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flowergirlmiwa · 8 months

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my personal relationship with the pokemon stadium series and the leadup to my pokemon stadium japan blogging

my personal relationship with the pokemon stadium series

Pokemon Stadium was the first game i remember owning for Nintendo 64, the first home console i properly owned as the Sega Genesis was my dad's. i played it aaallll the time back then, but i didn't make that much progress into the cups, just one or two of the easier ones and maybe up to lt surge but that was all i could muster. my dad still jokes about it to this day. "what's the matter, trainer?" i literally left the game on for days at his house

like i alluded to in my previous post, while i did have a transfer pak and pokemon games, the transfer pak was prone to failing when the controller it's inserted into is moved and i move all the time so i was fucked as i only owned one controller. i actually only owned the one n64 controller (blue) until around 2012 when i bought a shitty third party one just to make multiplayer even POSSIBLE. before then i reached multiple moments where i regretted the lack of additional n64 controllers. with my modern wisdom, a transfer pak controller is simply left to the side to sit and look pretty after getting it set up so the game will recognize it.

as i also alluded to, in late 2002 i forgot a game case including my game boy color and almost all of my games (sparing solely Pokemon Trading Card Game, which, based, but,) on a bus during my first weeks living in Mexico. needless to say this blew as i had only recently managed to procure pokemon silver and thus complete my collection of all pokemon games on the game boy color (even the spinoffs). losing my collection also included such games as super mario bros deluxe and game and watch gallery 2 so yeah it fucking sucked it was a huge shame.

after this i didn't get another pokemon gen 1 or 2 cartridge until around 2009. adding to this, despite renting it multiple times and always very much desiring it, i never actually got a copy of Pokemon Stadium 2 until around 2019. this left pokemon stadium in sort of a weird position for me. rentals only.

truth be told it wasn't the entire reason but pokemon stadium was a pretty big motivator in me collecting those pokemon cartridges back and taking me on the journey i went on where i can say i 100% completed both and now knock on the door of the japanese entries. but it was a long dark lonely road until then. basically a decade where every now and then id pick it up again. same old menus. same old pokemon stadium. like this game was baked into my dna at this point. there was one change, however, an inciting incident. 2017. when i discovered that speedrunner werster had basically compiled optimal rental teams during his runs and watched the points where he struggled, it gave me the motivation to pick the game back up again.

basically the rest went like this -i eventually finished R1 of stadium using werster's teams -i bought a cartridge of Pokemon Yellow to help me through the rest -with the power of using my own team through Yellow, complete R2 of Stadium -bought Stadium 2 -complete most of R1 and maybe a little R2 in Stadium 2 using Yellow -acquire Pokemon Gold cartridge -complete a bunch of R2 using Yellow & Gold's combined efforts (i think i also got Blue before Gold but honestly i don't really remember lol) -only Challenge Cup is left in R2 and i put off doing it -learn how to solder and ensure all my game boy cartridges will have good batteries, encouraging me to buy more cartridges, like for Silver and Crystal -i get 151 in Yellow partly thanks to abusing Trainer-Fly glitch -i buy an N64 Everdrive -with the power of this everdrive i can play the japanese stadium games without shelling out for the real game and doing cartridge magic on them to region-break them -i buy a cartridge for pocket monsters red version and begin formulating ideas for how to play pokemon stadium japan -i build the team and the moves that were used many months later when i got around to actually implementing it, only really changed since i somehow didn't have the TM for explosion or ice beam -eventually i decide to also get a cartridge for pocket monsters silver after realizing i would need some method to trade in order to use an alakazam like i had planned -in the meantime i finally get around to finishing R2 of Pokemon Stadium 2 by getting some good runs on Challenge Cup -after several months of getting around to progressing my japanese!silver cartridge to the point where it can trade with japanese!red, i start assembling the puzzle pieces of capturing team members -reliving the teambuilding from the yellow days, i abuse the missingno glitch in red to get 99 of every good item to streamline the process -i completed up to ultra ball on the LV1-30 on pokemon stadium japan -i begin blogging….!

NEXT: THE REAL TEAM INTRODUCTIONS FOR REAL THIS TIME!!!! tauros exeggutor lapras starmie alakazam pikachu

#my post #pokemon stadium blog

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elaine4queen · 1 year

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I’m in Dublin and in a lot more company than I’m used to when writing. I forgot I’d joined Brighton Wrimo, but here I am and I’m in it. Suddenly everything is on Discord and because it was designed for gamers it’s really powerful. Terri’s on the other bed doing her thing, and I’m writing when I didn’t expect to be because other people are, too.

I have no idea if any of this will be usable but I’m going to do it anyway because here I am doing it.

I think this is mainly a group for fiction writers but I’m crashing it because I think they’ll let me and I am sure they’ll kick me out or I won’t want to be here if I don’t fit.

I arrived on Friday and Terri was at her conference on Decolonising the Internet and didn’t get back till late. Yesterday was the last day of the conference so I was on my own in Dublin. I had canvased opinion about what to do here, but found my pick accidentally, just because Belette happened to post about how Francis Bacon’s studio had been reconstructed in Dublin.

Reading about it I discovered that this was not the work of a curator, but a conservator, and it wasn’t just art conservationists who worked on it but a team of archaeologists who mapped the studio and it’s 7000 objects in three dimensions so that the replication would be precise.

I didn’t quite trust my phone to map my journey properly so I wrote myself some directions - go past 6 bridges then turn left, and the gallery is just past the hospital.

On my walk I passed statuary commemorating famine and struggle, protestors on hunger strike for homelessness, and a small but noisy protest about something with shouting and megaphones. This struck me not only because I haven’t been in a city centre for a long while, not even my own, but also because in the UK protest itself is no longer legal.

I walked at a clip, and arrived at the gallery ready to sit down and take a moment. I asked at reception where the installation was and got a map. I walked through a few rooms housing a permanent collection of mostly general European stuff, with no particular theme. Ahead of me was a sliding glass door with the words Francis Bacon Studio etched in it in something like Helvetica, lit in the orange glow of a Quality Street toffee.

The space is arranged around the installation of the room, which can be looked into only through the doorway or the site of the original windows. So the walls are walls. You can’t see it straight away, you have to go up some steps, then there’s a projection of an interview in the studio with Bacon talking to Melvyn Bragg. He talks about his studio, what he likes about it, and his relationship with the chaos. Behind the projection you can glimpse the entrance to the room. The door into the studio and the windows into the studio are sealed in glass so the whole thing is a vitrine, and the light comes from the daylight that comes through the skylights in the roof of the studio then the gallery’s own skylights. So you are seeing the room as though you were approaching it in real life.

In Ways of Seeing John Berger said

The days of pilgrimage are over

He could not have been more wrong.

He was talking in 1972, at a certain point in the proliferation of imagery and it’s reproduction, and he was expanding on Walter Benjamin’s 1936 essay, and he could not have known what we know now. His argument was that the more images come to you the less you need to go to them.

For me, though, in this moment in 2022, I was time travelling to Bacon’s studio at the time of his death in 1992. As far as the conservator, Mary McGrath, and her team could make it, this is time travel made concrete. The vitrine which holds the entire room including floor, walls, and ceiling, has a small entrance which you can stand in, where the floor is under your feet, the hinge of the door and the door is on your right, and a dressing gown and some towels are right next to you on your left, and the famous scene is before you. But in front of you, above you, and on either side is glass.

Tears formed in my eyes.

I made my way around the room and looked in the windows. I sat on the floor and took photos. I wandered back round to the projection room again and allowed the soothing tones of Bragg and Bacon talking and sat in the space.

When I was sure that I’d have it to myself I approached the doorway. There is the handle that Bacon touched to open the door. There is the iconic round de-silvered mirror with paint smears around it on the wall.

I couldn’t take much more in. I almost took photographs instead of looking. I had no reason to stay in the gallery, and there wasn’t anything else I wanted to see. Terri had messaged to tell me where we were supposed to be meeting later and it wasn’t nearby or soon, so I walked slowly back to the hotel.

I set myself up for yoga on the floor. I took one of those weird decorative runners they put on beds in hotels and lay it on the floor in place of a yoga mat. I wrapped pillows in towels for bolsters, and took two small cushions off chairs for props.

I lay on the floor and tears slid out. Then I headed inwards and down and down in supported twists, meeting my own body in this moment on this mat now.

When Terri came back and said she was sorry but she couldn’t handle the end of conference meal I was ready to go, but glad to stand down.

#nanowrimo #francis bacon #artists studio #dublin #ireland #orignal writing #actually neurodivergent #john berger #walter benjamin

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cybermeep · 1 month

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art exhibit & exhibition — a small recollection, in presumably crude order

i get there early. exhibit starts at 1– i arrive around 12:30 or so. the solitude before the event starts is immensely comforting. take a glance around at all the pieces in the exhibit i am primarily there for. i don’t do a detailed take of all of them, really— only a few. see a denim piece & self portrait & other things, all absolutely beautiful. the childlike wonder and joy of the pieces made by the younger children was something i hadn’t felt in a long time. smiled for a about 85% of the entire visit. went and saw other exhibitions, took photos of anything which left me awestruck or effected. accidentally forgot some photos of a couple of these, but nonetheless amazing. unable to describe them or how they affected me; all the emotions of the event are capsulated in the event, in that specific area of time. one in particular drew me in— portrait of a girl. looked almost like myself. something about it was beautiful, but soul-crushing. made me realize i wasn’t alone.

one piece in particular, a small architectural creation of a room. didn’t sit inside it, but wanted to. was afraid i was too big… still, found it fascinating. the younger children at the event loved it.

main event starts— crowds of people. generally older in age. meet a few artists— several. see some educator art on display. like the clay piece about burrels (?) in trees; talked about this last year with him, actually. saw him (mr b, shorthand) make it a bit last year. talk to a girl who has two paintings of herself on display. her outfit is absolutely beautiful, something soft and elegant— don’t explicitly state either of these things, just say she looks nice. talk with her about different materials and her sustained investigation. after our conversation, we don’t seem to meet again— still, i wish her well.

i get to make two connections— two artists. one two years younger, one same age. both have interesting outfits. one made her hoodies design herself, other wore an arachnid necklace around her neck. small group of individuals. meet another person later on, a person wearing a hatsune miku shirt. doe like eyes and very soft face. pretty in every sense of the word— of course, i don’t tell them this; just an observation. one of the people i made connections with talks of how they labeled her piece wrong with materials. huh. i get each of their contacts— they leave soon enough. i am the last of the three to leave. unsure when they go.

i get two papers, one pamphlet and other a telling of what pieces are in the gallery along with their creators. feel a sense of déjà vu. and, also like the first time, i neatly fold up the paper and put it in my pocket. on a second glance, long after i have left, i realize i should have probably grabbed extras. if only.

head tilted, i bring my teacher beside me and ask if a certain label is correct. he hums and says hes unsure. insert human mumbling & different sound pitches to one another & an awkward sentence of sorts. i don’t find it funny, regard it as… almost a joke at my expense. he doesn’t seem to realize this; if he does, maybe it is meant as something lighthearted. i find myself reeling, just slightly, feeling bad about the way events go and have gone about. silently, i wish for things to be different. for life to get better. i try to move on from the interaction. i do, eventually.

cake for the event; had the vanilla side. sweet, crushingly sweet. had cranberry and mango as a juice combination… surprisingly, not bad. not at all. made a two dollar donation & bought a small book & sticker at the gift shop. expensive items; makes full sense, i just don’t have money. book is about organisms one may find on marsh lands & whatnot in the area. excited to read it. more like a little pamphlet..

once i walked out, took a small detour to see some of the sculptures outside. light rain, comforting. i appreciate the solitude contrasting with the loud & crowded aspects of the event when it was in motion. sat on a small marble bench as i awaited my mothers arrival. reminded of comedic notes i made in my notes app, reminded of the days events and presences. the heaviness of my earrings weighs (hah) on me. one of the sun, one of the moon; outfit meticulously picked. wanted to look good, perfect if possible. unable to ever be perfect. i am.. not made for that. still, i managed to look okay. wore a black blazer & my other fish shirt. outfit went together well. felt flustered by the compliments on said earrings. i am not used to being noticed like this, noticed in general.. feel almost unworthy of it all.

on the ride home, passed by train tracks & an expanse area where a few transmission towers lay standing. have a childhood memory of the place, if not that one then a place similar, going with a man who was a friend of a brother of a girl of a child of a… you know, long list. essentially, friend of a family friend. name was chris, if i remember right. short brown hair, blue eyes & a beard. early 20s. walked with child me among the transmission towers and pebbled walkways which weren’t actual walkways. awestruck by their size and beauty, amazed i was allowed to go this far. logistically, probably trespassing. visited a small pond with him. swam in the water in all my clothes; no swimsuit brought, as that wasnt to be expected. interacted with another boy at this small pond. don’t remember anything about him, just remember it was a small hideaway of sorts. chris brought a towel; walked back to the house in damp clothes, yet smiling the entire time. the first time i felt free, possibly. i was never uncomfortable during the exchange; he was one of the few men in my early life that didn’t have any hints of lingering discomfort or creepiness to them. simply a nice fellow.

on the ride home, after recalling the memory, i look outside my window and at the roads i have long traveled on. same roads, same routes. how long have things been like this? i find myself violently distressed at the thought. i have always been aware other people live in my vicinity, but the realization at this point in time leaves me reeling and suddenly emotionally vulnerable. i don’t know what to do with this, nor what to say that would accurately describe what this entailed. in the end, i calm down; chalk everything up to coincidence.

i don’t believe in it, but it is the only thing i can do; lest i have my worldview turned upside down and absolutely shattered.

