”

Sighing as he was abruptly interrupted, Steve somehow made the huff of breath sound both annoyed and fond.

“Well, did he actually say he didn’t want to play D&D with you anymore?” 

Eddie’s head snapped up of its own volition. Did the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen in real life just say D&D?

“That’s what I thought.” Steve said with a satisfied tone. “It's gonna be fine. I’ll come see you tomorrow, okay? Tell your mom I said hi.”

“Sorry about that.” Steve said, addressing Eddie this time, rolling his eyes as he ended the call. “Teenagers.”

“Pretty cool little brother if he plays Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Oh no.” Steve groaned. “Not you too! He and all his little friends are obsessed with it.”

“I used to play all the time with a group back in high school. We still try and get together for a one-shot at the holidays when we’re all back home visiting.” Eddie paused, concentrating for a second on wiggling his fingers into yet another set of gloves. There wasn’t really all that much left to do, another 20 minutes or so and he’d be done with the outline. “Was he alright, your brother?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine.” Steve replied as he sat back, getting into position. “We, uh, technically we’re not actually related—I'm an only child. But I used to babysit Dustin when he was younger and when he grew up I just sorta stuck around. It’s only him and his mom at home and I guess I thought… I dunno, like, maybe I could help? I drove him to his first school dance, taught him how to do his hair, shave, that kinda stuff.”

“That's… that’s really sweet, man. I’m sure he appreciates having you around.”

With every new thing he learned about Steve, Eddie felt like he was in deeper and deeper trouble. He’d been having a tough enough time keeping it together with simply lusting over a hot body, but now Steve was turning out to be this sweetheart of a guy and, client or not, Eddie thought he might just be worth breaking all the rules for. 

“He’s worried his friend group is falling apart because one of the guys is going out for the basketball team. He’s afraid if Lucas gets in good with the jocks he won’t want to play with them anymore.”

“As a former outcast and enemy to jocks everywhere, I can understand his concern.” 

“Are you saying we wouldn't have been friends in high school then?”

“Steve, Stevie, please. Please don’t tell me…” Eddie trailed off, stopping what he was doing and gasping for dramatic effect–hand over his heart. “Oh god, you were captain of the sportsball team weren’t you?” 

Steve giggled, his beautiful eyes sparkling with it. “Basketball, to be exact. I was the co-captain of the swim team too.”

“I knew it would never work between us.” Eddie tutted, shaking his head as he got back to tattooing. “Are you reformed, at least?”

“Once a jock, always a jock, I'm afraid. I’m a personal trainer now.”

It explained a lot, and the perks—pun absolutely intended—of Steve's day job were undeniable, but as hot as the mental image of him pumping iron was, the idea of Steve palling around with toxic gym bros all day was almost enough to have Eddie second guessing everything.

“Don’t worry though, I don’t like gym bros any more than the next guy.” Steve said conspiratorially. “My clients are mainly older women looking to maintain their strength and mobility as they age.”

Aaaaand Eddie stood corrected. “Lucky ladies.”

Jesus Christ, could this guy get any more perfect?

Steve shifted in his seat, starting to get antsy after keeeping still for so long. 

“Just a few more minutes, almost done.” Eddie murmured, tongue between his teeth as he concentrated on a spot near the curve of Steve’s collarbone.

“Do you do a lot of these? Cover-ups I mean?” Steve asked. “My roommate is the one who actually suggested it. For some reason I just never thought about it as an option.”

“I don’t know if i’d say a lot, but a fair few, yeah.”

“You, um. You can ask about it… If you want.”

Eddie glanced up in surprise. He would never have brought it up without being prompted, it just didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t deny he was curious, and if Steve was okay with it then–

“Okay, I'll bite. Who’s Nancy?”

“My fiance’. Well, ex-fiance’ now. We broke things off a little over a year ago.”

“That’s rough, I'm sorry.”

“It’s okay. Honestly, It’s… I should have probably seen it coming? We were high school sweethearts—got together before we really knew who we were on our own. But I was dumb and in love. I got the tattoo and proposed. I was so happy that day, but looking back it was so obvious that she’d only said yes out of pity or guilt, not because she really wanted to spend the rest of her life with me.”

The part of Eddie that believed in true love—and all that cheesy shit—was sad that a couple who had been together for so long, who had essentially grown up together, hadn’t been able to make it work. Selfishly though, a small piece of him was happy to learn that they’d been broken up for quite some time, lessening the chance that, if he did somehow gather the courage to ask Steve out when the tattoo was done, he wouldn’t be on the rebound.

“It was tough. I felt like a failure for a long time, like I was having to start my whole life over from scratch when I'd thought for so long that she was it for me, but it's actually been… good. We weren’t right for eachother, I can see that now. As much as it hurt, I'm grateful she had the courage to break things off when she did.”

“I’m glad you’ve been able to come to peace with it.”

“Getting this tattoo feels like the final step into letting that life go, y’know?”

Eddie nodded. Steve’s demeanor before they got started made so much sense now.

“Is there some significance to the design?” He asked, making his final line and setting the machine down. He wiped at the excess ink on Steve's skin, raising his head just in time to see the way the other man’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, Robin. She–she’s everything to me. Like a best friend, but more somehow. I don’t think I really knew what unconditional love was before her. She’s like, another piece of my soul or something. I don’t know what I would do without her.”

Eddie froze. 

The tattoo design was a bird—a robin.

A robin.

For, Robin.

How could he have been so stupid! 

