#Lungs Arts for Sale

[pinacoladamatata]

i have complicated thoughts on mythal but you have to pay me $10 to unlock my opinion so instead here's shitty memes

[pjriley004]

Are You Ready to Elevate Your Home Decor with Beautiful Art Prints?

Are you sick of staring at your house's same old, uninteresting walls? Do you want to give your room a little more character and life? Look no further than Paul Riley's Lungs Arts for Sale.

Paul Riley is an artist known for his unique and captivating art prints that evoke emotion and thought. His Lungs Arts collection, in particular, is a stunning representation of the beauty and complexity of the human respiratory system. These prints showcase the intricate details of the lungs, from the delicate bronchioles to the intricate alveoli, in a way that is both informative and artistic.

One of the great things about Paul Riley's Lungs Arts is that they are versatile in their use. Whether you're looking to decorate your living room, bedroom, or even your office, these prints are the perfect addition. They can add a touch of sophistication and elegance to any space, and their neutral color palette means they will complement any existing decor.

Another benefit of purchasing Paul Riley Art Prints is that they are available in a variety of sizes and materials. From small, framed prints to larger, canvas options, you can find the perfect size and style to suit your needs. Additionally, his art prints can be ordered on different materials like metal, wood, and acrylic. This means that you can choose the material that best suits your style and budget.

Paul Riley's Lungs Arts prints are not only aesthetically pleasing, but they also have educational value. The prints showcase the complex and intricate structure of the lungs, making them an excellent educational tool for children and adults alike.

With a variety of sizes, materials, and designs, you're sure to find the perfect piece to complement your space. Plus, the educational value of his Lungs Arts collection is a bonus. Explore Paul Riley's collection today and add a touch of elegance and sophistication to your home.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐘! ❞

❝ COME ON, FUCK ME, EMO BOY!! ❞

✧ pairing: emo boy! choso kamo x f!reader ✧ summary: saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic? ✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, emo boy! choso, sex toys (vibrators, clit sucker), multiple orgasms, semi-exhibitionism, public sex (sex in the back of hot topic, sex in a changing room), fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), big dick choso (but honey, that dick was 11 inches), also mahito + yuji make appearances, art by @/SS_utr3n. ✧ wc: 5.3K

It had been a while since you had stepped into a Hot Topic (a while meaning three days or three years, take your pick). But this had been the third time this week you had been to this specific Hot Topic, and now you were sure the manager of the place had your badly taken picture and description scrawled in some notebook as a potential shoplifter. 

But it wasn’t the merchandise you were looking to pick up. 

It was him. 

You saw him when you were browsing the clearance rack, knelt down, evaluating whether you needed another blind box item that will inevitably not contain the character you were looking for (but on the plus side, it was on sale?), when you heard a deep voice speak. 

“Excuse me,” you glance up as you spot him — and you swear your breath gets stuck somewhere between your windpipe and your lungs, because you don’t breathe while this man kneels down next to you to place more items on clearance. Spiky black locks tied up messily on either side, fringe bangs falling in front of his face as he bent down, a tattoo across the bridge of his nose and was that — dark purple eyeshadow around his eyes — and his eyes — god, his eyes were gorgeous, a deep dark brown — and you swore, was that a hint of purple in his irises? 

He was everything that your teen self had wanted — the same guys whose profiles you had looked at growing up and thought were so hot. You caught a glance at the My Chemical Romance t-shirt as he stood, in black jeans, as he catches you staring, “Can I help you find something?” His tone was casual, but he was curious — probably curious why you were staring at him with wide-eyed saucers. 

“No, no, sorry, I—” no, don’t tell the hot Hot topic worker that he is hot — first of all its confusing, second of all— “I just wanted to say, I like your t-shirt,” 

Fuck. out of all the things to say — I like your style, I like your fit, I like your hair — you had to pick the most generic ass comment. 

He only nods, but you catch the barest upward twitch of the corner of his lip, “thanks,” 

And that’s all it took — you now needed to see him smile. 

Over the next few days innocently shopping at Hot Topic, you find out his name is Choso from one of the other workers, Mahito, calling his name. His hair is usually in those buns, but one of the days his hair was down, and you heard him complain that his hair ties had snapped. 

And his hair looked so good down, his long inky locks fell past his shoulders, but this was your chance to talk to him — “i have some extra hair ties, if you want them,” you offer him a few hair ties, “I overheard you talking with the other worker, I hope you don’t mind,” 

And he shakes his head, his lips quirked in that almost smile that makes your heart squeeze. 

Fuck. 

“Not at all, thank you,’ and his fingers brush yours as he takes the hair ties, and you turn to leave, but his voice stops you, “what was your name? I didn’t catch it last time,” 

You tell him, smiling, “Your name is Choso, right? I saw it on your nametag,” and he’s biting his lip, tilting his head in question, as you flush, cheeks burning, “I’ve noticed you a couple times when I’ve come in— not in a weird way, I just—” 

“I’ve noticed you too,” and finally he’s smiling — and you know he’s got you, you know you’re fucked. 

And you do get fucked — in the back of Hot Topic during his break. 

It had been a few weeks of you two talking and flirting, until finally, during his break he’s got you snuck into the back to show you the merchandise they haven’t put out yet. And you scoff when you come across a bullet vibrator, “you guys sell these?” 

He shrugs, “They started to in the last few years, not a lot. They don’t want the parents to become too outraged, but just enough,” And you snort, turning the bullet over in your fingers curiously, “have you never used one before?” 

And your cheeks burn, as you bite your lip, “No I never have,” and the next question stumbles out as a joke, “why? Wanna help me learn?” And you want to bite your tongue, but you’re too busy with the foot in your mouth to do so, and before you can apologize he speaks. 

“I would,” 

And your eyes snap to his, and you realize how close he’s standing, his eyes not filled with humor but something else — lust? — and his lips curled in a small smile. 

Fuck. 

“You’re gonna have to be a little quieter, love,” he’s murmuring in your ear, pressing kisses to your neck, as you’re pressed between his firm chest and the metal storage rack, fingers laced as you held on, the vibration between your thighs the only thing ringing in your ears. 

But how can you be quiet? 

The bullet vibrator is pressed right against your clit, and his thick fingers are parting your folds, so close to sinking into you, his deep voice whispering in your ear, hot breath against your neck. 

And the coil in your stomach is only growing tighter and tighter, and your squeals only grow more and more insistent. His fingers sunk into your mouth, “suck,” he ordered, and your cunt twitches at the demand, as you do, sucking and licking messily on his fingers, “good girl,” 

And he clicks the button of the vibrator again, increasing the vibration, making your eyes widen, a gasp around his fingers, “so responsive,” he groans, as your legs grow weak, and he’s stepping forward to steady you, but it also settles his dick between your ass. 

He’s huge. 

The bulge presses into you, drawing a hiss from his lips as you lean back against it, “Trying to tease me, sweetheart?” And he’s pulling his fingers from his mouth, a string of spit connecting from his fingers to your lips, “don’t forget who’s teaching you,” and he sinks his spit soaked fingers into your needy cunt, making your back arch into his body, “so tight, despite the vibrator,” he hums.

“Choso, please—” and he starts to fuck his fingers in and out, the squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears mixing with the buzz of the vibrator — you’re already so close, “I'm—” 

“Cum for me,” he’s grunting, as his fingers reach even deeper inside you, dragging against your walls as he curls them, finding that one spot that has you seeing stars. And your moan as you cum is stifled against your own palm, as he only maxes out the vibration and fucks you through your orgasm, “one more for me, pretty, you can do it,” 

“No, no, Choso, please too much, can’t—” and he only presses sweet kisses to your neck, and how are you already close — you just had orgasmed, but the coil in your stomach is growing tighter by the second, and you’re nearly crying when you cum again, your slick dripping down his fingers and the vibrator as he eases it from you, and then splatters onto the dirty tile floor of the backroom of Hot Topic.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he’s tilting your head back and around for a kiss. And you catch a glimpse of the glint of your release on his black painted nails as he presses the pads into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his digits and sucking them clean, “that’s it, clean up your mess f’me,” and his other hand is wiping the tears from your eyes, “so pretty when you cry — can’t wait to make you do it again.”

Your cunt twitches at the thought, your cum still dripping down your thighs, “Again?” and he’s pressing another sinful kiss to your lips, “You didn’t think this would be our only lesson, did you?” 

And it wasn’t — the next lesson was spent in the fitting rooms, during a particular dead early afternoon in the store — and he had you spread on the fitting room bench, your black jeans pulled down to your ankles, as his head found its way between your thighs. You could barely hold back your whimpers as he pressed all too hot kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, burning already with his warm breath. It was too much. 

He was too much. 

“How’s that feel?” dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, half lidded with lust, as he watches your panting face, your head against the wall of the fitting room, “use your words, love,” 

“Too good, Cho-so,” the last syllable of his names escapes your lips in a gasp, as your cunt twitches as his lithe fingers tease you through the soaked material of your panties, “please, please, need you,” 

“What do you need?” and his fingers pull away, as his lips press a kiss to your puffy clit, pulling a whine from you, “what do you want me to do?” 

“Please, just—” and he’s tugging your panties aside, cool air rushing over your all too hot pussy, “please just touch me — with your fingers or mouth—” 

And his tongue drags over your messy cunt, and god, it feels too good — but a twinge makes you pause, and when you feel it draw a circle around your clit, you realize what it is — he has a tongue piercing. Your fingers thread their way in his black locks, resisting the urge to grab at his hair buns. 

He grunts, vibrations against your wet cunt, as you pull him impossibly closer to where you needed him most, his nose bumping against your clit, “you smell so good — how’s that possible?” and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press your thighs further apart. 

That’s when you both hear the click of the entrance, and the door swinging shut — shit, the door — he forgot to lock it. Forgot when you had pulled him into a kiss right when he was ready to take a lunch break, all other thoughts had flown out of his brain once he let those doors swing shut and your lips had met his — well, left his brain and flooded southward. He also didn’t think a customer would be persistent enough to try the door and wander in when the doors were shut and the closed sign was hung up. 

“Choso, should we—” and the footsteps draw closer — and fuck — did you get wetter? And tighter — his moan is muffled against your walls, “Choso, stop, we—” 

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, dark, half lidded eyes look up at you, your essence and his spit soaking his lips and dripping down his chin. And the footsteps are receding, the sounds of the shuffling and clinking of clothes hangers on racks in the distance, but all you can hear are the sounds of the wet, needy squelch of your cunt, “you aren’t being honest — but you are down here,” and his lips find your clit, sucking lightly, making your head jerk back, “want them to know how good I make you feel,” his lips leave your clit with a small pop, before murmuring against the soft skin of your thigh, “be quiet for me, baby,” and his tongue slips back into your cunt. 

