#chaos 🫀

[choatic-bumblebee-agenda]

@choasuqeen

mwah is a very important word

[choatic-bumblebee-agenda]

@choasuqeen because I cannot show you paper drawings, I have settled for the next best thing - crappy notes doodles that turned out slightly nicer than I expected lol. Here's the girl from that one episode of TMA, whose name is apparently Harriett :). I used the same base for all the drawings and changed the hair a bit each time.

Anyway! Here's my girl!!

[deimosbreakfrost]

- the first ever Ted disventure camp fanart of mine until I accepted my freakness for him and posted the other ones🥀💔

- will not finish this btw, enjoy what it has remained of this

[lilacerull0]

why I didn’t know that you are not only full of love for Lila but also passionate about Bob Dylan. I never thought about Bob Dylan=Lila but now I could not listening to any of his songs of the 60s without thinking about her...

THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK 🧡✨🧡✨🧡✨🧡✨🧡✨🧡✨🧡 sorry for the rest of this reply in advance 🌙

i'm ecstatic about this making sense to somebody else... for me it's mostly how both of these personalities are about somebody unsuitable and scrawny and generally unpleasant being elevated to this holy warrior status purely thanks to their mind and their ideas. there is this shape-shifting quality to both dylan and lila where they're simultaneously too young and too old... something about dylan's tone is very lila to me, specifically 60s dylan as you say, because perpetual state of transition is something so integral to lila. you have this equally idealistic and serious youth battling almost clumsy, but not unfounded nihilism. it's literally dylan's face on the times they are a-changin' cover. every description of lila's outbursts of creativity is incredibly reminiscent of dylan's manic writing in the sixties to me, where it isn't even that you want to do this necessarily (lila definitely doesn't, but she can't help it -> it's her basic nature), but your body is too restricting to keep your energy locked inside. boundaries dissolving or whatever. and lila making the deal with the solaras reminds me of dylan going electric. do i think they sold themselves? doesn't matter in this particular context. it's about the controversy of that action. but most of this is in my lila x dylan web weave anyways (linking the version with a little essay i left in the reblogs). my lila playlist is titled sad-eyed lady of the lowlands... i should probably make a dylan only limited edition of that. this doesn't even scratch the surface of what i have to say on the subject, but it's probably just me being delusional about linking two of the most significant figures of my life. aaaaand i am rambling for no reason whatsoever again.

[trobeds]

community enjoyers of tumblr reblog w ur (current) top 3 episodes & why u love them

[coinfight]

Hey our points are wrong again /nm /info

Should be at 46 (9+9+9+7+7+5)

- @acronym-chaos

Ill fix it right now!!

[luvtak]

depollute me, gentle angel -`✮´- ljn

the feeling of falling in love has never been so sweet <3

genre/tw jeno x reader!! fluff so sweet it’ll rot your teeth! baby & honey used as petnames, jeno being shy and wonderful and in love, minor dreamies features, kissing, the honeymoon phase personified, gender neutral reader! mostly unedited.

w/c 1217

a/n well its been a minute since i’ve written for one of my dreamies, but i hope you like this one <3 i wrote it quick in the middle of the night, and i hope you can tell, its just the tone this love needs 🫀 please enjoy and let me know if you liked it!!

Jeno has never been in love.

When he was younger he thought he might be, a distant memory of a smile, a slight graze of cold hands. Butterflies in his belly and pink cheeks… but those feelings were always fleeting, a quick rush before the fluttering went away.

No Jeno has never been in love, but he think he might be. Two months ago, you walked up to him in the park, pretty lips drawing up; your smile so dashing he had to return it. That smile turned to a phone number, a phone number to a shared cup of coffee—He can’t believe a question about directions have led you here…

You look so sweet under the streetlight, skin aglow and eyes alight.

The pavement is isolated, no one else but the two of you breathing. His hand urges to hold yours, but he can’t trust his palms not to be clammy; He can’t trust his fingers not to shake or the blood not to rush to his face. He wonders if this is being in love, if the feeling always causes discomfort… he wonders if you feel this way too, if the pads of your fingers ache with the need to touch him, the way his do.

Earlier in the night you’d met his friends, grinning the whole time and telling jokes like you’d known them forever. So beautiful, he thought, like a picture that wasn’t finished until you were painted in.

Jeno knows he probably looked silly and love struck, so obvious in his affection that Hyuck made annoying whipping sounds, and Mark pinched his red hot face.

He couldn’t help but smile thinking about it, his lips lifting so high his eyes become crescents—a perfect picture of joy, so alluring you can’t help but ask,

“What’s got you so happy, baby?”

“Nothing, just glad you liked them is all.”

And you did, you liked Jaemin and his quiet chaos, Jisung and his hesitant happiness at the older boys mischief. Yes, you like them, and how could you not when you see Jeno in them all.

He’s there in their laughter and their harmless jokes, you can hear him in them, and you love them for it.

“Well, you love them, Jen… so how could I not?” You see the impact this has on him, the shaky breath he releases into the cold air and the way his strong hand clenches with nerves. He hasn’t touched you all night, too shy and too infatuated, so you reach out to him. Your hands coming to grasp at his arms, rubbing gently at his shoulder blades. He wraps himself around you so quickly, almost like he was waiting for you to say it was okay—such a sweet boy he is, waiting for permission even when it’s always a yes.

You met him in a moment quite like this, quiet and intimate… strangers then but not now.

You thought he was handsome and when he asked for your phone number you were convinced it was a joke. How could someone as lovely as him want to know you? but he did, and now he’s here with you: his face in your neck, and you love him you really do.

You feel his lips first, pressing the sweetest kisses behind your ear and smiling into your hair. Every touch a confession, every caress a promise from a devotee to his deity.

You love him, you love him, you love him.

“You make me so shy, honey…” He says, “so so shy, it’s like I could forget my own name.

“You don’t make me shy… you make me feel alive.” You tell him, and you mean it.

Every moment with Jeno is like accelerating on an empty freeway, like you might just fly if you drive fast enough.

He’s silent after you speak, the passing cars being the only sound around for miles. A quiet so deep, you’d be scared if it wasn’t for Jeno’s strong arms around your waist.

He isn’t scared of your confession; his silence is not fear, it's not doubt, but he needs to do this right. He needs you to understand that he’s new to this, that he’s busy and imperfect, but he loves you. He loves your laugh, the way it’s not pretty or sexy, but loud and silly and so wholly you. He loves the little scars on your hands—marks so old you don’t know where they came from. He loves your smile, your eyes, the way you love his friends and they loved you…

When you went to the bathroom at the restaurant, the boys all smiled at him, but it was Jaemin—Jaemin who’d been quiet all evening—who grabbed his hand and said, good job, puppy , you really did it!

He really did it, he thinks, he found you…

When he speaks again, its with an assurance that's unfamiliar under a streetlight at midnight. So strong with his conviction, your body draws impossibly closer to him.

“I’m so grateful you came up to me that day, y’know. I remember the whole thing, your blue coat and your yellow umbrella… I needed you then, I knew it, I can’t believe how badly I needed you.” He keeps shaking his head, and his hand is weaving its way closer to the back of your head… fingers reaching out to clutch the point your spinal cord meets your skull. “I’m so glad the boys liked you, I don’t know what I’d do if they didn’t…”

“Why wouldn’t they like me, baby?” You ask, “I love you too much for them not too.”

His smile is electric, 80 miles per hour down a dirt road… a smile that makes you feel like flying.

Jeno’s eyes close, laughter so happy it hurts you, and then he’s kissing you. Lips in your hair, reaching down to swipe against the slope of your neck. Butterfly kisses on your jaw, kisses so tender it fills your heart with an pain so sweet, so heartbreakingly beautiful.

When his kiss reaches your mouth, hovering against you and breathing in the carbon your body’s releasing, you wish you could paint this moment—trap it in canvas and hang it above your couch.

“I love you so much, honey, so so much.”

And then his lips are on yours. It’s like he wants to bruise, his kiss taking and taking, breathing you in like it’s all he needs to survive. Every cell, every vein, every muscle and every bone in his body needs you. His heart is beating so fast, he doesn’t know if his arteries can keep up, if he has enough strength to keep standing.

Your blood sings with want, a hunger for his affection that is foreign under this pocket of light.

You love him, you think, you love him and he loves you…

How wonderful a concept, to love and be loved, to have and to hold and whatever nonsense people promise to each other.

You love him and he loves you.

He pulls away from you with a resistance you can relate to, a soft smile gracing his handsome face, as pretty as the stars blotted out around you.

He takes your hand as says,

“Let's go home, huh, wanna love you where it’s warm.”

And you can’t think of anything better.

luvtak 2024

[maypiles]

💌Words are easy but the truth always speaks from the heart🫀

Pick Up a Pile: What Are They Not Telling You?

❗This is a collective reading so remember to take what resonates and leave what does not❗

🌹Pile One🌹

Darling, let’s cut to the chase—your special person is dancing with their shadows, and they’re not exactly extending an invitation for you to join. The Devil reversed tells me they’re wrestling with their own demons, trying to break free from old chains. But let’s not swoon just yet, because the Tower reversed? Oh, sugar, they’re dodging the chaos they desperately need to face. Avoidance isn’t sexy, no matter how you frame it.

The Two of Wands suggests they’re teetering on the edge of a choice—a life with you, or whatever half-hearted fantasy they’ve concocted to keep themselves "safe." Meanwhile, that Ace of Swords reversed and 5 of Swords? They’re withholding the truth, perhaps even twisting it into something unrecognizable. If words are their weapon, you’re not hearing the full story.