#cybers tangents

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xtrablak674 · 3 months

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knitboy1

I will be the first to admit it takes less than a blow of the wind for me to get a crush on a man. I have had probably thousand of crushes, some for seconds others spanning years that never reached any kind of fruition. Frankly, I love a crush, its a parasocial relationship that is occurring in your head. #lol The hardest thing can be actually meeting that person if its a digital crush, or for IRL crushes the person calling you out over the crush, or in some instances ignoring it completely and doing things like lifting you up in a bear hug in the reception area of your job! #CJstopthat

John was one of many folks I followed and who followed me back on my old Flickr account (before SmugMug deleted it, with no cause or warning). I think the kids call it mutuals now, and there is an entire subculture about the relationships folks have with their mutuals. These were some of the things playing out with me and a lot of my Flickr mutuals. There was this British guy who was a bit more aggressive and verbal in his feelings, and I would be telling a whole-ass lie if I said I didn't encourage him.

But knitboy1 was a local Brooklyn artist and albeit I am not a fan of plugs, I not only loved his artistic vibe but I thought he was attractive. I could see myself dating him. He was giving you an anti-hipster early Williamsburg vibe, even though he lived in I think Bushwick, a neighborhood that boarded Willysburg. He didn't seem like someone who was outside of my reach, he was attractive but not at a level that I thought he would be slumming in being with me.

Sixteen years ago he actually came to visit me, it was a chaste visit. Both of us with our cameras his a Nikon, mines a Canon the duopoly of camera companies photographers usually falling on one side or another. I can't recall the specifics or the goal of our meeting, it was surely not a sexual rendezvous no matter how much I would have liked that, I think it was a more plutonic meeting of us just exploring what the other was about in person. And most importantly to see if there was any spark, well at least for me.

Alas there wasn't, even though he referred to me as 'handsome' in one of the two photos he posted of me in his streams tags. I wasn't sad as much as disappointed. Sometimes the fantasy in your head seems so real that you wish it would spill over into reality. But most times this is never the case.

Sitting in my window seat doing my morning reading, the last thing I thought of doing was writing a journal entry, but I had opened a new browser window and found this website of knitboy1 and took a look around and seeing on the contact page the reason I couldn't find him on the remaining Flickr account I have is because I forgot the 'one' on his screen-name, it wasn't just knitboy, it was knitboy1. #bingo

I took forty minutes to go through his stream fav'ing photos I had long ago liked, screenshotting a couple of models I still found hot, the bulk of them being his self-portraits. I clearly still find him attractive. It looks like 2017 was the last time he used his Flickr account like so many of us who felt so close during our time in the early and mid-aughts, the platform passing through so many hands since the originators, so many changes and upheavals, we had collectively moved on from this platform which at one time in my life took up so much of my bandwidth.

There were many friendships made during that time, folks that I actually met IRL. My time on the platform gave me the confidence to have a short-lived visual arts artistic career taking my work from a digital space to hang on the walls of brick and mortar galleries and museums all over the country and the world. I had fond memories of this photo-based social media network and not even the deletion of my account could dismiss these warm feelings.

Wanting to get back to reading and sucking up this vitamin D this morning, I decided to send knitboy1 one of the photos I took of him during our all to brief meeting. I had edited it recently for content for my DA account. He hasn't responded yet, and he may not, but you can never know if you don't try. #🤷🏿‍♂️

[Photo by Brown Estate, Bottom Photos by John Brinegar]

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wroteonedad · 2 years

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Indelicacy - Amina Cain review

it is the midst of a heatwave in england. i have blown my weekly paycheck on a collection of cds, despite not owning a cd player to play said cds on. i am sitting on my balcony on a hot, muggy evening. i am sipping iced tea and listening to my designated playlist and i decide to finish the book, a book i've had to start reading for the second time bc i put it down for so long that i forgot what even happened in the story. i restarted the book and finished reading it within the same week, a new record for me. the book itself is just over 150 pages and a new chapter starts on every page, so it is not exactly a book that is super long and requires my whole brain to think about what is happening all the time. this book is indelicacy by Amina Cain. i must have picked up this book about a year ago, i was doing that thing where i told myself if i pick up a book and buy it then it will get me back into reading and i'll be reading all the time, it didn't, i'm slow. and i'm also a little bit of a snob for buying books, if the cover doesn't look aesthetically pleasing then i simply will not buy the book. i'm also a sucker for any book where the blurb mentions a pretentious snotty woman living in the city who likes art. this book follows the narrative of said snotty rich woman in the city who used to work in a gallery, moves in with her new rich husband, got to quit her job, has a live in maid and spends all her time writing reviews and mini stories on pieces of art that she sees in a gallery. until she stumbles on a new hyperfixation and decides to write about something different.

i enjoyed the mystery of this book. not because the book itself was a mystery, but the main character of the book is the mystery. the whole book reminds me of a young woman trying to figure out who she is and where she wants to be. she tells her story through the people she befriends, the husband she hates and the house maid she hates even more.

i feel like it encompasses the events that happen and the things the main protagonist sees around her, but in real time. it is reflective of how a human doesn't remember every single thing that happens in a day, but she mentions the key events she lived through and documented how it was. and it just feels very,,, real for that. she speaks of positives, of negatives, of leaving her job, her favourite memory sharing a drink with her friend in a bar and holidays. all small joys she reflects back on. she is such a mystery that you only learn her name within the last 40 pages of the book, where the story hits its climax. as soon as the reader finds out what her name is, it is like she has finally figured out who she is and what she wants out of her life. the entire vibe, maybe vibe isn't the best way to describe it, but the vibe and the pace of the story changes. so many events unfold in such a short section of the book that it becomes impossible to put the book down. i was left turning the page anticipating for what was going to come next. i don't get that very often, and i was grateful to finally feel that connection and way with the book.

the work is a perfectly generic and also easy feminist story. there is no difficult theme to follow and you don't typically have to read between the lines to figure out what the narrative is about. the story keeps it short and sweet, while being straight to the point and punchy. if you are someone who is new to modern feminist literature, then i could not recommend this book more. it is a perfect little read for when you're a little confused with the world and you don't know what you want. a perfect little read for when you need to distract yourself from the hot sticky heatwave happening at the moment. i'm not sure about everyone else, but there is nothing better than reading a chapter of a book and the author is going into great detail about the winter weather and how cold and dark everything is, it takes my mind away from the fact that it's hot and sticky, even if just for a little while.

#amina cain #book club #books #feminism #feminst literature #literature #review #art

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨2

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) nothing as yet.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: Thank you for your positive response to this one! I hope you enjoy what I have in store.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Your Spotify list of redundant tracks flowed through the apartment as you sat typing at your small desk in the corner of the front room. The boxy space was as oppressive as any office space, another reason for your voluntary work at the gallery. Vanessa let you in the studio to paint. Without the privilege, you wouldn’t have the space for your easel.

You stretched your fingers and rubbed your eyes. You felt dizzy from staring at the screen, even with night mode on. The work was monotonous and made you restless. You wanted a pencil or brush in hand, a canvas before you, not this blaring laptop. You yawned and took a sip of your lukewarm water.

Your phone vibrated from across the room and you checked the time. Your lunch started soon but no one was really keeping track. As long as you got your assignments done, it didn’t matter when you chewed on toast and disassociated.

You got up and grabbed your phone from the corner table and leaned against the arm of the couch. You remembered how Marcus woke up there and grumbled as he lifted his head in pain. You couldn’t really feel bad for him going into work hungover. He embarrassed you and it didn’t quite sink in until after Clark left you to stare down at your drunk boyfriend.

An unknown number showed on your screen and you answered tentatively, ready to hang up at the first sales pitch. Your name came from the speaker and you recognized the deep voice in an instant. It took you back to the night before and the canvas hung on the wall.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Clark said, “I only just had the paintings hung and I thought… well, I thought you might like to come see them in their new home.”

“Um…” you chewed your thumb, uncertain how to respond.

“Sorry, I know I can be a bit… to the point,” he laughed at himself, “how are you?”

“I’m good, just… taking a break.”

“You working?”

“Yeah, but I work from home,” you said as you touched the side of your neck, “I could… I could come see them but it might be a while before--”

“When are you finished work?” he asked bluntly.

“Four but I… maybe another day.”

“I don’t mean to be pushy but I did have something else to speak with you about,” he said, “a commission, like I mentioned.”

“Oh?”

“I kinda wanna get it started sooner than later, it will probably be pretty time-consuming,” he explained and you heard a clink and a soft sip, “I don’t wanna get into details on the phone but I promise, you will be compensated nicely.”

“You can’t wait until tomorrow?” you wondered.

“I suppose I can but it’d have to be during the day,” he responded, “why don’t you take some time to figure it out and get back to me by two? You can text me through this number.”

“Erm, sure,” you said uneasily, “I’m sorry, it’s just… very sudden, I don’t--”

“You can bring the boyfriend,” he said casually, “if you like.”

“He won’t be… home,” you said carefully, “I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

“I look forward to hearing from you,” he replied, “have a good day.”

“You, too,” you said and the line died.

You put your phone down and took a moment. Good things rarely happened to you. You struggled so long it was hard to think that might change. The skeptic in you told you there was something behind it all. That it couldn’t possibly be your art.

You went back to your computer and sighed as you waved away the screensaver with your mouse. The blinking cursor made you want to believe it was your big break.

🎨

You texted Clark at one and at four, you were in an Uber. Marcus drove his car to work and you stuck to buses and the underground when you could. The address was at least an hour out, the house among those estates on the edge of the city reserved for the upper echelon. You’d only ever seen the sprawling yards on your way to the next town.

When the car finally turned up the drive and you passed beyond a low brick wall, you felt entirely out of your depth. You tipped the Uber but didn’t feel too bad with the check from Vanessa sitting soundly in your account. You clutched the strap of your bag and walked along the curve of the brick work towards the stairs.

“Hey,” you stopped as Clark called to you, your ankle still tender from the night before.

You glanced over as he came out of the large garage and peeled off a pair of leather gloves. He smiled as he tucked them into his jacket pocket. You watched him and played with the clasp on your bag.

“Just got back from a drive,” he said, “I almost got carried away. I’m glad you made it.”

“Yeah, no problem,” you replied.

“Well, come on, let me show you around,” he waved behind you towards the front doors, “we’ll go on a tour and then we can talk details.”

“Wow,” you uttered mindlessly as you climbed the stairs to the door but kept the weight on your uninjured ankle, “this place is huge.”

“My contractor went a little crazy,” he scoffed, “but I can’t complain.”

He led you through the doors and directed you to the left. In the front room, your work was hung along the opposite wall, arranged in a way that drew the eye to them. You stepped closer and peered up at your work with a hint of awe. They looked even better in a place like that.

“I had my interior designer make the final call on where to hang them,” he explained, “I hope you don’t mind, I gave her your details. She said she had clients who might be interested in your work.”

“Really?” you breathed, “that’s… too nice.”

“Oh yeah? One day, you’ll be sick of rich pricks like me,” he grinned, “I’ll show you the pool, that’s usually the main attraction.”

“Sounds good,” you said as you followed but he paused and watched your stunted gait.

“I forgot, we can go slow,” he offered, “how’s the ankle?”

“I’ll make do,” you affirmed as you neared him, “just need to get my steps in.”

🎨

As you finished the tour of the second floor, you slowed along the long hall and admired the work of artists you only ever saw in museums. You couldn’t help but be enamoured by the historic blots of paint. You almost forgot where you were as you leaned in to read the initials beneath the pastel flowers.

“So,” Clark’s voice brought you back, you almost blanked him out entirely in your mind, “I think you might have noticed the empty space above the fireplace in the front room. I was hoping you could fill it.”

“Oh?” you looked at him and smiled nervously, “did you have something in mind? A landscape or--”

“Well, your portraits are great. I like the old world style. I was hoping you might do one of… me,” he suggested, “I know, it’s vain but why not?”

“I mean, yeah, I could do that,” you said.

“I’ll pay hourly plus materials,” he continued, “three hundred an hour.”

You almost choked at the number. You blinked and swallowed through your surprise.

“Even a small portrait would take at least twelve hours,” you warned, “are you sure?”

“I know it’s a lot of time for you, so… I was thinking, if you have to miss work, I’ll factor it into your rate. I would really like to get the project started as soon as we can,” he put his hand on his hip as he looked down at you, “the only thing I need from you is a list of materials. I’ll have them waiting for you here.”

“Here?”

“Well, yeah, I figure it makes most sense,” he turned his palm out.

“Hmm, sure, I prefer my own brushes but… you know I can just buy the stuff myself--”

“Ah, no, I want it to be perfect. You send me a list and I’ll have my assistant go out and get it all ready,” he assured, “How does Sunday sound?”

“Sunday?” you blanched. That was two days away.

“Like I said, Marcus is more than welcome to come with you,” he offered, “I’d hate to keep you from him too long.”

“I guess Sunday works,” you squeaked, “I’ll talk to Marcus.”

“Great,” he said coolly, “well, that’s business. How about a drink to seal the deal?”

“I don’t know, I should probably get back,” you fiddled with your bag against your hip.

“One drink won’t hurt,” he said, “go on, call the boyfriend and let him know you won’t be much longer.”

“I… thanks,” you murmured.

“You’re humble for an artist,” he joked as he sidled by you, “once you grow an ego, you’ll be unstoppable.” He neared the stairs as you turned to watch him, “I’ll be at the bar, waiting. You like gin?”

“Sure,” you answered as you pulled out your phone, “I’ll see you down there.”

🎨

When you told Marcus about your new side gig, he was even more excited than you. You were anxious and slightly hesitant. You hated to jump in feet first and risk losing more than a few tubes of paint. What if the work wasn’t good enough?

Marcus was more than willing to come with you when you told him about the size of the place. He knew by the area that it was extravagant. You sat in the passenger seat with the most expensive bottle of wine you’d ever bought cradled between your legs. You hated to show up empty handed after all of Clark’s generosity.

