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#it's 24 pages of goodness knows what
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mmmmm i have acquired admin rights on the wwdits wiki and am fixing it because oh my Fucking God it has not been properly updated on an admin level since season 2--
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meiyanaalexia · 1 year
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Me re-reading my thesis after a month, completely forgetting what was my point and so none of what I wrote make sense even though it's coherent feels exactly like this meme:
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#i'm supposed to be working on this thesis but i just had to make this post#I remember being so on a roll writing this in January but now i'm rereading and i'm just like '??? what is this?? what did i mean by this?'#am i gonna make alterations? hell no i don't have time for this and as i said it's coherent it's just my brain is lagging big time now#and i read what i was supposed to do for my internship report and i also need to use the image above to explain my reaction#it's such bullshit they expect us to write 30 pages of pure bs and i wanna hit my head against the wall or put my fist through a drywall#why do i put myself in these situations??? i'm mostly talking about the thesis here that i (still) didn't finish#last time my mom told me 'you're not gonna finish it by june' i was like 'shut up shut up shut upp what are you the voice that tells me#this 24/7 inside my head?? ' deep down i had this reaction cause i'm deeply scared she's telling the truth#it's not looking good lads we're reaching the end of march and I still didn't reach the conclusion even though I made significant progress#in January it all went down the drain when I moved out and forgot about it and got sucked into the routine of going to my internship and#going home at 7pm exhausted and having to cook and do groceries and like at what time am i gonna find the strength to write?? it's been 3#week-ends now that i'm telling myself i'm gonna progress and still nothing#even now i'm trying my best to move forward but it's already 8pm and i'm gonna have to cook for tonight and tomorrow and i know by the time#I'll be done with that it'll be 9:30 or so i'll pick my clothes from the dryer and then it'll be 10pm and i'll have to sleep cause i need#to wake up early tomorrow and rince and repeat and aaahhjdsfnjsdnfjdsf#it's a bit depressing to have this thought now but low-key hoping something bad happens to me to get me out of this at this point it's the#only solution#well no i'm exaggerating i still have plenty of time but it's telling myself that repeatedly that put me in this situation i mean we're#already on the end of march wtf next week will officially mark a year since i started to work on this thesis :'(#does any one of you have any nice tips or perhaps tell me they've been through worse situations to cheer me up a bit? i feel at the bottom#of the well and I still make bad decisions despite that#it's like 'i'm screwed might as well enjoy the downfall' but i'm not screwed at least not yet#mei rambles
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oh my GOD i just finished network effect. what if i cried.
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igarbagecannoteven · 2 years
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x
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sysig · 2 years
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Compressed audio for loud and quiet environments (Patreon)
#Doodles#Villainsona#The first one is relevant again because I am once again thinking about how much I love Mousey lol#It's always relevant because I always love Mousey but I'm not thinking of her 24/7 lol#It was just a random leftover for months and now it finally has room again ♪#A little sad TVAU Villainsona 'cause why not - she was a spacefiller but didn't fit in with the rest of the set I was working on so :P#A stream doodle lol - post-stream technically#I don't know what it is about streaming but I can only describe my reaction as being Equalized#The highs are reigned in and the lows are lifted - neither manic nor depressive#It's kinda nice honestly I'd like to aim for more but I also don't want to accidentally break the mechanism by overusing it lol#TIRED! I was very tired I was underslept and worked hard and was around people for something like 10 hours#Introvert needs sleep and water pls and thank you#And then finally in my latest notebook yay ♥ It feels so good to have finally upgraded ahh#It probably won't last very long since I was limited in the number of pages I could a) make and b) fit on the wire#But I am looking forward to using it :D And I've got a new tool for when I make my next one!! So I'm looking forward to that too!!#Dug out an old shirt that has lovely heavy stretch material but it tends to hang nearly off my shoulders with how wide the neck is#Not exactly made for modesty#So I gave it a ponytail and it was both cuter and more comfortable so win win ✨#More spider lamentations ouq I'll get one someday#I'm currently still on the hunt for substrate - I want to make sure it's clean and parasite free ouo Very important!#And then for the last one I cheated by a couple hours to give myself a one day page turnover for my first and second pages ♪#It'd been a while and I was excited for my new notebook! I really was only a couple hours into the next day so it's very close anyhow#It just feels neat to have one day read like 1/1/22 and the next be 1/2/22 - shows inspiration ♪ Makes me happy
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snekdood · 3 months
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people always gotta lot to say about comic artists and about how they need to be "posting more frequently" but you sit them down and tell them to do the same shit and suddenly they're "unprepared", etc. 🙄 yknow this shit doesnt get shat out over night, right? find a hobby in the meantime while you wait, goddamn.
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i know the nyt regularly edits and rewrites headlines post-publication but it's kind of wild that the basically one (1) good op-ed i've seen them publish in ages that was getting really widely shared was renamed from "Why Must Palestinians Audition For Your Empathy?" to much more vague and defanged "The Palestine Double Standard." like. come on.
anyways.
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(link to the archived page with the original headline)
The task of the Palestinian is to be palatable or to be condemned. The task of the Palestinian, we’ve seen in the past two weeks, is to audition for empathy and compassion. To prove that we deserve it. To earn it.
In the past couple of weeks, I’ve watched Palestinian activists, lawyers, professors get baited and interrupted on air, if not silenced altogether. They are being made to sing for the supper of airtime and fair coverage. They are begging reporters to do the most basic tasks of their job. At the same time, Palestinians fleeing from bombs have been misidentified. Even when under attack, they must be costumed as another people to elicit humanity. Even in death, they cannot rest — Palestinians are being buried in mass graves or in old graves dug up to make room, and still there is not enough space.
If that weren’t enough, Palestinian slaughter is too often presented ahistorically, untethered to reality: It is not attributed to real steel and missiles, to occupation, to policy. To earn compassion for their dead, Palestinians must first prove their innocence. The real problem with condemnation is the quiet, sly tenor of the questions that accompany it: Palestinians are presumed violent — and deserving of violence — until proved otherwise. Their deaths are presumed defensible until proved otherwise. What is the word of a Palestinian against a machinery that investigates itself, that absolves itself of accused crimes? What is it against a government whose representatives have referred to Palestinians as “human animals” and “wild beasts”? When a well-suited man can say brazenly and unflinchingly that there is no such thing as a Palestinian people?
It is, of course, a remarkably effective strategy. A slaughter isn’t a slaughter if those being slaughtered are at fault, if they’ve been quietly and effectively dehumanized — in the media, through policy — for years. If nobody is a civilian, nobody can be a victim.
Take it from a writer: There is nothing like the tedium of trying to come up with analogies. There is something humiliating in trying to earn solidarity. I keep seeing infographics desperately trying to appeal to American audiences. Imagine most of the population of Manhattan being told to evacuate in 24 hours. Imagine the president of [ ] going on NBC and saying all [ ] people are [ ].Look! Here’s a strip on the edge of the Mediterranean Sea. That’s Gaza. It is about the same size as Philadelphia. Or multiply the entire population of Las Vegas by three.
