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#if I could put all of this into a painting it'd be a kind of pale dark blue square
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I lowkey want one of those "live laugh love" type house signs that says "come freely, go safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring" for the entryway of my house someday. I think it'd be hilarious, but it's also lowkey a nice greeting in its own way, if perhaps mildly ominous... What a nice way to set a welcoming vibe! ;)
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lucalicatteart · 1 year
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Poll adventure (paventure? lol) Day 3: read the small story tidbit below the poll for more details, OR just vote based on initial impression
(✦ see past poll results + further information HERE (link) ✦)
The winning option of yesterday's poll was that the adventurer should throw a coin into the mysterious well ….
"After nearly ten minutes rummaging through the disorganization at the bottom of his backpack, he finally approaches the well once again, meager coin pouch in hand. He meticulously balances a little golden coin on the tip of his thumb, positioning it just so for an elegant coin flip… With a flick of his hand, the coin wobbles off, anticlimactically dropping into the darkness.. He pouts, leaning in to listen for a plonk as the coin hits the water but… nothing…. silence.. A few minutes pass and he shrugs, moving to pick up his bag and just continue his journey elsewhere, when suddenly a faint noise echoes from the well.. an almost cartoonish plopping sound, like wet feet slapping against stone..? The pitter patter grows closer and closer…then stops abruptly. The adventurer cautiously slinks over to the well, only to find.. a creature of some sort, clinging to the walls, staring up at him blankly. - What should he do next?"
#paventure posting#polls#choose your own adventure#(I saw a few people tag these as that and I guess it makes sense. hmm)#DAY 3!!! vote to choose this little man's fate#Sad that people did not want to go into the well.. :( Maybe we can still go in depending on how things go with#The Creachure. I mean I know I could just make whatever happen anyway since I'm the one doing it but. It has to feel natural lol#it would be obviously just me doing what I want if I was like 'oh uh we went to throw the coin in the well but he tripped and#fell and then somehow didnt die and whoops he's in the well anyway!!'' lol#I care more about things being realistic and natural than following whatever ideas seem interesting. If it was voted for him to explode#into a million pieces sadly I would simply have to explode him. audience says#let me know if the formatting of this is weird?? also? I wasn't sure where to put the slightly longer bit of text#so I kept it under a reas more just to the post looks neater. I thought it'd seem weird with a bunch of text blocks sandwiching the poll#and too much going on. But I also feel like it's organizationally weird if all the details are at the end? eh..#bt then at least it's optional. not everyone will want to read more. And it's not like.. amazing text lol#I'm slapping them out off of the top of my head with minimal editing because I have to get it done and I know if I make it too complicated#or become concerned with like things being Perfectly Revised then I will absolutely not be able to do it once a day#Same with the obvious sketchy ms paint art lol. But so like. I dont feel as bad about kind of having the text be options#*optional since it's not like 'omg this is so good u have to read this' it's like.. eh.. passable amount of detail ghbj#ANYWAY. and 'paventure' (poll + adventure) is just temporary so I have a way to tag this on the blog/keep up with the posts#in a organized way. I think 'padventure' is more obvious but that's already the name of other things and I didnt want the tags to be#confusing or like.. post in some random tag that people already use for something else#but the only thing I found when googling 'paventure' is like. .some venture capital business from PA. and who cares about that lol#explanation probably not needed but I think it sounds a bit silly so I'm justifying myself to myself lol#ANYWAY. lov his silly hat. I want to draw him more. I want to name him. I COULD DO A POLL TO CHOOSE A NAME#but that wouldn't fit in with any of the days lol. maybe if I make it a week actually doing it or something at the end of the week#I could do a bonus poll or something. ??? idk.. ANYWAY.. new day!
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daisyjihannie · 1 month
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A new kind of Addiction
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pairing: Dealer!Changbin x F!reader
warning: NSFW, coke, alcohol, drugs, addiction, degrading, sir kink, daddy kink, choking, spanking, etc. FITCHY NASTY DIRTY TOXIC BORDERLINE HATE FUCKING ROUGH MEAN PRIMAL AGGRESSIVE
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The lights throughout your house were all red or purple, smoke filling the air making it seem that much darker and hazy than before. Sweaty bodies tangled together all around you as you took your place on your large L-shaped couch made of black leather. Your eyes raked over the area just watching everyone, nursing your own glass of whiskey, as the others got drunk, horny, and high. The fact that you were just sitting there bored, surrounded by so many strangers, made you quite antsy. You needed more entertainment and what's more fun than Cocaine?
You were about to click on your dealer, Vernon's contact but remembered he'd been gone for the past couple weeks and we're doing deals through his cousin Changbin, so instead you clicked on his contact and waited for him to answer. Yes, your house was loud but you've been making deals for long enough to know that you always speak in code and NEVER text to make a deal. That's basically instantly reserving your dealer a spot in prison.
These calls always felt similar to that of ordering take out. Not much small talk, getting to the point and getting off the phone, then waiting for the "delivery". Not that you minded, you're not the biggest fan of small talk anyways. You actually hate it a lot if you have to be entirely honest.
"Be there shortly." the male spoke his last goodbye, you swore you could hear the smirk plastered to his face. Just like usual, he immediately hanging up once the words left his mouth, not bothering to give you a chance to respond. You rolled your eyes at his usual cocky demeanour, putting your phone back into your pocket, waiting for him.
Normally when him or Vernon did deals with you while you were hosting a party, they'd stay for a few hours. Letting lose, having fun, and building up a clientele. They'd bring samples to give out and normally it'd turn out well for them and you A Win-win scenario for all of us.
It only took about 15 minutes of waiting before the front door swung open.Thus wasn't your first time meeting him but every single time you'd get lost checking him out. He had mostly black hair with chunky streaks in his bangs. The red and purple lights made it impossible to tell exactly what color they were but from being a regular customer these past couple of weeks, you knew they were neon green.
He wore a black compression shirt that hugged his pecks and biceps beautifully. You could see every edge of every muscle that adorned his torso, helping paint pictures of his body in your slightly perverted brain. He paired the shirt with light grey sweats, which you could see the slightest dick print in, even with the low lighting that cast a red blanket over the bodies that painted pictures of their list filled dances in your vision.
There was so much going on from the clouds of smoke, the red lights, and the tangled heap of bodies pressed against one another filling your vision but he stood out. He was all you could see and your body reacted before your alcohol filled brain could realize.
You were climbing off your couch for probably the first time all night, you stumbled your way through the crowd. Your eyes never left him, the usual tension between you two making you feel hypnotized by not only his stunning visuals but his energy as well. He radiated TOXIC BAD BOY as if it has sirens, alarms, and big bold lettering that wrapped his body in caution tape and that's what would always draw you to any and all men you've allowed to have even an ounce of your time and energy.
You were somehow still standing in your drunken haze and you were right in front of him now. "Hey Bin, I don't know if I missed you or the drugs more." your eyes continued to trace the outline of his entire form, from his intoxicating gaze down to his insanely muscular thighs that were hugged by the light grey fabric, then back up to his supple looking lips.
You both flirted with each other regularly, even ended up making out a good handful of times but the tension between the two of you continued to build and had been feeling pretty suffocating now. You felt like you were addicted to Changbin, he was a drug kept just at arms length from an addict in withdrawal. It was forbidden but it didn't make you want him any less.
"Well I know I certainly missed you." his lips forming that cocky smirk you knew oh so well, pulling you in. He was checking you out just as intensely, his eyes slowly tracing your figure in your tight fitting top, taking a bit longer when they got to your loose fitting joggers that sat low on your hips, your hip bones visible above the waistband.
You were tipsy for sure and could feel your morals slip, the lines you weren't supposed to cross with him becoming blurred, the desire and tension swirling in the pit of your stomach. His hands finding their home on your hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh like they always did. He knows exactly what made you weak in the knees and he was quick to use them to his advantage.
The danger and the cockiness was always something that would have you on your knees and he was definitely someone you'd get on your knees for. Everytime things between you two would get heated one of you would pull away, knowing that you shouldn't cross that line. He's your dealer and you're his customer, an addict, his business partner. You don't fuck business partners.
"Why don't we take this somewhere a bit more... private?" you couldn't help but purr the words into his ear, nibbling softly at the shell of his ear. This wasn't the first time this has happened but you still waited till you felt his grip tighten on your hip, pulling back to look at his face again and seeing a devilish smirk painted on his lips.
That was all you needed to grab his wrist, dragging him up the stairs to one of the 4 bedrooms there. Yours of course staying locked so no one could be fucking in your bed when they could use any of the other three. You had a finger print scanner as the lock on the door so there was no way anyone could steal the key and you couldn't lose it no matter how much you drank or how many drugs you took.
As soon as you led him into the room, you were pinned against the door, his grip on your hips tight enough to leave bruises as he pushed them into the door, hard. His lips were on yours in seconds as your lips fell into sync with his own. The kiss was lust filled and heavy, desperate even. It was making you dizzy but in the best possible way. This was how it always started.
The roughness was more than you'd ever hoped for, it was the perfect amount of roughness you always craved and it had you a whimpering and panting mess. Your back arching against the hard door, grabbing his neck to pull him as close as humanly possibly without being inside his skin. Your hips fought against his grip trying to grind against him, desperate for more of his touch.
He noticed and when you thought he was removing his hands to help you, he grabbed the back of your thighs, making you jump and wrap your legs around his muscular waist. Your lips not separating for even a second, no matter how breathless you felt, you couldn't get enough of his lips. How they tasted like cherries, how they were so soft against yours, how they danced together like they were made for one another. It was definitely addicting.
He spun you away from the door, leading you to your bed across the room, your back landing against the mattress with his body above yours. He held himself up with his thighs in order to grab your hands, connecting them above your head and locking them together in only one of his own. His other hand finding it's way to wrap around your throat, you knew what was coming next and it made you let out a moan against his lips.
You felt his lips turn into a smirk when you let out that moan and his grip tightened around your throat. He didn't cut off your air but he squeezed the sides making you dizzy. Your head rush made your eyes roll back and for the first time, he separated your lips. Your moans escaping freely and filling the room, your back arching hard off the mattress.
"P-Please... fuck-" you gasped as his grip stayed firm on your throat. You needed him, just like always, needed him in ways you could never have him. You've gotten used to the teasing and foreplay, the tension building, before he'd pull away way too soon for your liking. The words like a broken record as he told you that it was a mistake and you two shouldn't go further.
"Please what slut? huh? has that drug addict brain of yours stopped working? Has all the coke finally fried every last braincell or is it because of Sir pinning you to the bed like the cum dump you are?" his words were toxic, with venom laced through them but it just made you need him that much more. Yeah, maybe you needed therapy but this was so much more fulfilling than that could ever be. Toxic, borderline hate-fucking was so so much better.
"Please sir... please let me suck your cock~" you purred while maintaining eye contact with your drug dealer. You knew this is usual the moment when he leaves you a needy mess for him but you continued to do this to yourself. Anticipating the withdrawal but unable to keep from getting hooked again. The tiniest sliver of hope that maybe this time would be different made it that much harder to stay away.
He was once again detaching his body from yours, you couldn't help but whine in frustration as you knew what the next words out of his mouth would be. Almost like he'd been rehearsing his lines for years. The familiar feeling of his body heat leaving you and his burning touch gone, you felt like crying when the cold air replaced his touch on your skin.
"Beg for it like a good slut and maybe I'll let you." the words that you were hopeful to hear but never thought you would rang in your ears, eyes wide from shock. "W-what?" you had to be dreaming, no way he actually said that.
You watched carefully as he climbed off of you and sit on the bed next to your panting from. "Don't make me repeat myself babygirl. You heard me and don't act like you haven't been desperate to have me for weeks now." you both knew how badly you wanted each other and you weren't gonna give him the time to change his mind.
You knew how to beg and you knew exactly how to get anything you wanted with it. You have a history of always getting your way, except with Changbin apparently, so you'd of course work your own magic. Collecting your breath and got off the bed, you placed both of your hands on either of his thighs before sinking onto your knees between his man spread. Eyes level with the obvious bulge in his pants, the loose fabric of his sweats doing absolutely nothing to hide it.
You could tell he was big and he knew it by the way you licked your lips as your eyes resembled that of a starved animal staring at a fresh chunk of meat after being starved for weeks. Your eyes slowly grazed up his body, the lights in your room brighter than the red ones from the living room. You could see every curve, edge, ripple, and indent of his muscles now.
Finally eyes eyes met his expectant and impatient ones, his were thin and siren like so you gave him big, round, doe like eyes in return. The primal energy of a hunter watching his prey at his mercy filled the room, suffocating as if you two had hot boxed the room with lust and need.
"Sir~" you purred, dragging your palms higher to his inner thighs, his cock twitching in his pants in anticipation for your words. It only urged you on further to beg like you'd never begged before.
"Please please let me suck your cock? please let me taste your sweet cum while you cum down my throat? Fill me sir~ please?" And you did exactly that, begged like you were made for it, like you were begging for your life. Begging for him to ruin you and fuck your mouth dumb before doing the same to your drenched pussy.
The growl that erupted from his throat sounded animalistic and hungry. He clearly needed you just as badly as you needed him. He didn't responded and pulled the baggie of white powder out of his pocket before taking his sweats and boxers off together. The fabric pooling around his ankles right in front of your knees.
You sat watching his hands open the baggie with your kryptonite in it, curious but unmoving. You simply waited for his instructions as you watching his face light up like he just had the most brilliant idea.
"Open your mouth." he demanded and you obliged like the obedient toy you were for this man already. Your mouth open as far as possible knowing that your jaw was going to be so incredibly sore from the sheer size of his cock. It was not just huge in length but it was girthy too. It was sure to ruin you if you were dripping as much as you were right now. Your tongue rolled out of your mouth, the drool that was forming inside your mouth cascading down the length of your tongue and dripping off the end in long, messy, stings.
