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#and just wanted to post my oil painting final
unfortunately-rogi · 2 years
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Gracie in the morning
(Oil on canvas)
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frodolives · 4 months
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1850s Tumblr Dashboard Simulator
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👸🏻 girlbossladyjane Follow
It really makes me sick to see people giving money to penny weeklies when Franklin's expedition STILL has not been found 😭 There are good men out there trapped in unimaginable temperatures and literally all that's needed is a little more funding for another rescue mission yet all you guys seem to care about are your vulgar little stories...
🧔🏻‍♂️ queerqueg Follow
the franklin expedition is dead as hell
👸🏻 girlbossladyjane Follow
Disgraceful thing to say but I'd expect nothing more from a M*lville fan
10,558 notes
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👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻 hartgrindisreal
Sorry for posting so much about Tom Gradgrind/James Harthouse from Hard Times lately. It turns out that I was getting arsenic poisoning from my wallpaper? Anyway I took a seaside stroll and I'm normal now. Check your walls y'all
#whyyy did i assume they were committing unlawful actions together like where did i even get that from lol #hard times isn't even that good by dickens standards tbh
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🎨 asherbrowndurand
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Just painted this
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ss-arctic-girlie-deactivated18540927
RIP Napoleon... you may have been unable to conquer Alexander's Russia but you sure as hell conquered Alexander's bed
🖼️ preraphaelitebro Follow
HERITAGE POST
📝 shakespearesforehead Follow
How does this have less than 100k notes you could literally not avoid this post back in the 20s lol
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🌄 loyalromantic Follow
poets just aren't dying young in mysterious water-related incidents like they used to :/
#as useless and degenerative as i find 'the living poets' and i'm glad we're finally moving on from them #i have to agree with op in this respect
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🎀 thefopdiaries Follow
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I finally got a daguerreotype of myself ^_^ Porcelain urn for scaling
📜 bartlebi-thescrivener
i think i hauve consumption
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🐋 whaler4life
They found oil in the ground??? WTF. THIS IS LITERALLY THE WORSTTTT. FUCK MY LIFE FOR REAL THIS TIME
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🌿 naturesnaturalist Follow
I swear this website has 0 reading comprehension skills. Darwin NEVER claimed we "evolved" from apes like if one of you guys actually bothered to open his new book you'll see all his arguments are backed up by evidence. He actually makes a lot of sense
#sure there's nuance like i don't fully agree with all of it #but his general theory of natural selection seems pretty sound imo
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🤵🏻‍♂️ byronicherotournament Follow
🙈 butchbronte Follow
Of course these are the finalists lmao this website is so predictable. Anyway vote Heathcliff if you dont i'm going to assume you're a phrenologist
📖 sapphichelenburns Follow
It's not problematic to acknowledge the fact that Heathcliff was a brute like he literally killed dogs in case you forgot. #rochestersweep
🙈 butchbronte Follow
I love the implication here that Rochester never did anything cruel either. He literally locked his wife in the attic and lied to Jane about it 😭 like that was a pretty significant thing that happened
📖 sapphichelenburns Follow
And? God forbid women do anything
#why'd you have to pit two bad bitches against each other #anyway i'm not attracted to men but still went with rochester #bc in terms of living quarters thornfield hall > wuthering heights easily
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👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻 hartgrindisreal
Not the Russian tsar dying immediately after hartgrind became canon
#i know dickens hasn't technically confirmed it yet but like. SOMETHING was strongly implied ok #see: my previous post #dickensposting
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👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻 hartgrindisreal
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LORD HELP ME. THE BODY LANGUAGE. THE WAY THEY'RE LOOKING AT EACH OTHER. AHHHHHH
#this installment!!! im-- #dickensposting #i can't fucking cope #dickens wants to KILL us he wants us DEAD....
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⭐️ newamerican
Hi guys sorry I haven't been posting lately it's been so difficult getting to California 💀 I'm finally here now though just need to find a pickaxe and soon I'll be digging! :-) wish me luck lol
#gold #gold rush #gold rush grind #california #adventure
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cdragons · 2 months
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Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You
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Next Part
Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton.
Warnings- MDNI 18+, Felix is delulu, Reader is stressed and homesick and kinda crazy but she a baddie, Michael is Michael, Farleigh is Farleigh, Oliver will be Oliver (a creep), and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic
Author's Note: This fic is a follow-up to this post and I would like to thank grammarly for catching all my grammatical errors 🥲, @ethereal-athalia for enabling my crazy ideas 🥰, and @valeskafics for providing me Saltburn smut when I catch myself thirsting 😇
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“FUCK!” you yelled at the top of your lungs just before your nose slammed down on the dewy grass.
Groaning in pain before the mortification of realizing what had just happened kicked in.
You didn’t know what was worse: the fact you had a full front view of the giant’s junk or that he body-slammed you onto the ground and caused you to land on top of the painting worth 30% of your final grade.
You wanted to scream your head off. The paint had finally dried, and you could finally leave the studio at two in the morning. It was close to finals, and pretty much anyone on campus who didn’t get accepted because of their daddy’s bank account was in their dorms. You had hoped that this fact would mean that the paths were empty and, therefore, safe to transport your 30” x 40” canvas.
“SORRY!”
You shot your head up to locate the person who just apologized. Lo’ and behold, it was the same plastered, pasty cunt with a bird’s nest disaster of a haircut drunken idiot who decided it was a good idea to go streaking across campus. His only other distinguishable features were that he was at least 6’3” and that he had a small steel piece pierced on his face.
After the “apology,” he and his friend continued running off to God’s knows where in the dead of night—leaving you behind on the lawn with a bleeding nose, bruised knees and palms, and an oil painting that was torn and caked in mud three days before its deadline.
There was no way to redo it. The project was assigned at the beginning of October. It took 5 hours to set up the models with the motifs and lights, 3 hours to take pictures, and 10 hours to underdraw the preliminary sketch. You didn’t even want to think about the sheer number of sleepless nights you spent in the studio mixing colors and layering. On top of that, you also had your other finals in other courses to study for.
You had practically been living in that studio for the past month. All of the custodians and security guards knew you by name. You got first dibs every day when they refilled the vending machines. It was a true godsend when you didn’t have time to visit the dining halls. Everyone had been so kind and sweet to you. It was a warm welcome compared to the snark and snobbery you experienced from most of your classmates.
Crying from the devastation of the loss of your situation, your shaking legs carried your body and what remained of your work into the building. You knew that your professor stayed in her office late for grading. You could only hope that she would sympathize with your pitiful appearance.
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“Wait, so did you get the extension?”
Lifting your head from the sticky library table at Bodleian’s, you stared at your best only friend, Michael Gavey, with a blank stare. You didn’t react to his wince after he took in your haggard appearance. You didn’t need a mirror to know that you looked terrible.
Your eyes were puffy and bloodshot red with dark mulberry bags underneath them. You had paled since coming to dreary England, but now you looked straight-up sickly. And if that wasn’t enough, your eyes had less life than a dead fish rotting at a Sunday Market.
Your voice was so meek that you were sure he had to strain to hear you.
“Yeah…I got it.”
You knew you had no choice but to beg your Studio Arts professor for an extension. But it killed you doing it. Professor Daria Martin was your favorite teacher and the only faculty member who actually liked you. Her support toward you meant everything to you; the last thing you wanted to do was disappoint her, let alone be the reason why she lost her job.
Your usually so snarky four-eyed friend perked up at the news.
“So, is everything okay?” he asked with hope.
Your head fell on neon-yellow ink-stained pages that filled the paperweight your ethics professor called a textbook. A bitter laugh fell from as your lips lifted to a wry, dry grin.
“Oof, not that simple, is it?” he asked.
“Is it ever?”
“So what do you have to do now?”
“Well-,” you lifted your head to take a deep breath as you started to explain, “- I still have the photos and copies of the sketch. But because the canvas was so large, it was special-ordered. That means I need to wait until another one can be delivered, and since all the works need to be completed in the studio, I can’t leave the campus.”
As you finished your explanation, Michael nodded his head in understanding before he paused, and a look of devastation painted his features.
“Wait, so does that mean-”
“I won’t be able to fly back home for the holidays.”
Fuck, you were about to cry again. You had been so excited to see your old friends and family. You remembered how absolutely homesick you were at the beginning of the term. Because you were a scholarship student from America, your parents encouraged you to settle on campus by moving to your dorm earlier than everyone else. It was bad enough that you missed Thanksgiving, but you had really set your heart on coming home for Christmas and New Year’s. What made it worse was that your parents had told you all about the dinner they had planned for your homecoming. It was going to be a feast of all your favorites.
English food sucked balls.
Your only saving grace was the Crunchie bars Michael got for you when you studied together or when you had to rewrite edit his essays.
You really DID cry after first reading his essay for Introductory English class at the beginning of the year.
“Did you try to report it?”
“Report what? ‘Hey, there’s a wasted asshole running naked across campus, and he body-slammed me to the ground and tore my fucking massive campus that blocked my view of the jackass. He’s probably richer than the goddamn Queen, given how he’s wasted right before finals.’”
“Do you have any description of him?”
“He’s a giant with a small eyebrow piercing, and his fat ass looked like it had never seen the sun.”
Without lifting your head, you heard the scrape of Michael’s chair before he walked across the table to sit in the chair next to you.
“Hey,” he began, bringing you into a warm arm hug, “it’ll be okay. You called your parents about it, right?”
“Yeah -” you sighed before continuing, “- they told me they understood and would Skype me daily.”
“See! Everything’s going to be – wait, did you say that this guy was tall?”
Furrowing your brow in confusion, you looked at your friend at the change in his tone from light and supportive to sharp and interrogative.
“Yeah?”
“How tall?”
“Umm,” you had to think about that, “I’d say he was about 6’3” or above? He was really fucking tall.”
“And he had an eyebrow piercing?”
Ok, now you were really confused. “Yes? Michael, where are you going with this?”
“I think the guy who ran you over was Felix Catton.”
You shot your favorite idiot with a deadpan glare.
“Felix Catton? The same Felix Catton who just so happens to be the same Felix Catton you hate?”
Michael solemnly nodded. “It’s him. It has to be. The only person on campus as tall as him is his cousin, and he doesn’t have piercings.”
“And he’s black.”
“Yeah, that too.”
You were skeptical, and it showed. You didn’t want to callously dismiss your friend, but you knew more than anyone how much his hatred for Oxford’s Golden Boy could impair his judgment. You were by no means a fan of the guy, but accusing someone of anything they didn’t do just because your friend thought so went against your principles.
He grabbed your arm and dragged you to the bookshelf in front of the table where Felix and his groupies sat. Both of your books and bags were in your chairs, but you managed to keep your spiral notebook with you. It wasn’t hard to find them – they were the loudest table in the entire library. They also reeked of cigarettes and booze.
“See?” Michael hissed. “Giant, pale, and eyebrow piercing. It’s him!”
“Michael,” you softly groaned, “just because you hate Felix Catton doesn’t mean you can –”
An extremely shrill voice interrupted you.
“I can’t believe you and Farleigh actually ran around campus naked!”
A petite girl with full pink lips and dull red hair latched on the arm of the man of the hour. “It was so hot to watch!”
This girl has weird-ass tastes in guys.
“And then how you crashed into that dunce at Ruskin! Brilliant!”
Your blood ran cold while another one of Catton’s faceless droning puppets chimed in.
“God, what an idiot! It’s their own fault, anyway. Who the fuck walks in the middle of the walk path with a fucking big canvas in front of them?”
One of the lessons hammered into your skull young was never to move before you think. That lesson had saved you ten ways from Sunday. But this was not one of those times.
You’re pretty sure that you hear Michael calling out your name as you walk away from the shelf and towards the overcrowded table. Tunnel vision took over you as you made your way to the overgrown idiot who almost cost you your entire future.
Grabbing the back of his shirt collar, you dragged the 6’5” towering fool on his ass all the way outside. You finally let go when the two of you reached the back of the building that had no windows.
“Hey, what the fu –”
You didn’t let him finish as you brought your fist to hit him square in the face – and, fuck, did you relish the crunch that immediately followed your swing.
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Fuck, was his head killing him.
Felix should have known better than to have gotten cross-faded last night, but Farleigh had practically goaded him to do it. It’s not like his cousin ever had to worry about his grades for any of his courses during finals – the little shit-starter had always been so fucking academically gifted.
He skipped pretty much all of his morning classes and barely made it to his afternoon schedule on time while completely zoning out the entire time.
If he bombs on all his finals, his dad was going to absolutely murder him. But chances were he and his mum were going to be too busy entertaining whichever new friend his mum brought in for shelter.
“You alright there, champ?”
Felix swiveled his head too quickly and immediately groaned in pain. The motion made his hangover even worse. Rubbing his eyes to try to soothe the pounding in his head, he slowly opened them to look at his cousin.
The slag didn’t have the decency to look even a little bit affected from last night’s event – the fucker. No, he was sitting there with all Cheshire grins and gleaming eyes while Felix was two seconds from heaving his guts out.
“Yeah, I’m alright, mate.” He replied in a tired groan.
“Must have been quite the night. Wonder if it had anything to do with that little cocktail you took from our sweet Annabel’s belly button?”
Disgust was clear on Felix’s face as he recalled the body shot he had taken from his ex-FWB’s navel. He truly must have been off his rocker last night – he thought he was over with body shots since graduating secondary, but apparently not.
If he somehow got an STD from doing it, V was going to kill him.
But even with all of his horrible actions that caused the raging war inside his skull, that wasn’t the main cause of his misery.
Farleigh’s grin dropped as judgment painted his features.
“Oh,” he moaned, “please tell me this isn’t about ‘your angel’ from last night.”
He didn’t just take the dare of streaking across the grounds just for the hell of it. He needed an excuse to pass through the art building – all for the chance of seeing you.
You. His angel of paints and books who lived in the empty studio rooms of Oxford University’s Ruskin School of Art and whose presence harangued him every hour of every day. Everywhere Felix went, he would unconsciously look for you.
It was his soul calling out for yours – he knew it.
Felix had never felt so drawn to another human being in his entire existence. He’d never seen you outside of the libraries, art building, and maybe the dining hall if he was lucky. You never went to any parties or even had a drink at the pub at King’s Arms. He didn’t even have classes with you, but he knew Farleigh did. Word was that you and his cousin had shared a few classes – what’s more was that you were likely the only person who could go head-to-head with him in academics.
And to make it worse, the prat refused to tell him anything about you – not even your fucking name.
“Believe me,” he told him after Felix had been begging his cousin for hours to share anything about you, “she is way above your league.”
Which really hurt his feelings, by the way – sure, you were probably way above in book smarts, but there wasn’t a girl that remained indifferent to his charms after a good talking fucking.
“I still can’t believe you won’t at least tell me her name,” Felix complained once more, “or even just give me her number!”
“She’s an American here on scholarship and a bore,” he quipped back, “what’s there to tell? And can you please shut up? I want to get some reading done before tonight. You do remember the in-class essay we have tomorrow, right?”
Bloody hell, he did not. Pushing down the bitter feeling in his chest, he and his cousin made their way to meet everyone at the back. As soon as he sat down, Annabel clung on to his arm. Thank fuck he had been wearing one of his thicker jumpers – otherwise, her claws that she called nails would have ripped open the fabric.
“Hey, Felix!” she made sure to offer a very generous sight of her cleavage, “are you ready for tonight?”
Felix chuckled lowly before responding. “Aren’t I always?”
And just like that – he completely zoned out the rest of the conversation.
Annabel was probably saying something to get him to notice her, and Farleigh was likely responding so he wouldn’t have to – but Felix couldn’t be bothered to pretend to care.
He was lost in the living daydream that was his angel that haunted the art studios of Ruskin School of Art.
He was desperate to learn everything about you.
If he asked you to talk about your favorite books, would your eyes sparkle in delight, or would your smile widen in glee?
If he grabbed your hand, would your palms feel marred by his rough skin, or would you press your callouses to his?
If he pressed his mouth on yours, would your lips feel as soft and plump as they look? Or was their luster forever damaged by your teeth biting them whenever you were in deep concentration?
If he breathed in your scent at the crook of your neck, would your skin smell like the paints forever on your brushes or the musky pages of heavy ancient books you always carried in your arms?
If he planted kisses from your throat to your breasts, would you mewl in pleasure or whimper in anticipation?
If he touched your cunt, would you arch your back in ecstasy? Or would your legs crumble, and you would have no choice but to sink into his arms?
Felix’s thoughts were rudely interrupted when Farleigh jammed his bony elbow into his ribcage and hurriedly whispered.
“Look alive, Golden Boy.”
Looking forward, it was better than any of his wet dreams combined. It was you.
Your hair was loose, and your fists were clenched. You reminded him of a ferocious lion goddess with how focused your gaze was on him.
But before Felix would prepare himself to make a good impression, you walked behind him and grabbed the back of his shirt collar before fucking dragging his ass out of his seat and outside.
Bloody hell, for someone so much shorter than him, you were fucking strong.
When you finally released your grip, he fell on the ground like an idiot before he tried to stand and steady himself as quickly as he could.
“Hey, what the fu –”
You didn’t let him finish as you brought your fist to hit him square in the face – and, fuck, you might have actually broken his nose.
After staggering back, you started using the spiral notebook in your other hand to land blow after painful blow on his body.
“YOU. STUPID. FUCKING. INGRATE –” Each word that left your mouth was emphasized with another hit from your notebook “– I. HATE. YOU. YOU. RUINED. MY. PAINTING. I. SPENT. SO. MUCH. TIME. ON. IT. AND. NOW. I. CAN’T. GO. HOME. FOR. BREAK. BECAUSE. OF. YOUR. STUPID. SELF!”
Felix was confident you had more to say, but you were pulled off him by your friend – he’s pretty sure it’s Mitchell – by the waist with you kicking and screaming out profanities to him as your friend called out your name to try to calm you down.
He wondered what it said about him if he told anyone how much you looked like an angry cat. His parents would send him to a shrink if he told them how adorable he found you right now.
If you were this wild while fighting, he could only imagine how riled up you would get in bed.
Fuck, you might have just unlocked a new kink in him.
Catching his breath as he watched your friend drag you away into the distance, he heard a slow clap to his left.
Farleigh was leaning on the corner – his smug expression making it clear that he had seen the whole thing – as he looked at his cousin with a bemused expression before walking toward him and giving a sympathetic pat on his back.
“Well,” he started to break the tension, “at least you know her name.”
“Yeah,” Felix agreed, “I know her name.”
And he knew that you smelled more like the paints on your brushes than the books you carried with subtle notes of gardenias.
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Tagging: @aemondsbabe, @ethereal-athalia, @aphroditesmoon, @barbiedragon, @valeskafics, @lexyysworld, @punkiwiki, @saltburnedme, @arcielee
Let me know if you want to be tagged for future Saltburn fics!
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atalienart · 3 months
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@ianwaite replied to your post “Does Al also make you paranoid? Look at this...”:
Why do you assume that AI artists are not interested in their cause? What do you think of digital art?
​There are no Al artists, there are Al prompters. If you've ever been interested in something then you must know that the object of your interest is what really counts. You want to know more about it, you want to fully experience it. You want to be a writer, you sit and write, you develop your skills, find new techniques of writing and telling stories through written words. If you don't want to write, you're not a writer. You can tell stories but that doesn't mean you're a writer. You can have ideas but that doesn't make you a writer. If you tell another person or a machine to write you something you're not a writer. If someone else composes words for you, you're not a writer. You are not a carpenter when you tell a machine to make you a table in a rococo style. You're not interested in carpentry, you just want a table and want people to clap saying "wow, what a beautiful table, you're such an amazing carpenter" and then to buy it. This is what they're interested in. Al prompters are interested either in the technical aspects of Al, or the final "product" that can give them money or a pat on the back, or a short lasting pleasure of seeing their wife's head on a supergirl body. Tell me the difference between prompting and image searching? There is none.
What do I think about digital art? It's great and beautiful. Graphic programs artists use are another medium. Graphic programs don't lead your hand, don't magically pop images like Al. You draw lines with a stylus on tablet the same way you draw with a pencil on paper. Every medium has different properties. With oil paints you can do impasto paintings, watercolours react beautifully with water, Clip Studio allows you do draw on layers. There is no dark magic but Al prompters see a sped up, edited screen recording of a digital art proces and they think the drawing magically appears on screen without a physical input of the artist. They don't see work, just pats and some "product". I love digital art because it allowed me to share my art with other people much easier. I admire digital artists who can create amazing art pieces. I hope they won't give up when Al people constantly steal from them.
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imdefyingmavity · 3 months
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Right! Here we go. Ghosts Finale Positivity Post as I rewatch.
- Robin being an excited little kid for Christmas is the cutest thing, even if it's Halloween.