This is demoralizing work, to have to speak constantly in the vernacular of tragedies and atrocities, to say: Look, look. Remember?That other suffering that was eventually deemed unacceptable? Let me hold it up to this one. Let me show you proportion. Let me earn your outrage. Absent that, let me earn your memory. Please.
Here’s another thing I know as a writer and psychologist: It matters where you start a narrative. In addiction work, you call this playing the tape. Diasporically or not, being Palestinian is the quintessential disrupter: It messes with a curated, modified tape. We exist, and our existence presents an existential affront. As long as we exist, we challenge several falsehoods, not the least of which is that, for some, we never existed at all. That decades ago, a country was born in the delicious, glittering expanse of nothingness — a birthright, something due. Our very existence challenges a formidable, militarized narrative.
But the days of the Palestine exception are numbered. Palestine is increasingly becoming the litmus test for true liberatory practice.
In the meantime, Palestinians continue to be cast paradoxically — both terror and invisible, both people who never existed and people who cannot return.
Imagine being such a pest, such an obstacle. Or: Imagine being so powerful.
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galileosballs · 4 months
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Can I ask you a professor question? Why is it that everyone I've ever spoken to in an academic context tells me I just can't, will never be able to do a paper/essay in one day when I keep doing it (I know I know, it's a bad habit that's coming out of ADHD and I'm trying to break it) and especially when I keep getting As on those papers? It's not exclusively easy classes either, it's been several senior level classes on complex topics (I am a sophomore and some classes were modern neopaganism in America, which I wrote a 15 page research paper for in one day and got an a, and a theories of counselling psychology class which I wrote a 24 page literature review for in about 26 hours)
I'm glad you asked this, @scattereda-remade2. You really gave me pause for a second there - because all professors do say this, and yet everything you've written here could have been written by a younger version of myself. Though I never got to take a class on modern neopaganism in America and that sounds pretty sick. Sign me up.
But no, you're right. For a certain proportion of the population, essay writing comes easily enough that a one-day paper can still get an A. One of those little unfair things about the world - it does work for some of us. That doesn't mean it's a good idea. To discuss why that's the case, we need to make a distinction between two kinds of paper: papers that get As, and papers that are the best papers they can be. It is an unfortunate fact about 21st century academia that those are not even remotely the same thing.
To explain why, I'm going to have to get into the weeds a bit.
I'm going to assume for this discussion that you're in the United States. That's the academic context in which I've spent my teaching career, but not the one in which I did my undergraduate career. Coming to the US was a real culture shock for me in this respect. At my university in not-the-US, I mostly got As and A-minuses, but the threshold for getting an A was 85% of the available course points. A- was 80%. So, of course, I walk into my first TA job at my new university in the States and start grading according to that same basic structure. My students riot. This is, I learn, not how grading works in the US. In the US, the typical threshold for an A is 90%, and 80 is a B. So, for all my students who were expecting As, being marked down at all was a threat to the GPA that was, in many cases, needed to maintain their scholarships.
So what you end up with in the typical US grading system is a pinch. Students expect As, and in humanities courses your department will also expect the average to be no lower than a B+, barring unusual circumstances. But that means that about half of your class has to be graded in such a way that they get more than 90% of the available points on your rubric. Think about how constraining that is to an evaluator. You have to grade everyone the same way, of course. And that means building a rubric that won't automatically fail everyone whose grasp of English prose is a bit weak. I have no problem with giving out a lot of As. A lot of my students deserve As! This is not really the place to talk about grade inflation, and honestly, I don't think grade inflation is a huge deal once you're already in university. But rubric crunch is a big deal. How can I possibly motivate a student to improve when I can tell them they've done something wrong a maximum of 10 times per term? How can I actually make them see their mistakes when I can't fairly assign a penalty to them?
Thankfully, my university didn't actually have a rule in any of its books that established the 90%-A correlation, so I was able to just put the 85%-A scale in my syllabus and get on my way as normal. Most universities probably would not let me do this. Yours probably doesn't.
So, that's the problem. Grading in the US is an extremely blunt instrument at the high end of the range. There is almost no room for teachers to indicate to already-good students that they can do better using the numbers of the classroom. If you're getting 95% on a paper, that means you wrote a pretty ok paper. But it does not mean that you wrote the best paper the teacher thinks you can write. They just don't have a way of telling you that numerically. Keep in mind that writing is very difficult for many. As the notes of the plagiarism post indicate with horrifying clarity, many high schools completely fail to teach their students how to write. Helping students get from a C-level to a B-level occupies the majority of the pedagogical space on the rubric. But for students who are already competent academic writers, that means that the grade scale is nearly useless.
So let's now turn to the papers themselves. I believe you when you say you can churn out a pretty ok paper in a day. I know I can. But if you're at the level where you can churn out a pretty ok paper in a day, you can write a great paper in two days. The difference is not the total amount of time, it's that there's a break in the middle. You can put that break anywhere you like - between outlining and drafting, between drafting and proofreading, halfway through the draft, or (my favourite) after the draft but before writing the introduction and conclusion. But it's crucial that you at some point look over your paper with fresh eyes, instead of just riding the focus highway all the way through. Because that's how you catch the mistakes.
I grade a lot of papers that are written all in one go, and it's usually pretty obvious. They're competently written, reasonably well-researched papers that have something to say... but the points don't connect. In that rush of words pouring out onto the page, some key step in the argument was omitted. Something so obvious to you that you didn't even notice it was missing. This happens all the time. I notice it in my own work, too! I'm a fast writer, and I often do write a full draft in a day or two of deep focus. But those drafts aren't finished. They need me to step away, reflect on the points I'm making, and then re-evaluate whether or not the text I put on the page actually says the thing I mean.
Students who write like this typically get As. After all, what is an A but a stamp of approval? I do approve of these students. But it's a real shame that the way grades work means that I can't use them to show these students that they could do more. If you can write like this, you're ready for the next level. But I can't tell you that with a number.
I hope you found that peek behind the graders' curtain helpful! This is the sort of thing your professors are probably not in a position to tell you, since, well, it does deflate the value of an A a bit. But you can already see through the smokescreen, so there's no point in hiding it. I hope the effect is to help you take that next step, not to encourage you to rest on your laurels. But you can do what you want! I'm not your boss. I'm not even your professor! Just have fun with it.
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lunarkords · 1 year
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sleep deprived and binge watching lower decks. this is bad.
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scremogirl · 6 months
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✪⁂✫彡𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓✵✥☆ミ★ ???
𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞-𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞
Yandere Student Council Pres x Nonchalant reader
I’m not sure if I should retitle this to Yandere! Childhood friend x reader or not. There’s not a lot of the fact he’s the SCP shown in the story. I felt like I went a little off track. I got so consumed in writing😭. I already have a post like that on my page so I didn’t want to make it confusing. I don’t know if I should’ve said unemotional reader either. Idk let me know what you think. Have fun reading!
