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gay-dorito-dust · 9 months

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I wanna give this man some cuddles and kisses.

The things that popped into your mind when thinking about Ken were words and things such as; golden, a warm blanket, a gentle breeze, heartfelt laughter, denim shirt and jeans combo outfits, a cozy fireplace, breakfasts in bed, so on and so forth but as you sat down at table with plans of making Ken a scrapbook of your transitioning relationship from friends to romantic partners.

your mind went completely blank when it became time to executing your idea.

So much so that you didn’t notice Ken coming into the room with the intent of spending some quality time, whilst you on the other hand were growing increasingly frustrated with arranging and then rearranging the placements of the pictures and mementos Ken had gotten for you, that when he spoke, ‘hey y/n, whatcha doing?’ you were almost send flying out of your chair hadn’t Ken have his placed welcomely on your shoulder to prevent you from doing so. ‘Jeez Ken, you had me scared out of my wits there.’ You exclaimed, placing a hand over your chest before recovering from the little fright to show the blonde what you were attempting to work on, shifting the scrapbook with the mementos and photos scattered across the blank pages closer to him. ‘I was just working on a little something for you-‘

‘For me?!’ This time Ken was the one to exclaim, his captivating eyes became so bright and so full of raw emotions that you often forget that back home, Ken was merely an accessory to Barbie and thus, he was never given so much as a second thought because why have him when there was Barbie? So to him, your little scrapbook project must’ve been the biggest gesture of outword affection anyone has ever given him…well ever…and to comprehend that as his day to day reality broke your heart. ‘You made all this,’ Ken gestured towards the scrapbook before pointing at himself, ‘for me?’

Ken was silent and for a minute you thought something was wrong but before you could say anything, Ken spoke up once more but this time it was a little more sombre, more emotional as he looked at you with slightly teary eyes. ‘No one’s ever done this for me before…no one has ever done anything this nice for me before…’ Upon the first few tears to cascade down his cheeks, you were immediately on your feet, holding him tightly to your chest, and as you felt him clasp onto you as though you’d dissolve if he let up. You felt tears on your shirt that went right through to your skin. ‘Oh Ken, of course I’m making a scrapbook for you.’ You told him softly, careening your fingers through his hair as he continued to cry into your shoulder; Not that you minded because you’d rather have him cry into your shirt until it was soaked then ever have him think that he should repress his thoughts and feelings. ever.

‘Why?’ He asked weakly. ‘I haven’t done anything cool or totally awesome to garner your attention lately.’

‘You never have to go to such extremes just to impress me Ken, you wanna know why that is?’ You asked but before he could answer you continued, ‘because I love you for being your natural self, for being Ken. And I don’t ever want you to feel as though that when you aren’t doing something to impress me constantly, I’d loose interest because that’s not true. Not even a little.’ You pulled away slightly, in despite on his whines and strengthening grip, in order to look into his pretty eyes that looked back at you, desperate and lost. ‘I’ll always love you even if we’re just sitting on the couch doing nothing, I’ll love you even if we’re in the kitchen baking together, that is until we decide to make it into a war zone by staring a food fight.’ You both laughed at the memory where your entire kitchen looked a tight mess from the flower and a plethora of things that were thrown whilst trying to make a batch of cupcakes.

‘What I’m trying to get at is,’ you rested your forehead against his, ‘I’ll never need you to impress me because I will always love my Ken for who he is, and that’s being his goofy but unbelievably beautiful self.’ You whispered to him before pecking him on the lips. ‘Now what do you say in helping me with this scrapbook? I could use your assistance.’ Not once had you ever seen Ken move so fast in pulling himself away from you, just so he could pull up himself a seat beside yours in front of the scrapbook before looking back at you with determination and a smile.

‘Let’s do this.’ He said and you couldn’t help but smile as you sat down next to him to run him through your original idea; Needless to say scrapbooking soon became a joint venture for the two of you.

#barbie #barbie imagine #barbie imagines #ken x reader #ken x you #Ken x y/n #Ken imagines #Ken imagine #Ken fluff

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chronicowboy · 1 year

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Eddie knew this was going to be a trainwreck ever since the moment Buck asked Cap if he could bring Natalia to the Grant-Nash barbecue. Now, of course, he had assumed it'd be mainly an internal trainwreck on his part, aching at the sight of Buck's arm around her waist, gritting his teeth as he smiles at her and attempts to be overtly polite. He just didn't expect the trainwreck to breach containment quite so spectacularly.

Its just...

Natalia says something about Buck's death being awesome and the entire garden falls deathly silent. Bobby's face freezes like he's caught in some terrible memory, whether its smoke or rain he's smelling, Eddie couldn't tell you. Hen steadies herself on Karen's arm, and Eddie is only the slightest bit bitter that the person he'd steady himself on isn't his to be steadied by. Maddie's eyes fill with tears almost instantaneously, and Chimney wraps her up, his own face tight with grief. Athena doesn't react beyond a poorly concealed scowl. Even Christopher has stopped playing with Denny to stare.

Still, its not quite a trainwreck until Christopher meets Eddie's eyes. The devastation on his face is enough to have the words falling off Eddie's tongue before he can bite them back.

"Awesome?" Eddie chokes out, swinging his gaze over to the happy couple. His eyes land on Buck, however, a ghostly pale, tight and drawn Buck. "What about it was awesome exactly?"

"Well, I mean, its pretty spectacular you have to admit," Natalia says, a hint of apprehension lining her words.

"Oh, sure. Spectacular. That's exactly how I'd describe it." Eddie nods, lets a cold, rueful laugh bubble up from inside of him and it feels like its been building ever since he joked about lightning striking twice. "What exactly about it was spectacular? His heartbroken sister sobbing in a hospital hallway, wondering if she'd have to watch another brother die? Oh, or was it his captain praying desperately by his bedside because he couldn't bear the thought of losing another child? Was that spectacular? Or was spectacular his brother-in-law's guilt heavy with grief and anchoring him to the hospital room because he thought he was supposed to be the one on the ladder? No." Eddie shakes his head, eyes darting to Buck's blank shock. "Do you know what was really spectacular? The eleven-year-old boy in the hospital waiting room begging to see his Buck on the brink of death just to ask him to come back. Was that spectacular?"

"N-no, of course not," she stammers out, eyes wide. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, I just..."

Eddie ignores her, eyes locked onto Buck's faraway stare. He takes a step closer, tries not to preen when Buck's eyes immediately focus on him.

"You think she sees you?" Eddie asks, voice raw and way too honest for an entire family and a stranger to hear. "She can't see past the lightning bolt, Buck. But I've been here the whole time." Its here that his voice breaks, cracking into an ugly, pained whisper. "Seeing you, just waiting for you to see me too." He squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head, takes a step back. "Chris, its time to go, come on."

Eddie grabs their jackets from where they're folded over the back of a garden chair and puts a hand on Christopher's back when he's close enough. Eddie doesn't look back as they disappear into the house, but he catches Maddie's mumbled thank you when they pass.

The ride home is silent, Christopher's eyes teary and Eddie's throat still clogged with the words he left unsaid. They'll talk when they get home. Eddie will ask Buck to talk later too, not an apology for the words, but for how they were said.

Its fine, they have time.

But the blare of truck horns feels a lot like a wake up call.

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ratguy-nico · 3 months

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Geneuary prompt Crush / Birthday

This as a matter of fact was the firts Geneuary piece I drew, why? Cause... it was the first prompt that come to mind. yeah Im not that deep. At least not at thinking.

Scene from the movie Sixteen Candles, why? cause for me this movie combine perfectly the Crush prompt with the b-day prompt.

-ejem ejem- Starring in this piece not only my Genie Wieny Beanie but also co-starring as the romantic interest -dum duru dum- ALEXIS!!! oc, child of the awesome @golden--doodler also known as the person to whom we owe Geneuary @goldendoodlerlockerlove -fuegos artificiales, epic solo de guitarra, explosiones piu-piu piu-

fvk forget to mention draw Alexis heavily inspired in @drawthething commision with golden were they drew Alexis so kudos to them too. (love your drawings)

(more about the drawing down here)

... Yeah...

The thing is! As I said before this is a scene from the movie Sixteen Candles starring Molly Ringwald most known for The Breakfast Club movie that actually have an episode of Bob's Burgers dedicated to it. do you see the connection?

So yeah, don't remember if is actually mentioned but I'm totally sure Gene is a big Molly Ringwald fan, is just his type of girl icon.

The movie in itself is a movie that carries a lot of good memories for me. My mom loves to show me movies from her childhood and teen years.

I remember watching this movie with my mom we both laughing of all the craziest shit that this movie had, commenting how different movies were back then and crushing over Molly Ringwald.

And then just a couple of days ago as a way to find the inspiration again I decided to watch it again with my lil sis who almost cry in the end scene (not the romantic one, the one with the girl and her dad)

And we catch sight of a lesbian! Hunting lesbians in older movies since 2024

The thing is even though I love this movie I have to say is from the 80's, wich mean hella racist toward asian people, very misogynist, and it have boobs (that is not a real problem but since people on twit is trying to banned sex I added it) so yeah, watch carefully. But totally recommended.

There's a scene I would also draw with Tina and Bob from this movie.

Second fun fact. Even though this was the first drawing I made I didn't made the romantic interest until this wednesday.

Originally I though Alex, but I wasn't 100% convinced cause at that point I was heart broken at the realization they were probably discarding his character (note: I don't know if they are discarding the character) (read as a Mort situation) So yeah.

Then I though DAH! Courtney, but I don't ship them as a couple so that didn't seem quite right.

Then talking with Golden I got really fond of their OC Alexis and though, why not? I believed in signs.