Marcus got lost and went down the wrong driveway before you righted your course. As you drove up, you were once more overcome from the rich rosebuds and sparkling fountain at the centre of the mosaic. You gripped the neck of the bottle and got out as Marcus whistled in awe.

“You weren’t kidding. This place is fucking nuts,” he swore, “I should’ve worn the tux from my brother’s wedding.”

“Please, Marcus,” you rolled your eyes, “let’s both try not to break anything.”

“You’re the clumsy one,” he chirped, “shit, you’re so lucky. You get to hang out here and paint all day? God, I wish I had an ounce of artistic talent. I’d trade it for code in a minute.”

You climbed the steps and clanged the large knocker on the right door. You waited a moment before an answer came and Clark appeared on the other side and beckoned you inside. He smiled as he shook Marcus’ hand.

“Thanks for joining us,” he said, “I would’ve felt awful stealing your girlfriend on the weekend like this.”

“Are you kidding me? She said you had a pool and I snuck the swim shorts into the backseat,” Marcus chuckled and you nudged him with your elbow.

“See?” Clark arched a brow, “the pool is always the seller.”

“Here,” you said as you held out the bottle of red, “for everything you’ve done and welcoming us into your home.”

“Ohhh,” he took the bottle and looked over the label, “I got a spot for this right behind the bar. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I brought my brushes,” you patted the canvas bag on your shoulder.

“Mmm, yeah, well, I’ll just put this away and we’ll give Marcus the grand tour. Then I’ll get you situated,” he assured and rushed off.

He returned and pointed Marcus through to the front room, “you’ll see, just over here,” he directed him to your paintings.

“Oh, wow, babe,” Marcus marveled at the hung portraits, “you really did it.”

You smiled bashfully and Clark peeked over at you and winked. You squirmed as your cheeks burned and you turned away as he beckoned Marcus past the mantle.

“It’s a big place,” Clark said, “I’d like to get you started before noon.”

Clark led you along the same path as days before and slowed as you came back to the top of the stairs. He turned back and clapped his hands together.

“Marcus, if you wanna hop in the pool, we’re gonna start just in there,” he pointed to the one door you hadn’t looked through, “that’s the studio.”

“What about you?” Marcus asked.

“Well, I’ll be a part of the process so I’m afraid I will be just as busy but if you need anything, Nina, she has a crooked nose and mean mouth but don’t let her fool you, she’ll get you whatever you need,” he said, “just don’t track in water from the pool or she’ll string you up.”

“Oh, well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Some alone time in the sun and a pool,” Marcus grinned, “I really couldn’t ask for anything else… except you, babe.”

“Sure,” you scoffed, “go, have fun.”

Marcus kissed you quickly and thanked Clark again before he excitedly barreled down the steps. You scratched your neck as you looked back to your host, and you guessed, your new boss.

“I’m sorry about him. He can be such a kid sometimes,” you said.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he waved it off, “so, you ready to see your workspace? I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Also, a bit last minute so it’s not perfect… yet.”

“Uh, yeah,” you answered, “can’t wait.”

He motioned you over to the tall dusty rose doors and hooked his fingers in the slotted handles. He slid them open and revealed an airy room with a tall ceiling and long windows. An easel stood facing the sun streaked glass, an immense canvas bigger than yourself, bigger than him, propped up on it. There was a ladder nearby and the table was set with a rainbow of paints and a large pallet.

Your lips parted as you neared the easel and stared up at the canvas, “you were right, it’s gonna be a lot of work.”

“I hope it’s not too much,” he said, “but you name your price. We’ll make it work.”

“No, no, I think for what you’re paying, I’ll do just fine,” you put your bag down daintily on the table, “so, uh, a portrait, I guess that means…”

Your voice trailed off as he went to the upholstered chair across the room, at an angle so you could see him from your vantage. Behind it, hung a velvet curtain to add to the scene and a bust on a pedestal. It felt surreal, like a dream.

You turned and pulled out the brushes, “I think you’ll get more tired than me, just sitting there.”

“I’ll make it through,” he assured as he sat, “is there anyway you’d like me to sit? Chin up, or…”

“Hmmm,” you turned to look at him, “I think… if you just put your shoulders back and… did you want a profile or--”

“I was thinking front-facing,” he stared at you steadily, unflinching as his eyes stuck to you, “just like this.”

“Perfect,” you said nervously and looked back to the table.

There was water to rinse your brushes, rags, pencils, blending sticks; everything you needed and more. You took a pencil from the bunch and pulled over the ladder. You climbed up and looked over at Clark as he sat stoic and still. He looked picturesque in real life, you expected paint would only lend to his figure.

His eyes met yours and you turned to start tracing the basic shapes onto the canvas. You had to stop and steady your hand as you did. His gaze made it hard not to tremble.

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #dark fic #fic #dark!fic #series #portrait of a dangerous man #dc #dcu #au #mob au #mob!au #superman

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absolutepokemontrash · 3 years

Text

The Brothers and Side Characters Play the Sims

I don’t know what possessed me to make this but WHATEVER. I’ve been playing the Sims since I was a wee little girl, and I’ve seen my fair share of weird Sims stuff that I feel would fit these bozos perfectly.

My Sims have a Functional Family Life Because I Don’t (Lucifer)

God dammit Levi’s obsessed with another game... ugh.

Spends 5 minutes in Create-a-Sim and hops into a starter home.

Lucifer’s the type to start with all the average stuff and then build their stuff up as his sim gets promotions.

It’s just... so peaceful...

...he’s adopting a dog.

Look at his new little virtual family... his sim-kids are self sufficient and getting A’s in school, his Sim spouse MC or Diavolo take your pick loves his Sim-self, his sim-dog-

WAIT NO- THE DOG’S AN ELDER?!

AAAAAAAAAAAAA-

...

He’s fine. It was just a virtual dog. *sniffle*

He’s now spending his free time drinking Demonus and playing the Sims.

What’s a mod? Levi why does your sim have gun?

Behold, My Gorgeous Home... It’s a Box (Mammon)

Mammon, like the rest of the HOL, is mooching off of Levi’s Origin account.

“AW SHIT! This house looks awesome! I’m gonna build it for Sim-me to live in!”

Mammon proceeds to build a box with rooms. Yay...

He just picks the funnest sounding job if he picks any job at all for his Sim. That’s how he ended up making 9 dollars an hour in the criminal career.

Didn’t stop Mammon from buying that solid gold bathroom set from Get Famous... a box with solid gold bathrooms.

His Sim is broke send help-

“Leviiiiiii my sim needs money... the people my sim kidnapped and is forcing to paint aren’t making enough money...” “Ugh... press control shift C and type ‘motherlode’.”

...Levi made a mistake.

“FUCK YEAH! MOTHERLODE!”

His sim’s life is so chaotic, he has a piranha pool that his sim has almost died in twice, the sim is carrying on several torrid love affairs, his sim got struck by lightning, his sim has nearly died in a grilled cheese making accident twice... in the same day.

At least once Sim-Mammon and Sim-MC get married things calm down a little.

Mammon finds out what custom content is and proceeds to download EVERYTHING HE CAN FIND.

And now he’s asking Levi why his computer is running so slow.

Expansion Pack King (Leviathan)

He got into it back when the Sims 2 was new, he’s a veteran fan.

“Bro remember when Agnes Crumplebottom would show up and whack the shit out of your sims if they were flirting?”

“Remember when that witch would show up randomly on the lot you were on if you had Makin’ Magic?”

“Remember when Bella Goth was abducted by aliens and we just... didn’t question it?”

He whines about the Sims4 and how crappy it is but still buys every expansion pack, game pack, and stuff pack.

This boy watches like 40 hours of built tutorials and ends up sobbing over his weird roofs.

“WHY DOESN’T IT LOOK AS NICE AS THE ONE I’M LOOKING AT?! THIS ISN’T FAIR!”

The mod folder is so full istg-

Levi gets custom content for the sole purpose of making his favourite fictional characters.

This is why Henry and the Lord of Shadows are married and Ruri-chan and Sim-Levi are roommates.

Oh my god they were roommates-

Levi also added his brothers to the world and uh... Sim-Mammon died in a tragic pool accident F.

Levi then proceeded to befriend the Grim Reaper.

He’s anxiously awaiting the release of Paralives.

Wait Gameplay? In This Build Simulator? (Satan)

Satan’s here to build and leave. Gameplay who?

Our favourite bundle of rage is a master architect and the amount of followers on the Gallery he has shows it.

He takes up those build shell challenges and always ends up making them look positively perfect.

Asmo’s always using his houses, and Satan often takes requests when he gets bored.

No Mammon, he reserves the right to refuse to build a golden castle for you- YOUR SIM HAS 40 SIMOLEONS-

No mods, no CC, he’s building with what EA gave him.

...and EA gave him debug objects, and he’s not going to explain how to get them.

The one time he did actually play with a family... it was one sim and seven cats.

He tries to play without cheats... and ends up getting frustrated and turns on cheats.

All hail the Pets Expansion Pack.

Custom Content Soap Opera (Asmodeus)

Asmo spends 5 hours in Create a Sim then just... clicks out of the game.

That’s how it goes most of the time, buuuuuut when he gets super invested in a family he’s made, boy howdy is he INVESTED.

Sim A is carrying on an affair with Sim C who’s in love with Sim B who’s married to Sim A but Sim D wants to kill Sim A and C even though they’re the illegitimate child of Sim C-

When Asmo realizes that in the Sims 4 he needs to manufacture all the drama himself and he can’t just sit back with a glass of wine and watch the fireworks, he switches to the Sims 2 and 3.

“...why is this old lady beating up my Sim..?”

He immediately recoils in horror upon seeing how ugly the Sims are pre Sims4.

HE NEEDS TO FIX THIS-

Ah, there we go, perfect. Custom Content to the rescue!

He ends up remaking the entire world just so he doesn’t have to look at weird looking Sims.

Asmo is the only one to have finished a proper Legacy Challenge, but it gets crazy chaotic after gen 3.

“My sim just got abducted by aliens and now he’s pregnant- WHAT?!”

He has about 40 saves and only two he actually plays.

Just a Big Ol’ Happy Family (Beelzebub)

Beel found the game, proceeded to make everyone in create-a-sim to the best of his abilities, and made everyone get along.

That’s why Sim-Lucifer and Sim-Belphie are on a swing set together, they’re friends :D

“Hey Luke do you think you can make this?” “I-is that a cake shaped like a hamburger?” “Yes. Please make.”

He took one look at the cooking options and decided to max out his Sim’s cooking skill to unlock all the options.

Beel proceeded to drool all over his keyboard. Gross...

Boy howdy did he have some crazy dinner suggestions!

Overall, very wholesome Sim-life, except for the time Sim-Levi died because the toilet caught fire, don’t worry, Sim-Beel knows how to make ambrosia.

All is good in the Sim save...

...until Sim-Beel ate pufferfish nigiri and fuckin died-

Wait Did I Not Pause- (Belphie)

Huh, this game looks fine... I’ll play for a little- *SNORE*

Belphie makes some sims, plops them into a starter home, plays for an hour, then falls asleep.

He wakes up five hours later to absolute carnage.

Three sims have died because someone decided to make Mac and Cheese and the oven caught fire, the kids were taken away by social services, and the dog ran away.

“...heheh, holy shit everyone look.”

He doesn’t play often, but when he does, death occurs. He has found out every death method for every game from Sims 2 to 4.

And that INCLUDES the Sims Medieval! You guys remember that game?

Sometimes it’s not intentional, but Belphie got bored with the totally normal life his sims were living and decided to spice it up.

“Why are the ghosts breaking my showers..?”

Help There’s a Bug- (Diavolo)

The Crown Prince started playing when he noticed Lucifer was playing it.

He was immediately obsessed.

Dia mostly plays the Sims Medieval because he likes the feeling of achievement after completing a quest!

“Barbatos... why isn’t my Sim completing their task? The icon won’t show up.” “My lord it appears the game is bugged.” “:(“

No one thought to tell Diavolo that EA doesn’t plan on offering bug support to a game made in like... 2009

This doesn’t matter! Look at how great his kingdom is doing- oh no his hero has the plague-

He plays through the Pirates and Nobles expansion and manages to get the peaceful ending, he’s so proud of himself.

“MC! Look! My Monarch’s sword is permanently on fire and I’m fighting an evil wizard!”

When he does play the other Sims games he’s pretty basic, though, he does a great job at furnishing!

Dia gets crazy sad when his Sims die... he turns off aging.

Builder no. 2 (Barbatos)

Barbie doesn’t have time for this... but when he does, he builds.

No create a sim.

No playing the game as intended.

Just builds.

It’s relaxing, okay? A nice little suburban house he’s never going to play in, maybe a treehouse, maybe a big Hollywood Mansion...

The only time he actually plays the game outside of build mode is when someone needs his help to fix something in-game.

He does download custom content build items if he feels bored by the current selection.

Oh Crap What Am I Doing?! (Simeon)

Help him. Please.

He’s so confused.

“Luke, why is my sim upset?” “He’s hungry, Simeon.” “Oh, how do I fix that?” “...Simeon-”

There’s a toilet in the middle of the living room.

The fridge is facing the wall.

There’s no bathtub or shower.

The house is on fire- there is no god- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

Okay, once he gets the hang of it he’s sitting pretty. His sims have good jobs, the kids are getting good grades, everything’s fine.

...

But Simeon won’t forget the nightmares.

What Even is This Save? (Solomon)

Solomon’s save is the definition of chaos.

One sim’s a vampire, the other is a spellcaster that really wants to fight the Callientes for some reason, there’s one normal sim that’s always sick for some reason,

It gets weird, confusing, and horrible.