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He was at the top of the food chain. Good grades, teachers liked him, students feared him, rich, good looking, and most importantly; the student council president. With that being said, why wouldn’t he leave you alone?
Takenya was a stuck up priss in your opinion. Always lecturing you about things you could do in order of improvement. You weren’t popular but you weren’t one of those weird Naruto kids that sat in the back of the class and ate crayons either. You just existed. Someone so average at everything somehow attracted the most “perfect” guy in school. Your grades were fine; a straight A-B student with the occasional C here and there. Your attendance on the other hand… well maybe he’s not so wrong about that, but who actually wants to be at school anyways?
“I don’t understand why you don’t try harder? You could easily surpass most of our class,”
“You need to come to school. This behavior would never pass in the real world. What would your employer think of you just not showing up?”
“Chocolate for lunch…really? If you want to stay healthy you’ll need to-“
Why does he care so much anyways? Sure, you used to be friends in like what, fifth grade? You used to get bullied in school for being different. You just didn’t like the things that kids your age were supposed to like. But… it never bothered you. You weren’t emotionless per se, it’s just, why care what others have to think?
Mellisa Grey. The girliest of all girls. She used to have it out for you when you were younger. Calling you names and bumping your shoulder whenever you walked by. You put up with it until the end of the year; fifth grade graduation. That evening she and her crew thought it’d be funny to pour milk on the shy little nerdy boy in your class. Some spilled on your dress, that you didn’t mind, but the tears of the boy next to you made you. Something inside of you just snapped. You shot up from your seat grabbing a first full of her hair and slammed her head onto the wooden table. Not stopping until you saw the wire of her pink, sparkly braces fly out her mouth. Well, that was what you wanted to do; the teachers came too early for you to inflict any further damage. The most you got was a broken nose and a lawsuit. She transferred schools after that, and you got the whoopin of a lifetime. You didn’t care. You didn’t feel bad at all. If anything you felt elated seeing her in pain and the rage on her parents faces as the cussed child you out. You didn’t cry or yell when your parents picked you up. You weren’t phased by the belt or the palm of your mothers hand striking you. You didn’t feel anything. So why were you so upset on someone else's behalf anyways?
You knew this kid. I mean, how couldn’t you when he would follow you around 24/7.
“H-Hi… my names Takenya” you just blankly stared. His sheepish gaze barely meets yours from behind his big fat glasses.
“…Do I know you?”
“Well…no. But I know you!”
“Good for you I guess.” You continued to go back and forth on the swing, not acknowledging the boy's existence at all. The swing he sat on remained stationary, never once dropping his gaze from you.
“Uhm… I just wanted to thank you for yesterday,” Hm? What was he talking about? He saw the confusion in your face when you turned around to ask and beat you to the point.
“You probably don’t know me. We’re not in the same class,” Right. So why is he talking to you? Again, before you could ask he cut you off.
“The other day when recess started you helped me pick up all of my stuff after Carter pushed me down; remember? I-I just wanted to say thank you for sticking up for me” Ohhh, you do remember him now. He was that shy little rich kid that transferred here at the end of fourth grade. He didn’t have many friends, let alone any at all. Everyone had grown up with each other and formed friend groups at this poin. He was a little late to the party so he didn’t fit in. He wasn’t worried about the next episode of Ninjago and didn’t find humor in looking up the words penis and vagina in the dictionary at the school library when the teacher wasn’t looking. His hair long, tied back into a neat ponytail and not buzzed into a Mohawk like half the boys in your grade. He had glasses that almost covered the entirety of his upper face. He always ate his pb&js on whole wheat instead of white and preferred celery sticks over fruit snacks. So, just like you, he got bullied just because he was different.
“Oh yea. I remember you now. You’re welcome by the way,” he grinned. The first time you saw him smile ever since he came to your school.
That marked the day of a long friendship.
That was until you went to middle school. You think puberty had something to do with it. He grew into his face more and sized down those jellyfishing glasses. His scrawny figure gained slightly more bulk and dressed in a more modern fashion. His hair remained the same; a bit shorter than before but still longer than most guys. You’ve always liked his hair. He would let you braid it sometimes when he was too distracted playing on his DS. He didn’t get acne like many of the other kids your grade either, skin smooth and clear. All the girls found him to die for. Your nonchalant behavior rubbed off on him and he became more confident in himself. Not letting his elementary school self be reflected into now. He became a bit too obsessed with his studies for a middle schooler; pushing all his ways on you. He would always follow you around blabbing about not attending gym class. He even started hanging around the same snotty rich kids he would complain to you about. You became annoyed. So you cut him off. Just like that. Stopped talking to him, answering his texts, not sitting with him at lunch or in class. Even after all the rejection at his advances, he came running back to you. Not willing to let you go so easily.
The school bell rings signaling the end of 4th pd and beginning of lunch. You were planning to go off campus today and not come back. Keys in hand you make your way to the student parking lot. However, someone’s blocking the exit. He’s gotten taller, about 6’2-6’3; sleeper build accommodating his height. Glasses thinner and sit perfectly on the bridge of his nose. Hair as long as ever, tyed back with that same white ribbon you gave him years ago; revealing an undercut. He fixes the collar of his button up and readjusts his tie and vest.
“And exactly…just where do you think your going?”
“To lunch,”
“The cafeteria is that way,” he points with a slender finger, decorated by a diamond ring. It shimers under the lights above reflecting against his matching earrings.
“Off campus,” he raises his eyebrow, folding his arms.
“Knowing you, you won’t come back. You do realize your request for a half day schedule is still pending right? You also recognize that I’m the one who assists the principal in granting them as well?” You don’t answer him, already knowing we're going with this.
“As I said before, your attendance needs improving before I-… we can grant it,” what a pain in the ass this guy is. You try to walk past him but he stops you, putting a hand on your shoulder.
“I don’t eat school lunch. I’ll be back after,” he gives you an unamused look. Hand gripping your shoulder a little tighter as you try to take another step.
“You know I can’t let you do that. Not unless you don’t want a new schedule,” he pauses.
“Not unless I come with you,” you look up.
“You’re paying?” His eyes widened slightly, shocked at your willingness. But he can’t be too surprised, he knows you don’t care about anything unless you get what you want.
“Of course I am. You need to spend your money on other priorities; like a new math textbook,” you ignore the subtle jab and walk to his car. No need to ask where as he parks next to you everyday to make sure he knows you’ve actually show up. Definitely not because your the first thing he wants to see in the morning.
“I don’t understand why you come to McDonald’s of all places,” he lets out a sigh, handing his card to the drive through worker. He drives up to the next window waiting for the food.
“It’s not healthy. You seriously should consider my offer in taking you to that new place down the street,”. He looks over when he doesn’t get a response; noticing the music blasting from your headphones as you look at the door. He sighs again before taking the food from the workers hand and grabbing your headphones. You turn your head to look at him but your gaze shifts to the bag in his hand. You reach over and grab a fry out of the bag and he s his eyes. Pulling into the parking lot, he silently watches you eat. This brings him so much nostalgia. He misses eating lunch with you everyday. Ranting while you just sit there and chew. He misses having someone listening to him about something that’s not related to school. After you stopped *attempted* talking to him in the beginning of 7th grade, his heart felt like it got ripped out of his chest.
