#bubble street gallery

[spikyseasponge]

Rock Bottom, acrylic on panel, 24x18”. 2022. Daniel Merriam.

[applejuicebegood]

Could you possibly write some more headcanons for how Jason Todd would slowly warm up to affection? I know you mentioned it briefly in a previous post if I'm remembering correctly but I just need more on him possibly not even notices how his behavior around reader begins to change!!!! (This is all prior to a relationship)

A/N: Mmmmm very sweet indeed, I love writing for this idiot sm. Thank you so much for requesting dude! I really hope that you like it!!

Masterlist

He first thought of it as impossible that someone as soft and as sweet as you could ever fit into his life of grit, violence and blood. He knew you as an opposite - a total contrast to the rough edges that fitted his body and world. But love is stubborn, and so were you.

The first major change you unintentionally enacted was the bettering of his sleeping habits. After your fifth date, you asked if he had been sleeping enough and if everything was ok. Your concern bubbling over at the sight of his lush green eyes now sunken in by a surrounding deep purple. His shoulders were slumped forward and his steps stumbled as you walked next to him down the library shelves. He perked up, the sweet trill of your voice drawing him out from his drowsy state. He was used to pulling all-nighters, his job practically required it. But it was the first time he felt guilty about it. He laughed it off, assuring you that he just couldn't sleep the other night.

Only when he clicked his apartment door close after walking you home, did he reflect on how little he actually slept in general. And never wanting to see that fearful empathy in your eyes again, he started sleeping at least more than an hour each day. It took time to fight back the creeping guilt of supposedly neglecting his duties in protecting Gotham but he would rather revel in that guilt then make you worry about him.

Once you two started officially dating, the second major change was his discovering of his love of your touch. The quickness of your shoulders bumping or you playfully hitting his arm in a fit of laughter was the purest form of electricity and warmth burrowing into his skin and settling into his bones. Your gentleness was so foreign to him. His skin throbbing in bruises or his muscles stinging in agony was familiar. The gentle brush of your warm hand over the side of his face, was not.

It took time for him to grow comfortable with your physical affection - but when he did, god, it was like discovering a limitless source of vitality, all wrapped up in the most flawlessly beautiful of persons. He longed for the closeness of your skin if he was gone for long missions. He would cry into the circle of your arms, all of his unexpressed gratitude and love for you boiling over in hiccuped sobs.

He leans into your touch like a cat leans into ear scratches. He'll nuzzle his cold cheeks into the softness of your palms as you brush his tangled black locks back up over his forehead. He squeezes your hand to silently signal when you both need to cross a street or just to remind him that your still by his side.

From you he learned how easy it was to smile at the world. You reintroduced him back into the reality of natural goodness existing around him. This translated back into his Red-Hooding, of now seeing a city worth protecting. Not just because your in it, but because he now knows of the beauty and the laughter it holds. Within the graffitied concrete walls and stretches of hidden art galleries and grassroots community centres. Of the small queer clubs and community bookstores both of you would frequent. He learned to fall in love with Gotham because he fell in love with you.

Before going public with your relationship to his family, the sudden shift in his stern behaviour was glaring. Jason was gentler and actually trying, although awkwardly, to deepen his connection to his little brothers and sisters. You said that he was going to be stuck with them anyway, so he should learn to see them as the family he always deserved to have. Tim and Duke tease him, egging him on to explain why he decided to show up with a Tupperware of hand-baked velvet cookies for Steph and Cass (no, he didn't let Tim and Duke have any). He could throw a pillow at them and chase them through the manor, telling them to shut their faces, but nothing could distract anybody from the fact that someone was bringing back a Jason both Dick and Bruce thought they had buried.

[cococharm]

Just found your blog I’m so excited! Finally someone that writes for dpr!!!! Can I request something with dpr Ian. Whatever you want really maybe something cozy and cute ? -love Vivi

Shaping Love

Pairing: boyfriend!DPR Ian x reader Genre: fluff, romance, slice of life Warnings: established relationship Characters: 3320 Summary: After a long day, Christian and Y/n decide to go on a pottery date. AN: Thank you so much for requesting this, I hope you enjoy reading this. It’s my first time writing so I hope it meets your standards as I'm not confident in writing. (I rewrote this 4 times)

I glanced at Christian as we ventured into the pottery studio, excitement bubbling in my chest. The fragrance of clay and the peaceful murmur of the wheel occupied the room.

The instructor welcomed us with a warm smile, directing us to our stations. Christian looked around with childlike wonder, his eyes lighting up as he took in the tools and materials. I couldn't help but smile at his energy, feeling a surge of love for him.

We settled in front of our wheels after donning our aprons. The instructor gave us a brief demonstration, her hands moving skillfully to shape the clay. I watched, captivated by the transformation from a lump of clay to a lovely, delicate pot.

“Ready to give it a try?’’ Christian asked, his voice brimming with excitement.

I nodded, putting my hands on the wet clay. As the wheel began turning, Christian sat close to me, his hands cautiously working on his piece. We exchanged glances and laughed silently.

From the get-go, my attempts were awkward, the clay wobbled and collapsed under my touch. Christian chuckled next to me, his laugh a comforting sound. He was also struggling, his pot looking more like a bowl than a pot, but he was having fun and that's all that mattered.

He came closer and said, “Let me help you.” his hands covered mine, guiding my movement. Together, we coaxed the clay into a steadier structure, our hands working in a state of harmony.

The feeling of his hands over mine, strong yet gentle, sent a thrill through me. We were shaping the clay, and as it were, molding a piece of our relationship. The wheel spun smoothly, and the clay began to respond to our touch, rising and forming a simple but elegant shape.

“You're a natural,” Christian teased, his breath warm against my cheek.

“Only because you're helping me,” I replied, leaning into him.

As the instructor strolled by, she gestured approvingly at our progress. “You two make a great team,” She remarked.

Christian grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “We do, don't we?”

We worked on our pieces for a while longer, lost in the rhythmic motion and the tactile pleasure of the clay under our hands. Eventually, we both had something resembling pots, albeit a bit wobbly and imperfect.

“Not bad for our first try,” Christian said, inspecting his creation with a critical eye.

“I think they’re perfect,” I said softly, admiring the unique quirks of our pieces. “Very much like us.”

Christian gave me a tender look as he turned to face me. “I liked that. Imperfectly perfect.”

We carefully placed our pots on the drying racks, our hands canvassed in clay but our hearts full of warmth. The instructor offered to fire them for us, and we thanked her, already looking forward to seeing the finished products.

As we cleaned up, Christian reached out and took my hand, his fingers intertwined with mine. “I’m grateful that you’ve agreed to join me today,” he said, his voice earnest. “This was… special.”

I squeezed his hand, having a flood of affection toward this man who always found new ways to make our time meaningful. “It was perfect. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

The evening sun cast a golden glow on the streets as we left the studio hand in hand. The memory of our pottery date would be another cherished moment in the gallery of our love, a testament to our beauty of creating and growing together.

[ashensgrotto]

A Merfolk's Melody (Part 1)

Characters: Yan!Floyd x Reader, Yan!Jade x Reader, Yan!Azul x Reader

Word Count: 13.5k

Intro (You are Here)      Floyd Leech       Jade Leech     Azul Ashengrotto Epilogue

Synopsis: The sea always calls to those who feel lost and alone, wanting to fill the empty part of their soul until they are loved and full… and as such, it’s only fair that the strange creatures that live beneath it’s depths would want the same as well…

Author’s Note: Another 4-part fanfiction courtesy of @merakiui ‘s headcannnons of the reader being stuck in a room/wall (I’m sorry) -> https://www.tumblr.com/merakiui/722393818829373440/in-addition-to-being-stuck-in-a-locked-room?source=share & https://www.tumblr.com/merakiui/722677892623056896/about-the-stuck-in-a-wall-trope-in-the-oceani?source=share

Here’s how it’s going to work: each character is going to get their own part following the intro. It is going to focus on the Octrio again (bc it’s my current liking, sorry guys). If you want to read a certain character’s part, feel free to jump around and select the one you’re most interested in. 

Again, as stated before, this is a work of fiction; I disagree with any and all behaviors that are represented in this story.

***

The sound of the waves crashing against the rocky surface was a sound that you had familiarized yourself with when you were a child. It and the call of the seagulls and other sea birds that brought forth fond memories of your childhood; images of your loving parents as they strolled along the beachside near the rocky terrain with you and your siblings following behind like little ducklings as they pointed out smooth pebbles and speckled shells, the shouts when your siblings pulled each other into the water before the tide overcame them like a dowsing rain shower, the laughter that followed in the evening before a roaring fire in the pit that cooked fish and crab along with corn and potatoes and marshmallows for dessert.

Yes, this was a child's paradise once upon a time and the sea had been there for every stumble you took, every laugh that bubbled from your lips… every tear that stained your cheek.

The sea always calls to those who feel lost and alone, wanting to fill the empty part of their soul until they are loved and full - and you needed a hole that existed in your heart to be filled with memories of the sea, wanting the salty water and the cries of gulls to wash away the pain and heartache you felt inside you.

You had returned to your family's sea cabin after several long years of being away in the city, moving away at the end of your high school year to attend college. The city was vastly different from the coastal residence you had lived in for eighteen years; there was no comfort or beauty or peace - it was loud and haze-filled and distorted. The people that lived there were rude and constantly in a hurry, bustling from place to place like work ants moving to and from the nest. There were a few that you had made friends with - their smiles and conversations always bringing forth those fond memories of your childhood - and there was one that you had loved and had loved you in return.

Sadly though, he was no longer in the picture - and the reason behind your return to the coast.

The two of you had met during orientation of your freshman year of college and had become fast friends. He introduced you to a lot of people and places, taking you by the hand and pulling you along the busy streets of the city - pointing out landmarks and museums, parks and local hot spots. It was all so overwhelming, causing your head to spin - but you always laughed at his energetic nature and wild behavior, a true sea captain in your eyes. He would take you on tours through the local zoo and art galleries, treat you to ice cream or coffee at the local shops, and talk to you about life in general during lunch breaks and help you with your exams and vice versa. 