- Alison's face when she's showing the ghosts Mia before she has to put the mask on. Also the fact one of her first priorities after giving birth was for Mike to call them and reassure her they're OK.
- "Since Alison come, it been my favorite time of year." I love you Robin, I love you, I love you.
- Nana Fanny is surprisingly sweet? I never imagined her being that maternal before, she never spoke of her children.
- "Robin want more." 🥺 HE IS SO BABY.
- "Think of the child, Alison!" Thomas just kills it with that line. 😂
- Julian caring about putting Robin in the Christmas mood. Chess Husbands are the Joey and Chandler of this show for me.
- Mike was fully about to reveal the truth to Betty but his wife said Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss. It's just so on point for them.
- "She doesn't want to see Fanny on camera." Has someone compiled all these jokes yet?
- Alison's little thumbs up to Julian, they are just chaos buddies.
- Mike being a terrible liar is hilarious.
- Mike warning the ghosts to leave! Like he has no real connection to these guys except through Alison but doesn't want any of them in danger. 🥺
- "Betty's bought the pastor!" "Pasta? That not very Christmassy." Robin I swear to god.
- That close in shot of Julian is the funniest scene in the episode. Also Robin "I think we should go-" chess husbands stick together.
- Kitty remembering Humphrey! She's always seemed to be the one who is most concerned for him. <3
- This. Just this.
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- Thomas, normally the most self-obsessed git, being the one to jump into the line of fire to rescue Humphrey is also <3 <3
- This expression on Alison broke my heart and had me going "babygirl oh babygirl!" at my TV.
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- But then.... 😁🥰😁
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- CHESS HUSBANDS SHOULDER TOUCH
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- As chaotic as the scene is, Kitty wanting to sing Mia a lullaby is cute and shows she's trying to move past her jealousy...I think.
- Fanny calling Alison her daughter. I'm not OK.
- This had me howling. 😂
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- Mike saying "thanks guys." There's as many Mike / ghosts moments as Alison ones here.
- Julian being so happy Robin feels Christmassy!
- This could be an oil painting. My girl. 😭
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- Best use of a song and lyrics timed with what's happening.
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- THE PORTRAITS! Such a tiny detail but tells you Alison had her input into how the hotel was set up. She made it for her and Mike but she left it for THEM!
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- The last we hear from Alison is her laughter. All these years. All these years and they are loving and LAUGHING together.
- Plague Ghosts always had to be the ones to bow us out. Again, while she wasn't super close to them, I like to think Alison suggested the pit as a good place for the spa, for them. 🥰
.....Okay that was a little better on second viewing ngl.
(For anyone wondering why I don't mention any of the PatCap moments, sorry I'm just not a big fan of baby scenes and babytalk etc.)
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pinkwright · 1 year
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need u on my skin like closure, baby | shuri udaku.
ƸӜƷ
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pairing — college!shuri x college!y/n
trope — exes 2 friends 2 lovers
inspo — anya mmiri by ckay ft. pinkpantheress
warnings — fingering (reader receiving), dom!shuri, humiliation kink, erm dumbification (listen..), possessive!shuri, protective!shuri, shuri is touchy, kissing, overstimulation, its long my bad, reader is easily embarrassed, tensionnn, shuris mean n condescending but so in love, reader is bratty for like two seconds, jealous!shuri, dacryphilia, dirty talk, degradation but like its like praise coded, praise, reader gets rlly subby (poor baby) but not crazily so like subspace, i think that's it but i honestly don't know.
a/n — i wrote this pretty quickly actually n was initially gonna post for valentines but bc i'm drowning in ideas rn it doesnt rlly matter so, i hope u enjoy it ! girl i won't lie writing this had me a bit breathy LMFAO so if there r any errors that's my bad but u know why. im a miniskirt kinda gal so this is what i imagine reader wearing to the party while this is what i imagine shuri in (4th)— u can obvi imagine what u want.
⟢˚ @mbakuetshurisprincess @inmyheadimobsessed @letitias-fav @barkbarkbo @saintwrld
confusion, confusion, it's life, and illusion. you’re with me right now, next thing you're gone. but i need you on my skin closure, like closure, baby.
the music blasts through your ears, the steady vibrations stimulating you sufficiently, working well in keeping you from getting distracted from the current art piece you worked on. the world around you seemed muted as the tones of green, brown, and orange danced across your canvas, the oil paint was firm but still allowed room for error, encouraging it even – your favourite medium for that reason.
a slow succession of knocks sound under the thump of your music, the door to your studio opening and closing with two soft clicks, the person not making themselves known to you. though, a smile creeps on your lips – having recognised the knocking pattern, “by now you should know that creeping up on me after you’ve knocked is futile, right?” your hand reaching towards your stereo to lower the piercing volume.
you place your palette on the covered table to your side, the dirty paintbrush following suit as you stand to turn to face her, your arms lift into a stretch then fall to fix the unruly bun of the lace on your head as you finally set your gaze on her. she’s standing in the doorway, her hands buried in the pockets of her baggy black sweatpants, a matching oversized black hoodie sitting on her torso, the accents of dark purple shifting as she lifts her hands into surrender, and there’s mischief dancing in her eyes.  
“i will never understand how you do that when i quite literally have the stealth of a panther.”
she’s smiling at you as she speaks, her voice is playful and light as you begin to pack up your belongings, “i don’t know, your majesty. maybe, just maybe, the deadly black panther has met her match.” you’re giggling as you say it, unaware of the inner turmoil you’ve thrown shuri in to.
the air quietens down as you raise your eyes to look at her, your sweep of the room to make sure it’s presentable for your arrival tomorrow complete, and you seem to realise what has transpired, what you insinuated. shuri’s gazing at you with a deep but unreadable expression, one that has you averting your eyes over an awkward chuckle as you walk towards her.
“that, she has.” her voice is deep, and serious, as it slithers up your body, wafting with your intake of breath to settle in the depths of your lungs. her words carry a depth you’re familiar with, or at least, were familiar with, one that spoke of her devotion to you, her love and respect for you, her desires and promises to make you, her queen.
you clear your throat before moving around her tall frame to step out of the small, now tense, space. your heart flutters as she quickly reaches out to open the door for you, her cologne permeating your psyche as it washes over you – jasmine and warm musk on top of cedar and bourbon vanilla, all wrapped within the sensual flamboyancy of roses.
you walk to the elevator and step into the space, the music is soothing as you sigh out and drop your head side to side in a stretch, you had been sat unmoving for a long period of time, “i always tell you to take stretching breaks to ease the strain on your body.” shuri’s voice is teasing but you can hear the firmness floating through the crevices of it. your eyes reach to look up at her, your lips parting on a snarky remark, but the ding of a stop on another floor has you pausing; then there are two things happening simultaneously.
firstly, a group of college boys is stepping into the small space and, secondly, shuri’s reaching both her hands to rest firmly on the skin of either of your shoulders, slightly pressing against you to shift your body away from the rowdy boys, guiding you to face slightly away from them, as she steps forward to press against you, giving the one that was nearest to you a curt but taunting smile, as if she’s daring them to touch you.
the action is so swift and so instinctive that it’s over before you even get to blink twice, but it wakes up your aching body, provoking it into calling out for her. you feel its call in the warmth pulsing through you, the sweep of your stomach, and the racing of your heart. her head dips to where her soft curls skim the skin of your collarbone, her nose barely brushing against the arch of your neck, and your head is tilting slightly for her, your body reacts before your mind can process, clearly yearning for her closeness.
“what were you saying, s’thandwa?”
she breathes the words into your skin, her hands squeezing your shoulders before they’re slipping down your arms and coming to rest on the heated skin of your waist, pulling you into her so her chest presses against the length of your back; and you’re embarrassed. you can feel the rapid glances of the others beside you, though their conversation never ceases, and you know that shuri’s doing this on purpose. she knows that no matter how much you deny it, your body vibrates with the idea of her possessing you like this, owning you where there’s nothing to shield the clench of your thighs from prying eyes; she knows you bask in the humiliation of it.
you shake your head to clear your thoughts, “it’s fine, it wasn’t important.” you almost flinch when you hear how breathy your voice sounds, the heat rising to your face but moving to settle in the pit of your stomach. shuri’s chuckle is taunting as she breathes you in, her head dropping slightly and you can feel her lips curling as she skims a phantom kiss on your sweet skin, and you swear when your head clears, you’re going to kill shuri udaku.
the doors ring open to the ground floor and shuri guides your body out, no longer pressed against you as she takes to wrapping her arm around your shoulder and your head finally clears. “you are such a fucking ass, actually,” her boisterous laugh is cutting you off as she turns to look down at you, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“looking out for you is being an ass, my love?” she teases. your eyes roll as you throw her arm off of you, her laugh only intensifying as she brings her hands to clap obnoxiously. the muscles of your heart seize as you regard her, you love her so much, why’d she have to confuse you like this?
“shut the fuck up, i’ll see you tonight.” you try to look annoyed, but a series of giggles are escaping you as you walk away, your apartment only a block away. you’re adjusting the bag on your shoulder when shuri’s voice rings out in agreement, her laugh quelling as she watches you go, a sigh taking its place as the longing grips her once again.
⤠ 
you roll your lips to spread your lipgloss and reach to put the tube in the black bag you decided to carry tonight, rocking your hips to the beat of baby boy reverbarating through the walls of your apartment as you deem yourself ready. you spin your back to the mirror, your eyes sliding to gaze over your shoulder as you give yourself a once over, the length of your skirt was daring, provocative, just how you liked it.
the knocking at your door has you grabbing your bag and ruffling out your hair, allowing the bangs to frame your face cheekily because you know shuri likes it when you look a little bit of a mess for her, not that you wanted to look good for her or anything along those lines. the door swings open, your previous smile dropping as you lay your eyes on her, sweeping your gaze down her lithe frame as your glossy lips part, she needed you bad; shuri’s doing the same, her tongue coming out to lick her lips as her dark eyes burn into the skin of your legs, she had always been a leg girl.
your eyes snap up at the clearing of her throat, and she’s smirking at you before leaning into your space, her arms wrapping slowly around your waist, pressing you against her firmly as she brings her lips to your ear, “bast, you’re killing me, baby.”
the words end with a grunt as she slips one of her hands down your hips to play with the hem of your skirt, “this fucking skirt, you’re a little slut for attention, hm.” her voice is soft and cooing like she’s praising you, and her fingers grazing the skin of your thigh paired with the tenderness of her tone coaxes you into accepting the praise.
you let out a low whimper, the heat of your core bringing you to clench your thighs slightly, shuri chuckles condescendingly before pulling away, lifting your hand to her lips to graze your knuckles before she’s pulling you away, guiding you to her car. the ride is a short but electrified one, god what kind of exes slash friends were you?
the party is in full blast by the time you two arrive, music blasting through the house and flowing into both the back and front yards, you could feel the vibrations settle in the marrow of your bones as you make your way inside, still being guided by shuri. she moves through the crowd just like a panther; gracefully, instinctively, moving with the aura of the apex predator she was, she greets people as she enters the kitchen, using the grip on your hand to seat you on an empty barstool before she starts to prepare some drinks for you.
you’re joined by some of your friends, and soon you’re laughing, enjoying the party and the sweet drink shuri had prepared for you, before you feel like dancing. you hold one of your friend’s hands as you go to dance, letting go of the overbearing stress you carried, letting the music caress the heat of your skin. you feel her eyes watching you, feel them heavily sliding down the length of your moving body and it exhilarates you. you open your eyes and just as you meet her gaze, a body presses itself against you, much like she had earlier, and her gaze is darkening.
the intensity of it shocks you but lulls the bratty side of you forward, calling you to make her move, make her claim you again. the thought excites you enough to bring your hand to guide the strangers to rest on the material covering your ribs, your lips twitching in amusement when you see her eyes drop to sneer at the touch.
that’s it, come to me. the vixen in you is cunning, luring her lover to her with tactics she knows shuri will concur to, tactics she knows will break the regal patience of the queen.
but shuri simply raises a manicured brow, her lips lifting into a smirk as she sweeps her eyes over your frame and she’s leaning forward against the marble countertops before tilting her head at you. you know that look, and so does your body, seeing as it instinctively clenches with a fire so deep it licks at the jagged edges of your ribs, sinking into the space between your legs.
she barely lifts her hand, her fingers moving to call you to her and you’re moving without thinking, like a prey to its predator, and you’re soothed by a false sense of security when she allows you to place your hand in hers so she can gently pull you towards her and whisper directly into your ear, “i don’t know who made you think you run shit, s’thandwa, but i know you need me to fix that for you, right?”
the shiver that wrecks through your body is instant and you’re nodding before you can comprehend, your breath hitching when you feel her pull you through the crowd, you were in for it. the lock of the bathroom door barely clicks before one of shuri’s hands grabs both of your wrists to press against the wood while the other pushes your hips against the surface.
there’s a pause, “i need to hear you to tell me you want this baby, that you want me.” her voice is strained like she’s holding back.
“please, please, shuri, i need it, need you, always.”
the whine barely escapes you before she’s letting out a tortured groan and pressing against you, her hand sliding down your hip, roughly pushing the hem of your skirt up, and pressing over the front of your damp underwear. your hips stutter as she presses against your clit, your lips parting as you moan out, hearing her groan into the curve of your neck, her lips pressing heated kisses along the length of it, “barely touched you and you’re this wet for me, baby? my pretty pussy’s crying for me, isn’t she?”
her voice is pulling you into the state only she can pull you into, where your mind is only occupied with her, and it’s hard to think, to breathe, to exist beyond her. her fingers trace slow circles over your underwear, your hips swirling to match the movements, and she’s laughing at you. lifting her lips to slide over your cheekbone and press against your temple as she increases the pace of her fingers.
“my desperate fucking girl. you want to come in these pretty lace panties?”
your hips buck wildly as you gasp, your head spinning as you whimper out her name, over and over again, a series of pleads falling from your lips. the way she’s talking to you with that lilt in her voice like you were just a girl to be scolded, a girl to be humiliated until you learned, learned what being hers meant. she’s speaking words to you, wanting you to gaze into those eyes while she touches what’s hers.
you feel the wave cresting, your stomach clenching as you practically squeal out her name, your hips gyrating frantically in time with her hand, your hands are clenching, your arms still held above your head, wanting to grab something to ground you, wanting to touch her to ground you. she coos at you, murmuring about her, “pretty sweet thing coming so good for her.”
your heart rate doesn’t get the chance to slow as you feel her hand slip into your now-soaked, underwear, your hips bucking violently as she grazes her slender fingers across your sensitive clit, and your eyes are widening as you lift your gaze to find hers already on you, “had enough, angel? i don’t think you have.” her voice is taunting, her eyes holding a fire that burns your insides.
your mouth drops open, your gaze unable to move from hers as she slides her fingers to your entrance circling around the opening as she groans deep in her throat, “bast, you were made for me, my love, made to take me?” her finger slips in slightly as she curls her tongue around ‘take’ and you’re chasing her fingers, she’s being so mean.
you tense as she finally slips her finger into the warmth of your walls, a satisfying moan slips from your mouth as she begins to gently thrust in and out of you, her fingers dragging against you, just the way she knows you love. she’s smirking against your cheek as you unabashedly moan out repeatedly, thumb coming to circle your clit as you shut your eyes. the tears are gathering on your lashes as you’re whimpering out.
“there’s my pretty baby’s tears.” her voice is dark, menacingly dragging out the words. “couldn’t have my pretty pussy crying by herself tonight, hm.” the words render you dumb before her fingers glide firmly against that rough patch inside you and you’re clenching so hard that it drags her fingers deeper into you, your legs trembling, your body solely held up by shuri’s hold on your wrists. and you still long enough for her to mutter out a ‘that’s it, angel.’ before you’re exploding again.
the tears are clinging to your lashes as you see flashes of colour behind your eyelids, your breath coming out in pants as you stutter your hips to the soothing slow of shuri’s lithe fingers, she’s using the hand holding your wrist to lower your arms to rest around her shoulders, her arms then coming to the back of your thighs to gently lift you on to the sink.
you feel her lift your chin, her lips approaching yours before she pauses, “you’re mine, right. my precious love, hm?” her voice is raspy. you nod eagerly, tightening your arms around her neck, whining for that kiss. she smirks as she leans in, placing her lips against your own softly but with a little desperation, the slide of your lips is a back-and-forth pull of your love, a love song duet, a devotion of walking into what will be.
the panther’s sly hands skim up your still quivering thighs fiddling with the band of your underwear, pausing, before she’s ripping them off. the gasp you release into her mouth is sharp but as you go to pull away, she doesn’t let you, her mouth slipping against yours felt like an addiction. both her hands slip along your inner thigh making their way to your dripping cunt.
her lips separate from yours when the tips of her fingers graze your folds and you thrash so wildly, she has to reach a hand to your hip to still you, a grunt slipping passed her mouth at the action, you were so sensitive, it made her feral. her eyes lift to your shut ones as she glides her fingers over your clit, your head frantically shaking, “you don’t want more, my love?”
her voice wisps through the clouds in your mind, “c-cant…please” you force out pathetically on a whimper, her fingers circling your clenching entrance, “i know, baby, i know.” she’s speaking gently to you, lovingly, “but you’re mine, yes? mine to love, mine to make come as i please? isn’t that right, honey?” and you’re nodding frantically.
“then i want you to get off on my thigh like the desperate girl you are, sweetheart.”
her voice is the only thing you can fathom, and it has you craving for more, inviting her into you and it almost makes shuri preen – you’re so open to her, settling into her embrace as if you trusted her more than yourself, it makes her soaking pussy clench tight around nothing, in a way only you could make her. her thigh presses between your legs and your muscles tremble around the strong muscle, her hand slips around your throat, squeezing gently as she guides your eyes to hers, and she gazes at you so deeply, it makes you squirm.
shuri���s watching you struggle against her thigh, her lips lifting into a condescending smirk that forces you to shut your eyes and let out a lengthy, needy whine before she uses her free hand to grip your waist and harshly slide you against her.
“dumb baby needs me to do everything for her?”
the moans you’re sobbing out sharply slice through the air, and you feel filthy, crying out for her while she drags you against her thigh like a desperate slut. you’re hiccupping on your tears as she continues to coo at you, walking you to your demise and you can feel it, your heartbeat pulsing through your desperate clenching walls.
her head is nodding along with yours, your eyes unable to separate from hers, and she’s groaning along to your cries, asking if you want it enough if you’re desperate enough for her. she leans in to press a tender peck to your lips that you can’t reciprocate, “that’s it, my angel, give me that come.”
then your body is convulsing so violently, shuri has to press the length of her body against you to prevent you from slipping off of the sink she has you sat on, her head sinking to your neck to shower you in praises and remind you how good you were for her, how much she loves you, how pretty you are when you cry for her. your tears are hot on your cheeks as you soak her thigh, and you’re heaving as your eyelashes cling to one another, the mascara smeared along your waterline - you looked ruined.
shuri regards you with a tenderness that sends you spiralling, she reaches her hand to brush along your wet cheeks before following the trail with her warm lips, exhaling her love into your skin, reminding you how much her heart belonged to you too. her lips meet yours in a soft press and she sighs as she pulls you against her body to ground herself.
she could feel her heart clench with the force of her love for you, she was never going to let you go again.   
how could i forget you? when you build house for my mind? and you no go, go outside and you no go, go. i miss me and you. but all i have is memories of you. but that just wont do tonight.
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sinning-23 · 9 months
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My Latest crush is an alien car from space
SO this is the quick 1-3part fanfic I wrote in reference to the little post I made about mirage a couple days ago! Only a couple things changed and the stuff mentioned in the post prior will come up in later parts (here's the link to that if you didn't see it)
Okay so let’s just push all the events of the movie…now lmao I use a lot of current terms that would t have been used in the 80’s so let’s just keep everything the same…accepts it’s 2020-2023 yeah? Great! Fantastic! Uhhh enjoy shawty!
(heres the link to pt2 hotties <3)
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Intro/Pt.1
Hot girl summer postponed 
“How am I supposed to do hoodrat things with my friends if you won’t fix this already!” You whine, resting your hip against the side of the beat-up Porsche. The paint was chipped and scraped, the seats were old and dusty and the oils it leaked stained the garage floor and the damn hood wouldn’t close. 
In short, it was kinda shitty. And a stick shift? Who the fuck drove the stick anymore?
Your dad only dusts his hands in his pants and sighs. It’s his fault for spoiling you rotten that you’d beg for a car now, and it was also his fault for promising it in the first place. 
“First of all, there will be no hoochie mama floozy business in my house.” You roll your eyes at the outdated term and shoot back with a reply.
“That’s fine! I said hoodrat anyway!” 
He interrupts you, pinching the bridge of his nose, great hair practically springing out his head. 
“NONE of that either. Tell you what, if you can apply for two more apartments it’s yours. 
You throw your hands up.