Of course, Steve was getting one girl’s name covered up with something to represent the new one. 

Jesus Christ, they were both idiots.

Eddie for getting his hopes up, and Steve for making the same mistake—twice. At least this time it was a symbol and not a name, so if he and the latest potential Mrs. Harrington didn’t work out, at least he wouldn't have to worry about covering it up.

“Everything alright?” Steve asked.

The question spurred Eddie back into action. He spread the foam soap over Steve’s chest continuing to clean the finished tattoo while his heart crawled up into his throat. 

“Yup. All good.” Eddie forced the words out.

That's what Steve must have meant about not going on dates, he already had someone at home. Why hadn’t he just said that before though? And why had he flirted with him? 

Maybe he’d felt funny at first about admitting to being with a woman after all the talk about being bisexual. Not that Eddie would have judged, but he knew a lot of people did—bi erasure was so real. He understood that, but it didn’t make it hurt any less that Steve had, inadvertently or not, lead him on. 

Eddie gently patted the newly cleaned skin dry with a paper towel and carefully applied a square of Saniderm over the area, smoothing it out as he gave Steve his usual spiel, albeit a little robotically, about how to care for the tattoo over the coming days and weeks.

He quickly turned his back when he was done, telling Steve he could get dressed, and feeling stupid as all hell for being this upset about a guy he barely knew. He’d felt something though, potential—a spark. It was more than he’d felt for anyone in a long time.

Steve got quiet, looking a little confused with the sudden 180° Eddie’s mood had pulled. He felt a little bad about that as he brought the guy back out to the counter, but it wasn’t as though he’d suddenly become unprofessional. He was just… no longer being overly friendly.

After confirming the date for his second session, Steve paid his balance and Eddie walked him to the door.  

“Have a good night, Steve. Call the shop if you have any concerns or questions about aftercare.”

Steve bit his lip. “Oh, I… okay. See you in six weeks then.”

Eddie forced a smile, waiting until Steve was out of sight around the corner to lock up, and slunk back to his studio to disinfect it so he could finally go home and sulk.

Chapter 2

All my thanks to @penny00dreadful for all of your wonderful beta work, and cheerleading, and support, and just generally being THE BEST 💜

#steddie fanfic #stranger things reverse big bang #steddie #tattoo artist eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fic #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #tattoo artist chrissy cunningham

[adorkastock]

Im an artist trying to take my own pose references for some difficult art, any advice on how to do it right?

Oh gosh I've been meaning to do a big post about this and I will at some point but for now here's the basic basics:

decent lighting - doesn't even have to be 'good' just decent. I used to use light through a slider door, directional will help show the forms. If windows aren't an option some directional lamps could help.

I do form fitting lightly colored clothing because I find it easiest to see what I need. Biking shorts, sports bras, fitted tanks, yoga pants, etc.

Contrasting solid colored backdrop - in my oldest photos this was a blue sheet hung behind me with thumbtacks. Make sure it contrasts both your skin tone and the clothing so you don't wash out anything.

Timer for your camera - most people will use cell phones which are all pretty good enough these days for ref. I know Android cameras have an option to open you hand and close it to set off the remote timer so check what your phone can do. Worst case set the timer and run back if there's not a remote setting. I did this for YEARS. :')

if you want a 'straight on' look with no foreshortening or perspective then you want the camera probably about 6ft away from you and as vertical as possible. Get fancy with boxes and books to prop it up if you need to.

The lens should be around or just above belly button height to eliminate foreshortening. If you WANT foreshortening just mess with the angle and placement of the lens. If you have a wide angle lens that can do some really cool stuff with low and high perspective.

Don't forget your face. Getting the pose is a nice start but future you will appreciate it if you can get a little into character with your expression too.

Okay I think that's all the very basics and I hope this helps! Obv if you have a friend, sibling, parent, roommate, s/o, whatever around they can help you get any very specific angle the way you need it. I hope you make great refs!!! Happy posing, happy drawing! 🕺🏻📸

#ask adorkastock #how to take pose references #DIY #artist help

[satorqn]

needle through his heart

geto is such a luvrboy he would do anything for u // hs time bc im in love

“yo, can i pierce your ears?” you peer over your book to meet suguru’s gaze, he too peering over his own book from the opposite side of the bed. 

“hmm,” he hums in contemplation as he notes the page he’s on before closing his book, setting it in his lap. “sure.” 

suguru would never in a million years, admit to anyone how tightly you have him wrapped around your finger; he’s like a puppet and with your every smile, laugh, plea and beg has him jerked and pulled into your grasp. he’ll also never admit how much he also enjoys your stupid ideas. because seriously, what the hell are you going to pierce his ears with? he doesn’t even own a pair of earrings! but his book was getting extremely dry and while he cherishes even the quietest, most mundane moments with you, he was getting bored. but if he were to ever give more than a deadpan “yeah, sure, i guess.” it would only enable more antics and that’s pushing it. 

suguru watches as you shuffle around his room, looking for god knows what. you kick aside a dirty t-shirt, making room to pull out the chair tucked into his desk. “what’re you looking for?” he continues watching as you pull through drawer after drawer, pushing aside pencils, paper-clips, stray post-it notes and paper scraps. 

“you got a thumbtack?” 