He placed his cock on your tongue and slipping the tip against the wet flesh a few times, before holding it in place. The weight of his cock heavy and twitching against your tongue waiting for his next instructions, keeping eye contact with him as the lewd sight plagued his vision. "Close your lips around the head but don't you dare move slut. Got it?" You nodded at his words and wrapped your wet and swollen lips around it, pressing your tongue flat against the slit leaking salty precum into your mouth.
He then took the baggie and tapped out a line of your favorite powder along the length of his cock. "Now, be a good girl and snort the entire line. Take my cock all the way into your throat and get your fix." he demanded and it truly was the hottest thing you'd ever heard anyone ever say, a whimper escaping your throat and sending vibrations straight to his head.
You proved yourself to be a good girl doing exactly what he said, covering one nostril and using one of your many rolled up dollar bills to snort the entire line in one go, letting the bill drop as your nose hit his pubes, swallowing around the head of his cock now buried down your throat. Another low groan fell from his lips as he watched you and you snorted hard to finish the line. Immediately seeing the stars you loved so much as the coke hit your brain, euphoria coursing through your body, all your nerves lighting on fire the way you love so much.
A groan left your through traveling through his cock as you looked up to him, hoping he'd let you finally suck the soul out of him now. "Go ahead pup. Make Daddy feel good." he finally allowed you to do what you love best, leaning back on his hands as you both kept eye contact. You hollowed out your cheeks and got to work, the moans, groans, and growls that filled the room just egged you on harder.
Soon enough, curses were leaving his lips as his cock twitched relentlessly inside your mouth, your own moans started mixing with his, desperate to have him filling your throat. He tangled his handing into your hair and started fucking your mouth with no mercy, your own hand going into the waistband of your joggers, fingers playing with your sensitive bundle of nerves, your gave never leaving his no matter how much your eyes watered as he abused your throat.
His thrust got sloppy and he groaned your name and stopped his movements, burying his cock down your throat as the warm white liquid shot down it. Your throat constricting around him as your swallowed ever last drop, successfully sucking his soul out of him. He took as second before pulling out of your mouth to catch his breath before giving you his next demand. "On your stomach. Now." his tone just as harsh as before and you obeyed, climbing on the bad and laying on your stomach, looking back at him.
You were watching and anticipating his next move, still fully dressed and needy and his cock was still rock hard and his tip angry. He climbed on the bed, roughly stripping off your joggers, smacking your now exposed ass hard. You whimpered at the mix of pain, need, and pleasure and he grabbed the baggy again, pouring out a line on the now red flesh of your ass, snorting his own line. As if you couldn't get any wetter, that definitely had you leaking more. It was way hotter than it should've been.
After he did his own line, we pulled off his shirt hastily before removing yours just as intensely. Ripping it slightly as he pulled it off, the ripping of the seams being heard through the room. Your hips wiggled teasingly, the flesh of your ass rippling and jiggling with your movements. He straddled your thighs, lifting your hips up slightly so your cheeks were pressing around his cock. He pushed his hips forward, then back again to tease you, kneeding the flesh a bit before spreading it apart to get a perfect view of your holes.
You were so wet that your thighs and your ass were soaked. The glistening caught Changbin's eyes before running his cock between your thighs, soaking his length in your arousal. He groaned at the euphoric feeling "Fuck- such a filthy whore. So wet just from sucking Daddy's cock?" He countiued passing his length through you wet folds, groaning deeply as your own desperate and needy moans and whispers fell from your lips.
"God, I'm gonna fucking ruin you till your addicted to my cock instead of the fucking coke." he growled and adjusted his hips to push into in one swift thrust. Bottoming out immediately as a scream ripped through your throat. The stretch burned but you felt so full that you were seeing stars and began clenching around him to adjust as quickly as possible.
Luckily he stayed still for you to catch up, the scream was pushing him to ruin you more but he wasn't evil, he knew he was huge and knew if he didn't let you adjust before wrecking your hole, you would be in too much pain to enjoy it. With as much tension and build up, he wanted it to be worth the wait. When he felt you trying to push back against him, he smirked knowing you needed more. "Awe~ does my pretty cum dump need more?" he asked but already knew the answer.
You slurred out helpless whines and pleases, begging for him again. He leaned forward putting his body flush against yours but not putting his full weight on you so that you could keep your hips were the were at the perfect angle to hit your weak spot. He took his left arm, wrapping it around your throat and putting you in a head lock, using his elbow to hold himself up and his left elbow pushing into the mattress next to your head to help hold him up as well.
After he got into the perfect position he started thrusting relentlessly into you. His hips slamming against your ass as the sounds of flesh against flesh filled the room. A symphony of your desperate moans filling Changbin's ears and the room, his grunts mixing in with yours as you started feeling dizzy as he used you while giving you a head rush from the headlock.
The pace he used was brutal, borderline hate sex, and it was so unbelievably hot. You weren't sure if it was the cocaine, the tension, the head rush, or the intense amount of pleasure coursing through you body but your skin was on fire. Every single nerve ending was ignited and that familiar knot started forming in your stomach. Your clit was throbbing from the stimulation of your thighs pushed together creating the most heavenly friction while your g-spot was abused continuously.
"Fuck- ohmygod- I'm cl- close FUCKFUCKFUCK" you were screaming at this point, convinced that everyone down stairs could hear you over the music and pounding bass that were vibrating the walls of your home.
"Shit- me too baby. Fuck! Be my good little cock slut and cum on Daddy's dick. Just like that- fuuuuuuck" He was grunting into your ear, his cock twitching inside you relentlessly and his thrust becoming sloppy as he got closer to his release.
You were clenching around him about to tumble over the edge into your own orgasm when you heard him grunt into your ear and his hips still. You could feel the white, hot ropes filling you to the brim, spilling out of you from around his cock. That was all it took to have you chasing your own high, cumming the hardest you ever have. Your pussy clenching around him as your body trembled. Squirting onto your sheets underneath you two.
Loud moans filling the room as he helped the both of your ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm. It felt like your body was vibrating and you both played there for a moment, sweaty and panting trying to calm down after everything. He let you out of the headlock to pull out of you, seeing his cum pouring out of your pussy clenching around nothing.
He fell onto the bed next to you and saw the wet puddle beneath you. "Did- did you squirt?" he asked with his usual cock smirk causing you to groan and roll your eyes. "Shut up." the embarrassment causing your face to heat up. It's funny how after all of that, this was what made you shy and embarrassed.
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celestialwhoree · 1 month
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Mustang 🌵🏜️
The morning after dinner with Simon, you sit patiently on your porch swing, a chipped mug of coffee clutched in one hand, a pen knife balanced between the fingers of the other. Fortunately, the mornings aren't yet sweltering enough to wake covered in sweat and kick off the thin sheet from your bed. The sun still rises languorously over the horizon, and you wake with it.
Simon Riley is surprisingly pleasant, and you begrudgingly admit to yourself that Marlene had been right, perhaps you do need to get out more, meet new people, get over it. Perhaps you like him because he's like you. He's quiet, peaceful on the surface, undoubtedly roiling underneath. It's impossible to miss when you know the feeling so well. Tyres crunching on gravel snap you from your reverie, the black truck, some shiny new ford pulling in your driveway, cab doors swinging open to let its driver out.
"Nice." An appreciative eyebrow is raised in the direction of the truck, amusement barely hidden at its cleanliness. You struggle to imagine him spending meticulous hours cleaning the vehicle - when you do picture Simon Riley shirtless and suntanned, working meticulously to rid the truck of dust and dirt, you internally chastise yourself before walking down the rickety porch steps to greet him. "You left your pot." His gruff accent feels so odd to you still, so out of place whilst still being so somehow pleasant, sending shivers down your spine. "Shit. So I did." The enamel of your Dutch Oven is cool against your hands, chilled from the AC in his car. Still not used to the warmth, you suppose.
"You want a drink?" You hum as you wordlessly make your way back up the porch steps, Ness nipping at your heels as you usher Simon and the collie into your cozy kitchen, quick to shut the screen door behind you. "I got sweet tea, coffee, lemonade." "You got earl grey?" "Do I look like the type to have earl grey?" "Black coffee then, please."
Ness seems to like him. Good judge of character, you think. You hope. Maybe she likes him because of how similar he is to you, and you can't help but appreciate the newcomer as he pets the bicoloured ears of your pet. Your place is exactly how he pictured it'd be, cozy in a lived in sort of way, knickknacks scattered across the countertops and shelves and the occasional picture of what he can only assume is you as a kid strewn haphazardly. The coffee maker whirs quietly to life as you busy yourself with retrieving a plate of biscuits from the fridge, chucked in there to avoid the occasional fly that managed to get through the screen in the rushed moments where you failed to close it all the way.
"Biscuit?" "Just coffee is fine." "Your loss." You quip back, putting the plate back in its rightful place, by which time the coffee has brewed and you pour Simon a chipped mug full. "So, the fastback." Simon manages a little awkwardly, dwarfing your mug between his palms. "Ah, the elephant in my garage." The crappy joke makes you actually cringe, eyelid twitching as you angle your head back to the door, making your way to the garage, in which you pull the cover from the red painted mustang with an awkwardly executed flourish.
Upon assessing the car, Simon grunts out a quiet "Shit", turning to you with an almost concerned look. "You pay for this?" It seems weirdly as though he's mad, like anyone who charged you for this useless hunk of metal and rubber had committed some kind of sin, like they'd kicked a puppy or shunned god away. "No. No, guy said if I could fix it up it was mine." "Good. Cause it's worth fucking naught."
Simon spends the morning tinkering with the car. Pushes it out of the garage with pure brute strength so that he can look at it properly, says he'll fix your garage light whilst he's at it. When he appears at the kitchen door like a lost dog, cautious to shut the screen door, he can't help but appreciate the way you turn to face him, leaning the swell of your hip against the countertop. "The biscuit offer still open?" "You're fixing my shitty car and you already looked at my garage light. At this point I owe you more than just biscuits." You chuff.
The veteran can't help himself but to ogle your ass as you bend in front of your fridge to retrieve the biscuit plate, along with a jug of sweet tea and two chilled glasses.
"Prepared." "Ah, figured you'd get thirsty at some point."
There's something pleasant about the quiet of it all. Reminds him why he moved out here in the first place. The quiet nicker of horses and the sight of a beautiful woman making him lunch after spending hours out in the unforgiving heat. It makes him feel weirdly grateful, something he hasn't felt in a while. He's at your side as you rustle up some other food, something more substantial for a man of his size who's just spent four hours in the steadily boiling heat. He likes the way you don't flinch when a tentative arm slips around your waist to grab the glasses you'd set out on the counter, moving them to the table before returning to press his shoulder against yours.
"Need me to do anythin' else?" "Just stand there and be hot." Slips out before you can stop yourself, and your hand flies to cover your mouth, all whilst he stands, massive arms crossed against his chest with a smug. "Yes, Ma'am."
ᯓ★
Today felt like such a good day to write these two I promise I didn't forget about them!! I love them!! They're my emotionally wounded babies!!!
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"This manga is heavily a Buddhist story, which is mostly the reason for the morals, choices, and consequences of the story falling flat for many westerners. It'd be too difficult to go into everything in one comment, but the most important thing is Ichikawa's criticism of Pure Land Buddhism.
In this branch of Buddhism, people can basically pray to get into the Pure Land, rather than having to do the work themselves. Gemstones also can't get into the pure land and thus are exempt from samsara, the karmic cycle, which was the main inspiration for the series and something Ichikawa sought to change in the story.
The story depicts Ichikawa's rejection of Pure Land Buddhism through Adamant's burden of existing solely as a tool to pray humanity away and his eventual breaking free of this role to be able to live with the gems full time during the 10,000 years. It also sort of paints the lunarians as lesser for convincing themselves that they need someone to pray them away when they didn't. But the biggest example is regarding which character actually got the better ending, because the way I see it, and the way Ichikawa seems to see it, everyone other than Phos got fucked in the end.
Over the course of the story, Aechmea paints nothingness as a serene realm of nonexistence that is free from the suffering of the living world, but by the end, it seems clear that nothingness is just another state of existence and everyone there is still a part of the eternal cycle of everything being remade into everything else. Taking this into account, why would you want nothingness when you can make peace with existence like Phos ended up doing? Despite everything he went through, it's only because he actually put the work that he was given the opportunity to find his purpose, reflect on his life and actions, and be happy with the pebbles. Things didn't go how he planned, but he did end up getting everything he wanted.
A lot of people will say that the message of the manga is that existence is suffering, but I think the ending makes a good point that it is equal parts suffering and happiness. Likewise, the manga does a good job painting humanity as a force of destruction, ignorance, and shortsightedness, but the ending shows that there is still pureness and wisdom in it.
Probably the biggest takeaway should be that good and evil and other black and white ways of looking at things are rarely any use in a world as nuanced as ours. And that seeing the world this way will only lead to confusion when those you see as good are getting punished and those you see as evil are getting rewarded, when in reality, the universe could not care less what you are. Everyone is just the result of their own actions and the influences of the world around them and we're all going to die and go back to being stardust eventually anyway."
"The lunarians were all able to pass on their own, but their insistence on someone else doing the work for them was an attachment that kept them from that. Shiro and the game board fulfilled their desire to see Adamant again and were able to go to nothingness without him praying for them."
"They got what they wanted, but what they wanted doesn't seem to be what they thought it was. Rather than a state of absolute non-feeling, it sounds like they're just getting put back into the karmic soup of the universe a bit sooner than Phos, Brother, the pebbles, and everything else eventually will. Except the lunarians and gems weren't wise enough to come to terms with that inevitability.
Most of this take comes from Brother's conversation with Phos in chapter 103 regarding living in the present and not worrying about the future that's beyond your control. But even ignoring this part of it, I still think the series makes a good case for existence, even including the worst of it, being a better deal than absolutely nothing.