The universe talk and I have to listen. The fact that Golden decided to tell me about their character right when I was starting to draw this piece was all I needed to know.

Also I though of just letting that spot blank and maybe made a dynamic were people put whoever they wanted with Gene. Which for me could been hella funny. But I don't think anyone would actually want to do that so yeah.

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threewaysdivided · 5 months

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for the ask game: 💥🤔📚

if we can only do one, your pick :)

(Fanfic writer ask game)

💥 What is one canon thing that you wish you could change?

I've talked about some other changes in a previous ask, but I think Danny Phantom could have been improved by either re-writing the episode Memory Blank or at the very least, cutting a couple of the jokes. The base-premise is potentially interesting but it was definitely one of the ones where the show did characters dirty for the sake of jokes.

If I had to leave it mostly as-is, I would at least want to ditch the two random insert jokes where Danny "remembers" using his powers to peep in the girl's locker room. Not only is the base joke a gross, sexist "boys will be boys" gag, it also just feels really jarring and almost out of character for Danny in particular. That's not to say that Danny isn't canonically chauvinistic in other ways at times, but this one doesn't jive with how he reacts to similar situations (and behaviors from Tucker) in other, more character-centric episodes. The abrupt musical punctuation feels more like a sudden insert of Fairly Odd Parents humour and I would say it's probably only there because this kind of "adorkable misogynist" punchline is a common staple in both Butch Hartman and Steve Marmel's comedy styles.

Ideally though, since the main purpose of the episode is to give Danny his marketable DP insignia, I would rather do a full re-write around all three trio members actively trying to design a logo for Phantom. Rather than doing Danny and Tucker dirty by making them into boring butt-monkeys who live empty lives without Sam (and doing Sam dirty by making her seem like a weird stalker who changes Danny's suit without his knowledge or consent) we could have had an episode that let the icon have actual symbolic meaning for the whole of "Team Phantom". It's sad that one if the most iconic symbols of the show ends up being tacked onto a character assassinating goof-story when there were so many ways it could have been great.

🤔 Would you ever want to write something canon if you got the opportunity?

Going to go with a soft no on this one.

For one thing, I believe the best stories happen when someone has a specific story to tell, and at the moment my Deathly Weapons fanfic is the main story I feel the need to make exist. As a mystery nerd, I guess I could maybe do a decent detective story involving Batman or Gotham, but on the other hand I don't think it would be the kind of story Modern DC wants to sell.

From a practical point of view, I also think the things and stories I find the most fascinating within the Danny Phantom fandom would probably be too tonally serious to "fit with the brand" of official canon material. (Although it has been awesome to see some of the Phandom olds getting ascended to the level of official canon creators with the AGiT comics!)

As for Young Justice Animated I think I'm one of several fans who wouldn't mind being tagged-in (or at least a fly on the wall) if DC/Warner Bros ever decided to give it the Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood treatment, kick Greg Weisman's Whedon-worshipping incel ass out the door and let some of the prominent staff who were dropped after Season 1 have a do-over to continue the story they were actually setting up. I think there was a lot of potential in that initial cast, and there were some really cool character-centric standalone episodes that could have come from things like digging into Artemis and Jade having a diegetic connection to Alice In Wonderland while living in the same city as Jervis "Mad Hatter" Tech. But as it stands, I found Weisman's multi-season vandalisation of his colleagues' work to be so egregious that I ended up blocking both the main series tag and his name for the sake of my blood pressure. Look, even when he's not writing like the kind of man who probably fantasises about impregnating his colleague's daughter, the Nostalgia-Critic-level incompetence at basic narrative coherence is just exhausting.

📚 Is there a fanfic or fanfic writer you recommend?

Many!

For today's tasting, I would like to recommend Developmental Milestones and the broader Cor Et Cerebrum series by @audreycritter. Actually, let's just make that a general rec' for all Audreycritter's DC stuff.

I really like their interpretations of the Batfam and Superfam. They do such a good job of capturing the humanity of these characters in their non-cape moments, and I love their approach to dialogue. I think it speaks volumes to the strength of their character-writing that, despite not being a reader who generally goes in for Original Characters, I have become deeply obsessed with their on-call OC Batdoctor Kiran "Dev" Devabhaktuni. He is indeed the light of my life. Developmental Milestones is Dev's focus story but plenty of others put the focus on the canon DC roster if you prefer.

Go enjoy seeing Bruce get yelled at by a deeply affronted, potty-mouthed British Doctor with a heart of gold, though he'll stringently deny it.

Thanks for playing!

#fanfic writer ask game #myth-blossom's ask game #anonymous #Danny Phantom #Young Justice Animated #Cor et Cerebrum #fanwriter rec #fanfic rec #3WD Answers

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tempestuous-tempest · 11 months

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Nick Valentine Ramble and Headcannons:

Warning: I do mention some sensitive topics. I will put these in Orange.

The first character I fell in love with during my "first" playthrough. I had played before technically but the only memory I had was of Nick and I dont believe I got to finish it. So when I finally decided to play it, I went straight for Nick after saving Preston per usual in the game.

Now and days I consider Nick more of a father figure plus I get a free uncle DiMa.

Nick is all around just an awesome character and companion.

As many others, I think he needs more attention in the game. Like the Kellog thing could have been explored a little more. But I understand how complicated that could have been given the way the game works.

His insecurities about his own identity and how he doesnt feel like he is his own person completely separate from the original Nick makes me think that he disassociates sometimes. Which may or may not have been talked about before.

It took himself a while to get used to seeing himself in the mirror.

If you've ever seen the beggining scenes of "Replicas" with Keanu Reeves in it, that's how I feel Nick's imprinting processes might have gone like when he didnt know who he was.

Original Nick smoked cigarettes just for the aesthetic reasons. Synth Nick also mainly does it out of habit. He does somewhat want to quit, even if it doesnt affect him in any way.

Literally acts like a dad and tells tons of dad jokes.

Original Nick was a vanilla ice cream guy. No shame.

If he were able to drink coffee, he would probably order a Latte Macchiato

He enjoys a good book. His favorite genre is actually Romance. The deep, dark entrancing kind that makes you not want to put the book down. Not that sweet, soft stuff that makes you all giddy.

He gives me Gibbs vibes. The guy from N.C.I.S.

Very accepting of those in the community.

I dont really get the whole ship between him and John so I'm just going to stick with my whole "Very close friends" and "Nick is kinda like a parent/guardian to John" headcannon. I think Nick is also older than John and knew him when he was just a young man in his early 20s.

Nick and Gibbs were both semi inspiration for my own Detective character Oscar Matthew Karma. Which if anyone feels like asking about, I can share more info on him too.

I know its not as long as Deacon's was but my mind is drawing blanks right now. Sorry. As I said with Deacon, I will probably make more parts of his. I just need a mind break.

#fallout 4 #fallout #fallout4 #fallout nick valentine #video games #fo4 #fo4 nick valentine #nick valentine #detective

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nacrelysis · 2 years

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would you take me for a ride, would you toss me to the side

from @thormanick 's awesome prompt about phos and antarc's reunion, posted again separately. happy end of hiatus!!

"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you."

"Phos-" Antarcticite manages, but the rest of their name drops through their mouth like moon dust tumbling between teeth. And- they swallow back the strangeness, force themself to meet the eyes of what remains from a winter many centuries ago -

And what?

Euclase was right. Euclase, Antarcticite thinks, has always been right in one way or another; it bleeds through in the way they carry their lace-dripped shoulders, in the way they approach that redhead who always lingers by the balconies on ballroom nights, in the way they choose their words carefully so that the recipient will neither think them for the worse nor take hasty action.

Actions like charting a course to an off-limits planet on a night that the other Lunar-lustrous are preoccupied with Thirty-three's little flower cookies.

Antarcticite never liked parties, anyways.

You will not like what you find, Euclase's soft words echo like a moon bell in the back of Antarcticite's mind. Correct.

You will regret it. Wrong.

I will never regret Phosphophyllite. That had been their response. Short and hot-tempered in a way that they'd never dared when their body was all liquid cold and brittle loneliness, biased and stubborn in conviction that once had only been sworn to the man-once-machine that now chatted the days by with Aechmea.

"Not what you-ah-expected, was it." Phosphophyllite's voice cracks over simple syllables. They prop themself up at a weak angle on the beach, breathing harshly through lungs that Antarcticite suspects - with great ache - are beginning to tear their way into being.

"That is not a bad thing."

Their sigh comes out guttural and wheezing like the chimes that tinkle beside Rutile's office door. "It may well be.

"Antarcticite," Phos says slowly, like their name is bitter ash in their mouth. "Why are you here?"

It is simple. "Because you are here."

Somewhere on that human face, they think they see a furrow of the brow. "It is lonely here."

"Yes."

"You will not have the silks they drape on the moon." Phos raises a trembling, dripping silver hand to their bulbous eye. "I was there, once. It is beautiful."

A small smile. "You are more, though."

It is Antarcticite's turn to ask a question. "Why do you insist that I am beautiful?"

All of the Lustrous were beautiful. It was why the Lunarians supposedly sought them, after all- for their flesh that bled light, because the glare of their moon was not enough for their blank vanity. But Antarcticite is not Lustrous anymore. Beauty made them prey, but, the way Phos says it makes them wonder-

"What is beautiful to you?"

"To me?" The mass of mercury and gold slumps back to the ground, faded blue eyes fixing themselves on Antarcticite's gleaming hair. "Do you remember the ice floes?"

"The ice floes?" Of course Antarcticite remembers their enemy of centuries, the beast of the lost depths, the place where-

They freeze.

The place where Phos lost their arms.

"So you remember that day, too." Phosphophyllite chuckles. "Did you know the ice spoke to me?"