“oooh hell no,” 

you swivel around on the chair, a wide smile plastered on your face. in your hand, a small, bright pink thumbtack, no doubt stolen from ieiri. “ohh hell yeah.” 

you giggle your way over back to the bed, the thumbtack pinched and held like some sort of trophy. even suguru can’t fend off the growing smile on his face, watching you prance over to him. 

taking the book off his lap, you replace its spot. “hey.” suguru smiles up at you, his hands perched on your hips, thumbs absentmindedly tracing circles into your warm skin. 

“i’m gonna wing this.” you declare, free hand coming up to cradle suguru’s face. he, ever so slightly, leans into your touch. you can feel him hum of satisfaction as your finger traces a line from his cheek, down his jaw, and finally his ear lobe. his gaze never leaves your face, you can feel it, as you note an imaginary dot on the center of his lobe and bring the sharp tip of the thumbtack to it. 

“go for it, baby.” it’s almost like a purr, from deep within his chest and it makes all the blood in your body rush to your own cheeks and ears. 

even your hands start shaking. suguru’s always got a way to make you flustered, no matter how long you’ve been dating. your hands drop from his ears and into your lap as you try to hide your face in the crook of his neck in an attempt to hide the blush blooming across your cheeks. “don’t call me that.” it’s muffled into his sweater. “i’m the one with the weapon here.” you weakly hold up the bubblegum pink thumbtack, the short needle shining, catching the sunlight just right. you get a 2/10 on the menacing scale (+1 for effort,  honorary +1 because he loves you). 

you feel him chuckle against you, his hands moving to rest on your thighs. “sorry, won’t happen again baby.” 

“not after i stab you, it wont.” 

“yeah, yeah...”

you bring your attention back to the thumbtack and suguru’s ear, bringing the needle against his skin. “can i use your book to catch the back?” you’re already eyeing the book resting besides you, the hardcover shiny and brand new. he just bought it the other day, for full price. 

“yeah, go ahead.” 

needle in place, book behind his ear, you meet eyes with suguru. “you sure?”

“so sure.” 

“you ready?”

“so ready.” 

under the early morning light, suguru looks ethereal. long, dark hair splayed all around him, soft, steady breaths as he sleeps peacefully. it’s as if you trained your internal clock to wake up before your lover, just so you can steal a few quiet moments to just admire; admire the rise of his cheekbones, the fullness of his cheeks, the dip of his jaw. you gently run your fingers along his features before slowly combing through his hair, working out the knots. 

a particularly harsh tug elicits a deep groan from suguru, waking him from his slumber. he mutters a groggy “good morning” as his arms snake around you to pull you impossible close into his chest and you can’t help but to smile. you continue to play with his hair, before the glimmer of his earring catches your attention. 

you trace the dark jewelry, twisting it in the process. “did it hurt, when i stabbed you?” 

suguru is nearly curled into you, face tucked against your collarbone. he shakes his head, “i’ve felt worse.” 

an: ragagagag many thoughts rn || i’ve had this idea forever, initially for yoshida (csm) bc he has hella piercings but tbh not many ppl know him so </3 || inspired by that one super old dolan twins video where they literally stab hella thumbtacks into their ears lmfaoo || ik this is kinda shit but im just procrastinating studying for chem even tho i should bc im def gonna fail hehe || i was also going to say dont pierce your ears by yourself but thats what i do so just dont do it with a thumbtack lol

#geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #geto #geto x reader #geto fluff #suguru x reader #suguru fluff #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #getou suguru x y/n

[outalongtheedges]

Goose On Film

Part 2

“Oh so that’s where that picture went”, Maverick mumbled more to himself than to anyone in particular.

Not that the others would’ve cared much about what he had to say about an old picture on a corkboard in the Bradshaw’s study.

“Interesting. I thought I had lost that one”, Slider’s wife suddenly said beside him. “Should’ve known Goose took it back.”

Maverick nodded before reaching up to take the picture of him and Ice off the board. He’s had it inside of his wallet for the better part of 10 years before he had ‘lost it’.

“What do you think you’re doing there, Maverick?!”, Goose slapped his wrist before he could reach the picture. “It’s mine!”

Okay so to be fair Goose did take the picture and he also paid for them to be printed out but it still was a picture of Ice and Mav. So it made sense for Maverick to have it, right? Slider’s wife seemed to have been thinking the same thing judging by the way she eyed the photo of her husband.

“I know what you’re thinking, Pete Mitchell! Don’t even try it. It’s an important piece in my ‘Goose on Film’ series.”, Goose continued to argue with his best friend. “You got more than enough pictures of you and that blond bastard, don’t you think?”

Maverick rolled his eyes. He could never have enough pictures of him and Tom. Not in a million years could he have collected enough of them. And that picture in particular had been taken on Carole’s birthday in ‘92, and if you know anything about Carole’s birthday parties then you’d understand the significance of that photo. That Goose even managed to take a decent one of them was astounding.

Yeah okay Mav was looking down, reading god knows what and it was a little blurry, but Ice managed to look into the camera as if he’d never done anything else but model in his entire life.

“And you!”, Goose suddenly turned over to Mrs Kerner that had her fingers on one of the thumbtacks holding up her husbands picture, “Don’t even think about it! I’ve been to your house, the walls are full of pictures of Slider and his ugly mug!”

“But not this one. Look at how cute he looks…”, she looked the photo dreamily.

“I don’t know about Slider and cute.”, Goose and Mav said at the same time, questioning looks on their faces.

“Oh come on! You guys know what I mean!”

They did know, Goose and Mav could stare at their respective partners for hours and call them every term of endearment under the sun and wouldn’t get tired.