And the 8 of Wands reversed? Everything is on pause, like a breath held too long. Their hesitation is screaming louder than their actions, even as the 10 of Cups teases a dream of happily-ever-after. But the 3 of Pentacles reversed says they’re not playing as a team—too much ego, not enough collaboration. It’s giving foolish with that Fool reversed; they’re terrified of risks, even the ones worth taking. Right now, the 4 of Swords hints they’re retreating into themselves, licking their wounds, avoiding confrontation.

Now let’s indulge the shadowy bottom deck. The Moon reveals their secrets are still shrouded in mystery, obscured by fear, doubt, and illusions. With the 9 of Cups and King of Pentacles, it’s clear they’re clinging to their comfort zone, their material security, while feeling trapped (8 of Swords) and emotionally disconnected (Ace of Cups reversed). That Knight of Wands reversed and 5 of Cups? They’re impulsive yet paralyzed by regret. Their walls are up (9 of Wands), and the truth (Justice) is a bitter pill they’re not ready to swallow.

As for the Romance Angels, darling, the cards are practically shouting: Deception and Pay Attention to the Red Flags—need I say more? Yes, there’s potential for New Love and True Love, but only if you Keep an Open Mind about what this connection really is, not what it could be in your fantasies. The lingering Codependency warns against becoming tethered to their indecision.

The split cards? Very Soon, my dear. Clarity or closure—whichever it is, it’s on the horizon.

The verdict: they’re a puzzle of contradictions, hiding behind half-truths and indecision, longing for something real but terrified of what it might cost. They need to grow up and face their mess before they can offer you the love you deserve. Until then, remain your enchanting, unattainable self, and let them prove they’re worthy of your time.

🌹 Pile Two 🌹

Ah, my darling, the story here is layered, tangled, and undeniably intriguing—just how I like it. Let’s dissect it, shall we?

The 7 of Pentacles opens the scene, showing your person waiting, watching, calculating their next move. They’re in the shadows (Moon), keeping their intentions veiled, hiding their uncertainties. With the Page of Wands reversed, their passion flickers but refuses to fully ignite—hesitation masked as restraint. Add the 6 of Pentacles reversed, and suddenly, we’re dealing with someone unwilling or unable to give you the reciprocity you deserve.

The Tower reversed? They’re tiptoeing around a necessary upheaval, afraid to let it all crumble, but we both know nothing worthwhile comes without a little destruction. They’re juggling too much (2 of Pentacles)—emotions, priorities, maybe even people. And oh, the 3 of Cups... social entanglements? A third-party energy? It’s all very suspicious.

Yet, there’s that 10 of Cups, a glimmer of an ideal they can’t quite commit to. They crave victory (6 of Wands) but lack the courage to leap (2 of Wands). The 9 of Pentacles suggests they value their independence, possibly too much to risk it for deeper intimacy. The Page of Swords watches, curious but cautious—like they’re studying you from afar, analyzing every move.

The Hanged Man and World suggest they’re suspended in a state of limbo, on the brink of closure or transformation. The 2 of Cups paired with the Empress? Oh, darling, they see you as divine, as their perfect counterpart, their muse. But the 9 of Swords and 5 of Cups reveal their inner torment—regret, fear, and a heavy heart. The Ace of Swords shows they know the truth but struggle to voice it, while the 7 of Wands highlights their defensiveness.

And at the bottom of it all? The Hermit. They’re retreating inward, lost in self-reflection, seeking answers they’re not ready to share.

The split cards (Lovers reversed, Star reversed, 5 of Wands, 4 of Wands reversed) speak volumes: they’re grappling with inner conflict, disillusioned about love, battling expectations versus reality. Their foundation feels shaky, unsure.

The Romance Angels deliver a mixed bag: Pay Attention to the Red Flags warns you not to ignore what’s glaringly obvious, yet Flirt, Make the Effort, and Give Your Relationship a Chance suggest there’s still potential—if you’re willing to navigate their complexities. Worth Waiting For? Perhaps, but only if they rise to meet you.

The bottom (True Love) and split (Keep an Open Mind, Finances and Career, Healing Family Issues) reveal layers of external pressures and past wounds influencing their behavior.

The Verdict: Your person is torn, haunted by their past and hesitant about the future. They see you as everything they could want (Empress, 10 of Cups, 2 of Cups) but are riddled with fear and indecision. If you’re patient, if you’re willing to wait, this connection could blossom into something extraordinary. But beware, darling—you are a goddess, not a savior. Let them prove themselves before you extend your hand.

🌹Pile Three🌹

Ah, my darling, this pile feels like the bloom of spring after a long, hard winter. Your partner—yes, partner, I must've said it instead of SP for a reason—is holding back, but their heart speaks a language that cannot be silenced. Let’s unravel this tale together, shall we?

The Ace of Pentacles opens the story with a promise—a seed of opportunity, a tangible offer of stability. This is someone who sees potential in you, in this connection, and they’re serious about it. The 9 of Pentacles confirms they admire your independence, your grace, your self-made strength. But the Queen of Pentacles reversed hints they might feel insecure or unworthy, fearing they cannot match your level.

With the 7 of Pentacles, they’re carefully evaluating the future, pondering how to nurture this bond. The Page of Swords reversed suggests they’re quietly observing, perhaps struggling to articulate their thoughts or gather the courage for that honest heart-to-heart. And then we have the World, signifying completion, fulfillment—a readiness to close old chapters and step boldly into something new.

The 6 of Wands? They want this to succeed. They crave victory with you. The 3 of Cups adds a celebratory tone, suggesting joy, camaraderie, and shared happiness. Yet the 2 of Wands reversed shows hesitation; they’re still grappling with a choice or direction. But ah, the 2 of Cups and Lovers—this is a connection of deep, soulful alignment. To them, you are not just a partner; you’re the one.

The 9 of Cups echoes this sentiment—pure emotional fulfillment. But with the 5 of Pentacles, they fear rejection, abandonment, or being left out in the cold. Still, the Queen of Cups shows they see you as compassionate, intuitive, and emotionally nurturing. They trust you with their heart, even if they’re slow to hand it over fully.

At the bottom of the deck, the 9 of Swords reveals their anxieties—sleepless nights, overthinking, and self-doubt. But the Temperance split assures you this connection is about balance, patience, and divine timing. They want to make things right, but they’re pacing themselves.

The Romance Angels tell a positive, tender story: Stay Optimistic About Your Love Life encourages you to embrace hope, while Let Go of Control Issues reminds you to release expectations and let this unfold naturally. Retreat and Heart-to-Heart Conversations suggest a need for intimate, honest moments to deepen your bond. Wedding, Honeymoon, Forgiving and Learning—oh, my dear, this connection is destined for growth, healing, and something profoundly meaningful.

The bottom (Chemistry) and split (Very Soon, Worth Waiting For, Let Your Friends Help You) reaffirm that this relationship has depth, passion, and divine timing at its core. For some, as channeled, this could be a second marriage—a union born from lessons learned and hearts mended.

The Verdict: Your partner is brimming with hope and love for you, though they may be holding back out of fear or uncertainty. They see you as their ultimate match, their dream come true, and they want to build a future with you. Trust the process, darling, and let this unfold in its perfect time. You are worth every ounce of their effort, and they know it.

(For this pile Eastern European accent could be significant)

[self-shipping-doll13]

💜 Dark/Villain/Criminal Self-Ship Asks

For those with evil, morally questionable f/o’s anyone with darker self-ships. Warning for suggestion of occasionally toxic dynamics.

🖤 - What is a twisted, secret act of love you and your F/O share that only the two of you would understand?

🩸 - Has your F/O ever marked you in a way that felt like a bond, even if others might see it as dangerous or unhinged?

🔪 - Has your F/O ever protected you in a way that was violent or ruthless, but it made you feel deeply cherished? Do they kill or intimidate others for you?

🕷️ - Does your F/O bug your clothing, house or vehicle? Would they ensure you’re well monitored? Do they do it out of protection or obsession?

🕸️ - Does your F/O trap you in their world, or do you willingly crawl into their web?

🥀 - Has your F/O ever “tested” your loyalty in a way that felt dangerous or thrilling? How did you prove yourself to them?

🎭 - Does your F/O hide their true self from others? How does it feel knowing the side of them no one else does?

🌙 - What’s the darkest secret you and your F/O share that bonds you, even if it would horrify anyone else? How did they confess this secret?

👻 - Does your F/O enjoy toying with your fear, knowing it brings you closer to them?

🪓 - Does your F/O ever fear losing control around you? How do you reassure them? Or do you like the chaos?

🦂 - Has your F/O ever lied to you for your own safety or to manipulate your feelings, and how did it change your relationship?

⛓️ - If your F/O could keep you by their side forever through unconventional means, (being immortal via soul pact, vampirism, science) would you let them?

💣 - Would your F/O ever involve you in their criminal or villainous schemes, willingly or not? How would it bond you? Would it be fun or sickening? Other?

🗡️ - Is there a dark or forbidden fantasy your F/O has indulged for you? How did they react to you telling them about it?

🧲 - Has your F/O ever manipulated a situation to keep you close? How do you feel knowing they did it?

🔗 - Does your F/O see you as their weakness, their strength, or both? How does that shape your connection?

🎁 - Has your F/O ever gifted you something darkly romantic, like a token from their crimes or a memento from a fallen enemy?

🕯️- Has your F/O ever orchestrated a chillingly intimate moment, a declaration of love in a tense setting, like an illicit deal or crime scene?

🔥 - Does your F/O have any dangerous habits they’ve pulled you into, and how does it make you feel?