It was during your last year in school that you both started dating - the confession coming out over a school get together with a group of your friends at one of the local clubs, when the drinks were filled and music pounded through your body as you danced with your crush til the moon was high overhead. As you traveled together back toward the dorms, his hand clasped in yours with fingers entwined, he pressed his headon top of yours as you leaned into him to feel the warmth of his body as the chill of autumn surrounded you. He whispered that he liked you more than a friend and asked if you saw him as the same - he wouldn’t care if you did or didn’t, but he needed to know if there was anyone else that was important in your life.

 You couldn’t have been happier that he felt the same as you did at that moment.

But of course, as the sea covers the shoreline, it always drags the unsuspecting sea creature back into its depths.

The first and second year as a couple was perfectly blissful - you both continued to make time for each other and walked along your usual paths during college and moved into an apartment together after graduation. You still visited the museums and galleries, got coffee, and talked about work and a future together on walks through the parks after your day’s busy schedule. Shortly into the third year as a couple, nearly six since you met each other, the appearance of another shimied into your life. It was at a new year’s celebration with a group of college friends that you were introduced to this new girl. She was the sister of a friend that was visiting for a week while touring colleges in the area, brought along by the friend so you could talk to her about your experiences at the college you had once attended together. 

At first it seemed harmless, the eighteen-turning-nineteen was interested in what your field of study was, what the professors were like, how the dorms worked, what sort of clubs and sports were available to participate in - all questions a typical freshman-to-be would ask. However, what made you uncomfortable about the whole situation was the way she kept grabbing at your partner - leaning against him and whispering things in his ear, making him laugh with hers joining in as a chorus, her fingers slipping into his hand and squeezing his like they were a couple and you were the outsider. You attempted to sneak in and wrap your arm around him, but was swatted away like a pesky mosquito by her on more than one occasion; you shifted your eyes to look at your boyfriend, arching a brow to indicate he do something or at least say something that told her that he was taken already. 

Not once did he say anything, nor did he do anything.

At the end of the night, as the two of you walked back to the apartment, he attempted to wrap his arm around you. Too hurt, you shrugged him off, making him stop and ask what was wrong. You argued with him that night - a huge fight that caused you to seek shelter at a coworker’s apartment instead of wanting to deal with the situation - needing space to cool off and rethink about how to approach the subject. When you came back in the morning to make amends, you found him embracing another woman - the same girl that had clung to him the night before. Fury and pain ripped through your heart like a storm crashing against the waves of the rocky surface - the cry that echoed through your throat rivaled the call of gulls as tears sprung like raindrops on the corners of your eyes. 

It was enough noise to pull the sleeping couple from their dreamscape - your boyfriend springing upright, tugging on the sheets and distancing himself from the girl, who had sulked to the corner of the room, picking her clothing up off the ground and making her way hastily out of the room and the apartment. As much as your boyfriend tried to explain, you wanted to hear none of it - the roaring pain of your heart enough to drown out the noise of a thunderstorm as you gathered your things from the apartment, shaking your head with every plea and shrugging off every touch. You left your shared apartment, heading toward your coworkers’ apartment and explained what happened; she took pity on you, allowing you to stay so you could figure out what needed to happen next.

Your boss permitted you a week-long vacation.

“Get some rest, focus on yourself right now,” they said, pushing a box of tissues toward you, “You’re a good worker and a hard one at that. I’d hate to let you go over something so trivial.”

When you requested a bit more time, your boss agreed to two weeks - wanting you to get the proper care you so desperately needed, but wanting you to work all the same.

Which is how you found yourself back on the coast with the sea, gulls, and assorted creatures both of land and sea as your only companions. The cabin your family had once stayed in was smaller than you thought - enough room for only a set of adults and two children. Why did you think there were more that filled this room once upon a time? Were ther other children that lived in other cabins that lined the coast that often gathered here to spend time with you and you had once believed them to be siblings - even though you were an only child? Photos that still lived in corners of the rooms of the cabin indicated a happy family; a mother, a father, and a daughter - you. There were no other photos that indicated that there were other children, nor anyone that lived nearby with children your age to play with. 

Were they all just imaginary friends you had conjured in your head to allow your lonely broken heart to feel whole like how the sea filled your spirit? Even if that were the case, how come your parents never corrected it? Did they feel pity for their only daughter whom had no friends? That they couldn’t force anyone to play with you or spend time with you? Or was there another reason?

Regardless of what had passed, the cabin slowly became a part of you - just as it did to your family once upon a time.

Every morning, you woke to the sound of a local cat scratching at the door - a little grey beast that paced the floor of the cabin before you set a plate of leftover steamed or roasted fish before the little creature, petting his fur as he ate before he took a bath and perched on the window sill, watching as you tended to the house - cleaning it and ridding it of decay and clutter that had mounted over the years of neglect. Then you would walk down to the shoreline, your sandals in one hand as your feet dug into the sand, water coming up to kiss your skin with is cool lips and filling your prints with water as it made small homes for the little hermit crabs that lurked along the shore - the little grey kitten walking beside you, it’s little blue gaze peering up at you from time to time as he meowed as if holding a conversation with you. You would hum and talk to him, even though you couldn’t understand him nor he could you - but the way his long fluffy tail would wrap around the back of your leg felt comforting, like he was guiding you along. 

Then you would return to the cabin for a quick lunch before grabbing your fishing gear and heading back to the coast. The waves hit against your legs as you steadied yourself in the thrashing water as you casted line after line, reeling in food for supper and for your little companion who sat on a large rock and watched with interest. By the time the sun was setting, you would reel in your last catch and return to the shore, pulling your sandals on and hiking up the trail back to the cabin with the little grey kitten following close behind you. A fire was sparked into the pit, the flames flickering with life as you rested your catches in a wire basket that hung over the flames, turning each little piece over along with care as the flesh slowly became white and flaky - the corn and potatoes already prepared along with a small package of chocolate chip cookies that would become the end to a simple and meaningful meal.

Even though your days were filled with sorrow - your dreams were filled with a figure.

Each night, as sleep took you, you would often find yourself staring out at the sea as storm clouds brew overhead, threatening to split open and spew cool water from the heavens. You would reach around and wrap into yourself, your nails digging into your skin as a chilled breeze rattled your frame. You stood your ground, your eyes never leaving the horizon, even as the wind grew stronger and stronger, threatening to topple your figure. Eventually, the wind calmed as something appeared in the distance; a voice that sounded both familiar and unfamiliar calling out to you following the shape of what appeared to be a man. The figure would often extend their hand, their voice shifting to something soft and gentle, other times a giggle would erupt from their lips - but more often than not, singing in a language you had never heard before. You would start to take steps forward, one hand reaching out to theirs. But just before you could touch, your eyes would open to the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains of your small bedroom. 

You started to muddle over the dream at the beginning of the second week of your time away from the big city, stirring your coffee absent-mindedly as your thoughts delved into darker waters; who was that in your dream? Why did he sound familiar? Was he supposed to be the ex you had left behind? Was your dream telling you that you should go back and forgive him? Or were they a person from your past? A friend that you had when you were a child but had forgotten about? You looked out the window as the grey kitten hopped onto the table and laid before you on his side, his belly up as your hand absent-mindedly reached out and stroked the fur, rubbing him as he let out contented squeaks and merps of pleasure. 

The dream had been recurring ever since you arrived here - so much so there were times you thought that you saw something watching you behind the large rocks that jaunted out into the crashing sea waves.

Legends of merfolk, selkies, sirens, and assorted sea monsters had littered your childhood, many of the locals believing that these fantastical creatures of the waves lurked just beyond their borders. Some claimed to have seen merfolk with tails of shimmering gold lounging on the rocks that lined the surface and others claimed to have seen the heads of sea serpents and kelpies drifting out further beyond. Others swore up and down they heard the voices of sirens and seen the discarded pelt of a selkie - though none were ever proven to be true. However, there was one story that was told to you by your father years and years ago:

The cabin that you lived in once belonged to an old fisherman who disappeared several decades ago. He was a man of few words and was often seen walking along the coastal shore with his hound in tow, whistling a tune no one had heard before as he prepared to walk out into the open water. One day, his dog came running into the local village, barking and whining before pulling on people’s skirts and pant legs, tugging them in the direction of the old fisherman’s cabin. The villagers followed the dog to the sandbar, only to discover that the old fisherman had disappeared - all that remained was his gear and the straw hat he always wore. Some believed that a tide came in and swept him away, pulling his poor old body under the cruel cold waters and drowning him. Others believed he was taken as payment by the creatures of the deep per an unspoken agreement between the the creatures of the sea and the humans that existed on their shores. Regardless of what had happened, the cabin had been left abandoned and forgotten - until your family moved in as a separate living space for a summer retreat once upon a time.

You shook your head, blinking as you were snapped out of your thoughts. 

Beyond the walls of your house, you could’ve sworn you saw a figure climbing onto the rocks that lined the shore. You stood and moved a bit closer to the aged-old glass, peering out to see the shape of someone or something perched on the rocks. You couldn’t see them from your position, but you could’ve sworn you saw their head turn toward you.

Something compelled you to move then.

Forgetting your shoes, you thrusted the door open and raced down the pathway that led to the beach, the little grey kitten moving quickly to follow behind you as you disappeared around the corner. Your heart raced in your chest, your heart propelling you forward as a voice thought, ‘Wait! Wait! Please, wait!’

By the time you got to the shoreline, the figure was gone from the rocks - the only thing that greeted you was an empty beach, the call of gulls, and the crashing of the waves before you. You wrapped your arms around you as you sighed heavily, eyes focusing on the horizon as the sun lifted itself above the surface, kissing the sky with its rays and warming your chilled skin as a cold sea breeze rattled your core. You licked your lips and strained your ears, hearing nothing by the cry of sea birds and the occasional meow of the little grey kitten at your feet.