„Come on Goose!“, Maverick whined pointing at the picture. „Let me have it back. It doesn’t look nice enough for your photo books anymore anyways.“

„What exactly did you do with yours, Pete?“, Mrs Kerner asked with a raised brow, looking sceptical as ever. „Looks like you crumpled it up.“

„I had it in my wallet? And then on my plane.“

„You know what you’re right. They’re both in horrible condition.“, Goose sighed exasperatedly, „I still have the negatives. Take them and treat them horribly! No respect for my art!“

Slider’s wife took the picture down triumphantly and folded it up the way it probably had been for years. So did Mav, staring lovingly at the photo he had stared at every time he went up in his plane.

„You two are paying for the new prints I have to make!“

„Of course Nick, honey. I’ll pay for it“, Mrs Kerner chuckled and Maverick nodded along.

All of them knew they wouldn’t pay for the prints, not that Goose would care.

———

Masterlist Part 2

Another silly little manip and this time with a story?? I’m treating you and myself (mostly myself) with this one aren’t I?

Let me know what you lovely people think ✨🎈💕

Remember be nice and respectful, have a nice day and a good nights sleep.

#icemav fic #icemav #tom kazansky #tom iceman kazansky #tom kazansky imagine #pete mitchell #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell imagine #ron kerner #ron slider kerner #nick bradshaw #nick goose bradshaw #ron kerner imagine #nick bradshaw imagine #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fanart #top gun slider #top gun 1986 #top gun imagine #top gun headcanons #top gun fanfiction #top gun fic #iceman x maverick

[problematic-weather]

The Game is Afoot (Sherlock Holmes x Reader)

Sherlock Holmes x GN! Reader 

summary: you’re an old friend of sherlock’s and admire him so. as you gaze around, you can’t help but think about the past and the future.

word count: 1.1k+

this one is random, i wrote it because why not?

warnings: unedited, a tad bit dark because it involves a hint of stalking but it’s fineee, i still have not watched enola 2, GIF NOT MINE !!

     Fingers sweep against the bookshelf, filled with an assortment of books that could only be read by an intelligent individual. One who may have had too much time and devotion to uncovering the secrets of the world– secrets of people’s minds. Because what is life without a tinge of curiosity? Without the occasional adrenaline rush as the gears begin to turn, and the clock has finally chimed to a new day. 

     Comparing him to his older brother, they had nearly nothing in common. Sherlock had maintained his oddities and interest in chasing the mystery, meanwhile, Mycroft had subjected himself to mingling with society’s aristocrats. Perhaps too caught up in upholding the family’s image, his methods of displaying affection towards his family were unorthodox, and often showed more irritant than any other emotion. 

     Nevertheless, you had grown to know both– and it wasn’t a mystery to acknowledge Mycroft cares for the family. But through his perception of looking through a business and government lens, he’s often clouded by the idea of perfection, the idea of anything otherwise frustrating him to no end that leads to the most questionable decisions taken.

     Yet with all that past knowledge, they still managed to have their names constantly written within the papers. 

     Sherlock was London’s gossip. It seemed the country had gotten a rise out of investigation and justice within the corrupt system. Though some predicted it would fester and spoil the relationship between social classes. That didn’t matter, you knew, it was broken from the very beginning. However, those who weren’t in it for the mystery– were very much reading the papers for Sherlock.

     As you had moved to London, all that seemed to carry in the air were the thoughts of him. Whether it be his physique, intelligence, his most recent case, or all. 

     The thought did linger, how did he manage to look after all these years? 

     Hopefully, he was much better tending to himself than he cared to tend his flat. Scattered parchment in stacks all throughout the main room, books in heaps. Some were built on different levels, a variety of different candelabra spread out and notably used. Old wax still formed on the tray beneath. Most seemed to crowd a large map encompassing all of the city. Around, laid different colours of string strung around and held together with scribbled notes of ink and bright red thumbtacks. 

     The wall alone had bubbled your curiosity and overpoured. It seemed that Sherlock had already gotten his hands full, a case seemingly catching his eye. And by the looks of it, one that he’s followed for quite some time. Various clues and hypotheses were dispersed across the wall and tabletop, as well as a violin and cigar tray less than a foot away. He’s been observing. 

     Your own fingers trail along the string, eyes scanning through his clues. It was so easy like this, to read his mind. As more notes were piled on top of one another, his methods of uncovering the truth were fascinating. You could almost picture it– him staring at this board as you are, mind dizzying with the possibilities of the truth. 

     Sherlock had a temper of his own. His pace would quicken as he took a stroll around his furniture, fingertips feeling the materials around. Smoke would be filling up the room more than he’d like and eventually aggravate him, opening the window before returning to his routine. His eyes narrow as he stared along the seamless pattern of his wooden flooring, avoiding the known areas to creak in the slightest. As his patience thins, he would place himself on the sofa and stare absently at the wall again. Back leaning against the sofa as he finally uses his hand to remove the pipe from his lips, puffing out smoke as his eyes trail back to his wall. This action repeats again and again. 

More ideas would befall his inquisitive mind as he dissects them piece-by-piece, before ultimately discarding them as another wild possibility. A visitor  would then arrive moments and tear his attention from the master mystery before he could draw another conclusion and process it once more. 

     It was impressive to see his own line of work. 