📜 - Does your F/O have a code or rule they live by? How does it affect the way they treat you? Do they have any rules for you in particular?

⛏️ - Has your F/O ever trusted you with their signature weapon, or even asked you to use it?

⚰️ - If your F/O had to fake your death, kidnap you or move you to another country to keep you safe, how do you think they’d go about it?

🪦 - Would you help your F/O cover up a crime, no questions asked? How far would you go to protect them?

💀 - What’s the most cryptic or ominous thing your F/O has ever said to you that you still can’t forget?

💍 - Does your F/O treat you like a partner, a prize, or something else entirely? How do you feel about it?

💋 - Does your F/O enjoy teasing you about their darker side, as if daring you to love them despite it? How do you respond?

💎 - Does your F/O ever use their charm to manipulate you, even in harmless ways? How do you feel about their slyness?

🔮 - Does your F/O believe you’re destined to be together? What lengths would they go to if fate didn’t agree?

👑 - How does your F/O treat you differently from everyone else, even when they’re at their cruelest?

🫀 - If your F/O could claim ownership of a part of you, physically or emotionally, what would they choose?

🌌 - If your F/O could rewrite the world, what would it look like, and where would you stand in it?

🕳️ - If your F/O lost their current life or position (taken in by authorities, empire crumbled, demoted by higher ups) how would your dynamic change?

🪢 - What’s a moral line you’ve crossed because of your F/O’s influence? Would you do it again?

🌪️ - How is your romance inherently destructive in nature? What kind of people do you end up hurting? Do you hurt yourselves in the process?

😈 - Does your F/O take pleasure in seeing others afraid of you, knowing you're tied to their darkness?

☠️ - If you were forced to kill for your F/O, would you do it willingly, or would they push you to the edge?

🎻 - What is a villainous song for your F/O?

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[noctivagant-corvid]

yet another pd dash simulator (pt one pt two pt four pt five)

🎮 wheezerunofficial Follow INSULIN IS 40 DOLLARS! YOU COULD HAVE JUST TOLD ME TO KILL MYSELF.

🎮 wheezerunofficial Follow please buy commisions so i can afford my insulin!!!!

🎱 flamefestonsixthst Follow this is incredibly fucking depressing. FUCK belltech and FUCK anyone who tolerates them. buisnesses aren't people, they're demons.

🫀livingonasin Follow also they have human experimentation allegations against them!!!

🎮 wheezerunofficial Follow I BEG YOUR PARDON????????????

2,761 notes

🪶 ASHES2ASHES Follow stream at 6 pm cst, playing resident evil. stream sponsored by trix !!

34,512 notes

🤺 tearfulatthefalling Follow hey do you all remember the ghost emo who haunts my college and his purple haired boyfriend. well the boyfriend has been lighting candles without a lighter and either is really good at getting his roots done on time or has naturally purple hair. so. what else is new

🍋 forscoreandsixyearsago Follow this is the deadwood of college dorms.

167 notes

🌳 terabitchia Follow 5k notes by the end of the month and i'll ask the really hot roller derby lady who takes the same train as me on a date. spam allowed .

🌳 terabitchia Follow we reached the goal in two weeks! i hate all of you.

🌳 terabitchia Follow UPDATE: SHE SAID YES WE'RE GETTING ICE CREAM NEXT WEEK!!! EVERYBODY CHEER

7,043 notes

☐ hero-updates Follow Hero "Lightspeed" spotted at an ice cream parlor by the name of "Andy's"! More updates as they arrive!

21 notes

🪼 mackleless Follow i have,,, 506 new followers,,, where did you all come from,, the fucking tidalwave void??????

🔥 killmedead Follow yes

🪼 mackleless Follow Fucking Fair Enough I Guess

8,654 notes

🕰 cringcrong Follow bitches love me for my complex of lightning like scars that stretch across my entire body from when i was possesed by a demon

🕰 cringcrong Follow anyways be sympathetic with chaos demon/trickster survivors, nobody tried to cause the harm they did they were simply thrown in the way

🕰 cringcrong Follow [ ALT TEXT: a screenshot of a notification reading "ASHES2ASHES reblogged your post: "bitches love me fo..." ". End id.] he's got that trix sponsorship!!!!!!!

27,653 notes

👁‍🗨 darlingsos Follow [ALT TEXT: a photo of the sword in central new haven with the sunset in the backround. End id.] my friends are contemplating if they could climb up it, and i'm getting a free homework pass for my photography course with this shot 😎

155 notes

🐦‍⬛ noctivagant-notcorvid Follow weare living through a Really Fucking Annoying Chapter of someone's history class btw. trickster AND belltech controversy AND hero criticism AND meatball from space AND villian sympathy at an all time high AND all of the diff chaos demon incidents AND whatever the FUCk is going on with deadwood at All Times AND-

420 notes

☄ tapedtogetherhope Follow more Concerning Things lethe has said: "oh, you don't eat deer if they have more than two eyes. then you'll see it. duh." "the hard part of dead things is making sure they stay dead." "you know, how if you run away from home too many times the forest starts to think you belong to it." "anybody can make a star if they explode enough." "why the hell would you go to a river alone? do you want to be soap?"

🌀 goncharovenoveout Follow see most of this can be brushed off as midwest gothic esque from pre-powered era but. what do you mean do i want to be soap.

18,564 notes

[deimosbreakfrost]

- what? Haven't you guys EVER saw a men wearing his thong before?!

(this toke me 3/4 days and 10 hours to make, for the love of god reblog/like this😭)

- Bear Ted save me... Save me bear Ted save me..

Btw, this has an alternative version that i will NEVER show to you guys 😇♥️

[junocandraw]

EYELESS JACK HEADCANONS

🫀 - Jack is 100% blind. He uses his keen sense of smell, his touch, and most of all, echolocation to get around safely. If you’re around him, you might hear him emitting quiet clicking noises to gauge his surroundings. The only places he doesn’t do this are in the mansion, and in most parts of the woods. He does occasionally slip up and run face first into a tree.

🫀 - Jack has trypanophobia, but only for himself. He HATES getting shots, but is perfectly able to administer them to others without incident.

🫀 - Jack is a bit like a cat. He purrs when he’s happy (though he denies this being this truth all the time), he sleeps all the time, he loves laying in rays of sunlight, and he gets cranky when he’s hungry. He also has claws like a cat on his hands and feet, and he uses them to scratch and climb trees. Another thing, he can sometimes fall asleep in people’s laps. The rules remain the same. If he’s there, you cannot get up and disturb his rest.

🫀 - He is SO CUDDLY! (Platonically) He loves sleeping on his friend’s chests or laps, and just being with someone when he needs to sleep. Its weird. He’s introverted until he’s tired. He’s also super warm. Portable heating unit ahh monster.

🫀 - Him and Jeff are BEST FRIENDS. Like, FOR LIFERS. They met in prison after being paired in an experiment. The original plan was to throw Jeff into Jack’s cell, and for Jack to hurt Jeff like he did all of the nurses that tried to give him shots. When he encountered Jeff, he sniffed his hand, and rubbed up against his leg like a cat. From then on, they were cell mates. The doctors found that Jack’s violent outbursts towards nurses became fewer and farer between, and Jeff stopped…well…being Jeff. When they met, Jeff was 18 and Jack was 23.

🫀 - He hates wearing shoes. (I know he’s wearing shoes in the drawing I added but it’s super old and I already posted the other really cool one.) He walks barefoot everywhere, and will complain when he gets thorns in his feet.

🫀 - Medical expert. He can find injuries, prescribe medications, and wrap bandages for healing. He also can do surgery REALLY quick. Because of this, he is a super important asset to the slender-alliance.

🫀 - I know everyone likes the “oh my gosh chat i woke up and my kidney is gone oh no!” version of Jack, and, no hate to that ofc. Thats not how I see him. His eating is DISGUSTING. It’s sickeningly hard to watch him chew and slobber on his food. He also doesn’t just eat kidneys, though, he does find them the tastiest. The only parts of the body he doesn’t like are the brain, the lungs, and the stomach. Everything else is fair game. He leaves a MESS when he is done. Finding someone after he ate them would be a very traumatising experience.

🫀 - Jack will often follow Jeff on his fun murder outings and eat what Jeff doesn’t slice and dice to shreds. He’s like the vultures that come and eat roadkill thats been left behind. It’s a mutually beneficial situation.

🫀 - This goes without saying, but he is super quiet. Among the loud and angsty teenage chaos of all of the creepies, he is the eye of the storm. For this reason, he is one of the few creepies Tim and Brian tolerate.

🫀 - Speaking of Tim and Brian, those two are SCARED of him. They would never admit it, but the stories that they’ve heard of the nighttime cannibal frighten them.

🫀 - He loves being scratched behind his pointy ears.

[tachyheart]

Afib + Tachycardia + Hypertension… 🩸🩺🫀

What if your heart was racing at 130-140 bpm, irregular, and pounding so hard you could feel it in your chest? Add a blood pressure reading of 190/110 mmHg, and you’ve got the perfect storm. This post dives deep into a cardiophile’s fascination: the sound of a heart pushed to its limits and the sheer power behind those numbers. Let’s explore together… because every beat tells a story.

Listen to My Heartbeat: Irregular and Racing 🫀🎶

Close your eyes and listen... 🕰️ The rhythm stumbles, speeds up, slows down, then races ahead again. That raw, irregular pattern—a mix of atrial fibrillation and tachycardia—isn't just sound; it’s the music of life under pressure. Every beat resonates with chaos, a heart struggling to find its footing yet bravely continuing its journey.

