sunnydaaaays
Oh hi Thanks for checking in i’m Stil—
Sunny, she/her, 23, bi disaster college student. Mostly hetalia, haikyuu, promare, and memes. oh and I make art sometimes
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never gonna stop thinking abt how i drunkenly stumbled over to this 40/50 year old butch lesbian at a gay bar and said “you’re everything i want to be” only for her to give me the warmest hug i’ve ever received in my life and tell me that was the best compliment she’s ever received.
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it's missing viktuuri hours
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Some paintings of Instragrams I saw
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cropping it since Tumblr took it down TWICE
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Baxter sat in his car for a long while, thinking. Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, leaning back against the headrest, absentmindedly fiddling with the radio -- anything to slow his mind down.
He was in the parking lot of a dance studio. A dance studio where he'd signed up for lessons. Lessons that were set to begin in just a few minutes.
Everything had happened so quickly -- the month before, he'd reconnected with his old flame from the summer he spent in Sunset Bird five years ago, and in doing so, he'd suddenly found himself thrust into a friend group. His former fling had ended up with an old friend, Derek, who he got along with swimmingly. Cove had warmed up to him, Terry was, as always, easy to get along with, and Miranda was getting more comfortable around him. Xavier, his own professional connection, had also turned into someone he could call a friend. It was an incredible shock to the system, but a nice one.
During the painful process of opening himself back up to things he'd thought he'd never have, Baxter began realizing just how much he'd closed himself off. His life had become a series of routines with no real joy in them, and he'd pushed away everything that could have possibly made him happy because he believed he didn't deserve it. A big thing, of course, was dancing -- it had once meant so much to him, but he'd let it go, along with everything else.
Now, he wanted it back.
It was funny how fast things could change, but still, he couldn't undo all the emotional bindings that had taken him years to put on himself overnight. He glanced at the clock, seeing it was just a few minutes until the lesson was supposed to begin, and began thinking of reasons not to go inside. He'd almost convinced himself when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.
When he pulled it out, he saw a text from Xavier: "You can do it! Proud of you!"
They could have been being cheeky, he wasn't sure, but still, it felt good. He couldn't remember the last time someone had been proud of him, if they ever had been, and Xavier was right -- he could do it. He could do this.
Before he could change his mind, he pulled his keys out of the ignition and stepped out of the car.
Baxter made it inside with just a little time to spare, and he took a moment to take in his classmates. He'd signed up for the first lesson that worked with his schedule, a beginners ballroom class. He wasn't a beginner, of course, but he wanted to dance, and he knew his skills would be rusty.
There were several older people, many of them talking in groups. Some younger couples were there, and he saw a few shiny engagement rings -- he could spot soon-to-be-married couples a mile away at this point.
And then there was you.
You were the only other person there without a partner, so he made his way over to you -- of course you'd be paired together, so, ever the gentleman, he wanted to introduce himself.
There wasn't much of a chance to chat before the instructor began the class, but he learned a few things about you then. One, that you were, in fact, there alone -- you'd recently moved to the city and you didn't know anyone. Two, that you had no dancing experience whatsoever. And three, that you were completely and utterly charming.
If Baxter had been paired with anyone else, there's a chance he may have regretted taking the beginners class. The first order of business was mastering a simple box step, something he could almost literally do in his sleep. But as you put your hand in his, only meeting his eyes briefly so that you could watch your feet instead, he didn't have any regrets.
By the end of the class, he'd lost count of how many times you'd stepped on his toes, and his palm was damp with the sweat from yours. But his hand had gotten comfortable in its place on your back, and your laughter rang sweetly in his ears.
He was happy.
The instructor ended things far too soon for his liking -- after mastering the box step, or attempting to master it, the class moved on to the basics of the foxtrot, and after a few songs, class was dismissed.
"Thanks for dancing with me," you told him, stepping back from him and giving him a grin. "And sorry about your feet."
"It's quite all right," he said, matching your smile. "I've been hurt far worse."
"Still, maybe I should give you my number? In case you need to bill me for any medical expenses."
His breath hitched, and he felt his cheeks getting warm. It wasn't an unusual occurrence for someone to flirt with him, far from it, but what was unusual was that he liked it. He liked it very much.
"That would be smart," he responded, pulling out his phone. He handed it to you, and as you were adding yourself to his list of contacts, he added, "Perhaps it would also be prudent to meet again, just to discuss what's happened so that we could avoid any legal action?"
"Legal action?!" you exclaimed. He didn't know you that well, not yet, but it seemed like you were biting back a smirk. "Surely we can come to an agreement before it gets that far."
"We could discuss it over dinner. Are you free tonight?" he asked.
The joke was over, but you were still smiling, and so was he. You stood like that for a moment, not paying any mind to your classmates trickling out of the studio until you were alone together.
"I am," you told him, your voice a bit softer.
"It's a date then."
After making the plans, you finally parted ways. He went back to his car, a bounce in his step that wasn't there earlier. When he got in, he pulled out his phone again, scrolling through his contacts. It had gotten so much fuller than it had been just a few months ago. It was a good feeling.