He’s nearly slurping your juices up, his tongue tasting every inch of you, deliciously dragging against your twitching walls with his piercing, as your toes curl and your mouth parts in a muffled moan, one hand clamped over your mouth, and the other digging into his scalp. How could the person not hear you? How couldn’t they hear the wet squelch of your cunt as Choso fucked it with his tongue? How couldn’t they hear your badly swallowed moans and the sounds of your heart pounding out of your chest — and if they did, they certainly didn’t care enough to stop browsing through the fucking store. 

And you’re close, so fucking close, and you don’t hear the footsteps drawing close to the fitting rooms because your ears only can hear the wet suck of his mouth against your clit or the press of his tongue in and out of your folds, your thighs twitching under his grasp, fingers pressed into your flesh, “Choso, I’m so—” 

“Cum f’me, need to feel you cum around my tongue,” he sucks on your clit hard, teeth grazing the sensitive spot, and you cum, hard, your hand forsaking your lips to find purchase on his head, squirting all over his face as you did, soaking him along with the bench of the fitting room. And you can’t help the whimpers and moans that left your lips, as he lapped up your release without a care. 

And you slump against the wall of the fitting room, body still buzzing from your orgasm, as he finally pulls his tongue out, glancing up at you. Your chest heaves as you watch him lick your cum from his lips and chin, before wiping the rest away, and your eyes drift downward to the erection he was palming. And your fingers unconsciously reach for it, when your hear a door slam shut making your both jump. 

You cover your mouth — the customer, and Choso’s eyes meets yours, as the two of you break out in a laugh, “Fucking lock the door next time,” you sigh, covering your burning face with your hands, as Choso chuckles, lips curled in a smile.

“So there’s going to be a next time?” he tilts his head, and you flush. 

How could he go from eating you out like a desperate man without water to this innocent puppy? “Not if you don’t lock the door,” 

“It’s their fault for coming in when the doors were closed and there was a sign that said closed in big letters on the door,” and you shake your head, as he draws closer, “now, I have twenty minutes of lunch left — so where were we?” 

And you push him towards the changing room door, “Go lock the door first,” and he relents, chuckling. 

“Just for that, I’m going to look for the clit sucker I couldn’t find before.” 

~~~~

The two of you had fallen into a pattern. 

And you had become a regular at Hot Topic. You hung around him as he stocked the shelves, did inventory, price re-labeling, and even as he spoke to customers. You watched other customers speak to Choso, even flirt with him, but he never cracked a smile. Two girls were very persistent, but they deflated as he walked away after answering their questions, brushing past you, his hand brushing against your ass discreetly. Heat rushes to your cheeks, your head snapping to him as his lips curl when your eyes catch his gaze. But even so…

You still were just as clueless of where you stood with him as you were when this started. 

“You two have been pretty hot and heavy lately, huh?” you nearly jump out of your skin, as Mahito smiles knowingly at you, leaning against the counter with a shiteating grin. 

“What are you—” 

“Please, like we don’t know what goes on in the back during breaks?” he raises an eyebrow, as you bite your lip, “plus, never have I seen that gloomy guy smile, much less as much he does with you,” 

“Really?” your eyes find him again, as he crouches and lines up blind boxes on one of the shelves — but you can’t help the nagging question circling in the back of your mind — why hasn’t he asked you out yet? The two of you have hooked up, in and out of the store, but he still hadn’t asked you on a date. Even in the last few weeks, the two of you hadn’t even spent any real time together, except for your visits to the store -- he hasn't even taken you into the back. For all you know, you’re one of many people he’s bedding. Even if he doesn’t seem the type. 

“What? Trouble in paradise?” Mahito pulls you from your thoughts, head tilted and all too eager, “what’s wrong?” 

“No, it’s—“ he cuts you off with a look, and you relent with a slight pout, “he just hasn’t asked me out yet, I’m just wondering what he’s thinking—“ 

“Well, I definitely don’t think he’s seeing anyone else,” he hums, “but he does tend to go straight home a lot when you’re not around. Maybe something is going on at home?” And then he’s pushing you towards him, “no time like the present to find out,” 

“Mahito—“ 

“Choso! How about you and your favorite regular go for a quick walk and get us some drinks from the food court?” He grins, offering some money,  “be a doll, won’t you?” 

Choso sighs, “Fine,” and he brushes past you, taking the cash, before glancing back at you, “you coming?” 

You glance between the two of them, before following him out of the store. You both walk in relative silence, slipping past customers, as you reach the food court. Choso orders, paying with the cash Mahito gave, as he passes you one of the drinks, “Choso, can I ask you something?” 

His eyes slide to you, “Of course,” and god, his eyes stop your thoughts in their tracks — he’s so unfairly gorgeous, funny, sweet — you didn’t want to screw this up. You open your mouth to speak when you hear a voice. 

“Big bro, that you?” A rush of pink hair and energy is wrapped around Choso all of a sudden, “I didn’t think you got off until later,” it’s a teen boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, his arm wrapped around Choso, and a varsity jacket on — this was Choso’s brother?

Choso cracked his rare smile, “I don’t get off until later, Yuji, but I came to grab a drink for Mahito,” and Yuji’s gaze slides to you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” he smiles a thousand watt smile, “I’m Yuji Itadori, Choso’s brother,” and he’s glancing between you and his brother, before his mouth falls into an ‘o,’ “are you his girlfriend?” 

“Yuji—“ Choso starts, a hint of a blush across his cheeks, as you stifle a laugh, “I thought you said you were going to study at home with Fushiguro.” 

“I wanted to see you when your shift got off — I thought we could have dinner together,” Yuji pouts, and Choso cracks in an instant, his lips curling. 

This boy had his brother wrapped around his finger. 

“Ok, but don’t goof off. Make sure to study,” and Yuji nods. 

“Nice to meet you,” and he leans in to whisper, “treat my brother good, ok?” And you flush, before nodding, as Choso raises an eyebrow, out of earshot. 

“I will,” 

“Cho, tell Mahito to fuck off for me,” and he’s off again, gone as fast as he came.

“Sorry about that,” Choso sighs, still a smile on his lips as he watches his brother in the distance, claiming one of the food court tables for himself and his friend, as he sits down next to a black haired boy, assumedly Fushiguro, “didn’t know Yuji would be here,” 

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” and he bites his lip. 

“It’s relatively new — we’re half brothers, but he just came back into my life. He doesn’t really have any other biological family. His grandfather just passed, and he’s staying with a teacher whose decided to foster him,” the two of you begin to walk back to the store, his gaze fixed downwards at the tacky mall carpeting, “he’s been staying with me for the last few weeks, while his foster father went on a vacation to Malaysia,” 

And now the pieces were clicking into place, “And that’s why you’ve been going home a lot lately,” and his dark eyes find yours with a tilt of his head, “I mean, you just haven’t had a lot of time lately,” you can’t meet his gaze, “it must be a lot to have a teenager staying with you.” 

“Yeah, he eats everything in the house, and he’s staying in my living room, which leaves little in the way of privacy,” and you can still feel the prickle of his gaze on you, “but I could use a break,” and you finally look and see a soft expression on his face, the same insecurity you had reflected in his gaze. 

No time like the present, right?

“Well, should we maybe go on a date?” and his cheeks flush a pretty red, all the way to the tips of his ears, “we’ve done plenty of other things that a couple would do, like—” 

And he’s shaking his head, “I know, I know!” he’s the one who can’t meet your eyes now, chewing his lip, “I’d like that — I get off my shift tonight at eight, I told Yuji we’d hang out, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind postponing—” 

“We can always do it tomorrow, I don’t want to keep you from your brother,” and his lips curl into a smile, “he’s a good kid,” 

“He is,” and his fingers find yours again, “I can tell Mahito that I’ll lock up tonight, and maybe after I do, we could—” 

“Have another lesson?” 

And eight o’clock rolls around far too slow, but Choso definitely isn’t moving slow when it’s only the two of you. 

He’s pulling you into the back again, the door swinging shut behind the two of you, his fingers tight around your wrists as he’s pulling you into a bruising kiss, forcing your lips to part with a gasp, his tongue flicking against yours. The smooth surface of his piercing grazes against your tongue. 

And his fingers find the back of your neck, deepening the kiss impossibly, as his other hand slips down the curves of your body, pulling you against him, his clothed cock brushing against your aching cunt. 

Fuck. You had almost forgotten how big he was. 

And when you hear the zipper of his black jeans, you nearly melt against him, “Choso, please—” 

“I have to get you ready first, love,” his fingers find their way to the front of your jeans and undo the button, tugging the fabric down to your ankles. Cool air raises goosebumps across your skin, the pads of his fingers press against the wet patch of your panties, and he’s groaning, “but maybe I don’t,” 

“Fuck, so wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, as he’s walking you backwards, into one of the racks, his fingers press into the soft flesh of your thighs. And two fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, joining your jeans, pooling around your ankles, “nearly ready now, but I still have to loosen you up,” his fingers tease your outer lips, dripping with your release. 

One of his finger’s slips in with practiced ease, making your hips jolt against his hand, your fingers curling around the metal bars of the rack in front of you. His finger was so much thicker and longer than yours, his digit toyed with your walls, teasing and stretching until he drew a soft groan from your lips. He was the only one who could make you this desperate, his lips pressed against your neck, the heat from his body has your mind reeling with pleasure. 

“Mmm, Choso, more—" and he’s adding another finger inside your still all too tight entrance, making you whimper, as the intrusion is all too much after a few weeks of not having him inside you. 

“So greedy,” he murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears, “you’re practically sucking me in, but it’s still not enough for you, is it?” his tongue drags against the outer shell of your ear, his piercing against your skin, before his mouth envelops your earlobe and sucks. 

His fingers are fucking you open, your eyes screwed shut as the tips brush against that spot, heat flooding your body. And you don’t hear the shuffling of his other hand through a box, until you hear the sound of sucking, “Choso—“ and he’s pressing the sucker against your clit, your mouth falling open as pleasure rips up your spine, the sucking sensation with the lewd noises of your pussy being finger fucked is too much. 

You cum all over his hand, your hand clamping over your mouth so no one hears your moans — and your legs quake as you come down from your high, as he eases his fingers from you, “so pretty,” he murmurs, and you can feel his dark, lidded eyes on your drenched cunt, watching your sticky release cling to his fingers, purple painted nails glinting in the low light. 

And he’s leaning forward, kissing down your back, as he turns you around gently, so your back is pressed against the rack. You kick off your underwear and pants. You’re still panting, chest rising and falling as his fingers press to your chin, lifting it so you meet his gaze, as he sucks his fingers clean of your cum. Heat pools again, as his fingers undo the leather belt and he’s tugging his jeans and black boxers down to his knees, his erection springs out, slapping against his stomach. 

Your mouth runs dry. 

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you thought. 

Ten inches? No, maybe eleven. How was that even possible? That shit would break you — but fuck — your cunt twitches — you kind of want it to break you. 

“Like what you see, Princess?” you lick your lips in response, and in a trance, your fingers are reaching for him, curling around the base before you slowly start to pump him. You’re rewarded with a moan, a noise that goes straight to your cunt, as your fingers move faster, trying to find the right rhythm. Pre-cum leaks from the top, as you tease his tip, before stroking back up the length of it. 

And he’s a beautiful mess, his pale features flushed a gorgeous red, as he presses his hand against his mouth so his moans wouldn’t resonate. And his pre-cum drips all over your fingers, slipping down your wrist even, as you lean forward to lick it off your own skin, while you meet his gaze. 

His head lolls back, eyes screwed shut now, and your fingers drift to his sack, stroking and teasing while your lips find the tip, sucking lightly before your tongue drags over the length of his cock. And god, he’s going to blow his load now, if you keep doing that, from the way his hips rock against your touch. 

His fingers weave into your hair, nails digging into your scalp, “Baby, ngh, it’s too good—fuck—” he’s so close, twitching in your mouth as you suck him from tip to base, tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue, “shit, I can’t—” and you suck hard on his cock, massaging his balls, and he’s gone — he’s pumping his cock into your mouth as his cum spurts down your throat, as you swallow it all too greedily. You pull away with a pop, a string of cum and saliva connecting you to his dick still, before you wipe it away. 

He’s leaning against the rack, chest heaving as he watches you with lust blown out eyes, sweat sheen on his face, “Haa, baby, s’good f’me,” and somehow he’s still hard, as you rise to your feet, thighs pressed together, your eyes fixed on his cock, “you don’t have to—” 

And he’s still so sweet — his eyebrows knit together as he’s examining you with concern, but you’re only shaking your head, as you press a sweet kiss to his lips, “I need you, Choso, please,” and he’s nodding, lips meeting yours in a heady kiss that steals your breath, and he’s made you brace yourself against the rack, fingers curled around the cool metal. 

Your folds are exposed to him, slick and dripping, even wetter than before, “You liked sucking me off that much, love?” he murmurs, kissing your neck, before he’s dragging the tip of his cock against your needy cunt, “I’ll go slow,” he assures you, as you nod. 

He’s sinking into you inch by inch — and not even halfway, you already feel like you’re ready to burst, “So big, Choso, I—” and he’s murmuring quiet reassurances, as he’s parting your folds, the pain drawing a gasp from your lips, as he finally bottoms out. 

“S’good, baby, so tight,” he’s moaning, You’re taking deep breaths, pain ebbing with each second that passes. Choso pressing sweet kisses to your neck, his hands slipping under your shirt to tease your perked nipples, mixing pain with pleasure. Tears burn at your tear ducts, as you breathe shaky breaths, and finally pain ebbs away, and pleasure grows in its place.

“S’full, so big,” you pant, growing more needy by the second, he’s reaching places you’d only dreamt of — his leaking tip kissing your cervix, “move, p-please—ah!” 

And he does as you say, pulling ever so slowly out before pushing back in, grunting as he does as your tight cunt adjusts to his size and length — bullying your insides in a way no toy could ever compare to. You swear you can feel every inch, every curve, every vein as he rocks into you. 

“So pretty f’me,” he’s moaning, stifled by his bitten lip, as your walls only seem to pull him back deeper each time he pulls out,  “so perfect, take me so well,” he’s murmuring, as he teases your tits between his thumb and forefinger, “pretty cunt made just for me, isn’t that right, Princess?” 

“Yes, yes, Choso,” and his pace only grows faster, just as his groans grow louder. 

“No one else can fuck you like this, make you feel this good, can’t wait to feel you cummin’ around me,” he’s panting, his fingers tweaking your nipples, squeezing, as he fucks you deeper and deeper, his tip hitting your cervix deliciously again and again, “feels s’good, so wet and warm for me—” his hand comes down on your ass now, making you gasp, your cunt squeezing around him. 

Drool slips from your mouth, as you get closer and closer to cumming — the telltale flutter of your walls, “Choso, I’m coming, I can’t—” 

“Cum for me, let me fill you up,” and his fingers reach around to press a vibrator to your clit, and you’re cumming, falling apart on his cock, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. The squelch of your cunt and the way you squeeze him has him falling apart, spurting and painting your walls. 

The two of you slump forward, your legs nearly buckling, as you cling to the rack, before he’s easing both of you back onto a bench in the stock room. Your quiet pants fill the silence of the room, as he eases himself out, groaning as you both watch your mixed releases leak out of your cunt. 

“I don’t think I can walk after that,” and he chuckles in your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you,” and you laugh, his favorite noise in the world, as you slowly turn, making him groan as your soaked pussy grinds against his dick. 

“So then you can lift me up when I drop it?” your lips are curled in that same smile that had him hypnotized from the moment he saw it, and he can only reply with a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, as you sunk yourself onto his dick again. 

God. He needed to buy you tickets to Warped Tour. 