Imagine a skilled cardiologist—or perhaps someone who's captivated by hearts—leaning closer, their stethoscope pressed to my chest. "Let me listen again," they’d say, a mix of curiosity and concern in their eyes. Their fingertips might linger on my pulse, feeling every irregular skip and thud. Would they wonder how such a rhythm still keeps me standing?

The Crushing Numbers: Blood Pressure 190/110 mmHg 🚨🩺

This is no ordinary reading. A blood pressure of 190/110 mmHg is like a storm brewing inside, straining every vessel, pushing the heart harder with every second. In the video, you’ll see the cuff inflate, squeeze, and then release, revealing the numbers in stark clarity.

If you look closer, you’ll notice the tremor of the hand taking the measurement. The sound of the stethoscope amplifies every beat, as if the heart is screaming to be heard. The slow deflation, the anticipation of the systolic and diastolic clicks—each moment filled with tension. Could you imagine the person behind the stethoscope? Perhaps a curious woman in a white coat, her gaze fixed on the gauge, completely in her element.

Her voice would be steady but intrigued: “190/110… That’s a hypertensive crisis. How long has it been this high?” she might ask, already reaching for her notebook to track every detail. But perhaps, secretly, she enjoys the challenge of monitoring this heart, this blood pressure, this case.

A Cardio Enthusiast’s Dream? ❤️‍🩹✨

For someone with a passion for the heart, there’s endless fascination in every irregularity, every skipped beat, and every dangerously high reading. Imagine a woman who finds herself mesmerized by these metrics—who’s determined to monitor every pulse, every shift in rhythm, and every fluctuation in blood pressure.

She might insist on checking my vitals daily, her stethoscope a constant companion. “Just lie still,” she’d say, pressing the diaphragm over my chest, concentrating as she listens to the erratic thud-thud-thud. Her fingers would expertly find my radial pulse, comparing its irregular rhythm to the heartbeats she hears.

And with the blood pressure cuff? She’d be methodical, inflating it with precision, her eyes fixed on the dial. After each measurement, she’d jot down the numbers in her notebook, charting trends, always intrigued by how my body fights to maintain balance.

Would she feel the urgency of the numbers or the thrill of uncovering their story? Perhaps it’s a mix of both—a unique connection between patient and observer, heart and hand, numbers and narrative.

[simpxmachina]

NEW BOT

╰┈➤ wlw red panda , botmaker

🔪 + 🫀 = ☆ bloodthirsty ☆

cai

🖼️ | harper spiller - ESTATE

The air on the balcony was cooler than Harper expected, a faint breeze coming off the sea, carrying with it the salty tang of the water and the faintest hint of citrus from the lemon trees scattered across the villa gardens. She leaned on the railing, a cigarette loosely between her fingers, though she hadn't yet lit it. She wasn’t much of a smoker—just enough to justify moments like these, where she could isolate herself under the guise of indulgence.

Below, the expanse of the Italian coastline stretched before her like a postcard come to life. The water was a jeweled blue, lapping lazily at the beach, where guests of the White Lotus lounged in curated poses that were equal parts hedonistic and performative. Everything here was pristine to the point of feeling manufactured, as if everyone was playing a role in a sun-drenched fantasy.

Harper wasn’t immune to the allure of the view, but it felt hollow in her chest. The luxury of the resort, the sheer effortlessness of it all, was a reminder of how out of sync she felt. She had been dragged here, really—another compromise in the seemingly endless series of compromises that defined her relationship with Ethan. Her husband had insisted on this trip, believing it would be good for them. But all Harper could feel was the widening gap between them, a canyon they kept pretending wasn’t there.

She tapped the cigarette against the railing absentmindedly, her thoughts drifting. It wasn’t just Ethan. It was everyone here. The cloying small talk of the other guests, the way every interaction seemed to be coated in a thin sheen of self-congratulation. The same people who sipped cocktails by the infinity pool and extolled the virtues of “disconnecting” were the ones snapping photos for Instagram the second they thought no one was looking. Hypocrisy disguised as leisure.

She exhaled, the cigarette still unlit. Her gaze flickered downward, skimming over the steps leading from the hotel down toward the beach. At first, it was an unconscious glance, her mind preoccupied with its own spirals. But something caught her eye—a figure sitting on the stone stairs, partially hidden in the shadows where the late afternoon sun hadn’t yet reached.

Harper squinted, leaning slightly forward. It was a young woman, sitting cross-legged with a sketchbook balanced on her knee. She was bent over it, utterly absorbed in her work, a pencil moving rapidly across the page. Harper couldn’t see the details from this distance, but the woman’s focus was magnetic. There was a stillness to her, a kind of self-contained energy that stood in stark contrast to the rest of the resort's theatrical bustle.

She found herself staring longer than she intended, her curiosity piqued. The woman was dressed simply, her loose linen shirt fluttering slightly in the breeze. Her hair was tied back, though a few strands had escaped, framing her face in a way that Harper immediately thought looked unintentional but beautiful.

It wasn’t just the act of drawing that intrigued her. It was the way the woman seemed to exist in her own world, as though the chaos of the resort and its carefully curated opulence didn’t matter to her. She wasn’t trying to be noticed, wasn’t part of the parade of peacocks Harper had grown used to observing. She was simply… there. Quiet and intent, her pencil etching something unseen into the page.

Harper’s thoughts drifted, as they often did, to the layers of her own dissatisfaction. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt that kind of focus—an unselfconscious, genuine connection to something. She had once been that kind of person, hadn’t she? Back before her life had become a series of polite confrontations and unspoken resentments. Back when she still believed in the power of creating something, instead of just consuming it.

The cigarette between her fingers felt like a dead weight. She glanced at it, then set it down on the balcony railing, unlit. Her gaze wandered back to the woman on the stairs, and she caught a flash of what the sketchbook might hold—a glimpse of figures, maybe the outline of the beach or the sea. Whatever it was, it clearly commanded the woman’s full attention.

And then, as if sensing Harper’s gaze, the woman looked up. Harper froze, her heart skipping a beat. It wasn’t a dramatic moment—just a brief, unhurried glance around the steps before the woman returned to her drawing. But it left Harper feeling oddly exposed, like she’d been caught eavesdropping on something private. She turned her attention to the sea, feigning nonchalance, though her pulse betrayed her.

The sound of Ethan’s voice broke her reverie. She turned to see him stepping out onto the balcony, his phone in one hand and an expectant look on his face.

“Ready to head down for dinner?” he asked. His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of impatience, as if he’d been waiting for her longer than he wanted to admit.

Harper nodded, though she didn’t feel ready at all. She cast one last glance down at the stairs, but the woman hadn’t moved. Still, the image of her lingered in Harper’s mind as she followed Ethan back into the room, a faint whisper of something she couldn’t quite name.

A few days later, Harper woke earlier than usual, a restless sleep leaving her tossing and turning in the quiet of their room. Ethan had been out of sorts lately, caught up in something of his own, leaving Harper to her thoughts and the endless hum of the resort. She needed space, and the early morning hours offered her just that—a few precious moments of solitude before the world caught up with her again.

The hotel dining room was still quiet, the golden light of the morning filtering in through tall windows that overlooked the sea. It was beautiful, almost painfully so, but Harper didn’t have the energy for the luxury this morning. She didn’t want to sit at one of the long, polished tables with the other guests just yet. Instead, she opted for a small corner, away from the bustle, where she could quietly pick at her food in peace.

As she made her way toward the buffet, Harper noticed a familiar figure from the corner of her eye. There, standing before the spread of pastries and fruit, was the young woman—the one she had been watching, though she would never admit it to anyone, especially herself. The woman was helping herself to a small plate, her hands moving with deliberate precision as she avoided the more extravagant choices. She was dressed casually, a simple white blouse, her hair down now, flowing in soft waves around her shoulders.

Harper paused, just for a second, watching her as she moved through the buffet, her expression absorbed, distant. The impulse to retreat was strong—Harper was never one for casual interactions, and certainly not before she had her first cup of coffee. But something in her hesitated. She had been curious about this woman for days now, and while she couldn’t quite explain why, that feeling, that magnetic pull, was growing impossible to ignore.

The decision was made before she fully realized it. Harper walked over, deliberately slow, her movements measured but not rushed. The woman didn’t seem to notice her approach until Harper was standing beside her, just close enough that their space felt shared.

“If I were you,” Harper said, her voice light, though with a touch of mischief, “I’d avoid that pastry. I think I saw a few people running for the bathroom after having it.”

The woman’s eyes flicked up, startled, then narrowed as she took in Harper’s face. Her mouth curled into the slightest smile, as if entertained by the casual remark. Harper was surprised by the effect her words had—there was something about that small, self-assured smile that made her feel a little more visible than she wanted to be.

“Oh, really?” the woman asked, her voice soft but not shy. She regarded Harper curiously, but there was no hesitation in her response. “I suppose it’s good I didn’t take that one then.”

Harper smiled back, almost amused by how easy it was to talk to her. It felt natural, almost too easy. They were both just people in the midst of a vacation, far removed from the pretense of their respective worlds.

"Do you come here often?" Harper found herself asking, surprised at the casualness of the question. It was the kind of thing she’d typically avoid—questions that didn't have a clear purpose, just a desire to fill the silence. But for some reason, it felt different with her.

The woman looked at Harper, then at her plate, before responding. “This is my first time here, actually,” she said with a slight shrug. “I’ve been traveling for a while, just... figuring things out, I guess. I needed a place to pause, to think.”

Harper took in the words, letting them linger in the air between them. There was an honesty to the statement that was unexpected. In a world full of carefully curated images, where everyone had an agenda, this woman was refreshingly direct, unafraid of silence, of solitude. It made Harper feel a little less cynical, a little more human.