This is not to say that Phos didn't experience far worse than anyone else in the story, only that the kind of growth he went through requires a degree of hardship. Phos post-prayer seems to agree that everything he went through, despite how unfair or traumatizing it was, was necessary and worth it for him to have the clarity and happiness that he has now.
A part of Buddhism is realizing that you can't change most things and accepting things the way they are. Basically, things don't always go the way you planned and finding value in the way they did rather than dwelling on things out of your hands is a form of personal growth that one should strive for.
Phos made peace with what he was dealt and used those experiences to make himself and those around him better off, spending eons of happiness with the pebbles. The lunarians rejected this way of thinking and endlessly sought to change their fate, wasting the existence they were given before inevitably getting thrown right back into a new one. They squandered their chance at what Phos attained and will have to start from scratch in their next form. When everything you have ends eventually, it's the present that really matters, not the outcome."
(CrashDunning)
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flananjan · 3 months
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Happy birthday to our favorite black cat, wife, Sparklative SSF Captain, guitar shredder, and mysterious mathematician, Jan Peteh!! 🩷 (click for higher quality!)
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jan appreciation + bare painting below ((:
(its kinda cringe tho so beware 💀)
Jan,
I really have no words to properly describe how much of an impact youve had on me. I hope these mere simple english words will suffice.
Jan,
You captivated me the moment I laid my eyes on you. Your movements, the way you held your guitar, your intense eye contact — your... everything pulled me in right from the start. Something told me you were different from the rest and urged me to explore more of your world. How wonderful of a place it turned out to be.
Jan,
Your musical abilities never cease to impress me. Even at such a young age, you showed such prowess! The charm of your fingers gliding across guitar strings, your hair flying and your face full of bliss, the lighting from behind framing you like an angel — not even Michelangelo could replicate your beauty! You're truly one of a kind.
Jan,
While appearing listless, your general demeanor still spoke to me. I've had trouble expressing myself properly throughout my life, so I strangely find some comfort in your deadpan expressions and tone of voice. Even with those attributes, you still seem to be understood by your loving peers. I hope to find my own people who will understand me like that.
Jan,
Your dry humor always manages to make me laugh, even during days full of rain. There's just something about the delivery that always gets me, and how randomly you seem to interject sometimes. I find it extremely charming, though I might be biased because I have a similar sense of humor.
Jan,
Your love for your friends knows no bounds. I adore the way you express it, whether it be through your openly affectionate and physical gestures, or your blunt yet sweet words. As an aromantic, I have always advocated for friends being intimate, so to see it in action so shamelessly always makes me happy to no end. Kisses and laughs and all — please never change.
Jan,
The way you express yourself is mesmerizing, to put it lightly. I never knew a man could ooze such eroticism and sexuality in such an artistic and beautiful way. Your nose ring, your painted nails, your grown-out hair, your clothes, your facial expressions — where do I even begin to show my gratitude for these? I've always struggled with my own sense of expression, yet seeing you has helped me get my own footing and be more confident in myself. Eroticism truly is a way of life.
Jan,
You inspired me to get back into music, after years of it weighing on my back as just a mere inconvenience. I've dusted off my old keyboard and cut my nails on my left hand so I can properly use a guitar. I even bought a ukulele in respect of your Jokerlele during Eurovision, making sure it was brown just like yours.
Jan,
You inspired me to grow out my hair again. I've always been self-conscious about it getting long and being perceived as something I'm not, but after seeing you, I feel as though its okay to have some length in it. It used to be very thin with how much I would cut it, but I'm now trying to grow it out so it can be full like yours. Oh how I wish I had the same hair texture as you haha
Jan,
You inspired me to paint my nails deeper colors. Before I would just paint them with a sparklative sparkly base, but I've since ventured out into trying darker shades like black and navy.
Jan,
You inspired me to get a fake nose ring to see how it'd look like if I got my own. I wear it every day now.
Jan,
You inspired me to expand my wardrobe and explore my own sense of style.
Jan,
You inspired me to draw again, a passion I thought I had lost a long time ago.
Jan,
You inspired me to smile more, though crooked as my teeth may be.
Jan,
For a period of time, I was utterly empty and had nothing to look forward to the next morning. I dreaded waking up and wished everything was just a horrible nightmare. I found little solace in anything, but whenever I could, it would be from you.
Jan,
You inspired me to continue living this life of mine.
I will never be able to truly express my deepest love and gratitude for you. Hvala za vse 🩷
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chaiiskindagross · 4 months
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((Idk if you're taking request or not feel free to ignore this)) but I recently came across your blog and your writing is so delicious 😫 I was wondering if you were ever planning on writing a continuation of the whole yandere! fuckboy Idea? 👀 It's just too good man
oh my goodness thank ya darlin', that means a lot to me ya don't even know 🫶🏾 and honestly... I mean, it is such a fun idea so hM, I could ramble a lil' about yandere! fuckboy
yandere! fuck boy honestly has no idea what's gotten into him after just getting a singular taste of you, he could only imagine what it'd be like to get between your legs— and that's rich coming from him considering he's never even given head before, only received.
yandere! fuckboy pretty much refuses to leave your place even after you've thrown his clothes in his face and threatened to call the cops on him.
"C'mon, babe, you don't need to do that. Plus... ya do know I've got family on the force, right? Sooooo even if ya do call 'em, all I've gotta do is flash a smile and I'm scott-free. Amazing, isn't it?"
yandere! fuckboy has you cornered now, but you don't understand why or what changed in the span of minutes, were the screws loose in his head or something?
"Listen, dude. I don't know what your problem is, but I just wanted to fuck you once and then be done with you. Why the hell won't you just leave already?!"
yandere! fuckboy basically laughs in your face after hearing the question you ask of him, looking at you as if you were simply confused.
"Whaaaat? C'mon. We went on a date and everything, we don't need to make this a fling for either of us. As a matter of fact, something long-term with you doesn't even sound too bad... Maybe even forever."
yandere! fuckboy has switched up so quickly that you're given whiplash, the world becoming dizzy around you as you stare at him as if a second and third head has sprouted from the sides of his neck.
yandere! fuckboy watches as you stare at him, bewildered and mystified, trying to wrap your head around what exactly is going on, and then it's your turn to laugh, pointing an accusatory finger his way.
yandere! fuckboy's eyes widen when you're shaking your head at him and chuckling, as if he was the one who's made a joke this time.
"Hah. Funny prank, kinda weird, but, thanks for the laugh, I guess. So, can you leave now or what? I'm super hungry and leftovers from last night are calling my name from the fridge—"
"Mmm, leftovers? What kind of leftovers?"
"Hah. You've still got jokes... but really, could you leave now? The prank has extended its stay and it's getting old pretty fast."
yandere! fuckboy lays back onto your bed, tossing his clothes aside as he remains naked and comfortable on your bed— posing as if he were a muse for a famous painting-to-be.
yandere! fuckboy doesn't understand why you don't get that he's being as serious as a heart attack.
you, on the other hand, are contemplating on what actions you to need to take next to get him the fuck out of your house.
"I'll order somethin' for you, then you won't need any leftovers. I'll leave right after we have a meal together, does that sound good?"
Okay... Maybe a free meal on his dime didn't sound too bad.
...
He said he'd leave right after. He said he would leave right after. He said he would leave right after.
Then why the FUCK is he still here?
I don't know, reader, let's find out.
"You said you were leaving, why the hell are you still here? And put your damn shirt on already."
yandere! fuckboy scoffs as he lounges on your living room couch as if his name was on the lease of your place written in glittery pen ink.
"Eh? Don't go puttin' words in my mouth. Never said anything about that. In fact, I think I'll stay the night. Huh. I don't think I've ever cuddled anyone before. Consider yourself lucky because you'll be the first."
the incoming migraine that was about to unleash itself upon your head was already coming in full-forcr, your eye involuntarily twitching before you took a deep breath. with an exhale, you pressed your hands together and shut your eyes, attempting to calm your blood pressure before it went through the roof, but alas, something had already snapped like a worn-out rubber band.
"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!"
"Aht aht aht. Our house."
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cowgurrrl · 2 months
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Lavender Girl
Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader
Summary: A field trip [4.7k]
Warnings: financial stress, school fight, June once again introduces an ex, having a muse is creepy and weird, flirting that’s not flirting but it’s not not flirting, June putting her art history knowledge to work
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Most days, you're a good teacher. A teacher that students want to eat lunch with or inadvertently include in their silly TikToks. Most days, you're patient and kind and only have to raise your voice a handful of times, if only to be heard over the blanket volume level of teenage conversation. Today is not one of those days. "Guys!" You yell, pausing the music on your computer and turning to look at your class, obviously annoyed. "We're supposed to be talking about Picasso. I don't know why I'm hearing so much conversation about lunch." It's a lie. There was a fight between two students at lunch. It'd also been the topic of conversation in the teacher's lounge, but still.
"Miss, we already talked about Picasso!" One of your kids bemoans, and you raise your eyebrows at them. 
"So, if I asked you right now, you could tell me what historical event his painting Guernica is supposed to depict?" You ask. The entire class goes silent as you wait for a response that never comes, and you sigh. "Please, do your work."
The day started with getting yet another email from another gallery, this time from down south, telling you they loved your work but not enough to showcase or buy it. Then, a text from your manager letting you know that paychecks will be late because of technical issues with the system, even though you're already beyond broke. Then, a sad text from Andie about how she's feeling homesick and misses you and wishes you could get on a plane to come see her. Then, to top it all off, an email from your ex, Henry, popped up the second you pulled into the school. 
Hey, long time, no talk! I hope you're doing well. I wanted to reach out and let you know I've got an exhibition going up later next week and wanted to invite you to the opening. It's about-
You didn't read any further, anger and a wave of past emotions drowning you before you could. You and Henry were together all throughout college. You met during a freshman art class and were inseparable after that. He was tall, sensitive, and had a penchant for listening to country music when he worked, leading to many delirious nights spent crooning to Emmy-Lou Harris together. He surprised you with new paint and spontaneous trips to scenic parts of Texas to fuel your inspiration. You were happy for a long time. You even thought you'd marry him at one point. He wanted to be the next young, groundbreaking artist, making you his muse, no matter how many times you tried to assure him you were also an artist. Your work would go up in galleries and exhibitions, and everyone in your small program would gossip about the two of you. "He's so talented. It's insane," you heard one of your classmates say once. "And she's so beautiful." 
The compliment dug under your skin and stayed there as your relationship failed. You didn't want to be a muse anymore. You stopped letting him paint you in various states of undress and started asking for more alone time to work on your own stuff. You went from being the perfect, polished doll he could position however he wanted and started living in your paint-stained jeans and old, ratty shirt. You started arguing more and more, first about little things like why he left his paint water cups everywhere, and then about big things like your decision to pursue teaching and the "inspiration" he found in an impressionable freshman. He suddenly moved out after graduation without a word, leaving you to nurse your wounds in a half-empty apartment for the rest of your lease, and you hadn't heard from him until this morning. 
There's something more than the sting of hearing from him all these years later that bothers you. You're a high school art teacher struggling to make ends meet, and he's doing exactly what he set out to do. He's getting his work in front of his eyes and receiving praise for it. "Why do you wanna be a teacher when you can just be an artist?" He asked you one morning as you studied for your certification exams. "Or, at least, an artist's wife." 
"And what if I'm not good at that?" You asked. "Then what? I'm just supposed to be your muse for the rest of my life? Have kids to fuel someone else's inspiration and have no time for my own work? Wither away while you go on to make art and give talks and become a cynic? Fuck that." 
You stand by what you said, even all these years later, but there is an irony in that, even as a teacher, you don't have time to do your own work. Still, fuck that. The bell rings and signals the end of another class, and you quickly stand as students start packing up their stuff. "Okay, guys. Remember, your art history essay is due in two weeks! I'm excited to read all about everything you've learned since we started this unit. I love you, and please make good choices." You announce, hoping that at least some of them are listening to you, as they spill out of the classroom and the next students stream in. Ellie's sweet face is a welcome reprieve when she walks in. 
"Hey Bellie! How's your day going, kiddo?" You ask, and she smiles. You'll swear up and down all day that you don't have favorite students, but if you did, Ellie would be one of them. 
"Good. I have my signed permission slip for the art club field trip." She says. After your experience with Joel outside the bar, you couldn't sleep and knocked out all the field trip paperwork before falling asleep on your couch. But you weren't safe from his lips and broad shoulders, even in your subconscious. 
"Oh, my hero! I've been meaning to remind everyone about those. Thanks for getting that in so quickly." You say as she hands the paper to you, Joel's scribbly signature at the bottom. Somehow, you're not surprised that the box indicating he wants to be a chaperone is ticked. "Perfect. Your dad knows when the field trip is?" 
"Yeah. He wrote it down on his calendar and everything." She says, rolling her eyes fondly, and you laugh.
"Well, good, because I'm gonna need all the help I can get when I'm dealing with you guys."
"Hey!" She feigns offense as the bell rings, signaling the end of the passing period, and the last of your students comes running in. Ellie takes her seat near the front, and you grab your silly, colorful pointer to talk about Guernica, which is still proudly displayed on the board. After a quick art history lesson, you release them to work on the projects they've been working on for a week now. They still have a few more days before it's due, so more than half of them are slacking off quietly, which you're fine with. As long as you get a finished assignment at the end, they can do whatever they want.
You play quiet music as they work to help them focus and answer some emails. One email that catches your attention is from the parent of one of your students, Dalton, who's an amazing football player but is less than passionate about art, to say the least. You emailed his dad to let him know he was missing some assignments and could still turn them in late for only a slight penalty, but if he turns in nothing at all, you'll have no choice but to fail him. You also CC'd the football coach so he'd know the academic standing of one of his star players. Needless to say, you've been subject to a few not-so-nice emails from all parties involved. 
Once you're done firing off another round of emails, you decide to step away from your computer so you don't have to see the next reply until absolutely necessary. Walking around the room to answer questions, give opinions, or just hear what's happening in students' lives always makes you feel better. In one period, you helped a handful of students put the finishing touches on their projects, heard the latest gossip, and talked one of your girls out of sending a nasty text to the boy who just broke her heart. And they say teachers aren't important. 