As you felt your heart drop, your one chance for company that was human and someone that you did not know, a voice so hauntingly sweet called out - a song in a language from your dream. You turned and you felt yourself compelled forward, your feet disappearing into the waves of the ocean that were followed by your knees, thighs, and waist.

The sea always calls to those who feel lost and alone, wanting to fill the empty part of their soul until they are loved and full… and as such, it’s only fair that the strange creatures that live beneath its depths would want the same as well…

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Good morning headmage

I was wondering if you and the other teachers went to the museum with your students this year to celebrate its 100th anniversary ?

If so what did you like there , do you have a favorite artwork ?

Have you been there before 👀?

Enter; An Unkindness of Ravens.

"Why, of course we teachers accompanied our students to the Land of Dawning's National Museum of Art. It would be highly irresponsible of us to allow children to travel to a foreign land without chaperones!”

Crowley perked with pride. Prestige—the acknowledgement of it—tended to have that effect on him, pompous man that he was.

"Not to mention... It's an honor for us to be invited to this centennial celebration! This is a wonderful opportunity for us teachers to appreciate art alongside our young pupils—though I myself have already visited numerous times. Ah, but that is what a long lifespan and a deep respect for history does… Sharpens the mind and the spirit!”

Somehow he ended up circling around and feeding his own ego again.

You walked alongside him, tactfully staying silent and letting the headmaster ramble.

Famous faces passed by, relics of the past unearthed. Stories, centuries in the making. History coming to life around you.

Click, clack, click.

Crowley’s polished shoes and cane alternated, echoing sharply in the gallery.

“This solemn, almost reverent atmosphere is rather pleasing. It grants one the space and time to properly admire and reflect on the artwork on display.”

He raised a hand, his golden claw-shaped rings upon each finger shining under the museum’s lights. Crowley gestured to the paintings that lined the closest wall. You followed where he led your gaze.

Platinum frames, seven in total. Each held an illustration of a familiar figure—you recognized them from the stone statues lining Main Street.

“I find myself gravitating toward the classics. Perhaps I am sentimental, fufu. My bias is clear.”

The Queen of Hearts.

She looked on from up high, posed with a gavel behind a banister and flanked by card soldiers. Her face was kind and rounded, but her expression was stern. Hands folded in her lap and her hammer raised to deliver justice, she was the picture of dignified grace.

The King of Beasts.

He reclined in a dark cave, bones scattered around him. The King stood out from the others of his kind--body lanky, a scar knitting one eye, mane a deep black, and with an unmatched feline poise. He toyed with a skull in one paw, his mouth twisted into a contemplative smirk.

The Sea Witch.

She danced, tentacles curling, in an anemone garden, lilac arms outstretched to cuddle her beloved pets: two moray eels that adorned her arms like a living boa. Pinkish light spilled onto them, emanating from her bubbling cauldron. Another potion brewing to fulfill some poor, unfortunate soul's wish.

The Sorcerer of the Sands.

A thin man with a long face and a goatee pieced together a golden scarab, its light piercing the starry night. Particles of sand and glittering magic kicked up, scattering across his black and red robes. The wings of the scarab, flickering rapidly--as if about to take flight.

The Beautiful Queen.

She triumphantly held up a goblet of bubbling liquid, her radiant face reflected in it. High cheek bones, skin smooth as china, full lips, long lashes, a gown that clung to her hourglass figure. Her beauty was every bit as deadly as the poison in the glass.

The King of the Underworld.

He beamed in the painting, showing sharp teeth. Various tabletop games surrounded him, and he seemed to take great joy in maneuvering a chess piece across a board. No opponent was in view--the man was a lone player.

The Thorn Fairy.

She loomed in her spiked throne, her calm face cut severe by the gathering shadows and green candlelight. Briar crept around the tattered hem of her cloak, waiting for her next command. One word, and you felt as though they would come to life and rush at you.

The Great Seven together dominated the hallowed halls of the museum. In awe of them, you felt yourself shrink back. If was as though your body instinctively knew to kneel in the presence of such raw power.

Crowley, too, quietly bowed his head to the Seven. He held his top hat to his chest, his dark lips pursed into a serene smile.

"What visionaries! We must all strive to the same heights as they."

[hoeforhao]

🪧. ⚜️ Eclipse ⚜️ Prologue // Wonwoo FF//

⸙͎ pairing: dad!wonwoo × fem!reader

⸙͎ synopsis: what happens when you meet your lover from your previous life, except this time he is a dad coupled with zero memories of you two.

⸙͎ genre: heavy angst, some fluff, reminiscing of memories, happy ending?

⸙͎warnings: war trauma, mention of death, ww2 era love, flashbacks, rebirth/reincarnation

⸙͎ word count: 437

⸙͎ author's note: hehe it's finally wonu month as well as mine!!! so this is my special series as a gift for both my and wonu's birthday♡

Lemme know if y'all want a happy ending or sad ending for this.

"Bubbles run fast, why are you tortoising through the hallway hmph" the little ball of joy kept dragging you down the gallery, galloping like an excited baby bunny, eager to introduce her favorite person with her other favorite human, a.k.a her father.

"I'm not an eleven year old, bursting with energy,kiddo like you Elara!!! Please run slow Ms" panting like a dog, you two finally reach the party venue, all decked up in peonies and gilded with stardust.

"There he is" one last swish from El and that's when your entire world stood still. A feline looking man, permed locks cascading down his forehead, face plastered with the biggest smile the world has ever witnessed while his eyes form the perfect cresents on the night sky of his temples.

I mean it's not that unnatural for women to be smitten by such beauty, right? But for you, he wasn't just another random nerdy looking man you've met on the streets, someone straight outta the books. No! H-he... he was your moon, one that eclipsed over your pain, your anger, your flaws and in return made you gleam the brightest in the galaxy.

☆.☆.☆.☆.☆.☆.☆.☆.☆.☆.☆.

"Wonu-yah quick quick close your eyes and make a wish" you tightly press his biceps while bringing both of your palms together to wish upon the falling star.

"Yah silly girl, you know i don't believe in these." a slight mocking smile leaves wonwoo's lips as his lightly pinches your mochi cheeks to break your concentration.

"Yeah yeah sure sure! Why would you even need to wish for something when you have everything" getting up from the boulder you two were sharing and straddling your way through the beachy sand, you stomp away all angry.

"Okay okay I'm sorry bubbles. Tell me what you wished for" a pair of soft yet firm hands entrap your body from behind, while a cute stubby nose rests on your shoulder.

"For you to hold my hand in every universe and lead me through it. For you to always come home to me ; and for you to entwine me in your orbit in every life" single drops of tears making it way down your cheeks as you hold wonwoo's hands in yours. "W-we won't ever part tracks right? I wanna see the beauty of this world with you, enjoy each and every element only if you're there to clasp me into your arms through everything; and then finally bloom together from the soil again."

"You'll always be the star to my moon, darling. Never alone never separated, always shining bright together."

Oh only if they knew....

[brandyllyn]

This Time

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x f!reader [no use of y/n. 3POV]

Sequel to Next Time - but I think it works as a stand alone

Words: 2.8k

My Masterlist

Rated: Teen. Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff.

Smoothing a hand down the front of his shirt, Jack frowned at his reflection in the Bronco’s side mirror. The material was a soft grey, short-sleeved with pearl snap buttons. It was one of his favorites, good for a casual day out, having a beer with friends - a utilitarian shirt.

His frown deepened.

Making an effort to look away, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, trying to make the lean against the truck as casual as possible. Wear the same thing as last time, she’d said.

It wasn’t that Jack didn’t like surprises, he enjoyed them as much as the next person. He just liked to be informed, that was all. How could he protect people, do his job, if he didn’t have full information?

“Hey Jack.”

Her soft voice startled him out of his musings and he jerked his head up to see her. His mouth froze on his greetings, the words garbling in his throat. 

Lord have mercy, she was wearing jeans. Jeans that looked like they had been painted on her, framing soft thighs and an ass he felt a sudden irresistible urge to bite. She had on a loose blouse with one of those camisoles with the thin straps underneath. 

And she was smiling. At him. 

The beauty of her knocked him on his ass and he completely missed his opportunity to meet her, to walk with her and open the car door like a gentleman. Instead he scrambled inside and flung himself across the bench seat, grabbing at the passenger door handle and giving her a sheepish smile as she slid inside.

“Lord, you’re pretty as a speckled pup.” She raised an eyebrow and he gave his head a sharp shake. “It’s a compliment.”

“Is it?”

Damn it to hell, how was he messing this up already? Again.

“It is,” he turned the key in the Bronco and set it to drive. 

When she had offered to plan their second date, the old school gentleman in Jack had balked. He’d been raised to believe it was a man’s  job to do the romancing. To plan the outings, pay for dinner, make the moves.

Then again, their first date had gone so poorly he hadn’t objected when she’d offered to plan their second. Only some of it had been his fault, in his defense. He couldn’t have done anything about the tornado. 

“Where to, darlin’?”

“Head into town, then north on New Circle Road”

They chit chatted on the drive into Lexington, a little over an hour with light traffic. Plenty of time for Jack to learn more about her. She wanted a pet, but worried her job at Statesman would interfere. Never been married, although she made passing mention of a proposal that perked his ears. She asked him questions about his hobbies, and then made appropriate follow-up noises of appreciation about the Bronco when he said it was refurbishing older vehicles.

“It’s very shiny,” she smiled and he choked back a laugh. Maybe he should have mentioned his ever so slight obsession with World War II documentaries instead.

She gave no clues to where they were going, nodding slightly when he got off the highway onto Route 4 but aside from that remaining mum. When they turned on to the city streets north of town Jack almost asked but held his tongue. Stadium signs rose to their right as she directed him into a half empty parking lot. Even as they approached the stadium, he didn’t ask the question that bubbled in him.  Not until she handed two construction paper tickets to an older lady and led him inside.

“Baseball?”

“The Lexington Legends,” she chirped back, slipping into the sparse crowd and looking back to see if he followed.