He’s never felt anything his whole life. His father would tell him that one day he’ll find someone who makes him feel everything, makes life worth it. He’d seen the love shared between his parents everyday. He always wanted that. In the fourth grade all of that came true. He saw you getting off the bus making your way to school. He saw the way you helped up Michael Lemitzki, a dorky little boy, after Conner pushed him down. Shaggy hair, braces lining his teeth, comic books all on the floor. How pathetic. You weren’t scared of Conner at all. He was bigger than you and more popular than you, but you didn’t care. You kept a straight face as he threatened you and held your composure. No emotion showing whatsoever.
He thought you were beautiful. It was love at first sight. He was too busy staring at you to hear his father calling out to him. He followed his son's gaze to you. He looked back down at the small boy and gave a knowing smile. Takenya just stared at the other boy hugging you with tears down his face. Why is he touching you like that? Push him away already! That day he purposely made himself a target to the bullying of Melissa and Conner. Hoping that one day, you’ll save him the same way you did Jacob. He got bigger glasses, grew his hair out, and started dressing like the typical “nerd”. He would leave candies in your cubby, prized limited edition Pokémon cards in your backpack, brand new color pencils and markers showed up around you. He started to lose hope though. Why haven’t you noticed him yet!? Sure he’s never actually talked to you.. but still! Could you not see his effort?! Did you not care? He sat alone at recess that fateful day. He was randomly pushed down, papers and crayons flying out his small hands. He wasn’t in the mood for Connors teasing today. To caught up on the fact that the love of his life may never see him they way he’s dreamed of. Oh the dramatic mind of a fifth grader. He clutched the safety scissors that flew out of his pencil pouch watching the dick of an elementary schooler turn around. He was about to get up but stopped as he saw someone bend down beside him. It was you! You helped gather all his things and placed them into his arms. His heart pounded in his chest and the blush on his face spread like wildfire. Before he could say anything you walked away. Taking your place on the swing set. He hurriedly put all his things away before trying to build up the courage to come talk to you. He took to long, however, as the teacher soon yelled for everyone to make their way into the line back to their respective class.
As he reminisces on the past, an alarm rings. Telling him that it’s time to make his way back to school. You’ve already finished all your food and somehow managed to take your headphones back.
“What?” You say snapping him out of his trance. He didn’t even realize he was staring.
“Nothing,”
You make your way back to the school and go your separate ways. He walks you to class ensuring that you get there. Out the corner of his eye he sees someone wave to you. Lemitzki. His hairs more well kept, ditched the glasses for contacts showing of his green eyes. He’s taller and has more muscles now. The only thing that hasn’t changed is the jagged line that makes it’s way across his right cheek, interfering with his dimple as he smiles. It’s been awhile, the scar healed well. The once clutzy boy looks at the door and freezes, hand dropping and going pale. There’s a silent stare off between the two before the late bell rings. Takenya makes his way to class, a slight smile on his face at a sudden memory.
Watching him walk away, a fist tightens. Little does he know someone was planning on getting their revenge.
Hi loves! I hope you guys enjoyed. Take is an OC of mine I’ve had for a while just never had a name for him until now. Like his concept was in my head foreverrrr. He might be a reoccurring character. I really like him. But I did put one shot so I’m not sure. Lemme know what y’all want. Check out this post below for a little more context. Hope you enjoyed.
-Love, Sos❤️
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bahrtofane · 1 month
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husband Jude headcannons
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jude just really really enjoys married life
Word count - 2.3K+
Watch it - i got carried away sorry guys, proposal lore?? insanely sappy, even by my standards
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He's not a fan of you being known as his, rather he's your husband. Always correcting people during interviews and giving you the spotlight. Even when you shy away, not knowing where to look or what to say. He's always there, a gentle hand on your knee rubbing circles as he nods for you to continue. 
Every red carpet he wants to match, doesn’t care how big or small the event is. Gotta be a way you two look look a pair 
His fav is when you wear exactly the same thing so there’s no way to confuse anything for what it really is hehe 
Bouncing around while you get ready together, helping you get your shoes on while he tries his best to stand still while you fix his tie 
“Look okay?” he asks, head tilted 
You rub his arm, “you look great.” 
And he smiles wide, giving you pecks all over while you giggle, trying to shoo him away from you and closer to the door. your ride is waiting, but he doesn’t care. pouting for just one more kiss. please ? 
All his socials turn into your personal fan page, a big fat married in every bio, ring and all 
He has more posts about you then his actual job 
His teammates poke fun at it, “when are you gonna post us huh?”
He just rolls his eyes,”when I marry you i’ll think about it”
And that’s that
You're the first he runs to post a match, greeting you with the silly hand shake you perfected years ago. You think you could do it in your sleep at this rate. You came up with it ages ago when you kissed him after practice, playing with his fingers till he came up with the idea, and you with the actual hand shake. 
You're his biggest supporter, and him likewise. In every and anything you do, give him pompoms and he'd be your personal cheerleader at this point.
He just likes to have you at games. Waving obnoxiously while you tell him to pose. And he does, every time, sending hearts your way. He dedicates his goals your way. The kisses he would send the crowd in his youth now only go your way where you catch them like a teenager.
You see complications of it everywhere, he thinks it's endearing. He makes you watch them together on the living room tv while you grimace
“My face looks so weird there, oh my god.”
He flicks your arm, “you look great shush. Ha that was during el clasico, ah good times.” 
You roll your eyes but snuggle up against him anyway.
One of your favorite past times btw, nothing he loves better than a lazy morning in with you in his arms while he hits snooze on every alarm.
He tries to cook, with his stupid kiss the chef apron he got just for you. but he will need help, which you gladly give. You end up eating on the couch, covered in pillows watching cheesy shows. You've watched keeping up with the kardashians too many times to count and he still laughs out loud every time.
Jude is soft and sweet when he's not forced into a picture perfect smile and self 24/7. He's a silly guy, always trying to make you laugh. Teasing is his love language by the way.
But he's still sweet, leaving notes around your house for you to find when he has to leave for away games. Hearts and smiley faces littering every inch of the paper. Some frowny faces when he knows he'll miss you extra. 
He likes bringing you to family events and bragging about how cool you are, but everyone already loves you as is, he just likes to brag. Look at how cool the love of my life is everyone, I am sooo lucky you guys look look. 
Jobe has rolled his eyes far too many times, but he's happy to see his brother so happy. Plus you guys threw a fantastic wedding. A win is a win.
When you can't be there he facetimes you every second he possibly can. Blowing kisses when he has to go. 
“Judes been complaining all day I hope you know,” Aurélien pops his head into the screen. 
You snort, “ hello to you too Aurélien.”
He gives you a wave before ruffling the top of Judes hair as he pouts, fixing it just how he likes again, “they just don't get it,” he sighs dramatically.