~~~

The next time you show up to Hot Topic, you weren’t showing up to buy any merchandise. 

“Hey emo boy!” you call out, making Choso turn with a smile on his lips — the one especially reserved for you. 

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, kissing you softly, his arm around your waist, “I’m almost done. I just have to punch out.” 

You lean in, words whispered against his ear, “And then you’re gonna come fuck me?” 

You were picking up your boyfriend. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist, before kissing you again, “You know I will.” 

note: i couldn't find who made this incredible art that i used after searching and searching, so if anyone knows, please let me know so i can credit them above in the description. this fic has been a long time coming since that silly blurb i wrote after watching one too many thirst edits of choso. edit: i found the artist: its @/SS_utr3n on twt!!!

tag list: @uroldall, @jlovesfrogs, @existential54321, @staryukis, @samistars, @chosoilysm, @astroholic, @emii4evr, @rose1238, @butterflieskeepcominback, @divinely-yourz, @fishii28, @seresukuin, @misalsmistake, @xkaidaxxxx, @cappric, @famebydefinition, @theatergeek, @sousblogga, @averagelonelypotato, @timesnewreader, @chrvstxl, @darylthekidd, @merelydaydreaming, @notafan77, @naughtygobbo, @smiley-babe, @butterflieskeepcominback, @entirelytoooobsessed, @acenanxious

[drchucktingle]

the parade is starting

you buckaroos are INCREDIBLE. my way is wild and unique and this release week has shown that so is the way of those who trot with me. we are the punk rockers and the underdogs and the dang freaks and we carry the FLAG OF LOVE. we carry the flag of hope and acceptance and joy.

i have always KNOWN our parade was powerful and that our march into mainstream light was inevitable too. with release of camp damascus i have seen this happening in a very visceral way before my eyes and i am SPELLBOUND by the passion for outside art and the acceptance on display

behind the scenes there are numbers flyin back and forth about books and markets and sales and like all stories of the underdog parade you are KICKIN DOWN THE DOORS OF EXPECTATIONS LEFT AND RIGHT blasting radiant love in every corner by supporting unique queer neurodivergent art.

so THANK YOU for this way. from bottom of my heart in most bleedingly sincere tone you can imagine rattling through my bones as I say this: thank you for creating this space for me to express myself and for stepping up and SUPPORTING this space. you have literally saved my life

and the parade is only starting bud CAMP DAMASCUS HAS ONLY BEEN OUT A FEW DAYS. so if you would like to continue this trot with me please keep working your magic. keep posting kind reviews and sharing posts and recommending that your buds come on in and join our unique trot too

because pretty soon this parade isnt gonna be just one line through the city, its gonna be the WHOLE city. its gonna be a dang buckaroo dance party of underdogs as far as the eye can see. and we will all shout at the top of our lungs in a thousand booming voices: LOVE IS REAL

thanks buds. i am so honored to trot with you 

bit.ly/CampDamascus

[greenlaut]

orange tree

myrrh in your lungs and the golden disk haloed behind your head

your face is made for war

(would you trip and fall like a shot dove?)

.

(irl stuff below cut)

since my father's death i have been doing awful with drawing. i can't bring myself to make art. i feel like i lost something. i can't understand it—i still can't.

this is the first piece since my father's death that feels like i'm back in my own skin.

i have been playing assassin's creed lately to pass the time. when i was a teenager, i loved ac very much. altaïr was my favourite as a teen. i think it's the rage and helplessness that we share that made me identify with him. i couldn't afford the games as a kid so i'd spend hours just watching walkthroughs, looking at fanarts, and reading fanfictions. years later and now as an adult, i'm playing ac unity that i got on a whim when it was on sale. i think i'll purchase ac1 when it's on sale later. for now, i will indulge my past self by playing as a french man doomed by the narrative.

while it's off topic, this piece is inspired by the relationship of palestinians with their oranges/orange trees. free palestine.

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

First Chapter

10. 𝓐 𝓯𝓮𝔀 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓐𝓰𝓸

She looked down. "Where are we going?" She repeated, desperate to change the subject.

He let go of her hand and reached into his coat to pull out two tickets that he handed her. After studying the writing on the tickets, (Y/n) looked up with a curious expression. "An art exhibition?"

He acquiesced with evident delight. "Indeed," he confirmed. "If fate is on our side, we might even be able to acquire some of the masterpieces on display."

She hummed in response, her interest not overly piqued, yet not repulsed by the prospect of the outing either. As they got off the carriage, the duke opened a sleek black umbrella as they walked the streets of London, a stark contrast against the backdrop of the setting sun casting an orange hue across the horizon.

"Aren't you protected by your ring?" she asked under her breath as she observed the scenery.

Passersby, less fortunate people, were looking at them with interest. There was something so striking about that. Here she was, dressed in lavish garments fit for royalty when all her life, she had simply been a peasant girl. Months ago, (Y/n) would have walked the same streets without anyone batting an eye.

"I am," he replied, revealing his adorned ring with a subtle flourish. "But the feeling of its rays against my skin is still unpleasant."

As they entered a grand beige building in the city, the duke gracefully presented their tickets to the attendant at the door. A quick survey of the room revealed a vast exhibition hall, bustling with people. They were all aristocrats, but as she observed everyone's mannerisms, (Y/n) became fairly certain that these men and women in elegant clothes were human.

A hopeful smile graced her face as her heart quickened its pace. This could be her chance to escape. Perhaps, she could scream for help. Yes, (Y/n) would scream for help at the top of her lungs and surely someone would come save her.

"He—" Before she could utter a sound, a hand was placed firmly over her mouth, stifling any attempt to scream. Panic surged within her, eyes widening with fear as the reality of her situation.