He did, his gait slipping into an easy saunter. Earlier, he’d have laid all his money they were going to a museum for the day. Maybe some kind of art gallery.

“Never figured you for a baseball fan.”

“I’m not really,” she shrugged, eyeing something over his shoulder as she came to a stop. “But this isn’t baseball. It’s minor league baseball.”

“Other than the obvious, what’s the difference?”

“Baseball is about the sport. It’s about winning and all that.” A soft aha noise left her and she grabbed his hand, slipping her fingers between his and dragging him to a vendor. “But minor league is about having fun. It’s a carnival with baseball as an excuse.”

Glancing up at the sign he smiled, “Funnel cake?”

“To start,” she answered with a decisive nod. “After that they have one of those things set up where you hit baseballs and win prizes.”

“A batting cage?” His interest was piqued.

“Yeah, that,” she said distractedly.

He didn’t have her attention. She was practically salivating as she gave her order, not just the cake but deep fried Coca Cola and a lemonade to go with it.

“Shouldn’t be possible to fry a liquid,” Jack mumbled, licking powdered sugar from his fingertips. “But damn if it ain’t good.”

She beamed back at him, reaching up and using her thumb to wipe at the corner of his mustache. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do.” He managed not to shiver at her touch - barely. “But I have to admit it’s not what I expected.”

“Well,” she turned her back to him, leading him to a nearly empty set of bleachers. “One of the times you were asking me out you mentioned going to the state fair. If I remember right you tried to lure me with fried Oreos.”

“I did,” he nodded.

“And I know you play on the distillery’s softball team so I figured it wouldn’t be the most boring venue.”

Staring at the first baseman, Jack tapped the heel of his boot on the steel bleacher. “That was pretty astute of you.” Ducking her head she concentrated on their food and Jack eyed the field. “You rootin’ for anyone in particular?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. I don’t even know who the teams are.”

Shutting his eyes for a moment Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Are you telling me, sugar, that you brought me to a baseball game solely for the food?”

“Well, I brought me solely for the food. But I thought you might like the game.”

“You are…” he searched for the word. Finally he settled on a huff of laughter, sliding the funnel cake from her hands and ignoring her protests. He leaned over and pressed his nose to her shoulder, “… somethin’ else.”

“Is that good?” She asked, one hand snaking over to his lap and the fried strings of dough. He picked one up instead, straightening and holding it out to her.

“Is to me.”

The Legends were playing a good game - relying a bit too much on a strong pitcher in Jack’s opinion, half the team couldn’t bat for shit - but he didn’t protest when his companion tugged on his arm in the third inning with a pleading look in her eye. 

“Pickles?”

A smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “Fried?”

 “Of course.”

“Lead the way.”

It was probably coincidence that the vendor was right next to the batting cage. And Jack couldn’t resist those pretty eyes when she bit her lip and glanced over at the stuffed animals hanging from the fence.

“Want me to win you one, sugar?”

“You think you can?” she asked with a tease on her voice.

He hummed an affirmative, rolling his shoulder under his shirt. It ached sometimes after the distillery league games, but it had been fine lately, certainly fine enough to knock out a couple homers and get the purple dog looking thing she was staring at.

“What do I get?”

She tapped her lip thoughtfully at the question. “Third date?”

“Deal,” he said quickly, pulling out a five and handing it to the guy without preamble. Her giggle followed him and he gave the bat a trial swing before setting his stance. 

Crack.

The first ball was a foul, sailing almost straight up and into the tarp. Jack jumped back to avoid being brained and grunted. He’d gotten used to the underhand throws of the softball league. He’d need to re-evaluate.

Whiff.

Fuck, he hadn’t even touched the second. He felt the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment and took a swing at the third. It felt solid as it connected, a low hit midway down the far tarp. A solid hit in a real game, but not enough to read as a home run in the cage.

He had another five in his hand before the ball stopped rolling “Again.”

Another foul.

And another.

A low drive to a non-existent third baseman.

“Again.”

“Jack,” her voice sounded too soft and he didn’t look at her.

Two hits and a miss, one that should have been a home run but the damn game clocked it as a triple and Jack gritted his teeth against the argument that rose in his throat.

“Jack, come here.”

Shoulders sagging he turned to the fence, taking a step to it and frowning. “Sugar I-“

“A kiss.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Win me the dragon and you get a kiss.”

He blinked again and darted his eyes to the purple stuffed animal. Is that what it was? A dragon?

Wait.

Wait.

A teasing smile pulled the corners of her lips up, a touch of powdered sugar still dusting the lower one. She’d be sweet, he knew that. And soft.

“Hell yeah,” he muttered, thumbing another bill at the kid running the cage. The prize wasn’t worth twenty bucks but that wasn’t the point.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

Three home runs, a light and siren going off each time. 

She looked skeptical. “Did you batting cage shark me?”

“Did I what?” he spluttered, pointing at the largest version of the dragon for the worker.

“Batting cage shark, like a pool shark. Pretend to be bad so I’d offer you something?”

“Yes…?” he said slowly, drawling the word out and squinting slightly. It was a better explanation than anything he had. He handed the stuffed animal over, taking the nearly gone pile of fried food from her.

She frowned as she wrapped her arms around the ridiculously large toy. After a moment her face broke into a grin. “Liar.”

“I simply lacked proper motivation.”

Shifting the toy in her embrace she leaned towards him. “Are you going to collect?”

He traced his eyes over her face and settled a hand at the base of her spine. “Later.”

The spluttering sound she made at that warmed his heart.

“I’m assuming we don’t have dinner plans?” Jack asked as he held open the Bronco door for her. He took the dragon from her with one hand, patting her thigh slightly as she buckled in.

“Are you still hungry?” she responded incredulously.

Grinning, he leaned into the back of the truck, setting the plush down and pulling one of the lap belts across it. “Not a bit, I was just checking.” Dragon secured, he slipped into the front seat. “Where next?”

He didn’t expect it to be a bar, a dive bar at that. She was a fancy gal - she’d shown for their first date in a pencil skirt and heels for Christ’s sake. Then again, the last time he’d told her he was going to ‘Show her the town,’ so maybe that was just a miscommunication.

“You dance?” he asked after they got their drinks, leaning in a dark corner a little away from the speakers.

“A little,” she shrugged. “Never had much of a chance to learn.”

“Not interested?”

“Two left feet.” She laughed and he shifted closer. “It’s also a lot to keep track of. Counting, which direction to go…”

“You ever have a good partner?”

Without giving her a chance to answer, Jack swung her into an easy two-step, the live band doing a passable cover of an old George Strait song. She stumbled at first, but he kept a steady hand on her shoulder blade, giving the direction she needed to match his movements.

“Quick, quick, slow slow,” he muttered down to her helpfully and she glared back up at him.

Despite his teasing, she followed him like a dream, letting him guide her in a large circle around the floor. There was no looking behind her, no fighting him. With the gentlest pressure from him she turned slightly, keeping the rhythm and facing forward by his side, their interlinked arms ahead of them. 

“You’re a natural,” he smiled, guiding her into a turn so she was facing him again.

“You’re a good teacher,” she smiled back. He kept an eye on their drinks, making sure no one messed with them, but that only took about 5% of his concentration. The rest he could focus on the woman in his arms. She was settled into his embrace like they’d done this a hundred times before, his fingers spread behind one shoulder while he traced his thumb over her other hand. He knew the song was ending soon and he gave a silent prayer for another two-step.

Instead, a car engine revved and a twangy guitar intro followed. One any cowboy worth his salt would recognize, and he smiled. “Ever line danced?”

A shake of her head and his smile turned into a grin. “I’ll show you.”

It should have been easy, this one was a classic for a reason. A simple grapevine, a toe tap or two, some clapping and a booty shake.

She was hopeless at it.

“No that way,” he huffed, turning her waist with one hand. 

“One, one-two, one, one-two” he tried to help out as she double tapped and looked lost.

The third time she spun into him he gave up, pulling her close. “You weren’t kidding about those two left feet.”

“I told you-“

He shushed with her a turn, swinging her out of the way of the other dancers and back to their waiting drinks. “I thought that was modesty.”

She snorted, stirring her drink with a straw.

He did eventually manage to get her through the electric slide, but they did much better in the partner dances. Jack didn’t mind, any excuse to get his hands on her was welcome. 

It was raining by the time they left, rushing to the Bronco while Jack tried to hold his hat over her head. They were laughing when the doors shut and he did his best to ignore how the water made her blouse stick to her skin.

“Home then?”

A nod and he shifted into gear. He jumped in surprise when her hand slipped into his, drifting up to cradle his forearm when he needed it to change gears. He liked it, even though her fingers were cold, and once they got on the highway he entangled their fingers together and chatted about absolutely nothing.

She was sleepy by the time they got back to the compound, leaning back in her sleep and fighting to keep her eyes open. He shut the truck off, frowning when her hand slipped away after he was forced to let it go.

“I’ll walk you up.”

“You’re not going to claim that kiss?” she asked with a small frown and pout.

“Nah.” With one hand he swept his hat off, turning and settling it in the backseat. “I figure I’ll save it.”

“Save it for what?”

“Third date,” he informed her with a grin. “And my second chance.”

A soft smile came over her face and Jack couldn’t help but press his fingertips to her jaw, rubbing his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “But Lord you do make a man think twice about his convictions.”

“Oh do I?” A sly, sultry look replaced the shy one. “Maybe your convictions are in the wrong place.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, his thumb slipping down to trace her lips. “You’re enough to tempt a saint to sin.”

Her laughter warmed him, and his focus was so pinpointed on her smile that he missed that it was moving closer until it was almost a surprise when those smiling lips were pressed to his.

Lord he was right, she was sweet. And soft. Her mouth brushing over his with the barest of pressure. A groan escaped him, one hand clenching in the hair behind her neck. He wouldn’t push, he wouldn’t. But if she wanted to rub that body of hers against his and lick at the seam of his mouth who was he to deny her?

They were both panting when she broke away, and Jack’s jeans were fitting a bit tighter than normal.