"I did." And Antarcticite can never forgive themself for brushing it aside, for their careless words towards Phos' body, for thinking arrogantly and selfishly that if they could be fine in the cold, then so could this creature the color of warm spring and fresh mint.

"At the last moment, I hesitated." Phos looks out over the lapping tides. "I tripped, actually- clumsy to the end."

"Do you remember the walk there?"

Antarcticite grimaces. "Phos, are you purposefully evoking memories of my guilt?"

"Eh? No." Phosphophyllite giggles, the sound quiet but effortlessly reminiscent of bright teal eyes in the winter sun. "I promise I have a point, ah.

"It was dawn. I saw you, there, atop the mountain of snow. Your hair floated around your head like strands of Shinsha's mercury, Antarcticite; I wanted so bad to touch it but I knew you'd never forgive me."

I would have, Antarcticite thinks now, old with regret and sorrow. I would have let you a thousand times over.

"You stood there, because you were doing your winter duties-" Phosphophyllite murmurs aloud, voice fragile and soft. "-but you looked back at me, and you told me to walk. Your eyes didn't catch the sunlight- I swear, the sunlight was trapped by the glitter of your pupils, Antarcticite, you were all white and pale and glowing in the sunrise-

"And I walked." They breathe, blue eyes vivid and wide upon Antarcticite. "Because you were beautiful like the colors in the north sky at night, and distant like the glitter of sun on the ocean- and I thought that if I could just walk further, and run faster, and reach out-"

They gasp to a stop, metallic hands clenching at thin air between the two of them.

Phosphophyllite closes their eyes, and finishes in barely a whisper-

"-I thought that I could touch you."

Beautiful. The way Phosphophyllite mouths it makes the word feel like something older than Yellow's pain or Sensei's life. Something unspeakably aching, unimaginably longing - unerringly human.

Oh, Phosphophyllite. What happened?

They must have stood there silently for a while, because Phosphophyllite turns their metal-flecked eyelashes down to the sand covering their ankles. "You should go, Antarcticite. The moon misses you."

"They miss me." Antarcticite agrees. "But I miss you."

And they don't, goes unsaid but understood all the same.

Phosphophyllite looks up, blue eyes cast in green under the sunlight. "Antarcticite. I'm not Lustrous anymore. I'm not one of you."

"Neither am I," Antarcticite says softly, and their sleeves ripple in the breeze.

"You're making a mistake." Blue-green eyes flinty like the winter reflection, fragile like the ice beneath. "Why would-" They stop. "-just. Why?"

"I miss you." Antarcticite's heels sink into the sand when they crouch down. They look at their hands, once stolen by the Lunarians, now one of what they used to hate. "The winter was my duty. Sensei worried that I felt lonely; I told him I was not.

"I did not realize I was lying until I met you." Pale, translucent hands take dripping metal fingers in their unorthodox grasp. One feels too faint to hold anything. The other feels too heavy to do anything but drown. "You were earnest, loyal, vulnerable. Leaping down the ice floes didn't feel so empty when I knew someone else was awake. The snow didn't feel so heavy when I knew you were there shivering too. When you fell-"

They take a deep breath. Phosphophyllite no longer stares at the ground; they trace Antarcticite's hands in muted wonder, once upon a time.

"-when you fell. Into the water, I-I was afraid." It burns to admit, but in a good way. Antarcticite thinks it might feel like the drinks Cairngorm insisted they try on the moon. "I didn't know how much I cared for you until you were almost gone, and I have always been ashamed of that."

"I was petulant." Phosphophyllite counters, though their voice is weak. "Childish."

"You were." Antarcticite agrees. "But over time, it became a petulance that made me smile. Childishness that made me want to tease you back. I never did. I was too scared.

"You endeared yourself to me, Phosphophyllite." They trace the side of Phosphosphophyllite's gleaming cheek. "I lost you that day, too, when I was taken away. I care too much to go through that again."

"It's lonely here." Phosphophyllite crosses their arms. It's so reminiscent of the mint-eyed gem that fell through snow that Antarcticite can't resist a smile. "The Admirabilis hardly come by, when they do. There are no parties. No silks. No comfortable beds. No drinks."

"I do not care much about the Admirabilis." Antarcticite nudges Phosphophyllite gently, looking them in the eyes. "I do not like parties. I do not want silks or drinks. I do not want luxurious beds. And I will never be lonely as long as I'm with you."

"There are no more Lustrous." Phosphophyllite whispers. Their final defense wavers in the air.

Had it been centuries ago, both of them fresh-faced in the snow, Antarcticite might have left it at that. They probably wouldn't even have had the self-awareness to carry the conversation as it is now.

But that was then. And even the sturdiest of gems can wear away by the tides of the moon.

"There are no more Lustrous." Antarcticite agrees. "So let us set it beside in the past, Phos. We are not Lustrous anymore. Our duties are over. Our work is done.

"And," they take Phosphophyllite's face in both their hands, and Antarcticite stares back at the wells of green and blue for all the centuries they had nothing to look at, "when the new Lustrous crawl from the shores of the beach and the cracks of the cliff sides, they will have us to show them a life without duty."

Phosphophyllite takes an impossibly small breath. Their eyes are wide and glimmering. "You promise?"

"I swear it." Antarcticite says firmly.

Phosphophyllite closes their silvery eyelids and chuckles, the genuine smile cracking through centuries of burden and wear. When they open them, Antarcticite thinks that they look just a bit closer to the color of the sunrise.

"You know," Phosphophyllite says conversationally, "I heard a tale about humans while on the moon."

"Is that so?"

"Yes." Phosphophyllite sprawls back where the grass melts into sand, casting their eyes back to Antarcticite. "Apparently, when humans wanted to seal a promise, they had a ritual."

"Which was?"

"Something," Phosphophyllite pauses, tilting their head, "called a kiss."

Antarcticite sighs. "I have seen Cairngorm and Aechmea. I know what a kiss is."

"So that's a no-"

"I didn't say I didn't want to," Antarcticite snaps so quickly, too quickly, and then they feel a sudden heat blaze across their cheeks. Phosphophyllite cackles and lays back further on the grass.

"Are you sure?" They tease, and the sunlight glitters back across their eyelashes. "Isn't it unbecoming of the frigid Antarcticite, most dutiful of the Lustrous, to give in to such worldly pleasures?"

Antarcticite sighs again.

If this is how life will be with Phos, well...they can't say they don't like it.

"Good thing neither of us are Lustrous, then." And Phos' eyes crinkle like the stars' smile upon the sea, and Antarcticite feels themselves fall to the force that the moon had been so bereft of; in the distance, the sun rises, and witnesses the becoming of humanity.

#houseki no kuni #hnk #宝石の国 #hnk fic #houseki no kuni fic #hnk phosphophyllite #hnk antarcticite #phosphophyllite #antarcticite #phos x antarcticite #antarcphos #fix it? kind of #ch 96

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ladynightlark · 11 months

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if you're taking general kny asks, i'm curious: do you have a favorite character or storyline in canon? got any rants/rambles locked and loaded? hearing people talk about things they love is always fun, and i'd love to hear about it!

Hi! Thank you so much for asking!

I have a TON of favorite characters from KNY, and they honestly keep changing with each new season of the anime (which I think is one of the reasons why I love this series so much, especially since characters and their developments are usually what I look for in books and shows I like).

However, I think if I were to pick a consistent favorite character, it would have to be Nezuko. With close seconds being Senjuro and Genya.

Not only are her abilities and strengths awesome, but I really love the relationship she and Tanjiro have throughout the series. The journey they go through together is a really beautiful one, and seeing her grow to control and have more trust in herself and her abilities never fails to capture my interest and make me want to keep rooting for her.

Plus, I’m a HUGE sucker for strong sibling relationships being shown, and the Kamados are my absolute favorites that fall under this! They literally have my whole heart and remind me of how much my siblings mean to me.

I know some people don’t like her portrayal in the series due to her being absent a majority of the time or not having much of a personality due to her condition as a demon, but I still really like her. I think people tend to forget that she is under an intense mental strain most of the time in how she puts her everything into resisting the urge to eat/kill humans, plus the way her mind has been affected by the aftermath of her transformation.

(Major Manga Spoilers Ahead)

A pattern I’ve noticed throughout the series that I think few people pick up on is that the way the demon transformation affects a person varies. It seems (to me, at least), that demons who typically have no memory of their pasts (such as the Hand Demon and Akaza) were ones that were forced into a transformation. Meanwhile others (like Kaigaku and Kokushibo) who willingly accepted the offer of blood and the transformation retained nearly all of their memories of the past.

A theory I have is that Muzan’s blood works to get whoever it is exposed to to succumb to their new instincts as quickly as possible, and resisting will probably come when a person has memories of knowing right from wrong and having a reason (especially a loved one) to not want to eat. So the blood works to suppress those memories to make following the new natural urges easier. Or to do so over time the more the new demon kills and feeds.

Of course, this is just a working theory I have and I could be completely wrong, but I think it’s an interesting thought to consider.

Now, when you apply that to Nezuko (who did have the slight advantage of being a little more aware of herself and having enough outside influence to stop her from initially harming Tanjiro in the beginning of the series), because she obviously didn’t choose to accept Muzan’s blood, her memories are more likely to be suppressed. So when you have very little memory, fragmented reminders of what your past is like, and your major influences guiding you are your human older brother who does his best to fill in the blanks of your mind and a hypnotic suggestion that humans are not to be eaten (despite it being against your newly ingrained instincts), I think it’s a reasonable that you might lose some of your initial personality and ability to make more complex decisions.