“Dad, what?! You know I hate being alone and you’re getting old! You’re gonna need a caretaker.” You reply with a bit of sarcasm and he raised a brow and the not-so-subtle insult.
“I’m not a senior citizen y/n. Just do it.” He replies back, ending the conversation with a peck to your forehead. 
“Not with the way your knees popped earlier!” You call back as he closes the door on you. 
You groan, pushing off the car you were leaning against and tabbing the roof, an audible ‘thunk’ sounding. 
“Soon shawty, you’ll be taking me shopping and clubbing in no time.” You chide, fingers dancing on the slightly lifted hood before you exit.
And before the garage light shut off, the Porsche purred, engine smoking. 
____4 months____
It was go time. You’d applied for about 3 more apartments just to appease and overachieve for your father. And on top of that, your girls decided that it was finally time to get you absolutely shit-faced in late honor and celebration of your graduating med school! The only problem was the mode of transportation.
Most of the girls weren’t going to be able to get you and an Uber wasn’t really what you wanted considering there was a perfectly good Porsche sitting in the garage collecting dust. According to dear old dad, he’d already tried time and time again to fix the damn thing but it wasn’t budging, every screw being too tight and every wire seeming to short hit it under his touch. It seems like no use. 
“Are you serious? I kept my end of the bargain.” You groan, rolling your eyes at the inconvenience 
You’d dad shrugs, throwing the dirty, oiled-up towel over his shoulder. 
“Unless you want to try, I  suggest you find another means of transportation.” He suggests, leaving you and the busted car alone. 
You sigh heavily letting your girls know a reschedule may be on the rise. You pull your French curl braid half up with your alligator clip and lift the hood, the engine was seemingly new, and the design seared into it looked a bit creepy. After brushing your fingers over the symbol, you tighten the hood screws to test if it’d close and sure enough, the problem solved ...kinda.
 You still weren't sure this thing started up. That was the main issue. You sigh, pulling the driver seat open and plotting down, dust making you fan your face and try to blow the particles away. The same symbol from before was engraved into the wheel and you brush over it again. 
“What a funky-looking symbol. I'm sure nothing a little sparkle won't fix, looks cool tho. Like an alien car thing? Wouldn't that be so silly?” You think out loud, looking in the back seat to see a tattered bomber jacket with silver and blue. Maybe it belonged to the previous owner?
You gasp when the driver's seat scoots forward, keeping you from reaching the jacket. Your chest pressed to the wheel making the horn honk. Gasping you throw your shaky hands up and swallow hard. 
“What the fuck…” You whisper out, eyeballing the symbol once again, trying to sneakily reach for the door to make an escape. 
It locks, The radio and lights inside flashing off and on as the engine revved filling the garage with smoke and the sound of your panicked screams. 
You try and pull the door open but fail again and when the radio buzzes to life you're met with a single song. Taylor Swift was amongst the madness just moments ago.
You need to calm down
You're being too loud 
You managed to throw yourself out of the car and scatter back into the house, coughing up the smoke that had still lingered from before. What the hell was that? So maybe it was an alien car. What was meant to become of your hot girl summer? Were you doomed to figure out this possessed car on your own? Exorcise it mayhaps? You stumble up the stairs and pull out your phone. Evidence that's what you needed, evidence. 
You stumble back down the stairs, Snapchat fully functional and ready to catch any evidence, and you'd be damned if you didn't go viral without a filter. 
Swinging the garage door open you point your camera to the dormant Porche. You're more so angry that you were so scared and you were NOT about to let some poltergeist punk you in the comfort of your own home. 
“Yeahhhh motherfucker where all that noise now? HUH? Flash some lights now bitch!” You yell, feeling only slightly insane talking to the inanimate object. 
You were met with silence, circling the vehicle with the flash on. Now narration of the prior events, you try to open the driver door only for it to lock. Oh this mf was playing with you. You yell in a fit of rage, smacking the hood. 
The car revs and honks at you, the door swinging open to hit your backside, making you trip. 
“HA! I GOT YOUR ASS ON CAMERA!” You yelp, camera rolling the entire time. Your breaths are raged but soon become hollow when the car starts to……change.
Your camera hand is shaking and parts of the car begin to shift into legs…waist...torso…arms…. Breath is caught in your throat as the damn near 10 ft tall figure standing before you with its hand in a more so ‘what gives’ position. 
“You are so aggressive, lil mama! What’s the deal?” It speaks, and before you could muster a response, your eyelids shut, and your brain powers down. 
Its eyes widen at your unconscious state and it sighs. 
“All that talk and she faints. Great.” 
____________
A breeze hits your face, the sound of traffic slowing to a haunt as does whatever you’re traveling in. It’s a bit easier to breathe now, but your breath is still shallow and your head is somewhat aching. What even happened before this? You were messing with the car and it was..possessed? No no, it was. 
You shoot up, head hitting the ceiling. In a panic you try and tug at the seatbelt and escape this demon car, breath bringing to pick up again. 
The voice from before speaks over the radio 
“Whoa whoa ok calm down I’m just taking you to a friend of mine! I’ll explain everything calm down.” 
And surprisingly enough, you do just that. In hindsight, if this thing wanted to kill you it probably would have done it already. You click the seatbelt off, crawling to the front seat. You take a deep breath, manicured fingers ghosting over the wheels before finally gripping it and tracing the symbol again. 
“O-Okay. I’m terrified right now. I’m in hella far from my house I’m assuming-“ You’re cut off by the voice again. 
“You’d assume correctly.” It speaks 
You blink your hand and take another breath. Lil shit had personality. Nod in defeat. 
“So…you’re an alien…but also like…a robot? What are you? And why are you a car? And why are you BLUE?” You question, calming down enough to exit the car and wait for a response from the culprit. 
It transforms again before your eyes, and you finally have a chance to examine him more. Instead of being afraid and shocked now, you’re more so intrigued. Curiosity engulfs your mind as you ponder its biology. Sure finishing med school required you to know the human body, but the anatomy of an alien and more mecha was intriguing. 
You circle it, a newfound confidence flooding you as it tried to explain itself.  Manicured fingers can’t help but reach out and touch the smooth-looking metal, the once dusty and scraped not nonexistent over his exterior. Perhaps that was a part of its species' biology, some sort of camouflage. You trace over the license place which appeared to look like more of a tramp stamp given his current transformed state. It reads, ‘MIRAG3’ and you can't help but let your hands wander around and underneath it. It twitched at the sudden touch, arching away from where your hands had touched in protest. 
“Can you stop poking around!” It yips, shooing you back. 
You scoff rolling your eyes, still observing. This was definitely a scientific breakthrough. No wonder it’s been hidden in its car disguise, you were sure there were plenty of people that wanted to dissect and use it for maybe not-so-good reasons. 
“So, do you have a name? Is it Mirage? I can’t keep calling you it in my head, feels rude.” You question, finally taking in its full frame. 
It gasps in fake hurt, placing the back of its, hand. Against its forehead? Damn, you needed to learn its anatomy so this would be less of a guessing game. 
“Call me Mirage doll.” He flirts, jutting his fist out to seal some sort of camaraderie. 
Reluctantly accepting, your plush fist touched his metal one, the metal warmer than you initially expected. Was there more of him? Why was he purposefully blowing his cover? Maybe he was just not as well thought out as the others if there were others. 
“Here come inside you should meet everyone else, Noah can explain this better to you too,” Mirage explains, scooting your forebears into the large storage facility as your shoes drag against gravel. 
Noah? Like the one that worked at your dad's shop sometimes? Like the one that sold the car in the first place? Your brows furrow hoping that maybe it was a different Noah considering how damn big Brooklyn seemed. The chances of that were slim though with the given information. 
Sure enough, walking into the facility was that same Noah, about to speak to Mirage but paused when he realized you were there, and…not panicking? You squint, arms folded over your chest. This mf had a lot of explaining to do and fast. 
“Noahhh, wanna tell me why you sold me and my father an ALIEN AUTOMOBILE?” You tell, poking your finger to his chest as he throws his hands up in defense. Time to explain and quickly.
____________
To say you were exhausted was an understatement. Your calves are killing you due to being practically kidnapped before your outing and now your head was throbbing over how much information it just revived. According to Noah, Mr. I sell alien cars here for himself into this mess because he tried to steal Mirage out of a parking lot way back when for a quick cash grab. There was this whole fight with some bad guys? Yeah someone called Unicorn? Unicron! Right, and he was gonna like blow up the world or something but he’s gone now…temporarily-
The point is, you didn’t need aliens right now you needed a margarita and some music to shake your ass too but NONE of that was happening any time soon. 
“So, feel like your brains gonna explode?” Mirage jokes, sitting against the wall of the facility and you nod, now sort of comfortable with the idea of, we’ll him in general.
 It’s not like you weren’t into conspiracy theories and whatnot, but for something like this to ACTUALLY be real was beyond you. You sigh and run your hands down your face, more upset you missed your one night out more than anything. And it was getting late, and that early shift you picked up definitely was gonna be a no-go if you didn’t get to bed soon. 
“This had been fun truly, but I need to get back home because I actually have a job and not one that involves OUTTERSPACE CAR PEOPLE.” You groan, seeing Mirage stand and get ready to go back to his, auto mode? 
Note to self, learn the terminology sooner rather than later. 
_________
It’s about 4am when you finally make it home, the car ride silent for the most part. Mirage had decided you’d had quite enough excitement for the night and just needed a lil tote quiet, but not before teasing you a bit about missing out on your ‘hot girl hood rat’ activities. 
You sigh once he parks, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, still too high off adrenaline to sleep. Maybe now was a good time to ask about that anatomy part? Getting the car your somewhat befriended sounded like a nice suggestion until sleep creeps up on you. 
Of course, sensing your curiosity, mirage transforms and lays in front of you, resting on his stomach while he kicks his feet. 
“Whatcha thinkin' abouttt?” He asks, more sing-songy than anything. 
“I want to study you actually, your anatomy, I’m sure it’s much different to a human but similar in the important areas.” You hypothesize, seeing his eyes widen. 
“Important areas? Damn girl we just met.” He teases, making you shake your head. 
“Not what I meant- I mean inside!” You respond back as a boyish grin crawls over his gestures 
“You’ve been inside too. Wow and you didn’t even take me to dinner first!” He jokes again, more so enjoying your reaction. 
It was going to be a longggg night and looking at it, a long day too.
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chasedbyatlantic · 1 month
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nightclub love, joel miller
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masterlist summary: IN WHICH — your best friend, maria miller, sets you up with someone she knows you'll fall in love with in no time, despite it being your co-worker.
warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!joel, gender neutral!reader, slow burner-ish, maria love, dom-ish!joel, cutesie patootsie dina, drinking, touching-ish, swearing. lmk if i missed anything!
wordcount: 2.9k
a/n: should i make a pt 2?? love this one icl! remember to reblog, like, comment, and follow for updates!! also make sure to send requests! xoxo.
For weeks, you had been preparing. Maria, your best friend, had begged and begged you to help with her famous (and upcoming) Summer Solstice Party. Every year since Jackson had been up and running (and Maria was in charge), she hosted this party. She had aimed it to be a night of normalcy, a night to remember what had happened before the world went to shit. It was successful, these parties. You had enjoyed the partying aspect of it, not so much the setup.
In your post-apocalyptic life, you were a painter. You had lived and breathed art, you had even got into MIT for the arts program, but the world ended before you were able to start your post-secondary tour. Though, after everything happened in the early two thousands, you discovered your hidden talent for hunting, and being able to operate firearms quite easily. This lead you to many successes in protecting yourself while you were out on your own, and being able to protect others while leading them outside of the Jackson walls.
Maria had appointed you as the co-leader of the "Jackson Protectors" (something Tommy, Maria's husband, had came up with). After Maria had her baby, Tommy had decided to step down from the role to spend time with his family, and make sure he was always there for his newborn baby and his wife. Maria had only thought of you for the person to step up and take on such a big responsibility, so she didn't really give you a choice in co-leading the group. You hadn't minded, though, it was nice to get out of the walls.
Maria's annual party was only a few hours away now, and you had finally brought over the piece she asked you to make. It was an oil and acrylic painting of the beloved town you all had resided in, she wanted to put it behind the bar (in the town's pub, called "The Nightclub"), so that everyone was able to see the beautiful artwork you were able to create so easily.
"Hello?" You called out as you pushed open the wooden door with your foot, your arms were too occupied carrying the canvas that your foot was the next best option to get the door. There wasn't a response, so you had just proceeded in. Glancing around, you had seen that the bar was turned into a nice hall. Tables were pushed to the outskirts of the room, chairs had pieces of colourful string tied on the backs and legs, the stage was decorated, everything felt so warm.
You had moved your way over to the bar, spotting a tool kit sitting on the counter. It was perfect, you could hang this now and have it be a surprise for Maria whenever she went in the room next. Tucking the canvas under your arm for a split second, you went behind the bar and reached into the tool kit. You had gotten a few flat-head nails out, along with a mallet. You had lined up the nails along the middle of the empty space on the wall, gently nailing them in before hanging your painting up.
Before you could double check that it was nailed in straight, you heard an 'eek!' coming from behind you. You could only recognize it as your best friend, Maria Miller. "Oh my god! It's the most beautifulest thing I have ever seen!" You felt the girl embrace you from behind, this made you fold your arms upward and return the hug (without turning).
"Was nervous ya' wouldn't like it." You chuckled as she let go, you turned around. "Wouldn't like it?" Maria had questioned, "Are you kidding me? I love every piece of art you do." She embraced you in a proper hug now, and you hugged her right back with a smile on your face. You were honestly nervous that she wouldn't like it, and you had braced yourself for any feedback she might've given you.
Maria had let go of the hug, now holding your shoulders. "I have a surprise for you." The smile dropped off your face, you didn't like surprises. Surprises before were nice, but not in this hell-bound world. "What?" You were doubly as nervous about this than with the painting. "Okay, so, I've set you up with someone at tonight's part-"
"You what?" You interrupted the woman in front of you. Oh no, no no no. Your facial expression fell even more after this. "Don't worry! He's a good boy, I promise. You'll love him- please, just please cooperate with this." Maria had pled with you. You could only stare at her, like you were dumbfounded by what she was saying. In reality, you were far from dumbfounded, you just didn't know why she would do this without consulting you first.
You waited a moment before you replied, "Am I able to back out?". Maria could only smile at you, indicating that you most definitely would not be able to back out of this. After a moment of silence between the two, you couldn't help but let out a small laugh while shaking your head. "'M not forgiving you for this, woman."
You had walked out from behind the bar, leaving Maria there. You knew she had much more organizing (things she had made clear she wanted to do by herself, otherwise you would've helped her) to do before tonight. "I'll drag you out of your house if you don't show up tonight, mark my words!" She laughed as she called out to you. Right before exiting the bar, you waved her off, a small 'yeah, yeah!' escaping your lips. You knew that Maria had good intentions setting you up with someone she knew, but you didn't think it was going to go well. God, you thought to yourself, if this party doesn't go well, a hole would be dug and that would be your new home.
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You had put on a nice outfit for tonight. The temperature had rose a ton (despite it being dark) since earlier, which had confirmed your questioning of what you should attend the party in. You had showered, fixed your hair, sprayed perfume, and put on some lip products you found inside the bathroom cabinets before making the treacherous walk through hell's half acre to get back to the bar.
You were neighbours with Maria, and she lived in the farthest part of the town. It didn't help when you had events like this, or the long trail to and from work in the early mornings and late nights. Thankfully this was only the third time you made this hike today, earlier going and coming back from dropping the painting off, and now. If Maria and Tommy hadn't given you a few days off of work, you probably wouldn't have went to the party. Work was exhausting, especially when it was hot outside.
You had your hands in your pocket as you were walking, humming to yourself. You were ripped out of your thoughts as you heard someone call your name, you turned immediately to spot a familiar brown-haired girl. "Hey." You nodded over to her, as you slowed your pace so she was able to catch up. This was Talia's (a friend of yours) younger sister, Dina.
"Hi! You're going to the party, right? I'm so excited." You could only bring a smile to your face, nodding your head. "Wouldn't miss it for the world." Dina mimicked the smile you had on your face. You two had talked for a while as you approached closer to the bar. You had found out that she was so to-the-moon for this party because someone she had liked asked her out, and they were attending together. You had given Dina the 'make sure you're safe' and whatnot talk, since apparently Talia hadn't.
As soon as you had gotten to the bar, Dina had bid you a goodbye with a tight hug, before running off and finding her date. You couldn't remember when you had been happy like that. Sure, you were happy a lot of the times, but never beaming. There was too much worrying in this world to ever be beaming anymore, as depressing as that sounds. Not getting into it too much, you had finally stepped into the bar.
You were immediately engulfed with the scent of whiskey, sweat, and good food. Despite what had you had just said, this brought a genuine smile to your face. Seeing people just embracing the current moment, and having no worries for just a little while- who couldn't smile at this?
You had glanced around, looking for Maria. Though you didn't see her, you saw the next best thing. "Hey, Tommy! Have you seen your wife?" The man had turned, raising his brow before he had seen you. "Hey- naw', pro'lly runnin' 'round somewhere, being a hostess and whatnot." He passed you a smile before taking a sip from his dark brown bottle. You smiled and nodded.
You shortly found your way over to the bar, ordering the strongest of whatever they had. You had recognized the bartender from around town, but had decided not to make conversation with him. He passed you the drink in a glass cup, before going back to serving others. You had brought the edge of it to your lips, sipping the amber liquid. Holy fuck, you thought to yourself, this was some strong shit.
Before you had muttered a string of swear words under your breath, something- someone had caught your attention. A hand was placed on the bottom of your back, and you shifted your weight a little. Earlier it was mentioned that you were the leader of the "Jackson Protectors", Joel Miller (Tommy's older brother) shared the role with you. He was tall and extremely muscular, and was definitely older than you.
"Sorry, peach. Just gotta squeeze on in 'ere." Joel had muttered, just loud enough for you to hear. He let the nickname roll off his tongue, although you didn't think anything of it. Nobody would hear, as the bar area was packed like a can of sardines and extremely loud from the many different conversations happening. Joel had ordered something on draft, you didn't really hear.
You had never really seen him outside of work, only a handful of times. You wouldn't have taken Joel as a party type of guy, he was extremely closed off and- well, alone. Not in a rude way, no, but in a protective way. "How's it goin'?" He had asked you, "Noticed ya' haven't been in for a few days." Joel's hand was no longer on the low of your back, but gripping the tall, glass cup. He was leaning his elbow against the bar top, as you were leaning your back against it.
"Way too busy, I've sort of- I'dunno, missed it? Work, ya' know." It came out of more of a question rather than a statement. This only earned a laugh from the man across from you. "I get what ya' mean, felt like that when my arm broke-" He let out a small laugh, "-had nothin' to keep me occupied, wishin' I was out'n huntin' things." You nodded your head as you took another sip from the glass in your left hand, keeping your face neutral this time.
"Ya' didn't come across as the type to like- well, things like this." You hinted toward Joel. He shrugged his shoulder, taking another sip from his cup. "'M not, never was." You had an almost concerning look now, why was he here if he didn't like these types of things? "-But," Joel quickly added, "Figured I'd try it out after all these years o'not goin', ya' know?" You could only nod your head. It was true, you've never seen Joel Miller attend anything other than his daily work shift. Maybe he had a change of heart, but you didn't know if you really believed it.
Joel had started to talk about something else, but for some reason, you had zoned out. Your best friend had caught your eye from right behind Joel, so you were now focused on her. It didn't take long for her to notice you staring at her, and her face turned upwards. She was mouthing something to you, but you couldn't make sense of what it was. After squinting your eyes, and Maria repeating it twice more, it hit you. She had mouthed 'that's the one'.
Your expression fell as you snapped back into reality. Really? Your work partner? You weren't saying Joel was ugly, or had an ugly personality (far from that, actually), but you couldn't mess around with someone you worked with. "You alright?" Your eyes moved from just above Joel's shoulders to meet his gaze. You nod your head before almost feeling lightheaded, you were going to kill Maria.
"Do ya' know how to dance?" You spit out before thinking it through. You were pretty sure you didn't have a crush on Joel Miller, but- no buts, you had thought to yourself. You couldn't, if something bad went wrong, you would still have to work with this man every single day. You could slap yourself right about now.
"Drunk words're sober thoughts, eh?" He asked (rhetorically) to you, which had earned a true, dumbfounded look on your face. You only managed to let a "huh?" escape your lips, and Joel shook his head with a small laugh. "Nevermind, c'mon." His hand fell to the bottom of your back once again, and before you knew it, you were walking with him to the packed dance floor. You could feel the eyes of conservative mothers on you, probably spreading lies about how you two did this at work. It wasn't true (not yet at least).