You laugh, “sure baby, sure.”
You make sure to keep up with the match the best you can, texting him live reactions, even if you know he won't see them till later. He likes them all the same.
Your name on his phone is a simple "mine" with a bunch of heart emojis, the contact pic is one of the two of you together on vacation, smiling with your faces squished together while laying in the sand
It makes him smile every time. he thinks you’re the cutest
He's a big fan of nicknames, weather its a version of your first name, or just a good ole fashion baby. He rarely uses your actual name. He called you something so insane like pooki bear in public once and you have yet to let him live it down.
"in a restaurant was crazy," you squint at him.
He only giggles, "but it was soo funny baby come on."
Speaking of restaurants, this guy loves a good date night 
Gigdy as he comes down the hall in his pjs, grinning while showing you the new reservations, it’s your fav place ! 
Every anniversary he somehow finds a way to outdo himself, don't ask, because in truth he doesn't even know how he pulls it off, but anything for you. Anything. 
Even if it means hunting down the stuffed animal you had as a kid and couldn't find after you lost it in your couch cushions. He finds it, after months and months of searching, making Jobe help him look, it comes in the mail and he has to get creative to get you out of the house and away from the mail the day it's supposed to come.
It gets neatly wrapped and placed on your shared bed the morning of, surrounded by a collection of other gifts, your favorite flowers, and a cheesy note that you always end up crying at. 
The look on your face makes it all worth it, when you tackle him in a bone crushing hug, tumbling into the covers in a tangle of legs while you laugh in between sniffles, he loves you. Oh how he loves you 
It's been a tradition to end the night with the very place he proposed, his home, now yours. 
He doesnt think he could forget it even if he tried. It was a whirlwind of a day. Picture this: 
He's lost all his black socks, his (and your) favorite body wash just spilled all over the shower, his hair looks awful ( he got a haircut that morning), his cologne isn't where he left it, and the private chef he hired isnt replying. All while you're not even awake yet. 
He calls his mom because what else are you supposed to do when you're set to propose and everything is going wrong. 
She only chuckles softly over the phone, “calm down jude, just breathe. You'll find your things, just take a breather and come back to things with a clear head okay?”
So he does. Sitting on his bed, towel still on, frowning. He chooses to instead pat himself dry, get dressed, and give himself a pep talk in the floor length mirror at the corner of his room. 
Turns out his mom was right, things fix themself for the most part, his socks are stuck at the bottom of the dryer, his hair isn't as bad as he thought, he finds a better cologne in his collection, and a perfect body cream. It's gonna be a good day. 
He finishes the last of the day of prep, getting fancy candles, a lighter, and greeting the decorator. Yes he hired a decorator. 
It's nothing over the top, just little changes to make his home look a little softer, changing out the curtains, placing lace table cloth with details in your favorite color. The main event is his second living room that gets covered in an arch of your favorite flowers, gentle curling to just kiss the top of the new antique chandelier that will be holding the fancy candles too. He hopes you like it. He really really hopes you like it.
He's had this planned for ages, since the moment he first met you he thinks. 
When you greet him with a silly good morning text he only grows oh so fond of you, excited to see you. He told you it was a fancy dinner at his place. A change of pace from the resurates. Both of you prefer a much more intimate night in then cameras shoved into your face while a hundred people all yell a hundred things while you're trying to chew your food. 
So you get ready, dress up and make it for dinner. When you see the familiar face of the chef, Karlos, you give him a wave and get seated. Noticing the new table cloth but you don't say anything. You don't want to be wrong so early into the night. 
Jude comes in, nervous as a school boy as he takes your hand for a quick peek, running around like a maniac back and forth. He looks nice, in a signature all black suit, and smelling amazing per usual. 
Dinner is amazing, full of your favorite courses and Jude is jittery in his seat. 
“You okay?”
He nods, a little too fast, “oh yeah. I am. Don't worry.”
You raise a brow but dont push, thanking Karlos for the amazing meal as he cleans up and heads out for the night. 
Jude gets up, telling you to stay put while he'll be righttt back. Don't worry, remember! 
He comes back, unable to meet your eyes while he gives you his hand. You take it, sliding out of your seat and following him down the hall. There's flower petals on the floor now, you look at him, but he looks anywhere but at you, chewing his cheek.
He leads you to the second living room, where the furniture has been cleared out. Replaced by a walkway of flowers and candles, leading up to where an arch of your favorite flowers hugs the curtain, new ones.
Gently pulled back to reveal the floor to ceiling windows that give way to his yard. And the most gorgeous sunset you have ever seen. A chandelier hangs above you, decorated with more flowers, and the most ornate candles and bulbs you have ever seen.
Your eyes begin to water before he even gets down on one knee, his lip wobbles, holding your hand the whole time as he confesses every little moment and reason for his love.
He loves you, he adores you. You're- youre everything. Truly and fully. You're the sunlight that kisses his skin, the stars he wishes to touch, to know, he yearns for you. Years to know you in your entirety, till he knows nothing else but you. For your name to only fully know his lips, for only he will fully know you. He sees no other, he knows no other. He wants- no needs, to give himself as he is. 
You see him, see him as more than just Jude Belingham. You see what others can not, will not. You see him, you know him. You know him better than he knows himself most days. You've seen all there is to see, all that makes him who he is. You know his stupid sandwich order at the place you hate but keep going to because you know how much he loves it.
You sit in freezing weather for the full game just to make sure you don't miss a second of him. The first to congratulate him, the first to mourn with him, the first to sooth his aches and pains. You're the face he looks for in a crowd, you're the first person he calls when anything happens. 
 And you love him with such ferocity it amazes him. 
You're full crying at this point, fat tears rolling down your cheeks till you can barely see him, and he finally gets down on one knee, fishing out a small velvet box from his inner pocket, opening it with shaky hands.
And he whispers, “will you marry me?”
You fall next to him, sobbing into his shoulder while you repeat yes over and over. He cries with you, till you're both laughing from pure joy. 
Who better to spend the rest of your life with then the man who loves you so?
Telling his family is the best part. You have them over for what was supposed to be a quick lunch, turned dinner, and you break the news at dessert, showing off your ring while they all gasp. 
They pile you into the biggest hug, smiles so wide they hurt and you laugh, you're going to get married! You think they just might be more excited than you are.
Wedding planning comes and goes both so fast and so slow. Youre so excited you can't wait, and yet every step of the way seems like it takes excruciatingly long.
Your wedding planner tries her best, bless her soul, but you want it to be completely and utterly perfect. Down to the types of chairs at the venue.
Jude lets you have your way for the most part, chiming in now and again, he trusts you fully. Knowing you're going to make it the best regardless. 
Leading up to the big day you think you just might pass out from stress and never be seen again, but the almost year of planning pays off, and you're married! 
The honeymoon is spent traveling all over while jude is wide-eyed, unable to believe he's married to you of all people. 
The press catches on soon after, even if your wedding was small and intimate. News comes out one way or another.