As she excitedly explored her first art exhibition, some onlookers shot her peculiar glances, but they refrained from commenting. In a gentle voice, the vampire remarked, "I understand this is your first art exhibition, but there is no need to express your excitement so loudly, dear." Speaking audibly for those nearby, he then leaned in, his lips nearly brushing her ear, and whispered, "There are about thirty humans here, most inexperienced in combat. I'd venture to say the odds are in my favor. Care to take the risk, my daughter? It could be an amusing game, though I'd hate to stain the exquisite art on display."

He paused before adding, "This is your second warning today, doll."

The air seemed to constrict as the weight of the vampire's words settled in, an unspoken tension lingering in the space between them. (Y/n) felt the chill that accompanied the subtle shift in atmosphere, a reminder of the power the vampire possessed. She tensed up at the second threat he had given her today and the vampire's hand retreated. (Y/n) bit back a snide remark, knowing retorting wasn't a good idea now.

Realizing she had no way of winning this time, the human continued on with the vampire who navigated the place, marveling at the paintings, drawings, and sculptures. The vampire occasionally lingered, absorbing the descriptions offered with an air of discerning appreciation.

Much to his dismay, most of them weren't for sales, still, the nobleman often tried to bargain and offer astronomical amounts of money for simple art pieces. (Y/n) huffed. With such wealth, her family could lead a life of comfort for generations. If they were still alive, she reminded herself bitterly.

"So much money," she commented in a hushed tone, her eyes flickering over the priceless pieces. "Is there some secret rule stating that vampires must be super wealthy?"

He laughed at that and shook his head. "No, but I would argue that any of us who isn't, simply is dimwitted," he admitted with a confident smile. "After all..."

He trailed off, seemingly having noticed something important. (Y/n) followed his gaze until it landed on a tableau—an inconspicuous painting, beautiful yet seemingly no different from the others. It depicted an old man, almost god-like with wings, holding a child's wings and attempting to remove them with a scythe. A grim sight, indeed, but it still didn't explain the vampire's peculiar interest.

"Saturn Clipping the Wings of Cupid," he whispered wistfully what appeared to be the name of the tableau.

"You got it right, good sir," announced the man next to the painting proudly. "From the late Ivan Akimov himself. The original."

The vampire hummed as he arched a sly brow. "Oh, is it really? " he asked with a look of interest.

The enthusiastic salesman nodded eagerly. "Oh, yes," he assured. "Only for 30 pounds*."

(Y/n), bug-eyed, stared at the price tag. It was expensive—too expensive for her comprehension. Her incredulity deepened when she witnessed the duke pull out his checkbook, seemingly unfazed by the ridiculous large sum.

"30 pounds for the original one does sound reasonable," the duke commented and the salesman smiled at that. However, the vampire's demeanor shifted as he paused and sneered, his tone cutting through the air. "But, a fake is worth nothing."

The salesman's face flushed a deep shade of red. "Are you insinuating that this is a fake?"

"Oh no, I am not insinuating anything," the vampire chuckled, shaking his head. But the humor dissipated rapidly, and his expression turned sour. "I am saying that people like you shouldn't dare enter these places to try to swindle money with mediocre copies."

Whispers and snide comments rippled through the bystanders as they watched the confrontation unfold. The salesman, now sweating bullets, struggled to maintain composure amid the growing anger. The salesman, now faced with the exposure of his deception, stammered incoherently, attempting to salvage what remained of his credibility. The onlookers, once drawn to the allure of the artwork, now regarded it with a newfound skepticism.

The vampire stepped forward, approaching the portrait to scrutinize it closely. (Y/n) just watched like all the others. "The scythe is too small," he critiqued, crossing his arms with an air of authority. "The beard isn't quite the right shade of grey, and any connoisseur of the arts of the era would notice the muscles aren't defined enough. This is a pathetic imitation."

The salesman practically leaped in rage towards the duke, his face contorted with fury. Yet, the vampire, possessing a supernatural grace and speed, effortlessly sidestepped the attack. The mansion's guards were summoned to intervene, ensuring that the confrontation didn't spiral into chaos.

The charlatan, now surrounded by vigilant guards in imposing uniforms, found himself escorted out of the grand estate. The vampire sent him one last disgusted glance. As the guards guided the disgraced salesman away, the vampire turned to face the onlookers, his demeanor shifting effortlessly. With a practiced charm, he sent a captivating smile to those who had witnessed the unraveling drama. It was as if he had performed a well-rehearsed act.

As the noblemen and women continued to admire the vampire aristocrat with fascination, (Y/n) couldn't suppress the twist of disgust within her. If only they knew what he truly was, their admiration would turn to fear and horror. All vampires were nothing more than monsters cloaked in a convincing human disguise, a disguise that concealed the horrifying nature that lurked beneath. His charismatic smile, the graceful movements, and the impeccable manners were a well crafted mask.

They left the grand estate shortly after the vampire had acquired something to his liking - an authentic tableau this time - for 40 pounds. The carriage passed through the evening landscape as they left the city and a chance for her to flee.

As they left in the carriage, (Y/n) couldn't help but voice a question she had. "You really remembered so many details about a specific painting?" she inquired.

He smiled, a reminiscing glint in his eyes. "Of course, I was there with Akimov at the time he was making it. It was around fifty years ago, I believe," he replied.

─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

*30 pounds at that time = 3651,90 pounds today = 4652,52 US Dollars

£1 in mid victorian era would cost £121.73 today according to what I've read. Don't quote me on that though. XD

Also, here is the painting mentioned.

[thatone-brightstar]

The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 5: The Fantastic Mrs. Fox pt. 1

Words: 4.3k

Summary: Carmy deals with his nightmares while you deal with your family.

a/n: This is more fluff but I'll make it up with smut on the next one ;) Hope you enjoy! xx

PS. Reader is latina in this and if you are too, you’ll probably understand the families…

He could not remember the last time his lungs didn’t ache from the lack of air. It felt like he could finally catch a decent breath and his neck wasn’t strained from its constant outstretched position, trying to hold his head above the murky water before it pulled him under the current. The pressure in his chest was rubbed away by dexterous fingers covered in velvet clay as you molded him into one of your beautiful art pieces, fingerprints permanently etched into his surface.

He didn’t want to give credit of his newly found good mood to whatever you two had, he wasn’t the kind to let anyone influence over his emotions. Many years of abusive behavior in the world’s best kitchens had made him believe he was above all that. He could whisk a Hollandaise sauce by hand in less than a minute, while some entitled asshole butchered his self esteem with every word and yet it would still be the best shit that had left that kitchen. He didn’t believe he was above it, he knew.

And yet, a single ‘hope ur having a great day xx’ text from you was enough to dissipate the boiling irritation beginning to grow after a very shitty day, the simple sentence curling his lips into a small smile.

The week had been going smoothly. Apart from the day where he had to break the news to the team that you wouldn’t be coming back to work due to… personal priorities, everything had been smooth sailing. At least as smooth as it can be when the ship is held by duct tape and is constantly on fire. The payment on their meat deliveries was finally up to date, meaning that they could order more product, which in turn meant more sales for the restaurant. 

He called you after closing and while he finished scrubbing a few grimey spots on the floor he told you the good news. You were just as excited as he was, probably even more, because this meant that his plan to turn The Beef into a respectable business was finally starting to take shape. 

In a low whisper you told him how glad you were and when he answered that ‘there’s still so much more left to do’, you replied with ‘Yeah, but that’s one less thing to worry about. I’m really proud of you for it.’

Your words had trickled through his veins, sticky sweet invading his body and keeping him warm as he drove home and settled on his couch to rest his eyes.

The warmth, however, had now dissipated into thin slivers of distress that circled his throat and constricted his airway. Mirages of blinding white tiles and glistening stainless steel haunted his vision, no matter how hard he closed his eyes. A booming voice that sounded like his own but laced with unknown malice vibrated in his skull and crept under his skin as it repeated the familiar mantra for the tenth time in a row, ‘Mikey was wrong, you can’t handle it’. The taste of smoke filled his lungs, drawing heavy droplets of water from his eyes and forcing him to the floor, heaving in desperation. Roaring flames invaded his view, crawling up the walls and swallowing everything around him in an angry orange blaze.

Carmy’s body jerked awake, wild eyes scanning the dark surrounding for the immediate threat. The lulling sounds of the cooking channel were no more than static to the ringing in his ears and the tang of inexistent smoke felt heavy inside his mouth. He rubbed his eyes ferociously, hoping this would clear the image of his burning kitchen now carved into his mind. Through the cloudy haze of adrenaline and angst, his own thoughts seemed far in the distance, like he was floating away from his own existence, like if nothing was real.

A pang in his chest made him grip over his heart with shaky fingers, the all too familiar bile beginning to strut its way up his trachea at the intrusive thought that maybe you too had been a vision fabricated by his fucked up head. It would only make sense, how someone as perfect as you had just suddenly appeared like a lifeline, bright and beautiful, taking a liking to him of all people. Maybe he had finally lost his marbles, The Beef and everyone in that fucking place had finally broken him,

“Okay, okay, okay, get your shit together.” He mumbled to himself and rubbed a hand over his sweat covered face. 

He tried to breathe in as deeply as he could with his aching lungs, hold it in then exhale shakily, like he had once read in one of those psychology posts that seemed irrelevant until now. With fingers pressing tightly against his temples, he continued the breathing exercises until he no longer felt like his chest would concave into a black hole. He dragged his other hand to the space between his torso and the backrest of the couch where he could feel the hard surface of his phone and unlocked it with slight trembling fingers.

His thumb hovered over the call button in your contact info, doubting if he should inconvenience you with his mental crap, especially at four in the morning. Instead, he moved to his gallery where the bright image contrasted between pictures of gloomy skylines and invoice reminders. Bright green gelée with vibrant edible violets stared back at him through the lit up screen while he readjusted himself in the small sofa, the pastry soothed the turmoil of negative thoughts regarding your existence and served as the confirmation his head needed to allow his worked up body some desired rest.

**********

It was Sweep’s turn to play the music for the day, and while normally he would just tune it out until service hours, the insistent bass mixed with his sleep deprivation, drilled a consistent hole right between his brows.

“Yo chef, turn that shit down, will ya?” He asked Syd, who stood close to the radio, cutting onions.

Despite their system functioning slightly better, Carmy couldn’t help being on edge from the moment he walked through the door, expecting anything and everything to go wrong. He could blame the nightmare still fresh in his mind, but he knew the sudden waves of anxiety had begun way before forcefully inheriting The Beef. Somewhere between New York and Noma.