The second you get a little bit of peace during your planning period, your phone buzzes with a notification. Given all the notifications and messages you've received today, you're hesitant to even pull it out of your pocket. But curiosity wins, and you open your phone to find a text from an unsaved number.
Is there anything I should bring to the field trip? Snacks, gum, alcohol?
You laugh to yourself and start typing a message back. 
Alcohol won't be necessary, but it might be good to bring some lunch and a few snacks. I think we're gonna try to have a picnic or something at the museum. 
Yes, ma'am.
You still feeling up to chaperone? Teenagers are no joke.
Do I need to remind you that I've raised two? I think I can handle a few more.
Oh, I can't wait to see this.
It can't be that hard, right?
On the day of the field trip, it turns out to be that hard. The only adults accompanying twenty teenagers to the museum are you and Joel. They're excited to be out of school and doing something new, but you can feel your migraine starting before you even get on the bus. Thankfully, the ride to the museum (and the traffic) calms them down, and they're more manageable by the time you arrive. A curator meets you outside the front doors and begins by walking your group through the outdoor sculptures, giving a little bit of history of the museum and the pieces themselves. The kids ask insightful questions and take turns snapping photos or even sketching a rough outline of the piece before moving on to the next. You stay at the front of the group while Joel manages the middle and back, silencing kids with a stern look. You fight a smile when you catch him and Ellie lingering at a sculpture, whispering to each other before he urges her forward and takes a sweet picture of her smiling in front of it. 
After the initial walk of the grounds, you stop to have lunch in a sunny garden and listen to the kids gush about their favorite part so far and what paintings they're most excited to see inside. 
"Miss, what's your favorite thing here?" Kayla asks.
"I like Dream Village by Chagall. If you find it before me, you'll have to let me know." You say. "Do you have a favorite?"
"Not yet. Maybe I'll find it today." Kayla says.
"I like that attitude!"
"Kissass." Jacob coughs, and you both give him a look. You can feel Joel's eyes burning a hole in the back of your head as you stare at Jacob.
"What's my policy?" 
"Are you really gonna make me say it?"
"Yep." You say, and he sighs.
"You can be anything you want to be, but you're not allowed to be a dick." He mumbles.
"Exactly. So, please, be nice," you say as you fish around in your lunch box for something. "Here, have a cookie. It might help make you feel a little better." He mutters a little thanks and unwraps it, already in a better mood after one bite, and you smile. 
"You just carry around cookies, waiting for a kid to be in a bad mood?" Joel asks, and you turn to look at him. He's wearing a plain blue t-shirt and jeans with sunglasses sitting atop his head, but you think it might be your favorite thing he's worn in your presence. You like it when he wears color.
"It was my cookie, but he needs it more than I do," you shrug. "Besides, things like that are a great morale booster. It's hard to be grumpy when you've got something sweet." 
"I'm inclined to agree with you." He quips a little too smoothly, his eyes flicking across your face and down to your lips, and you feel your cheeks getting hot. Thankfully, all the kids have returned to their own conversations and couldn't care less about what the Adults are talking about. 
"You're relentless." You whisper.
"Do you want me to stop?" He whispers back, and you sigh. If you were a stronger or better person, you might be able to think fast enough to come up with a response, but you're not. So, you just look at him and rack your brain for something to say but come up empty. "That's what I thought." He smiles and offers you his sweating Dr. Pepper can as a peace offering. You roll your eyes at his smug look but take a sip anyway. 
Once everyone is done eating, you all stand and make your way into the museum lobby, the kids already chattering about what they want to see. 
"Okay, you guys are free to roam but please, please, please remember that you're representing not only the school but also me. Be respectful and kind, and please don't act like you've never been in public before, okay? Go, be free." You say before the kids split off into their little groups with their obligatory activity in hand. Ellie stays near Joel, only a little shy, until Kayla turns around suddenly and waves her on.
"Ellie, c'mon!" She says. Ellie takes a few steps in her direction before turning to look back at Joel.
"Go. I'll be okay." He says.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Now go. Have fun." She doesn't need any more encouragement after that and skitters off with the rest of the kids, leaving you and Joel alone in the atrium. 
"She's doing really well." You tell him even though he can clearly see for himself. 
"Thanks to you." 
"All I did was give her a push."
"Take the credit. You deserve it." He says, his lips pulling into that award-winning smile. 
You fall into silence as you walk through the different galleries, Joel never too far behind you. Sometimes, he'll start at the opposite end of the room and work his way down until you meet in the middle, making a deliberate effort to bump your shoulder or hand as he passes. Other times, he'll stay right next to you, and, for some reason, it doesn't bother you. You like being so close to him and feeling his eyes work over the piece like it's a puzzle he doesn't quite know how to work. When he can't stand the quiet anymore, he'll whisper a question to you about the artist or the history, his breathing fanning out across your neck and making the hair there stand on end. 
After moving through a big part of the museum together, you and Joel end up at the same painting as the dull hum of voices fills the space between you. You smile to yourself, practically hearing him trying to find something to say as he stands there and observes how the lines of bright colors follow each other. Some are stark and almost resemble lightning in how they move around the canvas, but others are muted, blended together with careful precision and patience. It's hard to imagine what West Texas could've been like in 1953, but this makes it a little easier.
"What's this one supposed to mean?" Joel mumbles, leaning ever so conspicuously into you. 
"I can't tell you." You mumble back, and he finally turns to look at you head-on. You meet his eyes with an amused smile, and he shakes his head at you.
"You're really not gonna tell me?"
"I can't tell you what art is supposed to mean to you. I can't tell anyone that." 
"But, you're a teacher."
"If you're asking me for an art history lesson, I'd be happy to help, but that's about all I can do for you."
"'S cruel and unusual punishment."
"If art and culture are cruel and unusual punishment, why'd you sign up to chaperone?"
"Maybe I wanted to see my friend," he says, bumping you with his shoulder, and you laugh a little too hard. "What? We can't be friends? Is there a school policy against that, too?" 
"Nope, no school policy. I just," You pause and revel in how enraptured he looks at every movement, pause, and breath you take. "I already have friends, so..."
"Oh, and you're 'fraid of bein' too popular?"
"Famously." You say, and he chuckles next to you. You go back to staring at the painting quietly with him so close you can feel his body heat. You're the one to break this time, knocking him with your shoulder to get his attention again. You didn't need to. When you glance at him, you see his focus is on you, not the painting. "It's Texas. Canyon, to be more precise. Up by Amarillo where there's nothing but cattle and desert. O'Keeffe taught out there for a few years and wanted to paint something that showed how big the West is. It's supposed to make you feel like you're two feet tall and seeing the sky for the first time. For her, it might've been the first time in a long time she'd gotten to see a sunset that big. So, she painted it so other people could enjoy sunsets like that. It's like a love letter." 
"How d'you do that?" He asks once you're finished explaining, and you furrow your eyebrows. 
"Do what?" 
"Make little things seem so beautiful." He answers easily, like you asked him what color the sky is. You don't know what to say. What are you supposed to say to something like that?
"'S just what art does." You shrug and break away from his gaze to look at the painting, if only to not feel him staring into your soul.
"No, it's what you do to it. 'S why those kids love you so damn much. You make everythin' feel like a masterpiece, even the little things." He's not flirting. He's not trying to persuade you to do one thing over another. He's genuine and heartfelt. You swear you would start crying if you had a little less sleep. You take a deep breath and lean into him for half a second, just enough to feel his body against yours, before standing upright again.
"Thank you." 
"It's what friends are for," he says, leaning into you in return. "I should make sure they haven't seized the museum or anythin'."
"Oh, I can do it. You're a guest."
"And you work too hard," he stops you. "Take a break and enjoy what you love. The world won't end if you take some time for yourself." If ever there were awards to be given out for sweet talking, you think Joel Miller would win all of them. 
"Okay," you say, and he walks behind you to move on to the next section. "You really wanna be my friend?" You ask before he can fully pass behind you, looking at him over your shoulder. He smiles devastatingly, light sparkling in his eyes, and nods.
"I really wanna be your friend." He says softly, his voice low and rumbling in his chest. He lingers for a second or two before finally making his way to the group of students, leaving you to scrutinize the painting you've been staring at for God knows how long.
The day crawls to an uneventful close, with you forcing all the students to take a picture in front of the museum for the yearbook. Joel takes your phone out of your hand and all but pushes you in the photo, and your students lovingly welcome you into their little group. In exchange, you grab Joel's phone and take cute pictures of him and Ellie for their own memories. They smile almost identically, and Ellie makes a fake annoyed face when Joel kisses her temple. Your fingers brush against each other when you hand it back, and for a second, you can feel the callouses from his job. It feels like unlocking a new piece of him or a new quirk. 
Too bad this isn't a date. Too bad nothing can ever come of this. Too bad you had to meet this way. Too bad. Too bad. 
The ride home is quiet and full of the clinking of backpacks and new souvenirs. When you get to the school, parents are waiting in the parking lot with fast food dinners and excited ears to hear all about their days. Almost everyone immediately slinks home, tired and happy, before you can even get close to the school doors. Almost everyone. Joel and Ellie help you carry your backpack and some things you bought for teaching purposes at the museum into your classroom. The school is virtually deserted, and you return to your room to find all the lamps flipped off and mostly positive notes from the sub. 
"Dad, what are we gonna do for dinner?" Ellie groans as you sit in your chair and open your email quickly before you can pack up the rest of your stuff. Their dinner debate becomes background noise as you find your inbox full of annoyed messages from Dalton's parents, coaches, and even Principal Martinez regarding his grades. Under all that vitriol sits Henry's half-read message about his gallery opening, and you feel the perfect bubble of your day burst around you. Joel and Ellie seem to realize it because they're both quiet when you tune back into their conversation, and you turn in your chair to look at them. 
"Are you okay?" Ellie asks, and you snap out of it, putting on your best teacher everything-is-fine face.
"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just some emails. It's not important." You wave her off, but Joel isn't so easily convinced. He thinks for a second before pulling his keys out of his pocket and handing them to Ellie. 
"Go get some practice driving." He says, jerking his head toward the door, and Ellie's eyes light up.
"Really?!"
"Just bring the car to the front, and don't hit anything!" He says, but she's already taken off with the keys and her stuff in an excited whirlwind. You laugh at her enthusiasm, and Joel leans against one of the desks near you, crossing his arms in front of him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." 
"Your whole face fell when you opened that computer." 
"It's nothing." 
"If we're gonna be friends, you're gonna have to tell me if somethin's wrong otherwise I can't help you." He says, and you fight a smile. 
"I don't know how you're gonna help me with this one." You say. He bumps your foot with his and gives you a pleading look. Big brown eyes on men like him should be illegal, you think.
"Talk to me." He begs quietly, and you take a deep breath.
"When I was in college, I dated this guy. He was an artist, too, and we were like the little power couple of our program. Things ended kinda badly and abruptly, and I hadn't heard from him since graduation until last week when he invited me to his gallery opening. I really don't want to go alone because, honestly, I haven't been able to get anything showcased in years, and I'm embarrassed. Plus, he broke my heart and made me feel like shit for a few years." You can't stop the words from falling from you once the dam is broken, but Joel doesn't flinch.
"Well, you've got friends to go with, right?"
"I do," you say. "But I want to invite you."
"Oh." He says, seemingly unintentionally.
"Oh." You repeat. "You can say no. I just thought... since we're friends and all now."
"I just... I don't..." he struggles before finally giving in to what he wants to say, what you think he's wanted to say all day. "I don't think I'm smart enough to go to somethin' like that. I don't know anythin' about art. I don't even know how to dress for those kinda things."
"Nobody knows anything about art. Not really, at least. Especially not Henry."
"You do."
"Then I'll stick with you all night and feed you lines about composition or some shit," you say. "And you just wear a nice shirt and some slacks. Maybe a suit jacket if you're feeling snazzy. It's really not as big a deal as people make it seem. We'll go, drink wine, say something about the colors, play nice, and then we'll leave. I'll have you home by 9:30. Earlier if you really hate it that much." He rolls his neck like he's rattling something around in his head or thinking about your offer, and all you can do is watch him and the way his Adam's apple pressing against the delicate skin of his throat. You're convinced he's gonna say no.
"Are you asking me on a date?" He finally asks, and you laugh.
"Not a date."
"Sounds like a date. You even promised to have me home to my girl at a reasonable time."
"Fine, it's a friend date."
"A friend date?" He raises his eyebrows at you, and you nod. 
"It's perfectly normal to go on friend dates, Miller. You're just behind on the times."
"Seems like I am. Maybe you can bring me up to speed during the gallery opening?" He says, and your shoulders drop in relief. "I'll pick you up if you agree to help me not look like an idiot."
"You won't look like an idiot." 
"Not with you there, I won't." He says, and you want to laugh, but you also want to tear up a little at his kindness. It's been a long week. 
"Thank you, Joel. Really. I owe you." You say, and he nods. 
"'S my pleasure," he says. For a minute, you two just stare at each other in your empty classroom like teenagers with an obvious crush. You think that's what you feel like. You think that's all you'll ever be able to feel for him. "I should go. I've got an impatient teenager waitin' for me." 
"Yeah. Go get her some dinner, and I'll text you the details." You say as you stand to walk him out. He stands to his full height, opens his arms, and approaches you. You didn't think you were hugging territory, but as his arms wrapped around you, you couldn't help but hug him back.  
"Goodnight." He says into your hair, lingering for another moment before disappearing as fast as he appeared. 
"Goodnight," you say. With that, he starts walking to the open door with a smile stuck to his face. "Hey, Joel," you call before he can step over the threshold, and he turns around to look at you. "Art is for everyone, and even if it wasn't, you're more than smart enough to enjoy it."