“Next Saturday?”

“Tomorrow.” The word choked out of him and he winced. “Don’t make me wait a week to see you again, sugar.”

“Brunch?”

Yeah. Yeah he could do brunch.

“My place?”

In her house? Where her bed was?

Ain’t no way he would survive that.

“How bout we go out somewhere? You got any pretty Sunday dresses?”

The smile she gave him was dazzling, and a little mischievous. “I think I have something.”

Lord have mercy, what had he gotten himself into now?

For updates on stories please follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

Songs from the saloon: George Strait - I Just Wanna Dance With You Brooks and Dunn - Boot Scootin' Boogie

[inexplicablepeas]

I wrote some angsty Devil's Minion PWP for @vamptember's VCKinkFest, week 1 prompt: Voyeurism/Exhibitionism!

Daniel and Armand have one of their typical stormy nights soon after their move to New York brought on by bubbling frustrations and terrible communication, with a passionate reconciliation and a fluffy ending.

Mind the tags! Excerpt and link under cut.

"Daniel fumbles a crushed pack of smokes out of his jeans pocket, shields the flame from the light June breeze as he lights it, and hungrily inhales the soothing smoke without missing a step as his feet continue to pound the concrete of the Manhattan street below, marching with determination although he has now admitted to himself that he has no idea where he's heading. It feels good to walk though, it's giving his aggravated energy somewhere to go. Five minutes ago he stormed out of a party at some musician's apartment in frustration at Armand's frosty attitude. As it was, Armand had dragged his groggy ass to the party in the first place, then he had up and abandoned him for over an hour, when he returned Daniel was sitting between a couple he got talking to, a sculptor and his girlfriend who worked in a gallery, the girlfriend was kissing him in a gentle and searching way and her boyfriend's hand was squeezing his thigh when he noticed that Armand had reappeared and was sitting opposite them – Armand acted coldly towards the pair who were soon making their excuses to leave and escape the awkwardness. Shortly after they left Daniel also thundered out of the apartment in frustration."

[violettduchess]

🎉🎊🎉 1K!!! 🎉🎊🎉

I'm so happy for you!!!!! You deserve all the love and admiration, my dear. Not only is your writing fantastic, you're sweet and I definitely consider you a friend of mine here. I appreciate you 💕

Now... could I request Theo and kissing to prove a point for your 1k celebration? I feel that's very him haha.

A/N: Here you are, @yarnnerdally 💜

Theo x f reader

Prompt: A Kiss to Prove a Point

Word Count: 1203

It has taken days of planning and many sleepless nights, but now you are finally done. The petite art gallery on the west side of Paris is decorated with elegant floral garlands and soft, twinkling fairy lights, all highlighting the theme of the collection: Romance. You’re tired, but it is a satisfied kind of tired, the kind that settles into your muscles and bones like a lioness sinking down onto the soft Savannah earth after a rewarding hunt. The artist behind the collection had been no one, just another street painter trying to sell his offerings to mildly interested tourists when you had noticed him and his work, stopping dead in your tracks to admire a painting of a couple locked in a warm embrace. They lay in a field of green grass and small pink blossoms, wrapped in one another’s arms. They're bathed in soft yellow sunshine, locked together in an eternal summer kiss. Something about the painting had felt so inviting, so real, you had pressed the tips of your fingers against your lips, your heart swelling with a wave of longing to be kissed the same way. By a certain someone.

Theo had agreed with you, once you had managed to drag him away from the mansion and back to the park where the artist was slowly packing up his wares. Buffeted by the man’s potential, you had worked together on putting together a showing of his paintings, drumming up funds from various patrons until you had enough for your showcase.

Now you walk through the small gallery, drinking in the fruits of your labor. 

“There you are.” Theo’s deep voice cuts through your reverie and you turn to see him approaching you, glass of sparkling champagne in hand. He hands you one which you take with an appreciative smile.

“Cheers,” you say, lifting it towards him.

“Proost,” he answers, clinking glasses with you. Your gazes hold (you could swim forever in all that blue) Before the moment stretches into something too long to be insignificant, you both raise the delicate crystal flutes and drink. The cascade of bubbles feels like it's not just rushing down your throat but through your entire body. You blink, turning towards the painting you are closest to. 

It’s the passionate couple, kissing in the summer field. The one that had so immediately caught your attention. You sigh, a light, dreamy sound that pours itself over Theo like silk, sending an unexpected rush of heat through his body. He rubs his face, turning away to hide any color that may have risen to his chiseled cheeks. You don't notice, eyes glued to the figures as you allow yourself another sip of champagne. Now, in the dimmer lighting of the art gallery late at night, there is something even more sensual about the way the couple is holding each other. His hand pressed against the rounded curve of his lover's hip, her fingers curled against the side of his neck, intimate, possessive. 

“This is as satisfying as a real kiss,” you murmur, head tilting as you continue to admire the art. What pulls you out of your rose-colored haze is the decidedly unromantic snort from your right. 

“If you think a painting can replace a real kiss, then you haven’t been kissing the right person, hondje.”

He’s smirking as he takes a sip of his drink, his impossibly blue eyes looking over the painting. The fairy lights are having the same effect on him as they do the artwork: he looks unfathomably beautiful, his golden hair darker than in the daylight, his face a sculptor’s dream of perfectly balanced features.

Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe it’s the intimacy of the late hour. Maybe it’s the fact that you have been spinning from one task to another all day long without a chance to spend any time with him. It has to be something because the following words come out of your mouth:

“Prove me wrong.”

Three little words that stop the earth from turning, that grab hold of Theo’s lungs with such force that the next inhale shakes. Three little words that hang in the air between you, vaguely foreboding like flickering neon or distant thunder.

Warning flashes through your mind and you want to kick yourself and your big mouth. Why did you say that? Whatever possessed you to even think that Theodorus van Gogh would be interested in kissing–

Theodorus van Gogh sets his champagne glass down on the edge of a table full of brochures and then turns. He reaches out with both hands, cupping either side of your face and leans down, capturing your mouth with his. You freeze, both arms at your sides, the champagne in your glass sloshing around like a tiny, storm-tossed sea. 

Is he…..

Oh….

…..he is….

He’s kissing you, his lips moving over yours in a shockingly gentle caress, his hands holding you still, not forcefully, but carefully, like you’re something valuable, something he should handle with care. He displays a tenderness you would never have dreamed possible in a man as large as he is. Every movement of his mouth against yours sends a ripple of warmth through your body. One hand shifts, the back of his fingers stroking the softness of your cheek. 

Your surprise slowly melts under his touch, disappearing like water droplets in sunshine,  and your free hand rises to clutch his shoulder. You hold on tightly, reveling in the electricity every brush of his lips sparks. But before you can part your lips in invitation, before you can start truly returning his kiss, he pulls away, the movement causing a short, forlorn gasp to leave your tingling lips.

Quiet descends upon you both and for a long, tense moment, neither one of you speaks. Words seem impossible as you stare into the summer-sky of his eyes. He clears his throat, shaking his head as if trying to wake himself out of a dream. At that moment you feel him pulling away, the warmth of his kiss and the tenderness of his hands fading into memory. Your heart lurches in panic.

“Theo.” 

He grunts, unable to meet your gaze. 

You step towards him, setting your champagne glass down next to his. Your hands are now free to reach out, steadier than you expected them to be, and take his, holding his strong hands tightly in yours.

“I believe…..I am starting to be swayed by your persuasive argument. But I do think I need more proof before I am fully convinced.”

His head snaps up and on his handsome face you see a dazzling array of emotions, starting with surprise and ending with a slow smile that sends your heart spinning. He pulls you towards him, unhurried, a man who now knows he has a delicious treat waiting just for him.

"More proof, huh,” he murmurs, unlocking your hands so he can slide his around you, large palms eagerly learning the curve of your hips, the slope of your waist.

You plunge your hand boldly into the thicket of his golden hair as he bends his body down to kiss you for the second time that night. 

By the night’s end though….you will have lost count entirely.

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

[moominofthevalley]

The Girl with the Glass

Trystan finds a mysterious scrapbook. Emily has a deep conversation with a stranger.

trystan x emily

teen | wc: 2.5k | cw: mentions of grief

cfwc prompt: ‘visiting a holiday market’ & ‘the holidays won’t be the same now that they’re gone’

a/n: happy holidays, everyone! this drabble is inspired by an influx of things – mostly my favorite film, “amélie,” if you couldn’t tell by the title. (which, of course, is not-so-subtle-symbolism). enjoy! ♡

“It’s your turn, Trystan!” 

Snow sprinkled downwards, little husks of angels drooping to the wintry ground. Crowds of faces walked the busy New York streets, surrounded by shiny knickknacks and dusty clothes. Cheeks were stained pink, and lips curled upwards in the holiday spirit. Trystan urged out a cocky grin, arms around Emily’s waist. 

“Is it, now?” 

“Yes, it is! I’ll go and get something for us to eat.” 

Trystan pecked her forehead, whispering, “Do something good!” before disappearing into the crowd. He grew fond of these new habits of love, searching for a trinket to take back to their hearth. 

It was a silly tradition, but a tradition nonetheless. It began with a scratched Pierrot figurine Emily bought from a vintage shop. Ivory skin and porcelain eyes, and a black-and-white costume with a frilled collar. Like some haunted elf on the shelf, the clown explored the apartment all by itself – according to Trystan, at least. The second well-loved piece was a gift from Marguerite: a brass ladybug ashtray. Neither Emily nor Trystan smoked, though the aureate bug was far too interesting to be thrown away. The most recent find was a print of Renoir’s The Luncheon of the Boating Party Emily purchased from a local art gallery. Both of them adored it; the celebration of warmth and good company, the splendid wines and fruits, calmness and beauty in the mundane. Drinks and company aside, Emily was far more fascinated with the girl with the glass. A sullen woman drinking wine in a sea of chatting strangers.