Granted, I would have loved to see more of Nezuko after the Swordsmith Village Arc when she starts to gain a little more awareness and her ability to speak is returned. I think it could have had a lot of potential in how it could have affected her relationship with Tanjiro and them trying to navigate what she does and doesn’t remember, as well as her understanding the gravity of the situation they are under with her new abilities and Muzan’s search for her.

One REALLY big wish I have for when the Infinity Castle/Sunrise Countdown Arcs happen is that Nezuko gets a bit more of a bigger role in them. I understand the importance in her having to be cured and then making it to the aftermath of the battle against Muzan to help with Tanjiro, but I feel like there’s so much potential for her to have contributed a bit more in some way.

I had heard theories about how there was supposed to be a battle where Nezuko and the Ubuyashiki children were hidden and were attacked by whoever the new Upper Five was, and honestly that would have been so cool to see, especially if Nezuko had to wake up early and help with the fight in some capacity. But regardless of if we get something like this or not, I think overall her character was handled very well and I really do love her.

Let me know if you’d like me to talk more about anything here! Or if I should make another post discussing why I like Senjuro and Genya so much!

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #ask #ask me questions #nezuko kamado #kny headcanons #kny rants #thoughts on demons

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makeitallmarvel · 11 months

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BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL PAIN

Part 4 Pairing: Druig x Reader

PRESENT DAY

How many years had it been? God not even you knew the answer to that. You had stopped counting the years long ago. “Kingo why exactly did I agree to stay with you?” You asked sarcastically. There was a soft but wicked smirk appearing on your face. “Because I’m awesome. Simple as that” he replied confidently before sipping more of his margarita. “God I’m so drunk” you moaned as you rolled over taking in the beautiful view of the ocean before you. “So you should be happy!” He insisted before you scoffed at his comment. “I haven’t been happy since-“ you began to say but the pain cut the words out of your throat. “Drink” Kingo demanded before it went silent as the pair of you were consumed in thoughts and memories. “It’s been so different since we all went our separate ways. I don’t quite know what my purpose is anymore. It just feels like I’ve been on a permanent vacation” you mumbled into your straw. “Yeah I know what you mean but at least we’ve got each other for now” he commented trying to distract your mind from where it was inevitably going to land, on Druig.

It took you the longest time to get out of bed when you realized he was never coming back. Your heart could barely sustain your body anymore based on the broken state it was in. The shock still hadn’t worn off and a millennium had now passed. Who knew if he was even still alive? Part of you wanted to know the answer and the other half of you wanted to let your fantasies fill in the blanks. It was probably what was best for you but when did you ever do what was best for you? Your heart hurt, it burned and ached so badly you thought you were having a heart attack. That was until you noticed this pain daily. Your body hurt from missing him. There was a warmth you always saw within him that no one else understood. But it was that warmth that kept you safe when your visions became too much. And now it was gone with no return date in sight.

“One more shot!” You screamed out happily holding the small glass in your hand. Kingo and Gil were laughing as you danced to silent music on the beach by the fire. You could already barely see straight but what was one more? Let’s be honest you were addicted to self destructive behaviors ever since he left you. You fell to the ground ungracefully, plopping in the sand. The drunken smile on your face suddenly fell end Gil noticed. “Oh come on sweetheart don’t you dare” he warned with a grave expression on his face. “I know. I know” you practically choked on the words as you forced them out.

It wasn’t like you wanted to still feel this way. You had fucked around and had plenty of sex with random people through the years but you never connected. There was no connection, no spark, no fire. One time you thought you had felt something with another man but realized every time you had sex you daydreamed about Druig. No matter what you did your body craved this man.

Lighting a cigarette you glanced quickly around your surroundings. It felt as if someone was watching you and that’s a feeling you couldn’t shake but wish you could. “Will I ever find him?” You mumbled to yourself before downing the rest of your drink and pouring another one. Through the years you picked up many bad habits trying to cope but currently your favorite was drinking yourself into a stupor when the pain got too bad.

That night you tossed and turned in your bed filled with confusing and intense dreams. When you woke in panic and sweat you had no idea what to think of it, so you took a walk. Wrapping yourself in a blanket found on the couch you walked into the cool, breezy air and inhaled deeply. The scent of sea salt and pineapple filled your nose and calmed your body instantly. The wind blew again and you caught a whiff of something so familiar it seemed to haunt you. You knew that smell well. “No you’re brain is trying to trick you” you mumbled to yourself like a crazy person as you began pacing and looking around your surroundings. The smell came again and your body instinctively followed the trail as if it would bring you back to life, bring you back to yourself. A distant rumble of thunder rolled in over the water soothing your fried nerves. The lightning lit up the sky and a dark figure standing in front of you. “Druig” you whispered.

#marvel cinematic universe #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #the eternals #the eternals marvel #druig #eternals fanfic #eternals fanfiction #druig x oc #druig x y/n #druig x reader

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achtung-attitude · 6 months

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Not ten minutes had passed since Shizuka and T’onga laid hidden amidst the wreckage of All-Kill’s mansion. Shizuka’s spirits had fallen lower than they had ever been. Her friend was gone, his memory desecrated and corrupted by the man who had stolen his Stand, and was using it to tear the place apart in search of them.

It was then T’onga revealed the truth.

“You and All-Kill were born with your Stands. And you probably know better than I do, a Stand isn’t just some ghost, but a physical manifestation of a person’s will.

“That’s the difference between me and you. Your Stand is yours, since the moment of your birth. But me? And Kilo, and Moya, and the rest? We had to make our Stands our own. Dust gave us the Stands of evil people with powerful wills we had to overcome, otherwise they’d destroy us.

“All-Kill got desperate. That’s where he slipped up. He thinks he can just take SATURN BARZ and make it his own? Hell no. You can’t just take another person’s soul without a fight. It takes time and effort. He’s like an untrained genius swimmer going up against a champion Olympian with years of experience. He might have the talent, but if you put him under pressure, the fool will sink. That’s how we can win. If my plan doesn’t work, that’s the only way we can win. Put him under pressure. Annoy the bastard to death. Shake his resolve to the point his own Stand rejects him.”

Shizuka stared, her eyes adjusting to the darkness of their hiding spot. “There’s… no way to be sure that would work.”

T’onga frowned. Beads of sweat bud on her forehead. “Maybe. Maybe not. But…” Shizuka’s mother paused, unsure of what to say. She glanced out of their hiding spot and saw All-Kill looming overhead, still scouring the wreckage for them. “We owe it to your friend…” she quietly says. “He isn’t gone. He’s up there.”

She jerks her chin up at the madman above. “He took him. All that was left of him and warped him into an ugly parody… For all the wrong that I've done, even I know… evil like that can’t be allowed to pass.”

She turned to her daughter then, forcing an encouraging smile. “You can do this. You can free yourself from that man the way I never could. Do it for Moya, and Kilo. But most of all… For yourself…”

***

These words inspired her, even in her moment of weakness over Kilo’s remains. Every ounce of pain and torment, desperate planning and hasty preparations, all to keep a single step ahead of All-Kill. “You can already do so much awesome stuff with your powers! You can make it rain! Sure, it’s deadly scalding acid, but still. I’m sure you can make it snow!”

“It’s not… It ain’t that simple. I can’t just…” Kilo searched for the words, but ultimately gave up “Ugh, whatever. Yeah, maybe. One day…”

And in the end, her efforts at last bear fruit. Her determination blossoms and she stands to full height. By blood, she is T’onga Kim’s child! By commitment, she is the child of Joseph Joestar! She is Shizuka Joestar! “Hah… hah… Now you’ll say…” she gasps, “Ah, screw it! I’ll just cut to the chase! This whole thing, All-Kill… All of this was part of my plan!”

“You… You damn…!” All-Kill chokes out as Shizuka strikes a triumphant pose, in spite of the radiation sickness wracking her body still.

“I stacked the whole deck!!” she declares.

The man in black rages, doing what he can to pry LONELY BOY’s hand off of his neck. But the Stand does nothing but stare with the blank slate where its eyes should have been. As he squirms, the flesh of his neck begins to bubble. “Ahhhhh… AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!” he howls. Steam the color of flesh emerges from beneath LONELY BOY’s hand, as though the upper layer of All-Kill’s neck was being turned to mist.

“Kilo…” Shizuka mutters, dropping her victory pose.

It only gets worse for All-Kill. His eyes bulge as he feels a rumbling in his body. A dense shuddering that rapidly escalates until his insides as a whole vibrate. Even more blood seeps from his mouth, as well as his eyes, nose and ears. He recognizes the sensation and gags. “GAAAAAAHHH!!! This… This can’t be…! LONELY BOY… It’s… It’s canceling out my… my order… Grraaaghh… H…HOUSE OF PAIN…!!”

Shizuka watches in awe at the culmination of her own plan. Even she had not expected this; betrayed by his own Stand aside, LONELY BOY had further doomed All-Kill by setting loose her mother’s Stand, still active in his body, but made dormant by the shut-down power.

Shizuka watches and her cocky smile slowly fades as All-Kill’s doom is confirmed. The terrifying, unstoppable enemy she faced is no longer here. All that remains is a middle-aged man choking on his own blood. Her hand balls into a shaking fist.

But nothing else follows. She merely exhales, relaxing her hands. With a snap of her fingers, the laser lights disappear. There is no longer anything more to do. She limps past All-Kill towards the destroyed forest.

“What… Where do you… think you’re going?!” he shouts as she passes, but prompts no reaction from her. LONELY BOY’s attention also turns to Shizuka as she moves weakly past. Strands of hair from her head. “You… You’re not going ANYWHERE!!” the man in black shrieks.