Just how Solomon likes it.

His house makes no sense, like, what even is architecture?

Money cheats are needed because Solomon‘a goal of chaos and confusion is proving to be kind of expensive.

Square up Mortimer Goth, Solomon’s sims are here to steal your weird knight statue that’s worth a shit ton of simoleons for NO REASON.

He joined the scientist career for the sole purpose of getting to the alien planet and kidnapping adding an alien to the household via cheats.

The vampire ended up dying on their wedding day because Solomon forgot that he gave them the sun weakness.

Oh well, the ghost got added to the household! VAMPIRE GHOST!

The Child (Luke)

Before you say Luke’s too young to play the Sims, you should know that I was nine when I first started playing, and I turned out fiiiiiiiiiine.

He’s just happy to be playing.

Look, his sims are gardening :D

Look, two of them are getting married :D

Look, they had a baby :D

Look, his sims are building a rocket ship :D

Look, his sims’s rocket just crashed-

The concept of death hit the little angel right in the face that day.

“*sniffle*... my sims...”

Don’t worry, with tears in his eyes, Luke quit without saving and everything was fine!

Speaking of My Sims, Luke played MySims Sky Heroes and that was when Luke had his first bout of gamer rage.

MC came over to hang out with Solomon and Simeon, and in the distance they could just hear:

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY TIME WASN’T FAST ENOUGH TO CONTINUE THE STORY!? I’LL SHOW YOU FAST ENOUGH TIME!”

Okay, maybe Simeon should take the game away... just for a bit... he should take heed not to be bitten by the incredibly angry chihuahua.

Bonus:

MC: Why are our Sims married?

*Insert Boy Here*: Uh... that’s weird... I have no clue why they’re doing that...

#Obey me #obey me headcanons #Obey me!#obey me! shall we date?#obey me! headcanons #obey me shall we date #Obey me Lucifer #Obey me Mammon #obey me leviathan #Obey me Satan #Obey me Asmodeus #Obey me Beelzebub #Obey me Belphegor #Obey me Diavolo #Obey me MC #obey me barbatos #Obey me Simeon #Obey me Luke #Obey me Solomon

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

Text

Secret’s Out

Father of Mine – Part 1 and Part 2

Bruce was looking at his emails when Y/N arrived at the table.

She was breathing heavily and her hair was a bit messy, just further proving she had rushed to get there.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she huffed embarrassingly. “My shoot ran over and every one was moving so slowly.”

Bruce smiled. “Y/N. Relax.”

Then he stood up to greet her with a kiss on the cheek.

The two of them hadn’t seen each other in over a month. Y/N had been traveling for work constantly. And between the vigilante life and Wayne Enterprises, Bruce was running on 2 hours of sleep on the daily.

“I need a drink,” Y/N finally sighed after she got situated.

As if on cue, their waitress dropped Y/N’s favorite drink in front of her.

Y/N eyed Bruce with surprise.

He just shrugged.

Sometimes Y/N forgot how much her father noticed literally everything.

“Thank you,” she told the waitress.

“You’re overworking yourself,” Bruce said with a disapproving look.

She rolled her eyes. “Really? You’re not one to talk, Bruce.”

“You deserve a vacation. I’ll pay for it. Pick wherever you want. Bring Jason. Or some friends.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Bruce…”

It was a warning.

From the very start of their unconventional father-daughter relationship, Y/N had made it clear that she could not be bought. And Bruce spoiling her made her extremely uncomfortable. Even now, she still tried to at least split restaurant checks with him. Bruce always won those battles though.

“I’ll take a vacation when you do,” she finally countered.

That sure shut him up.

“Hey, I actually brought you something,” Y/N changed the subject as she reached for her bag.

A moment later, she lightly placed a manila folder onto the table.

Bruce’s brow furrowed as he reached for it.

As soon as he opened it, he froze.

“I had to clean out some stuff and put things into storage,” Y/N explained. “I found all my mom’s photos. I figured I could make copies of some childhood photos for you.”

Bruce’s silence made Y/N nervous.

“If you don’t want them, that’s totally fine.” She started to reach for the folder out of Bruce’s grip with awkward embarrassment. “It was stupid–”

But Bruce quickly pulled the folder closer to him and stopped her from taking the photos from him.

“Thank you,” he announced.

It made Y/N quickly sit back in her chair, caught off guard by his sincere reaction and how he’d immediately become protective of the photos.

Bruce awkwardly cleared his throat. “Thank you, Y/N.”

He repeated to make sure she understood how thankful he truly was. And Y/N suspected the throat clearing was to hide his emotions.

Now she watched as Bruce slowly went through every picture. He took in every detail with a soft smile.

These weren’t just photos. These were all of Y/N’s memories that Bruce missed, that he could never get back. And he was savoring all of them.

Then Bruce paused and was fully smiling now.

“What?” Y/N asked.

She didn’t know why all of this made her so nervous.

Bruce didn’t say anything as he lifted a photo and flipped it to show her.

It wasn’t from her childhood.

It was a black and white photo of Jason. A candid from when he had escorted her around the slums of Gotham for her most recent gallery show.

After months of thinking about it, Y/N finally had decided she wanted to frame it and hang it somewhere in her apartment.

Y/N’s jaw dropped with embarrassment and she ripped it from his hands.

“I was developing some photos at the same time as I was making the copies. Must’ve gotten mixed up in those,” Y/N explained too quickly, unable to meet Bruce’s gaze.

It made Bruce happy to know that Y/N didn’t have the same inability to love someone and let people in like he did. It was a relief that she didn’t isolate herself from it like he had. If her mother was still alive, Bruce would thank her for it. But if Y/N’s mother were alive, he would’ve never known about Y/N in the first place.

Their entire dinner was spent with Bruce looking at the old photos. He had at least two questions for each one. Some of them Y/N didn’t remember being taken. But most of them came with stories or a loving memory.

Y/N talked for most of the meal. But that’s exactly what Bruce wanted.

Furthermore, Bruce had nothing of value to update her on. Batman business had consumed his life as of lately, and he had made a promise to never involve Y/N in any of it. And Jason seemed to be on the same page when it came to his other life as Red Hood.

Both men seemed determined to keep her safe and away from it all.

Two hours later, Bruce was paying the check and helping Y/N into her coat.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” he muttered as they started walking out.

Y/N had learned by now to give up on those small battles. Jason was the same way when it came to making sure she got home safely.

As they made their way to the exit, Y/N caught a few stares from other patrons who were still eating.

“Do you ever get used to it?” She asked her father in a low voice.

“Get used to what?” He asked, genuinely unaware of what she was getting at.

“People gawking at you.”

Bruce glanced around and unintentionally glared at anyone who was staring at Y/N.

“It’s good that I’m seen in public…for obvious reason,” he hinted in a quiet voice, obviously talking about needing the cover to continue his life as a masked vigilante.

Once they were outside, Alfred was already waiting at the curb with the Rolls-Royce. He greeted Y/N with a hug and a kiss to her cheek before opening the door for her and Bruce.

When they got to Y/N’s apartment building, she said her goodbyes to Alfred. And Bruce walked Y/N all the way up to her door.

Even though Y/N insisted it was overkill and she could get up the stairs on her own just fine, Bruce had seen too many terrible things in this forsaken city. He could think of thousands of things that could happen to Y/N between the car and her front door.

Once Y/N realized that Bruce’s paranoia came from experience, she stopped trying to stop his chivalry and overprotective ways. She finally understood that Bruce had seen things that would prevent her from ever sleeping again. So if walking Y/N to her door gave him a little peace of mind, she wasn’t going to take that away from him.

Y/N turned to Bruce when they reached her door. “Thanks again for dinner.”

“Of course. I’m glad we could spend some time together. Thank you again for the photos.”

Y/N didn’t realize that Bruce was about to hang every single one around Wayne Manor.

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and a hug. “Get home safe.”

——————

Y/N woke up wrapped strong arms, her body overheating slightly.

When she had come home from dinner last night, Jason had already left for patrol.

He hadn’t woken her up when he got back home, just proving how exhausted Y/N had been these past few weeks.

But it was the continuous buzzing vibrations of her phone that woke her up. When she brightened the screen, she saw that she had dozens of text messages and three missed called from Bruce.

“What the fuck,” Y/N whispered as she started opening them.

But they were all about the same thing.

Everyone had sent her similar articles from various gossip websites or news outlets.

BRUCE WAYNE’S NEW GIRLFRIEND IS FAMOUS PHOTOGRAPHER Y/F/N Y/L/N

BRUCE WAYNE’S FLAVOR OF THE WEEK

IS Y/F/N Y/L/N USING THE PRINCE OF GOTHAM TO FURTHER HER CAREER?

All of the headlines were joined with photos of Bruce and Y/N having dinner last night. Apparently other customers at the restaurant had snuck photos of Bruce greeting her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Y/N could see how it would be misinterpreted as romantic and not familial or platonic. But it still made her sick to see the photos twisted in such a way.

Then there were paparazzi photos of them getting in a car together. Of course there were none of Bruce dropping her off and them going their separate ways. That would be just too convenient for the two of them.

Y/N’s stomach dropped with panic.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” she gasped without realizing it.

Jason immediately woke up. “What is it?”

Y/N ignored him and called Bruce.

“I’m handling it,” was how Bruce answered her call.

“Handling it? How exactly?” She challenged. “We can deny the rumors all we want. But everyone is going to keep tabs on us now, and they’re going to see us together again.”

Jason grabbed his own phone.

One of his brothers must’ve sent him a similar article because he rubbed his face in annoyance, finally understanding the situation.

Nothing like your girlfriend being rumored to have a relationship with her father, who was also your mentor and adoptive father.

“Y/N, it will blow over. It always does,” Bruce tried to calm her down.

“So what happens when I get photographed with Jason? Huh? They’re going to just say I’m cheating on both of you with each other or some fucked up shit like that.”

Bruce was silent, because they both knew she was right.

Y/N glanced at Jason, who was already waiting for her gaze.

She took in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Maybe we should…Maybe we should just tell the truth.”

“You’ve never wanted that, Y/N.” Bruce tried to argue.

And he was right.

Y/N was terrified of being associated with the Wayne family. People would start believing she secretly built her career off of nepotism that no one was aware of. She also didn’t want that type of attention from the media and the upperclass of Gotham.

“I don’t think we have any other choice,” Y/N finally answered.

Jason reached for thigh and gripped it, trying to offer her some sort of comfort.

“Y/N, are you sure about this?” Bruce asked slowly.

“No. Not at all. But I’d rather not have the public think I’m dating my biological father.”

“OK,” Bruce sighed. “I’ll talk to my publicist today.”

“OK.” She bit her lip before adding. “Just…tell them the whole story.”

“Y/N, if you’re worried how it will make me look, don’t.”

“But I am worried about it, Bruce. They’re going to drag you for being an absent father. And none of that is true. They’re not gonna understand.”

“I’ll call you later with an update,” he told her softly before hanging up.

Y/N tossed her phone to the foot of the bed in frustration.

Jason watched as she buried her face in her hands.

“You OK?” He asked as he rubbed her back.

“No,” she answered honestly.

“Come here.” Jason pulled her into his chest.

There was no fight from her as he cuddled her tightly.

“This is a fucking nightmare,” she groaned into his shoulder.

“I know. But maybe it’s for the best,” he tried to reason with her.

“And what happens when they catch wind that I’m dating my father’s adoptive son? Huh?”

“We’re not actually related, Y/N.”

She pulled her face back so she could glare at him. “Yeah! We know that! But you do understand that people are going to see it that way, right? Like we’re gonna look like some fucked up incestual couple to them.”

“I don’t really care,” Jason finally told her.

“You don’t care?” She scoffed.

“No,” his answer and confidence didn’t waver. “I don’t give a fuck what people say about us, Y/N. If exposing the truth means we don’t have to think twice about going to events or even just going out to dinner, then I’m all for it. I’m sick of hiding our relationship.”

Y/N blinked. She never considered that their subtle relationship bothered him in any way. She was always a strangely private person, so it felt normal to her. But clearly Jason had been wanting to be a bit more public with their relationship.

“What if this changes everything?” Y/N whispered, not meeting his eyes.

Jason smirked at that and gripped her chin, lifting it up so she would look at him. “Some paparazzi and trash tabloids aren’t going to change how I feel about you, Y/N.”

Y/N laughed lightly at that.

“Maybe we should leave Gotham for a bit,” she offered. “Bruce won’t shut up about paying for a vacation for us.”

Jason nodded. “I think that sounds like a good idea. You’ve needed a break for awhile now.”

“Well…where do you wanna go?” Y/N asked.

“Doesn’t matter to me. As long as you’re there.”

She rolled her eyes and hit Jason in the face with a pillow. “God, you really are a sap.”

Y/N appreciated Jason always being able to make her feel better and feel supported.

But even he couldn’t stop her from wondering...

What would life be like as a Wayne?

------------------------------

Father of Mine – Bonus Content

#father of mine bonus content #father of mine #bruce wayne x daughter #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #father!bruce wayne #dad!bruce wayne #dad!batman #batdad #jason todd x reader #jason todd reader insert #red hood reader insert #red hood x reader #batfam #batboys

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neverthelesstheinvisibleelf-blog · 2 years

Text

Writing about Epilepsy

@silver-stargazing @the-twitchy-life @fuckepilepsy @gomaduck and of course @justepilepsy @the-epileptic-toh-blog @hiimholalate thank you all for your kind answers about my question on absence seizures

It really helped me to actually approach writing something that I myself just never really experienced. (Which at first made me feel pretty uncomfortable.) I still don’t know if I actually managed to achieve it … but well I tried.