You two got on the floor, and Joel let go of your back. He moved his hands more forward, placing them on either sides of your hips. You looked down, an immediate heat rising to your cheeks. It was the alcohol, you told yourself (only half of that statement was true). Your actions took over your thoughts as your arms wrapped around Joel's neck, the only thing running through your head was if you still smelled like the perfume you put on earlier.
The song had changed, it turned into a slower one- one that you were able to dance to properly. "Now, I'ain' gone dancin' in years, so don't go too hard on me if I mess up, alright peach?" There it was again, peach. The nickname was given to you by Joel a while ago, after you had found a peach tree while out on a run with him. Joel thought it had really fit you and your personality, so he didn't give it up.
You laughed, probably louder than you should have, "Don't worry, I'm not any professional neither." You were following Joel's lead, following where he put his feet. You never learned to dance properly, there was never anybody to teach you. You had managed to step on his toes a few times, but there was no yap from him about it. Joel was- enjoying himself, the first time in a (long) while.
"You didn't have to," You had began, the drunken thoughts taking over you, "I know Maria put y'up to this, it doesn't need to go further than dancin'." You could feel Joel's grip tighten slightly on your waist, something you wouldn't have noticed if you weren't so focused on him. "I wanted to," He quickly reassured you, "Just had to make sure ya' wouldn't- I'dunno, not let me?" You could tell Joel was being genuine, the tone was in his words. This was the first time the man had ever let you in on what he was thinking, what he was feeling.
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You two talked and danced for another while, before the party started to die down into the early hours of the morning. You found out he didn't live too far away from you, so you both accompanied each other on the walk home. You too were far too drunk to be walking alone anyway, despite the town being safe. Joel's house was first on the way back, but he had decided to walk the few extra blocks to make sure you got home okay.
As you got home, you had fumbled with the front gate before stepping in and closing it behind - it was only two feet high, so you could still bid your goodbyes to Joel. You had turned around once the gate was shut, his eyes already down on you. "Had fun tonight, almost too much fun." This brought your face up into a smile, nodding your head. "Guess I better-"
"Can we do this again sometime?" You had interrupted Joel, catching him a bit off. "Only if ya' wanna." You had bit your lip, bracing yourself in case he were to say no. Thankfully, he didn't- far from a no. "Wasn't thinkin' we wouln't go out again, now were ya'?" You two were very close, close enough that he could hear the spike in your breathing pattern. "I'll see ya' tomorrow?" You questioned, your hand on top of the fence post. Joel followed suit, his calloused hand now overtop of yours. "I'll pick 'ya up, bright'n early."
You thought this was going to go horribly earlier, you really believed it was. You didn't want to fall for anyone, because you didn't know how much time everyone had left- you were afraid of loss, afraid of losing the people you got close to. You were scared that one day, you would wake up and they would be gone. Within a span of a day, though, you had gotten over the fear of loss. You had found someone who was just like you, but also the complete opposite in many ways. You knew, for a fact, that you had just found someone else you trusted with so much in you, he wasn't just someone you worked with anymore. Who knows, he could turn into something more with time to come, and you almost hoped he would.
nightclub love, matt maltese
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badgirlforeddiemunson · 9 months
Text
Loose Wire (Eddie Munson x Reader)
Summary: You realise just how much Eddie takes care of you, only for him to remind you that you take care of him, too.
~~~
Hello darlings,
Realising I really like writing fics where the reader breaks down in tears and Eddie holds her in his lap until she's okay again... So, if that's what you like, you've come to the right place!
Sending lots of love into the virtual void,
Sophie xx
Notes: 1.9k fluffy comfort, reader is over eighteen and gender neutral (no pronouns used), minor mentions of anxiety, doctors, medication and weed, poorly proofread.
~~~
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I do not consent to my work being translated, fed to AI programs, or published on any platform by anyone who is not me. If anyone sees my work reposted, please let me know. Plagiarism is plagiarism even if I am credited.
~~~
You’re sitting on the couch when the realisation of just how well Eddie loves you, takes care of you hits.
The timer went off for dinner and he stopped you before you could stand up. “I’ll get the food,” he hushed, kissing your temple as his left hand cradled your head. The gesture was less than four seconds, but the wave of calm that swept over you was monumental. 
So you sat, staring at the TV but not comprehending a single frame. Lost in a haze that had seemed to fill the room, quick as a flash of lightning but lingering like the rumble of thunder.
But you’re finally hit with true understanding when he comes back with two plates, hands your food to you, and you look down to see it all cut up.
You know you had indulged in this habit in front of him before, food all chopped up before you had taken a single bite, and had silently wished that he wouldn’t tease you about it. Something about how weird you are or how you’re like a little kid. But he hadn’t, so you figured he hadn’t noticed. But he clearly had, he noticed and did it for you.
The haze is growing thicker as you unravel such a seemingly small action in your head. But it’s not small. Nothing he does is small, even if it may look tiny to outside eyes. Eddie is always looking out for you, always taking care of you.
Your heart aches as you think about him carrying your jacket when you don’t want to, or giving you his own when you don't want to wear one. How he’ll stop in the middle of the sidewalk to retie your shoelace when it comes undone without batting an eye at the people passing by with strange looks painting their faces. How he always wants to pick you up and drive. And if he can’t, he makes sure you have a ride. And if you have to drive, he gives all kinds of encouragement to ease the anxiety he knows it brings you.
And now that you think about it, you haven’t filled up your car once since you started dating. It’s like Eddie has a warning system for when your gas tank is less than a quarter full, letting him know it’s time to finesse his way into grabbing your keys, and gas money when you manage to convince him not to pay, before running to the nearest station. And he didn’t laugh when you asked what the light of a little genie lamp on your dash meant, instead telling you he’d take care of it and change the oil in your car for you because, “That’s what that little light means, sweetheart, it’s an oil can, but a genie lamp would be cool.” Making sure the wiper fluid is full. Going out in the cold and snow to start the car so it’s warm when you get in.
When you smoke together Eddie not only rolls, but he always lights the joint before handing it over, just so you don’t burn your throat like you always do trying to light up. And when he supplies your own stash, you are never given a baggie of flowers but one of neatly rolled joints. He even makes them smaller to account for your less than strong tolerance.
Double checking you have change to call him when you go out without him, whether with friends or by yourself. Waiting by the phone to make sure you get home okay. Calling to reassure you that he got home okay. Ordering for you at restaurants and calling the credit card company when there was a charge on your account you didn’t make. Pinching the spot between your thumb and forefinger when you’re anxious and stressed. Sitting patiently in the waiting room during your doctor appointments because he knows you need him while you wait to be called into the exam room and then again when the whole ordeal is over. Double checking you took your meds and constantly bringing you cups of water. Rubbing the knots in your back when you sit at your desk too long. Fixing the wobbly shelf in your closet. Knowing that you have to have things a certain way and never making you feel bad about it.
Your eyes are filling with tears as your brain continues to write the list of wonderful things Eddie does to take care of you without you even asking, and a question echoes in your mind: How did I get so lucky?
“Baby?”
Your head snaps up and your gaze meets Eddie’s wide brown eyes, filled with cautiousness and worry.
“Is everything okay? Is there something wrong with your food?”
You shake your head as you press your lips together, trying to hold your overwhelming love inside of you.
“Okay…” Eddie’s hand slips under your plate, brushing against your knee, before placing it next to his own on the coffee table. “So, what’s going on then, sweetheart?”
You try to compose yourself as Eddie gently manhandles your body to sit back on the couch, your legs slung over his left thigh and head tucked against left shoulder.
“You… You cut up my food.” You internally cringe at the way your words come out in between hiccups, tears dripping down to your collarbone.
“I-” Eddie suddenly looks nervous, a kid caught breaking the rules. “Isn’t that how you like it?”
“Yes,” your voice lifts and wobbles as you cry and nod your head.
“Okay…” Eddie’s voice stretches the word as he says it, brows reaching for each other as his face furrows and his eyes squint. “Now I’m lost. Baby, you gotta help me out here, why are you crying?”
“B-because you take such good care of me, Teddy, and you don’t make fun of me for any of it and I don’t know how I got so lucky and you’re too good to me and I just love you so much.”
“Oh,” Eddie’s shoulders visibly relax from where they had been inching higher and higher, a sigh falling out of his mouth quickly followed by breathy chuckles. For a guy who can ramble and rant for hours, it’s amusing to see him at a loss for words, stumbling until he simply says, “Oh, my baby,” and pulls you into a vice grip hug.
When your cries have calmed to sniffles, Eddie loosens his hold on you and pulls back just enough so he can meet your eyes.
“Sweetheart, I like taking care of you. I just… It makes me, I don’t know, just makes me feel good. I know I can be a bit of a loose wire and you need consistency, so I always want to make sure I’m… making up for all my craziness, I guess. And I’m working really hard, and I’m gonna keep working hard, to make sure I can, you know, provide for you, but I’m not exactly rolling in dough right now. Just, doing the best with what I’ve got to make sure you’re taken care of. ‘Cause you're my baby and I love you.”
“But that’s the thing! I know I’m sensitive and anxious but your craziness is part of what makes you my man, and I never want you to change that or think you have to make up for it!” Your nose scrunches up as if the mere thought of Eddie feeling poorly about himself puts a bad taste in your mouth. “And the fact that you remember to do all these things for me and find time to do them when you’ve got work and the band and DnD and well, it’s you, I know how chaotic that brain of yours can get. You know when my car needs gas but you’ll forget to even eat sometimes.”
You pause and stare at Eddie for a moment, index finger of one hand twisting into a single brown curl as the other clenches into his Motorhead t-shirt. Eddie opens his mouth to speak again but you press your fist gently against his tummy before taking a deep breath, trying to articulate the thoughts running through your mind.
“I never want you to neglect yourself for me. As much as I love that you take care of me, you need to take care of you. I should be taking better care of you.”
“Are you kidding me?” Eddie’s voice is so soft it sends a warmth through your body at the sound of it. “You do take care of me, baby.”
You’ve only shook your head a fraction when Eddie’s starts to jerk up and down, curls bouncing along with it.
“You’re right, I’ll remember gas for your car and forget to feed myself, but you remind me to eat. And when I want to do so many things I freeze, you’re the one who snaps me out of it and gets me focused. And you’re always doing laundry when I tell you not to, since it’s my own mess. And you uh, oh what’s it called… Manicure! You manicure my nails so I don’t bite at them so much and they don’t hurt when I play guitar. And you know exactly how I organise my records and tapes, you let me explain exactly how each genre blends into the next, and that that’s how albums should be organised, and you never made fun of me for that. Or when I go off about DnD or Lord of the Rings. Or the fact that the mugs each have a specific home they must be in and I must choose just the right one for the day and time and drink and person.”
“I, I guess…” you mumble.
“You’re not the only neurotic person in this relationship,” Eddie chuckles and you give him a smile. “And I’m not the only caregiver. It’s a balance, sweetheart. Trust me, you’re pulling your weight, too… And even if I take care of you a little bit more, I don’t care, I told you, I want to. I kinda need to.”
“Okay,” you concede, nodding your head and moving to sling your arms around his neck for another hug.
“And by the way,” You feel the hum of Eddie’s voice against you, bodies pressed so close together. “I am not too good to you… You deserve the world. I’m just sorry it’s taking me so long to give it to you.”
A noise of disagreement sounds in your throat but you bite your tongue. “You don’t need to give me the world, Eds, I’ve got you, and that’s more than enough. And besides, how am I gonna give you the world if you’ve already given it to me, it just won’t work.”
You shake your head in faux seriousness that Eddie mirrors until he throws you back on the couch and begins to wiggle his fingers at your sides.
“Mercy! Mercy!” you squeal and shriek as you writhe underneath him.
“Mercy?!” Eddie bellows in a deep voice. “The Ticklemonster knows no mercy!”
Why would I want anyone other than this loose wire to be my man?
~~~
Thank you for reading, xx
@heydreamchild @elamity @eddiethesexy @princess-eddie @munsons-maiden @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @munson-blurbs @queenimmadolla @wheels-of-despair
Please, feel free to let me know if you do (or don't) want to be tagged.
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azsazz · 1 year
Text
Dioxazine
Modern!Rhys x Reader
Summary: While at the art shop looking for the necessary supplies for your first semester of art school, you get a bit distracted by the cocky cashiers intriguing eye color.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 2,254
Notes: It’s 1am and now it’s Sunday so I’m posting rn so @writingsbychlo can see this when she wakes up. This one’s for you babes! I hope you love it.
P.S. Gosh I just love young, cocky Rhys so much. 😭
_________________________________________
You really should’ve grabbed a basket.
Your arms are stuffed with supplies: sketchbooks, pencils, oil paints, a roll of canvas, anything and everything you could need for the start of your classes in a few days. 
They’d given you a list of all of the tools needed for your first semester at art school and yeah, you could’ve ventured to the nearest chain store, but you thought it’d be better to support the local art supply in town.
That is, until you meet the cashier.
He looks anything but friendly, leant over the expanse of the counter, flipping through a magazine ever so lazily. The boy doesn’t even look up when you drop your supplies down, spilling across the surface with purpose.
“Hello?” you crow when you’ve been standing there for a solid minute while he reads whatever article is next to the full page perfume ad with a half naked model on it. You catch sight of his long fingers rubbing the corner of the pages, separating them from each other so that he can turn to the next.
“Hi,” he responds blankly, like you’ve just run into him and he doesn’t know why you’re speaking to him. Your brows knit together as you stare at him, wondering if he always acts so careless about his job or you’ve just caught him at a bad time.
“I, um…” you trail off, frustrated because all you want to do is purchase your supplies and you’ll be out of his inky black hair. “Can you look at me?”
A muscle twitches in his jaw in annoyance, which is fine because his rudeness is irritating you as well, so at least you have that in common.
Finally, he snaps shut the magazine and looks up at you. His glaring eyes are startling, not because he looks menacing, but you’ve never quite seen a color like that before, bright violet with flecks of a dark hue that reminds you of the stars in the night sky. 
They make you itch to test out your new paints.
Your breath hitches in your throat as he stands to his full height, and holy Gods, he towers over you by at least a whole foot. “Is there something I can help you with?”
You clear your throat, “Yes, actually. If you’re not too busy, that is.” You glance at the magazine, now facedown on the counter.
The side of his mouth quirks in a wicked smirk, “You’ve caught me at a good stopping point.”
You fight the urge to roll your eyes, muttering something under your breath that only makes him smile wider.
“I’m looking for the umber oil paint but I didn’t see any on the rack.”
“Freshman then?” his teeth are bright in his grin. He rounds the corner of the counter, leading you back the way you came. There aren’t many students milling about the small shop, and as you pass the pen section you have to talk yourself into not purchasing another just for the sake of how pretty it looks.
You make a face at his insinuation. “You can tell that just from my paint selection?”
“Yes and no. No, because umber is a staple color for most painters,” he glances at you over his shoulder as he slows to a stop before the rack of organized paints. He takes his time, giving you a once over that makes you flush and hug your arms across your chest. His smile only grows and you scowl in response. “And yes, because If you weren't a freshman you would’ve asked for a specific one. There’s burnt umber and raw umber.”
He plucks both tubes of paint from the shelf and holds them out to you, “Very different colors.”
“They look the same to me,” you mumble, studying the swatches on the tubes. They’re a few shades off from each other, surely that can’t make that much of a difference.
You definitely don’t take into account how small the tubes look in his large hands, and you’re absolutely not thinking about taking one just to compare the size difference between your hands.
“Trying to decide which one to get?” His question is innocent but the look on his face is anything but.
You flush and the collar of your shirt seems to tighten out of nowhere. “Yes.”
He stares down at you for a moment, making sure that you know he’d given you an out.
“You’re going to need both.”
“I guess I’ll take your word for it, since you seem to know so much about art.”
“That’s why I work at the art store,” he replies bluntly, letting you lead the way back to the register, “Because I know my shit.”
“Well it’s definitely not because of your less than charming personality,” you retort, shocking yourself. You’re usually not so rude to people but there’s just something about this guy that’s getting under your skin. 
All you want to do is go back to your dorm.
“You think I’m charming?”
You scoff, “Absolutely not,” You catch yourself peeking at how well fitting his pants are against the round of his ass as he makes his way back to the register side of the counter. You shake your head, scolding yourself. “Now are you going to ring up my stuff?”
“No, but I will check you out.”
You groan, “That was terrible.”
“Terrible or cute?”
You give him a pointed look, face straight. “Terrible.”
“I can try another,” he says as he finally starts ringing up your art supplies.
“No thank you, just the supplies for me today, thanks,” you try, silently praying that he hurries. You can’t stand the thought of being around him for much longer if he spouts another cheesy line that you know he’s probably used on plenty of girls before. You don’t care how cute he is.
“You know what else these are good for?” He holds up the tube of Dioxazine purple paint, the one that looks like a bottled color of his eyes.
“I really didn’t ask.”
“Finger Painting.”
The retort rolls quickly off your tongue and just as swift to wipe that smile off of his gorgeous face. “Should’ve known that’s what you’re into, since you act like a three year old.”
His eyes glow, taking the card you’re holding out for the transaction. You don’t even care how much the total is, you just want to get the hell out of here.
“Feisty.”
“Just give me the damn receipt,” you’re pretty sure your cheeks look like they’ve been brushed with the cadmium red paint in your bag as you hold out your hand for your card and the thin sheet of paper.
“Yes, ma'am,” he obeys, passing both over to you, sliding your bag of supplies across the counter.
“And don’t call me that.”
“What do you want me to call you? Darling? Or your name, perhaps?”
“No.”
“Any other requests?” he asks cheekily, planting his hands on the counter so he can lean toward it, towering over you.
You take the bag, fully planning on ignoring him in favor of taking a brisk walk towards the door but he’s shuffling around under the counter and trailing after you.
“Yeah, you can stop following me,” you remark, catching sight of the bunched up sweatshirt in his hands. It’s nowhere near cold yet so you don’t understand why he has that on him. Maybe it got cold in the store while he was sitting on his ass doing nothing.
“My shift just ended, Darling.” 
You halt as you step onto the sidewalk. He takes a few steps further, swinging around to face you when he realizes you’ve stopped.
Narrowing your eyes up at him, you say, “Didn’t I just tell you not to call me that?”
“You didn’t tell me your name, so I guess I’ll just have to keep calling you pet names, Darling.”
“(Y/N),” you nearly growl, “My name is (Y/N).”
He repeats your name and you clutch your bag tighter in your hands because you’d never heard it sound quite that lovely coming out of someone's mouth. It gives you goosebumps.
“I’m Rhysand, but you can call me Rhys.”
“I’m honored,” you respond sourly, hating that he’s smiling at your annoyance. “Can I go now?”
You try to step around him but he slides into your path again, blocking your way back to campus.
“You know my friends and I are throwing a party at my place tonight,” he starts, glancing up at the street over your head before returning those piercing eyes on yours. He shrugs.  “You know, before class starts up and all that.”
“Cool.”
He barks out a laugh that licks up your spine in the best way. “That was me inviting you, if that wasn’t clear.”
“It wasn’t,” you say, even though it was.
He cocks his head, grinning crookedly at you, “Don’t be like that.”
You can’t help but to roll your eyes at this cocky boy. You blurt the next question that comes to mind instead of giving him an answer. “Why are you even working here?”
“So I can meet pretty girls like you,” he responds innocently, dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks in an exaggerated manner.
You can’t help but to laugh, shifting your bag to the other arm, “Try again.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up into a wicked curve and your heart definitely doesn’t stutter and you certainly aren’t thinking about breaking out the oil paints you’ve just bought.
“I might work at the art supply store to get a discount on my own supplies,” he starts, “Or I might work at the art supply store so that my father thinks that I can be independent and make a living off becoming an artist instead of taking over the family business.”
And well, you weren’t expecting him to be so open about it. 
Unsure of what to say, you focus on the fact that he said he was also taking classes for art. 
“You’re in art school?”
“I know, the patchwork tattoos make me seem like something much more scholarly,” he grins and you had taken notice of the array of…interesting patchwork tattoos littering the tanned skin of his arms.
“Yeah,” you huff a laugh, “The Mickey Mouse one really screams finance major.”
Rhys’ smile falls, an offended scowl taking over his perfect face. “It’s not just a tattoo of Mickey Mouse,” he protests, turning his arm so the both of you can see the silly tattoo better. “He’s…on drugs, so it’s cool, ya know? An aesthetic if you will.”
You stare at it, then at him, an eyebrow raised. 
He gives in. “Okay…so it was a dare but there’s a good story behind it, I swear! I can tell you more about it on our date.”
“Date? I thought it was a party?”
“So you’re coming?”
You purse your lips, unimpressed. “I didn’t say all that.”
The blaring sounds of a horn cuts off his response, drawing both of your attention to the street. There’s two boys in the front seats of the gorgeous vintage Bronco, painted your favorite color. Your mouth nearly drops at the pristine condition of the car, and then again once you catch sight of the handsome passengers.