He looked at your name, knowing that it was too soon to text you but finding himself wanting to talk to you again anyway. Instead, he pulled up his texts with Xavier and typed out a quick message:
"I did it."
#awwww#our life beginnings and always#baxter ward#fanfic#i took a ballroom dancing class a year ago but I quit because everyone there was taking the class as a couple and it was soooo awkward
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New AU lol, MC is a laaaady
Baxter stood in his bedroom, smoothing out his jacket as he looked at himself in the mirror. He was feeling ... well, he was having a hard time understanding how he was feeling. There was a little bit of apathy, a little bit of dread. Some disappointment, some anger, but buried underneath all of that was just the tiniest little sliver of hope.
He was 18 now, and with adulthood came new responsibilities, his parents often told him. He'd be expected to take over the family business, of course. But more immediately, he'd be expected to marry. Not out of love, nothing as maudlin as that, but to someone his parents chose, someone who could help the family image, and most importantly, open up new avenues for his father's ventures.
His life was being decided for him, but that was nothing new.
As he straightened his tie for the umpteenth time, there was a knock on the door -- one of the servants peeked her head in and announced that his parents were ready for him.
"Thank you," he said softly, shooting a smile at the servant, who smiled back. He'd always made a point to be kind to the people his mother and father had tried to teach him were beneath him, both because he didn't think so and because he desperately wanted to be nothing at all like them.
Baxter made his way through the halls of his childhood home, in no real rush to get down to the dining room. That's where his parents were, dressed in their finest and fully prepared to wine and dine another couple that was almost as rich as they were. And that's where you would be.
"She's a fine girl," his mother had told him before she proceeded to list off your father's investments instead of any of your qualities. He had heard you were beautiful, so at least that was something.
But when he reached his destination and finally saw you for the first time ... well, "beautiful" was such a weak word to describe what he saw in you. You were ethereal.
He took his normal seat at the table -- tonight, it was the one right next to you. At that distance, he could tell that you smelled nice too, and when you smiled at him and shook his hand, he had the fleeting thought that maybe, even if just by accident, his parents had managed to do something nice for him by bringing you into his world.
Despite his initial attraction to you, the dinner was more than a little awkward. You hadn't wanted to talk much, it seemed, and attempts by the older adults to get a conversation started had all failed.
It wasn't until dessert was being served that you leaned over and asked him, just above a whisper, "Can I tell you a secret?"
"You can," he said, unable to hold back a smirk.
"I very much don't want to be here."
You said it so matter-of-factly that he couldn't help but bark out a laugh -- one that he quickly turned to a cough when his mother looked his way. After they went back to their own conversation, he leaned over slightly and said, "Can I tell you a secret of my own?"
"You can."'
"I very much don't want to be here either."
You smiled then -- the first genuine smile of the night. He wanted more.
Baxter made a show of standing up from the table then, and with a deep bow that had you stifling a giggle, he said, "Would you care to accompany me on a walk?"
He held a hand out to you, and when you took it, you curtsied to him -- a full-on actual curtsy. That may have been when he fell in love.
"I would like that quite a lot, sir, thank you," you told him, raising your skirt with your free hand and dipping down again.
His father complimented yours on your manners, but the twinkle in your eye told Baxter that you were being remarkably insincere. If he'd fallen in love before, he was head over heels now.
That night, as you walked through the gardens of his family's estate, you talked to him -- really and truly talked. You talked about your hopes and dreams, your past, how powerless you felt in knowing that your whole life was being decided for you. How nice of a surprise it was that somehow you'd been introduced to someone who knew every bit of how you felt.
It was silly, he knew that on some level. That a few hours with a person wasn't long enough to truly know them or to fall in love, at least not a love that would last for the rest of his life. But with you, he saw those gardens with new eyes. Things that had seemed dull and commonplace before seemed fresh and exciting. Things that had always seemed impossible felt not so out of reach.
At some point, you put your hand back in his. It was warm and comforting, and they fit together perfectly.
"Could I ask you a question?" Baxter said, pausing the walk to move to stand in front of you.
"You could."
"Do you believe in fate?"
By then, he'd seen you smile several times, but at his question, you positively beamed.
"I do," you answered. "And you?"
Matching your expression, he stepped closer to you, moving to place your hand on his shoulder as he put his own on your waist. You brought your other hand up to the back of his neck, toying with the strands of hair there.
"I do."
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“i can fix him” “i can make him worse” i can imagine him in little scenarios every night as i’m falling asleep
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you have to stop biting the hand that feeds you. go for the neck
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Was suddenly compelled to draw an age diff au✨
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ignoring the sexism for a sec, the way some artists draw women in superhero comics is so absolutely hilarious
like they are so far removed from reality it stops being pointlessly sexy and starts being "never been near a woman in my life and im not sure what they are"
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having followers on tumblr is crazy. Why the fuck are you reading my diary you creeps
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"I would kill for you. I would die for you" would you take a break for me? Would you sit down and rest? For a day, a week, a year? Would you let others take care of your needs for me? Would you let yourself be held for me? By me?
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