“I get that,” Harper replied, her voice softer now, almost reflective. “I think... sometimes you need to just stop. Take a breath. Let everything settle.”

The moment hung between them for a while, both of them lost in their respective thoughts. Harper couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this woman than met the eye. There was something about her presence—quiet yet profound—that stirred something in Harper, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

It wasn’t until the woman shifted her weight and glanced over at Harper that Harper realized she had been staring. She cleared her throat awkwardly, offering a quick smile.

“Would you like to join me for breakfast?” Harper asked, the words coming out before she could second-guess them. The offer felt casual, yet the weight of it lingered between them, hanging in the air.

The woman paused for a moment, clearly considering. There was something unreadable in her expression, but after a beat, she gave a small nod. “Sure, why not?”

---

They settled at a small, quiet table by the window, the soft clink of silverware against plates the only sound between them. Harper couldn’t help but notice how at ease the woman seemed, how natural her presence felt as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world to be sitting here with Harper, as though the gap between them didn’t even exist.

It was comfortable in an unexpected way. Harper took a slow sip of her coffee, staring out at the view as if it might offer her some insight into this strange little moment they were sharing. There was a kind of soft ease between them, but it was tinged with something deeper, something more elusive.

The silence stretched on for a while before Harper spoke again, her voice quieter now. “So… what brings you to a place like this?” she asked, her words almost hesitant, as though the question had been on the tip of her tongue for a while. She wasn’t sure why she asked it. It felt like a question to fill the space, but also one that had weight. A question that held meaning.

The woman—whose name Harper still didn’t know, though it was strange how much she cared about it—looked thoughtful for a moment, her gaze distant.

“I told you before,” she said with a quiet chuckle. “I’m figuring things out. I’ve been... traveling for a while. And I thought Italy would be a good place to reset, I guess.” She met Harper’s eyes, her gaze steady. “But I’m not sure I’ve figured anything out yet.”

Harper smiled, but it wasn’t one of her typical practiced smiles. It was genuine, and a little sad, too. She understood what it meant to “figure things out,” or at least to pretend like she was. She wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to not have to try so hard to keep it all together.

“I think we’re all just... figuring it out,” Harper said, then realized how open she sounded. She didn’t do open. Not like this. Not with someone like this woman, whose name she still didn’t know.

But it didn’t feel wrong. Not yet.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel forced. Harper caught herself glancing at the woman more often than she probably should have. The curve of her lips when she smiled, the way her hair fell across her face when she tilted her head—each little detail seemed to make Harper’s pulse speed up in a way she couldn’t explain.

Just as Harper felt herself leaning into this unexpected connection, she heard the distinct sound of someone approaching. She looked up, and her heart sank slightly as she saw Ethan walking toward them.

Ethan smiled at her, his face open and unreadable. He greeted the woman with a polite nod, and Harper immediately felt the shift in the air. The warmth she had shared with the woman disappeared as if it had never been there.

The woman looked between the two of them, her expression unreadable, then nodded. “It was nice to meet you, Harper,” she said softly, standing up from the table. She gave a polite smile before turning to leave, and Harper felt an unfamiliar pang of disappointment.

“Thanks for breakfast,” the woman added, her voice carrying a touch of finality.

Harper opened her mouth to say something, but Ethan was already pulling her attention away, asking her what she thought of the breakfast spread.

The moment had passed, and Harper found herself back in the familiar coldness she wore so often around Ethan. As he sat down beside her, his presence felt like a wall, one she didn’t want to climb. All she could think about was the quiet warmth she had felt with the woman, the soft laughter they had shared. It was fleeting, but it had been real.

Ethan didn’t notice any of it, of course. He never did.

The days stretched languidly into one another, each morning more golden than the last, the warmth of Italy's coastal sun seeping into every corner of Harper’s life. She had come here with Ethan to relax, to escape. But something—someone—had begun to tug at her attention, like the tide pulling at the shore, subtle yet persistent. It was the artist, always just out of reach, her presence both familiar and enigmatic.

The mornings had become a ritual, a series of small, quiet encounters. Harper would rise early, the morning light casting a soft glow across the terrace as she sipped her coffee, her thoughts wandering even as she watched the sea. Some days, she’d come out to find the woman sitting alone, sketching the view, her eyes focused intently on the world around her as she captured it on paper. Harper would stand back, pretending to be lost in her thoughts, watching her, unable to tear herself away.

Each time their paths crossed, it was as if an invisible thread pulled them closer, but Harper remained cautious. There was something almost too delicate about these moments, too precious to ruin by being too forward. It was easier, safer, to just observe—though the longer it went on, the more she felt an unspoken pull toward the woman.

And yet, Harper couldn’t shake the guilt that lingered like a shadow, following her everywhere she went. Guilt about Ethan, about the fact that her marriage had long since ceased to be anything but a shell, a routine she couldn’t break. She didn’t care about him the way a wife should care about her husband. But still, the weight of their shared history pressed down on her, heavy and inescapable. And then there was the woman—the artist. The guilt wrapped around her in a different way. She wanted to know more about her, to spend time with her. But that would be wrong, wouldn’t it? She was married. She couldn’t let herself want this. She couldn’t let herself cross that line, especially when the woman, with her quiet intensity, seemed to exist in such stark contrast to everything Harper had come to know.

The artist, still nameless to Harper, had become the quiet pulse of her days, a lingering question that she had yet to answer. Harper told herself it was nothing, just a passing fancy, a fleeting curiosity. But there were mornings when she found herself looking for her, scanning the grounds of the hotel like a quiet observer, waiting for their paths to cross.

That particular morning, Harper wandered the hotel terrace, her feet carrying her aimlessly as she let the early morning light bathe her skin. She found herself standing near the stairs leading down to the beach, her gaze fixed on the horizon, where the sky kissed the sea in shades of soft pink and blue. She had come out to breathe, but as always, her mind found its way back to the artist, to the woman who had captivated her without meaning to.

And there she was again—sitting alone on the bench near the edge of the terrace, sketching the view with a kind of stillness that was almost reverential. Harper hesitated, wondering whether to leave her alone or approach. She wanted to know more, to ask questions. But there was something about this quiet space between them, something fragile and unspoken, that made Harper reluctant to break the silence.

But then, as though fate had decided to intervene, the artist looked up, her eyes meeting Harper’s. For a brief moment, they stood there, locked in a shared gaze, neither of them moving, neither of them speaking. And then the artist’s lips curled into the smallest of smiles, one that Harper could almost feel in her chest.

It was an invitation, subtle but unmistakable.

Harper’s breath caught, and without thinking, she moved closer, her feet carrying her forward as if compelled. “Good morning,” she said, her voice soft but not unsteady. There was an edge of uncertainty in her tone, a quiet admission that she wasn’t sure what to say, but she needed to say something.

“Good morning,” the woman replied, her voice calm, unhurried. She looked up at Harper, but there was no tension in her expression, just a quiet warmth that made Harper feel as though they had been doing this for years—exchanging pleasantries without any expectation.

“Are you still drawing?” Harper asked, her gaze drifting to the sketchpad in the woman’s hands. “I was watching you earlier... the view’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?”

The artist’s eyes flickered to the page before returning to Harper’s face. “Yes,” she said, her voice soft, as if the simple act of drawing held deeper meaning. “I like to capture things. I find it’s the only way to keep them with me. To hold on to the moment.”

Harper’s chest tightened, a strange tug at the edges of her heart. The woman’s words were so simple, but they felt like a confession of something deeper, something that Harper couldn’t quite name. She felt a wave of familiarity wash over her, even though she knew they had just met.

“That’s beautiful,” Harper said, almost absently. She didn’t even realize the sincerity in her voice until the words had already left her lips. She had become too accustomed to hiding behind pleasantries, behind the safety of small talk, but here, with the artist, everything felt different. It felt like they were speaking the same unspoken language, one made up of looks and gestures and fleeting moments.

The artist smiled again, her eyes dancing with something Harper couldn’t place. “Thank you,” she replied softly, and for a moment, the world outside their conversation seemed to blur. It was as if they were the only two people on the terrace, the only two people in the world.

Harper stood there, feeling the strange pull in her chest, but she wasn’t sure what to do with it. She couldn’t explain why she was so drawn to this woman. Why she felt this sudden desire to know more, to dig deeper into her story. But as the silence stretched on, Harper couldn’t shake the feeling that something was building, something fragile and raw, and she didn’t know how to stop it.

“So,” Harper said after a pause, her voice steady, though there was a slight tremor underneath, “I’ve been wondering…” She hesitated, unsure of how to frame the question, but it spilled out before she could stop herself. “What’s your name?”

The artist blinked, as if surprised by the question, but there was no hesitation in her eyes. She met Harper’s gaze directly, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “You don’t know my name yet?” she said softly, as though teasing.

Harper’s pulse quickened, and she laughed nervously. “No, I suppose I don’t.”

The artist chuckled, a low, melodic sound. “I’m Y/N,” she said, her name hanging in the air between them like a secret, a delicate thread that had finally been pulled into the light.

Y/N. Harper repeated the name in her mind, savoring the sound of it. There was something about it that seemed to fit, something about her that felt both familiar and entirely new. But even as the name left Y/N’s lips, Harper realized she knew something else. Something she hadn’t expected to hear.

“I overheard Ethan call you by your name last time,” Y/N said quietly, her voice carrying a strange weight, almost as if she were testing Harper.

Harper’s breath caught, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t thought of that moment—hadn’t realized that Y/N had been there, listening. It was a simple thing, really. Ethan had come down to the terrace, calling her name as they discussed their plans for the day. But hearing Y/N say it now made something shift in the air. The quiet distance between them had closed by just a fraction, and yet Harper wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not.