I also found the frivolous note about the hotness of the character very interesting and I might try to incorporate it at some point. (The main obstacle is that I myself do not really notice if or when people are physically attractive. I am much more drawn towards character traits that I find interesting. The other thing is that this story and this character is not a new thing it has been growing in my head for … a lot of years now. So, Fred just already exists. I just didn’t know much about his epilepsy before.)

Oh and as a psychology student who has performed testing on someone who was having an inpatient EEG because of suspected epilepsy. Yes, I can thoroughly imagine that that is one of the most boring days ever.

Also, thank you for the thoughts on control. I haven’t yet thought about it much but I will now!

I actually managed to write something! But I am really not sure if I managed to do you justice. So, if you have the time and the inspiration I would very much appreciate your feedback (because I probably fucked up at one point or another)

I hope this scene provides enough context. Because all of the context isn’t written yet. And the stuff that is written is over 40.000 words long… (Context can be found here or here) I just tried to explain it and it sounds way too boring…. just bother me if you want to know more!

The only really important thing is that it is about a group of friends who meet each other in a international exchange programme and lived together in Prague for a few years. This story takes place a few years after. And Ianna is a nickname for Lilli, so they are the same person. As is Rosie and Lynn and Princess Annmarie.

The room was surprisingly nice. The sofa Fred was sitting on reminded him of this one period film set in the Victorian age in England that his mom liked so much and the side table on his left looked like it was made from mahogany. On top of it was a lamp that looked so antique it easily could have been built with candles in mind, not the light bulb it now held and the artwork in golden frames looked like it could also adorn the walls of an art gallery.

Malu hadn’t strayed from his side their entire way to the palace and didn’t say a wuff when they were led into this room. One guard had demanded for the husky to stay behind but Malu had just stared at him so intensely the guard forgot all about his demand. The dog needed to be with Fred, everybody was somehow convinced of that.

Now though, they were alone inside a pretty room, so Malu was investigating the floor-length velvet green curtains by the window. This indicated that he deemed the room safe. A notion Fred couldn’t really agree with yet.

It wasn’t really the holding cell Fred had expected to end up in. Actually, when he rushed to the palace entrance with more panic than a plan he had never once expected to be let in. But there was still no real evidence that this posh, lavish salon wasn’t just a very luxurious mock-up for a holding cell and any minute a policeman would enter holding an arrest warrant. Because the only reason he could imagine as to why he wasn’t sent away yet was also the reason he was pretty sure he would end up in jail by the end of the night.

Malu suddenly abandoned the curtains and came over to lay his head in Fred’s lap and whined. Fred smiled and started to scratch his dog’s ears. It didn’t really ease any of his worries but at least it gave his hands something to do.

He could hear a door opening behind and braced himself for the inevitable.

Fred blinked slowly. He felt a little foggy all of a sudden. In front of him was an undeniably elegant middle-aged woman in a form-fitting dark grey pants-suit who he swore wasn’t there a second ago. The headache behind his forehead was new as well. His brain somehow felt as if it was working at half the speed it normally did.

The woman gazed at him rather suspiciously and Fred slightly shook his head hoping to get rid of at least some of the confusion that had manifested so suddenly. Malu pressed his head into his hands a little more forcefully and the cloudy haze lifted just enough to catch what the woman was saying.

“...-pect a visit from a self-proclaimed friend of my daughters.” It sounded rather like the end of the question than the beginning.

Daughter? Was this Rosie’s mom? Holy Hell! Was this the queen? She surely would have introduce… He was missing a little time. Oh no… This couldn’t be happening!

This couldn’t be happening! He didn’t have a seizure in years! He had his medication and it’s been working… Had he taken his medication today? Did he even pack enough pills? He couldn’t really remember counting them. Ianna had interrupted…

Malu woofed at the same time as the queen asked rather sharply, “Excuse me! Do I need to repeat myself?” Fred couldn’t help himself but kept staring at her without a notable reaction. His mind insisted on only repeating his most unhelpful thoughts. This couldn’t be happening!

Malu whined again and the thoughts retreated for now. They would probably return to torture him at a later time. But even his unhelpful mind seemed to realise that this was not the time for worries. Fred lifted himself up and tried to exude all the professionalism that he might have absorbed in some internship or another.

The queen took a seat across from him and stared at him with calculating grey eyes. And Fred hoped that this meant that she would hear him out despite this less than stellar start to their conversation.

‘Don’t panic, Fred! Everything is going to be fine!’ He tried to tell himself while another - very unhelpful - part of his brain reminded him that hyperventilating was a very common seizure trigger. He couldn’t really do anything right now. And besides, he wasn’t really at a risk of injuring himself when he zoned out a few times now. It would just be even more embarrassing than the situation already was. So, everything was fine. Just continue as planned.

“I’m sorry. I spent the last day arguing with several people on the phone. And the day before I was on several different planes just to get here. My manners are usually better than this.” Fred was proud of himself. That wasn’t even a lie and at the same time a pretty believable excuse!

“My name is Frederic Eric Nyanda. I am a very new human rights lawyer and two days ago I was woken up by a very tearful and desperate call from one of my best friends who I am assuming is your daughter.” He summarised the basic reasons for his being here. (Conveniently leaving out the fact that his other best friend probably already broke into the palace.)

The queen was twirling something between her fingers and Fred recognized it as the ring he’d used to convince the palace guards to let him in. “And because my daughter is apparently such good friends with you - even though she never explicitly mentioned you - she entrusted you with her sigil ring?” The queen continued his train of thought.

“Erm… yes?” It sounded too much like a question to be considered believale. “So… she didn’t exactly give it to me… She forgot it at my place when she was visiting while I was getting my law degree in another city and when I wanted to give it back to her she told me to keep it…” Was that convincing? Or would he be tried for theft in addition to fraud now? Did this even qualify as fraud? He just knew too little about Losikan law!

The queen’s steel grey eyes regarded him closely as if she was deciding whether to throw him in the dungeon or entertain him for a little bit longer. (Did they even have dungeons here?) It felt like an enternity passed before she finally put the ring in her pocket and sat back on her chair.

“Another very intriguing coincidence is that our lawyer, Mrs. LeBlanc - and now you desperately need to speak with us already. Barely two hours after you got off the phone with her. This seems strange, doesn’t it Mr. Nyanda?”

The headache had gotten worse now. And Fred needed to blink a few more times to shake the exhaustion and convince his eyes to stay alert. Malu had put his paws on his legs and whined again. Fred distractedly fondled his ears and tried to convince him to lay down by his feet while he thought about what the queen had just said. The wording was kind of weird…or wait…

Did.. Did he have another seizure? He really should get a full night's sleep and take some medication as soon as possible. At least he didn’t seize while he was talking and he still didn’t miss any crucial information. He could still extrapolate. (At least he hoped so.)

Malu could finally be convinced to lay down his feet. He acted as if he were sleeping even if Fred could tell with one look that he was not. Despite everything the mere presence of the dog gave Fred hope that he would somehow manage to work through his foggy brain.

“Erm… Yes, that is correct. I agree that seems somewhat contradictory. But there were… unforeseen circumstances so -”

Suddenly the doors to the small sitting room burst open and a determined Ianna strutted in followed by two rather disgruntled but ultimately powerless guards. “We… we really couldn’t stop her!”, one of the guards tried to excuse the sudden interruption.

After taking one look at his friend, Fred immediately decided that he wouldn’t say a peep about his seizures. Explaining that he already had two seizures because of all the stress and sleeplessness (and because he might have missed some of his medication), was really not a good idea when Ianna already looked like she was on the warpath.

“What I wanted to say was that I could have waited. But she could not!” He finally explained to the queen, nonchalantly pointing his finger at Ianna. (This way she would hopefully be distracted from his own strange behaviour.)

The queen didn’t really listen to him. She was too distracted by the breach in security that was the entirety of Ianna. “Who are you?” She almost screamed at the intruder.

Lilli just smirked and answered overly friendly, “It’s nice to meet you, too!”. She bent down to pet Malu who merely looked up when he heard her voice. Then she sat down on the sofa beside Fred. “Sorry, Freddie-Boy but I really got bored out of my brain listening to you terrorizing people on the phone!”

Fred just sighed exaggeratedly (in the hopes that Lilli finally noticed how much of a pain she was to deal with) and buried his head in his hands. “Just so you know, I was going to meet with the royal family's lawyer tomorrow morning. But you already decided it was a better idea to break into the palace!”

Fred almost yelled that last part although he was sure that it wouldn’t really impress Ianna. The queen on the other hand raised an eyebrow. “I am guessing that you are another self-proclaimed friend of my daughter’s”, she said in Lilli’s direction.

Ianna just shrugged. “If your daughter is the very tiresome, increasingly annoying best friend I managed to acquire a few years ago then yes!” Then she turned to Fred. “And I was still right to break into this place because that stupid idiotka isn’t here!”

Fred felt like someone had purposely taken the ground from underneath his feet. “What do you mean she isn’t here? She called me and told me to come to Losnik!”

“She called you?” The queen asked, alarmed, suddenly sitting on the edge of her seat.

Lilli answered for him. “She called him crying on the phone two days ago. That’s the reason we came to Losnik in the first place. From what I could gather from her empty room and some notes in the waste bin, she left without thinking and only packed the essentials. I’m assuming you’ve been aware of that as well.”

The queen nodded. “Yes, we realised that morning that not only did she post a picture of her letter of abdication online, she also left the palace and possibly the country as well.” A little quieter she added. “Just when we thought we got her back… she vanished again.”

Ianna looked stoically into the air. “I am going to find her. There are only so many places Lynny would run to. It’s just a few theories that I will have to systematically falsify. Sooner or later, I will find her.”

The queen looked at her with tears in her eyes. Fred wasn’t sure if it was hope or fear glistening in her eyes. “Why would you do that?”

Lilli just shrugged. As always she was uncomfortable with such obvious displays of emotion. “I mean, she’s my best friend. I might not know where she is but she is crazy if she thinks I will stop before I find her.“

Fred turned to Lilli. “So, we’re looking for her. Where do we start?”

To his surprise Lilli just shook her head. “Not ‘we’, Fred. I will find Lynny. You will stay here.”

“What?” Fred was honestly surprised. (And worried. There was a reason for the clammy feeling in his chest. Ianna wasn’t really ok. And knowing the reason for that definitely didn’t make him feel any easier.) “I really can be helpful…”

“Freddie…” Lilli interrupted him calmly but surely. “She asked you to come to Losnik. She wanted you here. And whatever you might think…” She took a deep breath and squeezed his hand reassuringly. “She thought you could help here. You said she sounded desperate. It was important to her that someone she trusted implicitly was here to oversee everything when she decided that she couldn’t be. You have to stay.”

Fred kept his gaze locked on his hands and tried to stop them from shaking. There were only rare moments when he didn’t wish Ianna to be by his side. And leaving her to do something alone was never really something he enjoyed doing. No matter how capable she was. Now, it was even harder after all they went through a little over a year ago.

The queen looked at both of them imploringly. She stayed silent and only a curt nod of her head indicated that she agreed. (Maybe he wouldn’t end up in jail after all.) But her stoic way of surrendering to the fact that these two young people were very good friends of her daughter she never knew about reminded Fred that it was not always necessary to understand everything.

Fred sighed. “You’ve already decided, haven’t you? There’s nothing I could say to change your mind, anyway.”

Ianna smiled in this almost imperceptible way that always warmed Fred’s heart. “You might have been her friend first but whatever trouble she has run into - Lynny is my best friend. And I will not let her suffer alone if I can be there by her side!”, she explained. “And besides, you would only slow me down!”

Fred laughed even though he really didn’t feel like laughing. “But how will I know when you find her?”

The queen raised her eyebrows at that. “Couldn’t you just tell us?” She asked, rather confused by Fred’s obvious apprehension.

Fred laughed again this time more desperate than before. The headache had returned and he needed to blink a few times before he felt steady enough to talk again.

He didn’t let any of that deter him, though. “You would think so, right? The problem is that Ianna and Rosie have this kind of codex. They insist that either of them is still keeping a secret even when they tell the other. And on the flipside, there is no way of knowing what they told each other.”

Ianna was looking at him weirdly when he finished. “Freddie … I will not lie to you. I might not tell you where she is when I found her. But I will tell you that I have or haven’t found her. “

Only now Fred noticed that Malu had sat down in front of Ianna and she was calmly petting his head for a bit before she turned to him again. Then her gaze grew inquistory.

“You should probably call your neurologist and figure out how you can get your medication while you stay here. These seizures can not continue like this.”