The boy driving the car leans over the one in the passenger, “C’mon Rhys, hurry up and get her number or we’re going to do this thing without you!”
The boy in the passenger seat glares at the driver, your cheeks heating up under their stares.
“You heard him,” Rhys says, smiling so wide you’re afraid his cheeks might split open. “Can’t have them thinking I didn’t get your number, right?”
“You didn’t.”
“(Y/N),” he sighs, yielding only a small step when you take one forward. When you don’t say anything he continues, “At least come to the party.”
“No, thanks.”
“Please?”
You exhale an exasperated breath. He just won’t give up. “If I say yes will you get out of my way?”
“Definitely,” he nods his head eagerly.
“Then yes,” you finally relent and he beams, “I will see you there.”
“Sick,” he mutters proudly to himself. He shoves his hand into your bag and you fumble for a second, yelping and straightening the paper sack as he rifles around for something.
Rhys pulls a sharpie out and grabs your arm. You’re so caught off guard that you just watch as he writes his number on your forearm in thick black letters. Your mouth drops open in shock. You’ll have to scrub your skin raw to try and get it off.
He steps back, admiring his work. He caps the marker and tosses it back into your bag, “My number looks good on you, you should consider getting that inked. I have a friend, if you want.”
“Let me guess, he’ll be at the party.”
His grin is shit eating.
Rhys winks, pulling out a can of spray paint from beneath the bunched up fabric of his sweatshirt as he retreats towards the car, and it’s then that you realize he's only brought the jacket so he could take the paint, hiding it in the fabric so no one would see.
He shakes the can in the air for emphasis, swinging a leg up into the backseat of the convertible. The grin on his face is something you'll be thinking about for the rest of the day.
“I'll paint something pretty for ya, (Y/N). See you tonight.”
651 notes · View notes
bloodcasket · 11 months
Text
A BEGINNING, AND AN END
PAIRING: Vergil Sparda x GN!Reader
WARNINGS: Not proof-read, angst, mentions of readers death, depression, loss, loneliness, a relationship that is crumbling.
WC: 1,650
DESCRIPTION: Vergil wonders what exactly he did that made him lose you. He breaks as he realizes his mistakes, and that he will never be able to hold you again.
A/N: This work was rushed!!!!!!!!!! I literally just had a vomit post of all my sad little ideas. Currently hyper-fixated on Vergil! Probably will write more for him. I imagined this concept last night, and I kid you not, I cried.
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Marriage was a concept created for foolish beings who wished to bind themselves to one another. When Vergil lived through his life, blinded by a pursuit of power, such things like marriage were nothing but a stupid scheme.
Why would he wish to be controlled by someone? Tied down to them? Love was nothing. Love was idiocy. That is what he thought, after all.
Then you came.
A human, young and kind. You placed your hand in his, pressed your silken lips along his bruised knuckles, and kissed his ruined skin. You promised him love. You showed him peace. You introduced him to light and laughter and mirth.
It was then, after the many days of holding you and growing to love you, that he realized why people did such “foolish” traditions. He grew weak with you. Became sensitive. Was not embarrassed to be genuine with you. He had finally decided.
He would propose.
You had tears swelling up along your waterline, slipping down your upturned cheeks as you smiled, you sobbed the words “Of course I will marry you”.
He married you.
The marriage was simple, no one but you two to promise yourselves to each other. He had found an old church to hold the ceremony, the ceilings tall and pointing to the sky. The tinted glass waned bright colors over your bashful face, your eyes glittering with devotion before you leaned in to kiss him. A kiss to ensure eternity.
Your fingers trembled against his as he slipped the wedding band on, he had not realized his cool façade has cracked along with yours. He was crying with you, so ecstatic to finally have someone who can understand him.
Someone who won’t judge him, someone who will tell him it will be okay. To hold him close in the night when he had nightmares. To lay their head in his lap as he read out his favorite poems.
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“Vergil, stand over by the tree! I want to take a picture of you!” you giggled happily, face contorting into an expression that can only be described as glee. You held up your camera, adjusting the device to be suited for the brightened, summer day.
“And what for?” your husband seemed annoyed, looking at you with a nonchalant grimace. “Because I want to capture memories, now go, go!”. You shooed him away, begging him to find purchase near the weeping willow tree. It’s arms swaying in the gentle breeze, faded green leaves swooping overhead, tangled moss falling to the soil.
He obeys, acting as if this was something pointless, but internally, he was blissful, full of pride at the acknowledgement of your adoration. He stands, watching as you snap the picture, and then returns to your side gracefully.
“Well? Was that to your liking?” he asks, leaning down to see the picture, and you nod with a grin, telling him “thank you”.
This was something that became quite frequent. You had recently started to indulge in art, and had brought up to him that you would paint his portraits.
And paint you did.
Your works were wonderful. Your art room his secret sanctuary. A gallery of only him, painted with oils and acrylics, colors that portray him to be a god amongst this tiny Earth.
Inspired by a simple, small photo of him. A photo that is always captured by you.
You enjoyed comparing his white hair to the color of a rich magnolia. Consistently painting him alongside the elegant flowers. You had told him once that they reminded you of him. They were sensitive to the human touch, turning brown from the oils of a selfish finger caressing it. They were independent, and were beautiful while they kept to themselves.
Just like him.
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Relationships are hard. He understands this. He knows that if he does not give enough, the ones he finds dear will crumble away. Loyalty, honesty, generosity, quality time, devotion….. so much he must do to keep you satisfied.
He tries, he’s a perfectionist, but when you two wander in public, see the other couples mold into one another, he feels ashamed. He does not like to hold your hand in public, and he feels tense when you initiate certain intimacy. You would get bored of him, wouldn’t you?
He admires how easy you make it look, how you strip him of his clothes, settle him in the tub, speak reassuring words of praise as you scrub the grime off his beaten skin. He relaxes under your touch, wonders why of all people, you chose to be with him. How you don’t hesitate to bend to his will, run miles to retrieve whatever he wants. Speak honeyed words, just enough to make him melt.
You’ve helped rid his nightmares, you’ve made him feel alive. He only dreams of bliss, of divine moments shared with you.
Moments like you and him, taking pictures under the willow tree.
But yet, he cannot even find the courage to move forward. To give you the smallest things you desire.
He grows sour. For once, he feels powerless. Inferior.
He can never give you what you want.
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Recently he has grown colder to your touch. Shallow and incoherent with any simple notion.
You will try to reach for him, your pinkie grazing the side of his firm hand. He only tugs away, resisting your affection. You will plead to bathe him, massage the ache in his shoulder blades. He only denies your wishes to care for him.
Your paintings become more erratic than before, a sense of gloom in their glistening wake. A sheen of desolation hidden amongst the thick lines of paint. You have lost inspiration. His divinity and blue aura that was once captured by the bristles of your paintbrush are now fading into a melancholic art piece.
You are afraid you have lost him.
You two seem to get in an argument one night. It is after an awkward vent of your feelings to him in the library.
“I miss when you loved me”, is what you confess.
Vergil shouts selfish comments, says he prefers to be alone. Says you bother him too much. Says that maybe marriage was the wrong decision. He does not mean these things. But you have taken them to heart.
You start to cry, the whites of your eyes now bloodshot. Hiccups erupting from your lips. Sobs that beg him to take all his words back.
He doesn’t.
“Fine” you sniff, “I will let you be “.
A sickening feeling blooms in him when you leave, your bag tossed over your shoulder.
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When you pass it is like no other.
He felt it burn through him. Regret. Guilt. Loneliness. He knew something had went wrong.
Your body had been found on the streets, bloodied, bones shattered, arms disfigured. You had tried to put up a fight, that was for sure. It made him sick. He felt numb. Practically in denial of your death. Of your murder.
He could have saved you…..he promised you. You have given him everything he wanted, and yet this…he couldn’t even prevent this from happening.
Your face, swollen and bruised. Eyes blackened and cheeks cut open. Your soft lips, never to kiss his again.
If only he hadn’t been selfish, you wouldn’t have went out that night. You could have been here, with him, embracing him. Telling him that you loved him for all eternity.
The wedding band was still firm on your finger, your blood thick over Vergil’s name engraved on the ring.
Vergil kisses you one last time before your body is sealed in it’s coffin, a wooden box that shall keep your remains concealed forever. Your lips are so cold now, lifeless and chapped. Lacking it’s warmth and tenderness that you usually carried.
A part of him regrets kissing you. Your frozen face and your icy touch will now haunt him for the rest of his life. Terrorize his dreams.
Just a couple of months ago you two had stood in the old Victorian chapel, the stained glass casting an array of colors over your gentle smile. The beginning.
The last image of you is an image of death. They are lowering you into the Earth, shovels tossing dirt over the wooden case. An end.
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Dante has offered that Vergil should stay with him, get away from the home that he once shared with you. His brother figured it would be best, a solution to rid him of his sorrow. The elder refuses every time.
Your presence…your glow. It still is fresh, and alive in the walls of the home. He must stay. He must stay for you. Sometimes he swears he hears your voice in the halls, your sweet tone making him panic and get up, just to realize he is only imagining it. He is only imagining that you are not gone. That you are still here with him.
He still visits your grave, as often as he possibly can. In the meantime, he tends to the tree he has planted in your garden, a magnolia tree that is fresh and desperately trying to grow. He wished he could show you.
There had been one night where he had a nightmare, images of you screaming and crying his name, pleading for help as you died, crimson leaking from your lips as you sputter blood.
“Vergil! Help me!”.
He wakes in a cold sweat, so terrified that it genuinely shakes him. This vision had stayed clinging in his dreams ever since your death, never sparing him mercy.
On nights like this, he rushes to enter your art room, sitting amongst your wooden work chair, now too restless and shaken to attempt to sleep again. He knew if he tried, he would only be met with the image of your lifeless form again.
He sits there, your painting of him underneath the willow tree sitting proudly amongst your art desk. You had told him it was your most prized possession. Your best work. He thought so too.
He cries your name under the glum luminescence of the moon.
He decides this time, he will paint you. No matter how bad he does it, your beauty will always bleed through.
300 notes · View notes
inadaydream99 · 7 months
Text
Even When You Were Invisible
Based on the movie The Princess Diaries (2001)
NCT Dream Jisung x fem reader, fluff
A/N - so I recently rewatched The Princess Diaries and just had to write this into a oneshot. This focuses more onto the budding romance side-plot of the film, so I’ve taken some liberties and adapted the narrative a bit. This is also unedited for now - please excuse any spelling/grammar mistakes!
Disclaimer: I have used a direct quote from the film which is in italics. I am not trying to replicate the film, just use the plot as inspiration. I do not take any credit for this plot. This does not represent any of the members in real life and is for entertainment purposes only. Jaemin’s character does not reflect him and is purely to fulfil the shallow character he plays. Mild use of language (like 5 swears, maybe??)
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“How’s my baby?” You gleam at Jisung, catching him off guard from where he’d been so focused on tinkering around with the car engine in front of him. He bolts upright beside you, quickly grabbing hold of the car bonnet and slamming it down before reaching into his pocket to pull out the rag he uses to wipe off the engine oil from his hands.
“All good.” His voice comes out strained, watching as your smile somehow grows wider. He observes the way your hand smooths over the shiny baby blue metal of the car, gazing into the way it reflects your loving expression.
“Well, she looks amazing.” Your eyes flicker up to meet his, watching the way his Adam’s apple bops. “Thank you, Sungie.”
“Oh, it was really no problem…” he gushes, playing down all the turmoil your precious car has given him over the last few weeks. Not that Jisung ever plans on telling you about all the extra hours he’s spent fixing up your car for you. He doesn’t mind at all. He spends most of his free time at the garage anyway because his band is also allowed to practice there in return for Jisung helping out repair some cars.
It’d be a dead giveaway to all of the feelings he has towards you and he also knows you’d insist on paying him extra for his time if you knew when you’ve already put every penny of your savings into repairing the car you’d worked so hard to get.
Besides, with the way you look at him now, radiating so much adoration, Jisung feels it’s more than enough compensation for his hard work.
“You’re the best!” You reach out to ruffle his hair the second he ducks his head shyly from your compliment. Whispered giggles tumbling from his lips as his cheeks burn. “Can I pick her up tomorrow after school?” You shine those big doe-like eyes at him.
“No problem.” Jisung nods, smiling warmly. And he watches you skip out of the garage with so much excitement, shouting a “see you at school!” over your shoulder. Just as you have left his line of sight, Jisung is called over by his band mates for practice. And while they spend the rest of the evening playing their songs, Jisung continues to replay your interaction over in his mind. Damn, he’s down bad for you.
You reach home quicker than usual, thanks to the spring in your step from Jisung’s amazing work with your baby. You’re so unbelievably excited to finally be able to drive your dream car. You’ve wanted a baby blue mustang since you can remember, so you’d scraped all of your savings from your part time job together to buy the old beaten up car and payed the garage where Jisung works to make your car dreams come true.
“That you honey?” You hear your mom call as you walk further into your house. She sends you a smile over her shoulder when your bag clatters onto the kitchen table. Picking up an apple from the fruit bowl as you watch her refocus on the painting before her.
“Did you get another commission?” You speak through half-chewed apple.
“Uh-huh.” You mom hums, placing down her brush carefully onto the tray beside her easel before turning to you. “Who knew posting my art online would rake in so much work?”
“I did.” You tease, taking another bite of your apple.
Your mom shakes her head at you while rinsing her hands in the sink. All the while, you push yourself away from the counter, grabbing your bag to begin heading to your room.
“(Y/N), wait!” Your mom calls just as you reach the stairs. “Your grandmother called today. The live one.” Your mom adds upon seeing your shock.
“The one I’ve never met?” You tilt your head in confusion, bushy eyebrows furrowing. “What would she suddenly want?”
“She said she wants to have tea with you after school tomorrow.” Your mom explains. “Something about important news she needs to share with you.”
“Oh, I was supposed to pick up my car tomorrow… but I guess I’ll have to rain check.”
That was two weeks ago now and little did you know at the time how much your life was about to change.
The following afternoon, when you’d arrived at your estranged grandmothers house - or should you say mansion - you’d had your world flipped upside down.
“A-a Princess-” your mouth hangs agape, unable to comprehend the situation at hand. Your eyes dart around the room, looking from your grandmother to her staff, then the security, before finally landing back on your grandmothers perfectly calm expression. She’s not joking. “No no no nonononono." You shake your head.
“You’ve got the wrong person. I’m the furthest thing from a princess. Look at me!”
-
As it turns out, they did not have the wrong person. Your father, who you’d never met, had been heir to the throne of the small European country you’d never heard of and after his death, that left you - his only child - next in line.
You’d come to an agreement with your grandmother that, before anyone made any rash decisions, you’d give it some time to try out the role of Princess. And so commenced the ‘Princess training’ every day after school with your grandmother. You’d learn how to walk, talk, sit, stand and live like a true Princess within the agreed trial month between this life altering news and the annual independence ball.
Sworn to secrecy, you’d not told a soul about your new informed identity. So, while your private life has somehow changed in every single way, your school life has not budged an inch. From the hours of 8-3 you’re the same invisible girl, with your two bestest friends since kindergarten, Jisung and Chenle.
“Woah, he’s so dreamy.” You gush, resting your chin in your palm as you watch Jaemin walk past your lunch table. Jisung simply rolls his eyes at the way you simp over the most popular guy in school, like always. He doesn’t get the hype around Jaemin. So what if he’s the captain of the football team, extremely lean and always seems to have perfectly shiny hair? Anyone could have all of those things. Jisung could have all of those things…
Despite the fact that he’s almost flunking gym class because of his terrible hand-eye co-ordination in football.
Jisung feels his only consolation is that Jaemin is dating Nina, the head cheerleader.
“Anyway…” Chenle speaks a little louder, “as I was saying before (Y/N) let her hormones take away from the crisis at hand. How am I going to get another guest for my show on Saturday?”
Ah yeah, you were trying to console Chenle on his last minute drama. His school curricula radio show, Talking with Chenle, had finally been getting more than three listeners a week. And ever since his audience has started to slowly grow, he’s been putting more and more pressure on himself to promote the topics he cares about with guests.
“Dude, chill. You still have four days to find a replacement.” Jisung grumbles from beside you. He looks a little like he’s sulking, although you have no idea what could have possibly made him so annoyed within the last thirty minutes that you’ve been sat at your lunch table.
“So much help you are.” Chenle fires at the grumpy Jisung on your left as he stands from the table, slings his bag over his shoulder and storms off.
You turn your attention to said grump, frowning.
“That wasn’t nice Sungs.” You watch as regret consumes his face, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as he mumbles a muted apology.
“So, are you collecting your car from the garage tonight?” Jisung finally builds up enough courage to ask you. He’s been battling in his mind for the last few days on how to bring this up, so he’s a little nervous, but tries his best to suppress the shyness that wants to win over.
“Oh I can’t.” You guiltily grimace. You feel terrible putting him off again, especially when you were meant to pick up your baby weeks ago. But, since you’ve been having your ‘Princess lessons’ everyday, you’ve had no time. “I’m seeing my Grandmother.”
“Again?” Jisung regrets how quickly the word slips out of his mouth. But you don’t seem offended, nodding yes in response.
“How about Saturday?” You quizzically raise a brow, biting down onto the corner of your bottom lip in anticipation.
“Saturday works…” You let out a breath in relief upon Jisung’s agreement. “…and maybe you can stay for a bit, hang out?” Jisung suggests.
“…it’s just my band are practicing that afternoon in front of a few people and it’d be great to have a bit more of an audience…” Jisung trails off, cutting off his word vomit just in time to notice the way your smile reaches your eyes.
“Sounds perfect.” You beam, just as the bell rings for class.
-
You were beyond nervous. Petrified, if you’re completely honest. Yesterday evenings ‘Princess lesions’ with your grandmother had turned out to be a head-to-toe makeover and you’d come out the other end of the evening looking like someone entirely different. Some may even say, like a Princess. Gone were your glasses, bushy eyebrows, your hair had been cut and the frizz tamed. To you, you look almost unrecognisable. To Chenle, you look amazing. But to Jisung, you look like the very thing you’d always swore you’d never want to be - a popular - and it scared him.
While you liked your new look, you felt like a bit of a sellout for complying with the makeover to look more ‘regal’ - as your grandmother had described it. So you’d walked into your first class of the day wearing a grey bucket hat, so as to cover as much of your new look as possible.
Jisung had to do a double take when you entered the classroom and took your usual seat beside him. He’d always thought you were beautiful before, but wow, you’d somehow managed to ascend to another level quite literally overnight. From under the hat, he could see your bright eyes and long lashes. The neat shaping of your eyebrows and the plumpness of your lips, accentuated by the baby pink lip gloss you’d applied. Although, he’s unsure of why you’re wearing a hat on such a warm summers day, especially when you’re inside.
“Okay class, simmer down.” Your teacher, Mr Sums enters from the back of the room, hushing all of the excited chatter in the room as he places down his bag on the front desk and begins to set up for the class. “Yes, Nina?” He acknowledges without so much as glancing in her direction.
Nina sat in the seat behind you, perfectly poised and ready to strike. She’s the head girl in your grade for a reason, with her off-scale intelligence, popularity and cunning attitude. She will take down anyone who gets in her way. Which, right now, is your hat covered head that’s in her line of vision to the front of the class.
“Mr Sums. Isn’t there a rule about no hats allowed?” You can feel her smirk on the back of your neck, letting out a concealed huff as you try to prepare yourself for what you know is going to happen next.
“You’re right Nina.” Mr Sums sighs, “(Y/N), please could you remove your improper dress coded attire?” He glances at you and your mortified expression, watching as you gulp down your nerves while simultaneously reaching up to reluctantly slip your hat off.
Out tumbles your perfectly smooth hair as it cascades down past your shoulders. Jisung’s eyes almost pop out of his head from beside you. Not that you notice, too busy being consumed by the gasps from your classmates.
“Oh wow.” You hear Nina laugh, “Look who’s trying to fit in now?”
Her sickly-sweet tone only makes your cheeks burn deeper and you try to sink into your chair.
“Well, I think (Y/N) looks stunning, actually.” Your head whips towards Jisung, grateful for him sticking up for you. You send him a thankful smile as class begins and everyone’s attention is turned away from you. For now.
-
“So what’s the deal with your sudden change of appearance?” Chenle questions as he shovels his salad into his mouth. His words come out slightly muffled between the half-chewed lettuce and Jisung just rolls his eyes.
“Nothing.” You try to shut down the topic, bowing your head into your own lunch.
“It’s clearly not nothing.” Chenle deadpans, before narrowing his eyes at you. “You’re hiding something.”
“Am not.” You grumble into your sandwich.
“So you’ll be coming to my baseball game after school then, like we agreed weeks ago?”