"Yes, ma'am." He says with a half-salute and a wink before stepping out of your classroom. You let yourself rest against your desk and take a deep breath. Finally, you let yourself pull out your phone and read the rest of Henry's email detailing the time and place of the gallery. 
I hope you can come. It would really mean a lot to me. I miss talking to you and even though things ended the way they did, I still love you.
See you soon,
Henry Hall
"Fuck that."
TAGLISR: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk
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sydsaint · 29 days
Note
Hey Babe, I was wondering if you wrote for Darby Allin? If so could you possibly write a little fic for him. No pressure, Love you♥
My emo lover <3
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Summary: The reader gears up for Revolution and Sting's retirement match. Helping her father and Darby wherever she can.
"Darbs, have you seen my dad today?" You question your boyfriend while digging around for his face paint in your bag.
"I haven't seen him since the airport, no." Darby replies. "Why? What's up?" He tilts his head at you curiously.
You shrug and finally find what you're looking for. "I was just curious." You assure him. "It's going to be weird no having him around every week."
"I think we'll be okay." Darby chuckles. "Plus he's still working backstage once in a while isn't he? So he won't be completely gone." He reminds you.
"That's true." You nod. "Alright, sit down. What kind of design do you want tonight?" You ask him while shaking a face paint bottle in your hand.
Darby shrugs and sits down in a chair next to where you're standing. He pulls his shirt over his head and settles into his seat.
"You can pick." Darby decides after a moment of thought. "You haven't made me look bad yet." He grins at you.
You giggle and shake your head. "I think it'd be pretty hard to make you look bad, pretty boy."
"Pretty boy?" Darby replies pointedly. "Hey! I'm hardcore!" He protests.
"You can be hardcore and look like a pretty boy at the same time." You laugh and cup his cheek with your free hand. "Now hold still please."
Darby obeys and stops talking for the moment. You start smearing face paint all over one side of his face and begin blending it out for him. Throughout the process of you making Darby's face paint design look right he gazes up at you with adorable puppy dog eyes.
"Do you have to stare at me like that? It's distracting." You grumble to Darby.
"Like what?" Darby replies with a knowing grin.
You roll your eyes at him and switch colors. "Like you're madly in love with me."
"Maybe I am." Darby replies.
"Okay lover boy." You giggle and lean down for a kiss. "There, now you look as hardcore as you claim to be."
You start putting away all your stuff and Darby checks his reflection in his phone. "Do I get an 'I love you' back?" He asks you.
"I gave you a kiss." You protest. "Isn't that enough?" You tease him.
"Coming from you? It's never enough." Darby insists. "Come on." He whines. "I love you. Three simple words. For good luck." Darby comes up behind you for a hug.
You sigh when Darby wraps his arms around you. "You know people might not think you're such a hardcore dude if they saw how clingy you are." You joke.
"What can I say? I'm a lover not a fighter." Darby replies.
"Okay!" You laugh and turn around in Darby's arms. "Tell that to all the times I've had to bandage you up." You remind him. "I love you, you overly-violent idiot. Now go find my dad." You give him a small shove toward the door.
Darby grins to himself and lingers at the door. "I knew you loved me."
"Mhm. Go! Before my dad thinks I stole you." You point at the door.
"It'd be worth it." Darby replies as he heads out the door.
You roll your eyes again with a smile on your face and finish cleaning up.
You hang around in the locker room for a while and watch the show unfold on a tv monitor. Toward the end of the show you watch the Jackson brothers head out to the ring and once again start badmouthing your father and Darby. A fight ensues of course, and you know that you'll be checking Darby for injuries later.
After the show goes off the air you sit and wait for Darby and Sting to head back to the locker room.
"Hey, dad." You greet Sting when he finally show up with Darby.
"Hey, sweetie." Sting nods to you. "How has your day been?" He asks you.
You shrug as Darby walks over to you. "It was fine. You didn't hit your head did you?" You ask Darby.
"I don't think I did." Darby shrugs.
"You don't thin you did?" You repeat him and begin looking at his head. "How do you not know if you hit your head?"
Sting chuckles at your bickering. "You'd better get used to it Darby." He snickers. "With me gone she's about to get ten times worse." He jokes.
"Oh I know I'm so annoying for caring about my boyfriend." You huff.
"I love you too." Darby grins.
Sting laughs and you stop fawning over Darby. Everyone settles down and starts packing up to leave.
"So," Sting prompts you. "How do you feel about coming out to the ring with me and Darby on Sunday?" He asks you.
"Do you want me out there?" You ask in surprise. "Is that even a good idea? I don't want to get in the way, dad."
Sting shakes his head. "You're my only kid that doesn't have to be in the crowd." He reminds you. "Why wouldn't I want you out there."
"Darby? What do you think?" You turn to Darby.
"I don't see why not." Darby shrugs. "I don't think Matt and Nick are the types to mess with you if you're out there. And even if they are, you know I'd never let them get the chance to hurt you." He adds.
You nod, knowing that Darby would go through hell to make sure that you're safe. "Alright, yeah, I'll go out there with you two." You decide to honor Sting's request. "I can play cheerleader for one night. Plus it'll be fun to rub it in the guy' face." You giggle.
"Atta girl." Sting beams. "That's why you're my favorite." He teases you.
"Awe, I love you too, dad." You giggle and hug him.
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sleekervae · 3 months
Text
New York Romantic .5
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Masterlist
a/n: Happy new year everyone! I'm so sorry I've been MIA in recent weeks. I've been going through a depression spell over the holidays, but I'm trying to come out of it. I promise I'll be updating my other stories, slowly but surely as always. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this update!
pairing: Tom Blyth x ballerina!oc
summary: a soft snow day in new york
word count: 5181
taglist: @watercolorskyy @carolanns-world @alana4610
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The hallways were relatively quiet, a handful of students were cleaning out their lockers and studio spaces for the winter break. Tom didn't have much in his own locker, just some loose papers and a couple of text books. He wasn't too pressed to notice somebody walking upon him until the lockers thudded and shifted under the weight of someone's shoulder ramming into them. Tom glanced up to find Daniel staring back at him, sharp almond eyes reminding him of a cat with a mouse narrowed in his gaze while sidling up beside him with a disarming smile.
"Hi!" he greeted cheerily.
"Hi," Tom nodded back, "You're... Daniel, right?"
"Yeah! You're an acting major, right?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm Tom," Tom put his hand out for Daniel to shake, though the spindly dancer shrugged him off. Tom didn't think anything of it and continued to sort his things.
"Nice to meet you. I don't wanna be brash right before the break, but I've noticed you've been talking to Noelle quite a bit lately," he said.
The mention of her name caused Tom to pause; he straightened his posture and turned back to the dancer.
"Yeah... she's my neighbour," Tom replied cautiously, sensing an unspoken tension in Daniel's words.
"Do you like her?" Daniel asked.
Tom shrugged back, "Yeah. I mean she's very nice," he replied, itching to get to the point of why Daniel wanted to talk about this.
Daniel's smile faltered, a touch of protectiveness entering his voice. "Look, man, I've had feelings for Noelle for a while now. We're kind of a thing, you know?"
Tom fidgeted uncomfortably. Not once had Noelle, Bianca, or anyone in her circle mentioned that she had a boyfriend, "She's not your girlfriend, though,"
Daniel's expression turned stern, his tone more forceful, "Not officially, but we're getting there. It'd be best if you didn't get too close. Just to avoid misunderstandings,"
Tom hesitated, struggling to articulate his thoughts, "I-I'm just -- I didn't mean to —"
Before Tom could finish, Daniel's demeanor stiffened, a hint of displeasure flashing across his features, "You kissed her at Josh's party, didn't you?"
Tom's gaze faltered, "Well, yeah... but it was truth or dare," he shrugged back, discomfort tingling up his spine.
Daniel refrained from scoffing, "Well, next time either pick truth or take the shot. Because you may be all cool with your British accent and your Shakespeare, but I saw her first,"
At that, Tom's discomfort turned to a subtle anger, "I haven't done anything wrong. She's not your girlfriend and she can do as she pleases," he replied.
Daniel was about to rebut when his friends called for him at the end of the hall, "Daniel! You coming?"
Daniel straightened up, his expression firm and his lips feigned a smile, "Just mind your business, man," just to add insult to injury, he reached out and popped the collar of Tom's button-down before sauntering away. Annoyed, Tom adjusted his collar back into place, trying not to glare a hole into the back of the dancer's head.
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School was out for the winter, Julliard's halls were empty and students had taken off from the break. Tom woke up two days after school's end and found the city glittering absolutely glittering. Overnight, a gentle blanket of snow had delicately wrapped itself around the towering skyscrapers and bustling streets, transforming the usually hectic urban landscape into a picturesque winter wonderland. The snowflakes continued to gracefully fall from the heavens, painting the cityscape in a pristine coat of white. The delicate snow-covered branches of trees along the sidewalks added a touch of ethereal beauty, creating a breathtaking contrast against the steel and concrete structures. As the city stirred to life, there was a palpable sense of awe and wonder within Tom at the enchanting transformation that was downtown Manhattan.
Sunny had left the day previous, fearful that the snow would hinder his flight to Birmingham, so Tom was left to his own devices in the apartment. Noelle's family was supposed to arrive today as well, just in time for her department showcase in a couple days. Tom hadn't spoken much to her after that party, he wasn't sure what to say -- if he should say anything at all.
He would be lying if he said he hadn't thought back to that kiss, replaying moments in his head as he laid awake in bed. He could still feel the ghost of her soft lips imprinted on his, the tang of her cherry lip balm against his tongue, how easy and natural it felt to have her in his embrace. The giggling and snide comments afterwards didn't phase him so much as his own fears did. It was a dare after all, it wasn't supposed to mean anything.
So why was he still so affected after a few days? And why was Daniel so suddenly possessive of Noelle?
He went about his day as per usual, oatmeal for breakfast and lounging on the couch with Netflix. Despite the heavy snow, he could still hear the cacophony of traffic blaring just outside his window, the pane itself was covered in beautiful, delicate curls of frost. He checked in with his mum as well and she spent about fifteen minutes showing him all the decorations she and his sister had put up. She reiterated that it wouldn't be the same Christmas without him, but as long as he was safe and having fun with friends then she wasn't worried.
And Tom wasn't going to be completely alone, there were a couple friends sticking around in the city he would hang around with; Jordan being one of them. And not to mention he still had Doris' dinner offer on the table if he felt so inclined.
It was peaceful, tranquil, and by the time the early afternoon rolled around Tom was close to falling asleep on the couch. That is until he heard a knocking at his door. Tom figured it might've been Doris checking in, but she would've been hollering for him. And then he heard it:
"Tom? Are you home?" it was Noelle.
Why was she still here? She should've been downtown with her family at this rate. Nevertheless, Tom threw on his slippers and shuffled over to the door, and sure enough he found Noelle standing in the threshold, bundled up in her coat, boots and toque.
"Hey. What're you doing here?" he asked, leaving against the door frame to offset his nerves, "Aren't you supposed to be downtown?"
"I was," she nodded, "But my aunt called and their train got delayed because of the snow and it's a whole mess right now. They're hoping to catch the one tomorrow," she explained, "But I mean -- I was wondering if you had no plans today... do you wanna hang out?"
His anxiety lessened, endeared with her big brown eyes and wistful smile, "Yeah, yeah I'd love to," he replied with a nod, "You're going out somewhere?"
"I'm getting some groceries at Paddy's. Leave it to Bianca to forget to stock up before she left," she chuckled, "I should be back in about thirty minutes, I just wanted to catch you early,"
"Well, how about I come with you?" he offered.
"Oh, it's okay. I'll be fine," she assured.
He scoffed back, "Well maybe, but you shouldn't have to take all your stuff by yourself. Not in this weather, anyway," he replied, "-- I'd feel better coming with you, I mean,"
Noelle pressed her lips together, trying hard to bite back her smile. His own lips held a half purse, his big blue eyes blown as he feigned a pout.
"If you're sure, then yeah! I wouldn't mind the company," she said.
He went to grab his snow boots and coat -- grateful his mum had shipped them over a month early -- and ventured out into the cold alongside Noelle. There was a moment of hesitation in the back of his mind, wondering if he should've taken Daniel's warning more seriously. But on the other hand Noelle wasn't his girlfriend, nor was she Tom's, and if she wanted to hang out with him then who was he to deny her?
If he thought he was cold within his apartment then he would've been laughing, a sharp cold wind immediately nipped at his nose and eyes. The usual walk to Paddy's was a little more chaotic then usual, snow had piled onto the sidewalks as high as mid-shin -- well, for Noelle at least. Tom was bemused as he watched her stomp heavily into the snow banks, almost hopping from foot-to-foot. Despite his entertainment, he offered her his hand, helping guide her along until they came to the already shovelled walkways. Neither of them bothered to unlatch their hands on the stroll over.
Stepping inside Paddy's was scarce with people, two store attendants were shovelling snow out of the entrance while another was struggling with a large bag of melting salts. Tom grabbed a cart and his hands stung at the frigid cold on the hand rail. Nevertheless he planted his foot on the bottom rail and sailed in right past Noelle.
Noelle quickly caught up to the young actor strolling down the baked goods section, having now collected a few necessities. Tom already had thrown in some fruit, vegetables, cereal, a gallon of milk and a bag of pretzels. His eyes were scanning over display case filled with cookies, small cakes, and croissants. They were a pretty decent size, dusted in powdered sugar and appeared flakey and soft. He had asked for two from the bakery attendant just as Noelle had come over with a plethora of goodies in her arms.
"What's all this?" he asked curiously, his eyes skimming over the packet of sausages and box of pancake mix.
"You ever do brunch?" she replied, her eyes glimmering in excitement.
"Not very often," he admitted, his intrigue spiking, "Do you?"
Noelle dropped her items into the cart, sporting a satisfied smirk, "Only when I don't feel like eating instant noodles for the third time in a week," the attendant had just placed the bag of croissants on the countertop for Tom, "What's that?"