Jude only responds with a picture of you two slow dancing among your family and friends, captioned, “all you need to know.” and he pins it to every social media page. 
What a man huh?
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fanpageknight · 8 months
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Yandere Ken Headcanons
Posted:07/29/23
Title: Yandere Ken Headcanons
Yandere Ken x GN Reader
Author's note:
Word Count: 1000
Barbie Story List/ Master List/ Requests Here
Warnings: yandere, language, NSFW
🔞18+ page due to dark and adult themes. Minors will be blocked 🔞
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It's not hard for Ken to go yandere for you once he realizes you'll give him consent attention.
Ken is a delusional attention whore begging for your attention 24/7
"Y/n! Y/n! Look! Look what I can do!" He shouts, getting your attention. When you look over at him, he begins a cartwheel but falls flat on his face. "Ow. Ow. Ow." He says, holding his nose, trying not to cry. [Please kiss him on the nose]
He's a yandere that needs you to look after him.
"Ken!" You shout. Ken whips his head to you. "Yes, y/n?" You point to his shirt. "You're shirts inside out." His smile drops as he looks down. Seeing that you were right, embarrassment fills him. "Dang it!" He exclaimed while pouting off to fix it.
One time, his shoe was untied, and he couldn't figure out of to retye, so you had him sit down so you could retie it for him. After that, sometimes, when he wants your attention, he'll untie his shoes and then ask for your help.
He truly believes he was made for you. He's your doll.
Literally has to be by your side at all times.
Ken stomps his foot in frustration. "But whyyyyyy?" He whines when you don't let him into your home. "Because I'm going to bed." He scoffs. "B-but I... I'll be so quiet you won't even know I'm there. I promise!" He holds his hands to his plastic chest in a begging manner. "No -" He cuts you off. "Pleeeeeaase?" You sighed. "Fine but no noise." Ken's whole face lights up. "Thank you!" He hugs you tightly and doesn't let go as he lets himself melt into you. "Um... ken?" You pat his head, causing him to pull back while keeping his hands on your arms. "S-sorry. You're so easy to get lost in..." then runs inside.
Ken is an innocent, protective, service sub yandere.
Yes, Ken could beat the shit out of someone if he tried/ had to. However, his first reaction is to hide behind you for protection. He's a strong baby girl... but he's also a very nervous/scared one. He's working on it.
Ken loves to take care of you. He loves to give you facials, do face masks together, brush your hair, and carry you when you're too tired. Although he'd prefer to be carried.
If you accept his confession
Yandere boyfriend Ken is an innocent man we all love
Ken loves psychical touch. His favorite is when he's on his knees in front of you with his head on your lap. Your fingers gently brushed through his hair, making him melt
This man lives for your praise.
His favorite pet name to be called is "Doll." Ken also doesn't mind when you refer to him as you're "Boy Toy."
"Hey, Doll," you say with a wink when you pass by your Ken while walking down the beach. His face turns red, and all he can hear is his heartbeat. "H-hey..." He stutters out a quiet response, thinking he may pass out.
He would not complain if you put a collar and leash on him, then paraded him around Barbieland. Ken would puff his chest out and hold his chin high with pride because he knows he has all your attention.
He almost always wears your favorite colors. If he's not, it's because you picked out his outfit for him or he sunk into your room while you were sleeping to see what you were wearing and matched accordingly.
Ken has no idea how to make food, but since you're human, he tries to learn. Most of it comes out burn, but it slowing gets better with time.
Human anatomy is something that he has very little knowledge of but tries very hard to figure out because he lives to satisfy you.
Once this man learns what making out is, he's in love. It's his favorite thing ever.
Since Ken Canonical doesn't have a penis he would wear a strap and then pretend it's real. He'll want you to give it blow jobs and everything.
Ken is very vocal and whines when it comes to sexual activities.
"Please, I'll be good. Ugh..." He whines as you ride on top of his strap. You knew he couldn't feel what was happening, but it didn't matter. Ken knew how much you loved the whole act and the effort he put in. "I-fuck... please use me!" He shouts in pleasure while pulling on his restraints.
If you reject, yandere Ken, he's more like "Patriarchy Ken." He feels like he has to prove himself. Ken plays up his false confidence and hopes that one day, you'll love him so he doesn't have to be in control anymore. [Because he hates being in charge.]
He would kidnap you/ hold you hostage.
If you're in the real world, he's holding you hostage in your own home. If you're in Barbieland, then Barbie gave Ken a dream house one was using if he agreed to leave her alone. Which he agree to because bie that he had you, he doesn't need her.
Ps Barbie would help you if she knew what kidnapped meant, but this is Barbieland, so what could go wrong?
"Sshhhh, it's okay." Ken tries to comfort you, making himself comfortable on your lap. You were tied to a chair with a pink gag in your mouth. Ken's big fur coat tickled your skin, causing your nose to twitch.
Your silent crying was interrupted by Ken busting through the bedroom door. "I'm here!" He shouts as he runs towards where he kept you tied to a chair. He falls to his knees in front of you, holding up a tissue box as if he was proposing. "I heard you crying, so I came to help." He smiles innocently. Once he remembers your hands are tied, he takes a tissue from the box and gently wipes away your tears. "It's okay. Your Ken is here now."
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fuckyeahgoodomens · 21 days
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Michael Ralph, the Good Omens Production Designer, interview for Movieweb :), summer 2023
Question: What is your reaction to your fan's positivity?
Michael Ralph: It's unbelievable. To see your work reflected in the eyes of people that love it is incredibly complimentary and it feels on, you know, you're honoured by having that response .It's rare that you get to experience it. You know, I think that we were involved recently in a fans' view of the set where all the fans who'd been involved in a competition were able to walk around the set. It's extraordinary. And I got hugs and people in tears. And it is an overwhelming experience to stand in that street and be in that bookshop when you didn't think, even though you knew, but you didn't quite know it really existed as a place that you could walk around in is quite phenomenal.
Question: Do you see locations as extensions of characters?
Michael Ralph: My feeling is that we would all, if possible, choose to live where we believe and within an environment that we believe suits us, doesn't suit anyone else. It's a fingerprint thing. It's like, where are you most comfortable? Where are you most comfortable to read or to write or to watch a programme or where do you feel the most secure?That bookshop is an anchor point visually for the show and always has been an anchor point since day one. And it is where you feel most secure. It's where the door closed, you feel safe within it. And what emanates or resonates with that bookshop, not only from the character and the position or who Aziraphale is, is that everybody that walks into that bookshop feels the same thing. Everyone that walks in that bookshop, I've said it before, just want to live upstairs and drink red wine and read books all day and they feel comfortable and they feel nostalgic and it creates a sense of security and protection. And I think that if you can create that sort of sentimentality in something that you're walking around in, it must transcend the lens. And it obviously does because people feel it all the time and they want to go there and sit around in the corner and feel comfortable. So I think that from character point of view, I started really emotionally from Aziraphale. And Neil, whenever I've thought of a great idea that I tell Neil about and he tells me how amazing it might be or how fantastic or inspired it was, I suddenly start to realise it's probably in the book or it's probably in the script between the lines. What stimulates my apophenia, what stimulates my vision and my emotional motivation to design anything is what I can see in the page. So if he has written something so universally empathetic to an audience, then I'm seeing the same thing you are, in my variation, but it really is the same warp or the same sentimentality as I said, or any of those things. So if I can find how to get my fingernails under the edge of that, how I can actually depict it, then I know that it's going to work. And that's obviously... and you can believe in it then, and you can say it with all honesty, rather than impersonate your love for something or say something because your ego tells you you should, or produce something that's a duplicate of something you saw once in Italy. This is something you've got to feel that's specific to the project and specific to the written word, you know.