     While he unveiled and sought to break the mystery, you yearned in forming them. Complicating them by various simplistic overlaps until even your own mind was left unsteady, and then add a bit more for the flare of being dramatic. France had been left in shambles at your mind games, ignoring the obvious signs while indulging in the fake clues a little too often to your dismay. They were the experiment used for the lesser plan– enough of a conundrum to set off the people working under the government. How easy it was, to frame the works of a powerful nobleman or a series of them. 

     It seemed Sherlock had caught traction of that. Already tying the relation to the foreign case solved suspiciously sudden to the most recent cases sparking among the busy streets of London. Words couldn’t express the adrenaline and excitement that engulfed you, not only by the chase but in the idea of playing with a dear friend. A memory. 

     Sherlock Holmes. Private detective and investigator, fuelled by his lifelong passion for mystery and unpicking the society of London lock by lock. It was an exciting thought. 

     To see if he could defend London before you shatter everything beneath your feet. To abolish the system of corruption– of aristocrats– of the Queen. 

     Heavy feet echoed outside of the flat and a final smile dawned on your face. Placing the parchment back into its messy display, you made way for your exit and paused. Watching as Sherlock entered his flat, unfastening the buttons on his coat as he made his rounds around and through inspection. After, he had placed himself on his desk and began occupying himself with ink and quill. 

     “Until another day, Sherlock. It’s my turn to advance.” And with that, you had gotten down and disappeared into the night. 

.

     A small smile left Sherlock’s face as his hand settled on the desk. With sharp eyes scanning the linked letters, reviewing the loops of his writing and grammar before a pleasant huff escaped him. Earlier that day, Mycroft had retained a gossip. One of an old friend that had recently moved to London he had recognized while conversing with a well-connected businessman. Mycroft, being himself, retrieved an address for his younger brother and tucked it into Sherlock’s gloved hand– ‘to distract him from obscene findings in the paper.’ 

     As he flipped over the letter and folded it properly, he wrote in the front the required information to have it sent tomorrow morning as well as a name. 

     Y/N L/N. 

     How great it would be to have your presence near him again, after so many years? 

—————————

hope you enjoyed !!! thanks for reading :))

#sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #henry sherlock holmes x reader #henry!sherlock #henry!holmes x reader #henry!sherlock holmes x reader #henry!sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #henry cavill x reader #enola holmes #problematic-weather

[offbookkeeping]

overly specific headcanons that just feel right:

neal definitely sleeps like nosferatu, on his back with his hands clasped on his chest, completely stiff. occasionally he'll fall asleep with his eyes open but he forgets to take his glasses off so you can't tell

blair sleeps curled up, usually with moshe's dog

moshe sleeps sprawled out like a starfish which is really inconvenient when they're on tour and have to sleep in small spaces

carm sleeps on her side, in a position dependent on whatever random objects she's next to because her bed is full of books and cds and lighters and trinkets and occasionally neal. she doesn't remove all the random objects in her bed for him, he has to deal with the possibility of laying on a thumbtack. she says it's natural selection

#every place i cry #off book #off book podcast

[inhibitionfreewriting]

request again (if that’s okay?) i’m the noah kahan anon (and your fic was SO good im so excited for more) but butchered tongues by hozier as childhood friends to lovers with lud?

or first time (by hozier) with lud!!!!!

so while the second part to the original request is coming slowly but surely, once again i got into a zone and i just...

--

he was your best friend, who lived across the street and two houses down, who from the moment you met him always had you giggling. small bursts, full on fits of laughter, tiny snickers hidden by tiny clasped hands, trying not to wake the adults, trying to hide your secrets away from the world. but he's always there running around with you, scraped knees, dirt under your fingernails.

there's the time you almost drown in the nearby lake because you're both daring each other to go further out than you should and the mud beneath your foot slips and you're overtaken by water and panic. you're not the best swimmer and when you can't find your footing again, he calls for you, hoping it's just a joke.

he's there just out of reach for the first time and it solidifies just how important he is to you. he helps you up as soon as his little legs can cross the distance. you don't tell him that you think you have a crush on him, because you're only 11 and feelings are cringe and right now it doesn't matter. he's your best friend and you are his.

it's a few years later and you're walking home, crunching the autumn leaves under your feet, kicking pinecones in your path. he's talking about a girl a class you don't share and you can feel your heart breaking into a million pieces as he explains an over elaborate plan to ask her out on a date. in the end she says no and you're there with him for the heartbreak. you call her every name in the book at 14, explaining that she's the biggest loser in existence and anyone would be lucky to date him.

you wish it was you, to be the one cradling his heart and protecting it from the pain, but your friendship is number one and always above all else. he stays that night, too tired to walk back home. it's different, you think, staring at his back in your bed after having his heart broken, but your heart is broken too, isn't it? you stifle your crying to the best of your ability, roll over and force yourself to fall asleep.

he's thinking it too, staring at the pictures you have thumbtacked into your wall of you and he and the few other friends you both have made. there's a picture of you both with your arms around one another in red matching sweaters. he loves that picture even if he doesn't know it yet. it's his favorite. there's something in his chest that tells him to roll over, a paranoia that you're not okay but he mistakes the feeling as just more pain of rejection and doesn't move. it's the last sleepover that you both remember and on nights when you're drunk the memory still stings like a shot.

"ew - really? there's no way you actually like him." he embarrasses you, making a face at your admission of a crush on another classmate. you can't keep eye contact with him while you try to elaborate - he got you a carnation from the school on valentines day and it was sweet and you thought, maybe, just maybe it would be the way to get over the lump in your heart that he was. still, you keep that secret to yourself, going silent halfway through a sentence and curling in on yourself mentally. "look i'm - i'm just saying that derek on the soccer team is dumb as fuck and have - have you ever even had a conversation with him? he's probably just doing it out of pity."