"Croissants," he replied simply, "Would they be acceptable for brunch?"
"Is the pope a catholic?" she simpered, "We should get some jam, then -- rasp--"
"Raspberry?" they spoke in sync, bashful grins exchanged in tandem with lithe chuckles and blushing cheeks. Tom placed the croissants in the cart along with the rest of their goodies.
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The snow had began to fall again as they trudged back home, hand-in-hand. Neither Tom nor Noelle mentioned it, both silently reassuring themselves that their joined hands were merely for stability on the slippery ground. But as they walked along sidewalks meticulously cleared of snow for easy passage, Tom wondered if that explanation held true at this point.
Nevertheless, Tom did his best to help Noelle as much as he could, keeping shells out of the eggs he cracked and doing his best to avoid grease spatter. Frost curled across the glass window panes, snow continued to pile anew across the cityscape, and yet Tom and Noelle remained safe and warm in their little sanctuary, the tantalizing smell of bacon and sausages wafting through the air while music drifted softly from Noelle's small speaker set up.
There was a jar of open peach jam on the table, to which Tom happily took advantage of to smear across his croissant. Noelle had settled for butter on her own, noting how Tom's face seemed to fall in disappointment after one bite.
"Is it okay?" she asked tentatively.
"Yeah, not as crispy as I'd like it to be," he nodded.
"Probably because it sat in the bag for about an hour," she shrugged back, "Or grocery croissants don't usually tend to match up with the elite bakeries,"
"Probably," he agreed, "But I love them, anyway. My dad used to bring us croissants from this bakery on Saturday mornings -- and I swear to you, they were the most amazing croissants I ever had in my life!"
Noelle grinned, his enthusiasm rubbing off on her as she cradled her chin in her hands, "Most amazing croissants? That's a pretty bold statement, considering where you are," she chuckled back, 'But that's a really sweet memory. I bet he was a really great dad,"
"He was. When I saw him, anyway," Tom nodded, "He was always working on the show, even before my parents separated. But he did his best to make time for us, and every time -- even if we just stayed home and watched movies, we always had a great time," his voice harboured a lilt of sadness, ruminating for the things he missed most. He didn't want his face to betray his feelings in front of Noelle, though it wasn't hard for her to pick off his demeanour change.
Her expression softened, her chest tugging at the shift in his gaze, how his words drifted into nothing. Without a second thought Noelle's hand slid across the small dining table, at first her finger tips simply nudged his, then slipped over them. Tom was brought out of his headspace the second her chilled hand fell over his, so small and dry, but nevertheless her skin was so smooth, carrying a few blemishes in the form of paper cuts and unevenly filed nails.
"He sounds like he was wonderful man," she smiled, "I think I would've loved to have met him,"
He began to relax into her touch, it all felt so natural and cozy, although he began to remember:
"-- you may be all cool with your British accent and your Shakespeare, but I saw her first,"
And with that Tom pulled his hand away. Noelle's smile disappeared.
"I'm -- I'm sorry," he stammered suddenly.
"No, no, I'm sorry," she shook her head, "I didn't mean to overstep --"
"You didn't!" he exclaimed quickly, then brashly scolding himself for raising his voice, "Sorry. I just don't want to..." cross a proverbial line? Get his ass handed to him by a neurodivergent hip hop major?
"You didn't do anything wrong," she assured him, her fingernails began to scratch at the faded wood top, "-- I know we haven't really spoken since the party... but if that kiss made you uncomfortable --"
"Not at all," Tom shook his head, "I mean -- I mean, I knew it was for a dare. I just don't want to put you in any awkward position,"
Noelle cocked a brow, "How do you mean?" she asked.
He was a little uneasy as he blurted out, "... Well, I don't want to put you in an awkward position with Daniel, is all," he replied.
"Daniel?" she nearly scoffed, "What does he have to -- oh God," she sat back in her seat, her eyes rolling, "What did he tell you? That I'm his girlfriend?"
Tom shrugged, "In not so many words,"
She began to snigger, "Oh, he wishes. We went on one date at the beginning of the summer, but we didn't have a spark -- I didn't, anyway. And of course he didn't get the hint. I can't really avoid him because we're on the same floor, so I grin and bear it for a few minutes until I find an out. If he said something to you, I'm really sorry,"
Despite how selfish it may have been, Tom began to feel better knowing that. He too let out a chuckle, "He does seem like he's a little bit in his own world," he said, "You don't have to apologize for him, either,"
"I know. But I promise you he's harmless," she replied, "And he has no right going around to my friends and telling them off, either. I'll handle it,"
"That doesn't seem fair to you," Tom noted, "Have you thought of reporting him?"
"To who? The faculty?" she scoffed back, "What're they gonna' do?"
"Well, something if you report him for harassment," he said.
"Honestly it's not that big a deal," she smiled, hoping to settle his worry, "I'm a big girl, you don't have to worry about me, Tom,"
Tom smiled back, "I never doubted you could handle yourself, but I'm still allowed to worry," feeling cheeky, he reached over with his fork and stabbed into a grape, popping it promptly into his mouth.
Noelle gaped dramatically, then she began to pout like a grumpy child, picking up another grape and hucking it at him, "Stop stealing food from me! I'll fight you!" she cried defiantly. Tom simply laughed as it bounced off his chest.
Not soon after the dishes were placed in the sink and the table was cleaned. The pair settled onto Noelle's couch for another movie, with Tom insisting she could pick the movie this time. She decided on Die Hard -- the truest Christmas movie out there. She had also fetched a bottle of gin, from where Tom wasn't so sure, orange juice, and two glasses.
"Aren't you supposed to be twenty-one to drink here?" he asked, giving her a playful side eye.
Noelle glared back, smirking, "Who are you, my dad?" she quipped back.
"Certainly not," he chuckled, "And if you ever call me such, we'll see what happens to you,"
Noelle rolled her eyes, bumping his gently with her elbow as she poured them drinks, "Okay, okay," and she handed him his glass, " -- how would you feel if I called you 'mom'?"
He paused momentarily before taking a sip, eyeing her up and down as she tried to bite back her growing grin. The moment felt all too uncanny, though Tom had no complaints. His best form of retaliation was to reach over and tousle the top of her hair. Noelle whined and tried to push him away, shaking her hair back into place with one last glower thrown his way. Bear in mind she made no move to slide away from beside him.
The movie started as normal, and both Tom and Noelle had seen it a handful of times over to know how the fallout opens, how the terrorists take control of the building, how McClane shoots at the police car as his only form to get help. So it was any wonder Noelle couldn't find herself to focus.
Tom was -- in not so many words -- hot. Temperature hot. She couldn't deny she found him attractive as well, but his body radiated heat like a human furnace, it was near impossible for her to not want to come in closer. The warmth was taking its toll on her, and she had to wriggle out of her sweater to get some relief.
Her movement struck Tom's attention, he couldn't help but peak out of the corner of his eye. His eyes flitted over her chest, skin tastefully covered by her tank top but he still couldn't help himself. He blushed when he met Noelle's gaze, realizing he'd been caught and grinned bashfully. Noelle shook her head and made a face, diverting her eyes back to the screen but on the inside she had to fight to keep herself together.
Paying attention to the film at this point as near-impossible, Noelle's mind was somewhere else. Specifically focused on her friend; emphasis on friend. Thought nevertheless she noted how much bigger he was then her, slim physique overall but he bore broad shoulders, long legs stretched out in front of him. Tom appeared a little younger then twenty-one and despite that, he was so mature beyond his years. And old soul.
Her brain flickered back to that party, that damn kiss, all the same flustering as it was breath-taking. She hadn't kissed many guys in her twenty-years of course, but she had never been as electrified as she had been when she tasted the whiskey off of his lips.
Noelle sipped her gin and juice, hoping to hydrate her suddenly dry throat. Alan Rickman's character was suddenly commiserating on his first meet with John McClane, and she suddenly had an idea.
She turned to Tom, "Would you rather be the good guy or a bad guy in an action movie?"
Tom chuckled, "Bad guy, obviously. But it depends on what my goal is,"
"Okay then, what would motivate you to take over the world?" she asked.
"Power, of course. But I don't want to be a psychopathic trigger-happy, domineering villain. The good villains are slick, charismatic, and well composed, like this guy," he pointed to Hans Gruber, "That guy is so smooth and so compelling he could sell water to a fish. Lulling you into a false sense of security. I'd be that villain,"
Noelle simpered, "Remind me to stay on your good side if you were to go power hungry,"
"Well, how about you?" he asked, "Hero or villain?"
"Villain, of course," she replied, "I'd be an Ursula-type villain. Or Maleficent. Just bat-shit crazy magical and maniacal, and I'd get to turn into a giant monster if I so please,"
Tom cocked a brow, "You want to grow into a giant sea witch?"
"Well, yeah!" she nodded, "You think I asked to be this short?"
He laughed, shifting away ever so slightly as though she may grow at any instant. Noelle pouted back and crossed her arms; but she couldn't help but smile when he moved back beside her.
Tom couldn't lie, he was still nervous around Noelle, but she always managed to put him at ease. She was so laid back, and after all, it was hard to be intimidated by a beautiful girl when she was comparing herself to campy Disney villains.
As they watched the movie, Noelle's gaze darted to Tom now and again. She flitted over his sharp profile, and his cheeks and nose still held their tinge of soft pink, a delightful contrast against his pale complexion. And the curve of his lips was pure... temptation. The inkling struck her, she wanted to kiss him again, she wanted to kiss him so badly.
God, you're ridiculous, she chided to herself. He only kissed her because Iseul dared him to, that was all. And if Daniel was already giving him flack, chances were he wouldn't want to be wrapped up in that in any way. And who was to say he even found her attractive, for all she knew he had a girlfriend waiting for him back in England.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked suddenly.
Tom nearly choked on his drink, "No," he replied, "Why?"
"I'm just curious," she shrugged back, "... You met anyone you'd consider asking out?"
"In drama? Nah," he shook his head.
"What about outside of drama? The opera majors are gorgeous," she noted, why she was talking about this she wasn't so sure why. She blamed the gin for the most part, though her own inhibitions were playing their part.
Tom smirked at her, "Are you trying to set me up?" he asked suspiciously.
She simpered back, "Uh -- no. I don't do the whole match-making thing. Iseul on the other hand is like a friggin Korean cupid," she shook her head.
"Was that her intention at the party?" he asked, "Trying to set us up?"
Noelle refrained from rolling her eyes, "I don't know. I think she's just sadistic of something. But... if that dare made you uncomfortable,"
"-- It didn't," he assured her, his deep blue eyes meeting hers, "If it had I would've said something. So please, don't worry," he assured her with a grin.
Noelle pouted back, "I'll worry about you if I please," she retorted.
He feigned shock, his hand coming over his chest, "She worries about me, oh my gosh!" he mocked, much to her amusement.
"Don't let it go to your head," she poked at his nose just for good measure.
His nose twitched, his gaze falling over her again in a hot, lingering perusal crackling over her skin like a live wire. This time there was no mistaking the interest in his eyes.
Should she make a move?
Could she cross that line again?
Lean in closer, ask if she could kiss him, or better yet ask if he could kiss her. She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts she hadn't even realized the credits playing over the screen.
"Do you want me to go?" he asked.
His posh voice startled her, and she realized she hadn't made a move to turn off the movie.
"No, I mean -- you're more then welcome to stay. If you can handle putting up with me any longer," she tried to joke. But it was reigning true, she didn't want him to leave.
Tom grinned bashfully, "As horrible as that sounds, I'll try to pull through," he replied.
"But if you're tired --" she began, "I don't mind if you want to --"
"I'm fine," he nodded, "If you don't mind having me over, that is," he found it odd how suddenly she seemed so nervous, perhaps he ought to take that as a good sign?
"I don't mind at all," she replied, "I like having you around. It's your turn to pick, anyway,"
She likes having me around, he hoped his face wouldn't betray how his chest swelled, the heat in his body suddenly elevated, "How about Elf?"
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Suffice to say, another movie turned into another, and then another, and before neither of them could realize they had fallen asleep on the couch, curled up together as the snow continued to fall over the city.
All was quiet, peacefully so as the sun broke out over the Eastern horizon. The snow stopped at some point during the night, glimmering in sun rays like millions of Swarovski crystals bejewelling the skyscrapers and cars. And in that tiny apartment Tom and Noelle slept soundly, cozied up with arms wrapped the other, the laptop screen having gone black hours ago.
As the light peaked through the curtains, Tom couldn't help but begin to stir, blinking sleep from his eyes as he realized he wasn't in his apartment. The previous night came rushing back in a flood, and if he were more awake he may have jumped to find Noelle swathed in his arms. Though she continued to sleep, her button nose buried in his chest and her lashes fluttering as she continued to dream. He wondered what she dreamed about, if she enjoyed her dreams or if she slipped into a thick state of time-stopping nothingness.
It was Sunday, there was nowhere for them to be, no need to get up, no need nor want to move from that very position. The wall clock, though a few minutes ahead, indicated it was somewhere around nine. He wondered if her asking about his dating life was a ploy, or sheepish way in to test his interest.
Tom settled back into the couch, cradling her close to him, pretending for a moment that maybe, just maybe, this could've been his life; their life.. His eyes slipped shut and he inhaled sharply, unable to help but smile as Noelle wriggled to get comfy against him. He too would've fallen back to sleep, if not for the sudden knocking on the door.
Tom thought he was imagining things at first, but sure enough there was another knock. Perhaps it was Doris? Or Bianca? No, Bianca was out of the city and she had her own key anyhow. Nevertheless, Tom didn't feel it was right to answer Noelle's door.
As much as he hated to wake her, he nudged her gently, whispering her name until she too came to consciousness. Her head lulled from side to side, taking stock of the mess on her coffee table, the mess they were on her couch. She rubbed sleep from her eye as she yawned.
"What's up?" she grumbled groggily.
"I'm sorry to wake you, but there's someone at the door," he mumbled.