Question: Do you have the freedom to do what you want?
Michael Ralph: I must admit, reading the book the first time, it was difficult to get my head around how it was going to be depicted. You've got to be very careful that you don't impersonate what you've seen before, you don't copy and then call it original when it's not, because that's sort of like a cop out. You really, honestly have to live with it 24 hours a day, even while you're asleep, and search and search and search and search to find what it is that gets your fingernails under it, to find out what it is you really believe in. And it sounds so ethereal, but it's absolutely true. If you can get that, if you can openly find that, and you've got to feel that, if you can get that, then you're absolutely on something you can invest in and then something you can produce. Because then it's not something that's duplicated. All the furniture, literally all the furniture, all of the dressing on the walls, all of the bookshelves are all built but Bronwyn, a set decorator, will buy me a lot of brown furniture that she finds as really interesting furniture. Furniture that's got spindles and handcarved pieces and reliefs in it. And she gets me stuff that she believes goes with the character of the place. And then I'll break it open. This is what construction. I love working with construction with, because I'll break it open, cut it down, reattach it, and I'll remake wholewalls and bookshelves, like in the magic shop that none of it existed until we put together loads of stuff the set decorator found, that Bronwyn found. And then all that stuff ends up having a profile of the period, or echoes to you, little visual trip hazards of the period, of size and weight. But it isn't really anything you've ever seen before. It's not from a higher shop. It's not from a piece of furniture you bought, just plunk there. Because the camera sees things differently. And we have to lift all that up and make it bigger and larger in scale to punctuate the vision. So all of that is... there's all sorts of theories, I could go on forever, you know. I was saying to Bronwyn today that I think I've been working all my life on trying to raise my intellect, to be able to incorporate a vocabulary to explain what it is I do creatively. I'm not there yet.
Question: Is there something you'd like to explore in the future?
Michael Ralph: And it's funny you should say that, because that process, from what I've explained to you, doesn't originate with me. So you need to get that book or that source material, and someone has to say, you're the guide for this, I'd love to see what you see. And then it's like this massive submerge, you submerge into it. And then it's a journey, a journey that you embrace and it reveals things that I could guess maybe 15-20 things I'd like to do on Season Three, but it's not scripted. So what is that? You know, I've got imaginary things that I will adopt because I know that they've got weight or purpose that will work for Season Three. But I need to see what Neil shows me, you know, what Neil teaches and tells me, and then once I've seen that, I can run with it. He's such a wonderful appreciator of what you achieve. He's never questioned anything I've done, ever. And it's been hundreds of things, hundreds of sets and ideas. And no matter how crazy what it is, I might end up drawing the craziest things first. But he still loves them, you know. And it feels like it probably was there already between the lines. And all I've done is pick up on it. You got to really get into it to mime what it is that affects you and what moves you. What it is you love about something. You can watch a show and read a book and not love it. You don't know why you didn't love it, it's unequatable, but you just didn't connect. But what we're trying to do with everything we do cinematically is to connect, is to somehow get through the equation. So you feel it. And I got a feeling that's why Good Omens works so well. Because of the amount of love and emotion that people put into it and amount of faith people have in what they're doing, because it's only done out of joy and it's only done for the goodness of that wonderful story that is developed and matured, within it, between the characters. And because of that, you can do nothing but sprinkle magic on it all the time.
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doctorwhoisadhd · 2 years
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im not gonna lie (and im not trying to start drama thats why jm not making this rebloggable) sometimes i think people need to remember that in season 24 there WERE entire teams that DID die. like the league very much DID NOT make it out of season 24 unscathed
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musical-shit-show · 1 month
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electric touch
Pairing: Adam (Hazbin Hotel) x Sinner!Reader
Inspiration: My own silly idea but also Prompts #70 (“are you actually trying to seduce me right now?”) and #86 (“they don’t need to know.”) from Prompt List 2
Warnings: Cursing, mutual pining, Adam is still kind of an asshole (duh), suggestive dialogue
Word Count: 1,363
Author’s Note: I just really wanted the mental picture of Adam in some rocker eyeliner, so I wrote it. That’s about it, just being very normal about this character :3 If anyone has seen any fanart of Adam with eyeliner, my DMs are always open. As always check out my Masterlist, About Me page, or Prompt Lists if you’d like to submit an ask! Happy reading! :)
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“What’s that?”
You scoffed at the fallen angel lounging lazily on your bed, watching you intently as you went through your makeup routine.
You had just grabbed an eyeliner pencil, and were in the middle of smudging the smokey kohl onto your eyelids when Adam interrupted you.
“What, you didn’t have eyeliner in heaven?” you smirked, looking at him through the mirror on your vanity. Even in such a relaxed state, he still kept that stupid mask on.
He shook his head, “Why would we need makeup in a place where everyone’s fuckin’ perfect and poised 24/7?”
Shrugging your shoulders, you accepted the answer. Made sense, anyways. From what you heard from Charlie, Heaven probably looked like a dream come true. Why would anyone need to alter their appearance in a place like that?
Turning back to the task at hand, you jumped slightly when Adam appeared behind you, his face incredibly close to your own. He was studying you intently, his digital eyes flickering over your expression.
“Ugh, what is with you, dude?”
His eyes narrowed, lips forming into a tight line. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was…thinking. Which is not an activity Adam seemed to engage in, especially before speaking.
“It looks…good.” he muttered, feeling his face getting warm under his mask, “I guess I never really noticed it before.” You quirked an eyebrow, a small smile flashing across your face.
Ever since he turned up on the hotel’s doorstep practically begging for help from the Princess of Hell, Adam had decided to latch himself on to you. For what reason, you didn’t know; it didn’t particularly matter since any attempts to rid yourself of him were completely fruitless.
He was definitely an asshole, but he could be mildly amusing from time to time.
“Do you…do you want me to put some on you?”
He blinked stupidly. “I’m not gay, toots,” he deadpanned, “Despite what that little spider twink downstairs thinks—”
“No, no that’s not what I meant,” you cut in, trying to stifle your laughter at his remark, “But makeup transcends sexuality.” He scoffed, letting his insecurity wash over him.
Adam would never admit it you or Charlie or anyone else at the hotel, but being here made him feel less alone than he ever felt in Heaven.
Up there, he was practically ignored, even treated as a nuisance by the seraphim and other higher ups. Which he was, but that was beside the point.