It was Trystan’s turn, and he was keen on finding an old book of sorts. He insisted on a leather novel of yellowed papers and annotated lines, with intricate Victorian details along the spine. Trystan paused, exhilarated at the antique booth before him. Forgotten scrapbooks, noir polaroids, rotten thrown-away cameras, and fringed lamps cornered him with an enticement to explore. 

Emily wandered around the opposite side of the market, searching for food vendors. A strange harmony bubbled inside her; a soft scent, a beam from the clouded sun. She breathed in the scent of chestnuts and red wine, a wintry chill slipping through her bones. Silver bells danced in the December wind, faces greeting each other with a blissful smile. It was a perfect moment, a painting from her own eyes. 

On the sidewalk stood a white-haired woman in a vibrant Christmas sweater, her cane tapping the frozen ground. Breaths escaped her parted lips in subtle clouds of white. Trystan’s words repeated in Emily’s head, a determination settling within her. This was peace and contentment; the mundanity of a random December afternoon. 

“Excuse me, ma’am, do you need help?” 

“Yes, please!” 

“Careful of the curb, here we go!”

The woman held onto the cane, her other hand wrapped around Emily’s. Her heart burst at the scene developing around her. Laughs and joyous days echoed around her, the wind so sweet she gulped for more. 

“Hear that? That’s a florist laughing, he has crinkly eyes! A booth that smells like eucalyptus and rose is selling crystals and botanical postcards. The food truck across them is selling lollipops and hot cocoa for children. A farmer’s booth has rows of persimmons, oranges, and tangerines. Next to the fruits, a baby is watching her dad throw his hat in the air. We’re at the end of the market, there’s a bookstore and a vinyl shop in front of us. I’ll leave you here, goodbye!” 

The elderly woman struck out a pleased laugh, touched by moments folding around her. Memories of today fell like dominoes, scattering about like new snow. Her cheeks shined pink as Emily cradled her hand, stilling the woman’s trembling fingers. 

“Have a good day,” She whispered before walking off. 

“Wait,” The woman called out, “Are you hungry? Let me get you something to eat!” * * * *

Emily and the white-haired woman split an orange and two empanadas on a quiet bench. Emily, of course, peeled the oranges in thirds, ignoring the pith underneath her nails. 

Familiarity struck her as she handed the woman an orange. Her father’s willow-leaved eyes resembled the stranger’s. Perhaps in another life, Jimmy Rose grew old and never walked the grounds of Box Thirty-Two. To breathe with wrinkled skin and grey hairs, lines creasing about his lips and forehead.  

“What’s your name?”

“Diana.” 

“I’m Emily,” she hid the third orange wedge in her coat pocket, “Do you like the food?” 

“I love it,” Diana grinned, “God, that vendor was beautiful, wasn’t she?” 

Emily gulped, taken aback, “How could you tell?” 

The other woman laughed and patted her lap, “Partial blindness. I can only see things if I’m up close.” 

“Oh!” Emily blushed awkwardly, “I’m sorry – I didn’t-” 

“Don’t worry.” 

“But, er, yes, the vendor was beautiful.” 

Diana perked up, casting an amused grin, “Are you a lesbian?” 

“Bisexual. My partner wanted to check this market out. He’s looking for…I dunno, some trinket to take home, and I told him I’d get us some food. Are you…also…?” 

Diana nodded. 

“How old are you?” 

“Sixty-eight. And you?” 

“Twenty-eight,” Diana winced. 

“Don’t worry, it does get better.” 

Emily shrugged, unconvinced. Her bones were brittle as if made of glass, jaded memories of Drakovia hitting her like violent waves against a sandy beach. Grief thrashed inside her head so intensely she’d wake up in the night, begging for air. There was avoiding it, no going under or over it. Whether she’d acknowledge it or not, trauma and grief permeated her life. 

“When?” Emily asked innocently, her eyes burning. Diana scooted slightly closer, resting her wrinkled hand over Emily’s. 

“When does it get better?” Emily nodded, cringing at her childish question, “However long it takes. Eventually…it’ll pass.” 

It had been sixteen years. Sixteen years, and it had, indeed, not passed. She swore that she’d be done with everything by twenty. That foolish promise broke, and twenty-eight was no different than twenty. All that was left of Jimmy Rose’s legacy was a cruel memory. 

“It’s been almost twenty years. I don’t think it will.” 

Emily gritted her teeth, furrowing her fingers into her hands until they became beet red. With a blink of an eye, she was no longer the famed private detective who took down the Heartache Killer; but a tall child with no father. 

“Oh, Emily,” Diana cooed, “I’m so sorry. But that’s simply not true,” She murmured, struggling to find the right words, “Nothing lasts forever. Things pass, lives go on, and it feels fucking awful when you’re…stuck. But when we are stuck, all we have is each other. To get by, at least.” 

Emily’s walls began crumbling. Her hands instinctively covered her face, sheltering herself from the world. Diana granted her some space, moving closer to the other end of the bench. 

“I’m sorry,” Emily rubbed her face, grasping at anything to change the subject. With a pained sigh, she uttered, “Y’know, I don’t really like Christmas. I just–I’m just here because of a stupid tradition.” 

“I don’t either,” Diana said, “But my wife loved it. Every year, God bless her soul, she’d always cook the worst beef wellington ever!” Diana with a familiar gleefulness, “I’d always eat it. I mean, it was atrocious and entirely raw, but she cooked it. Made with love…and absolutely no seasoning. I would do anything to have it this year.” 

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Emily whispered, “Her wellington must’ve made your day. My dad took me to Rockefeller Square every year until he passed. I always thought he was a king for that,” She chuckled, “I remember seeing it for the first time. I didn’t even know trees got that big.” 

“He sounds like an amazing Dad. I am so sorry for your loss.” 

“Thank you. I try to remember the good things about him. It helps keep his spirit alive.” 

Inklets of snow trailed down and stained their hair, solemness in the wind. Emily cleared her throat, pushing past the silence. 

“Can you tell me more about your wife?” 

“Of course,” Diana beamed, “Her name was Dani. She lived in the apartment next to mine. She was an amazing pianist - I’d always hear her playing through the walls. One day, I knocked on her door and asked if I could listen to her.” 

“Do you remember what song she played?” 

“Yes! It was, hm, ‘Camptine?’ No – ‘Comptine d’un autre été.’ You really should listen to it sometime.” 

“I’ll hold you to that…how long were you two together?” 

“Twenty years and ninety-eight days – but who’s counting? We were completely different,” Diana’s face grew serious, “And she was so different in the end, too. It’s odd to see someone die when they’re already gone and so, so small.”

Emily fiddled with her hands, jaws clenched, “I’m so sorry, Diana. I can’t imagine losing–” She choked on a small pit in her throat, “I just can’t imagine a loss like that.” 

“Thank you. The two of us had an amazing life. We really did. I mean – sometimes I still see her, even in little things, I still feel her with me.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I see her everywhere,” Diana’s lips quivered, “I see her when it rains, and I think of the song she played for me when we first met. I saw La Traviata last summer, and all I thought about was her. Whenever I walk by a deli, I think of her God-awful beef wellington.” 

A glint of doubt shimmered in Emily’s eye. Uncertainty twisted her insides, striking with fierce ripples of despair and mourning. 

“Listen to me,” Diana said sternly, “One day at a time is all we got. So go on and live. But, when the time does come…kiss his forehead, rub his feet, play a song. It will be hard, and I don’t think it will ever go away completely. But I promise – after some time, you’ll wake up and feel, maybe not better, but as if you’ve adjusted to the pain of it all. And then it won’t hurt so much.” 

A surge of preemptive grief washed over Emily, though tears never flooded her eyes. The burdens of the past and deaths of the future weren’t gone, but instead quiet and still in her mind. Death is only a moment, a bitter soul slipping into the next room. Two words repeated in Emily’s head until she was content. 

“Thank you. I never thought of it that way…thank you.” 

Easy silence lay upon them, the words shared by each other warm in their throats. Flurries of unknown faces passed by, snowflakes tangling in their hair with ease. Spotting Trystan in the crowd of strangers, Emily greeted the mischievous smirk on his face, hands tucked behind his back. 

“Hey partner,” Trystan kissed the top of Emily’s head, “And who’s this?” 

“I’m Diana…and you must be who Emily was telling me about!” 

“Oh, yeah? What’d she tell you?” 

“Your deepest and darkest secrets, obviously,” Emily deadpanned, “...You hiding something back there?” 

With a smug grin, Trystan unveiled a wrapped gift. He chuckled, “You’ll see! I’ll show you later.” 

“Hey, I also got you something!” Emily grabbed the orange slice from her pocket, wiping away tiny beads of lint. Trystan’s face lit up, mouth agape. 

“I love you. Thank you,” Trystan pecked her forehead once more before biting into the citrus, “And it was lovely meeting you, Diana. I hope Emily didn’t tell you every secret of mine.” Diana laughed, shaking his hand. 

“Of course not. And Emily?” She whispered into her ear, “Remember what you’re here for.”

* * * *

“Do I seriously need to be blindfolded for this?” 

“I mean,” He pressed his hands tight against Emily’s eyes, “Yeah, you do.” 

Emily grumbled, rolling her eyes through the thick wad of fabric tied around her head. A week had passed since she met Diana, and all that was in her mind were her tender words. Emily fixed her pout, forcing a tooth-shining smirk as Trystan led her across the apartment. 

“The things I do for you.” 

“Careful, darling,” Trystan gently moved her away from hitting the coffee table, “And sit…err, right here!” 

“Can I take the blindfold off now?” 

“Not yet!” 

Sounds of scuffling surrounded her, and Emily grew curious. Trystan had been hiding something since the trip to the market. Whenever she’d mentioned it, he’d waggle a finger to his lips and utter gibberish. 

Emily scoffed, amused, “Is this about that thing you got last week?” Trystan snickered with a childlike excitement. 

“...Maybe.” 

The tussling stopped, and Trystan sat beside her. Resting a hand on her thigh, he grinned, “Okay! You can take it off now.” 

“Oh…my God!” 

