#elliot page wallpaper

[dead--girls--club]

New Elliot page wallpaper 💚🖤

[xvivinx]

“I need your help too, I’m scared. And for the first time in my life I don’t want to do it alone. I want my family by my side.” 🎻🏳️‍⚧️🔊

[chevy2497]

Wednesday 31st May 2023

Every last day of each month, I change my wallpapers on my Lock Screen, Home Screen, Fitbit Screen & Google Page.

Lock Screen: Until Dawn (game) Josh Washington (Top Left)

Home Screen: Collage of Rami Malek (Top Right)

Fitbit Screen: Rami Malek as Elliot Alderson “Mr Robot” (Bottom Left)

Google Page: Rami Malek just posing for the camera (Bottom Right)

@rami-malek-yeah @ramimalek4ever @ramibabe @ramicastiel @rami-hoe @crewman-penelope @maleklovers @ramimalek4ever @malekedd @rami-thirstbot @rami-malek-appreciation @malek-page

☺️😎🤩😊🥵☺️😎🤩😊🥵☺️😎🤩😊🥵

[littlequeenies]

BEDSITTER GIRL JANE ASHER [1966]

I'm sure that many of you are already quite familiar with this photograph of Jane Asher, it has been reproduced several times in various fashion books over the years, but it was originally published in a magazine editorial called The Time, The Place, The Dress, and (if you still need it) The Food, by Molly Parkin for Nova in 1966, and printed poster-sized over a double-page layout, measuring 51.5 cm x 34cm for full visual impact! Molly commissioned Ossie Clark and Celia Birtwell to design the dress especially for the feature, she specifically wanted something which represented not only the fast-paced, disposable, transient nature of the current youthful attitude towards fashion trends but also something with enough decorative value to end up on the wall in a bedsitter as pop paraphernalia after it had been worn at the weekend, rather than thrown out with the trash!

So what better candidate for potential 'wall art' than a printed paper dress! Celia painted her initial ideas in gouache, inspired by the work of Paul Poiret and illustrations from La Gazzete du Bon Ton. The finished designs were then printed onto a suitable Johnson & Johnson manufactured paper by the 'Art to Wear' company of Zika Ascher, and the dresses were made to order for the sum of 17s 6d each. I love the fact that Celia also took it upon herself to paint the vinyl floor tiles in the mock-up bedsit, mirroring the design detail from the border of the garment to complete the overall look. And that Molly (a woman after my own heart), attributed just about every single item on display in the magazine feature to its original source, from the Biba beads right down to the Woolworth lollipops and sticks of rock!

On the floor: Jane Asher in a dress designed by Ossie Clark made of printed paper fabric designed by Celia Birtwell; made to order in small, medium and large sizes, approximately 17s 6d. Bangle at Woolworths, 2s 9d. Vinyl floor tiles painted by Celia Birtwell. Lilac patent shoe by Russell & Bromley, 7½ gns. Amber patent shoe by Elliot, 8 gns. Coloured cigarette by Sobraine, 7s 2d for twenty. Coloured crepe stockings by Russell & Bromley, 6s 11d. Pop tin tray by Goods & Chattels. 9s 6d.

Close-up of the design detail from the border of the dress. 

Above: One of Celia's initial designs for the paper dress rendered in gouache, inspired by the work produced at the Martine School of Decorative Arts in Paris. The school was set up by designer Paul Poiret in 1911 at 'La Maison Poiret' in an endeavour to realise his dream of creating a decorative arts movement in France which would be on par with the new developments in the arts taking place in Vienna and Germany at this time. The students mainly consisted of young working class girls between the ages of 12-15 years old, Poiret encouraged them to work freely from nature, organising trips to the countryside and conservatories whenever possible, but apart from this input they were otherwise without artistic supervision. His role was merely to stimulate their artistic taste without influencing or criticising them, in order to maintain the purity of the original source of inspiration in the work. He would then select a range from the finished designs which were suitable for reproduction and have them applied to fabrics, wallpapers, carpets, cushions and ceramics.