(For more context, click here or go on the tag #the archangel programme)

#actually epileptic #epilepsy #writing #human rights lawyer #the archangel programme

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liyuesbian · 3 years

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✧ pygmalion!au [ningguang]

notes: btw idk how commissions from museums work i just made the process up LMAO and this one's kinda angsty? i mean, it is the pygmalion greek myth so iykyk. also, i describe this figurine of ningguang here but w/o the colour... i've linked it in case any1 needs the reference. (btw, this is not set in ancient greece specifically)

only yesterday had you been commissioned by an art gallery in the capital to create a piece for their up-and-coming collection titled desire, love and identity. yet here you are, slaving away to make the perfect image you had in your head come into fruition. your vision is exquisite once sketched on paper—you can't find any faults in it so you take the risk.

as soon as your chisel meets the marble, a feeling so invigorating dominates your body. no further references are necessary as you place your trust entirely on your hands, coarse from the labour. you find such mindless toil addicting and you work day and night, only stopping for a half-baked meal and the odd collapse into bed.

for months, love streams out of the tips of your fingers and through your sculpting tools to arrive at the stone figure. you sincerely hope the intimate emotion has been reached.

when you finish, you wipe the bead of sweat running down your forehead, rest the other palm on your hip and take slow steps backwards all while maintaining eye contact with the statue. a wave of sweet relief hits you and you fall to the floor, uncontrollably sobbing into tired hands that still grip the hammer and chisel.

it's beautiful.

you stagger, struggling to get up with your bruised knees while clumsily wiping the tears off your stained cheeks. setting the instruments aside, you lift your head to admire your handiwork up close. a woman made of stone sits elegantly atop an oriental chair, crossing her smooth, white legs over each other. her left elbow is propped on the arm of the chair while on the other side, a long smoking pipe is balanced between gloved fingers. around her lies an assortment of objects: a vase containing scrolls, a floor lamp, and a charmingly decorated folding screen.

you see, you had already thought it all out. you'd imagined ningguang's preferences for a life of luxury, her affinity for constructing and sprucing up interiors. she would be a master of the trades and a woman who likes to keep an air of mystery around her. and like how you increasingly project her to be more of a person than she ever will be, there is a creeping concern in the corner of your mind that you will lose your rationality just as quickly.

the sculpture's body is clad in a qipao with a slit that reveals alabaster skin below the waist. the dress—embellished with patterns and neat linings—hugs her figure and shows off a lean build. the extensive train and sleeves of the fabric are shaped curvaceously to mirror the flow of a waterfall. and her face. the section you strived so hard to refine. she stares at you with an imperious expression and a hint of a smirk. her gaze, so piercing, makes you avert your eyes in shyness but you find yourself gravitating back to her profile.

you muster up the courage to draw closer to your creation and unconsciously stroke her cheek with your thumb, captivated. if she were an empress, you'd be a common peasant—undeserving of setting your sights on such a goddess. you can feel your soul being sucked into eyes devoid of emotion—of anything, actually. after all, the woman sitting before you is not a person but an inanimate object.

the weeks following the completion of ningguang—which is the name you've picked up the habit of calling her—are spent in said lady's company. every minute of every day, you surround yourself with her presence as if she is your closest friend. you eat with her, tell her your troubles, even going so far as to decorate her with various types of jewellery and bringing her gifts you think she'd like.

"thank you," you whisper. "for always listening to me." in truth, you're always so immersed in your work that you forgot what conversations could feel like. though, you fear your art would never be on par with something so transcendent ever again.

you become curious, wondering what she would be like if the nymph in front of you were not just a figment of your imagination.

you perch yourself on top of ningguang's stone-cold lap and trace the contours of her visage. you inspect each crease on her lips and the minuscule crinkles in her eyes, applauding yourself for the well-crafted details. you don't know what possesses you but you close your eyes and press your lips against hers, hoping that once you open them, a living being would erupt from underneath the marble. but, of course, as soon as the light hits your retinas, ningguang is as unmoving as ever.

realising what you've just done, you drop off of her thighs and laugh anxiously. however, you could've sworn that you had felt warmth in the lips of your beloved muse.

"i've finally gone mad!" you cry aloud.

hell, you say to yourself, is it even possible to fall in love with such an... an artefact? you dismiss your glaringly obvious infatuation.

"nonsense," you mutter under your breath, sensing your heart breaking slightly. how can something so painfully humanlike also not be human at the same time? you must've caused a tremendous atrocity in your past life to have made the gods harbour a grudge against you. of all things, you'd never have guessed that a lifeless piece of art would be the object of your desire.

you can't bear to look at the handcrafted lady any longer and with an anguished face, cover her with a large cotton cloth. the plan was to wait until you could hand the statue over to the curators and try to ignore its existence until then.

for a few days, you act according to the plan, going about your daily routine but eventually, your stoic demeanour crumbles. you lock yourself in your room refusing to eat or believe that your affection would never be returned.

during the hours of sunlight, you weep under your sheets, drowning in self-inflicted sorrow. and at night, you do the same, lamenting over the loss of what could've been your true love. she would've been so perfect in your eyes, your other half, and the only one who could calm this growing turmoil!

the reality pains you. hence, you do the only thing you can do: you pray. you pray to the gods for a miracle, that the light of your life would stride into your room and pull you from the depths of despair... but she never does.

your last day "cohabitating" with the sculpture has arrived and for the first time in—what felt like—an eternity, you open the doors to your workshop. taking a deep breath, you unveil the stationary maiden.

it's still as beautiful as you remember.

you give it a sad smile, wanting to get its departure over and done with. you manoeuvre about the room to prepare the things for the movers who're due to come in a couple of hours. while you go down your little list of errands to be done, you cough and bat away the smoke—wait, the smoke? frantic, you spin around, eyes darting everywhere in search of its origin until they land on the smoking pipe you so intricately moulded for the commissioned piece.

it's strange, you don't recall colouring the statue. and how on earth is smoke coming out of the pipe? suspicious, you approach the motionless entity and almost stumble when you spot its chest rising.

oh lord! — i really must be descending into madness! you clutch your head, clawing at your hair in hysteria.

"stop, please don't hurt yourself." the sound of a low, worried voice penetrates your ears. you shut your eyes tight.

"no, the gods have cursed me! i mustn't listen to your poisonous words!" you exclaim. your state of agitation is alleviated when the woman caresses your tensed arm.

"what has happened to you? i haven't seen you lately either." the tone is more soft and more tender than you had imagined. you release your grip.

"is it really you, ningguang?" your voice cracks at the end, and the woman you sought after witnesses your features twist into an expression of longing and hope.

"yes, my darling. i dare not go anywhere else."

helplessly, you rush to cup her face to check for heat, for the blood traversing under her skin—anything that would prove that your sweetheart is truly alive and breathing. and when you do get the confirmation, you beam, trying to withhold tears born from elation.

you bend down to kiss ningguang, who is still seated on the chair, once, twice, and three times to rid your scepticism. oh, deities! she's real.

"i love you," you declare.

"i know." you watch as the same creases you'd etched on the corners of her eyes spread into a loving half-moon shape and you kiss her again.

you reach a conclusion: you couldn't give away your lover—let alone a live person—to be displayed as part of a museum exhibition so when the workers arrive, you hide your muse away in another room. you apologise profusely and spin a lie, rambling on about how you had nothing to relinquish for the piece you had prepared had been oh-so-viciously stolen by a mob of trespassers!

the movers share with you their sympathies and ask what the work of art looks like and maybe they could sort something out with the authorities. nodding, you recount—so ardently—the details of your divine maiden. you feel heat rush to your face, chuckling when you realise that you'd run your mouth for too long.

in response to this, the two labourers exchange dubious looks as they peer at the static sculpture standing in the middle of the studio—its appearance unmistakably matching your elaborate description.

#ningguang #ningguang au #ningguang angst #ningguang x reader #ningguang headcanons #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin angst #genshin headcanons #genshin au #pygmalion au #ningguang imagines #genshin imagines

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sparepartsbacc · 3 years

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Have you ever thought “too bad I’m never going to do anything with this sim” about your CAS challenge sims that never see the light of live mode?

How about “I used to love this sim, but I forgot I even had them?”

What about feeling bad for those poor spares from legacy challenges that never got the opportunity to spread their wings and fly? Or even worse, those 100 baby challenge babies that just get kicked out into the world once they reach young adulthood?

Well, I certainly have!

That is why I bring you my newest project: Spare Parts.

Spare Parts is a Build a City Challenge dedicated to the forgotten, the unloved, the spares shoved away in our libraries never to be heard of again.

I don’t know about you, but I have ton of sims just sitting in my library doing nothing. Spares from legacy challenges, sims from CAS challenges on Simblr, sims that I just made for the giggles, sims I made to test new packs, even sims that I intended to do a challenge with but never got around to using. And not to mention the cute townie-descended sims that appear in my saves and I never have the opportunity to do anything with, or the randomly generated townies I’ve saved!

I got the idea to make an entire city from sims that had never been properly given a chance. I rolled a die to determine how many sims I would start with, and ended up with the number six, so I had to choose six sims from my library, but there was a catch: I was only going to allow myself to use those that I haven’t properly played with before. No sim that I move into this save will be a sim I’ve given any kind of limelight to, and no sim that I move in will be freshly made by me or anyone else for the purpose of this save.

If you don’t know what the BACC challenge is, I recommend hopping over here and giving the rules a looksee. They’re not completely up-to-date, but I’m going to be including the new packs best I can (which is fine because the only one that I have that isn’t included is Cottage Living).

My sims are starting off in Henford-On-Bagley, on the largest lot available (64x64). This way, they will be free to spread out as time goes by, because I will be moving any and all new sims onto this lot before allowing them to spread their wings and fly. I will also be playing rotational style, so when sims form their own households, I will be moving them out into the world, and playing with each one for a sim week, from midnight Sunday to 11:59 Saturday.

Now, for the fun part.

If you want to, and only if you want to, you can send me your spare sims. You can scour your library and find spares, unused sims, abandoned legacy founders, abandoned challenge sims, etc, and send them my way so they can get a second chance. For example, one of the sims I will be starting with is @grimheaven’s “I’m a Lover” legacy founder, Montana Grove, because she’s a lovely sim whose save file gave her Watcher no end of grief.

If this sounds like a fun idea to you, just send your sim(s) to me, either here or at @cyazurai, in an ask or just tag me in a post; or you can just submit your sim to the gallery with the hashtag #cyazurai (along with a description if you want to). That way, I can find them. I will be checking that hashtag frequently.

I won’t be captioning these posts the way I normally do, because that’s too much added pressure. I already have 3 legacies and a Let’s Play on YouTube, and narration can be exhausting. Sometimes I might add a caption, just to clarify what’s happening, but they will be few and far between. Mostly, I will just edit the photo with things like moodlets, pop-ups, traits, actions, etc, to give you all an idea of what is going on. This way, I can keep up with my posts. I will also not be posting 10+ times a day, I will be keeping this down to 6 a day (except for the first day).

I apologize for the lengthy read, and I will be providing a TL;DR down below for those that just want to get to the point!

TL;DR:: Cyan is starting a BACC for unused/forgotten/spare sims from her and others’ libraries, and is allowing you to submit sims in case you want to give them another lease on life.

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 bacc #build a city challenge #spare parts bacc #grimheaven #i'm nervous and excited #mostly excited because this is just for fun

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edie-baby · 3 years

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Baby Boy Chapter 8 | Lando Norris

Summary: Milana Navratilova is the best friend of Victoria Verstappen, and is for lack of a better word, a minx. She can pull anyone into bed with her at any time. So when she attends the Austrian Grand Prix with Victoria, the drivers make for good bedfellows. Until she finds a man who makes her finally feel like herself. Her baby boy.

Taglist: @its-astrotea-love

Warnings: smut, swearing, non-con kiss (will be a chapter warning for that one), OC is a w h o r e and i love her.

Victoria and Milana walked through the bustling paddock on Thursday, reporters, journalists, PR reps, and drivers were all running around to fill their media duties, as after today, the sole focus would be on getting the best results before the short summer break. Victoria took a turn to visit Lewis in the Mercedes hospitality, and a few moments after, Milana spotted Lando sitting at a table on his own outside of his own team’s gorgeous facility. Milana walked up behind him, and after spotting how tensely he was sitting, she chuckled to herself - she was going to scare the shit out of him. Ensuring her footsteps were silent, she snuck up behind the driver and slid her hands over his shoulders and down to his chest, whispering a husky ‘boo’ into his ear as he leapt forward and squealed. Milana laughed loudly, the first time Lando had heard her laugh this hard, with no worries. She calmed down, a few giggles still escaping her maroon lips as she ushered him to sit back where he was.

“You’re mean.” Lando pouted, his voice sounding like a sulking child’s. Milana’s heart skipped a beat, admiring how adorable the boy seemed to be without even trying.

“I’m sorry, baby boy. I’ll make it up to you.” Milana apologised, beginning to rub his shoulders with her small hands. Lando’s shoulders immediately relaxed, his breath coming out in one long sigh as he forgot about the stress of the upcoming weekend, and simply focused on the euphoria this small, foreign woman was giving him.

“Fuck, you’re so good at that. Don’t stop.” Lando almost moaned. Milana felt her heart beat a little quicker, her stomach fluttering. She had never been affected by praise, as many of her previous bedfellows had attempted it, and it just never seemed to do anything for her. But from Lando, God it was so much better. Milana remained quiet, occasionally humming a song Victoria had played a few times over the few days they had been in Austria together. Her hands continued kneading into the tense muscles in Lando’s neck and shoulders.

“Thank you Mila. I didn’t know I needed that. Come sit down, I wanna get to know you more.” Lando stopped her after another few moments, rolling his neck around and sighing in relief. Milana smiled at the nickname, the only one she had ever been given from her name was Lana, so Lando having his own name for her released another round of butterflies into her stomach.

“There isn’t much to know, unfortunately. I’m pretty boring, baby boy.” Milana told him, taking a seat on the outdoor chair adjacent to his at the small square table.

“Why do you give everyone pet names? I don’t think I’ve heard you call anyone their names when you talk to them.” Lando’s head was tilted like a puppy, those light eyes of his filled with curiosity.

“It always made me feel special when I was younger when someone would call me pet names. I guess I just got so comfortable with them that I don’t really see the romanticism behind it anymore? But obviously, some I reserve for special people. Keep the integrity.” Milana spoke, looking off to the busy thoroughfare of the paddock.

“What are your special ones then?” Lando probed, his main purpose was to determine whether or not his name was sacred.

“Love, it’s one of my absolute favourites to be called, but not many people use it anymore. But other than that, it's just the baby’s. Obviously, Victoria is ‘baby girl’, and she calls me babe so it’s kind of our thing. And then, baby boy.” Milana’s face lit up as she imagined being called love by someone who truly meant it, but her voice got quieter as she continued. Lando heard everything though, and smirked when he saw just how shy Milana became when she revealed the significance of his pet name.