"pity?" you snap, "oh, right, okay, because the only way i'd ever be able to get a date with anyone was out of pity." you stand up and knock the textbook and notes off of the desk in front of him before storming away. there's no way that he thought that low of you, but it's the ichor in your heart gumming up the gears. it hurts, it hurts so bad to think that- was he pitying you? all the time and years that you spent together? doing chores and spending allowances together, memorizing the others favorite ice creams and movies and video games and-

your mother holds you tight that night, stroking your hair as you cry into her chest, about how much you hate him. he's an asshole and he doesn't even like you clearly. she soothes you the best she can, but you're a few months shy of 17 and nothing stitches the wounds he's laid on your fragile heart. that doesn't come until much later in your story. you go to bed that night after clearing polaroid after polaroid off of your wall, throwing them into some school folder that previously lay abandoned in your room. you don't want to talk to him let alone see him before you go to sleep. the poorly sewed pillow from home economics he traded with you gets shoved into your closet.

he keeps it to himself when he gets home, telling his mother that he's tired and he just wants to get through his homework and go to sleep. he doesn't do his homework that night, too busy watching tv and the clock, ticking later and later into the night. his mother is worried but doesn't press, though she makes him eat that night even if he hates it.

not to be dramatic, but for a minute you feel like you forget what his voice sounds like, you haven't spoken in a week. stubbornness flows through both of you stronger than the harshest waters in a river, capsizing anyone who isn't certain of their path. he finds a new groove where he leaves for school 5 minutes off of you, whether it's before or after you can't determine but it's never the same time. a few kids at your lunch table take pity on you when you are eating alone for what feels like the billionth day in a row and you connect easily. as the loneliness gets pushed beneath the surface you wonder if he notices that you're not trying to catch his eyes as often.

he does, and he hates it, because he's trying to return the caught eyes even if he doesn't know it. but you're both foolish and angry over nothing. he passes 17 without you at his birthday party, the invite torn up and in a trash bag in a place where his mother won't find it. he lies when she asks, curious as to where you have been all this time, months and months at this point.

"i don't know," he shrugs, nonchalant to the best of his ability while he watches his friends play melee. he can't make an excuse before one of the guys sits up and scrunches his face in thought.

"didn't you throw her invite out because she's a freak?"

"woah - you can't call her that."

"you literally called her weird like 5 minutes ago!" ludwig's face turns red and sheepish as his mother gives him a look, disappointed and sad all in one. when she leaves, he sinks into his spot, covering his face. how embarrassing. "dude, she is a freak though, she's always by herself, it's fucking weird."

"she's not fucking weird!" he snaps, shoving him. nobody is allowed to call you weird except him, you are his weird friend. an argument breaks out and the party ends sooner than intended and his mother grounds him for fighting in the middle of the house. at least his birthday doesn't get worse outside of the sinking feeling in his chest.

you hesitate on a text saying happy birthday with the picture of the two of you in red sweaters attached. you remove the photo and the heart and send it, plain. it felt disingenuous - maybe he deserves it though, he didn't even invite you to hang out.

you 9:56pm: happy birthday

ludwig 10:27pm: thanks

you 10:30pm: do anything fun?

ludwig 10:36pm: party got cancelled cuz my friends are assholes

you don't think the laugh that comes out of your mouth is real, but his text gets the tiniest of noises from you.

you 10:37pm: all guys are assholes lol

he starts typing and then stops a few times. maybe that was too much and the regret swims through your veins immediately, you curl up into the poorly stitched pillow long rescued from your closet for comfort. the longer it takes, the more you sink, starting to type an excuse, 'i mean not you', but he responds faster than your shaky hands can type.

ludwig 10:50pm: you're right

ludwig 10:50pm: sorry i was an asshole

ludwig 10:51pm: ider what i said but i know it was stupid

of course he didn't.

you 10:52pm: derek would only go out with me bc of pity

ludwig winced in his bed, dropping his phone to his chest and smacking both his hands to his face. wow he was stupid, derek would have been lucky to go out with you. you were wonderful - fantastic even, you kept him up at night, his mind wandering to moments of you smiling and laughing with him, and then the way your face fell when he made that stupid pity comment. rolling onto his stomach he replied.

ludwig 10:59pm: wow 16 year old me was dumb huh

you 11:00pm: you've been 17 for less than 1 day 💀

you 11:00pm: you're so stupid

you 11:01pm: i h8 you

surely, you meant it in jest. you were talking to him, at least, hell this was the most you'd spoken in months so you absolutely had to be joking. he pulled a dramatic frown, took a picture and sent it to you before questioning the decision.

ludwig 11:03pm: [image attached]

you 11:03pm: can i be gay for a moment

ludwig 11:04pm: yes?

you 11:08pm: i missed your face a lot😞

you 11:08pm: i miss you a lot

you 11:08pm: can we hang out tomorrow

you 11:09pm: we can do w/e i dont care

you 11:09pm: we dont even have to do anything

you 11:09pm: can we just hang out

you 11:12pm: please

he missed you too, more than he would ever care to admit, eyes heavy with exhaustion and sadness as he stared at your near pleading.