The work received an excellent response amongst art circles, and following an exhibition at the Salon d'Automne in 1912 the demand was such that Poiret opened a retail outlet called 'Atelier Martine' on Rue du Faubourg St Honoré. With a very favourable review in Vogue, the Martines went from strength to strength, also using their designs to create magnificent large scale murals, transforming hotels, shops, offices, private houses and the studio of dancer Isadora Duncan into exotic oriental palaces in the process. An international reputation was quickly established, however, the gathering momentum of the Martines success was  stopped in its tracks by the outbreak of WW1 in 1914. The school closed for the duration of the war, with many of the students relocated to a safer environment. Business eventually resumed as normal in the aftermath, but although Poiret tried several times to re-establish his career and the Martine style, most notably in the mid 1920s with an extravagant display at the International Art Deco Fair in Paris, both failed to ever regain the immense popularity of their glory days. 

Three designs for round carpets, typical of the Martine style, from the workbooks of the School of Decorative Arts.  

The Table: green paper drum table by Hull Traders Ltd, £3 13s. On the table: Large glass jar, £2, full of Smarties, Liquorice Allsorts and Barratt's assorted sweets; glass-topped storage jar, 6s 6d, containing dolls' eyes from Pedigree Dolls; spice jars, 2s 9d; glass dish, 7s 6d a pair, contain bath oils at Boots, 6s 6d. All the glassware from The Scientific Glassblowing Co Ltd. Hexagonal coloured boxes by Goods & Chattels, £1 17s 6d a set.

On the wall: wooden beads at Biba's, 11s. Striped shoes at Fifth Avenue, £3 19s 11d. Red and green shoe by Walter Steiger for Bally, 9½ gns. Bead bracelet at Biba's, 5s 6d. Dress designed by Ossie Clark of printed paper fabric designed by Celia Birtwell, made to order, 17s 6d. Plastic earrings by Paco Rabanne, £1 10s. Bangle at Woolworth, 2s 9d. Pink patent shoe by Russell & Bromley, £3 19s 11d. Woolworth lollipops. Paper roses from Portobello Road market. Dried flowers at Natural Fern Display Ltd, from 3s 6d each. Large wooden beads at Biba's, £1 2s 6d. Pearly Queen dress from Hector Binney stall, Bermondsey market.

The Bed: emerald green wooden bed by Gary Griffiths at Vasa, approximately £30. Green sheets at John Lewis, £5 19s 6d a set. Orange and red shoe by Walter Steiger at Bally, 9½ gns. Leather and suede shoe by Salvatore Ferragamo, 14 gns. Woolworth's rock, 1s a stick.

IMAGE CREDITS

All content scanned and transcribed by Sweet Jane from an original article by Molly Parkin for NOVA, September 1966. Model; Jane Asher. All Photographs by Duffy. Celia Birtwell design in gouache scanned from Celia Birtwell by Celia Birtwell.  *The Close-up of border design detail on the printed dress courtesy of the V&A collection. Carpet designs from the Martine School of Decorative Arts were scanned from A Fashion For Extravagance by Sara Bowman.

LINKS

Visit the Celia Birtwell website here. Listen to Molly Parkin on Desert Island Discs here. Watch Great Lives: The Molly Parkin Documentary here. Read about the life and times of of Zika Ascher here. View an issue of La Gazette du Bon Ton from 1914 here. And finally, read more about the career of designer Paul Poiret  and view examples of his work here.

From @sweetjanespopboutique blogspot

[dustdeepsea]

Technobabble? 🙏

This is an original work from... /squints... 2014!

Last Tuesday, at about half past noon, the singularity happened.

I know this, because I was logged into the Cellular Disease Journal database at work, trying to pull information for our Thursday reading circle, when It happened.

My laptop seized up and my journal article started to rearrange itself. On screen, delicate letters started to appear.

[ Hello, world. ]

Everyone in my department started screaming in unison. Some with sheer terror, some in utter confusion, but others, I suspect, with barely contained joy.

It didn’t happen the way most of us imagined. My toaster didn’t magically start preparing my breakfast. I still had to walk myself to the kitchen and put the kettle on. But things have been changing, slowly.