“Ok, enough with the pet names. I know literally zero about you, I should be able to ask questions too.” Milana pouted slightly, a very rare sight as she was usually smirking or biting her lip. Lando couldn’t resist her when she looked at him like that, her dark eyes staring up at him, bottom lip slightly pushed out, it made him weak at the knees. Lando nodded, so Milana began trying to think of a question to ask the man.

“Why do you race F1?” Milana asked after a few beats of silence. Lando’s eyebrows shot up, he wasn’t expecting a question like that, more along the lines of ‘what’s your favourite colour’ but he couldn’t complain, playing the standard 21 questions with girls got boring after ninth grade.

“The control. I am the only one that has the control to operate that car. It’s me. I thrive off the pressure, if I fuck up, it’s on me. But it's exhilarating, having all of the power, being the one in charge. It fuels me. There isn’t much else in the world I can control like I can an F1 car.” Lando’s fists were clenched tightly as he began talking about control, and Milana could see part of herself in that.

“You’re really cute when you talk about something you’re passionate about.” Milana stated, and Lando’s head snapped around to look at her, she looked completely comfortable with telling him he was cute, whereas Lando’s face was hot like fire, and he knew he probably looked ridiculous.

“Ok, so what do you do?” Lando moved on, his face was still hotter than hell, but he was determined to move on and try to come to terms with the fact that the most beautiful woman he had ever met thought he was cute.

“I work in an art gallery in Prague, and I’m studying anthropology.” Milana replied, unimpressed with her current occupations. She just wanted to be out in the anthropology field already, she loved everything she was learning and just wanted to put it into practice.

“How old are you? I just realised I have absolutely no idea.” Lando blurted, it was the first thing he thought of when Mila mentioned she was still at university.

“I’m 19.” She replied simply. Lando’s entire head moved forward, as if to say ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you, can you please say whatever insane thing you just said again?’. Milana giggled at his perplexed expression. Lando for sure thought the Czech was at least a year older than him, but now he has to find out that she’s actually two years younger.

“You’re so much more mature than I was when I was 19. I was still struggling to cook food for myself without burning the entire house down.” Lando laughed, and Milana couldn’t help but laugh along with the sounds of joy that made her heart flutter. Lando truly could not believe that the woman who was laughing freely in front of him was the same woman he met three days ago who seemed to be the flirtier, female version of the Iceman, Kimi Raikkonen. He preferred this bright, cheery girl over the seductive woman he met, because this was Mila, not Milana.

Their laughter faded away, Milana looked back toward the flood of people still moving back and forth between the makeshift buildings, and Lando just looked at her.

“Would you like to go for dinner with me?” Lando’s mouth seemed to be quicker than his brain, because when Milana looked at him in shock, his words caught up to him. Milana saw how shocked he was in himself, and nodded, a bright smile curling her lips. Lando nodded back, a large smile and a nervous giggle urged him out of his chair, waving to Milana as he ran to the Williams garage to ask George what to do.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #team lando #lando norris x oc #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris smut #mclaren f1 #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fanfic #call me eden

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multiplefandomsblog · 3 years

Text

“Offer”

request; Can I get an imagine with Kokichi with an artist S/O who wants to paint him but he keeps flustering them with suggestions of a nude painting of him?

warnings; kind of suggestive, mention of nudity, cussing, mutual pining i think, i made it kinda crack fic, reader has an ultimate talent(artist), not edited too well, ended it weird like always, kissing, lowkey making out tho-

note; wow i wrote way too much- but hey, i still hope you enjoy this!

word count; 1.9k+

You walked around the school, looking for Kokichi to ask him to be your model.

Although you have sketched Kokichi several times before, you felt you needed to ask him face-to-face so he could just stay still in his goddamn chair instead of changing positions every 5 seconds and ruining your half-done sketch. And so, you went off to go find the boy, finding it surprisingly hard to catch him.

“There you are! I was looking for you-” You puffed out a sigh of relief, clutching your art supplies close to you as you saw your purple-haired classmate. Not a second after he caught sight of your figure jogging towards him, he had started taunting you.

“Oooooh, hey S/o, you seem mighty happy to see me, hm? I wonder why that is…” He took a funny-looking step towards you, voice laced with an interrogating tone.

He had that strange smirk on his face, and not the one you liked. N-not that you liked his smile! In consequence of staring at him and sketching him constantly without his knowledge—or so you thought—, you have become almost a master of reading his mood and expressions.

“Don’t get any wrong ideas, I just wanted to ask you if I could paint you.” For a small moment you swore you could see his expression twist into one of shock, before quickly melting back into his shit-eating grin. “Well of course you would! I’m the ultimate supreme leader, after all.” He acted as if he wasn’t just gob-smacked a second ago.

You beamed up at him, you had been in a small art block for a while and the moment you saw Kokichi, you knew he would be the cure to it. And so, you were ecstatic when he said what he said, “So you’ll do it?” You jumped a little too high, and spoke a little too eagerly.

“Mhm! —but with a catch, of course.” Your face dropped, you should’ve known the little fucker would try and get something out of you. “Nishishi!”

Unsure if you even wanted to know, you asked carefully, “W-what’s the catch..?” Your voice laced with caution, brain suddenly being reminded of all the pranks and blackmail he had fucked everyone else over with in the past. Knowing him, it could vary from, ‘Eat a bug.’ to, ‘Survive a knife game against me!’

But what he said was definitely worse than the former, and the latter.

“You have to paint me fully-nude.”

… It was suddenly very quiet, the echo of his insane remark, bouncing off the walls. The silence mostly coming from your side—then again, what did you expect? Painting Kokichi would mean the end of your art block and a painting of Kokichi, like, c’mon, but painting Kokichi nude would mean- Well, you weren’t sure what it meant; hence, the silence.

Impatient and somewhat annoyed by the silence, he poked at your shoulder, “So? Are you gonna paint me naked or not?” You stared at your shoes, too afraid to make eye contact with the boy you were now thinking of... naked.

“... C-can’t I just paint you normally?” He pouted, a comedically high whine erupting from his throat as he replied, “But that’s no fuuuuuun!”

“Don’t you want to see your ultimate supreme leader, whipping out his wang?-” You shoved his face away from your warm one, “Y… I mean n-no, no!” Your tone weak before getting loud and defensive as you caught yourself before all hell broke loose.

You felt your stomach drop as you thought about the possibility of Kokichi knowing you wanted to see him, and I quote, ‘Whipping out his wang’, Kokichi would never let that one go.

“Aw man, well I guess you don’t wanna paint me theeeen.” He slowly stepped away, a pout on his face as his back faced towards you. He hummed circus music as he teetered on his feet, balancing on one foot at once as he ‘walked’ away from you agonizingly slow, obviously waiting for you to tell him to come back.

“Koki-” In a flash, Kokichi had been by your side, dragging your hand to god knows where. “You have me convinced! I’ll let you paint me because I’m suuuuuch a nice guy. Nishishi!” Although you should’ve asked where the both of you were going, you felt knowing the catch was more important, “B-but what’s the catch?”

Kokichi kept at his speedy pace, yet he answered with a voice that still had so much energy in it, “Aww, I’m hurt you think there’s a catch, do you not trust me that much?”

Silence.

“Meanie... but yeah, you were right to suspect me. The catch is.... “ He drum-rolled on your palm, “You just have to kiss me for payment!” He slowed down a bit to send a cheeky smile your way. You almost tripped on your feet as you heard him, “What!? Bu-”

Kokichi quickly interrupted you, “Uh-uh, don’t try to pretend you don’t wanna. I know you have nooooo problem kissing those little sketches of me when you think no one is looking~” His voice quieted down sinisterly as he spoke, the evil smile spreading across his face once more. Although he had been wearing an extremely thick mask of a smile to hide his true feelings, anyone would’ve noticed that small blush on his upper right cheek. Anyone.

“You saw that?” Kokichi cackled at your agitated and flustered face, “Nishishi! Don’t worry, I’m the only one that knows. After all, no one finds you interesting enough to actually notice that.” You furrowed your brow at the subtle hint he had given you, “But you did-”

Kokichi put on a teasing smile this time, “That was a lie! I didn’t see anything with my own eyes, I just assumed you have and so you helped me confirm it! Nice job on fucking yourself over, S/o! Nishishi~!” You rolled your eyes, you liked this guy?

Well anyways, it didn’t seem to matter whether you questioned your feelings for the liar, as you finally made it to where Kokichi had been dragging you to. You watched as Kokichi skipped away from you and hopped on the bench, surrounded by moss and other wild plants.

“Ta-da! When I first saw this place, I immediately thought of you! You know, because you’re a nerd who likes cliché art settings.” He grinned, posing on top of the bench, “How’s this? Nishishi! Don’t answer that, I know this is perfect.”

... He looked like an idiot. But a cute idiot.

Suppressing a laugh, you gestured downwards to guide him down from his strange pose, “U-uh, maybe you could just, sit down? Like a normal person, I mean.” He sneered at you, before reluctantly sitting down, “You’re so boring.” The way he sat on the bench reminded you of a child who had just gotten denied candy.

Smiling in relief, you quickly took a seat on the bench opposite to him, bringing out your supplies excitedly. Despite the pout on Kokichi’s face, and the grudge he wanted to keep, the way you so excitedly took out your canvas made his heart melt as well as his attitude.

In the corner of your eye, you swore you could see Kokichi’s genuine smile, albeit it was lopsided but it still made you flush. Without thinking, you spoke, tilting your head upwards to look at him better, “You should smile more, you’re really pretty like that.” He… his mind blanked for a second, his façade fading away slightly to reveal a genuine expression of shock.

He quickly gained his composure back, “Um, okay? I always smile, are you blind?” Despite his passive-aggressive reply, you couldn’t find any reason to be mad, although you should’ve been. You smiled fondly and shook your head, diving back into concentration towards your canvas.

After an hour of pointless conversation, flirting, and calculated strokes of your brush, you were satisfied with the result. “... Alright, I’m done.” Kokichi sighed exasperatedly as he stood up and stretched, “Finally! I was afraid my limbs were going to freeze forever in that position.” You stared at him accusingly, “You didn’t even stay still the entire time. At one point, you did a fucking cartwheel-”

Kokichi slid on over you, leaning over your seated figure to peak at the painting of him. “Lemme see!” He reached for the painting with his pale hands, causing you to jerk the painting away from his reach. “It’s not dry yet! Just look, don’t touch.” You scolded, unamused by his pouty expression. “You’re no fun S/o-chan, but okay. I know how much you like to be in charge~” He teased, before finally laying his eyes on the painting he stayed still one whole hour for.

You felt your anxiety rise at his silence, “... Well, d-do you like it?” Although you were pretty confident in your ultimate talent and skills, for some odd reason, you felt extremely nervous when you showed it to Kokichi.

You were confused as to why your hands were shaking, you’ve shown your artwork to galleries, museums, the harshest art critics in the world! So why the hell did it matter so much to you if this one boy liked it or not?

“I think it looks super handsome! And by it, I mean me. Nishishi!” He grinned, “I look good in everything after all.” You scoffed, you couldn’t believe you actually expected a genuine compliment from Kokichi, of all people.

“Hey so, it’s time for your payment you know?” Payment... what? You looked up at him in confusion, big fat crocodile tears sprung out from his eyes, “Waaaah! I can’t believe S/o forgot our deal!” You flushed again as you were suddenly reminded of the kiss.

You sighed tiredly, “You were serious?” He glared at you, “I’m always serious!” You gave him an accusing look that screamed, ‘You know that’s bullshit.’ But sighed defeatedly for what seemed like the umpteenth time. As you stood up to walk up to him, you set your painting down nearby.

Squirming underneath his expectant gaze, you leaned in torturously slow until your noses were nearly touching, your eyes were glued to his lips nervously. You kind of just… stood there, waiting. Waiting for him to take initiative, as he usually does. “... You know, You’re kissing me, right? Not the other way around.” His voice was lower, quieter than usual, and you could feel his breath within each word.

He smirked at your awkward shuffle towards him, finding your averting eyes and flushed face extremely endearing. Though Kokichi would never admit it, deep down he was nervous too- But of course, he refused to ever admit that reality. Even to himself.

“I-I know that! I was just… preparing.” He hummed a skeptical ‘Okay’, standing patiently for the kiss you owed him. Letting out a shaky breath, you quickly pressed your lips on his, before immediately pulling away. Well, you tried pulling away. Kokichi gripped your collar, eagerly going in for more. His lips enveloped yours roughly, he could feel you trying to back away and so he just decided he had to go even harder.

Once he pulled away, he saw your lips puffy and swollen, and face completely dazed. You wanted to ask him why he stopped but he interrupted you before you could, “You know, I never said you had to kiss my lips, pervert〜” Your eyes widened at his statement, “It seems you’ve been wanting this for a while, huh?” You didn’t say anything, only fuelling his fire.

“Nishishi! You’re so obsessed with me, it’s adorable~” You took a defensive step back, “I-I am not!” He suddenly leaned his face dangerously close to yours, grinning sadistically as he heard your whimper. “You shouldn’t lie, you know? Especially not to me.” He leaned in next to your ear, catching your earlobe between his teeth and biting gently.

“Anyway!” You snapped out your daze as he barked suddenly, “The nude painting offer still stands, you know!” He yelled out, walking away from you, strangely.

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someowlhouseaccount · 2 years

Text

OKAY, SO. I had made a thing to 99% completion in my winter holidays, but then I had to go back to uni for 8 weeks while this thing was waiting to get finished the whole time. Since yesterday though, it is now DONE. So, this is what it is: A model of Luz & King's room in the Owl House, built from Lego!!!

As you can see, it's a very boxy shape, and includes the door, and even a lid to stop the inside getting dusty. Take off the lid, and wow! There's a room inside!!