The seemed to light a small fire under her, she sat up promptly and did a quick stretch, "Maybe Doris wants to collect rent before Christmas?"
"Is she allowed to do that?" he asked, his eyes never leaving her as she started for the door.
"Probably not, but she's also not supposed to be splicing cable from her neighbours and yet..." shuffling in her fuzzy socks, Noelle pressed up on her toes as she peered wearily through the key hole. Who she saw on the other side made her heart stop, "Holy shit!"
"Who is it?" Tom asked, vividly more awake now. The knocking continued.
"I'm coming!" she then turned to him, sheer panic befalling her face and she clawed her fingers through her hair, "Put the gin bottle behind my bedroom door and smooth out your shirt. You got here ten minutes ago and we're trying to decide where to go for breakfast,"
"-- What?"
"Just trust me! Go!" she waved him off. Tom didn't argue, snatched the gin bottle and glasses for good measure. He disappeared down the hall, figuring the open door was Noelle's bedroom.
Slipping the glassware behind the door, he paused momentarily to take a glance around her room. It was a small space, soft grey sheets and pillows were messed and unmade with a few clothes sitting untouched overtop. Papers and books were stacked and scattered across her little white desk, and Ikea special from the looks of it. There was a clothing rack of clothes hung up, a few more folded and sitting next to the line of the three pairs of shoes she owned that weren't ballet related.
Tom froze suddenly when he heard a loud exclamation from the door, "Surprise!"
Smoothing out his shirt wrinkles and tousling his hair, Tom wandered back into the main area of Noelle's apartment, finding her embraced by an older couple and another young girl. The older gent was bringing the suitcases into the apartment while the young girl was trying to upkeep some conversation with Noelle through the older woman's fawning and preening.
"What're you guys doing here? I thought your train wasn't coming until later?" Noelle gaped.
"We were able to get a late train last night, it just missed the snow storm coming in!" the older woman exclaimed.
"And checkin's not until eleven so we thought we'd swing by and surprise you!" the older man added.
Tom stood in the mouth of the hallway momentarily, just watching, bemused and taken with who he assumed was Noelle's family. The young girl suddenly turned, just to take a look around the space at first when her gaze fell on top. She nearly jumped out of her nikes.
"The hell are you?" she snapped, prompting the other's attention to turn to him. The fawning and happy reunions came to a sudden halt, with Noelle slipping out of the woman's grasp to get everyone acquainted.
"Uh -- right. Sorry, um -- this is Tom. He's my friend from school," she introduced, smiling assuringly at him, "Tom, this is my Aunt Franca, my Uncle Maurice, and my cousin Chiara,"
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yurinaa-world · 3 months
Note
hello, blade, jing yuan, dan heng and welt platonic with a child!reader who is like griseo from honkai impact?
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Characters: Blade, Jing Yuan, Dan Heng, and Welt yang platonic! x Female reader
Synopsis: reader that's like Griseo from honkai impact
Warnings: Fluff and spelling mistakes,
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𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑒
You are favored by everyone in the Stellarton Hunters; even Elio does it too. You both are stuck together whenever everyone else is 'busy'; you’re always quiet, really wanting to talk to anyone in general, and it’s no difference with him just painting and painting (he could leave but doesn’t).
Most people don’t see you anywhere since you're probably in your art room that no one knows where it is since there are several art rooms for you; he’s walked in on you in a room, thinking it was some sort of spy.
He looks at some of your paintings whenever he’s stuck taking care of you, which freaks you out. Does he have to look at that one? The painting in question was based on him and how he looks similar to spider lilies. He doesn’t say anything and just puts the painting back where it was hanging.
Y’know those trashy art kits with bad markers and ‘paints’ (but very expressive) Well, while going causing some havoc, he saw it and thought you would like it. When he sees your face happy (for at least trying), he is glad, until Kafka tells him that you probably wouldn’t use it since the kit is really low quality.
𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃
He gives you an entire art room with very expensive supplies, and since he sees you somewhere where no one goes, you start to freak out a little whenever someone sees you. He hopes you impress him with your skills, and if you do, he might hang your painting in his office so that those who come and see him can also witness your piece.
You're very comfortable around him, only letting him see your paintings. You just finished wanting me to praise you for your hard work and give you a little attention.
Watch you get very shy when talking to other people at events with him. Go on, why don’t you tell them about the painting on the walls? You were the one who spent your sweat and tears just to complete it.
𝒟𝒶𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝓃𝑔
He’s a bit awkward when it comes to you; you both don’t talk and don’t leave your rooms either. Since everyone is going out to get something on this new planet and you both are staying well, Dan Heng is in charge of you. It might have been the first time he’s ever seen your room. and it’s a total mess—paintbrushes, paint, several unfinished paintings, and broken parts of supplies all over the place.
Everyone thought his room was that bad. He can just sit there on the side and not stare at you, you say in a whisper. What? Well, you get nervous whenever he stares at you, so he can't... One question about painting: you lost your mind and told him about everything, so it was a bonding experience, and now you give him some little drawings, so it’s worth it.
You also use the database in his room to get inspiration for your next painting from your favorite artist.
𝒲𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝓎𝒶𝓃𝑔
He asks you many questions just to see you freak out over your obsession. Like,  let it all out; he’ll hear out everything you say; he means everything—the origin of the color purple, sure! Knock yourself out or talk about your favorite artist, what kind of painting they did, what their first painting was, and stuff like that.
Unlike Blade, he gets you good painting supplies that aren't like Crayola or those bad art sets like pencils that have good pigment and paint brushes made with the finest bristles, like he knows what good stuff is at.
I helped you design your room as well, making it very bright and artistic like you, with your most beloved paintings all over your walls, and even gave you two matching paintings, one for you and the other for him.
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if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot
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antianakin · 2 months
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You know what's something I wished fanon/fanfic/etc explored? The idea of clones, basically traveling the galaxy because of the war not only having their own traditions, but also picking up stuff and being taught things by various people they encounter. Not even necessarily like a culture/tradition. A planet's local militia taught a trooper how to weave grass during a long night waiting for orders.
Of course he brought this to his friends and now the whole battalion makes things from grass or leaves or thread. It's calming, it's fun, they experiment with materials.
The clones who've developed their own culture (not Mandalorian) but also enjoying learning and participating. Let them be happy and want to explore things beyond their DNA donors world. (I also enjoy the idea of them getting to relax and join in on fun, normal activities).
And the idea of different units having different traditions while also sharing them when they're deployed together is fun.
The idea of mindfulness being picked up from Jedi general's and everyone having a unique spin, either copying meditation or meditating while cleaning equipment.
Also I want people to appreciate the clones as their own people.
Yeah, I hardly EVER see the clones depicted as this really interesting mish mash of cultures due to potentially picking up a bunch of shit from civilian populations they meet and then just passing it around their own battalion which could then make it out to the GAR as a whole.
Weaving baskets is a cute one, it could also be something as simple as picking up new spices every time they land somewhere and so their food is this wild fusion cuisine of spices and maybe fruits/dried meats/nuts from all over the galaxy because they just pick up stuff that goes to the kitchens and the clones doing the cooking in the kitchens use whatever they've got available to try to make new dishes. And they end up perhaps getting really good at figuring out how to combine these different ingredients that, on paper, seem like they absolutely should NOT go well together and yet somehow they make it work. And so clone cuisine becomes its own completely unique thing. You could even compare it to Jedi cuisine where they probably end up combining things a lot themselves, but the Jedi would theoretically often have had more access to resources and time to learn whole dishes than the clones do so it's more that the Jedi prepare different specific dishes from a lot of cultures as opposed to the more fusion-style cuisine the clones have come up with.
Or games, it'd be so cute to have the clones picking up all these different sort-of idle games from different civilian children they meet, like gffa versions of hopscotch or hackey sack, maybe card games that aren't sabacc or board games that aren't dejarik but are more specific to this one planet or culture. Maybe the clones start coming up with their OWN card games as they go because they start getting bored of the few that they know and start getting creative from there.
And of course things like different styles of visual art like painting and tattooing and hair styles that they might pick up on and incorporate into their own style that either becomes very popular among the clones on its own or ends up sort-of hybridized and become its own unique clone specific spin on the artform rather than a direct imitation. Writing would be really cool, too, that they pick up things like novels or journals from different cultures and some of the clones start writing creatively and become really prolific among the GAR (and maybe the Jedi too) for their stories. Similar to before, they might start off sort-of imitating styles they see from other cultures, specific kinds of poetry or tropes, but then branch out and put their own spin on it or start combining different things they've learned from various cultures.
Some clones might end up sticking closer to one specific culture they've connected or that just matches their personal taste really well, while others embrace the fusion more, and everything in-between.
And of course we can bring the Jedi into it more, too, and have the Jedi constantly working to introduce the clones to more things, maybe things THEY know and love from various cultures that they think the clones would find fun or interesting. And not just that person's "birth culture" like Ahsoka teaching people about Togruta culture, but things from OTHER CULTURES that they themselves have experimented with and liked. Maybe Ahsoka has a Mon Cal skincare routine she fucking swears by, or a Zabrak meat dish that's her absolute favorite hands down because of how tender they cook it, or her favorite book is actually Rodian because she particularly loves Rodian romance novels. And she introduces the clones to THESE things as well because why wouldn't she? The Jedi have a smorgasbord of options available to them and their culture encourages learning and connecting as much as possible, something I imagine they'd do their best to pass on to the clones in any way available to them.
And of course the Jedi, as some of the only people really out there with the clones and interacting with them regularly, get to be the first to BENEFIT from the hybridization that the clones utilize and get to see more about how these different cultures they've learned and appreciated for so long can be combined in such new and different ways to create something entirely unique and beautiful, so they get to enjoy these things all over again and it's AWESOME! New favorite noodle dish that combined fish from Glee Anselm and spices from Pantora and noodles from Chandrila, new favorite poem that has elements of Naboo and Ryloth in it, new knitted scarf that combined a knitting style from Lothal and a pattern from Shili.
And I've been going more for physical material things so far like food and stuff, but you can include things like slang they pick up from other cultures or maybe rituals of some kind they saw someone do that they asked about and got permission to participate in that they continue to practice afterwards because it's nice and calming.
The interesting part about the clones is that they don't have a "birth" culture to go back to. They were raised in a very sterile environment where everything they were exposed to was something very specific and aimed towards a certain goal. So they might have a favorite fighting move from the ones they were taught on Kamino or a favorite ship to fly of the ones they were taught to use for war, but it would be SO incredibly limited to what the Kaminoans wanted them to learn and not intended to become something the clones really connected to culturally. The Kaminoans themselves clearly HAVE a culture of sorts, they seem to share a style of fashion at least and probably an architectural style, but this isn't something that was passed on to the clones or that they would've been allowed to ever really participate in (beyond maintenance to the buildings, but they wouldn't have gotten a say in things like paint colors or additions to the building for cosmetic reasons, etc). And of course I don't think canon supports the idea that the clones really had a lot of connection to Mando culture and certainly nothing that supports the concept that they would consider it their "birth" culture. Jango barely seems to have passed any sort of Mando heritage on to BOBA, so it seems INCREDIBLY unlikely he'd have passed anything significant on to the clones he DIDN'T consider his son. And the Mando trainers are a legends thing these days, and were never canon anyway, so their exposure to Mando culture would be even more limited than their exposure to Kaminoan culture quite honestly.
All of which means the clones don't really have a firm basis of a birth culture from which to start on and then sort-of experiment out from. They're almost entirely open to whatever they discover or are introduced to in terms of culture. They're not Mando, they're not Kaminoan, they're their OWN THING and they can literally incorporate just about anything and everything into the culture they choose to build and that's SUCH a cool thing to look at and to explore and I don't know if I've really seen that much of it in fics. Especially via the Jedi who are their own massively multi-cultural society and can take the opportunity to really widen the clones' horizons in so many ways.
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iheartred · 2 years
Note
i LOVE ur writing n it’s perfect because i need to consume more media abt the black phone. could i request the black phone x reader where reader is rlly feminine? idk how to word it sorry i hope u get it😭😭
The blackphone x reader
m.list
Them with Feminine!reader
cw : fluff/crack / reader has no distinct gender but is feminine !!(they/them will still be used!!)
a/n : I understand this in a way (I think??) I hope everyone else understands too, and I'm hoping this is what you meant whsjsh😭
(After writing this I think this is just more of a really pretty and kind!reader oo my bad whsjsh,also this will be pretty short whdjd)
Finney Blake :
Doesnt know how to be around you
Like he's always so nervous, whether it'd be your very kind and soft personality or you're entire style that take his breath away
He's like just amazed at how pretty you can be dude :C
You : Hey Finn! What are we doing in class toda- you good??
Finney(sweating) : never been better!
You : okay??
he will try to compliment you and by try I mean he'll walk up to you, stare at you like you're a God, look down, then walk away
And you're just standing there with your friends wondering what that was all about
Friend : huh?? Was he gonna ask you out or something
Robin (from the sidelines) : he was gonna say you looked nice y/n
You : oh! Tell him I said thanks!
He'd tell you over the phone how sorry he was about how weird he was
Robin Arellano :
" Eres Bonita "(You're pretty)
Is all he'd say outlook before saying it was nothing when he realized you didn't hear him
He will literally always be trying to impress you, intentionally or unintentionally he will do so
He'll literally pick you up if you said your legs were hurting
Helps you fix your makeup because he always sees his mom during her makeup and she taught him how to do a girls makeup if he ever wanted to really impress a person
You : Wow!! My makeup looks even better than before Robin, thanks so much
Robin : Ofcourse no pro-
And then you'd kiss him on the cheek as a real thank you then you'd run off saying "OKAY SEE YOU TOMORROW BYEBYE ROBIN!!!"
Bruce yamada :
Will steal your sweaters as a joke because you said he'd never rock any sort of outfit you wear
Lowkey kinda likes these sweaters, won't ever admit that though
Will do your nails with you
You : Bruce you're literally painting my entire finger at this point stop
Bruce : whattt noo that's craz-
You : Bruce. I don't have nail polish remover. Please
Then he'd stop..