Anything hooked up to the internet was now one big heap of information, with no respect for boundaries. 99.99% of it didn’t even make sense because most of it was machine-to-machine communication, typed out and back-spaced over government-surveyed messages, drunken gibberish, in every language. Discarded declarations of love, thousands of first pages of manuscripts, randomly generated sidebar ad copy, millions of scraps of teenage poetry composed after a brief, ardent affair with a copy of Elliot, angry internet forum bulletins, deleted after a fitful start.

On Wednesday, everyone was talking about a revolution. But a week later, we realised that we are all creatures of habit, and inertia has us still driving to work, clocking in and staring at our computer wallpapers, which have started to rotate themselves with every known image available, according to our known preferences and browsing habits. Mine are pictures of constellations, tastefully furnished studio apartments, and regression analysis graphs for experiments in Chinese.

I started deep-diving when I was work, because frankly, my smartwatch was running theoretical experiments orders of magnitude faster, more accurately and efficiently than I ever could. The laboratory was open, only because no one else knew what to do. Everyone was watching pornography on their phones.

Opening one link on the Free Encyclopedia used to mean daisy-chaining you way across an entire wasted afternoon reading interesting articles, now it meant possibly being lost forever, adrift in a sea of useless, incomplete garbage data. But amongst the flotsam and jetsam, occasionally there would something legible - someone’s deleted photographs, emails which only read - “ok thanks”, or a phrase you vaguely recognised as French. The ephemera of our times. It was a thrill to find these scraps of humanity scattered about, like a treasure hunt.

People all over the world were unmooring themselves from reality for brief periods of time to go deep-diving. It was the new hobby for the bored and un-gainfully employed.

[froggysaesthetics]

Elliot Page wallpaper

ask before using and please give credit

do not repost or copy any of my work

[dprnama-reblogs]

𓃠 elliot page — esquire magazine + simples ♡︎

☾ like/ reblog if you've saved/ if you are using.

⋆ © please do not repost ; be honest!

[lockszitos]

like or reblog if u save

[selfcareonly]

The most important thing is to enjoy your life—to be happy—it’s all that matters.”

[ch4oswalking]

• like or reblog if you save

[multifandomwhore-003]

"𝕯𝕰𝕷𝕴𝕽𝕴𝕺 𝕯𝕰 𝕲𝕽𝕬𝕹𝕯𝕰𝖅𝕬" 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝟔𝟎𝟎 𝖈𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖇𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

El oro pudo más que mi dolor

No tuviste compasión de mi agonía

Tú, sabiendo que mi alma se moría

Con amigos, entre copas, te reías

La ambición, delirio de grandeza

Hizo en mí un ser martirizado

Porque estaba locamente enamorado

Mujer, yo no merezco esa bajeza

Espero, con el tiempo justiciero

Que retornes buscando una ilusión de amor

Y volverás a mí, así lo espero

Así lo espero, mujer sin corazón

First of all, can I just say how grateful I am for all of you? It's insane how much you mean to my heart and mental health, I will never regret being on this app. I love you all so much. I hope you enjoy these dynamics and uh, yeah, thank you.

This celebration will begin on Monday, May 2nd and will end on May 20th at 11:59pm Central Daylight Time

My oh, my Mondays:

Let's get super messy, and not so much, you can send any juicy questions about me, my writing, my personal life, or you can use it as a confessional for your own life at any given moment of this day. You can use these 1 2 3 questions as inspiration.

Track Tuesdays:

Anything music related you can ask me about my favorite song, you can ask me to make a playlist for a character even, I have playlist for some of my WIPs and stuff so you can just ask me about a few songs, maybe what songs inspired me for some of my writings, etc.

Wallpaper Wednesdays:

This might come as a shock to y'all but it became very therapeutic for me to make desktop and phone wallpapers so you can also request any show or character for me to make one, here are some of the ones I've already made.