It's a bit awkward looking inside with all the walls there though. So we can take some of them off, and easily too, because a lot of the studs that these walls sit on have been replaced with tiles. You have to remove two long bits from the front, two large wall chunks and one tile before you can see into the room like so:

And there we have it: the mouse tank, the beds, the old chests and paintings that are present in every room of the house, Jean-Luc in the corner, Luz's Azura poster, even the little doormat :D

I tried very hard to get the room looking as accurate as possible, but it was difficult at times to 1) get pictures of certain areas, and 2) build things to a scale that looked both accurate and nice.

Firstly, there are areas of the room we barely see in the show, like the righthand side and the corner at the front right, and while I was looking through my dozens of reference pictures, I also found that the positions of objects - and even the objects themselves sometimes - change slightly, so I either used combinations of multiple screenshots, or screenshots from the latest episodes (KKKOHD, Eclipse Lake) to help me decide some things.

Secondly, because of how things change slightly across different perspectives of the room in the show, and just the fact that I was constrained to the dimensions of Lego bricks, some things are a bit odd if you look closely. For example, the mouse cage is an entire 3 by 5 studs because it has to be large enough to contain the mouse piece I have.

Overall though, this thing looks awesome, and I'm sure 99% of people seeing it won't actually notice the odd parts, because not all of us spent a few weeks looking through 30 different screenshots of the place \o/

These next four pictures show some of the walls in more detail:

The top two photos are typical angles of the room, while the bottom two show areas we don't see much - the chest + barrel pile, checkered banner, and the door plus the doormat.

Things I loved building the most include:

- the chest near the window

- the Azura poster

- the mouse cage and the chest it sits on

- the red & black banner

- the bell on a string that hangs near the door

- the little Jean-Luc. Fun fact about him: I actually made a larger and more detailed one beforehand, realised it was far too big, then cobbled together this tiny one in a few minutes c: (the bigger one is gonna have to get its own post eventually)

(btw I forgot to put the hat on Jean-Luc at first, so it's only in this one photo, oops)

Now, something I think is really awesome about this room: Almost everything is completly stuck in place. This means you can lift up the whole thing, flip it upside-down, and nothing falls out! Not the broom, not the pillows, not the paintings leaning against the walls, not even the books sitting on the floor! Jean-Luc is the only exception to this - they sit very snugly in the corner, but aren't actually connected to anything.

If you do want to play with the room though, you can >:) Things are stuck down, but only on a few studs, with tiles underneath. This means you can easily take off anything you want - the chests, bed, mouse cage, etc! You can take the broom from the wall and sweep the floor, you can move the pillows, do what you want (: Finally, because there's so many pictures involved with this thing, I filtered some of the extra pictures and put them in some Imgur galleries because none of them fit in the post: Reference pictures (the main ones I used) Photos of building process

I don't know how to end this post, so I'll just bring up the only other Lego Owl House I've seen and tell you to support it if you haven't already: this one's on a smaller scale (minifig-scale) but is the entire house, and is on Lego Ideas trying to become an official set. It's almost halfway to the 10,000 supporters it needs before The Lego Group will consider accepting it, which is... cool :) https://ideas.lego.com/s/p:32fee4c55de840708cf62fd6eacddcf2

#oh yeah this is the 3-month anniversary of the hiatus btw #...has it really been that long already o_o #yes #yes it has #toh #the owl house #toh season 2 #the owl house house #toh luz #toh king #toh jean-luc #toh echo mouse #little mouse owl house frilly blouse #toh lego #lego moc #ive downloaded a program to try and make instructions for this but wow its much harder than i thought itd be

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actress4him · 3 years

Text

Overexposure - Tears

(Prompt #30 for Summer of Whump)

Taglist: @inky-whump , @michelleswhumpyreblogs

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Warnings: lady whumpee (male whumper), captivity, creepy/intimate whumper, broken ribs, referenced stress positions, referenced sensory deprivation, referenced kidnapping, restraints, gag, locked in a closet

Another gallery exhibition.

Another evening gown, another diamond necklace.

Another night of smiles and laughter and glasses of champagne and a possessive grip on her waist while her legs threaten to buckle beneath her.

She almost thought that the people attending this party, these that wanted ‘raw and primitive’ photos, would look a bit more primitive themselves. But no, they’re indistinguishable from the last group, all sharp tuxedos and beautiful gowns and elegant socializing. The thought that there are so many people out there who like this kind of thing, who will pay so much money just to see these messed-up photos of her, makes her dizzy.

Though perhaps that’s just the lack of good food and sleep. Her mind isn’t processing well enough to tell the difference.

It never helps that she’s finally faced with the product of her torment, all over the walls and impossible for her to ignore.

A close-up of her face, bruises painting her cheeks, pupils blown wide and metal glinting across her throat.

An artistically angled shot taken from the floor up at her bent, straining body, shoulders contorted backwards and on the verge of dislocation.

Her figure huddled in a tiny ball in the shadows, face half-covered by a black blindfold and red headphones...so, he was taking pictures while she waited in that corner.

Every direction she turns brings back another, unwanted memory. Ellery wants to scream, to cover her ears and shut her eyes and make it all disappear. She’d even be happy going back to her tiny basement cell if it meant not having to see or hear any more of this party.

Throughout the evening she hears so many people complimenting Lucas on how ‘realistic’ the photos are, quizzing him on how on earth he manages to create such effects. Others seem less naïve, approaching him with knowing smirks and gleams in their eye, casting obvious glances up and down her body as if they still haven’t been satiated.

At the first exhibition she had been blown away by how so many people could be so blind. Now she’s beginning to wonder how many of them actually are.

All of it - the stress, the pain, the sorrow, the hunger and exhaustion - just keeps building, an unending pressure behind her eyes and underneath her ribs. She’s on the verge of either bursting into tears or exploding into tiny pieces when another man approaches them.

His hands are empty of champagne, unlike most, and instead of immediately turning on all the charm for Lucas, his brown eyes lock onto her with the smallest of smiles.

“You’re quite the beautiful model. May I know the name of the lady who made these intriguing portraits?”

“This is Sarah,” Lucas answers for her. It’s the name he’s given anyone who’s asked, though there haven’t been many. “And you are?”

“Henry Longmire.” As pretentious a name as any she’s heard tonight. The man seems to have to drag his gaze away from her in order to focus on Lucas. “It’s an honor to be able to meet both of you in person. I have to admit, I knew of your work for a long time, but it was only when Miss Sarah here became your muse that it truly caught my attention.” His eyes go straight back to her, his smile growing into something that she could almost label kind if she didn’t know better.

“Yes, she’s been rather popular. Glad to know you found something that strikes your fancy.”

“If I may...I’ve read some quotes from him online about his process, but I’m curious about yours. Your expressions in the photos seem so...genuine. How do you go about getting into the headspace for this kind of thing?”

For a long moment Ellery just stares at him, uncomprehending of the fact that he’s actually asking her a direct question. No one ever speaks to her at these events, they only speak of her and at her. It’s only when Lucas’ hand moves from her back to her arm, squeezing threateningly in the very spot where he knows her one long sleeve is covering up the still-healing knife wound, that she realizes she has to answer. She has to lie. She’s not sure if she can even speak without her voice trembling, much less come up with a convincing response.

Her lips part, brain reeling, and she lets the words slip out, hoping against hope that whatever she’s about to say won’t get her a beating later.

“It just...comes naturally.”

Lucas’ grip eases, and she wants to crumple with relief. But Henry Longmire isn’t done yet.

“How did you decide to get into this particular kind of modeling?”

Her mind goes completely blank. The last response wasn’t even particularly a lie, but this...how is she supposed to come up with a story for this on the spot? Lying was never her strong suit to start with, and now she’s working on night after night of sleep interrupted by pain and not having eaten since yesterday morning because Lucas, as usual, was ‘in the zone’ and forgot to feed her.

“I...i-it…”

“It wasn’t her idea.” The tight grip on her arm has returned, sending throbs of pain up to her shoulder. “She had never even modeled before, actually, if you can believe that!” Lucas laughs aloud at his own joke. “I first saw Sarah at the restaurant where she was working as a waitress, and I thought to myself, ‘This is the girl I need for this idea of mine.’ Because I had had this image in my mind for ages, and I was just waiting for the perfect model to come along. So I approached her, and asked her about it, and she was interested, and, well…” He waves a hand around the room. “As you can see, she’s a natural.”

The restaurant. Of course, how had she not realized before? All this time, she had wondered why me? Why and how did he pick me, of all people? And perhaps she still didn’t know why, but at least she now knew how. Suddenly she could picture him, sitting at a booth a few tables down from hers, nursing a coffee and just...staring. She’d laughed with the other girls that night about what a creep he was, but had then promptly forgotten he existed. Creeps happened all the time. He wasn’t anything special, or so she had thought.

The story he had told just now seemed to be essentially the truth, only there had been no ‘approaching’ or ‘interest’. Only hands grabbing her in the darkness of a parking lot, then nothingness, and waking up in a cell.

“Hm.” Henry nods, but he almost seems...skeptical? Except a second later he’s flashing a smile and all traces of whatever she saw are gone. “That’s quite interesting. So Miss Sarah, what’s it like for you? Do you ever, I don’t know, get scared of him, when he’s getting you ready for these photos?”

Why is he asking her this? Is he...does he...care? Does he know something is up? She wouldn’t dare to hope, not after last time, except there’s just something off about him, something different than all the other people they’ve spoken to. Lucas, unfortunately, seems to sense it, too. Not only has he gone back to squeezing her arm, but he’s stiff beside her, not at all liking the direction of these questions.

Questions. Oh, no, she has to answer another one. Another lie. Does she get scared of him? Well, no. Not really. She doesn’t get scared of him, she lives in a constant state of fear of what he’ll do to her next.

“No.” It’s all she can manage, not even a fake smile to go with it. But in the mindset of it not actually being a lie, her voice is steady.

“Of course not,” Lucas adds on, and his voice is as stiff as his body. “She knows I’d never actually hurt her. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I believe there is another guest waiting.”

“Of course.” Henry Longmire gives a respectful nod and backs away, but she’s fairly certain she’s not imagining the way that his gaze lingers on her, brow furrowed in...thought? concern? She tries to push it from her mind, tries not to let hope build.

The exhibition drags on, and she loses track of the man in the never-ending stream of clinking glasses and twittering laughter. She’s so, so tired. Tired of pretending, tired of being stared at, tired of, in turn, staring at herself being tortured. But most of all just tired.

When Lucas drags her across the room toward yet another group that he wants to speak to, her legs finally decide they’ve had enough of supporting her weight. She stumbles, only saved from hitting the floor by his other hand coming up and catching her around the middle, uncaring of the ribs that still haven’t healed and probably won’t as long as they keep getting abused like this.

Several of the people in the vicinity gasp, as if they’re actually concerned, as if they actually care if she gets hurt.

And it’s finally too much. Ellery can’t stop the sob anymore than she can keep from dropping all of her weight into Lucas’ arms, forcing him to lower her to the floor. Tears flood her cheeks, desperate to escape after an entire evening of being held back, and a small part of her has the presence to hope that they’ll wash away the makeup hiding her bruises. Maybe then, maybe finally someone will actually, really see her.

A small crowd has gathered, hovering over her, and the claustrophobia of it only serves to intensify her sobs. She just wants this to be over, wants to go home, but she knows, beyond the hitching breaths that bend her in half and send stabs of pain through her chest, that she’s only made things worse for herself. She can’t look at Lucas right now. She knows he has to be incredibly angry.

“It’s alright, folks, just give her some space. It seems our lovely model here has twisted her ankle.” Because of course he would have a lie ready for this. “You know how women are with their shoes. Can’t pick something practical.” As he laughs he slips off her shoe, the gold stiletto that he had made her put on.

A few guests titter with laughter, some offer coos of sympathy. Lucas stands and shoos them away. “Everyone please, continue enjoying yourselves. I’m going to take Sarah to get some ice for her ankle and a bit of rest, and I’ll return shortly.”

She wishes he would get her some ice, it sounds heavenly for her ribs about now. Somehow she doubts whatever he’s taking her to will be nearly as pleasant.

Scooping her up in his arms like he’s her Prince Charming, Lucas parades her across the room to much admiration. Somewhere just before they reach the door that leads further into the building, Ellery spots Henry Longmire again, and their eyes meet. Once again, she’s struck with the thought that maybe, just maybe, he sees her. He sees, if not what’s going on, at least that something isn’t right.

She can’t speak to him. She can’t even give him some kind of signal, not without Lucas seeing. But she tries her best to send a message with her eyes - help me, please - before they disappear into the back hallway.

“I don’t know what came over you, but that was unacceptable,” Lucas hisses as soon as they’re alone. He drops her feet unceremoniously, and she struggles to regain her footing while still being carted down the hall by her arm.

This place is unfamiliar to her other than the actual gallery hall, so when they stop in front of an innocuous door she has no idea what’s inside. Lucas pulls a ring of keys out of his pocket, unlocking the door and revealing what seems to be a janitorial closet. Obviously he had stored some things here ahead of time, because the handcuffs that he reaches for don’t seem like they belong.

“You will stay right here,” he orders, wrenching her arms behind her back to cuff her, “and ‘ice your ankle’ until I come back for you.” He pulls something else off the same shelf, but she doesn’t get a glimpse of what it is before it’s pressing up against her lips. The angry look on his face warns her not to resist, to simply open her mouth and allow the knotted fabric to be slipped inside. He steps behind her, pulling the gag tight so that it cuts into her cheeks and yanking strands of her hair as he ties it.

Tears continue to slide down her cheeks, but they fall silently now.

“And if you kick, or scream, or generally make noise and try to get someone’s attention, your punishment tonight will be twice as bad.”

Shoving her forward, he slams the door shut and locks it again, leaving her to wait in the pitch darkness.

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