Remnants of the conversation with his sister the week before surfaced from the shallow water and he remembered the pamphlets he had been skimming over right before discarding them completely when you had gone in to quit. A soft smile covered his face as the memories of everything that happened that night replayed in his head, then he cleared his throat to cover it up. 

He finished dicing the vegetables for the giardiniera with mechanical ease, then threw everything in a low pot with vinegar, water, salt, pepper and a few bay leaves, leaving it to simmer. When he asked Tina to watch it for him, he only received a soft grunt as a response, which he answered with a ‘thank you, T.’ and retrieved into the office to find the pamphlets and give another good look over them. 

Maybe Sugar wasn’t so crazy to suggest Al-Anon Family. God knows he needed somewhere to vent after all the shit that had happened in the past couple months. He was never the type to ‘talk about it’, no one in his family was, which was probably the biggest reason why the thing with his brother had happened. He was used to swallowing it down, whether it was his brother’s rejection or the constant verbal assault of America’s Next Top Chef Imbecile. He was used to keeping it controlled, letting it simmer slowly in the depths of his stomach, until it reduced into a thick red paste that invaded his veins and darkened his vision. 

Before the voice in the back of his head convinced him that ‘It wasn’t worth it’ and that ‘all you need to do is man up, not fuckin therapy’, he saved the number in bold black letters to his contacts for safe keeping, promising himself he’d call during his next break.

Three soft knocks on the flimsy material of the open door caught his attention as he saved the papers into one of the many crowded drawers. He turned around in his chair and a new wave of found air reached his lungs. 

“Hey ” You whispered, stepping into the small space, bottom lip caught in your teeth. “Am I interrupting?”

“Hey…” He breathed in, and for the first time in a while, he felt like the oxygen had finally filled his lungs. “N-no, no, no, of course not. What’s up?”

Carmy stood from his seat with renewed energy, stretching a hand to caress your forearm but stopped himself midway when he remembered that you hadn’t really talked about how you would approach this new situation whenever you visited the restaurant. Your eyes flickered to his stagnant hand and your grip around a grease stained cardboard box tightened. You threw a quick glance over your shoulder to make sure no one was looking, then softly pushed the door closed with your boot, until you heard a click. Immediately after, you carelessly dropped the box on his desk and circled your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to your hungry lips. His arms automatically closed around your form and a soft hum escaped your throat as you melted into his warm embrace. It was absurd how quickly he had gotten used to the tender movements of your silky lips on his, because at that moment, he could not remember how he had lived so long deprived of such a delightful experience. 

A light laugh escaped your mouth when your side hit the edge of his desk after he unconsciously spun you in the small space.

You pulled your face to take a few deep breaths as well as calm your thundering heartbeat, and when you finally opened your eyes, he swore you held the entire cosmos inside the dark, glittering voids.

“I just came to drop off family, but this is nice too.” You joked under your breath and he followed along.

“Hmm..what’d you make?”

“Empanadas.” You answered with a warm smile and reached for the forgotten box behind you. “See?” A savory scent invaded his nose from the moment you opened the lid, his stomach registering the estranged sensation of hunger after the long day.

“Shit… that smells fire.”

“You wanna take one now? Knowing them, there won’t be many left.”

“Oh no thanks, I’m good.”

You stared at him with a blank expression, then pushed the open box to him. You looked at him expectantly, then at the box and back at him. He sighed but reached into it and took one, placing it over a closed binder on his desk.

“Happy?” 

“Mhm, very.” You answered with a satisfied smile, standing on your toes and giving him a chaste kiss. “So, whatcha lookin’ at?” You ask, dropping your bag over the familiar spot.

Carmy let you go and sat back down on the revolving chair with a sigh, analyzing how much of the truth he should tell you. He wasn’t sure if you knew about Mikey and all the shit that had gone down. From what he remembered, you had come in when the waters had finally settled and only the disaster after the storm remained. 

The same wrenching feeling from the night before invaded his mind at the thought of dragging you into his mess.

“Just uhm…” He rubbed his face with his elbows resting on his thighs “Some accounting stuff I can’t get my head around.” He answered instead.

Your soft touch combed through the knotted curls of his hair, careful fingers massaged the neglected scalp and an involuntary sigh parted his lips. It’s like the simple act had triggered his neck to lose hold on his head because soon he felt the soft fabric of your shirt pressed against his forehead and eyes as you stood in front of him, massaging his worries away. You stepped between his separated legs, racking your nails from his scalp down his neck and to his tense shoulders, disarming him completely. The swell in his chest grew for a very different reason when he realized just how touch starved he truly was, as he could not remember the last time someone had treated him with such tenderness and care. If there ever was such a time.

“Maybe you just need some rest…” You said softly. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

His hands rubbed absentmindedly along the length of your thighs, humming in response to your caring words. He rose his head from its comfortable place to look up at you. You smiled delicately down at him and cupped his face between your hands, then placed a loving kiss in the valley of his eye brows.

That was enough for the lock that guarded the Pandora’s box in the back of his darkened mind to break in two. His mouth parted lightly as the Adam's apple in his throat grew two sizes too big for words to escape, and he knew, though not if it was good or bad, that no one else would ever top the rush of emotions you had made him experience with such a simple gesture.

Your brows raised in confusion at his expression. “What?” You asked through a nervous laugh.

He shook his head with a light smile, gripping tightly at your hips where his hands had stopped, then stood from his chair.

“C’mon, let go feed these fuckers.”

Carmy placed his hand on your lower back as the other held on to the box, then after you opened the office door, you walked to the dining area where most of the bustle came from.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in and left to die!” Richie’s voice boomed above everyone else's, making the team turn in your direction.

There was a sudden screech of chairs as the group got up to greet you with enthusiasm, the sound made Carmy’s small migraine pulse but the sight of your excited expression soothed it back down.

“Look at you, all pretty in your blue aprons!” You said between laughs scanning your ex coworkers’ uniforms.

“Jeff says it compliments my eyes.” Tina joked, batting her lashes up at you.

“He couldn’t be more right.” You answered, hugging her side and turning to him with beaming eyes. 

Marcus took the box from Carmy’s hands excitedly, opening it on his way to the table and setting it in the middle for all to take.

“Yo, these look sick! You made them?” He asked you after everyone had settled back down and you took a seat between Carmy and Syd.

“Yeah, well, my grandad helped. They good?”

“Tastes like shit..” Ebra mumbled through a mouthful of dough and everyone laughed.

“They’re actually an invitation-”

“I accept.” He interrupted and you snickered lightly.

“Where to?” Marcus asked.

“My grandpa’s turning 76 tomorrow. I was supposed to invite you guys like two weeks ago but I kinda forgot. So as long as you don’t tell my mother, I’ll make sure you leave on the verge of alcohol poisoning and with enough food for three days..”

He heard a few ‘Niceee’ from the youngests of the group, while Angel tried bargaining the amount of rations per person and failing miserably, bumping it down to two days and receiving a light smack in the head from Manny.

“Wow, wait I don’t think I can make it. I gotta work tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, me too babe, sorry.”

Marcus and Sweeps let you know and when he turned to you, he could see your brows drop very slightly in disappointment.

“Yeah, I think we’re all on the clock tomorrow…” Richie said from his corner of the table.

“O-oh” He saw you swallow slowly, then smile softly to hide your expression. “No biggie, then. I’ll just tell her you’re all busy, she’ll understand.”

A few sorry’s spread through the group as they continued eating. 

He remembered Tina had asked him for Sunday off a week ago and so did Sydney, so he assumed they would be there, but he knew how much it meant to you that everyone could go. They were your other family, after all.

Without overthinking it, the words bubbled in his throat, spilling over the edge before he could stop them.

“We could close.”

The movements stopped completely when everyone turned around to him, stunned. He cleared his throat out of nervousness from the sudden attention, then spoke again.

“For dinner, I mean.” He specified.

“Seriously?” Syd asked in surprise. “Cause even with our off days we’ve been opening daily for the past, what like two and a half months?”

“Yeah, but we’re finally up to date with the meat sourcers and we have at least a two week parachute to keep us off the ground.” Carmy flicked his eyes to your confused face, then back to the group. “Plus, I think we’ve all earned a good rest, right?”

The family erupted in delight at the good news, clear skies ahead as they felt they were almost out of the woods. Besides, no one could say no to a night of free food and booze.

While they finished eating, they arranged plans on how to carpool for the next day or on who would be the unlucky idiot to be the designated driver, at least out of the ones that could drive. Under the table, Carmy snuck his hand to rest over your knee, slow enough to not catch the attention of the crew, and yours cupped over it gingerly. A glowing smile covered your features when you looked at him, mouthing a very much heartfelt ‘Thank you’, that reached the dingiest parts of his tethered soul and appeased the flames bubbling in his core.

**********

You had not known a single moment of peace since the second your mother barged into your room to throw the covers off you around eight, nagging on how late it was for you to still be in bed at that hour. You could hear the familiar Spanish ballads playing on the TV, which indicated it was Sunday morning in your household; as well as the rowdy laughter of your aunts, scraping pans around as they made breakfast for everyone in the crowded apartment.

The morning was spent between answering personal questions about your dating life and hauling decorations down the multiple flights of stairs into the patio beside the complex. After bribing the maintenance guy with twenty dollars and the promise of free booze, he agreed to let you use the space in private for the afternoon, even helping you hang the string of paper decorations around the available tree branches and offering an extension cord for the fairy lights. Joshua carried most of the tables and chairs, ones he borrowed from a friend of his who owned a rental shop and after half an hour of figuring out the best layout, you were finally done. 

You were quite proud of the turnout. The mismatched chairs and different colored tableware felt warm and inviting, just like the red carnations that sat in the makeshift wine vases along the main table. Your heart warmed at the sight of your grandmother’s favorite flowers, before closing the backdoor and walking up one last time to eat something then get ready.

“So, is your boyfriend coming?” Joshua broke the silence as you passed the second floor.

“The fuck are you on?” You asked back, a soft tint rising up your neck.

He turned around from a few steps above you and snickered. “C’mon, Fox. I saw him drop you off the other day.” His smile grew when he saw you swallow hard and that was confirmation enough. “I’m not telling ma, jus’ so  y’know.”

“I know you won’t,” Your step quickened up a few stairs, then you kicked his right foot to his left while it was in the air, causing him to almost trip on himself. “cause if you do, I'll tell her about the time you and Nico took the car to go see titties and you were almost arrested.” 

He rolled his eyes and groaned. “Dude, that was like two years ago, when will you let it go?!”

“When you two incels pay me back the bribe I had to give the bouncer so he wouldn’t call the cops on your asses!”

“Alright, fine! I won’t say shit..”

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought…”

“What do you care anyway?” You asked after a few silence filled seconds.

“I don’t, '' he answered defensively. “Just makin’ sure it’s not that tall asshole from your job.”