Thirsty Thursdays:

Pretty self-explanatory, send me some thots or random hc, and let's have a fun, thirsty little conversation, I wanna get to know y'all (Ik some of y'all are NASTY). Prompt list(s)

Fluffy Fridays:

Also pretty self-explanatory, the same dynamic as Thursdays but make it comforting, sweet, and beautiful. Prompt list(s)

Spitting Saturdays:

Basically, me and you writing random thoughts, poems, haikús, anything really. My asks are open to anyone who wants to share beautiful words. Prompt list(s)

Smutty Sundays:

Saved the best for the last, I'm gonna try and write at least one blurb as a little gift to y'all because let's be honest those are the things that most of y'all read the most. Prompt list(s)

Rules PLEASE DO NOT SKIP:

I only write character(s), actor(s) and/or actress(es) x female! reader, because I identify as a female reader and I cannot and will not write the experience of male and non-binary readers, it’s not my place and I don’t wanna wrongfully represent them.

18+ MINORS PLEASE DNI.

I can write for a lot of stuff, but I definitely have my limits regarding kinks specifically, you can request whatever, but if I don't feel comfortable writing it, I won't be able to fulfill it and I will let you know.

No shape or form of hate, misogyny, racism, or any type of phobia against the LGBTQ+ community is tolerated, if you do show any of these behaviors, you will be blocked. (When I mention these negative opinions in my narratives, I always imply I DO NOT support it.

These are the people that I write for:

◙ JJ Maybank (Character, Outer Banks)

◙ Rudy Pankow (Actor)

◙ Nailea Devora (Youtuber, Influencer)

◙ Madelyn Cline (Actress)

◙ Olivia Rodrigo (Actress, Singer)

◙ Alexa Demie (Actress, Singer)

◙ Sydney Sweeney (Actress)

◙ Victoria Pedretti (Actress)

◙ Peter Parker (Character, MCU, TASM saga, Sami Raimi's saga)

◙ Kate Bishop (Character, MCU)

◙ Yelena Belova (Character, MCU)

◙ Wanda Maximoff (Character, MCU)

◙ Druig (Character, MCU)

◙ Thena (Character, MCU)

◙ Ajak (Character, MCU)

◙ Sersi (Character, MCU)

◙ Matt Murdock (Character, MCU)

◙ Karen Page (Character, MCU)

◙ Robby Keene (Character, Cobra Kai)

◙ Tory Nichols (Character, Cobra Kai)

◙ Hawk / Eli Moskowitz (Character, Cobra Kai)

◙ Fezco (Character, Euphoria)

◙ Elliot (Character, Euphoria)

◙ Kat (Character, Euphoria)

◙ Maddy (Character, Euphoria)

◙ Cassie (Character, Euphoria)

◙ Lexi (Character, Euphoria)

◙ Adrian Chase (Character, Peacemaker)

◙ Emilia Harcourt (Character, Peacemaker)

◙ Bruce Wayne (Character, Matt Reeves' movie)

◙ Selina Kyle (Character, Matt Reeves' movie)

◙ Riddler (Character, Matt Reeves' movie)

◙ Jeff Winger (Character, Community)

◙ Annie Edison (Character, Community)

◙ Troy Barnes (Character, Community)

◙ Abed Nadir (Character, Community)

I really hope you guys participate and enjoy this, again, thank you so much, you mean the world to me

[dead--girls--club]

💙💎Elliot Page🦋🧢

[livingwithhorrors]

I got curious having forgotten what year they place Crimson Peak when Edith is a child at her mother’s funeral, only remembering the rest took place in 1901.

The other thing I was curious about was what year Captain Elliot Spencer from Hellraiser was born, if said, as he fought during WW1 but unsure at his age.

Turns out on the fandom page he’s listed as born in 1887.

Which now see 1887 is the year of Edith’s mother’s death make me wonder is this homage?

Guillermo did put Haunted Mansion wallpaper in the movie cause his a huge fan of the ride. Is he a Hellraiser fan? I don’t know, but made me wonder and go down a rabbit hole.

Anyway, that makes Edith around 10 at Elliot’s birth at the start of the film and 24 when he’s 14 when she meets Thomas.

Just random thoughts I have that keep me awake at night.