He was already ashamed of himself for asking Lucifer’s brat of all people for help, but he had nowhere else to turn and felt completely alone. Except when he was with you.
Although you were a sinner too, you didn’t judge him as harshly as the others. Hell, you were able to stand up to him, even reason with him when he was particularly crabby.
It scared him, though he’d never let you know that. He’d rather get stabbed through the chest again than be vulnerable.
Standing up, you gestured to the edge of the bed, encouraging Adam to sit down again. He hesitated for a moment, not willing to trust you fully.
“You know,” you drawled, “some of the greatest rockers on Earth wear eyeliner. And looks sexy as fuck doing it.”
Adam’s eyebrows shot up in curiosity.
“And,” you added, “A lot of ladies are actually into it. I swear.” He blew a raspberry in dismissal, still not fully convinced. He decided to humor you anyway; he had nothing better to do.
“Ugh, fine,” he whined, “You’re lucky I’m bored, sugartits.” He plopped onto your bed, faltering slightly when removing his mask; you rarely saw him without it, and were struck by how, well, human he looked.
You couldn’t dwell on his appearance for long; you needed entertainment for the evening and didn’t want to wait for him to change his mind. With the pencil in hand, you swiftly went to work on his minor makeover.
You were close. Dangerously close, Adam thought to himself. So close that he was almost pissed that his eyes were closed so he couldn’t get a good look down your shirt.
He could feel your soft breath on his face, the almost imperceptible noises you were making while concentrating intently on shaping his new look. He almost flinched when your hand gripped the side of his face gently, tilting it up slightly to give you a better angle to complete your work.
Your fingers tingled on his skin, silence filling the space in a way that was new to Adam; he usually reveled in sucking the air out of any room he was in, but he was now focused so keenly on the steadiness of your breathing and the looming presence of your body so, so close to his.
Fuck.
He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, and for the first time in his very long existence, Adam actually tried to hide his arousal from you. “Almost done,” you muttered, examining the canvas of his eyelids closely.
You couldn’t help but notice that even though he was fallen, Adam still retained rather…angelic features. Perfect skin, tousled brown hair, annoyingly long eyelashes. You tried to not gaze at him for too long, but with his eyes currently closed, you couldn’t help but stare.
“Ah, okay, open up,” you said, feeling a quiver arise in your throat. He blinked, bright gold eyes accentuated perfectly by the dark liner.
Satan help you. He looked hot.
You realized you were still leaning incredibly close to his face, and before you could stumble backwards, Adam flashed a mischievous smile. “Damn babe, I must look pretty good if you’re giving me ‘fuck me’ eyes.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Shhhh,” he stood up, pressing his finger to your lips. Your attraction to him was quickly replaced with annoyance, even with him looking like a rockstar you might’ve had a crush on when you were still living.
You pushed his hand away, your stomach twisting. Leave it to Adam to ruin an actual good moment between the two of you.
“Are you actually trying to seduce me right now?”
“Maybe. Is it working?”
“Not in the slightest,” you lied. He brushed past you, considering his reflection in your vanity mirror.
“Fuck, I do look good,” he mused, getting an eyeful of himself. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. His gaze flitted to you, studying your form. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “Come on, aren’t you the least bit curious about how good this dick would look in that pretty little mouth of yours?
You crossed your arms over your chest, doing your best to act disgusted at that mental picture. “Only in your dreams,” you muttered, hoping the heat traveling up your neck wasn’t visible. Adam stood up to face you again, his mouth curving into a wicked smile. “They don’t need to know,” he purred, his eyes flicking towards the door, referencing the other residents of the hotel. “It can be our little secret.”
His fingers brushed your waist delicately, and you felt your heartbeat quicken as he squeezed the side of your body. He looked hungry, possessive, the dark pigment around his eyes only enhancing the intensity of his glare.
You gulped. You had to come up with an excuse, and quick.
“Charlie’s expecting me,” you croaked, pulling away from his grasp. You cursed yourself for the ache you felt between your legs, “Something about more trust exercises—” you headed toward the door, but Adam grabbed your arm.
He didn’t seem annoyed that you were brushing off his advances; he knew that it was now just a matter of time.
“Sure, sweetheart,” he teased, his grip red hot against your skin, “But teach me how to do this fun little makeup on myself sometime, hm? I like seeing you all hot and bothered.”
You swung open your door, flashing him the finger as you slammed it behind you. It didn’t matter that you were leaving him in your room unattended; you knew you’d be seeing him there later anyways.
Something told you he was going to keep the makeup on until you returned.
------
thanks for reading! as always, like/reblog/comment if you enjoyed :)
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sirfrogsworth · 2 months
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Mom's Antiques Auction
I wasn't sure if I should post this or not, but we are trying to auction off a lot of my mom's antiques. This particular auction isn't being held at my house, so I figured it was safe to post here.
The auction will be live until 2/13/24 with a "soft close" starting at 7pm Central. That's when items will be sold a few at a time as people place their final bids. It's just like a live auction without a fast talking fella in a cowboy hat. If you try to bid at the last second, that extends the time by 60 seconds so someone else can try to outbid. It's actually kind of exciting to watch.
If you are in the St. Louis area, you can pick up items at the auction place the day after the auction ends. If you miss the pickup window you forfeit the item. Auction rules are no joke.
Otherwise, they can do shipping but I don't know if they do anything outside the US. You can check out the shipping info and call for more details.
This auction is actually for multiple estates. So not all of these items belonged to my mom. Her stuff is from Lot 406 to 660 and in the furniture section at the end from Lot 978 to 999. The link above should take you to the start of her collection (page 17).
There are some really cool uranium glass items—including this knife.
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I had no idea that was in the display cabinet. I might have kept it if I had known, but I'm hoping people will think it is super cool and it will go for a good price.
I know that website looks like it is from the 90s, but everything is legit. We already did one auction and it went very well and everyone got what they paid for.
On a personal note, it was surreal watching them remove everything that had surrounded me for all of my life. I know it was too much for me to maintain and take care of, but nearly every one of these antiques has a memory attached to it. Most of the items will go to the auction fandom—which I had no idea existed. Pro auction people sell to hobbyists. Big auctions turn into little auctions. It's like an auction feedback loop where each auction hobbyist thinks they can flip the item for a little more money. They even have little auction meetups to show off things they got for a steal because one auction person didn't know the value of something. It's quite competitive and they like telling auction stories (whether you are interested or not).
All that is to say, I know not everything is going to a home where someone will take over custodianship of the cool things my mom collected. But it would be neat if some folks outside the auction fandom got some of her precious wares.
Hopefully with the money raised I can restore my emergency fund, which lasted all of a month after the last auction due to a busted battery and leaky-ass tires. Also, there will probably be a few more auctions after this as my mom collected antiques for nearly 40 years.
Speaking of asses, this golfing piggy bank game does not work very well (I could never get the coin in the hole), but I only ever saw it displayed from the other side and never realize all the junk in that trunk.
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