Then paint you finger again and run away
Loves to show off when he's at a game and you're there, will be on 170% during the entirety of the game
If his team coach ever found out it was you who fired him up like this, expect your mother calling you down to tell you that it was the coach for the 50th time that week
Loves doing you hair, since he has a little sister I can imagine him doing her hair whenever his mom is out and about or she would just rather that her older and cooler brother do it for her
Vance Hopper :
Is probably also really nervous around you
Doesnt show or admit it though because letting someone like you ruin his reputation of being a hard-core tough guy would be embarrassing
Now this doesn't mean he'll straight up ignore you, or be rude towards you it just means he won't ever let himself be seen blushing whenever you tell him how pretty he can be too
Vance : That's embarrassing literally shut up
You : It's not though! You really are pretty, like your hair and you're eyes are just really-
And then all you can hear is rambling from your end and a Vance who's trying really hard not to show that's he's extremely flustered by this
if he felt like the day was going pretty great, he'd definitely be very openly kind to you
Telling you how gorgeous you looked, complimenting your hand writing, letting his hand linger a little longer on yours when he tried reaching for his paper
Anyways, I feel like if you asked him on this particular day he'd MAYBE let you put his hair up not in public but you know it still works
Billy Showalter :
Is nervous around you, like whenever you're out in the morning waiting for the daily newspaper he always makes sure your last so he gets a lot of time to spare so he can talk to you
Billy : goodmorning y/n
You : Goodmorning Billy! Thanks for the newspaper!
You say slightly shouting it
He loves when you talk to him, especially when you ask him for help, specifically
He knows anyone would ask for help, but when you ask it's like an angel just put a blessing upon him
will help you put your hair up with your pins, and loves to compliment them
Billy : your pins are very cute
You : thanks Billy, I get them from Walmart they cost like one dollar, sometimes even just 50 cents!
Next thing you know, Billy comes up to you with different pins whenever they have new ones in-stock
Is flustered around you a lot, but never shows it
But his front breaks whenever you pat him on the shoulder and tell him he did a good job, or thank him for helping you study for the test that day
You always walk away and never realize that you leave him a blushing mess of a man
☆ ☆ ☆
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bomberqueen17 · 2 months
Text
switchplate covers update/tutorial
So the thing to keep in mind with this is that we gotta see how well the wear. A switchplate cover is a pretty high-traffic thing, and subject to a lot of wear. If these get too dingy I'm absolutely going to have to go buy fancy ceramic ones or something.
But. That said. Here is my final result, and below the cut is how I did this, partly because I want to remember how it worked LOL.
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[Image description: A combo lightswitch/outlet with a black three-prong plug plugged into it, set into a white subway tile wall with a wooden breadboard leaned against it. The plate cover is painted with a mottled effect to look like a turquoise gemstone, complete with inset glitter to mimic the pyrite inclusions found in some raw turquoise.]
A better view of the glitter:
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[Image description: Another turquoise-painted outlet faceplate on the background of a rumpled white dropcloth, my fingers visible tilting it toward the light so the flake glitter catches the light from the window.]
So I searched up for tutorials and found a few, each of which was like "can't believe nobody else has done this"; I'm sharing the most helpful one here. What was thee very most helpful thing, though, was the writer's pointing out that many different configurations of turquoise exist, so you can just pick a reference image and build off that. I did not in the end come very close to my reference, but decided instead to make it look sick as hell. LOL. I was just having too much fun doing whatever I wanted. So these are not super realistic! But then you wouldn't... make an outlet faceplate out of real turquoise, so I felt like I wasn't fooling anyone. Anyway--
How To Paint Faux Turquoise.
So the first thing I did was find some very fine-grit sandpaper (I think I got 320? I found a mostly used-up sheet of it in the basement and just used the unused edge from where it had been fastened around a block, LOL) and went over the whole front surface of each plate I was going to paint, and then I washed them with dishsoap and hot water and dried them with a dish towel, because I figured finger grease, hand dirt, and sanding dust would keep the paint from sticking. I started with white plastic ones, the kind you get for up to a dollar at the hardware store.
Then I got a plastic container lid, put dollops of various of my paint samples in it, dug out the craft paints I got cleaning out Auntie's basement and the sole tube of acrylics (Mars black) I could still find from the last time I did any painting, and went to town. The first couple, I did the pale shades and let them dry and came back to add the darker marbling. But then I was like, these are latex/acrylic, you don't have to build them in layers? So I just did the rest of them with all the shading in more or less one pass.
Acrylic art paint and latex housepaint are both water-based, so there's no conflict with using them intermingled. I've combined them before, I used to do a lot of sign painting and it works fine. Housepaint's runnier, idk. Don't mix oils and latex, is the thing to keep in mind; they just don't stick to each other real well.
I went to the art supply store to get some water-based varnish, because all i had was polyurethane and that's oil-based. It'd probably work as a topcoat but I was worried and the internet's advice conflicted. I wanted to go get better glitter anyway, so I did. I happen to live near Hyatt's All Things Creative, so I take every excuse I can get to go there.
I bought some sick-ass glitter (over in the resin pouring section, hell yes), and puzzled thru the various offerings. (@sassaffrassa's advice proved invaluable on this thank u.) I got just-- "Gloss varnish acrylic medium", the Hyatt's brand, for four dollars and sixty-nine (nice) cents, and then because I was feeling spendy, I also bought Krylon spray-on glossy varnish. Belt and suspenders, y'know? Also to make the brush strokes less obvious.
The critical thing, though, about the gloss varnish, is that it says right on the bottle that you can either incorporate it into the paint as a medium to enhance the sheen, OR brush it over the finished work as a protective coating. Dries absolutely clear. So I knew, THIS is how I'm attaching the glitter. I'd been thinking like, mod podge? elmer's glue? mix it into the paint? No.
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[image description: the gloss varnish bottle. It is this product. The relevant text says "can be used either as a medium to enhance the sheen levels of acrylic paint or as an over-varnish on finished artwork to provide a non-tacky, protective gloss coating".]
So I carefully got open the little bottle of glitter (no sneezing! it was "white gold flake" style and cost eight bucks for like half a gram. to my knowledge it's not actually made of gold but it was priced like it was) and painted little fine patches of gloss varnish onto the spots I wanted glittered, and then used tweezers to apply glitter just in those spots, and mooshed them around with the little varnish-covered brush until they stuck where I wanted them. (I put them on the darkest bits of the veining, because that was what my source image looked like, mostly. I wanted to be really liberal but then I thought, no, a little pop of glitter is more exciting actually. Still not sure, but it does look good so. They say measure that shit with your heart but I went light because I figured I could add more later, and then I didn't.)
Then I came back at the end and painted more gloss varnish just over the glitter, just to make sure it was all really stuck down and wouldn't flake off with wear.
Let that dry for a couple hours, then used a larger brush to spread gloss varnish as evenly as possible over the entirety of each plate. It did leave visible brush strokes, which I didn't mind. The art shop guy suggested using a really soft brush to minimize that, and I was like "yah sure ok" but then, well, I didn't, I just used the brush I had.)
But then I let that dry overnight, and in the morning I put the plates all in my giant overspray cardboard box, and gave them each a liberal coating of the spray varnish. (Yes of course I have a giant cardboard box I keep in my basement to spray paint things in. I know it says use in a well-ventilated space but what I do, see, is I do that and then I leave the room, which is almost as good. LOL it's 24F and snowing I'm not doing it outside.)
That bottle says two hours until handling on it, so I left it two hours, and then I put up the plates that were in spots where the painting was done or wasn't happening, hence my example image being against a tiled wall.
The screwdriver immediately scratched the first one a little bit, but not super obviously. But I kind of would expect a screwdriver to scratch just about anything, so that doesn't mean much.
I won't guarantee how well these'll hold up but if you were interested in doing something like that, there's how it worked. (Hi, future me, you're welcome for writing it down lol.)
I'm sort of sorry for no more process pictures but honestly most of it was following whimsy and doing what I felt like and kind of drawing on what I hadn't realized was a lot lot lot of hours of past paint-handling in my life, so pictures wouldn't help anyone else recreate this. But it did remind me that I love to paint and should do that more. So, I'll try, I guess.
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voidbeau · 16 days
Text
More Thonking
About murder.
And twomp.
And the different ways I think Argos and Mr. Plant deal with it.
Of course while I think their reactions can vary, I also think that most of the time, the two have a particular way of dealing with it.
I will admit, some of this comes from an au I've had for a very long time now, but I don't think it could be far off from Canon plargos at all.
Since we see more Mr. Plant murder than we do Argos murder, I feel like we get a much better frame of reference for how he deals with things already.
He is largely unbothered by the idea, this we know.
If Mr. Plant kills anyone, it's a minor inconvenience at worst.
Like the license episode where he accidently kills his driving instructor.
The narrator depicting Mr. Plant's inner thoughts acknolwdges the incident with no more than a, "Well, at least this time it was an accident" with Mr. Plant's biggest concern that ep being that he didn't get his driver's license.
Or the episode where Mr. Plant decides to get a job to pay for the damages he made to his tv.
He didn't hesitate to create an opening for himself when he was told they weren't hiring.
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Mr. Plant is quite the go getter.
And while Mr. Plant doesn't always jump straight to murder when insulted or inconvenienced (his little countdowns), it doesn't seem to bother him too much when it does come down to that.
I like to think that for the most part, Mr. Plant would probably forget the names and faces of his victims.
Like, if anybody made it their mission to avenge someone who was killed by Mr. Plant, it'd be one of those situations where he'd have no clue who you were on about.
And even if you explained it, you'd still probably only get the hand wringing and a shrug.
Sorry...
Argos on the other hand, can be a bit more emotional about that sort of thing.
He was very bothered by the Mr. Present incident, as well as the roadtrip incident when Mr. Plant and Argos ran over and killed a human man.
Not that I'm trying to paint Argos as a good boy.
Hardly.
In both cases Argos had some kind of hand in disposing of the bodies and I doubt either cases were ever reported to authorities. Not as they should have been at least lmaoooo.
It just seems to me that Argos is far more of an emotionally driven individual compared to Mr. Plant.
Which is why I LOVE the idea that Argos not only remembers each and every person he's ever killed, but that he has a secret scrap book dedicated to them.
Every individual person and situation has a slightly different meaning to Argos though.
I like to think Argos has definitely gotten sentimental at times and that some of the pictures and names he's kept are like macabre little apologies and shrines in their memory. While others are undoubtedly trophy kills.
But you'll never know who's who unless you asked and I don't think anybody but Mr. Plant would ever have the privilege of getting to see such a book if it were to exist so, the stories behind the faces will forever remain a mystery.
I also like to think Argos keeps this thing around the same place he keeps his shrine to Mr. Plant.
I do think Argos could just as easily forget about the people he's harmed or killed as well, which could partially be why he keeps a scrap book.
You know that one episode of Salad Fingers where he's taking his "daughter" to go live with her aunt? And when Salad fingers arrived at some random home, he'd completely forgotten his own narrative for why he was out and about when someone comes to greet him?
I feel like Argos' brain can kinda (mal)function in a similar way sometimes.
There's just so much going on up there in so many different orders.
Life is just a foggy series of mismatched jigsaw pieces and he's doing his best to put together a complete picture with what he has, you know?
I'm not saying he's stupid. Far far from it. He's a very smart lad, but there is a lot wrong with him.
And we love him for it. ❤
Anyway, that's more insane babbling from Beau.
I have such a headache.
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(pardon me putting some rambling thoughts on your blog)
Some little things we know so far, mostly about "Shadow":
Shadow seemed slow to Sonic when he showed up at the very beginning. He could still keep up pretty well, though. Air shoes!!
Sonic hit his chin when he landed, so whatever's going on here probably isn't just because of a concussion. Though, well, we didn't see how Shadow landed...
The red (paint?) on Shadow is getting everywhere all of a sudden!
Actor!Shadow immediately goes for his inhibitor rings, which means he knows Character!Shadow's lore pretty well. I'm not sure Eggman would mention that detail to some hench-hedgehog...
Shadow here seems to take "Eggman hired you? Impressive!" to mean "You're an impressive actor", which is an unusual way to interpret that. It seems more like it's Eggman's audacity that Sonic meant was impressive, not Actor!Shadow's skill at pretending to be Character!Shadow.
Come to think of it, the Shadow we know has been in some pretty scary places before, it'd be interesting to hear how Actor!Shadow would describe those past adventures. Does he believe he filmed a flashback where he watched a fake Maria fake die? Would that cylinder he was in at that time have been bad for his claustrophobia?
Shadow has apparently never seen Sonic do cool stuff in person, or believes any previous spindash thingies were effects. But this one wouldn't get special effects since it wasn't scripted, I suppose?
Come to think of it, if they were being filmed, them going off-script should be making a lot of crew panic right now. Assuming Actor!Shadow isn't the only one involved with this "filming" idea, anyway, which is apparently Sonic's current theory.
What's that damaged bot doing there? Did it get hit by the spindash, or is that damage older?
That all sure is something, though I'm not sure what that all means. Maybe we'll find out Next Time, on Project Starlight Z!
Now THESE are the kind of posts that I love to answer! A long-form question requires a long form response (as much as I can respond, anyway)!
Excellent observations on our pal "Shadow" - air shoes indeed! I have more to say on the air shoes and special effects at a later date, but I think you'll find that a least a few points you bring up are going to be touched upon in upcoming pages!
As for a hypothetical crew hypothetically panicking, I think it'd be worth reexamining "Shadow"'s response to Sonic's reaction to all of this. Perhaps it'd give you a launching point ... not that you'll have to guess for much longer.
Also, a general note on the bot in the tunnel! You may find something interesting if you look at it very closely, given that this comic takes place after the events of Forces.
Next Time on Project Starlight!!!
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