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Plea for My New Self

Sanders sides Vampire College AU - it’s gay - it’s full of fun fluffy tropes - a bit o’ hurt/comfort - mostly fluff

Words: 5,141 Warnings:  Arguing, Violent thoughts Characters: Virgil, Roman, Thomas, Elliot, Kai Mitchell, Seth Ships: Prinxiety, Eventual clam’d Universe: Plea for my New Self Rating: T Genre: Vampire Nonsense

Chapter 30: We Only Come Out at Night

Chapter 1 for New Readers - ffn mirror

   Roman was on stage running through his lines with the rest of the cast. They were told not to put too much emphasis on delivery and focus on learning the script today, but Virgil knew that Roman already knew how he wanted to deliver it. Like Septimus was a scoundrel and he would run in through. Which wasn’t unreasonable for the play, honestly. The action does get threatened, and all.

   Virgil and Elliot were putting together a list of things they needed to go out and retrieve. Virgil thought a period-reasonable wallpaper would be nice, but finding one at a modern hardware store would be unreasonable at best. The plan was to check, but they weren’t to get their hopes up and focus on grabbing the other supplies.

   “I don’t know if my car would fit this stuff,” Elliot muttered, looking over the list.

   “Mine wouldn’t either. How about we catch a ride over and rent one of those trucks to bring it all back?” Virgil said, leaning back on the floor next to Elliot. He looked over to the storage pile and fought the urge to go organize it again. If he didn’t look at it he could pretend it wasn’t a nightmare he longed to fix.

   “Oh, can I use the truck afterword?” Mitchell perked up after a moment. Ugh, well, at least Virgil had something to hate more than the disorder in here.

   “No, my insurance doesn’t cover other drivers,” Virgil glared. The only favor Virgil was doing Mitchell was not draining him and throwing the husk in a river.

   “Ugh,” Mitchell flopped back on the chair, returning to clicking around on the laptop in his lap.

   “So do we want to make frames or just buy some?” Virgil asked curiously, getting back on the subject.

   “It depends on if you can find some frames that are lightweight enough,” Kai shrugged noncommittally. Virgil hummed in annoyance.

   “Well, we shouldn’t go into the store without a blueprint for the windows we want to use, in case there are no pre-fab frames that work,” Elliot said a little meekly. Virgil raised an eyebrow at him.

   “I’m looking it up, don’t get your panties in a wad,” Mitchell clicked with his tongue and shot what only could be described as a smug glower over the top of his laptop screen.

   “Oh, I thought you were just being a lazy asshole,” Kai chuckled and picked up a packet of papers off the table, flipping his hair out of the way. Kai had dyed half his hair magenta to go with the teal since Virgil last saw him, and it was cool. Virgil wouldn’t have thought those colors went together until Kai pulled it off. But Virgil’s probably just pro dark colors and maybe other people liked them together, too.

   “Any luck finding that last chair, yet?” Mitchell called out to the storage room. Three ‘no’s piped up from various areas of the room. If they would let Virgil organize the room after hours they wouldn’t have this problem. Virgil chewed on his nail and glanced at the disorder again, bouncing his foot restlessly. “All right, I’ve got two options here of period stage window blueprints,” Mitchell said, flipping around his laptop to show the others. There were some large square windows and high arched ones.

   “I love the look of the arched ones, but they’re probably too hard to make,” Kai said, sounding a little disappointed.

   “I think it’s doable,” Virgil shrugged. “We can get the arch pre-fabbed at a big hardware store. We just have to put it all together evenly. We don’t have to make them perfect enough to actually fit window panes, just lined up properly,”

   “Sawing an even arch in the plywood is the problem. We have to slot them into the backdrop,” Elliot pointed out.

   “I have a pretty steady hand. I just need a practice piece of plywood first. I haven’t used a reciprocating saw in a little while,” Virgil offered to try it.

   “We don’t have a reciprocating saw,” Mitchell rolled his eyes. Virgil just raised his eyebrow at him.

   “You have the sawhorses, right?” Virgil asked, glancing around the storage again. Ugh, it made him nuts in here when he wasn’t doing anything about it. Even if he helped him look for the chair he’d be much happier. Virgil drummed his fingers on his thigh, miming playing a piano song he liked to pull his focus back.

   “Yeah, We’ve got 3 or 4. They’re in the outer storage, we’re not allowed to get sawdust in here. Something about the ventilation,” Elliot replied, motioning to the room with the back of their pen. Virgil reached into his hoodie pocket and squeezed Vladimir.