A leatherbound scrapbook and a dainty film camera plastered with Hello Kitty stickers sat across them. Colorful children’s doodles scuffed the book cover, crayons covering every inch. Squiggly letters in blue and red revealed the title: RoSe fAmilY aDveNtureS. Emily gasped, flooded with faint memories of her father. With flushed cheeks, she turned to Trystan and gawked. 

“Trystan!” Emily squealed, “You found this last week?” 

“Mhm,” He bobbed his head, “I showed it to Tommy to make sure. He said he must’ve accidentally donated it while cleaning up the attic. It…may or may not have taken me a long time to figure out how to use the camera – but it works! I’ll hook it up to the TV, okay?” 

“I fucking love you.” 

Emily and Trystan flipped page after page, soaking in long-forgotten moments of Emily’s past. At the top of each page contained a laminated label. Little Emily as San, Halloween 2002. Trip to Luzon, June 2005. Fluffernutters and Chocolate Rocks! 

Stacks of polaroids were taped against each other, smiles and blissful memories in every photo. One quickly seized Trystan’s attention. ‘2001’ was written at the hem of the photo. At the center, a pigtailed Emily smiled widely at the camera, boasting her half-eaten yan yan. 

“God,” Emily grazed her thumb over the polaroid, “I can’t believe you found this.” 

“Me too. Maybe we can look through Tommy’s attic sometime. There has to be other books we can find.” 

“Can we look through the camera now?” 

“Of course!” 

Emily grinned at Trystan, warmed by his gift. It’d been years since her heart grew so fondly, a quiet ease running through her body. Her bones were, indeed, not made of glass. She was not brittle and weak, but rather brimming with love and sentiment. Pain and sorrow were in her veins, too, yet on this still and snowy morning, Emily was at peace.

* * * * A/N: This fic was both such a pain and so nice to write lol. I wanted to give a little thank you to @jerzwriter @lexicook74-blog and @logolepzy for helping me edit this fic! Thank you all so much for your feedback, I appreciate you all SO much.

Tags: @choicesprompts @choicesholidays @choicesficwriterscreations @jerzwriter @logolepzy @mooserii @starsarewithinme @jonathanmoores @shadyinternetblizzard @urcowboyboyfriend @lexicook74-blog @leahtine @jahrobin @icarusfallsforever @kyra75 @calisomnia (let me know if else would like to be added to my crimes tag!)

[kolajmag]

THIS WEEK AT KOLAJ MAGAZINE

Collective Unconscious, Migrating Forces, & Fragmented Bodies

FROM THE ARTIST DIRECTORY Bubbling from the Collective Unconscious Sylvia Marina Martinez | Monterey Park, California, USA

COLLAGE ON VIEW A Geometry of Hours Jacqueline Dee Parker at Isabella Valise/Devin Borden in Houston, Texas, USA

COLLAGE ON VIEW Fragmented Bodies at Galleria Lorcan O'Neill in Rome, Italy

COLLAGE ON VIEW CoLABELage at Collage-O-Rama at Slip Gallery in Seattle, Washington, USA

FROM THE PRINT ISSUE Alexandra Ackerman's Artist Portfolio in Kolaj #39

FROM THE PRINT ISSUE Migrating Forces in Kolaj #39

INSTITUTE NEWS Street Art Residency Artists Announcement

Read the full update

*****************************

Kolaj Magazine, a full color, print magazine, exists to show how the world of collage is rich, layered, and thick with complexity. By remixing history and culture, collage artists forge new thinking. To understand collage is to reshape one's thinking of art history and redefine the canon of visual culture that informs the present.

SUBSCRIBE | CURRENT ISSUE | GET A COPY

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[freesia-writes]

REBLOG CHAIN! For funsies!

Please, if you feel so inclined, reblog this and add a little blurb of what you would do if you had this weekend to spend with your favorite clone. Considering where you live, what you like to do, etc... Let's all just take a little mental vacation with our favorite boys?? <3

I'll go first! :D And it got a little long, LOL.

Eep -- it got a lil NSFW at the end, so minors be gone! <3

After all the duties of the week were finished on Friday night, Howzer and I had a wee bit of edibles, sinking into the couch into each other's arms and giggling about random things. We popped a batch of break-n-bake cookies into the oven, cooking them to the PERFECT softness in the center, and ate far too many because they were so warm, gooey, and incredible. We dragged ourselves up to bed, curling up with each other in bubbly-brained bliss, feeling heavy and content.

Saturday didn't really begin until noon, when we finally hauled ourselves out of bed and made some espresso drinks. We watched a recording of The Price is Right, calling out our guesses and teasing each other competitively. We threw together a cozy breakfast (around 1pm, haha) of sourdough French toast, eggs, and sausage links, and ate it on the garden patio. It was a warm, breezy day, and I was tempted to suggest going back to bed, but we opted to head to the bay instead.

We walked through downtown, aimlessly perusing the charming little shops that included everything from antiques to plants, books to confections. We pretended to critique the art in a gallery, putting on airs and snickering at our complete lack of refinement. Our stroll took us down to the pier, where we spent a leisurely hour watching the fishermen huddled over their rods and buckets, the salty scents of the sea ruffling our hair as it blew past. His hand in mine was warm and strong, and we paused at the end of the pier to lean over the rough wooden railing, gazing at the bridge in the distance and marveling at the unusually cloudy sky. It was filled with layers of every shade of grey and white, blending together seamlessly in a cozy canvas of calm. He leaned behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist as we took in the sights, whispering some inside joke in my ear that made me guffaw like an idiot, which made him grin even more.

The sun was sinking below the horizon, barely visible behind the thick layer of clouds, but the fading light of the sky and our growling stomachs clued us in to the late hour. We headed to an adorable blue and white building that was an old house turned into a restaurant, with all sorts of nooks and crannies stuffed with tables with expansive views of the bay. We opted for the balcony, pushing our chairs together on the same side of the table to snuggle into each other's sides, his arm around my shoulders. We decided to splurge, sharing our steak and salmon dinners with each other, enjoying a sparkling drink that complimented the food, and ordering two desserts because we couldn't decide on just one. When I gave him a bite of my flourless chocolate cake, he took the fork into his mouth with a slow suggestiveness, sliding his lips down the metal as he fixed his brown eyes on mine. My heart did a flip, and though I laughed on the outside, he knew he was kindling the flame within.

We rolled out of the restaurant, equipped with bags of leftovers and stuffed beyond belief. The train station across the street broadcasted the impending arrival of the last train of the night, headed out to the coast. With a glimmer in his eyes, he took my hand and ran for the ticket kiosk, and the next thing we knew, we were sitting in window seats in a plushly-upholstered train car, rocking gently down the tracks toward the ocean. The world faded to black outside, the passing cities indicated only by the twinkling lights of people gathered in their homes, stoking fires and tucking in for the night.

The small beach town at the end of the line had a variety of charming bed and breakfasts, but the one that advertised the "in-room fireplace" caught our eyes immediately. The entire wall that faced the sea was a sliding glass door that included a screen, and the combination of the sound of the waves crashing on the shore, the fresh breeze cooling the room, and the flickering gas fireplace made the little room impossibly cozy. We took showers, pulled on the impossibly soft robes in the closet, and flopped across the large bed.

We talked about everything and nothing, lazily caressing each other, hands exploring further, robes slipping off of shoulders and thighs. It was a languorous exploration of my other half, appreciating everything that made him who he was. A slight graze of the wrist across a breast, the shift of a thigh against his hips, sent tingles through each of us and slowly increased the intensity until we were both naked, slithering against each other in a tangle of arms and legs illuminated by the warm glow of the fireplace. Breathless sighs and little quips punctuated the sounds of the seashore. He pressed into me, my legs wrapped around his, my hands caressing the curve of his back and grasping his strong forearm next to my head.

It was truly "making love" in every sense of the phrase, the comfort and pleasure weaving us together in blissful contentment. When we collapsed in delirious release, cleaning ourselves up and matching every curve of our frames against each other in warm, satisfying spooning, it was only a matter of seconds before sleep greeted us with a warm welcome. Just kidding, we got too hot in less than five minutes and peeled apart from each other, sprawling across opposite sides of the bed and drifting off in real comfort. ;)

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

ARTISTS, FEEL FREE TO DRAW ANY OF THIS AS ALWAYS!! ;)

NPT: @wolffegirlsunite @littlefeatherr @dystopicjumpsuit @arctrooper69 @foreverdaydreaming1 @stunkbiggu @mxkyrie @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @littlemissbshine @atomickidsoul @dreamie411 @skellymom @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @followthepurrgil @the-hexfiles @1vlouds @sunshinesdaydream @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @ughhhhfoff @coraex @moonlightwarriorqueen @idontgetanysleep @clonemedickix @gt13tbbart @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @523rdrebel @ghostperson69 @rain-on-kamino @secondaryrealm @hellhound5925 @thew0nderer2342 @blueink-bluesoul @cloneloverrrrr @kashasenpai @lightwise @drafthorsemath @nahoney22 @kaminocasey @neyswxrld @amorfista @zaana @mythical-illustrator @angrypaperearthquake-tbbb-main @arctrooper69 @ghostperson69 @littlemissmanga @starqueensthings @nika6q @vimse @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @mandos-mind-trick @clonethirstingisreal

[chiskz]

▶️ NMIXX Lily being Stray Kids CHICHI's adopted daughter for 6 minutes straight

♡𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @alyszaen , @smh-anon , @neohyxn , @stealanity , @alixnsuperstxr , @kimcheon-sa , @hafsa-hoofsa-heefs , @qtnoaly

_________________________

🎬🎬🎬

One of Lily's recent lives. "Chichi-sunbaenim? It was a surprise when it turned out that she would be responsible for the choreography for Young, Dumb, Stupid. We were really surprised. Have you guys even seen the choreographies of Stray Kids? They are so... well... wow. And we opted for something cute this time, and she choreographed it. We were grateful and surprised. I remember how she approached me then. She remembered our promise! I once said that I would love for her to create something for us, and she said she would try. She then came up to me and said how could I say no to my little Lily! It was so touching.... I laughed like a child who met her idol!"