Now it was your turn to snicker. “Who Richie?”

Your little brother shrugged and the story Richie had told you on your first day, about the nerd that punched Carmy, came back to mind. A malicious smirk curled on your lips as you reached your floor, one hand lifting to pat sarcastically up on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry bout it weasel, it’s not Richie… It’s the other one.” You said, walking ahead of him. “The one you punched, ‘member?”

You heard the squeak of his sneakers at the sudden stop and you had to bite your cheek to not burst into laughter as you crossed the open apartment door.

A wave of scents and sounds invaded your senses the moment you walked through the threshold, overwhelming to the point of a starting headache. It also didn’t help that all your stomach had processed was a cup of coffee a couple hours ago and that you had wasted most of your energy running up and down trying to make everything look presentable. You crossed the hallway and moved directly to the kitchen to find something to eat before getting ready. 

You were greeted by the welcome committee of your three matriarchs, all working on a different recipe around the counter, covered to the brim in ingredients.

“Ay, mi amor, you grew so tall!” Angie called excitedly the moment she saw you walk in.

“I've been the same size since senior year, tia, but thank you.” You laughed, hugging her shoulders softly to not move her hands cutting up veggies.

“Ya terminaron?” Your mother asked, kneading some dough inside a bowl.

You pulled a pear from the fruit bowl and nodded towards her. They continued gossiping as they worked through the ingredients and you chewed on your fruit in silence. 

There was something you found peaceful about the women in your family, especially in these sorts of events. How they all knew with perfection their role, their gear that worked in synchronicity inside the machine. It was always so beautiful to watch them cook together, even as a child you were astonished at how they moved with ease around each other, knowing their needs without having to voice them. It was like watching a ballet company that had been training on perfecting the same choreography all their lives. They were the main reason you had gone into cooking before anything else was even considered an option. They made you see it as a dance, elegant and exact.

A sudden slap in the back of the head brought you back from your thoughts. 

“Ay! Pendejo!” You shouted at your brother, rubbing your head and glaring in his direction.

“Mom’s talking to you!”

“And that’s why you hit me, you fuckin’ idiot!?”

A chorus of warning ‘Hey's was thrown to both of you, a reminder to behave on the important day.

“I was asking you if you invited your friends from work.” Your mother asked again.

“Mhm, they’ll be here around noon.”

She nodded slowly then looked back up at you with a subtle smile. “And did you invite that Carmy boy?”

“Ooh, who’s that?” Tere pitched in, now drawing the women’s attention towards your topic of conversation.

You bit back into the pear, ignoring the question as your mother took over for you.

“Oh, a boy that works with her, has the loveliest of blue eyes.” She said, widening her eyes and causing a wave of chuckling from her sisters. “What is he, russian?” She asked you.

“Italian.” You mumbled, through your chewing.

“Italian, that’s right!” Then she gasped as an idea came to mind. “You should introduce him to your cousin Sarita, y’know how lonely she’s been since her divorce…” Her voice shrinked into a whisper, as if she were telling a long kept secret.

You stopped mid bite at her words, sweeping through the sets of eyes that now waited expectantly for your answer. Joshua stood across the counter with a mocking smile and an apple in hand, while his other arm circled Angie’s shoulders.

“That’s a great idea ma, you should totally introduce ‘em to Sarita.” He said, then bit into his apple to hide the stupid grin invading his face.

You wanted nothing more than to lodge the fruit so far down his throat that he’d live with two Adam’s apples for the rest of his days, but you knew you’d have to answer for your crime against your mother’s darling boy. Instead you swallowed the last bite and left the space with the excuse of getting ready for the evening.

‘My mother wants to set you up with my cousin.

How good are you with kids?’

Read the text you sent Carmy while getting ready to take a shower. Your phone pinged less than a minute later and the little blue heart you had added next to his name made your stomach flutter.

‘Once sedated a party full of ‘em.

But other than that, pretty decent’

A loud laugh vibrated through your chest at his answer and you saved it in your mental folder under ‘stuff to ask him about’, next to the swirling designs on his torso and on how he had ended up stuck with The Beef, of all places.

Chapter 6.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne and that’s it lmao

[wrizard]

nedving modern au: a long-awaited kiss

talked myself into a tizzy regarding modern ned/jirv au c/o @irvingcoded over on twt here, in which john, pastor, meets ned, architect, during church renovations, and very slowly ruins his own (married with children) life. i couldn't stop thinking about it.

have this! i have edited it not at all!!

*

“oh, it’s perfect,” john marvels, tracing his fingertips over the tablet screen with reverence. the final window design: a work of art. glass, colour, light – fine angles, sunshine, abstract enough to please the artist in him, a perfect synthesis of contemporary and traditional. john’s guts fizz in delight. he zooms out, then in again, then carefully sets it back on the desk. “it’s going to be beautiful – i can’t believe it, you’ve – you’re a miracle worker.”

edward shifts his shoulders the way he does when he’s flustered, and even goes charmingly pink about the ears. “i’m certainly glad you like it. i’m no painter or anything – most of it was off your sketches, i only made it a bit simpler, is all.”

john’s cheeks ache. he’s grinning, wide and real and easy as anything. he wants to laugh. he’s electric all over. he wants to – shout, or jump for joy, or fling his arms around edward’s shoulders in an embrace. there’s no one around to see them, not here in edward’s tiny office, not after hours; he gives in just a little, letting himself spin once in place.

edward laughs, sweet and warm. it’s a lovely laugh, the sort that carves those long dimples in his cheeks – john’s surprised him again. “it’s just a plan,” he says. “haven’t even found an artist. we’ll have to raise extra funds for the commissioning, but not too much. no need for any bake sales just yet.”

“bake sales,” john laughs, and grabs edward by the shoulders, gives him an enthusiastic shake. “i’ll – i’ll make a hundred trays of brownies, ned, a thousand, i don’t care! it’s perfect!”

that smile – edward’s ducking his head to hide it, the weasel, and john won’t have it, can’t stand to miss the brightness in his eyes, the sparkle that makes him look a decade younger. john lets his arms go. grabs his head instead. edward’s five o’clock shadow bristles against john’s palms as john tips him up to look properly. and – yes, goodness, those dark eyes glitter in the lamplight, the glow of the tablet turned to matching blocks of star-blue floating on deep chestnut-brown.

“you’re brilliant, edward,” says john. “you’re – oh, you talk such nonsense about yourself, you’re – brilliant. you’re a gift. god sent you to me as a gift.”

edward’s grin falters. his gaze darts back and forth between john’s eyes.

they’re very close together.

the giddiness swirling in john’s belly swoops up into his throat. edward’s lashes are so dark against the fairness of his skin. john ought to bother him to come out hiking again, soon. get some colour back into him. some of that light. all the warmth that’s inside him, burning, hidden under dark circles and deadlines and all those bizarre coffee drinks.

“john,” edward breathes, strangely.

john sways in closer. it feels – natural. easy. edward is so warm in his hands. this is what friends do, john thinks; they touch each other. he’s seen it. he remembers how george kissed edward on both cheeks, and how edward laughed and shoved playfully at george’s arm, not the sort of shove to push someone away but to bring them closer. what would it feel like, to kiss his cheek? what if –

tipping edward’s head to one side, john presses his lips to edward’s cheekbone.

it’s a peck, is all. a way to siphon off a fraction of the joy bubbling up in john’s lungs, his veins, his heart. an expression of the love he bears his friend. stubble pricked a bit at his lips, perfectly; edward was, of course, soft beneath the sharpest bits, and almost fever-hot against john’s mouth.

edward makes a tiny, quiet noise in the back of his throat.

“a miracle,” murmurs john, and, bowing to the sudden urge – no one to see them – no one to know – he dives in again, presses his face to the other side of edward’s, harder, deeper, nuzzling in, and this time when he pulls away he’s distantly surprised he isn’t shaking.

slow and careful, edward raises his hands up. wraps his long, slender fingers around john’s wrists. he’s staring. he’s staring at john. he’s breathing too quickly. his eyes are wide, but he blinks, a few times in a row, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

all at once, the words slip out of john’s mouth: “i prayed for you.”

edward’s thumb caresses the back of john’s wrist, and his brow furrows. “i’m fine, john, we’ve talked about this–”

“no, no, i, i prayed for you,” john insists, fingers tightening over edward’s face. “i asked for – a miracle. and then the next morning you showed up. you’re – he sent you, to fix this, to help me, and i…”

like a magnet, like gravity, john is pulled in. their noses brush.

john – kisses him.

it’s a peck. again. small. simple. friends do this, he knows, he’s seen maggie kiss her friends a thousand times, and edward is his best friend, his only friend, maybe, or at least the only person who’s ever made him feel so real, so himself. lips to lips. quick in, quick out.

he pulls away, pulse roaring. there is space between them again. not much. just enough for breath.

edward holds john’s wrists. his eyes have slipped closed. he looks – pained. like a martyr in an old masterwork. his lips are open. his lips are wet. his lips –

john kisses him.

john kisses him, and doesn’t pull back.

[aidanchaser]

ive had kind of a bummer week so i started a new project to get some creative hits before going back to work on longterm projects. here's a snippet of the 1920s AU i've been playing with~

It wasn’t snowing, though it certainly felt cold enough to. Marinette pulled her collar closed against her throat and cheeks, keeping herself as snug as she could. She had some privacy in the dark alley that guarded the back entrance of the Lucky Lady, but the click of her lighter must have attracted attention from the street. She saw the white suit jacket and vest that was becoming painfully familiar approach. Her mask was still in place, but she did not need him getting too close. She could not risk Adrien Agreste getting a decent look at Ladybug. She stepped back into the shadow of the alley, and he took the hint, coming to a stop when he was at arm’s length from her “Pardon me, mademoiselle,” he said, voice soft enough to wring out Marinette’s heart, “but do you happen to have a light? I seem to have left mine in my coat pocket.” He sounded like the boy who had abandoned her, not the man who had returned. His voice was gentle, uncertain. There was none of the swagger she’d seen in the young man in her shop that morning, nor the cold grin he’d sported when he’d entered the Lady Luck. She took a drag on her cigarette to steel her nerves, then handed him her lighter. She risked a glance at his face as he lit his own cigarette, careful to keep her own face in the darkness. “What happened to your coat?” she asked. “I gave it to a gentleman who looked like he needed it more than I did.” The tip of his cigarette glowed orange, and he returned her lighter to her. His eyes looked warm in this dim light. She tucked her lighter back into her coat. “And what happened to your date?” “I called her a cab. I was hoping to chat with you before returning home.” Marinette could not stop a sneer from crossing her face. She hoped the darkness hid that, too. “What business do you have with me?” “I heard a rumor that if a gentleman is down on his luck, you’re the lady to see.” “I’ve been known to reverse fortunes,” she murmured. “From toppling those on thrones to lifting up those in the gutter. You don’t strike me as a man in a gutter.” He turned his head to blow a lungful of smoke away from her. The street lamp glinted off of his hair, creating a golden halo. “One man’s heaven,” he shrugged, and let the rest of phrase disappear behind a rueful smile.  Everything about it prickled against Marinette’s skin like a bed of needles, but she did not want to waste an opportunity here. Max had told her that they would need more information, so she was going to get it. “What do you want me to do?” “Only to tell you that, if you’re interested in toppling thrones, my father has staked a lot of his reputation and finances into this one sale.” “Mayor Bourgeois is the one selling.” Adrien shrugged and extinguished his cigarette against the wall. “I just balance the books. That’s all I can tell you.” “How do I know you won’t use this for your own gain? You just want me to take down your father so you can take over in his place—is that it?” The self-deprecating smile vanished. He let out a deep breath, and the warm air of his lungs collected in front of him as surely as if he had taken another drag on his cigarette. “Do it right, and there won’t be anything left for me to take over.” He tipped his hat to her. “Thanks for the light.” And he turned back to the street. Marinette waited until he had rounded the corner and was well out of sight before snuffing out her own cigarette and hurrying back inside. She could already hear Max and Nino warning her it was a trap, but she felt recklessness curling inside her chest. She had to know what else was hidden in that art exchange, or it would burn her alive. She had to tear down Gabriel Agreste, and if Adrien came tumbling down with him, well, she wouldn’t complain about that.