Shit. You’d completely forgotten about Chenle’s baseball game and you know for certain you can’t get out of seeing your grandmother.
“I can’t.”
“See!” Chenle drops his fork into his salad, folding his arms as he turns to Jisung for support. “What? Are you just bored with us now? Don’t want to be friends anymore?”
“No, that’s not even close!” You cry in distress.
“Then tell us what’s so important that you keep dropping us (Y/N).”
You bite down on your jittering bottom lip, your worried eyes casting from Chenle’s unimpressed expression to Jisung’s concerned one.
“I’m not allowed to tell…”
Upon this half-confession, Chenle drops his attitude and leans across the table to speak quieter.
“Are you in trouble? Being blackmailed again? Do we need to beat someone up?”
“No!” You shut down his conspiracies, hands flying up in surrender.
You know you shouldn’t tell anyone. But you also know that if you don’t spill it all to them now, you’ll risk loosing the only people keeping you sane. Heaving a deep sigh, you know what you have to do.
“Okay. You have to promise me you’ll keep this strictly between us.” You point between your two intrigued friends, encouraging them to lean into the table so you can whisper. “I’m serious. The repercussions if this gets out-”
“Just tell us.” Chenle rolls his eyes.
To other students, it simply looks like your gossiping like any other group of high schoolers. But if they were to look closely enough, they’d notice the way both Chenle and Jisung’s eyes blow wide and how the colour seems to drain from Jisung’s face faster than lightening.
“You’re a what-” you cover Chenle’s mouth before he has a chance to shout anything further, covering it with a “Shhhhh.”
“Promise this stays between us.” You stick your pinky finger out for them to link, watching as both of your friends entangle theirs around yours.
“Damn. Wish I could be a…” Chenle begins to mutter.
“Dude!”
-
Walking into school the next morning feels a little more unnerving than usual. You’re barely through the threshold of the gates when someone spots you and shouts “that’s her!”.
Everything’s a blur from that moment. With a frenzy of people shouting “Princess!”, a crowd of students swarm you in seconds, phones and cameras are flying in front of your face as they all take pictures and videos. You feel nauseous from being elbowed and shoved in the midst of the unfolding chaos. However, just when you think your about to spew your guts from the motion sickness, you feel a pair of hands find your waist and clutch onto you, wrapping you into the taller frame of your saviour and using their body as a shield until you’re safely out of the crowd.
“Follow me.” Your saviour moves you away from their hold, clutching onto your hand and forcing you to run as you’re dragged along behind them to a place of refuge. You’re pulled into the main building and twisted through the narrow corridors until there’s no one on your tail.
It’s not until you’re hidden inside a janitors closet that you’re able to look at the person before you and realise it’s Jisung.
“How do they know!” You rush back into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso and burying your face. Jisung is winded a little from the impact, tumbling a few steps back with you before he regains his balance.
“It’s ok. Everything’s going to be ok.” He whispers into the top of your head, fluttering his eyes shut as he inhales the floral scent of your freshly washed hair.
Of course, Jisung has no idea how your secret had gotten out, or what to do next. All he knows right now is how perfectly you fit in his arms and how much he wants to protect you.
“I want you to know, it wasn’t me.” You pull away from Jisung, peering into his worried eyes. You’d never once doubted it would have come from him and there’s nothing more in the world you want right now than to let him know that. Cupping his cheek, you brush your thumb over his soft skin.
“I’d never even consider that being a possibility.” You soothe.
Jisung drinks in every drop of affection you give him as though he’d been traversing the desert for days on end without water. Knowing you never could have accused him rehydrates him and makes his heart feel like it could burst.
“It wasn’t Chenle either. I was with him all evening after his baseball game.”
“I don’t doubt him either.” You reassure. “This feels bigger than just some school gossip.”
-
After cooling down in the janitors closet for a while, you’d managed to sneak out and into your first few classes of the day without too many people bombarding you. Your principle had made an announcement to not cause another commotion and all staff were on patrol during lesson changeovers and breaks.
“Wait, (Y/N)!” You turn to find Chenle forcing his way to the front of the cohort of students following you, instantly linking his arm with yours as you continue to uncomfortably make your way to class surrounded by your new admirers. “You’re an overnight sensation!” He beams, loving the attention on you both.
“Tell me about it…” you mumble, juxtaposing Chenle in every way. Unlike your friend, you’re not made for the limelight. You don’t like all the attention on you. Not now, not ever.
This was one of your biggest fears about people finding out you’re a Princess.
“So, you’ll be my special celebrity guest on Talking with Chenle this Saturday, won’t you?”
Your mouth gapes, finally making eye contact with him and ready to outright refuse. Until, you see how hopeful he looks.
Damn it. There’s no way you can turn him down.
“Sure…” you sigh, unable to hide the small smile that forces its way onto your face when he jumps in excitement.
“You’re awesome!”
-
“(Y/N)!”
You’re just closing your locker when you hear your name, your heart picking up pace from the unmistakeable voice of your caller.
Spinning around, you find none other than Jaemin, smiling at you with his signature smile and staring at you with those heart melting eyes.
“How are you holding up? Been a bit of a crazy day…” He leans one arm on the locker beside you, standing so close you can smell his earthy cologne.
“Just a bit.” You giggle sweetly.
It’s amazing how Jaemin can have such an affect on you. One word and your mind has gone to putty and you’ve forgotten how to act like a normal person.
“Well, I just wanted to apologise for Nina this morning…”
“Huh?” You furrow your brows, feeling yourself come back down to earth.
“She was the one who shouted when you entered the gates and made everyone swarm you?” Jaemin’s tone comes out unsure, not realising that you weren’t aware when you let out a light “oh.”
“I just wanted to let you know that I do not condone that at all. In fact, I broke up with her because of it.”
“You did?” You gush, surprise written all over your face.
…and you’re off in space again.
“Yeah, it was totally not cool.” Jaemin nods. “Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the end of school beach party with me this Saturday?”
Oh my gosh! Na Jaemin just asked you out!
“Yes!” You blurt. “I-uh I mean, yeah” you swallow, “sounds cool.”
“Cool.” His smile reaches his eyes. “I’ll see you Saturday.”
You watch dreamily as Jaemin walks away to join his group of friends at their lunch table. You’re only pulled back into reality when you spot Jisung perched on the edge of the fountain across the courtyard.
“Guess who just asked me to go with him to the beach party this Saturday!” You park yourself next to Jisung on the ledge of the fountain. “Jaemin!” You squeal your answer when Jisung simply raises an inquisitive brow at you.
“But, what about seeing my band practice?” Jisung tries to not sound depleted.
“Well, I was hoping we could reschedule? I just, I’ve been wanting to go out with Jaemin since forever and you’ll have other band practices, right?”
“Oh, yeah, right.” Jisung forces a smile, feeling himself deflate the second you’ve squeezed him in a tight hug before skipping off to get some lunch.
His attention flickers over to the table where Jaemin sits. How could Jisung ever compare? He’d always felt you were unattainable to him because of how he was too shy to express his feelings. And that was before your new look and title. But now? He has no shot.
You’re a Princess for goodness sake. You belong with the most popular guy in school. Not a shy keyboard player in a band that sings in the local garage like him…
-
“Oh, thank goodness you’re here!” Your grandmother rushes to you as you arrive for your ‘Princess lesson’ of the day. She takes you by your shoulders and peers at you intently.
“Now,” she exhales a deep breath. “We’ve got the press under control with the looming promise of the annual independence ball, so long as they keep a little distance for now.”
You nod in understanding.
You were honestly a little nervous about seeing your grandmother this evening. You’d been worrying about her reaction to this all getting out, even though she is calm and has dealt with an unimaginable amount of trials and tribulations during her many years of reign. She is also strong willed and has made it clear to you that - even though you have yet to make the choice to accept your title and duty - the expectation of this trial period would be as though this is your future.
“And we’ve found that the leak was from the stylist we’d hired.”
There’s more relief in knowing your Grandmother knows it hadn’t come from you than there is from the culprit being found out.
“And we’ve got him doing a formal apology to the press this evening.”
-
Saturday rolls around quickly and before you know it, you’re on your way to the beach party for your date with Jaemin. Everyone who’s anyone is there; dancing, sunbathing or cooling off in the ocean as the sun begins to set.
You feel a little awkward as you walk down the beach to join the other party-goers. It seems like it’s well underway already and you’re not typically one to mix with the crowd in attendance.
“Welcome to paradise.” You almost jump out of your skin upon hearing Jaemin’s voice from your side. You had been so engrossed in your awe of the scene in front of you, you didn’t notice he’d walked over. “I got you a drink.”
You accept the plastic cup, your fingers brushing accidentally with his. Chuckling a flustered thanks before taking a sip, you try not to be affected by his amused grin. He thinks you’re so adorable. How had you been kept so hidden before?
“C’mon.” You feel Jaemin’s hand slip into yours, gently tugging you along with him to head further into the crowd…
“Hello, welcome to Talking with Chenle.” Chenle professionally introduces when his fellow producer Mark signals they are live. “On todays show, we have a special interview with the newfound Princess and close friend of mine, (Y/N).” Mark hits the applause button.
“But, before our main guest’s appearance, we have a short segment on the upcoming senior class projects, presented by our very own Mark.”
Mark jumps in with his pre-written script, listing out the upcoming events for the semester. Meanwhile, Chenle checks his phone to see if you’ve tried to contact him about your whereabouts. Nothing. You should have been here 30 minutes ago…
Back at the beach party, you’re having the time of your life dancing with Jaemin. Uncontrollable laughter tumbling from your lips as he takes your hand and spins you around.
“Who knew you were such a good dancer?” You teasingly glance up at Jaemin as he leads you out of the crowd of dancers and to the side for some much needed air, your hand still firmly in his.
“Well, who knew you would make such a great dance partner.” He praises back, succeeding in making you flustered.
You cast a shy glance up at him through your lashes, still unable to believe that this is reality. You really are here with Jaemin, hand in hand in front of everyone. You feel like you should pinch yourself, just to double check your not dreaming all of this.
That is, until reality comes crashing down in a burning rage. What you’d simply brushed off as a plane flying above you, turned out to be a helicopter filled with paparazzi. It lowers, the wind from the propeller cutting off the party and almost knocking everyone off their feet as multiple cameras flash at you, trying their best to get a good snapshot.
You panic, a million questions buzzing around your mind. What should you do? How do you get away? But most of all, how did they know you’d be here?
“Quick, follow me!” Jaemin pulls you, both of you running towards the lifeguard shack at the back of the beach.
Once inside, Jaemin bolts the door shut and silence and darkness settle around you.
“I’m so sorry.” You plant your face into your hands as you fall into the chair behind you. Being chased by paparazzi - all shouting Princess at you - was not a part of your imagined date with Jaemin. And it’s mortifying to know that’s the reality.
“Hey.” You hear him whisper, his larger hands coercing yours away from your face. In the time you’ve been wallowing, Jaemin had made his way over to you and knelt down to your level so the first thing you see are his eyes and the way they catch the moonlight that filters in through the crack in the curtain covered window. “It’s not your fault.”
His sincerity mesmerises you and washes away your humiliation. How does he do it? How does he seem to know the exact right thing to say?
Meanwhile, Chenle’s radio show is crashing and burning live on air. The last forty-five minutes have been filled with Marks terrible jokes and ramblings and it’s all because of you.
“Alright, I’m off.” Chenle sounds defeated, taking off his headphones and making a stand from his chair the second the ‘live’ light goes dim.
Mark doesn’t respond, nodding his understanding as he watches his friend walk away. He knows it’s not his fault. Heck, Mark did everything he could to act on the spot and make the best out of the shit situation. Chenle is grateful for Marks loyalty and perseverance.
But damn, he still wishes you’d showed… they both do.
“Ok, I think they’ve given up.” Jaemin asserts, peaking through the curtain to find a dark and empty seeming beach. The relief that fills you has you following Jaemin out of the lifeguard shack without thought.
“Thank you for sticking by me, it means a lot.” You timidly smile at Jaemin, allowing him to take your hand in his as you begin to walk up the beach.
Before you have time to register, a bright flash snaps in front of you, the momentary blindness giving time for multiple lurking paparazzi to spring out from their hiding places and surround you both.
“Princess! Who’s your date?”
“Is this your boyfriend?”
“Princess, give him a kiss!”
The crowd shout as you panic, looking around to try and find an escape route.
You spot a slither in the sea of bodies and pull on Jaemin’s hand, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he complies to the crazy demands of the privacy invading press and scoops your body into his. His lean arms make your desperation to get away worthless and before you know it, he’s cupped your cheek and forced you to look at him.
With one final deer-in-the-headlights look at him, Jaemin crashes his lips to yours.
It takes you a few seconds to register what he’s doing, before you muster up the strength to shove him away and force yourself out of the circle.
You can’t believe he just did that.
-
“It’s really not that bad.” Jisung tries to console you.
You’re flopped over the table, head in your arms as you try to block out every piece of reality. After Saturday’s kiss fiasco, the picture had been posted everywhere. There was no escaping the horrifying image of your first kiss with Jaemin. No less because you’d always dreamt your first kiss with Jaemin would be magical, like something out of a fairytale. And while you may be a Princess, this feels nothing close to those magical Disney princess movies you adored so much growing up.
For starters, where is your fairy godmother? You could really use one of those right about now…
He can’t lie, Jisung’s a little heartbroken seeing the picture of you kissing someone else posted everywhere. He’s upset for you, knowing how much you hate the situation. But, selfishly, he’s more gutted for himself. That should be him in Jaemin’s place. In fact, if he’d been lucky enough to kiss you, the image wouldn’t have existed because he never would have done it in front of the cameras. Knowing that Jaemin used you to get his 15 minutes of fame angers him too. The first time he saw the picture online, his fists had clenched so tightly from the rage that bubbled up in his stomach his nails had left little crescent moons in his palms. And yet, he can’t bring himself to not look at the grainy image.
“Not that bad?” You retort. “Any hope I had of being Princess has gone down the drain.” You begin to sob.
“What’s my grandmother going to say?”
Jisung doesn’t realise how stern his face had been until he finally looks away from the picture to find your eyes peaking out from their hiding spot. His gaze softens in a heartbeat, his hand reaching out to instinctively rub your back.
From your peripheral, you recognise the group passing by and tear your gaze away from Jisung’s to find Jaemin and his friends snickering as they walk past.
“Hey (Y/N), great kiss.” Jaemin puckers his lips mockingly.
You’re not sure what hurts you more, having reality shred the mask to uncover his true, obnoxious personality to you or knowing how many years you spent pining over someone so shallow.
“Ugh.” You bury your face back into the safety of your arms, blocking out all daylight and - you hope - reality.
-
After a lot of pep-talk from Jisung, he finally managed to coax you into going to your next class. But it’s not until final period, when see Chenle enter the classroom, that you realise you hadn’t seen or heard from him since last week. You send him a smile when he makes eye contact, feeling confused when he frowns back before taking a seat on the opposite end of the room.
You find yourself casting glances in his direction throughout the class, hoping to catch him looking over at you at least once. But nothing. Not even a peep is sent your way.
“Chenle,” you chase after him. Barely five seconds after your teacher had dismissed class, Chenle had been out of the door and down the corridor. You’d had to sprint through the throngs of students just to get to him before he got out of the building. “Why’d you not sit with me?”
But your question is met with the biggest eye roll you’ve ever seen as Chenle continues to make his way out of the school grounds.
“Did I do something?” You press.
“Did you do something?” Chenle fires back at you, narrowing his eyes vehemently. “Try what you didn’t do!”
You’re dumbstruck.
“I have no ide-”
“My radio show Saturday?” Chenle sasses. Thank goodness you’re down the street by the time Chenle finally stops walking and begins exploding on you. “I had to listen to Marks lame jokes for an hour.”
“Oh my god! I’m so unbelievably sorry.” Your eyes go wide, mortified at how you’d completely forgotten about being Chenle’s guest. “I’ll make it up to you next time, I swear!”
“There won’t be a next time.” Chenle scoffs, turning away once again. “Oh,” he stops himself to mention one last thing. “and, just so you know, just because you a Princess now, doesn’t mean the only thing that matters is you.”
-
“Hey Sungs.” You mournfully approach where Jisung finishes polishing your car. The garage is oddly quiet, no music or clatter sounding in the usually busy space. No. Instead, it seems like it’s just you and Jisung here. “Thank you for taking such good care of my baby.”
“No problem.” Jisung sends you a half-smile as he hands over the keys. “She’s all yours.”
“You don’t know how much this means to me.” You warmly smile, but feel your mood drop when he doesn’t reciprocate like he usually does. There’s a silence that fills the space between you. You’ve never felt so awkward with Jisung before.
“Well… I better get going…” you try not to sound too deflated, jangling your keys in the air as you go to open your car door.
You watch as Jisung takes a step back from the car, his hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets as he wordlessly watches you.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” You timidly look at Jisung, stopping yourself from clutching the car door handle in front of you. “You don’t think I think the only thing that matters is me, right?”
There’s a timidity to your tone that makes Jisung gulp. He knows all about the argument because Chenle had ranted down the phone to him for a hour after school and he can tell Chenle’s words have gotten to you. At the same time, however, he feels a little dumbfounded that you seem to only realise this now, after you’d had someone shout it in your face. It’s even more ironic you only ask Jisung of his thoughts when you are just about to take the finished car home. The very one that you’ve been stringing him along with for weeks. He knows he has to be honest with you.
“There were times when I would say I agree, yes.” Jisung nods. “I mean, you dropped me for Jaemin in a heartbeat and he’d never once given you the time of day before your Princess glow-up.”
“Right. I really should go…” you voice comes out hoarse. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jisung feels terrible as you spare no more time getting into your car and starting the engine. It revs to life and roars as you drive away, leaving him alone once again. But the it sinks in how much you’d made him feel used. You’d chosen to walk away from the truth when you’d asked him for it. And Jisung can’t help but feel disappointed.
-
Walking through the halls the next day you feel so insecure. Groups of students stop their conversation to stare at you as you pass, their expressions unreadable, leaving you unable to tell if they are judging you or just fascinated.
Reaching your locker in the courtyard, your eyes light up in hope upon seeing Chenle a few doors down at his locker. You watch him until he notices you, forcing a meek smile his direction when he does. But instead of him smiling back and making his way over to you, he frowns and slams his locker shut before walking the opposite direction.
You self-consciously peer around, hoping no one had witnessed that rejection and your eyes light up when you spot Jisung.
“Jisung!” You call as he walks past. But he doesn’t even acknowledge you. Instead, he picks up his pace and your eyes follow him as he catches up with Chenle. You turn back to focus on getting the right books out of your locker, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill.
How had you managed to mess up so bad that your friends won’t even acknowledge you…
With tears still in your eyes, you enter your next class with your head hanging low. You can’t bear to look up and see your two friends, knowing they won’t speak to you. Instead, you rush to the back of the room and take the seat furthest in the corner.
But when you do eventually look up towards the front of the classroom, you catch Jisung glancing your way. He turns back to face the front a split second after. But there’s as hope that flows through you from catching the longing in his expression.
Maybe there’s still a way to win them back.
-
It’s taken a few days to figure out, but you think you know how to get your friends to forgive you. Starting with Chenle.
First you have to sneak up on him so he doesn’t get away when you try to talk to him, which from his avoidance of you the past week, has proven more challenging than you thought. But you do manage to corner him in class as everyone leaves for lunch.
“Chenle, I want to make it up to you.” You plea. “I just want everything to be right between us again.” While you’ve technically been successful in talking to him, he’s still refusing to look at you. “Tell me what I can do…”
This piques his interest.
“Stop being a Princess.” He flatly states. If only he knew…
That was actually something you’d been working on, deciding days ago that you don’t think you’re cut out for accepting royal duty as a Princess. You’ve already spoken to your grandmother about this and, despite her reluctance and assurance that you would be more than capable for the role, you’d come to a mutual agreement to make no public announce until the evening of the ball.
You wish you could tell Chenle, but you can’t break your promise to your grandmother. You’re done breaking promises you’ve made.
“Well, I was thinking more along the lines of attending the independence ball this Saturday?” You send him a hopeful beam.
You take his blank expression and lack of a quick response as a good sign and continue to persuade.
“It’s invitation only…”
Chenle sighs. Damn him and his weakness for exclusivity. Plus, he’s always wanted to go to a ball and he doesn’t know when he’ll get this type of opportunity again.
“Fine!” He caves. “You’re forgiven.”
You squeal, jumping into him to squeeze him in a hug. You feel his chest vibrate with laughter and look up to finally see him smiling.
“I missed you.” You gush as you pull away and begin walking down the hallway together.
“I know.” Chenle laughs heartily when you shove him and roll your eyes.
You finally feel like you’re on the right track. If you can get Chenle to forgive you, then you’re pretty certain Jisung will too. Now you just need to find him.