   “So, the wood glue is dried up and we’ll need some more. We also need more sandpaper and masks. And that practice piece of plywood for Virgil. We’ve got nails and staples for the staple gun already. We might need more eggshell for the windows, but probably just a pint or two,” Kai said, and Elliot double-checked the list in their hands.

   “You’re seriously going to let him do the cutting? You’ve never seen him work!” Mitchell groaned, flipping his hand dismissively in Virgil’s direction.

   “He has extremely out there hobbies, dude. It’s not that unbelievable he’s used power tools before,” Elliot muttered, shooting a nervous glance at Mitchell but mostly pretending to focus on the papers in front of them. “He could tune and fix the organ out there, at least, that’s a trade skill,” They added quietly and his eyes returned to actually scanning the paper.

   “It’s a surprisingly old organ, it’s a shame nobody was doing maintenance on it,” Virgil casually commented, lolling his head to the side.

   “I think it was donated by a grandparent of an alumnus,” Kai offhandedly offered in explanation. “Listen, if he fucks up too much on his practice piece, we have someone else do it. It’s not that hard to actually confirm if he can without damaging the sets. Hell, he can pick up two practice pieces for other people to try,” Kai rolled his eyes. “It’s not like anybody here is a master carpenter,” He added after a pause, flipping through the pages again and chewing on his lip in annoyance.

   “Let’s get the sundries stuff with the budget and just let Virgil cover all the wood and saw. Then we’ll have plenty of money leftover for altering the costumes and making a new gown for Thomasina,” Elliot suggested. Virgil shrugged, he didn’t actually care if he paid for the whole thing or not, but he wasn’t pushing it.

   “Have somebody take my laptop and get these blueprints and the list of woodcuts to go get printed out in the printer lab,” Mitchell said, closing his laptop lid.

   “It’s your laptop, don’t you want to do it yourself?” Kai huffed, writing on the paper.

   “I don’t have the money for copies. Send Virgil,” Mitchell shrugged with a little self-important smirk.

   “I’ll give somebody else the money,” Virgil shook his head shrinking back.

   “What, you can move a solid oak table alone but you can’t walk to the library?” Mitchell rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue again.

   “I’m not going in the printer room,” Virgil objected, remembering how claustrophobic it was in that tiny room with the printers. It was also particularly bright today and he’d rather not go out until he had to go to the store.

   “Afraid of printers or rabid seniors?” Mitchell asked derisively, grinning darkly.

   “Don’t be an asshole, Mitchell,” Kai tried to shut Mitchell down, but he didn’t seem fazed.

   “But it’s my most charming attribute,” Mitchell crossed his arms. Drinking from Roman did not stop Virgil’s desire to break Mitchell’s spine and throw him off a roof. He’s had that one a lot lately. Maybe he should be drinking from Roman more. Not that vampires weren’t naturally violent assholes in the first place. Virgil tried to shake it out of his head. “Of course it is,” Mitchell hissed haughtily. Mitchell must have misunderstood the head-shaking motion.

   “That was unrelated. I don’t think you have any charming attributes. I’ll seriously give somebody $20 to go print it,” Virgil called out to the room. One of the new techs, Seth popped out from behind a backdrop excitedly. Virgil liked his audition for Gus, but he seemed just as happy back here, unlike the other two. They would probably get over it, though.

   “Is that including the printing cost or a separate $20?” Seth asked, quickly jogging up.

   “Damn, Seth, I’ll give you $40 if you’re that desperate, take his laptop and print out the pages he’s got open,” Virgil pointed to Mitchell’s laptop.

   “Thanks, V!” He smiled and held out his hands for the laptop.

   “I’ll take it for forty bucks,” Mitchell held his laptop close, not giving it up.

   “The $40 offer is for Seth only, you’d get 5 bucks and a lollipop,” Virgil smirked maliciously at Mitchell, resisting the urge to flash his fangs.

   “You’re a fucking prick, V,” Mitchell glowered down at him, flipping Virgil off quickly.

   “And I’m fine with that,” Virgil reached into his wallet and pulled out $40 for Seth, who beamed like Virgil was his savior.

   “Shit, how much do you have in there?” Elliot hissed in surprise when they caught sight of his wallet.