ludwig 11:15pm: come over when you wake up

ludwig 11:15pm: im going to bed

ludwig 11:16pm: night

shoving his phone far under his pillow, he flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. you were mimicking the position in your own bed, your hands over your heart. how long had you been sitting on your infatuation? how many diary entries had you written about him? how many poorly drawn profiles littered the ripped pages of your notebooks? sleep took you both restlessly, carrying you along the rocky waters till daybreak where you wrestled yourself into shorts and a tshirt.

you couldn't bring yourself to care about how you looked or smelled (you couldn't quite remember when you showered last), you just wanted to give him a hug, the biggest hug you could muster. you missed him so so much. as you'd done hundreds of times before, you entered his home, locked the door behind you and all but ran up the stairs and towards his room.

badum badum badum

your heartbeat was loud and almost painful in your ears which caused you to stop and stare at your hand centimeters away from his door. you wanted to feign ignorance, that your broken heart was not beating like this for any reason, that it was silly and foolish and so very very stupid. chewing on the inside of your lips, you swung his door open. his body jumped a little, still under the covers and barely processing that you were already here.

"hey," came his groggy voice, the heel of his palm rubbing into his eyes as you nudged the door closed and kicked your shoes off. he propped himself up on his elbows and maybe it was the way you looked, slightly disheveled but jittery, or the fact that your breathing was a little choked and heavy, but he wanted to kiss you more than any other girl he'd ever seen. "why're you standing over there still?"

"i-i.. i don't know." he breathed out a tired laugh.

"so come here?" with the invitation you crossed the remaining space between you and flopped into the space next to him, on top of the covers. it takes him a minute but he lazily rolls over to face you. he smells of a late night shower and morning breath. he's warm with sleep and you're warm with the early morning sun.

"i have a crush on you," you blurt out, closing your eyes like you expect physical retaliation from someone who has never actually gone so far as to beat you up. when nothing comes you slowly open your eyes, peaking through the timid butterflies frantic in your stomach. the face he has on is awkward at best and you're trying not to read into what he may or may not be feeling. "s-s-sorry, that's. i shouldn't have-"

"no, me- me too!" he responds, stopping you in your frantic, panicked downfall, not wanting to hurt you again over a miscommunication that he was the cause of. he wraps his arms around you tightly and you let out a tiny breath of relief and returned his hug.

"i'm sorry you're so stupid," you snicker, burying your face deeper into him, still embarrassed. when you both finally pull back, your lips are pursed into a pout, and his mouth is open to say something snarky in return but nothing comes out. instead he kisses you the way he's wanted to kiss you for two years, since the first time he saw you wear a pink tinted lip gloss. you return with fervor and you kiss like that a thousand more times.

#ludwig x reader #ludwig ahgren x reader #ludwig #ludwig ahgren #rpf fic #bunny writes #bunny qs #this is a doozy #🎶anon

[yourchemicallyimbalancedromance]

“I Keep You Safe From Me”

Chapter Two: Feelings

Ship: slow burn romantic analogical

CW/TW: swearing

POV: Virgil

(No summary because I don’t want to give anything away)

———————————————————————

2:02 PM

Virgil sat down between a box labeled “books” in sloppy handwriting and another box being used as a makeshift table, holding a variety of different snacks that his roommate had managed to find in the past few hours through rummaging around the place. So far, he’d found honey roasted peanuts, sour gummy worms, and a hot cocoa packet.

Virgil grabbed the bag of peanuts and ripped it open slightly, dumping a handful into his hand. “So,” he said to the stranger across from him who was chewing on gummy worms like they were going to be his last meal, “what’s your name?”

The stranger swallowed, “Janus, yours?”

Virgil popped the peanuts into his mouth and chewed for a moment, listening to the faint sound of an electric guitar playing in the background before answering, “Virgil” he said finally.

“Neat name, got a backstory for it or somethin?” Janus said, grabbing another handful of gummy worms.

Virgil shook his head, “Nah, just what I was born with”

Janus nodded, “cool, cool.” he said with genuine enthusiasm. He glanced at the clock on the wall and a disgusted expression faded over his face. “Ah, shit. I gotta get to work.” He said, immediately getting up and digging his keys from his pocket.

“Fuck” he muttered under his breath, grabbing his gray crocs from next to the door and sliding them on in a rush.

“Sorry to cut the whole introduction stuff short, man. We’ll get to know eachother better sooner than later though, yeah?” Janus said opening the door.

Virgil nodded and watched as Janus practically slammed the door and ran down the hallway.

He got up and turned down the speaker after the noise started getting choppy from the lack of signal from Janus’ phone, hurriedly replacing it with his own and starting to play his main playlist on shuffle.

He turned the speaker back up, looking at the room around him. For a place with so much stuff in it, it was pretty dull.

Virgil didn’t want to start decorating with Janus’ things so he begrudgingly made the decision to go outside and get the boxes from his car.

He opened the door, peaking out into the brightly lit hallway to see if anyone was still there, not wanting to run into another crowd of sentimental “goodbyes” from one stranger to another. When he deemed the coast clear, he closed the door and began the walk downstairs.

After a brisk walk through the building and into the parking lot, he opens his trunk and begins unloading box after box into his arms. They’re heavy, and they make his arms hurt endlessly but he’ll be damned if he asks for help from anyone else.

He makes trip after trip after trip, back and forth from his dorm to the parking lot until each box is carefully placed on the floor of the room he picked out for himself.

He leans against the biggest box which held all of his clothes and sits, out of breath. Suddenly realizing, he did it, he managed it. He got everything here by himself. He got here by himself.