LONELY BOY’s free hand blurs, swiping at Shizuka. Both she and All-Kill gasp in surprise at its movement. Shizuka tries to duck away, but it’s too late. It’s hand has taken her arm. She feels BLACK KEYS sliding through her sleeve and penetrating her skin. The shock melts from All-Kill’s face, replaced by a vindictive scowl. LONELY BOY turns its wrist.

CLICK!

A huge gasp escapes from Shizuka, but… It’s not her last. Rather than meeting death, her body is reinvigorated. LONELY BOY regards her solemnly as she inspects herself, her hands, body and hair. All-Kill stares, aghast. Only one answer is possible.

“The… The radiation…” Shizuka softly exclaims.

The man in black writhes in the Stand’s grasp. “No… NOOOOOOOOO!!!!”

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #achtung attitude #shizuka joestar #t'onga kim #achtung baby

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peppermintfeather · 6 months

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I was listening to "Michael in the Bathroom" from Be More Chill, and I realized that this loneliness and this helplessness can easily be applied to Reki, scared for Langa to compete against Adam and feeling like Langa has overshadowed him in the first place

I am hanging at the S track at the biggest tournament in years I could stay right here or disappear, doesn’t matter, I can’t see through my tears

I’m a creeper at the S track cause my buddy decided that he’d race Well if that’s what he wants, all those crazy stunts, I guess it looks like I am being replaced

Everything felt fine When I was half of a pair What skater needs to shine Where there is snow in the air?

Now I'm just Reki at the S track, Reki at the S track feeling sorry Forget how long it’s been I'm just Reki at the S track, Reki at the S track feeling sorry Fine, go race Adam

I'm waiting it out til it's time to leave And maybe without me, you’ll finally get reprieve I'm just Reki who you don't know Reki flying solo Reki at the S track by himself

I am hiding, but he's out there Just ignoring all our history Memories get erased and I got replaced With a newer cooler version of me

And I hear the fangirls Yell along to Cherry and to Joe With, you know, whatever it is that they say With all that sound, you don’t need me around I’m not good enough, I have nothing more to show

Now it's just Reki at the S track Reki at the S track feeling sorry I’m not having fun Reki at the S track, Reki at the S track feeling sorry The age of Snow’s begun

It was fun to hang around But my reign’s run dry Who needs someone on the ground When someone new can fly! I'm just Reki who you don't know Reki flying solo Reki at the S track by himself

3, 2, 1, go They’re gonna start the match soon 3, 2, 1, go I guess I’d better dash soon 3, 2, 1, go It sucks he left me here alone 3, 2, 1, go Looks like he’s getting in the zone

Clang, clang, clang, clang I feel the pressure blowing up Bang, bang, bang, bang My big mistake was showing up

Go, go, go go I hand in my S badge No, keep it, there’s no catch I exit through the gated door I’m not having fun anymore

And I can't help but yearn For a different time And then I look at you, Langa And I’m wanted no longer And there's no denying, I'm just

At the S track Is there a sadder sight than Reki at the S track, Reki at the S track feeling sorry This is a heinous night

I wish I stayed at home in bed Forget it all, blank slate Or even better yet I wish I never learned to skate

I'm just Reki who's forgotten Who never should have got in Oh boo hoo it’s so tough I’m no longer good enough Reki flying solo Who you thought that you know Reki at the S track by himself All by himself All by himself

If ‘The One Who Isn’t Langa’ is my name Awesome contest, I'm so glad I came

#reki kyan #reki sk8 #sk8 the infinity #reki #peppersings

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blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk · 9 months

Note

Hey ! You are awesome so I’d like to request —- A FREE BEE FOR YOU!! Any character, any situation, just something you’ve been dying to write or maybe a cute lil idea you’ve had? I love your world building so I know I won’t be disappointed. I hope this doesn’t come across as extra work, but if so then your free bee could be to just take it easy and not write if you want :) have a nice day 💜

FREE THE BEES-

aaaaanywaaaaaay!! this is like handing me a blank check, I hope you know XD

sooooo since you said you love the worldbuilding... I've been wanting to write one of my OCs more, this is Marlowe who's a genderfluid under-butler at the Phantmohive estate!

and, well, this is what happened when Finny first came to stay there :D

also all I heard was "angst me Mommy" so I sincerely apologize but also it's not that sincere =)

The Phantomhive estate is quiet when MARLOWE wakes up.

They sit straight up in bed, unsure of what exactly woke them. A glance over at Mey Rin’s bed reveals that the maid is still asleep, and barely snoring, so it couldn’t have been her. It wasn’t a nightmare of patchwork memories, either.

All they can think of is that perhaps they’re on edge after a new arrival to the manor. A young man that their master gave the name FINNIAN, who has the same loss of hope and want for it in his eyes that Marlowe had once upon a time. (The same that they think Mey Rin and Bard must have had too, and maybe even Sebastian, when they were first taken in.)

This is the first time since they’ve been in Ciel’s employ that someone new has joined the servants’ ranks. It’s only been about six months, so despite being settled in, they’re relatively new themself; twenty-four years of life behind them and the best in front of them. Finnian looks to be at least five years their younger, maybe more than that.

As they slip out of bed, their mind flickers back to the introduction they and the rest of the staff had with him. His hair is incredibly short, like someone cut all of it away and it’s only beginning to grow back. He seems hesitant to make any big movements or show any big emotions.

They remember what it was like when they were swept away to the manor. They were nervous about talking to Mey Rin and Bard. All they could do was follow Sebastian round like a lost puppy, taking his orders and mimicking his actions in the hope that they could become someone worthy of being saved.

They can recall washing seven years’ worth of the East End off them, scrubbing so hard their skin turned red. Changing into the masculine clothing provided for them and the sheer relief at being reminded that they wouldn’t be forced into a dress, because that was not a butler’s uniform.

… The world can be so cruel. Knowing what they went through before they got here, it makes them wonder what poor Finnian has been through.

Their simple silver lighter and a cigarette are both drawn from their bedside drawer while they head out the door. If they can’t sleep, they might as well smoke.

It’s of course not proper to do so inside the young master’s home, especially given his condition, so they always go outside to kill a cigarette. The garden has been their small sanctuary for it during breaks; practically as soon as they step onto the grass, they’re striking their lighter to start the cigarette.

They’ve got a few puffs in when they suddenly hear shaky breathing that isn’t their own. Marlowe looks over toward the rosebush, and their eyes widen when they see Finnian crouched beside it.

He’s just barely missing all the thorns, curled in on himself with tears in his eyes. It’s the picture of someone in distress if ever Marlowe has seen one, and it tugs at their heartstrings.

It wasn’t too long ago that this was them. They recall being up one night sobbing in fear that they’d be kicked out for asking Ciel to refer to them as ‘he’ one day… only for Mey Rin to hold them and stroke their hair and reassure them that wouldn’t happen. Bard once saw their hands tremble as they were looking in envy at his cigarette, and he gave it to them, seemingly able to realize another person who was desperate to numb their pain with something.

Even Sebastian was a comfort, strict as he is. It’s a sharp, powerful memory ― their tears spilled over their cheeks, berating themself for having made a small mistake. And Sebastian’s hands came to rest firmly on their face, and that stern voice of his cut through all their horrible thoughts.

“What did you tell me when you first came here… that you would try hard even if you stumbled? That you would fall nine times, and get up ten? You are no longer that helpless, dirty urchin from the street, Marlowe. You’re better than that now. You are a Phantomhive servant. Straighten your back, fix your mistake, and do what you promised me you would do: make me proud.”

These people have had faith in them. Their fellow servants are becoming their friends, and their master expects the best from them because he knows they’re capable of it.

Marlowe cannot look at someone who was just as lost as they were and simply pretend not to see the suffering. Everyone else here has made them feel welcome. They want to do the same for Finnian. He deserves to be comfortable in his new home.

They quietly walk over, the grass rustling under their feet, and lower themself down to sit on his other side. He startles at the abrupt presence, but all he does is look over them with wide eyes.

Awkwardly, they offer their cigarette in his direction. Though, it doesn’t appear he’s one to smoke. “Oi… want a drag?”

“N… no…” His voice is so small. He shakes his head at them, and scrubs at his tears with the heel of his palm. “M… Marlowe… why are you out here?”

They shrug. “Woke up. Started thinkin’. Decided I needed a smoke. Wot are y’ doin’ out ‘ere?”

He blinks, and the quick, in-and-out staccato of his breathing becomes even more apparent now that they’re closer. “I… I guess the same…? Minus the s-smoking.”

“That right?” They take a drag before blowing out a thin stream of smoke, away from Finnian. “Wot y’ thinkin’ ‘bout that led y’ outside?”

He stiffens up. The tears start to pool at the bottoms of his eyes again, and he buries his face in his hands. “I… I like it here… but… I woke up… ‘n’ I just… felt like I had t’ get outside for a minute. I-I felt… I felt trapped.”

Trapped? In a way, they get it. Except, it feels like something a little different with him. They take another puff, then give his shoulder a nudge with theirs. “I ain’t gonna judge if y’ wanna talk ‘bout it, Finnian. Get it out so it don’t eat y’ up.”

For a long minute, he’s silent aside from his unsteady breathing.

“The… place I was at before. They were doctors. Doin’ experiments on us. They kept us inside, we weren’t allowed to go out.” Marlowe can feel his entire body shuddering with the force of a bad memory. His voice gets progressively harder to understand as he keeps talking, because the crying starts to take over, although they think they get all the important parts.

“I woke up ‘n’ I felt… I felt like I was… in a cage… even though I had room… ‘cause there were walls keepin’ me in! It’s s-stupid, I know it ain’t like it was… but I j… I just… felt like I was… like I was gonna die if I stayed in there… my heart was beatin’ so fast I could feel it in my ears, ‘n’ it was like I c-couldn’t breathe ‘n’…”

Marlowe finishes their cigarette, and tosses it beneath their foot so they can at least attempt to grind it out. No sparks catch on the grass, so it’s fine. They’ll check it again before they take Finnian inside.