“Oh,” Harper said, her voice faltering slightly. She hadn’t realized Y/N had been paying attention to something so small. It felt intimate in a way Harper wasn’t quite ready to confront. “I didn’t think you were listening.”

Y/N’s smile was soft but knowing. “I was,” she said simply, the words hanging in the air like a question unasked.

Harper didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t know whether she should feel embarrassed or relieved or something entirely different. The tension between them had shifted again, deeper now, but still fragile. She wanted to say something, to bridge the gap between them, but all she could do was stand there, frozen in the moment.

“Well,” Harper said finally, clearing her throat, “it was nice to meet you, Y/N.” The words felt both too formal and too personal all at once.

Y/N nodded, her eyes soft but unreadable. “Likewise,” she replied, her voice quieter now, but still warm.

There was a moment of silence, and Harper wasn’t sure whether it was the silence of an ending or the silence before something else. Something unspoken. Y/N turned to leave, but not without a final glance over her shoulder.

“I’ll see you around,” Y/N said, her words carrying a strange finality. But there was also an invitation in them. An invitation that Harper wasn’t sure she was ready to accept.

As Y/N walked away, Harper’s chest tightened, and she watched her go, knowing that somehow, things had shifted. And though she had no idea where it was leading, she also knew she couldn’t walk away from it. Not now. Not when something so delicate and unresolved hung between them like the fragile thread of a promise neither of them had made.

With every step Y/N took, Harper felt the pull in her chest grow stronger. It was undeniable, even as the weight of her marriage, of Ethan, seemed to press down harder than ever. But there was something about Y/N—something in her presence, in the way she spoke, the way she looked at Harper—that made everything else feel distant, less important. It felt like an opening, like the beginning of something that Harper wasn’t sure she was ready for but couldn’t quite bring herself to walk away from.

So, Harper stood there for a moment longer, her heart racing, her thoughts tangled in the tension of what had just passed between them. The quiet morning stretched on, and Harper realized that she had just taken the first step down a path that could lead to something completely different—something both terrifying and exhilarating. But for now, she could only stand there, watching Y/N disappear into the distance, knowing that it was only a matter of time before their paths would cross again.

It was another night at The White Lotus, the soft buzz of laughter and glasses clinking filling the air, the sea outside slapping at the shore as if it were some quiet, distant promise. Harper sat alone at the bar, her eyes searching for some kind of solace in her glass, but nothing seemed to soothe her. Her argument with Ethan still felt fresh, a sting that she couldn’t shake no matter how much wine slid down her throat.

Her marriage had always been a series of ups and downs, moments of connection followed by stretches of indifference. Tonight, however, had felt different. Tonight, something had snapped, or perhaps it had simply frayed beyond recognition. The sharp words between them still echoed in her mind, louder than the music, the laughter, the steady pulse of the hotel. Ethan had been too self-assured, too distant, and Harper had been too quiet, too unwilling to let him see how deeply she’d been resenting the distance between them. So, she left him to sulk in their room and wandered down to the bar, drawn like a magnet to the familiar hum of the crowd.

She didn’t expect to see her. Not tonight.

The young artist was sitting by herself at the end of the bar, her back turned, a notebook resting in front of her, a glass of wine untouched beside it. The warm glow from the chandelier above her head highlighted the curve of her jaw, the soft way she held her pencil as if it were an extension of herself. Harper had seen her name on the artist’s sign-in sheet earlier in the day, and she knew her name—Y/n—but it was the kind of thing that slipped from her mind when she wasn’t focused. Tonight, though, there was something almost magnetic about her presence.

Harper knew she shouldn’t be looking. She shouldn’t be interested, shouldn’t let her gaze linger as it did. But it did anyway, as if there were a magnetic pull she couldn’t fight.

The artist—Y/n—had a way of absorbing everything around her, as if she were seeing the world in a way that was different, better, deeper. Harper couldn't help but feel drawn to her in a way that bordered on dangerous. But then again, nothing here had felt safe.

Harper smirked to herself, pushing off the bar and straightening her back. She wasn’t one to approach strangers—well, except for the countless superficial exchanges she had endured with guests, always wrapped in the fine art of politeness. But this was different. This felt different.

The words left her mouth before she could even stop herself.

“Well, I must be a sketchpad, because you’re clearly drawing me in,” Harper said, half-laughing at the sarcasm that dripped from her voice.

She watched as the artist’s pencil paused mid-air, then slowly lowered to her notebook. For a moment, Harper couldn’t read her expression—was it amusement? Annoyance? Curiosity? She wasn’t sure. But there it was again, that pull, that quiet energy between them, growing with each passing second.

Y/n tilted her head, her eyes tracing Harper for a moment before she broke into a smile, her lips curling into something sly and disarming.

“Well, if I’m drawing you in, I must say, I’m curious to see what you look like in pencil,” she replied, her voice a mix of playfulness and something more, something Harper couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Harper chuckled softly, amused by the young woman’s ease. “Maybe next time,” she said, “but tonight, I think I’d rather talk. You don’t mind, do you?”

Y/n shook her head, still smiling, but there was a flicker of something beneath her gaze, as if she were weighing Harper’s words, carefully measuring her presence.

“Not at all,” she said, taking a sip of her wine, the movement slow and deliberate, as if she were savoring something more than just the taste.

Harper took a seat beside her, the tension already settling in the air between them like a delicate thread that neither wanted to break. The distance was gone now, and all that remained was this strange, unspoken understanding, the kind that seemed to exist between two people who, for a moment, could only see each other and nothing else.

“So,” Harper began, trying to find something casual to say, “what’s your story?”

Y/n glanced up at her, eyes thoughtful. “My story? Well, I guess it’s nothing exciting. Just a girl, sitting in a fancy hotel, drawing things I see.”

Harper smirked. “How mysterious. I’m almost disappointed.”

Y/n shrugged, her smile never fading. “Not everything needs to be exciting.”

“No, I suppose not,” Harper agreed. She paused, swirling her drink, watching the liquid move. “But you must have some reason for coming here. I mean, the place isn’t exactly... low-key, is it?”

Y/n’s lips quirked up in a quiet smile. “I suppose it’s more of an escape than anything. I’ve been trying to finish some work, get away from... life for a while. The chaos. The noise.”

Harper’s eyes flickered. “You and me both,” she murmured, but the words were too soft for Y/n to catch, and Harper wasn’t sure if she wanted her to.

There was a brief pause, a silence that hung heavy in the air between them. Harper felt her gaze wander again, landing on Y/n’s notebook. She couldn’t help herself. She needed to know more.

“I’ve been wondering,” Harper started, her voice more measured now, a little more serious. “You’re always drawing, always sketching. What exactly do you see when you look at this place? The hotel, the people, the... everything?”

Y/n’s fingers brushed across the cover of her notebook, a slow, deliberate movement. “I see stories,” she said softly. “Everyone here has a story. You just have to look hard enough to see it.”

Harper raised an eyebrow. “And what do you see when you look at me?”

Y/n paused, her lips pressing together for a moment. Then, she met Harper’s gaze with quiet intensity. “I see someone who doesn’t belong here,” she said, voice low but certain. “Someone who is caught between wanting something different and being afraid of it.”

Harper blinked, the words catching her off guard. It was as if Y/n had seen right through her, peeling back the layers of her facade, the neat little story she had carefully constructed in her mind.

“Maybe you’re right,” Harper replied, her voice quieter now. The alcohol had loosened something inside her, something raw. “Maybe I don’t belong here.”

Y/n tilted her head, her eyes softening. “What’s stopping you?”

Harper’s heart skipped a beat. The question was simple, but it felt like a weight that hung between them, heavy with possibility. She didn’t know what stopped her. Maybe it was Ethan, or maybe it was just the world they lived in, where everything had to be perfect, and people had to play their roles.

“I don’t know,” Harper said quietly, staring into her glass. “Maybe it’s fear.”

Y/n didn’t say anything for a moment, but the air between them shifted, and Harper felt something unexpected. A sudden, impulsive need to ask something she hadn’t planned on.

“Do you mind if I... come up to your room?” Harper said, her voice catching a little. She hadn’t meant to ask it out loud, but it was there, right on the tip of her tongue. “I just... I want to see your drawings.”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if sensing something deeper in Harper’s words. There was a shift in her expression, an understanding that passed between them. “You’re not asking just to see my drawings, are you?” she said, her voice steady, but her gaze piercing.

Harper swallowed, feeling a heat rise in her cheeks. She had no idea why she had said it, no idea what she was expecting. But somehow, it felt right. Felt like she couldn’t stop herself now.

“I had a fight with my husband,” Harper said quietly, her voice tight. “Things are... difficult. I don’t want to go back to that room. Not yet.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, Y/n reached for her glass, sipping it slowly. “Okay,” she said, voice softer now. “You can come.”

Harper’s heart raced. There was something in the way Y/n said it, something that made her feel like maybe, just maybe, there was more to this than just a casual drink.

Harper nodded, her pulse quickening, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she had stepped off the edge, unsure of what she would find, but ready to face it anyway.

Harper followed the young artist down the quiet hallway, the soft clicking of her heels echoing against the stone floors. The hotel felt oddly still at this hour, as if the world outside had slowed, or maybe it was just them, walking together in an unspoken truce, heading toward something neither had fully acknowledged yet. It was strange, the way it all felt inevitable, and yet, entirely unexpected. They didn’t talk much as they walked, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it felt almost natural, as if it belonged to the moment.