[bucketkicked]

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒: IRENE EDITION

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust filled book jackets / sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts / mountainside meditation / empty ski lodges / calm before storms / electric charged air / lighthouses / road trips with no destination / desert skies / summer breeze through a cottage window / cool air against water soaked skin / seaside towns during off season / wind-chimes / big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away / a wolf howling in the distance / fingers dancing along spine / a hug from an old friend / afternoon tea / wild flowers off abandoned highways.

𝐑𝐄𝐃 wine soaked lips / internalized rage / blood on knuckles / four poster beds / barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes / lipstick marks / murder mysteries / old barns with hay lofts / mouth full of weapons / love / dark chocolate / apple orchard visits / handwritten letters / fresh strawberry fields / cherry flavored chapstick / soft candlelight / vintage pumps / tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets.

𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains / drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets / angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams.

𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍 marshy swamps / cajun recipes / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / labored breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grotto / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theatre productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns/ aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns.

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife / dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theatres / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces.

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 crisp scents / laundry on a line / fleece blankets / brightly lit hospital rooms / empty train stations / genuine laughter / feathers against skin / new life / cotton dresses / log cabins in winter / swan gliding through water / harp music floating through the air / plane rides for fun / mountain tops / ice sculptures / first snowflake of winter / linen freshly pressed / the scent of a running dryer / vanilla and cinnamon milk / a smile from a stranger / letters in the mail / a longing finally satiated / kiss of moonlight on skin / fresh canvas / snow glittering like diamonds / paint strokes / pretty lie told from a kind mouth / sparklers / coffee foam art.

[thebandbis]

Sci-fi: Well, it's been nearly 3 weeks since our big birthday bash and we just want to give the biggest thanks to all of you who made it - especially those who travelled frankly ridiculous lengths to get there. It always blows my mind how this band has provoked such passionate support over the last 30 years. What we lack in numbers we more than make up for in fervour! Special thanks also of course to our stellar supporting cast, local heroes Lung Leg and The Yummy Fur - bands we grew up with and shared stolen riffs with - and mega thanks to Eddie and Art Brut for going out of their way to share our big day. Biggest thanks too to Lora Logic for making the trip up and sharing a unique moment with us on Germ Free Adolescents. I duffed at least three notes as I was holding back the tears a bit, apologies for that. Apologies also that in an attempt to preserve my voice, I ate a staggering amount of raw honey which messed up my blood pressure and made me bloat to a hilarious level. Those on the balcony may have suffered my temporary lumps and bumps creaking through my slightly too tight Ayr United top and for that, I can once again only apologise.

I went to see the utterly immense Arab Strap at the Barrowland last weekend. It was an excellent show but my professional jealousy meant that I couldn't stop thinking of how tremendous Eurodisco would sound in there and that bis are frankly MILES away from playing a show that size. The common factor of the excellence of both shows though was Richie Dempsey on sound duty. Even from the phone footage of the bis show, you can tell the sheer quality of the sound and we can't thank him enough. (We've known Richie so long that he actually signed our very first rehearsal receipt in (gulp) May 1990). I also went to see Lloyd Cole (more of this later) and first hand experience the cuddle of familiar material that has stood the test of time. Lloyd is maybe the only person I know who is more sarcastic than me. Well, I don't know him but you know what I mean.

A few more observations -

We have never spent SO LONG on set construction. Squeezing 30 years into an hour, missing out key tracks and putting in b-sides and deep cuts but still, based on feedback, NAILING IT.

YES - We absolutely should have recorded the show (audio AND video) and monetized the recording but we have been STUPID for 30 years now and totally missed this opportunity.

It was truly exhausting pushing social media trying to get to the magical ticket sales figure we got to. We have no machine behind us and never will again. It felt great to fill that big room but the crushing comedown reality of the aftermath is knowing that we can't come to YOUR TOWN and play to the same number of people. If we could, we would.

But yes, finally - just to reiterate how grateful we are. Playing that big room was a risk for us and it massively paid off. Apart from my taxi home failing to exist - WHAT A FUCKING NIGHT.

[sliversofmagicpod]

A Text copy of our Questionaire answered by Ron Spencer regarding his art for Heart Sliver.

What, if any, inspirations did your draw from when working on Heart Sliver?

There was a VERY detailed and specific style guide sent to the artists.  Contained in that was a drawing of a Sliver by Anson Maddocks.    That illustration provided the basic anatomy of the Slivers.  His piece featured the Sliver with a H.R. Giger translucence.  

The art description that they provided for the Heart Sliver required that it was in a volcanic environment.   With that in mind, I swapped  the transparent skin for a thicker looking, gray hide.  

To make it vary from the provided reference, I gave it a gnarled, crusty look.  The Heart Sliver needed to blend into the walls and ceiling of a lava cavern, not a spaceship's vent pipes.

Aside from those changes, I stuck with the general anatomy requirements - elongated / beaked / eyeless head, one spiked arm, some type of extrusions on the back and two tails.

Do you remember what, if any, details Wizards of the Coast gave you for the specifics of the card? (Color, environment, etc.) 

The only thing that I remember from the art assignments description was that it be shown prowling the ceiling of a lava cavern.

The artists weren’t given the names of the cards, card mechanics or flavor text.

So we looked at the art guide and the assignment notes and went from there.

What are your thoughts regarding slivers as whole?(whether in the actual card game or just appearance wise)

As monsters go, they’re fine. Not my favorite but more fun to do than some of the other creatures.

Their non-anthropomorphic anatomy can be a problem for dynamic compositions. Unless the viewer knows exactly what they’re looking at and is used to seeing Slivers crawling around, they can be very confusing to look at.

That’s why nearly all the Sliver art has the creature in a profile type pose or side view. All of body parts are shown with no overlapping.  

The straight- on, front or back view of a Sliver would be a tangled blob, especially with a background and at card size.

All of that being said, they’re quick and fun to draw. Maintain the basic anatomy, then start sticking on spikes, talons and corrugated tendons.

It’s hard to mess up a Sliver.

What’s your favorite part of the art you drew for Heart Sliver?

It’s always fun to draw creatures in fire light. The craggy hide with orange highlights made for a rugged looking beast.

Do you have any trivia or fun fact you remember regarding Heart Sliver?

Only that I was unsure how to make the image interesting.   It needed an aggressive look.  So I tried a somewhat frontal /top view with the Sliver moving toward the viewer.  As mentioned, the anatomy made this difficult.  

To keep action in the pose and maintain a discernible figure, I had to turn its head to the side.  This made it appear to be distracted or looking around, rather than lunging at the viewer.  

Not what I’d originally intended but there were other cards to get done and a deadline looming. 

Do you have any fun memories from after it was a printed card? E.G. Interactions with the players that stuck with you?

The Heart Sliver seemed to be well received by the players.  The autograph stacks included a decent number of that card.  Prints sales for that art were fine.  Not remarkable but far better than I’d anticipated.

When asked if it was a tough or good card, the players would shrug and reply that it was good.  Not awesome or “broke" - but still useful.

[violettduchess]

Could I please request some unrequited love headcanons for Comte, Theo, Arthur, and Leonardo?

A/N: Hello anon! I've left Leonardo out because he just got a very long fic and the others don't have quite as many requests so I wanted to let them have their time to shine. I hope that's ok!

Word Count: 964

Comte de St. Germain

Pushing aside the heavy velvet curtain, Comte has a perfect view down into the sunlit garden and a perfect view of you. Of both of you. Leonardo has set up his easel and is watching you attempt to paint the wooden gazebo with its clinging vines and flowering bushes. He leans over your shoulder, reaching around you and covers your hand with his, guiding your brush strokes. Comte’s sharp golden eyes zero in on the way his long fingers curl around your delicate wrist, the flirtatious, downward cast of your eyelashes, the sensual smile playing over Leonardo’s lips.

You turn to look at Leonardo, your faces so very close, and Comte’s breath is held prisoner in his lungs. Your eyes, even at this distance, are bright as stars, your cheeks rival the pink petals of the roses you’re trying to capture. His chest begins to burn. There is undeniable longing in the tilt of your head, the inviting pout of your lips. What would he give to have that perfect expression of admiration and yearning aimed at him?

Leonardo leans forward, as unable to resist you as the tide could the enthralling pull of the moon. The paintbrush falls from your fingers, abandoned, as you wrap your arms around him, your body melting into his impassioned embrace.

Leo deserves happiness. This is the mantra that gallops through Comte’s mind, over and over, even as he tries to ignore the agonizing ache in his chest. He closes the curtain once more with a trembling hand. Now he stands, slumped in darkness, his heart a flower without sunlight, without water, slowly withering away.

Theodorus van Gogh

One of the best things about walking through Paris on a clear afternoon, just before evening breaks and spills its lavender and orange and pink across the sky, is using the fading light that is left to admire the street artists and their work.

Vincent’s fingers are laced through yours, strong and protective as you move across the Pont des Arts, taking in the different paintings, all sizes and subject matters, that the different street artists are displaying, trying to make a sale. You pause in front of a painting of tiny calico kittens in a basket. “Oh look!” Vincent smiles, soft and affectionate as he nods, immediately engaging the artist in a conversation about brush types and which paint they used. You are content to listen, unable to hide the sunshine of open admiration you have for him. Your smile is radiant with it. Your eyes sparkle with it.