With one arm, they drape around his shoulders and gently pull him against their shoulder so the poor boy can cry and be miserable in peace. They notice there’s almost no hesitation when he leans in, pressing his face against them.

Inside, they’re a powder keg waiting to explode. Why does the world have to be like this? Why do people have to be so terrible?

What they went through was bad enough. Finnian’s been through hell, literally being experimented on? Kept inside for his whole life? He’s been tortured. It’s to the point that he’s here, in a safe place, a warm bed and food and people who accept him, and he can’t relax because his mind is telling him something bad is going to happen simply because he’s got four walls and a roof around him.

Anger roils and bubbles inside them as they tuck Finnian’s head under their chin. Like they think they can protect him from his own thoughts and fears.

“Fuckin’ bastards, puttin’ y’ through that,” they mutter. It’s not fair to compare the horrible pasts of anyone here, but at least they can say they’d probably rather have the predictability of their father’s belt and their mother’s starving disapproval than what Finnian’s been through. They suddenly feel grateful for the abuse their parents foisted on them.

That’s fucked up, ain’t it? That’s so fucked up. What I went through was bad too, but… this poor kid.

They hold him as close as they think they can without making him feel confined. That’s part of the problem, right? Too tightly and it will only make things worse.

“Get it out. ‘S alright. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with wot y’re feelin’.” They try to keep their voice soft so they don’t set him on edge.

It’s difficult when they’re so full of rage at what they world has done to him.

And he just continues to wail, holding back the noise as best he can and sobbing into their shoulder. Like he’s used to trying to suffer quietly.

That pisses Marlowe off even more.

“’S alright, Finny,” they repeat, and they don’t know quite why they shorten his name like that. “Y’re safe. Ain’t nothin’ ‘r nobody gonna ‘urt y’ while I’m ‘ere.”

A hiccup comes from him as he lifts his eyes up just briefly. There’s a look on his face that’s almost a smile. “… Finny…? I-I… I like that…”

Of course, just like that, he goes right back to crying as soon as they return the smile.

“Oi, yeah. Don’t worry, Finny.” Their fingers sift lightly through the sparse strands of hair that are poking out from his scalp.

“Stay out ‘ere as long as we need t’.”

Because everything else be damned, they’re going to make sure he feels safe here.

#tehgreatboo #abuse tw #Black Butler #Finny #OC #Marlowe #scenario #platonic #friendship #whump #hurt/comfort #angst #my sweet boy he's got ye olde claustrophobia and it's Bad here comes an anxiety attack just cuz he's inside some walls #and Marlowe is just Very Angry both on his behalf and on their own as well as their other friends'#PLEASE LOVE THEM BOTH I JUST-#one hell of a queue

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tuliharja · 1 year

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BLEACH: Thousand-year Blood War ep 5 review

Oh. This episode was delicious.

I loved how they showed the whole emotional turmoil and how one can be hurt mentally. That at times hurting someone mentally can hurt in fact much more than physically. I just knew when Äs Nödt vs. Byakuya fight would get animated it would be brilliant. So happy the animators added little things here and there, filling in certain blanks. Not to mention the build-up for the climax?

At first, the watchers are being treated by the fact Department 12's science section is getting massacred by their own ally and Ichigo can only listen to despair...he knows he can't do anything, just...despair, and then we're switched to his allies who still believe, Ichigo will come and rescue them, but what happens? They all get beaten up and we get Äs Nödt's glorious monologue about fear and see how Byakuya is slowly spiraling into the rabbit hole that is endless, being brutally betrayed by his own Zanpakuto while Äs Nödt is painting a grim picture and then lastly? Rukia gets beaten down, even Renji does, and Byakuya who should be their guidance while the savior is away? The one who should keep things at bay so long, until the savior gets there? Ah...he is consumed by his own fear, which is deadly.

Gosh. The visuals. The voice acting. The dramatic animation.

Everything was top-notch and extremely brilliant.

(Might redo that manga amv about this scene with my otp in it, because this was just amazing.)

Also, I liked the little detail about how casually Driscoll Berci mentioned he killed Sasakibe, which prompted Yamamoto to appear. It seemed like he had just been waiting for Sasakibe's killer to show up just so he could get revenge. As far as I remember from the manga, this little detail wasn't ever brought up? I don't remember that well, my memories of TYBW arc manga are a bit fuzzy...but now, oh man. Revenge. What I remember back then, when this scene came, people thought Yamamoto came to rescue Hisagi's sorry-butt, but now? *Chuckles.* It was pure revenge for his lieutenant. Who cares about such things as helping others? Justice? Nah, shinigami are truly the bad guys we saw in the Invasion to Soul Society arc. They're driven by revenge and just 'I felt like killing a bunch of people, but they were boringly weak!' if we jump to Kenpachi's wagon. Which by the way, was awesome. The way he explained how he just all but slaughtered those Quincies was almost comical, even though it should have been a horrible scene and we should feel and agree to Jugram yes, Kenpachi is a monster. But here I was cackling to that because despite the fact shinigami have shades of grey (they aren't heroes, alright), the audience can't help but cheer for them. Which I still think is this arc's strength as we see more shades of things. Kudos to the animators for showing all those juicy things and adding little things here...and there to explain certain things that connect to other scenes nicely.

The fact they added Yamamoto's and Sasakibe's backstories was a nice touch. It finally showed us, viewers better Sasakibe's Bankai and we also learned how Yamamoto came up with the name Genryusai. It was a nice touch that gave us, the viewers' a more emotional reason to root for Yamamoto's cause, making his act toward Driscoll Berci feel more justified, even though...well, on the flip side, it was just revenge. Isn't that a bit funny? I mean, just looking from another perspective something can become something else...while it's still the same from the first perspective.

Also, at times you don't need a hero/savior to lift your spirit up and go back to battle mode...at times it just needs a strong leader to rise from their ashes like a phoenix! It was epic how the episode ended with Yamamoto flying through the sky, like a comet, giving hope to his subordinates.

Oh, and I now get where the first, mistranslation of Yhwach's name came from. You might not know this, but when he first appeared in the manga, people wrote his name as Juhabach or a variation of it. But now that his name was spoken aloud by Yamamoto, the translation made sense. (I still, myself, wouldn't spell it like that aloud, but I suppose that's because of spelling differences in different languages.)

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missroserose · 1 year

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Whumptober Day 27: Muffled Screams

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

He holds her, after, which surprises her. Produces a blanket from the back, a towel for clean-up. His hands are gentle on her skin as she shivers apart—differently than before, a comedown from the adrenaline, the intensity. He rubs her back as she trembles, mutters nonsense syllables. She wonders, distantly, how long he’s been without somebody to care for.

“Fuck,” she whispers, when her body finally quiets. “I’ve made a mess of everything.”

“I’m not arguing that,” he answers. “But…you go looking for your boy’s estranged brother, you don’t back down when he challenges you, you sleep with him after? I’m gonna go out on a limb and say things were already a mess.”

She doesn’t answer that; recent images of closed doors and too-quiet evenings haunt her memories. She glances at the steering column, standing sentinel over the two of them. “How long have you had this car?”

A chuckle, soft, quiet, fond even. “Sweetheart, Sam and I grew up in this car.”

I’ll have to go find my family—that strange phrasing finally clicks. “You were homeless?”

His arms tighten around her. “Nah. Never really homeless. Just…we went where the work was. And sometimes, the work came after us and we had to leave in a hurry.” He reaches out, pats the dashboard. “Baby here was our one constant.”

The windows are fogged over; a little moonlight shines through, enough for them to give an iridescent glow, the boundaries of this little world they’ve created. She closes her eyes, tries to imagine existing within the confines of that world, growing up in it. “Did you enjoy it?”

His fingers find her hair, stroke it absently. “What, growing up on the road? Risking our lives fighting monsters every week? Staying in seedy motels and squats? Cops hassling us to move on, waking Sammy and me up in the middle of the night?” She can practically hear the grin in his voice. “It was awesome.”

“Did Sam enjoy it?”

A pause. “I used to think so.”

“And now?”

A longer pause.

“I think you’re gonna have to ask him.”

“Jess?”

Sam’s waiting when she stumbles inside. The new-risen sun sends bright, clean ribbons of light through the closed blinds, painting stripes along the shabby mohair of their third-hand couch; a familiar sight, innocent and mundane, but changed somehow this morning. He springs up when he sees her—”Jesus, Jess. Where have you been? Are you—” The words are bitten off as he takes in her tangled hair, the dirt all over her jeans and jacket, her shirtlessness. “What happened?”

Any number of excuses run through her head. She could spin him a story, something about a frat party or a friend needing help—though that’s a rookie mistake. Easier to simply say I ran into trouble on the way home, let him draw his own conclusions about the kind of trouble a pretty girl in a college town might run into on a Friday night—

She looks up at him from her knees; his face looms over her like a jealous god.

I’m gonna go out on a limb and say things were already a mess—

Some confrontations are for cringing, cowering, covering how you can.

And some are for calling down the lightning.

She stands, tries not to sway with exhaustion. “I met your brother.”

His expression goes from confusion, to comprehension, to—nothing. Sheer, total blankness. He reaches out, takes her arm, urges her over to the counter so she can lean on it; and somehow, under that blank gaze, it’s more terrifying than it would’ve been if he’d dragged her up and pinned her against the wall.

“What did he do to you?”