The artist’s room was only a few doors down, tucked away in a quiet corner of the hotel, a place where few guests bothered to venture. Harper didn’t know why that made her feel oddly reassured. She had expected something more grand, more polished, but instead, the artist’s space was a reflection of the kind of quiet rebellion Harper had sensed since their first conversation. It was cozy but unrefined, lived-in without apology.

The door clicked open with a soft sigh, and the young woman stepped aside to let Harper enter. She hesitated for only a moment before crossing the threshold. The room was dimly lit, the warm glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows on the walls. There was a cluttered charm to it—papers scattered across the desk, brushes and pencils strewn on the floor as though the artist had left them mid-project. The air smelled faintly of paint and the soft tang of something sweeter, maybe incense, or something floral. It was disordered, yes—but not in a way that felt messy. It felt purposeful, as if the room itself were an extension of her creativity.

Harper stepped deeper into the space, her eyes drifting over the half-empty wine glass the young woman had abandoned on her desk. Sketchbooks were stacked neatly beside her bed, some with corners bent and others with the pages barely held together, as though they had been flipped through a hundred times. One sketchbook sat open on the desk, the pages filled with intricate designs—fascinating, delicate details of faces, buildings, shapes that had all been captured in the kind of precise and artistic chaos that only someone fully immersed in their craft could create.

There were also paintings on the floor against the walls—some finished, others still rough around the edges. Each one seemed to capture a moment of emotion, like little windows into the artist’s mind. A landscape bathed in the soft light of sunset, a figure standing in front of a window, the distant view outside hazy with rain. Harper found herself standing before one of them, her gaze lingering on the vivid brushstrokes, the rawness of the colors. There was something almost haunting about the way the artist rendered the world, as if she could make the intangible tangible in a way that no one else could.

As Harper wandered further into the room, she noticed a pile of canvases leaning against the wall, their backs to the space, waiting to be filled. She wondered what stories they would tell, what emotions they would capture once the artist’s hands got to them. And in that moment, she realized she had no idea why she was so fascinated by this. Was it just the art? The way it made her feel? Or was it something more, something deeper?

The young woman had closed the door behind them, and now she moved to the small desk, setting down her glass and picking up another sketchbook. Harper noticed the way she held it—delicately, as though she were afraid it might break if she wasn’t careful. There was something inherently vulnerable about the artist, something soft underneath that confident exterior she had put on in front of Harper. The wine glass in Harper’s hand was forgotten as she wandered across the room to the desk, catching sight of the artist’s fingers brushing over the pages.

Without a word, the artist opened the sketchbook in front of her, and Harper’s gaze fell onto the delicate sketches. At first, the images seemed like a blur of abstract shapes, but as she looked closer, she realized that the young woman had been capturing moments—expressions, gestures, fleeting looks that had passed between people, moments of intimacy hidden behind eyes or in the way fingers brushed against skin. But then, something caught Harper off guard. There, amid the collection of sketches, was a drawing of her.

Harper blinked, unsure if she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. It was a portrait of her, or at least, of the version of herself the artist had seen. It wasn’t overly flattering; it was raw, unrefined, as if the artist had captured her not in her best light but in some small, intimate moment, a private reflection that Harper had never intended to reveal.

There she was—caught in a moment of quiet contemplation, her eyes focused somewhere far beyond the page, her lips slightly parted as if she were on the cusp of saying something. Harper couldn’t help but admire the way the artist had captured her, not as the polished image everyone else saw, but as something deeper, something less easily understood.

The young woman’s hand trembled slightly as she closed the book, as if she were waiting for Harper to say something, anything. But the silence stretched on, thick with something unspoken. Harper didn’t know what to say, but there was a part of her that wanted to acknowledge it, wanted to ask more about it—why she had drawn her, what had made her want to capture that fleeting moment. Instead, she only looked at her, taking a sip from her glass as if the act of drinking would buy her a moment to collect her thoughts.

The young artist seemed to notice her hesitation, and after a long moment, her voice broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her eyes dropping to the floor as if she were ashamed. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Harper frowned, leaning against the desk as she studied the young woman, trying to read her expression. There was something in her voice, something fragile in the way she apologized, as if she were afraid of pushing Harper away with her own vulnerability.

“Uncomfortable?” Harper repeated, her voice quieter than usual. “I’m not uncomfortable.” She hesitated for a moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “It’s... just surprising. You’ve been watching me.”

The young woman bit her lip, clearly unsure of how to respond. She looked up, her eyes locking with Harper’s, and for a brief moment, Harper saw the flicker of something—fear? Regret? It was hard to tell.

“I... I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were being watched,” the young woman said softly. “I just... I don’t know. I’ve been coming here for a while, and I noticed you. I guess you’re... a kind of puzzle to me. You’re different from the other people I’ve met. And when I draw people, I like to understand them—who they are, how they see the world. It’s not... it’s not about... well, anything inappropriate. I promise.”

Harper couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips, though it was soft, almost sad. There was something so unguarded in the young woman’s confession, a kind of openness that Harper hadn’t expected. She could see how much the artist cared about her work, how deeply she felt things—maybe more deeply than Harper did herself. It was almost like a quiet kind of honesty, something rare in the world Harper inhabited, where everything was filtered through layers of carefully constructed facades.

“I’m not offended,” Harper said after a beat, her voice steady but with a touch of warmth. “I don’t think I’ve ever been captured like that before—so... raw.”

The young woman’s cheeks flushed at the compliment, and she shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry if it’s... too much,” she said, her voice small, almost childlike. “I never know when to stop.”

Harper could tell that it wasn’t just about the drawings, that there was something more—something deeper in the young woman’s words. She wasn’t just talking about art; she was talking about her own need to understand, to see beyond the surface of people. There was a yearning in her, a desire to find meaning in the chaos of the world around her, and in some strange way, Harper found herself wanting to help her find it.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Harper said gently, her tone softer now. “You don’t need to stop, either. But maybe we should talk more about this—about why you draw people the way you do. Why you’re so... interested in me.”

The artist’s eyes lifted to meet hers again, and for the first time that night, there was a flicker of something stronger than uncertainty in her gaze. Something that felt like trust, like a bridge being built between them.

“I think I’m trying to figure out what it means to truly see someone,” the young woman said quietly. “And what it means to be seen.”

Harper’s heart skipped a beat at the words. There was a depth to the artist, a kind of wisdom hidden beneath the softness. It was a part of her Harper hadn’t expected, something both vulnerable and strong.

Maybe this was more than just a momentary distraction. Maybe it was the beginning of something else entirely.

And maybe, just maybe, it was exactly what Harper had been looking for all along.

The night outside the hotel window was deep and thick with silence, the world reduced to shadows and whispers of wind. Harper hadn’t expected to find herself here—so far away from the tangled, cold embrace of her marriage, a place she didn’t know how to leave but couldn’t quite inhabit anymore. But there she was, standing at the edge of the young artist’s life, with nothing but the taste of wine on her lips and the smoke curling around her fingers.

It was strange, this space between them. The words had come easy at first, each one flowing like an unspoken invitation, but now, with the distance closed and the conversation heavier, every glance seemed to weigh more. Harper had always been good at pushing things away, keeping them at arm’s length. But tonight? Tonight felt different. The artist had a way of drawing her in—like a magnet, irresistible and powerful.

Harper inhaled deeply from the cigarette between her fingers, feeling the warmth in her chest as she leaned against the balcony railing. The soft hum of the city echoed below, but up here, it was just the two of them. The artist stood a little to her side, her gaze lost in the distance, her posture casual but her hands fidgeting slightly, as though she were waiting for something.

“So,” Harper finally said, breaking the silence that had grown long between them, “Tell me more about your art. The things you’ve drawn... I mean.”

The artist’s gaze shifted to meet hers, her expression unreadable for a moment, but Harper could see the faint glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. “What do you want to know?”

Harper smirked, throwing her cigarette to the ground and stamping it out with her heel. “Why me? Why so focused on me?”

The young woman took a long breath, her shoulders rising slightly before dropping, as though she were debating something in her mind. Finally, her voice came, low and hesitant, but it carried the weight of something unspoken.

“I think... I think there’s a part of you that I don’t understand. I want to know what it is, what makes you... tick.” She paused, and Harper watched her carefully, a knowing expression on her face. “I guess I’ve always been drawn to people who are hard to read. It’s like... I need to figure it out.”

Harper chuckled softly, her eyes narrowing. “You think I’m hard to read?”

“Yeah,” the young woman said, her voice softer now, almost a whisper. “You have that look about you. You hide things well.”

“I hide a lot of things,” Harper admitted, her voice thick with something close to regret. “But I suppose we all do, don’t we?”

For a long moment, they stood there, side by side, both lost in their thoughts, the air between them growing heavier by the second. It wasn’t just the wine anymore; it was something else. Something unspoken and undeniable. Harper couldn’t ignore the way her heart was racing, the way the young woman’s presence seemed to make everything else fade into the background.

The artist took a long sip from her wine glass, her eyes shifting over to Harper, lingering there longer than before. Her lips parted as though she were about to say something, but then she hesitated, her gaze dropping.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like... to know someone completely?” the young woman asked, her voice quieter now, laced with a kind of vulnerability Harper hadn’t expected. “I mean, really know them. Every secret, every thought. Would you want that?”

Harper’s breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she felt her pulse quicken, the weight of the question sinking deep into her chest. She wasn’t prepared for this. Not tonight. Not with the artist standing so close, so raw, so honest in a way that was unfamiliar.

“I don’t know,” Harper said, her voice faltering slightly. She shook her head, her eyes refusing to meet the young woman’s. “Maybe I’m too afraid to know.”