Theo pretends to be deeply interested in a smaller painting of a doomed ship out at sea during a violent storm. Normally he would spend time studying the black, thrashing waves with their white caps, noting the way the artist created movement, how they captured the chaos of nature gone feral with their brushstrokes. But he is distracted. Because rather than stare at the painting and study it, he is staring at something he considers a perfect piece of aesthetics: you. He has long since memorized the line of your cheekbones, the curve of your jaw, the perfect symmetry of your lips. Your eyes are a color that has never existed for him until he saw them. They are the bright window to the part of you he admires most: your kind and gentle heart, that luminous part of you that shines resplendent as a harvest moon.

And now those eyes are fixed on his brother as if he were the one who hung all stars in the sky. Your fingers are locked tight with his, laced together, a perfect pairing. His jaw clenches as he turns back to the painting of the wild, roiling sea. He has that same turbulent ocean inside of him every time he sees you look at Vincent that way. It floods his heart, dragging it down into the black depths of despair, leaving him as windswept and lost as the small, broken ship in the painting.

Arthur Conan Doyle

Of all people, why Newt? Newt with his wide, cherry-blossom eyes and slight frame, his dislike of people and a good time. His mind which so easily winds its way through impossible equations but cannot small-talk its way out of a paper bag. That Newt is who you have chosen to love. The one you have decided is allowed to receive all of your warm smiles, your tender touches, the melody of your laughter.

He caught you one night. Strolling back from a tryst with one of his regulars, the sweet taste of blood stilling lingering on his lips. He entered the mansion through the garden gates at the back. As he made his way quietly as a shadow around towards the front, a certain sound caught his attention.

He stops, ducking behind the gazebo when he spots you and Isaac. Evidently you had come out into the garden at night to do a bit of stargazing. Isaac’s telescope is set up, pointed toward the sky. But it is abandoned, left to gaze on its own. You and Isaac seem to have gotten distracted, laying on an oversized picnic blanket, wrapped in each other’s arms. Gripping the wooden railing of the gazebo, Arthur’s sharp blue eyes note the details: the way your fingers are white, curled so tightly against Isaac’s shoulders; the way his leg is pressed between yours, the tilt of your head, baring your sensitive throat to him. And that sound, the one that caught his attention, the sharp gasping of your breath as his lips feast on the bare skin of your shoulder, the slope of your neck.

Green-eyed jealousy roars inside of Arthur’s heart. His fingers are bloodless as they grip the railing. The lingering taste of another woman’s blood suddenly turns sour, curdling like rancid milk on his tongue. He doesn’t want her, or anyone else. The woman he wants, the one he dreams of, is currently in the arms of another man. And all he sees now is red.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @bubblexly

[hunting-songs]

       𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 bold what applies to your muse. italicize what sometimes applies.                               ( repost, don’t reblog! )

                            𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust filled book jackets / sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts / mountainside meditation / empty ski lodges / calm before storms / electric charged air / lighthouses / road trips with no destination / desert skies / summer breeze through a cottage window / cool air against water soaked skin / seaside towns during off season / wind-chimes / big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away / a wolf howling in the distance / fingers dancing along spine / a hug from an old friend / afternoon tea / wild flowers off abandoned highways

                            𝐑𝐄𝐃 wine soaked lips / internalized rage / blood on knuckles / four poster beds / barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes / lipstick marks / murder mysteries / old barns with hay lofts / mouth full of weapons / possessive love / dark chocolate / apple orchard visits / handwritten letters / fresh strawberry fields / cherry flavored chapstick / soft candlelight / vintage pumps / tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets

                          𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains / drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets / angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams

                           𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍 marshy swamps / cajun recipes / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / labored breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grottos / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theater productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns / aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns

                          𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife / dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theaters / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces

                          𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 crisp scents / laundry on a line / fleece blankets / brightly lit hospital rooms / empty train stations / genuine laughter / feathers against skin / new life / cotton dresses / log cabins in winter / swan gliding through water / harp music floating through the air / plane rides for fun / mountain tops / ice sculptures / first snowflake of winter / linen freshly pressed / the scent of a running dryer / vanilla and cinnamon milk / a smile from a stranger / letters in the mail / a longing finally satiated / kiss of moonlight on skin / fresh canvas / snow glittering like diamonds / paint strokes / pretty lie told from a kind mouth / sparklers / coffee foam art

[houseofsnarry]

💚 HoS Mods’ Recs: Garden Edition ❤️

Spring is in the air! Flowers are blooming and the sun is shining! In conjuncture with the server's Spring Garden drabble event, here are some gardens & flowers themed Snarry/Severus/Harry recs. Cozy up with some floral inspired works, a tomato war, and Snape as a plant!?!?!

Art & Comic —

Always - neko_saba_goza (Twitter)

ス - jill_s_alg (Twitter)

じぃ〜っ - yamada007519 (Twitter)

ｶﾞｰﾃﾞﾝﾊﾞｰｽ - kaori_sshp (Twitter)

兔年快乐🥕！- mushenLJT (Twitter)

In My Secret Garden - Soltituss (AO3)

Fallen Marigolds - @luendland / luendland (AO3)

Fics —

Blooming Heart - @serenaew (AO3) Rated T, Word Count 8.7k

In muggles, strong emotional upheaval can cause your heart to fail, rendering it unable to pump the masses of blood that flood back to it every second. The tailback of blood builds up in your lungs, leaves you breathless, drowns you in your own bodily fluids that you try to cough out for dear life - in vain. They call it takotsubo cardiomyopathy, congestive heart failure, lung oedema. Only, in muggles, it comes and goes quickly. Those who survive the first critical period tend to recuperate from this condition within a few weeks. Wizards suffering from its magical analogon, hanahaki disease, do not have such luxury. Magical heart failure ends in suffocation from flowers instead. From the very first petal, Severus knew he was doomed. The orange lily.

Friendly Neighbourhood Visits - @anti-bright-places (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 10.6k

Harry's life is peaceful. He has his own house at twenty-three and nothing brings him more joy than his garden (but don't tell his cats that). His cats are perfectly well behaved, until a new man moves in next door and they start turning up at his place.

Hawthorn - @givereadersahug (AO3) Rated G, Word Count 1.2k

Harry keeps constant vigil by Severus's bedside after the Battle of Hogwarts.

Orange Blossoms - @danpuff-ao3 (AO3) Podfic recorded by JocundaSykes Rated T, Word Count 3.4k

These are foolish times to have hope, and more foolish still to be in love. 

Potted Dragons - silkendreammaid Rated G, Word Count 8.3k

Harry Potter wants Severus Snape but agreed to wait two years. With six months to go, he’s feeling impatient. Perhaps a pot plant and a small snake will help.

Snapes and Sales and Potion Garden Tales - Alisanne, shadowycat Rated E, Word Count 16.8k

Harry Potter is outed by a vicious ex-lover. Feeling alone and abandoned, Harry is surprised by the shelter and support he gets from Severus Snape.

The Gardeners - suitesamba Rated M, Word Count 15.5k

When Lily Luna Potter is awarded an apprenticeship with Severus Snape, Harry finds himself face to face with a man who isn’t at all the Snape he remembers from his childhood. This Snape is up to something, and Harry is determined to find out what. The secret, Harry learns, is in the tomatoes. Has Snape lost the plot or is he putting on a show? Harry and Severus tiptoe together through awkward interviews, tomato gardens and surprise kisses to find common ground, and a happily ever after.

The Plant - thesewarmstars Rated E, Word Count 8k

Neville turns over a plant to Harry and explains that the plant told him it was Severus Snape. Harry probably should’ve listened.

Discord || Recs Lists

[beacarrot]

The Blood Eagle.

I’m still deciding where my life is headed, and it’s been quite a ride,

This is a decisive poem, poetry that burns my bridges, a song that saves my life, the meaning it provides,

All the actors in life’s grand play are waiting for the right scene to betray my honor,

Like a jolt that offers thanks for this long,

Cutting my back, forcing my ribs until they’re gone,

Straining my body until it feels all wrong.

Passion has made me skeptical,

The treacherous deceivers, the unremarkable flatterers, humanity, they’ve threw salt my lungs without any zeal,

Love has reignited my enthusiasm, bringing solutions clear,

Embracing me like the autumn breeze near,

My brothers, veins that seem so small, when our hands walk together,

And our souls entwined in a bright, brilliant tether,

They bring me home, restoring what I once knew,

Giving back all that was lost, making it new.

Art has driven me mad,

Sanctuary for frustrated poets, I roll my eyes with affection almost sad,

I have dreams, and somehow, they ease my mind,

When I face my reflection, my brilliance, so refined,

When cornered in the alley, the knife was sharpened well,

The Blood Eagle, their sole intent was to scoff me desperately,

Corrupting my imagination, inflaming my blood with dread,

But I looked through myself and saw what they could never shred,

I feel my instincts guide my way,

With traces of the unfulfilled living in me until the end of days.

Perhaps I’ve heard the foxes’ howl and felt the urge to defy,

Running with them, refusing to sit in the endless dry,

Maybe I’ve romanticized all this town, unwilling to awake,

Denying my place in this cellar, just for the sake,

Creating museums with forbidden screens,

Embedding secret messages in files, with words unseen.

Recovering the blood I once gave for this time,

Casting the tape and the marks of a cursed writer into the red sea’s chime,

Aiming at the devil, without take left, without make it wrong,

Keeping my secrets safe in the rabbit hole.

Vulgar beings, lacking depth or verse,

When planets align but the life keeps being a messy curse,

No one sees you lose when playing alone,

Doing everything not to be overthrown,

Bathing in gold from heads to toe,

Because the miserable buy what’s on sale, their purchases slow,

The sensitive gain treasures with devotion true,

Don’t offer your finest wine to the ignorant few,

Only true connoisseurs know how to taste,

The rest just let the fine flavors go to waste.

You can choose; strip away and wash your wounds with pure alcohol’s sting,

Or retreat, saving your courtesy for time’s healing spring,

You can choose; to be better in the rearview mirror’s light,

Missing yourself in the night,

Or this time be ready to drive, face the rain, and the abstract flight.

(P S: "Blood Eagle" was an execution method in which Vikings disemboweled their victims and pulled their lungs through their backs. I usually associate emotional pain with physical pain, because I believe that people have an easier time imagining the severity of pain when it is portrayed in a physical way. It is a clear dramatization, but anyway, in the poem I tell with metaphors, my discoveries, acceptances and the emergence of joys and true and valuable feelings in my life.)

Signed: Beatriz Ranzonni. 🩵