Her eyes find his, looking for a hint, a clue towards the right thing to do. But she’s only met with that blankness, that intensity being held back by a thread, that same sense of iron control rusted through to bare brittle bone. She wonders, for a moment, whether she should be worried about what will happen when it snaps.

“Why didn’t you tell me what your family does?”

Sam’s jaw sets, and something sparks in his eyes. Carefully, intentionally, he unwraps his fingers from her arm. It occurs to Jess that she’s never seen him truly furious. “You first.”

She swallows, her throat suddenly thick with the gravity of what she's about to do. “How much do you want to know?”

He looks her up and down once more. Obvious. Almost obscene.

“Everything.”

“Jess.” Dean’s voice is barely more than a whisper in the darkened Impala, her name breathed back into her mouth between kisses. “Christ. Jess—”

She pulls back, looks down at his face, white-painted in the moonlight. He looks up at her with eyes wide and dark-shining; reaches up, traces fire-filled fingertips against her cheek, the hinge of her jaw, the side of her neck. Touches her like she’s a graven image, something forbidden and holy, gold-gilt and glimmering in the dark, guidance along a false road. Her skin trails tingling heat where his fingers graze her, trembling, burning—his grip tightens, as if afraid that he’ll let go, look away, and she’ll burst into flame, burn away to ash in his arms.

“You know—” He swallows, the effort of the words clearly costing him. “You know he won’t forgive us.”

“Maybe I haven’t forgiven him,” she returns, and bends forward to kiss him again—

Her voice falters from its storytelling rhythm, her eyes flicking back up to Sam’s. The maze, the shadows—that had been easy enough, despite the ridiculousness of the story in daylight. But this part was more personal, a dagger with his name on it—

Sam’s gaze hasn’t flickered an iota. Ever so carefully, he slips a hand into her hair. Tightens his fingers against her scalp—not enough to hurt, just enough to tilt her head up towards his.

“I said,” he murmurs, soft enough to be a command, “tell me everything.”

He’s so different from his brother. With Sam, it’s usually so careful, controlled, courteous—except for those few times when he lost that control, when he touched her like he wanted to devour her, when he took her so ferociously she came away with bruises that ached when she pressed against them, later. Dean is sweet, goofy even—finding her ticklish spots, praising the size and proportion of her breasts, peppering kisses over her chest, her belly, the insides of her thighs. When he kneels on the floorboard, lays her down on the huge bench seat, hikes one of her thighs over his shoulder, she sucks in a breath—but he dives in, uncaring of her lack of grooming or the musk- or smoke-smell that’s permeating between her legs. His tongue is skilled, his enthusiasm endearing, and it’s not long before she’s gripping the steering wheel with one hand, whimpering obscenities, the roof of the car going in and out of focus as the heat between her legs grows, as he slips two fingers inside her to give his mouth a break, whispers encouragement—”fuck yeah, gonna come for me right here in my car, so beautiful, Jess, you’re so fucking gorgeous—”

Sam’s nostrils flare as he sucks in a breath, and she flinches. He hasn’t moved a muscle—his eyes are still fixed on hers, the heat in them only partially anger.

“Did you? Come for him?”

She senses something shifting between them, though the where or the how or even the balance point is beyond her now. She shifts her stance, stands a little straighter. “Twice.”

Sam lets go of her hair; he sinks to his knees, bare inches from her. She starts to shy back, but his arm is still around her, and he holds her close. Undoes the buttons of her leather jacket, presses his face into her chest. Takes a deep inhale. Two.

“Jesus,” he breathes, almost reverent. “I can smell him on you—”

She’s trembling, shaking apart as Dean keeps at her, keeps lapping, taking her through the aftershocks—she rides them, gasping, pulling in tight to keep it from tipping over into overstimulation. “Don’t stop,” she begs, takes hold of his wrist, tugs him up and over her. “Dean, please, I need more—”

He kisses her, she can taste herself on his lips. “Christ, you’re fucking insatiable,” he says, awe and wonder tinging the words in a red-orange glow. “The one night I don’t have a condom on me—”

She opens her eyes, feels the tears gathering at the corners. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “Just do it.”

“Jess.” He’s breathing hard, sinks both hands into her hair, presses sticky kisses to her neck, her forehead, her mouth. “Are you sure?”

“Please.” The high is starting to waver, and she’s not ready for the comedown yet. She slips a hand around the back of his neck, pulls him to her again, licks herself out of his mouth. “Let me have one of you—”

The words have barely left her mouth and Sam’s tugging down her jeans, what’s left of her panties. It should be gross, disgusting—smoke and sweat and spunk collecting God knows where—he lifts her onto the counter, spreads her legs, starts licking at her like a starving man. She shivers—between meeting Dean, discovering monsters, burning down the maze, and what happened after, she’d thought she was wrung out, but reliving the evening—and Sam’s intensity—god, he’s literally licking his brother’s spunk out of her, there’s so much wrong about this—but there’s so much wrong about the world, it’s stranger and scarier and more dangerous and burns brighter than she ever knew—

“He fucked me so hard,” she says, her voice breathy. “Nearly bent me in half, balls-deep, just drove in, over and over.” The filth is spewing from her mouth, a torrent she can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop, not with the way Sam groans against her—”We were parked in the middle of nowhere, I could be as loud as I wanted, and he just didn’t stop—fuck—” she has to stop to gasp for breath—”I thought I was going to lose my voice, or lose consciousness—”

Sam’s panting through his nose, she can hear him, and the sleep deprivation and hormones are doing something—she feels unmoored, like it’s happening at the same time, Sam and Dean, the three of them are together—“God, Sam, if you knew what it felt like—”

He’s standing before her again—not quite looming, but brooking no argument. “Get on the bed.”

Dean drives into her, filling her, giving her the mindlessness of pleasure to chase, further and further. He's letting a stream of syllables flow into her ear, praise and encouragement and filth, keeping the outside world at bay with each thrust—

Sam slides a pillow under her hips, slides into her where she’s already sore, spit and spunk easing the way—a rightfully earned punishment, except that the stretch is good, makes her want to swivel her hips against him, angle him just right. His hand is on her mouth, keeping her from screaming aloud as he thrusts—

Dean’s lips are on hers, breathing in her sounds, swallowing her moans—

Sam’s sinking his teeth into her shoulder, the bright flash of pain a spur to the intensity—

Dean’s panting against her, and he can’t be done yet, she’s not ready to face the world outside—and then he says it— “Come with me—”

Sam’s taking her hard, and she didn’t think she could do this again, but the ragged edges of pleasure are knitting themselves once more around the base of her spine—he hooks a hand around her shoulder, pinning her in place—

She’s going to—

#whumptober2022 #winjess #sam winchester #dean winchester #jessica moore #supernatural

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snowdice · 2 years

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742 (Epilogue: A Brownie in a Coffee Shop)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Virgil/Patton (romantic, but could be read as platonic)

Characters:

Main: Virgil, Patton

Appear: Janus, Logan, Roman

Mentioned: Remus

Summary:

Virgil Sanders died alone on a hill at the edge of town by his own hand near the end of his senior year of high school. Patton had never known him; he was also the last person to see him alive.

Despite having barely ever talked to Virgil, Patton never could get over the boy’s death and he could never get rid of the sketchbook Virgil had pressed into his hands before running off that day. It didn’t matter that the number of drawings of Patton himself was… a bit creepy given the context that they hadn’t really known each other. The sketchbook was always somehow a comfort to him.

When Patton is mortally injured, he finds himself reaching for that comfort and suddenly ends up in his old high school with a dead boy standing front of him. Now, it’s a race against the clock to survive a danger Patton had no memories of being in last time with a boy who knew more about him than he really should. If they’re fast enough, maybe this time, no one has to die.

Notes: temporary major character death, suicide (temporary and self-sacrificial, not because of mental health reasons), a bit of gross out stuff (a character walked through what is in essence digestive fluid of a giant slug monster)

This is the chapter by chapter repost of my story for the @ts-storytime Big Bang 2022 event. You can see the whole story here.

A special thanks to @kiapet2 for being my beta reader and to @easy-meta-knight for the artwork. It was fun working with you!

Check out the awesome artwork for this fic here!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

2.5 Years Later (or 1 Month Earlier)

“Don’t be boring,” Patton complained.

“I’m not boring,” Virgil replied, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Coffee is good.”

“Coffee is good,” Patton agreed. “I have coffee, but having the same coffee every day is boring.”

“You don’t have coffee,” Virgil said. “You have an abomination.”

“Just try it!” Patton insisted.

“No.”

Patton pouted, but Virgil just avoided his gaze, so he didn’t give in and try Patton’s coffee lemonade. Patton had been trying all month to get him to try it, but he wouldn’t.

It was the middle of July, and it was a month before Patton and Virgil started their third year of university. It had taken Patton a lot longer to get to that third than he’d expected.

He and Virgil had ended up getting an apartment in their first year, Patton not wanting to do dorm life again with a bunch of freshmen and Virgil not liking the idea of showering with a bunch of strangers.

They didn’t usually go home to Kairos Hill for the summer. Virgil didn’t care to visit his old foster family, and Logan traveled a lot since he’d gotten a job with the MIU.

“Their summer specials are really good,” Patton said when Virgil gave him no attention.

“So is their plain coffee,” Virgil said with a snort. He was still avoiding Patton’s gaze, bending over to grab his sketchbook out of his backpack.

The sketchbook he pulled out was almost full, but not quite. Logan would be coming by in a few weeks to wish them well for their next year at college and would doubtlessly bring by a fresh one just as he’d get Patton a new planner. Virgil usually took a year to fill a sketchbook if he gave himself a whole page per drawing instead of cramming multiple onto one page.