-
“Wassup bro.” Chenle greets Mark as you join his table for lunch. You’re familiar with Mark because he helps Chenle out with his radio show and you’ve always found him really bubbly and sweet on the few occasions you’ve spoken.
“Sup guys.” Mark greets you both warmly. “I see you’re back on speaking terms.”
“Yep.” Chenle responds through a mouthful of food.
“Yeah, I’m really sorry about all of that.” You grimace towards Mark. “But I heard you’re on your way to becoming a comedic genius.”
“I think I’m good with sticking to the pre-scripted topics.” Mark laughs loudly.
“Oh, hey Jisung!” Chenle’s sudden shout almost makes you jump out of your skin.
You turn your attention to where Chenle looks to find Jisung casting an embarrassed side glance over to your table while trying to continue his conversation with one of his band mates Renjun.
You don’t really know Renjun, other than what you’ve observed. Even though he’s part of Jaemin’s popular group, he seems like a nice guy and there’s always been a part of you that’s been curious to know how he ended up with friends like Jaemin, Jeno and Donghyuck. All so loud and attention loving in comparison.
You watch as he bids Renjun goodbye and approaches, stuffing his hands into his pockets once he’s reached your table. It’s clear he doesn’t want to hang around…
“Aren’t you gonna join us for lunch?” Chenle snickers at his friend, his tone mocking at the way Jisung acts so hesitant.
“Actually, I-uh have,” Jisung gulps. “I have last minute band practice.”
“But you just said goodbye to Renjun?” Mark furrows his brows.
“Gotta go!” Jisung takes off as quickly as he can. He doesn’t look back when he hears you call after him, instead only ducking his head lower and picking up more speed. You have to run to catch him. Damn him and his long legs. You hate running.
“Jisung.” You pant, catching him by the arm and using all of your body weight to slow him down. He lets out a defeated sigh as he stops, knowing there’s no escaping having to talk to you now. “Please talk to me…” you beg, pleading with the best, saddest puppy eyes you can muster.
“What is there to say?” His voice comes of quieter than he wanted it to. He’s so hurt and upset with you and he wants to be able to express that. He usually can when it’s towards other people. But when it’s you on the receiving end, there’s just something that stops him. No matter how much you broke his heart.
“Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have run away from what you’d said.”
Theres something in your words that makes him wake up and finally realise that he’s been running away too. Not just now. But for way too long. Jisung’s been running away from telling you how he really feels about you. For so long he’s talked himself into waiting for you to fall in love with him, to wake up and finally see that the person you should be with has been by your side the whole time. His feelings have been repressed and he’s forced himself to be invisible for too long. But he’s done with that now.
“Sungs, are you ok?” He blinks back into reality, not having realised he’d gotten caught up in overthinking for too long.
You watch him, wide eyed as he stands up straighter, determination written across his face.
“Actually, I have something I need to say.”
You nod, waiting intently.
“I’ve been an idiot for too long.” And… you’re confused. “I’ve let you walk all over me for years because I’ve been so in love with you.”
“Heck,” Jisung laughs at himself. “I even let you off when you ditched me for Jaemin because I kept telling myself that I wasn’t good enough for you.”
You feel your heart break knowing Jisung had been putting himself down like that. Any and every emotion courses through you as you try your best to take in the weight of his words.
“I-” you begin, but Jisung cuts you off before you have a chance to say anymore.
“I know you don’t feel the same… it’s ok.” Jisung forces a smile. “I just need some time apart.”
You feel like you’re suffocating, unable to voice anything as you watch Jisung walk away. Chocking on sobs as the weight of the world hits you like a ton of bricks.
You just wished you’d realised sooner. Because if you had, then maybe you wouldn’t have lost your best friend, you wouldn’t have hurt him for so long and maybe you wouldn’t have had your heart smashed to pieces like you just have.
-
“Can’t you just have someone do the speech for me?” Your voice is muted by the duvet that you insist to remain under. Your mom perched on the side of your bed as she encourages you to at least go downstairs to eat something.
It’s the morning of the annual independence ball and you’ve not left your bed since you’d gotten home the day before.
You’d had many home truths and realisations from Jisung yesterday. But cocooning yourself inside your duvet has really helped you process a lot. Like the fact that you love Jisung too… and not in just a platonic way. He’s always been there for you and you’ve taken that for granted.
You’ve been so dumb to your feelings for so long, brushing infatuation off as excitement or just that you really care for Jisung, when reality is that your heart doesn’t flip every time he smiles just because he’s your best friend. It flips every time he smiles because his smile is one of your favourite things in the world. It eases your worries and brightens your day.
Just being around Jisung makes you feel like everything’s going to be ok. He’s always so supportive and soft-natured. He takes care of you not because he’s a good friend but because he loves you.
You know that if he were to be here today, you’d be able to get through your speech this evening, facing crowds of people and answering to them why you are abdicating your royal duties. With Jisung by your side, you can get through anything.
Without him you’re lost.
Similarly, Jisung has been trying to drown out reality since he confessed to you by focusing all of his energy on his band practice and fixing up cars. He went straight from school to the garage and worked through the night to try and get his mind off of you.
Which is why he jolts awake to Chenle shouting in his ear for him to “wake up!”
“Why!” He cries, rubbing his sore neck from the poor posture of his sleep on the couch by his band’s equipment.
“You seriously slept here last night?” Chenle doesn’t hold back any judgment, raising his brow at Jisung as he grumbles out unintelligible remarks under his breath.
“I get you’re heart broken or whatever, but that doesn’t mean you should give up now.”
“Well, what else should I do?” Jisung, still sat in the chair he’d slept in, sulks like a child.
“Uh, I don’t know, go after her?” Chenle retorts like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“But she doesn’t feel the same, I’d just be making a fool of myself…”
Chenle scoffs. How does he not see it?
“Of course (Y/N) feels the same. It’s so obvious.” Chenle leans down to place his hand on Jisung’s shoulder. “Trust me. I’ve had to watch you both almost every day for years.”
He’s not joking. He really has. All the times he’s rolled his eyes at the way you both act so soppy towards the other. You’ve both been too wrapped up in either convincing yourself that you have no shot, or mistaking your feelings to notice.
Jisung springs to his feet. With the way Chenle remains so serious, he knows he must be telling the truth.
“I need to win her back!”
-
You frantically pack, shoving everything you can into your bag before anyone catches on to what your about to do. You feel so hopeless, like a complete failure and you know you can’t face the crowd of influential people and reporters to decline your role of Princess. So you’re running away.
You’d managed to convince your grandmother to not send a limo because your mom wanted to take you to your first ball. And you’d also lied to your mom, telling her that your grandmother had organised a limo to pick you up.
As soon as your mom had left, the race against time had begun and you’d been flying around your room packing.
You pick up the embossed faux-leather diary your grandmother had gifted you when you’d first met and found out you were a Princess, stilling when it slips from your grasp and falls open to reveal a letter that had been tucked in between the pages.
Carefully picking it up and unfolding it, you realise it’s from your father before he passed away.
His heartfelt words bring tears to your eyes as he expresses all the love he has for you and his country as soon to be King. But the final line strikes something within you that makes you rethink everything you had planned to do.
“Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear. The brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all. From now on you’ll be travelling the road between who you think you are and who you can be. The key is to allow yourself to make the journey.”
-
Helping Jisung come up with a plan to win you back is easy for Chenle. With the independence ball being that evening, nothing could be more perfect than Jisung turning up, declaring his love and sweeping you off your feet. Just like a true Prince. So he’d offered the plus 1 you’d given him to Jisung.
Waiting in the grand hall for your arrival feels like an eternity. Everyone seems to be here except you.
“Have either of you seen (Y/N)?” Your mom rushes up to Chenle and Jisung in a slight panic. Both of them shrug, shaking their heads no in response. “She told me a limo was picking her up, but apparently she told her grandmother I was bringing her.”
Shit. There’s something in Jisung that springs into action upon the possibility that you could be in danger.
“Stall until I get back.” Jisung directs Chenle.
“Where are you going?!” Chenle shouts back, but it’s too late. Jisung’s already run off.
“Oh no no no…” you whine as your car conks out, the heavens pouring down on you and pooling in your hatch-back. “Is this what I get for messing everything up!” You shout at the sky, flopping back into your seat and sobbing your heart out.
You don’t blame the universe for this payback. You deserve it after all your selfishness. But you have been trying to make amends, to right all of your wrongs. You have every intention to go to the independence ball to share your decision in person. It’s the least your families country deserve. It’s the least your family deserve. But, right now, you’re failing. Failing at getting to the ball on time just like you failed at making amends with Jisung.
Gosh, even when you’re trying to do something else it’s still seems to end up on Jisung…
Just as you’re giving up all hope, a car horn jolts you up in your seat with a gasp. The headlights blind you momentarily as they round the corner, until the car has stopped beside you.
“Need a ride, Princess?” Your mouth hangs agape as the window rolls down to reveal Jisung in the drivers seat.
Although you can only see the top half of him, you’re heart summersaults from his attire. There he is, coming to your rescue, dressed in a black tuxedo and bow tie. He looks just like Prince Charming.
“How did you find me?” You remain in your car, unable to move from the shock… and the cold. You look like a drowned rat as the storm continues to shower down on you.
By this point, Jisung had gotten out of his car, into the pouring rain and rushed over to help lift you out of your vehicle to transfer you into the warmth and shelter of his own.
“Lucky guess.” He smirks from the drivers seat, twisting the keys and bringing the car to life again, before racing through the dark deserted streets.
You watch him from the passenger seat as he remains focused on the road, mesmerised by the steady focus of his eyes and his tight jaw, the way his hair - now wet from your rescue - drips little droplets of water onto his forehead and nose, down his cheeks to his perfectly plump lips.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” You’re caught off guard by his question as it breaks the silence that had settled. You hadn’t even realised you’d been staring that long, or the fact he’d noticed.
“I was… just looking.” You blush, turning to look out your window. You’re just thankful it’s dark right now.
A few seconds go by and you begin to recognise the street just as the car pulls into your grandmothers driveway and stops at the entrance.
“Wait!” You clutch onto Jisung’s arm as he goes to open his door. He freezes from the touch before slowly twisting back to look at you. “Thank you.” You whisper.
“It was no problem.” Jisung sends you a tight lipped smile.
“No. I mean, thank you for always being there for me.” You elaborate, moving your grip down his arm until you get to his hand, entangling your fingers with his. “For loving me.”
Jisung’s breath hitches. He’s not sure what to say. It’s like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs. And the way you continue to stare at him makes him feel so warm and fuzzy and loved.
“(Y/N), I-”
“I know you said you wanted space.” You cut him off. “But I’m so lost without you.”
“Why me?” He whispers.
You slowly reach up to cup his cheek, drawing him in closer and closer until your noses touch. Your eyes flutter shut as you breathe in his signature piney scent. The familiarity makes you feel like you’ve arrived back home and gives you the courage to utter your next words ever so breathily.
“Because you saw me when I was invisible.”
The next thing you know, Jisung’s lips are smashed against yours. You’re unsure which of you initiated it, not having had your eyes open in fear of his rejection. His lips are just as soft as you’d imagined they’ve be and you feel yourself unable to suppress the smile that explodes across your face, causing Jisung to smile into the kiss too.
Everything seems to fall into place again. Who knew kissing your best friend could feel so right?
Pulling apart breathlessly, you both continue to smile at each other, idiotically in love.
“We really should get inside and put Chenle out of his misery.” Jisung chuckles, only imagining the chaos he’s cause by trying to stall.
“I guess…” you trail off, sending Jisung a sheepish smirk. He knows exactly what you’re thinking. “…Or we could kiss some more?”
“We can do that later. But first, you have to tell your country you will be their Princess.”
~ bonus ~
“How’s my baby?” Jisung rolls his eyes.
“I told you to stop calling me that.” He deadpans, failing to hide the blush that tinges his cheeks from the way you smirk at him.
You know he loves it really.
“But it’s cute!” You continue to tease, laughing as you speak.
“Whatever you say Princess.”
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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year
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Perzys se Rūkla (Fire and Flowers) - Chapter Two
Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x original female character (Melessa Tyrell) Warnings: Sexual themes. Word count: ~2.5k
Chapter summary: Daemon battles with self doubt and Melessa makes a bold proposition. Series summary here.
Endless thanks and all the love to my absolute ride or die @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for cheerleading, beta'ing and just generally being the bestest fandom boo a gal could have.
Header by the insanely talented @em-writes-stuff-sometimes
Daemon’s thoughts are filled with Melessa when he awakens, his hand lazily slipping beneath the bedclothes to relieve his arousal. Images of shining flaxen hair, rosy petal soft lips and wide cerulean eyes cloud his mind as his fist moves rapidly up and down his hardened cock. 
This is the second time since their meeting in front of the tapestries that he has found himself in this predicament. He’d feel embarrassed were it not the only thing preventing him from marching through the halls of the Red Keep, throwing open the door to her bedchamber and tearing her asunder as he presses her into the mattress.
The memory of the scent of almond oil and rosewater burns hotly in his nostrils. He imagines breathing it in as he presses past her maidenhead, hearing her girlish cries of discomfort as he molds her to him, ruining her for any other man, making her irredeemably his. It’s this that finally sends him toppling over the edge, his skin flushed and breathing ragged, ropes of pearly spend painting his fingers and stomach.
He reaches across to the bedside table to retrieve a cloth and begin cleaning himself up. It’s in this moment of post-peak clarity that he wonders if she’d be better off if he just left her alone. She is such a sweet, delicate little flower. What could the Rogue Prince possibly offer her? It is not in his nature to play the role of the white knight swooping in to save the fair maiden. Would she really have it that bad if she were to simply marry Aemond? A life of predictable neglect awaits her, no doubt, but at least it is one that is safe and comfortable.
No. He is Daemon Targaryen - he takes what he wants, and he wants Melessa. He knows she wants him too, even if she doesn’t realise it yet. He has never been one to shy away from a battle and she would be his most victorious triumph yet. His family have taken so much away from him over the last two decades. It is about time he took something back; they owe him that much.
It is almost noon when Daemon walks out into the training yard. A crowd has gathered to watch Aemond spar with Alicent’s personal guard, Ser Criston Cole, an obvious show for the sake of the visiting Tyrell family. Daemon can’t help but notice with a smirk that Rhaenyra and her sons are absent from the gaggle of spectators. How thoroughly unsupportive. 
As Daemon observes, he is struck by the skill with which his nephew fights. There is a fluidity to his movements which is surprising, considering his impairment. However, it is not Aemond that he is here for. His eyes scan the crowd and he spots it; long, pale blonde hair gleaming in the afternoon sunshine. Melessa. He moves closer, pausing when he sees the portly figure of her father, Moryn, standing beside her. Perhaps not the best idea to engage her in idle chit chat while he is present.
Daemon studies Moryn. He is far too short for a man and obscenely plump. His balding head bears the remnants of graying mousy brown hair, and Daemon wonders if it all migrated south to position itself within the ridiculous mustache which adorns his upper lip. He is quietly grateful that Melessa takes after her mother, and cannot help the titter that escapes him at the thought of this beastly man rutting atop the poor woman.
Looking around, he captures the displeased gaze of Otto. The older man stands facing the spectacle before him, yet his eyes are narrowed with contempt and focused solely on Daemon. Cunt. Daemon sends him a quick wink which causes him to bristle, turning away with a scowl. If only he knew.
As Aemond works to drive Criston backwards, the crowd shifts and disperses, making way for their movements. Daemon is delighted to find himself finally standing next to Melessa.
He takes in her downcast expression, the glassiness of her eyes and tight line her usually full lips are set into. She is bored. Smug satisfaction blossoms across Daemon’s features as he looks down at her with a wry smile.
“Hello again.”
He cannot help but notice the way her face animates as she looks up at him, her blue eyes practically light up as those soft petal lips curve upwards. So she does feel the same way.
“Daemon,” she breathes happily.
“Is your betrothed keeping you entertained? You look positively riveted.”
She sighs, looking away and fidgeting with a lock of her hair. “He hasn’t looked my way once. I doubt he even knows I’m here.”
Of course he doesn’t. She is nothing more than an obligation passed onto him by his mother. Aemond is unable to look beyond his own self interest far enough to notice the beauty of the Highgarden rose before him. Lucky for her, he does.
Feigning concern, Daemon pouts slightly. “Oh? Are you not spending much time together?”
Melessa’s eyes flicker cautiously at the people surrounding them, and she lowers her voice as she speaks to Daemon. “The words you have spoken to me since I arrived here outnumber everyone else’s combined.”
“A pity,” he responds, voice filled with mock sympathy. “Perhaps there is still time for you to find a better suited match? Someone who can help you blossom from the pretty little bud you are now into a beautiful flower.”
“And who might you suggest?” she asks, eyeing him curiously.
He is about to open his mouth to respond when he catches sight of Otto and Moryn making their way towards them. Shit.
“Another time perhaps, my lady.” 
He nods to her, carving a swift path through the crowd, eager to avoid the insufferable presence of his brother’s Hand. He is not yet ready for Melessa to meet the side of him that Otto evokes. She’d be lost to him before he even has her, such is the rage that man inspires.
Daemon does not see Melessa for the rest of the day, but her absence allows him to put into action a plan that has been brewing inside his head ever since she admitted to Aemond’s neglect of her.
He has a servant fetch him a dozen red roses from the gardens, arranged neatly in a bouquet. A heavy-handed gesture, considering she is from Highgarden and likely sick of the sight of the damnable things. However, he feels the message he intends to include more than makes up for such thoughtlessness.
“To a beautiful bud: I hope you find someone that makes you bloom.”
He smirks to himself as he re-reads the scrap of parchment, rolling it up and tucking it into the bouquet. Just innocent enough for plausible deniability should anyone question his intentions - a simple congratulatory gift from the Prince’s Uncle, absolutely not a ploy to suggest she have him instead.
Daemon waits until the following morning to seek Melessa out again, holding the bouquet behind his back once he finds her. Predictable little thing she is, he knows exactly where to look for her. She sits on a stone bench in the gardens, leaning slightly back on her palms. Her pale hair falls in soft, loose waves down her back as the delicate features of her face are turned upwards towards the sun, eyes closed as she basks in its warmth.
She is doubtless missing the lush greenery of home, so the Red Keep’s gardens provide her a much needed sanctuary from the barren stone labyrinth that is King’s Landing. Dragonstone is even more desolate and gray than the capital. He wonders how she will fare on an isle where nothing grows.
Tendrils of doubt niggle at him as he watches her. She is so full of girlish exuberance. Is he really being fair in pursuing her? Will a life with a battle-hardened man twice her age not snuff out her carefree innocence? He supposes it will die a slow and painful death surrounded by the Hightowers and their miserable brood, anyway - a blossoming flower slowly being strangled by invasive weeds. He can at least offer it a quick and relatively pain-free end.
Clearly aware she is being watched, Melessa opens her eyes, turning her head to face him.
Daemon cannot help but feel a little irritated that he has been robbed of the opportunity to initiate the encounter, such has become the dynamic of their relationship; he enjoys catching her unaware. He knows deep down that his irritation stems from embarrassment. He is not usually one to stand around gawking, and yet he has been caught doing just that.
His entire demeanour visibly softens, his shoulders relaxing and a faint smile playing upon his lips the moment he sees her light up in his presence. The apples of her cheeks look full and positively velveteen as she grins excitedly. The lack of demureness would surely earn her a scolding from a septa. It is improper, vulgar even, for a lady to smile like that at a man, and yet he is delighted by it. He has made her look like that, no one else, just him.
“A pleasure to see you again, petal.” The pet name is saccharine as it tumbles from his lips and he is quietly pleased when she doesn’t recoil at it.
“And you, Daemon,” Melessa replies, rising from the bench and walking towards him. The grin has left her face, yet her eyes continue to shine with excitement. “A wonderful morning to be in the gardens.”
“Yes, quite,” he smirks. “I’d heard a radiant flower had rooted itself here and had to come and see for myself.”
“Oh, really? Might I help you find it?” She cocks her head, her pretty face a mask of curiosity as she gazes up at him wide-eyed.
Daemon has to suck his teeth to suppress the laugh attempting to force its way out of him. Precious little darling doesn’t understand his innuendo at all. How sweet. His eyes travel the length of her body appreciatively before returning to her face.
“Yes, let’s walk,” he decides. It would be far better to bestow his gift upon her away from prying eyes. He is beginning to feel foolish standing with one arm obscured behind him.
He takes the liberty of placing his free hand on the small of Melessa’s back as they walk, smirking to himself when she makes no attempt to stop him.
“I have something for you,” he says, coming to a stop and turning to face her once he is satisfied they’ve ventured far enough away from the Keep.