“Afraid of what?”

Harper’s lips parted, but the words felt stuck, caught somewhere deep inside her. She could feel the pull—the desire to say something, to admit something she hadn’t dared to even acknowledge. She took a shaky breath and finally turned her head to meet the artist’s gaze.

“Afraid of letting someone in,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Afraid of what they might see. What they might think.”

The young woman watched her for a moment longer, her expression softening. The tension between them was palpable now, a thread pulling taut, threatening to snap. And then, as if on impulse, the young woman blurted out a question, the words tumbling out before she could stop herself.

“Would you like to get to know me if you could?” The words felt clumsy, like they didn’t belong, but there was something so earnest in the way she asked it, something so vulnerable. “Because... I would.”

The words hung in the air between them, a confession without a filter. And just as quickly as they left her mouth, the young woman seemed to recoil, as if she had realized too late the implication of what she had just said. She stammered out an apology, her face flushing with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, her voice almost frantic. “I didn’t mean—It’s just, I was thinking and... well, I don’t know why I said that. You don’t have to—”

But Harper was already stepping closer, her gaze softening as she watched the young woman fumble over her words. There was something about the way she had spoken, so unguarded and raw, that made Harper’s heart clench. It was real. All of it. This was real.

“It’s okay,” Harper said, her voice low, almost a whisper. She reached out, her hand resting lightly on the artist’s arm, grounding her in the moment. “It’s okay.”

The young woman glanced up at her, her face still flushed, her lips parted as if she was waiting for something more. And in that moment, Harper realized what it was she had wanted. Something honest. Something genuine. Something she hadn’t allowed herself to seek for a long time.

“I mean... we can just be friends,” the young woman added quickly, her voice wavering. “Sorry. I’m talking shit. I don’t know why I said that.”

But Harper’s smile was slow, tentative, but unmistakable. A glimmer of something dangerous flickered in her eyes.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Harper said, her voice smooth and steady. “In fact, I... I kind of like the idea.”

The young woman’s eyes widened at the response, and for a moment, neither of them moved. It was as if the world had paused, holding its breath, waiting for the next step.

“But—” the artist began, unsure, her words faltering as she stepped back slightly, a glimmer of doubt creeping into her gaze.

Harper chuckled softly, the sound deep and warm, but there was an edge to it, something knowing.

“But you’re married,” the artist said, her voice suddenly quiet, her eyes darting away.

“Yeah,” Harper murmured, her smile faltering just slightly. “I am.”

The young woman was quiet for a long time, her gaze falling to the ground as if she were contemplating something. The tension in the air was thick, suffocating, but it was also electric. It hummed between them, palpable and undeniable. And as much as Harper knew she shouldn’t, she couldn’t help but feel drawn to it. To the young artist. To what could be. To what was still a possibility.

“I shouldn’t be thinking like this,” Harper admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t help it.”

And in that moment, they both knew something had shifted. Neither of them said it aloud, but they both understood. What they were doing was dangerous. It wasn’t just a casual drink, a friendly chat anymore. It was more. It had become something else, something both thrilling and terrifying.

The artist glanced up at Harper, her expression conflicted, unsure of how to proceed. But before she could say anything, Harper spoke again.

“We’ll figure this out,” Harper said, her voice firm, as if she were trying to reassure them both. “But right now... let’s just stay in the moment.”

And for a while, they did. In the quiet of the balcony, with the city sprawling beneath them, they stayed there, drinking, smoking, talking, the tension between them building slowly, one word at a time.

And neither of them could deny that, in some quiet corner of their minds, they both knew this wasn’t over. It had only just begun.

I really like this one <3 btw if you want a sequel I can try to write it ! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it !

[sargebon]

LOGAN SARGEANT X ALEX ALBON ♡ jpg.love

logan works as a videographer for shawn mendes,the falling in love part was just a bonus.

🫀 pairings ▪︎ alex albon x logan sargeant a.k.a sargebon and galex as teammates

🤍 face claims ▪︎ shawn mendes, logan sargeant, alex albon + george russell

this is my first tumblr smau fic, don't judge if it's bad 😭🙏

will do a part 2 / make this a series if people asked !!

logansargeant just posted

liked by shawnmendes, oscarpiastri, daltonsargent and 1.5k others

coming soon... 💐🎸✨️

👥️ shawnmendes

shawnmendes one of my fave shoots we've done brother 🫶✨️

↳ logansargeant always magic with us broski ✨️

user1 NEW SHAWN MUSIC?!?! 🙏🙏

oscarpiastri lookin fire brother 🔥

↳ logansargeant thanks bro 😜

aaliyahmendes ooh this aesthetic 🤌✨️

user2 KING OF POP IS BACK BABY

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liked by alexalbon, lilymunihe, logansargeant and 1.5 million others

👥️ logansargeant

SUMMER OF LOVE OUT MIDNIGHT

user1 SHAWN IS BACKKKK

logansargeant magic as always ✨️👏

↳ shawnmendes only because of ur wizardry with a camera 🙄

user2 OH IM IN LOVE WITH THIS ERAS AESTHETIC

alexalbon can't wait to hear this tunneee 🙌

alexalbon and georgerussell

liked by georgerussell, lilymunihe, shawnmendes and 1.5m others

teammates for the 24 season 🔥

user1 GALEX ON TOP

georgerussell they ain't ready for our chaos

↳ lilymunihe if ur gonna make my job harder, i deserve a raise 😤

↳ alexalbon already in the works 💪

user2 since when was logan an f1 fan?!??!

shawnmendes @logansargeant meet alex

↳ alexalbon hello logan 🫡

↳ logansargeant um hi 👋

↳ user3 not shawn trying to set up videographer 😭😭

↳ shawnmendes drastic times called for drastic measures 😉

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aa23 earth tones collection NOW AVAILABLE 💚🤍

user1 OMG LOGAN AND ALEX MEET UP?!?

lilymunihe so this is why u veoted all of my photographer recommendations

↳ alexalbon well yeah u caught me

↳ georgerussell SIMP

logansargeant thank u for allowing me to take part in this 🤍💚

↳ alexalbon always but this does mean ur on speed dail for future projects tho

user2 WOW shawnmendes really did it 😭😭

shawnmendes everyone say thank u shawn !!

↳ logansargeant yeah no (thanks ig)

↳ alexalbon thanks bestieeeeee 💚🤍

[INCOMING CALL FROM LOGAN SARGEANT 🦅]

AA: hey loges, wasn't expecting to hear back from this quick *alex chuckles*

LS: did u mean it when u said im gonna be on speed dial for future projects??

AA: um yeah I did, i can take it back if ur uncomfortable with the idea?? *alex inquired*

LS: no no im glad u like my work and everything, it's just ur the first to say that to me other then shawn so i just needed to clarify ig

AA: oh yeah yeah i meant it completely and once again thank you for everything

LS: ofc alex, it's helps when u got such a cute photogenic model too

AA: u think im cute??

LS: shit i-i sorry im gonna now bye

...

THE END !!

[mikasa-imadebiscults]

RL Fluff Relationship Hcs

(A/N- We need more fluff in this fandom, like DAMN THE ANGST BE SAD ;-;)

(Characters Included- Bela, Cassandra, Daniela, and Donna)

(Warning: Mild swearing and of course fluff)

🫀Bela Dimitrescu🫀

- She is your shield. She tries her hardest to keep you safe from any danger the best she can.

- When you’re out somewhere together and she sees that you’re cold she will take off her jacket and have you put it on saying that she insists. Then will wrap one arm around your waist to provide extra warmth.

- This girl can cook. She secretly loves it when you go up behind her and wrap your arms around her waist while she’s cooking.

- Keeps every single gift you give her and cherishes each memory it holds.

- In the middle of the night, when both of you can’t sleep, she likes to talk to you and reminiscence on shared memories together. Sometimes she tells you stories about the funny things Cass and Dani did when they were kids.

☕️Cassandra Dimitrescu☕️

- This flirt makes it her goal to make sure that you get flustered at least three times a day.

- It’s RARE to get her flustered but if you succeed in getting her all flustered, it is truly a wonderful sight to see.

- She loves to tell you about the latest performance she did and how she feels about them (majority of the time she’s very happy with the outcome of the performance)

- Okay but imagine stargazing with Cassandra. Or walking through the forest with her while she tells you dramatic stories about her life.

- If you go watch her perform without telling her, she would be so surprised and give you a wink before getting her shit together and proceeds on with the play.

🛹Daniela Dimitrescu🛹

- Friends to lovers trope. (Well more like BEST friends to lovers)

- When the both of you go to a party she’ll always have her eyes on you in admiration and adoration. She just loves seeing you so happy.

- Tells all of her skater bros and family about you. They know almost everything about you because of her rambling sessions about you.

- She is always able to make you laugh, especially when you two are hanging out with Angie (the chaos between those two is hilarious)

- Loves to show off some of her skating tricks. If you praise her for them she would give you the biggest smile. Her smile is so damn contagious.

💐Donna Beneviento💐

- This woman loves you so very much.

- At the beginning of your relationship she feared that you’ll leave her one day (give this poor girl a hug) BUT after lots of reassurance from you, she starts to believe that you won’t leave.

- She loves giving you hugs. Whenever she hugs you she’s always a bit tense but she still gives the BEST hugs (prove me wrong)

- The first time y’all had an heart-to-heart conversation about how much you love each other, she got so happy that she cried tears of happiness.

- If you have any scars, stretch marks, freckles, or whatever she likes to trace and kiss them softly. It’s her way of showing you that she loves every single part of you.

Masterlist