The sketchbook with 743 drawings crammed into it was in Patton’s backpack at the moment, even though it had long been finished, with one last drawing made 24 hours after the giant slug monster’s eventual defeat.

“Roman will drink your abomination when he comes to town,” Virgil said, twirling a pencil between his fingers as he studied a blank page.

“But I want you to drink it!” Patton insisted.

“Mmm, sucks.”

He still would not look at Patton and Patton’s puppy dog eyes, even when Patton loudly huffed.

Roman was coming to town in a few weeks along with his twin brother Remus. Both of the twins were working with the MIU these days. They’d ended up joining up independently, since apparently some of Remus’s ‘behavioral problems’ that had gotten him expelled from their high school had been magic-related.

Janus was coming too. The MIU initially hadn’t been able to figure out what had happened in this city in the original timeline. Yet, after moving here for university, Virgil had spent a good amount of time researching and by the end of their first semester, he’d found a moth dragon egg in the city sewers. Janus had been impressed as no one else had been able to catch it. Virgil had been deemed the ‘bug expert’ to his and Logan’s chagrin. (Logan’s because a slug was not a bug.) It would have hatched to disastrous results in a few years if they hadn’t caught it.

Even though the threat that they assumed had almost killed Patton once was gone, there was still going to be a MIU presence in the town through the beginning of September.

Now it was still July though and when Virgil still wouldn’t give him attention, Patton sighed and reached for his planner.

They worked in silence for a bit. Patton peaked at Virgil’s drawing ever so often and couldn’t help but forgive the slight of Virgil not trying Patton’s coffee lemonade when he saw the sketch coming to life on the page. It was of Patton once again.

Virgil was invested in his drawing, not even pausing to sip on his coffee which was saying something for him. Patton felt his heart squeeze looking at him and instinctively reached for the sketchbook in his own bag.

The first drawing Patton could fully remember watching Virgil draw (though sometimes when he was on the verge of sleep other memories of the same thing drifted across his mind just out of reach) was the last one in this sketchbook.

It was a picture of the sunset the day after the time loop broke, and it was a perfect rendition from what Patton could remember. Most of the page was dedicated to that sunset, but in the corner, he could see a somewhat vague shape that he knew was Patton himself.

He’d watched Virgil sit in the grass drawing that picture. Virgil had looked at it for a long moment once it was finished and then closed the sketchbook. He’d given it to Patton permanently then. Patton had a lot of other drawings everywhere in their apartment to look at these days, but he still found himself opening this sketchbook often. The protection charm still buzzed merrily under his fingers.

“Are you going to eat that brownie?” Virgil asked curiously after looking up from his sketchbook.

“Yes, I’m going to eat my brownie!” Patton said with narrowed eyes. “Don’t even think about it mister.”

Virgil looked at him, and Patton did not look away quickly enough to avoid Virgil’s puppy dog eyes that were somehow even more potent than Patton’s own.

Patton sighed. “We’ll split it,” he said. “But only this time, mister.” It was a lie. It wasn’t the first or the last time.

Virgil grinned.

Want to read more? Click below!

My Masterpost.

#sanders sides #moxiety #virgil sanders #patton sanders #tsss #logan sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #adriana writes #742 #temporary major character death #temporary suicide #not pieces fic #gross out stuff

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meeduseuhduh · 7 months

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Life is literally to short to dwell on something that ended. This world is way to big to be scared to experience things, places and meeting new faces. Don’t ever knock anything tell you try it first. It’s either for you or not. Thats definitely why we have legs. So we are able to move tf around. We all have had our share of broken hearts. I could never understand why we hurt ourself by holding onto old memories. When we should be more appreciated to have even crossed paths and made awesome memories with one another. Shit sucks from time to time but thank the creator above for all the challenges that one completed to mold themselves to be the best anyone has ever had.

My mind has been blank. Slowly getting it together. Definitely been drawing a lot. I am so rusty with the blogging. I promise I haven’t forgot about all my nosey peeps. After show and tell I definitely have some juicy tips and experience that i have been waiting to share. I swear im getting it together.

ANNOUNCING my blogging series title tomorrow night. Including 5 jaw dropping short stories. Bouns is a loving poem for the ones who got forgotten about.

You already know to stay tuned. I am going to have y’all’s ribs hurting.

Peace✌🏽

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votivecandleholder · 8 months

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Refreshing Your Space with Orange Dining Tables

New Post has been published on https://dinnertables.net/refreshing-your-space-with-orange-dining-tables

Refreshing Your Space with Orange Dining Tables

Get ready to buckle up, because today we’re diving headfirst into a terrain where dining tables aren’t mere furniture—they’re dynamic bursts of energy and your very own creative canvases. Imagine a fresh revolution of color and bold statements that not only redefine your space but also inject warmth and positivity. So, if you’re all about swapping the ordinary for the extraordinary, hold on tight! We’re about to embark on a journey where orange dining tables could transform your dining area into an exhilarating playground of exuberance. Let’s infuse your home with zest and imagination!

Contents

1 The Power of Orange

1.1 Orange Kitchen Tables

2 Choosing the Right Shade of Orange

3 Orange Tables as Focal Points

4 Complementary Elements and Styles

4.1 Orange Wood Dining Tables

5 Adding Playfulness and Personality

5.1 Orange and White Table Decor

6 Orange Dining Room Sets

The Power of Orange

Is your heart set on a dining area that beams with the comforting glow of a sun-soaked afternoon and resonates with the uplifting vibes of your favorite song?

Orange Dining Room Table

Discover the impact of orange, a color that’s more than just aesthetics and taps into emotions. It’s the hue that whispers, “Hey, let’s have fun!” and shouts, “This room is alive!” Studies even show that colors can influence our mood, our appetite, and even our interactions with others. So, why not saturate your dining area with a surge of vigor that’ll have everyone feeling alive and invigorated?

Orange Kitchen Tables

Orange isn’t just a color; it’s an attitude. It’s the thrill of a summer adventure, the coziness of a fall evening, and the zing of a citrusy twist. It’s a hue that knows how to make an entrance, and it’s about time to take this showstopper to the center stage in your home.

Orange Colors Dining Room Decorating Ideas

Choosing the Right Shade of Orange

Now that we’re on the same wavelength about the awesomeness of orange, let’s talk about finding your perfect shade. From the punchy vibrancy of tangerine to the soothing warmth of burnt orange, there’s a shade for every mood and every personality. But hold on, it’s not just about picking a shade; it’s about crafting an atmosphere that jives harmoniously with your existing decor.

Orange White Table Chairs

Think about the lighting in your home. How does the sun play with the walls? How does it dance across the floor? Orange reacts to light like magic, so consider the natural and artificial lighting in your room when choosing your shade. But don’t worry, you’ve got this. It’s all about striking the perfect balance, like adding just the right amount of zest to your recipe.

Orange Painted Dining Room Table

Orange Tables as Focal Points

Imagine your dining area as a blank canvas waiting for a masterpiece. That masterpiece? Your orange dining tables—roaring statement pieces that captivate effortlessly. Gone are the days of boring, unassuming tables that fade into the background. Your space craves character that sparks conversations, sets moods, and weaves memories.

Orange Dining Table Spandex Fit Table Cover Indoor

Treat your orange table as a significant piece that’s more than just furniture. It’s the heart of your gatherings, the core of your celebrations, and the base for your culinary escapades. Arrange your domain to let your orange table shine like a star—clear the stage, dim the lights, and let the magic happen.

Complementary Elements and Styles

Now that we’ve got the spotlight on your orange dining table, let’s talk about its entourage. Think of complementary colors, textures, and patterns as the supporting cast that makes your star shine even brighter. In sleek mid-century modern, orange adds a vibrant pop to clean lines. In free-spirited Bohemian decor, it’s the enthusiasm that complements diverse patterns and earthy vibes. In whatever mix of eclectic styles, orange interacts well with all.

Orange Dining Table Wood And Epoxy Lava Style Design

Orange Wood Dining Tables

Why stop at the table? Let the color dance on your plates, your focal points, and even your wall art. You could also pair orange with neutrals like whites and grays for a chic contrast. Amp up the drama with deep blues or lush greens. Decorate with metallics for a touch of glam.

Vintage Wood Orange Dining Room Orange Tables

Picture sleek whites, rustic wood, and pops of orange—throw in copper tableware, succulent centerpieces, and gold pendant lights. The possibilities are endless! Whether you’re into vibrant contrasts or subtle harmonies, orange is your trusted sidekick on this design quest.

Orange Dining Table Wood Vintage Style Leg Base

Adding Playfulness and Personality

Let’s take a moment to appreciate the playful, energetic vibes that orange brings to the party. It’s like a deluge of confetti, a splash of creativity, and a dash of fun—all wrapped into one hue. But here’s the secret: you don’t need to dive in right away. Test the waters with little touches: a cushion here, a placemat there, or even a quirky piece of artwork that makes you smile.

Orange and White Table Decor

Orange With A Hint Of Golden Dazzle In The Dining Room

Personalization is your superpower. Your space should reflect you, your adventures, and your dreams. And orange? Well, it’s the medium that’s primed to tell your story.

Orange Dining Room Sets

There you have it, design adventurers—the vibrant expanse of orange kitchen dining tables. We’ve journeyed through the psychology of color, the art of picking the right shade, and the magic of letting your table take the forefront. Remember, this isn’t just about decorating; it’s about infusing life, vigor, and identity into your space.

Orange Table Setting

Finally

So, are you all set to embrace the zest of orange? It’s time to transform your dining haven into a vibrant oasis that leaves a lasting impression on every guest, a smile on your face, and a spark of energy in your heart. Let’s bring your tangerine dreams to life, one stroke of color at a time. Cheers to a space that’s as bold, vibrant, and energetic as you are!

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