Daemon produces the bouquet from behind his back and sees her grin for the second time that day. The excitement in her eyes is palpable as they shift from the bouquet to his own gaze. He inhales sharply. That bloody grin. There is something wickedly dirty about it, and the worst part is that she is wholly unaware of it. It leaves him longing to press her up against the nearest wall and do everything in his power to wipe it from her face. The lust it stirs within him feels almost suffocating.
“They are beautiful. Thank you.”
The sincerity of her gratitude makes him feel like he has just gifted her the stars in the sky. Daemon stands a little straighter, basking in her gratitude. 
She reaches to take the roses from him and he lets her, taking note of the fact that she doesn’t wait to be offered them. Typical behaviour of a spoiled highborn lady. Impatient little thing, she is. It is nothing that can’t be fucked out of her, though.
“I suspect you have been overwhelmed by gifts from my nephew since your arrival, but I wanted to show a token of my own appreciation.”
He watches as she circles a dainty index finger around the petals of a rose. He cannot help but wonder if she touches herself with such care. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other as the thought causes his cock to stir in his breeches. Melessa’s voice snaps him out of his reverie.
“He hasn’t, actually,” she says solemnly, still focusing on the flowers. “Aemond and I don’t spend time together unless it is arranged by his mother or grandfather.”
Daemon is thoroughly unsurprised by her revelation. Aemond doesn’t strike him as the classically romantic type, likely never making her grin the way that he has twice. He likes to think that that is a smile that’s just for him.
“You must be positively bereft,” he teases. “I am glad I am able to make up for his most tragic shortcomings.”
He watches as she plucks the note from between the flowers, taking the bouquet back from her so that she may unfurl the parchment between dainty fingers and read it. If she catches the meaning behind his message, she does not show it.
She fixes him with a steady, unblinking stare, full of seriousness. “Perhaps you could make up for all of them?”
Daemon swallows thickly. Hot prickles of panic dancing along his spine, in spite of his stoic exterior. “And how would you like me to do that?” 
He already knows what she is going to say, but there is a small part of him that is hoping she won’t. Her next utterance hits him harder than any strike from a sword ever has.
“I could marry you instead.”
The jut of her jaw, the look of determined defiance that is almost a silent challenge brings him back to fifteen years previous. “Take me to Dragonstone and make me your wife.” He’d felt the same dread and panic when Rhaenyra had propositioned him, and he had fled. Could he do the same to Melessa? It would be cruel to abandon her after having pursued her so avidly and actively encouraging her distaste for Aemond. But at the same time, is marrying him instead really the right thing for her?
“Is that really what you want?” he asks, searching her expression for any hint of hesitation. He sees none.
“Yes.” Her reply is instant. “I have enjoyed your company far more than I have enjoyed Aemond's. We are a better match. I know you have the power to make it happen.”
So, the delicate flower is fearless. Daemon is quietly impressed by her. He has run from what he wanted once before. He will not make the same mistake again.
“Very well,” he says, passing the bouquet back to her. “I shall make it so.”
292 notes · View notes
topbanana-art · 4 months
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Finally making an OC info post- by no means is this all of them, just ones that are most active and/or live in my head rent free.
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First up- Rhys (DnD 5e - Rime of the Frostmaiden)
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20 years Old, Half Orc, Half Elf (sweet baby angel) , He/Him
Fighter- Echo Knight
Absolute Ray of Sunshine; Rhys is from Icewind Dale; more specifically the Nomadic Reghed Tribe of the Elk.
He's unfamiliar with the outside world and even includes settlements in his own country
He's a Himbo basically a big dog.
This campaign lead him to leaving his tribe for the first time after an unfortunate accident which turned him into a small 'painted child' and searching for his missing sister. (both these are sorted now!)
*Rhys found an old oil painting of this child, blacked out and next thing he knew he was that small elf child. Her skin and clothing having the texture of painted canvas, and bleeds paint.
For a good chunk of the campaign he was just a totally normal elf- whose shadow didn't match with the body
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Dhalas (DnD 5e Annalor)
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36 Years Old, They/Him, Triton
Drunken Master Monk
Chill surfer dude vibes
Part of a travelling circus, They're a balancing act
Extremely laid back, Dhalas talks like they fight- dancing around, seemingly without rhyme or reason and occasionally clumsy.
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Foxglove (BG3)
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138 Years old (tweaked her age a lil), She/They, Drow
Arcane Trickster Rogue
Guild Artisan Background- Locksmith & Apprentice Finesmith
Chill and sassy, that Tav who talks their way out of shit.
Skews Towards Chaotic Good
Presents Androgynous most of the time
Must lockpick everything- she's not actually super interested what's inside, she just wants to see the workmanship of the locks and trashtalk how bad they are.
Yeah she's smooching the vampire. (and Halsin)
Naturally cares for others, even at the cost of her own wellbeing.
Has a Phobia of anything touching/going near her eyes- so the start of the game is A Time for Fox.
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Arslan Dhoro (FFXIV)
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21 Years Old (as of ARR), He/Them
Xaela AuRa
Dragoon - White Mage Main (All healer classes tbh)
Stoic, Resting Angry Face Himbo
He struggles to show emotion but he's just pretty shy and cautious about opening up to others.
From the Azim Steppe, he left in his early teens with his father after the death of his mother, to explore the world beyond the Steppe.
His Father Died in his late teens, attacked in Coerthas thinking he and Arslan were Dravanians.
He's extremely soft and protective for the Scions/his friends
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Shiv (DnD 5e Saltmarsh- campaign completed)
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Awful, terrible lesbian
68 years old, She/Her, Halfling
Celestial Warlock - Unicorn Patron w/ a Baby Phoenix familiar, Toby
A piece of shit. Is an absolute asshole and wont let you know she cares.
Lowkey magical girl
Ex-smuggler, who's patron is literally 'I can fix her', 'she can be a better person'. Part of the 'Beyond Skeletons' Pirate crew, she's the medic of the crew.
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Pymmyr Tathnel (DnD 5e)
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Pym
85 Years Old, He/They, Drow
Gloomstalker Ranger
Emotional Support Blink Dog, Princess Liquorice
This boy is scared all the time
Doesn't talk much, but speaks in a soft voice
Has disordered 'Sleeping' and Eating :)
His plague mask has tinted lenses to help ease the strain with how bright the surface is
I wont tell too much about them as a lot of their info is spoilers to other players. But this sad Drow just rocks up in my head on the regular.
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Erebus (Anima Beyond Fantasy)
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AKA- My first TTRPG character! circa 2011-2 I think???
Real name Sho Yoshimitsu
22 Years Old, He/Him
Duk'Zarist Nephilim
Assassin
Textbook 'strong silent and intimidating hot man'
But basically a big soft boy if you break past the mile thick ice
Tragic backstory™ , used to using his body for the job
He really enjoys cooking!
Also hopelessly in love with a small soft summoner, Caelum (the one hugging him), They're RedxBlue gays
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I think I'll leave it there for now!
I may add more later, I hope it was interesting?? and I'm still pretty shy with yelling this much about my characters haha.
Thanks for reading if you made it this far! 💜
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ROUND FIVE - MATCH SIX
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"Two Earthlings" (2003/2009 - John Brosio) / "Mouth" (2023 - Alin Dobos)
TWO EARTHLINGS: This painting makes me feel so very, very sad. I hope you will count it if its the TITLE that really gives the final effect. It being "two earthlings" feels like this wave of oh... oh both me and a dinosaur are earthlings. Despite the astronomical differences between us, despite the fact we have never met alive, we are Two Earthlings. Every once-or-currently living thing shares this earth with us. If this planet is truly the only place with life in the universe, we all share a home. (tangerinecat14)
MOUTH: In the description you said something along the lines of “art that makes you want to do unspeakable things”… well, this one definitely does. I want nothing more than to reach my hand into that mouth and touch the flesh. I want to pull at the teeth and cut my fingers on them and touch the gums. I want it to eat my hand and I want to tear chunks off of the mouth and squeeze them in my fists. The texture in this piece is amazing— the teeth look rough and sharp and the gums look soft and wet. I can easily look at this picture and imagine the textures. And the contrast between the teeth and the void of the mouth make it so enticing to reach in and want to discover what lies beyond. In sum, it makes me go feral and I just want to crumple it up and rip it apart and eat it (affectionately). (thegirlsinthecity)
("Two Earthlings" is an oil on canvas piece by John Brosio. It measures 48 x 48 in (122 x122 cm).
"Mouth" is a painting by Alin Dobos, posted to artstation in 2023.)
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x0x0josephinex0x0 · 5 months
Text
Stars & Butterflies
Summary: Minghao, an art student, has a secret identity, and you’re the only one who knows.
Content: fluff, friends to lovers, college au
I don’t think there’s any warnings needed for this one!
At the shrill sound of a whistle, the kudo athletes spring into motion. You wince as their helmets collide, imagining the sensation. After a few seconds and another whistle, the team relaxes once more, and gather around their head coach. You can’t hear what he says, but a few moments later the team shouts an unintelligible syllable and breaks apart.
You stand up, gathering your things from your seat on the bleachers. Spotting number 8 making his lone way across the field toward you, you skip down the stairs and wait by the fence. “How do you do that?” you ask Minghao as he pulls his helmet off, shaking his shaggy hair and grinning. Even right after a hard practice, he’s infuriatingly beautiful with his half-up man-bun and his caramel skin that shines with sweat.
“It’s easy,” he says, brushing the back of his hand against his forehead. “You get used to it after years of practice.”
“Well, speaking of practice,” you say, “do I finally get to see your magnum opus today?”
He gives a shy grin. “No,” he admits. “She’s not finished yet.”
You are one of the few people who knows the identity of TikTok famous “MoonMuse”, a talented artist who built an almost Banksy-like cult following through mysterious social media posts of beautifully framed art. He’d been commissioned by celebrities, politicians, millionaires and other personalities for his incredible gift with oil paint, harking back to impressionists like Van Gogh and Monet in his style.
It is, in fact, this tall, muscular young college kudo champion standing before you who is behind these art pieces. You only found out because you, a photography student with a penchant for procrastination, fell asleep in the lab, and when you woke up, you had to exit through the painting studio. He had been there at 2:30 in the morning, working on a piece, and you had instantly recognized his style.
He had gone on to explain to you how only you and one of the art professors knew the face of MoonMuse, and begged you to keep his secret. Something in his eyes — the passion, the desperation maybe — had convinced you to agree. Plus, there was nothing to gain from exposing him. It would just be mean. Then, you had asked him if you could watch.
“I can’t paint to save my life,” you had told him, “so there’s no way I could copy you.”
He gave you a half smile before nodding at the chair next to his. Turning back to the canvas, he began adding strokes to a magnificent flowered garden scene.
You had stayed there almost all night. Watching Minghao work had moved you — it was both soothing to watch and inspiring to witness the care he took with even the smallest details of the painting. Through his eyes, the world looked more colorful, more romantic, more beautiful than it really was. You found yourself wanting to live in the world he saw.
Minghao had insisted on walking you home, because you lived across campus and there was a particularly dark and dangerous street you’d needed to cross to get back to your apartment. The walk back had been full of awestruck questions from you. He seemed flattered by the attention, even remarking that since he never saw his clients in person, he never got to witness their reactions to his work.
“So why do you do it?” You’d asked, thinking about the way artistic work often relies on validation. “If not to make them happy, why paint at all?”
He looked at you, then, and laughed. “I don’t ever paint for anyone else. I paint to keep myself sane.”
This struck you as odd. It lingered with you as you worked on your own art, so much that you found yourself waiting for him every night at the painting studio. Most nights he never showed. Finally, though, he had. And, surprisingly, he seemed genuinely excited that you had met again.
This had been the night you had asked him about why he needed to paint to stay sane. Between strokes of his brush, he told you about how he had a painful tendency to give too much of himself. He rarely got to feel or process his own feelings, especially hard or negative ones. That was where painting came in. “When I paint, I get to make these painful things into something that I can look at. I get to make it beautiful so I can process it.”
He had laughed when he’d caught the expression on your face — in awe was probably the best way to put it. “I’m sorry,” You had stuttered, blushing.
“It’s okay,” he had reassured. “I…actually really enjoy how amazed you get about things like this.”
He bumped you with his shoulder comfortingly. You had looked up at him, and his gentle, open, happy smile had actually reached his eyes for the first time.
He’d walked you back again, and this had become your ritual. At the entrance to your apartment building, he’d stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm before you walked away. He’d asked for your phone number.
He’d texted you right as you’d arrived home — just to say goodnight, but also to tell you he wouldn’t be in the studio again til Friday. You had smiled at the butterfly emoji he’d used to close the text. Appropriate — since there were a flock of them in your stomach.
Today marked your 100th meeting. You’d fallen in love with him somewhere around the 33rd — you had invited him to come with you while you practiced astral photography. He had watched you set up your tripod and camera and asked a couple quiet questions, looking absolutely huggable in his puffy coat and beanie at the top of a rugged mountain. The light finally faded, and Minghao had turned his face toward the sky. “Whoa,” he’d whispered.
The sky was full of tiny pinpricks of light, never visible from the city, but here in this mountainous landscape they were clear. It was why you came here -- and part of why you'd invited him. For a moment, he stared, entirely dumbfounded.
Then he looked at you, and you had been shocked to see his eyes filled with tears.
"I've never seen stars like this before," he said, his voice almost reverent. "I couldn't have even imagined that they existed."
You watched as a tear slid down his cheek and fought back an urge to cup his face in your hands. A telltale burn behind your eyes alerted you that you might join him in crying, and you quickly hid your face behind your camera. But he looked back up at the sky, wearing the most peaceful and contented smile you'd ever seen in your life. It was hard not to stare at him. It was hard not to want to protect him from everything bad in the world. And it turned out that it was absolutely impossible not to be in love with him.
On the way back down the mountain, after the moon had risen and ruined any chance for pictures, he'd asked if he could come watch while you developed the photos. Surprised, you had told him that of course he could. There in the dark room, he told you about his life. He told you about leaving his family in China and coming to school to study art on a kudo scholarship. He told you about the bitter homesickness he felt, about how sometimes he felt so anxious about his choice that he couldn't sleep. He told you how desperately afraid he was to reveal himself to the world -- how much his peace meant to him, and how difficult it would be if he lost it.
At this, you felt your eyebrows raise. He noticed. "What?" he asked, a hint of teasing in his tone. "Am I getting a bit too moody for you?"
"No, it's not that," you reassured him. "I get feeling anxious about something that important." Then, choosing your words carefully, you said, "It's just that I don't get that last part. I don't know if you can lose peace."
Now he was the one looking at you with raised eyebrows. "Why do you say that?"
"Because," you said, looking at your hands, "peace is internal. It doesn't come from anyone but you." You forced yourself to look into his eyes. "Why aren't you at peace with yourself?" you had asked him, quietly.
"I don't know," he'd replied.
You had walked home that night in complete silence together. You had worried he was mad at you -- so worried that you turned to face him before you went inside. "Minghao, I --"
But he had stopped your apology by bringing you into a big hug. He smelled like clean laundry and the pine woods you'd left only a few hours earlier. "Don't you dare," he said with a laugh in his voice. "I'm just thinking about what you said. I'm not upset." He seemed a little quiet the next few days, but then he got better.
Indeed, today he seemed to smile much easier than he had when you'd first met him. Right now, with the fresh springtime air on his skin as you walked to his apartment next to the painting studio, he almost had a spring in his step. "You're chipper," you say to him, laughing as he grins widely at you.
"I am," he replies, opening the apartment door for you. "I'll shower and then I have something to give you."
You nod, pulling out your laptop and working on some homework while he gets cleaned off. He comes out from the bathroom looking a little flushed, his hair still wet, and you can hardly take your eyes off him. He smiles at you, patting the side of his hair with a towel. "It's at the studio," he says.
He grabs your hand, whirling you around and pulling you down the stairs to the studio. Placing both hands over your eyes, he guides you through the studio until you come to a stop. Then he lifts his hands from your eyes, placing them instead on your shoulders.
You stare at a medium-sized canvas on which he's painted the most stunningly beautiful picture you've ever seen. It's a mountaintop at night, the stars enchantingly close and vibrantly colored in shades of orange and yellow, beaming down at two small shadowy figures who seem to be gazing up at them in awe. The painting is full of priceless wonder and joy. "This...is amazing," you say, trying not to choke up.
"It's that night," he says, watching your face eagerly, almost hungrily, to discern how you're feeling. "You remember?"
"Of course," you say, nodding. You let out a big gust of air. "I honestly can't understand how you plan on topping this. This isn't your magnum opus?"
He looks at the ground shyly. "Honestly, this is a kid's crayon drawing compared to that one."
Your jaw drops. "I'm not trying to doubt your skill," you say, "but I can't imagine anything more beautiful than this." You approach the painting, almost wanting to touch it, but thinking better of it.
"I can," he says quietly behind you. You look over your shoulder to see him beaming at you. "You can touch it," he adds. "It's yours."
"Mine?" you gasp. "Minghao, I can't. I mean, this should be in an art museum."
"Crazy how it's gonna hang in your house, huh?" he says stubbornly. "Seriously, it's yours."
"What if someone asks where I got it from?"
"Tell the truth," he says. "MoonMuse."
"Then they'll know I know who you are."
He shrugs. "That's okay with me."
You grow desperate. "This is seriously too much. I wish I had somewhere beautiful to put this up, but I don't! It deserves to be seen."
"It will be seen by the eyes that matter," he insists. You blush, but then a noise at the door makes you jump.
"Hey," says a girl at the door. "What is that?"
"A painting," Minghao says tersely. "Who are you?"
But she ignores him. "Whoa," she says, pushing past you to stand right in front of the painting. You wince as she touches it with a greasy finger. "I heard MoonMuse goes to school here, but I never thought..."
"How did you hear that?" you ask, your voice sharp.
She pulls out her phone and shows you a video. It's a sneakily filmed video of Minghao painting. You are sitting in the corner watching in the video, and he says something that makes you laugh. You suddenly feel dizzy as the video cuts to a headline about MoonMuse's identity being revealed. The video says that the person filming realized it was Minghao after he saw what he was painting in his room.
The room painting flashes onto the screen, and you cover your mouth with your hands.
It's a poor-quality image of what looks like a masterpiece. The painting looks familiar. The hair, the eyes, even the nose...
It's you.
Given Minghao's impressionistic style, it's more colorful and more beautiful than you, but it's unmistakeable. He perfectly captured you caught in a laugh, with your hair blowing off your shoulder. You look at him, and he's staring at you with his mouth open in horror.
Unable to bear it, you run out of the studio, into the golden sunset, as tears sting your eyes. You haven't made it four steps before you hear him calling your name.
You whirl around to see Minghao following you. "Why did you run away?" he asks you.
"They found out," you say, panicked, as a tear splashes onto your cheek. "I'm so sorry -- I think it's my fault, Minghao."
He actually takes a step forward to brush the tear off your face. "I mean, it was kind of inevitable. I had to come forward at some point, right?" He keeps his hand on your face. "But I need to ask you something."
"What?" you ask, looking up at him.
He puts his other hand on your other cheek, cradling your face in his hands. "What did you think of the painting?" he says, looking into your eyes with an intensity that makes your stomach turn over.
You suddenly remember. "Oh," you say, and blush.
He swallows hard before continuing. "I painted my whole heart into that painting. That picture really didn't do it justice, and it really isn't finished, and I'm not thrilled that you saw it before I really figured out what to say to you."
"It was beautiful," you tell him honestly. "More beautiful than I deserve, honestly."
He tsks in disapproval. "It's you," he insists. “It’s exactly what I see when I see you.”
You are speechless. He laughs a little at your expression before continuing. “That day on the mountain, and after in the dark room, I saw that you had been healing something you didn’t hurt. I don’t remember ever feeling this cared for, and that means a lot to me.” He pulls you in so your noses are almost touching. “Please stay with me.”
You feel yourself trembling at the closeness of him - surprised that although you’ve spent a stupid amount of time daydreaming about having him hold you like this, it still feels so new and crazy and wonderful. You nod. “Okay.”
He smiles - brilliant, blinding. You can no longer resist reaching for him — feeling the warmth of his cheek against your fingers, brushing his soft hair from his temple, just like you’d imagined but better, and Minghao spins you around in giddy joy.
He sets you down, your faces still close together. You both look at each other with huge smiles, and he uses a finger to tilt your chin up. His eyes drop to your lips and then back to your eyes — a question.
You answer without speaking, just smiling into his eyes. He moves in, slowly, giving a brief but impossibly sweet kiss. His arms tighten around your waist as the kiss deepens. You feel a knot of tension in your chest dissolve, and you melt into him, kissing him back with gusto. Throwing your arms around his neck, you let him kiss you into oblivion.
It seems like several days before you finally stop, standing with foreheads together, breathing each other in. “I love you,” he whispers.
“I love you back,” you whisper in return.
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