He used the sudden energy from this brief epiphany of success to gather enough strength to get up and start unpacking.

He grabbed a rusty pair of scissors from off of one of Janus’ boxes in the main room labeled “DVDs” and started to tear his own open.

*** *** ***

An hour or so passed as Virgil placed different band posters up on his wall (MCR, Evanescence, Paramore.) and carefully tacked them up with stray thumbtacks, careful not to rip the edges.

He placed a black shaggy rug on the floor and a coffee table on top of it, laying out multiple Rolling Stone magazines across the wooden space.

He put together most of his bed—apart from the bedset—and laid on the bare mattress, practically sinking in it from exhaustion, eyes almost drifting closed. The words kept echoing in his head. He was here, he did it.

Virgil’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of his music dying down to a quiet noise, listening to footsteps that were getting closer to his room.

He jumped as Logan’s head peaked out from behind the doorframe of his open door.

“Logan— what the fuck?” He said, registering the face in front of him after the fear subsided.

“Hey, sorry i was working on a project and your door was open and I realized I didn’t get your name and—“

“You’re telling me you broke into my dorm because you didn’t catch my name?” Virgil said, obviously stunned.

“Um..yeah..?” Logan said, scratching the back of his neck.

Virgil sat up and swung his legs over the bed. “That,” he said, admittedly a little amused, “is the weirdest shit I’ve ever heard”

Logan laughed nervously. “Sorry, this was stupid, I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea” he turned around to leave, face flushed.

“No!” Virgil said hurriedly, causing Logan to stop in his tracks and turn around, confused.

“I mean, just— you’re here, so do you wanna like…help me unpack or something?” Virgil finished.

Logan blinked at him, a bit shocked. “Uh, y-yeah sure, totally” he stepped further into the room.

Virgil grabbed the scissors on his bedside table and got up, ripping open a box full of books, handing a few to Logan.

He nodded to the bookshelf to the right of him. “You can put these there, it doesn’t matter how you do it, you don’t gotta like alphabetize or any of that stuff”

Logan nodded, “got it”

He carefully went to work on the bookshelf, placing the books in order of tallest to shortest as Virgil changed the playlist on his phone, the song Playing God by Paramore playing through the speaker in the next room.

He went through the last few boxes that were sitting next to him, starting with the clothes. He pulled out each shirt carefully and hung it up in the closet or folded it, neatly securing it in a drawer.

Logan was grabbing the last few books in the box when one of the shirts Virgil was holding up caught his eye.

“You like Fall Out Boy?” He said questioningly, eyeing the shirt, still clutching onto the books.

“Oh, yeah, for sure” Virgil said, turning to face Logan. “From Under The Cork Tree and Infinity On High are some of my favorite albums of all time”

Logan smiled wide, “Oh my god! Really? What’s your favorite songs?”

“From those albums?” He thought for a moment, “I mean it’s kind of hard to choose, but if I had to it’d probably be Dance, Dance and This Aint A Scene, It’s An Arms Race”

Virgil folded the shirt and tucked it into the middle drawer of his dresser before turning back to Logan. “Yknow, I’m kind of surprised that you like Fall Out Boy. You don’t really strike me as the type.”

Logan snorted, “Yeah, honestly if I were you, I wouldn’t see it either.” he placed the books on the shelf and sat down on the mattress, watching as Virgil pulled multiple hoodies from the giant box.

“Out of curiosity, why’d you choose here?” Logan asked. He liked GSU, but never really understood why it was apart of peoples main selection of colleges, they could always aim for somewhere better than here.

Virgil hung up the hoodies one by one. “If I’m being honest I chose it because it just felt right, there wasn’t any particular reason. The community seemed nice enough, and I wasn’t looking for much, it’s not like I was trying to get into Harvard.” Virgil said, slightly taking a jab at his brother, thankful he wasn’t here to say something back.

Virgil folded the last box and threw it out into the living area with the rest of them, grabbing his bag and taking his laptop out, opening it.

“I could see you getting into Harvard” Logan said, almost too quiet for Virgil to hear him, but he did.

Virgil’s heart felt full for a second. He usually didn’t believe those kind of things, he always thought people were just trying to be nice, but something about this instance felt different. “Thanks” he said, a little flustered.

He found it odd how such a small thing from a stranger made him feel so…complete.

Logan didn’t respond, just smiled a bit, before suddenly pushing himself off of the bed. “Um,” he said nervously, “I’m gonna go, like I said earlier I was working on this project for my astronomy class and I kinda need to get back to that”

Virgil looked up from his computer where he was starting to type in the password. “Oh, okay. Well it was nice seeing you again, Logan.”

Logan’s smile grew, “you too.”

Logan turned to leave the room, crossing the threshold between Virgil’s room and the main area, coming to a halt when Virgil called after him.

“And hey, it’s Virgil by the way” Virgil called, watching his computer load and let him in before looking out into the open space where Logan was standing.

He saw him smile, teeth and all, and stand in the doorframe, one step between hallway and dorm.

“Good to know” he called back.

and Virgil heard the door click shut.

#y’all don’t understand how happy writing this made me jdkwldjskdowpfjapkdpjdlajd #I’m totally not projecting on to Virgil /j /sarc #sanders sides #Thomas Sanders #ts Virgil #virgil sanders #ts anxiety #ts logan #logan sanders #ts logic #ts janus #janus sanders #ts deciet #analogical #don’t come for me for what I said about GSU that’s literally the college I wanna go to 🙏🏻