[ ... ]

"Chichi-sunbaenim is really amazing. She does all the choreography herself and raps so well.... When you don't know her personally and you pass her in the label building or on the street she can even look scary."

She laughs briefly.

"But she's a really warm person. When you watch her on stage, you can easily say that she has achieved everything. But you only need to talk to her for a while to know that she doesn't stop demanding of herself. I would really like to learn from her. She is someone who makes you not want to be like her, but want to be someone she sincerely compliments."

🎬🎬🎬

one of Your Friendly Neighbor Chichi! episodes. "Sorry for the slight delay. I was at lunch with Lily. I was planning to go alone, but I met her in the lobby of the label building and immediately wanted to ask her if she would go with me and she agreed right away. We talked a little too long, but I'm here!"

[ ... ]

"I met Lily when she was still a trainee. It turned out that she had been training for so long! She has always worked so hard. Getting to know her definitely influenced me as well. She trained for so long and still I was the one who made my debut sooner. I literally appeared out of nowhere.... She is much younger, but she really inspired me to try even harder. I wanted to prove to everyone, but especially to myself, that I was in the right place. She is really amazing and hard working!"

🎬🎬🎬

photo from Lily's Bubble, showing a wool hat with bunny ears and a large package of Japanese sweets. "I was cleaning my gallery app and found this photo. It's a gift from Chichi-sunbaenim on the occasion of my debut with NMIXX! I remember how proud she was of me.... I've never felt better."

🎬🎬🎬

a photo from CHICHI's Bubble, showing a handmade pink bracelet. "I received it from my smalLily for my birthday! I'm bragging because it's a really precious gift. She found time to make something so lovely for me.... Thank you so much!"

🎬🎬🎬

a photo from CHICHI's Bubble, NMIXX's debut album with members' signatures. "We got it! I'm so proud! O.O is so good.... But I was most touched by the personalized thank-you notes from my little Lily. I wish I could show it to you, but I won't, it's too personal! ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ"

🎬🎬🎬

one of NMIXX's interviews. The girls were asked who they admire the most.

Lily: CHICHI from Stray Kids! She has such amazing charisma on stage, and her dancing skills seem like something truly unattainable. I'm proud that we are from the same label and I can get advice from someone like her!

🎬🎬🎬

one of Stray Kids' interviews. Members were asked to show, if possible, their latest photo in the phone gallery.

Chichi showed her selca with Lily.

CHICHI: That's Lily from NMIXX and me! We were at a coffee shop together. Cute, right? I was very happy that day!

《 ♡ 》

[shctupmeg]

Fan Kids OC Info

Name: Meadow Smith

Gender: Female

Appearance: Has her mother's features but her dad's eye color and hair color.

As a kid she wears her hair in messy pigtails and wears this outfit with yellow sneakers. Once she gets older in her teenage years she wears these paint splattered overalls with a rainbow striped turtleneck underneath and yellow sneakers. Wearing her hair in a loose sidebraid.

Bio: She's a twin being a few minutes older than her brother mason. She's very energetic and lively. She's an early riser and spends almost all her time with her mother in the garden. Meg named her meadow for her own fondness for flowers and it actually resulted in a child who loves nature.

Meadow is very bubbly and full of energy and this doesn't change as she gets older. She grows to love life and nature. But rather than get into gardening itself she becomes a painter. Starting at a young age. She likes being in nature and painting vast landscapes like mountains, lakes and gardens of flowers as well as trees.

She's a mama's girl as a kid but does grow close with her dad in her teenage and young adult years. If she was allowed to meet or interact with rick at all she wouldn't like him due to his negative view of the world. Also would not care for how he treats others. Would be interested in the possibilities of other planets and dimensions but if she heard about her dad's trauma regarding that she'd wanna stay far away.

Her dream is to make money off her paintings. Selling them on the street or in small art galleries. Nothing too crazy and she'd wanna live in a little cabin in the woods.

Parents: Meg and @mcltiples morty

[seobstarr]

Saturation —• Choi Theo [P1harmony]

—

paring!: Artist!theo x fem!reader

genre!: drabble, fluff, i mean like toothrotting fluff

sypnosis: Theo makes it clear to himself how much he loves you, his muse.

warnings!: grammar mistakes (blame grammarly not me🙏)

songs!: lovers rock-TV girl touch tank-quinnie sweet-cigarettes after sex this love-taylor swift sugarcane-lea cota

Taeyang had never felt this way about a person in his life.

Sure he felt the way it was to be happy, to feel overly joyed by something but with you, with you he felt content. Never in Theos life would he have thought that he wouldve fallen in love in a the span of 6 whole years, how he would be head over heels for a girl he knew his entire teen youth. How when he would see you smile unknowingly he would smile himself just watching the playful expression tangle on your lips. In fact, if anybody would’ve told 15 year old him that he would be planning to confess to his best friend in his young adult years he wouldve laughed in your face.

It was a nice summertime day, the mornings were heard clearly with the noisy birds in the tree, the afternoons were busy packed with the bustling streets of tourists and travelers and the nights were peaceful. Peaceful enough you could hear the one or two cars that would pass by the busy street Theo lived on, so peaceful you could hear the crickets and black beatles that tormented the warm summer nights with their loud noises.

A deep breath came in through his lungs as he sat there on the grass of the towns park with you, reeling in the stars, the moon. the street lamps that dimly lit the curvy path aways from you both and you. Taking in the raident perfume that eluminated from you.

Your hair flew in the warm but breezily summer tilt, lips plumped from all the chapstick you’d reapply every passing hour that went by, eyes perked up into a cute eye smile as you look into the night stars, trying to pinpoint any constellations that you wouldve known by memory. The way Theo felt with you, he couldnt explain “I’m thinking of doing another gallery, you should come” He speaks into the silent still air, crickets choiring behind him “Of course! Wouldn't want your degree to go to waste hm?” You Joked, earning a small chuckle from him.

“But you’ll come right?” His eyes scan over to you once more, yours are still on the brightly white stars above.

“Yes, I never miss one” You were his muse, his canvas, his colors. His world would be saturated with you, with the colors of you and only you. You were his inspiration, the reason he had gotten into artistry, the reason for his bubble guts everytime he saw you, the reason for the pinkish red flush that sat on his face everytime you would say something. Without you, he's optimistic the world wouldnt look the same way it would with you in it

Theo was positively, absolutely in love with you, in love with the saturation you gave the world how your pallete sunk into the places you stepped, In love with how deeply rooted you were into him like a tree was with its roots.

“I love you.” Your ears perk up at the sudden but softly murmured 3 words, eyes not moving from the stars up above “I know” and the both of you sat in silence once more, Theo’s worried gaze morphing into a soft palette of relief.

— footnotes!.

keb notes: this was just a little drabble i had in my notion lmao😭 Also please ignore if there’s any grammar mistakes PLEASE‼️if any of u mention it im already in ur walls

tags!: @inthesunnn (this is what i texted u ab hope u like it love🫶)

[prettysweetprettysweet]

guys. i've got something to tell you and it's so important....it's so important. but first a recap:

- news that mileapo are coming to Paris, arriving at the same time as @fulltimehabibti and i. ranya texts me the news, all of a sudden i, who has not thought about kinnporsche in a good long while, am utterly consumed by the idea of seeing them with my own eyeballs and confirming they are real human beings. my thoughts return to this constantly throughout the day. i do not want to speak to them or have them notice me! i just want to perceive them.

- our hotel is right next to the Dior Gallery and mileapo are here for the Dior show. the next day, we tap out of our day for a tiny 30 minute break, walking past the Dior Gallery to our hotel. we discover on our way back out that mileapo had been posing with fans only 7 minutes prior at the exact location that we were standing when we discovered this.

- ranya goes to the Dior show and sees them, takes great videos and photos. I literally could not go because of work deadlines. i think, perhaps having reached a neutral point, that there might be another opportunity soon but probably the universe has orchestrated a series of misses to humble me.

- I discover that I had booked our Louvre tickets for the wrong day. we can no longer go for our late evening ticket. during the exact window we were meant to be at the Louvre, mileapo end up there. i am heartbroken but i've made peace with the fact that i won't see them and i'm just glad Ranya got to see them

-today. we are all over, the Rodin museum, pointedly to a few stores looking for certain items, we end up walking by the Galeries Lafayette. ranya asks 'have you ever gone in?' and sort of with a light where-the-wind-takes-us attitude ('yeah lets go in im in the mood to look at stuff') we wander into the galleries and spend about an hour perusing the floors when ranya asks, 'do you want to get bubble tea at this shop?' we head leisurely to the nearest exit.

-we walk out one of the exit doors and me and ranya see him at the same time. i am thrown off because he looks so different in person but i know something is happening. stopped dead in our tracks, ranya says two words: 'that's pond.'

-literally dead in our tracks. we are four feet away from pond who has just stepped out of a van and is waiting patiently. we know something is about to happen and we don't move. mile and apo quickly pile out of the van with huge smiles on their faces. for about a minute they collect themselves, turn, and walk right past us to enter the gallery. five feet away from us, no one in between us. we were not noticed.

a city of 2 million people, an area of 104 km, a full day of activities and our steady stream of minute decisions led entirely by ranya's instincts thoughts and questions, brings us straight to the feet of mile and apo. the probability of that happening is absolutely insane. the previous misses, the way we (mostly me) were obsessing about it, the absolute perfect timing, exiting through that door, us noticing pond despite the hundreds of bodies around us.

i snapped a photo as they walked away bc i couldn't live with myself if i didn't have proof that this insane luck befell ranya who is blessed and god's favorite (i entertain no delusions that i had any hand in this, if anything i was a disability her guardian spirits had to work around).

as i told ranya, i believe in god now. also, this moment was so perfect and absolute that i think im immune to celebrity culture now. i could see al pacino on the streets tomorrow and i wouldn't be phased. i think i also might be ready to die