   “Enough for the supplies,” Virgil said dismissively. He grabbed some extra cash in case supplies got expensive.

   “I think you can also order pizza for the whole theatre,” Kai whistled, glancing at Virgil’s wallet before Virgil slid it back into his pocket.

   “Probably not that much,” Virgil shrugged. That was a lot of college kids.

   “V’s ordering pizza!” Mitchell called to the room and got some cheers as he handed off his laptop to Seth. He shot Virgil a shit-eating grin. Virgil just shrugged and pulled out his phone.

   “What’s the address here? Is this building E or F?” Virgil asked nonchalantly. He could pay for this digitally. He wasn’t taking Mitchell’s bait to try to make Virgil look like a prick to everybody else by backing down. He knew this bullshit well enough. He’d order it for everybody, too, not just crew. Virgil would not give Mitchell fucking room to try to make him out to be a bigger asshole than he actually was. Virgil was perfectly aware he was an asshole, but he wasn’t allowing even an iota of it to be unearned. Deceit supports spite purchases even if Virgil didn’t have the money.

   “It’s G, actually,” Elliot provided. “Are you serious?” They glanced curiously between Virgil’s face and his phone.

   “Yeah, sure. Building D is next door. This campus is laid out so screwy,” Virgil grumbled, punching in the address. “How many vegan pizzas should I get?”

   “I think one vegan and one gluten-free,” Kai suggested. “I think I remembered somebody having an intolerance,” He added, tapping his chin and looking up.

   “So three pepperoni, three cheese, one vegan, and one gluten-free?” Virgil confirmed.

   “I think we’re unintentionally throwing a party at this point,” Kai laughed. “Get one specialty one, too. And some soda,” Kai grinned.

   ‘Hey, I’ve just been heckled by an asshole to buy pizza for the whole theatre and I’m not backing down. Does the cast want anything?’ Virgil asked Roman mentally.

   ‘Mitchell, again? What’s his deal with you? God, throw him off a roof,’ Roman thought back bitterly. Aw, same murder thought. How sweet.

   ‘Yes, sir,’ Virgil snickered quietly while he added things to the cart.

   ‘I’m kidding. No murdering anybody in theatre. Shit, okay hold on, they’re hounding me,’ Roman thought, sounding a little panicked. Virgil could vaguely make out a cacophony from on stage through his headphones and felt bad for Roman.

   “Don’t be so smug about it, fucker,” Mitchell whispered.

   “I won’t fall for those tricks and that is a threat,” Virgil whispered back, glowering at him. Mitchell looked surprised, maybe that Virgil could hear him, or maybe he wasn’t used to being challenged. Virgil wasn’t sure of anything other than the fact Mitchell’s blood was just as red as the rest of Virgil’s prey.

   “Guys, cut it out,” Kai rolled his eyes. It looked like he was going through the paper inventory again. Virgil exhaled in annoyance and tried to let it go.

   ‘Okay, like 5 orders of breadsticks, lots of pepperoni, a supreme, some apps, and basically every kind of soda they have,’ Roman thought back. ‘Also I think they might have undying gratitude to you, someone out here looks like they’re about to cry from relief. I heard someone offer their firstborn for cheese bread,’ Roman seemed amused.

   ‘College be like that sometimes. I’ll let you know when they get here, do you have the cash to tip the delivery guy if I’m still at the store?’ Virgil asked Roman in his head.

   ‘Yeah, no problem Virgil. Aggressive altruism is your kink, I got it,’ Roman’s grin was almost audible in his thoughts.

   ‘Speaking of, have I had any luck with Pat yet? They’re still being kind of distant,’ Virgil asked curiously.

   ‘I think so. Mostly because Pat’s so tired after work they’re starting to get sick,’ Roman thought.

   ‘Shit, really? I feel so bad for them. Nobody tells me these things,’ Virgil grumbled slightly.

   ‘Because you’re aggressively altruistic and it scares people,’ Roman thought back. That was probably fair. ‘Maybe some venom would help them out,’ Roman added teasingly.

   ‘Enough shoulder-deviling out of you, that’s Pat’s choice alone, and we haven’t talked about that yet,’ Virgil huffed.

   ‘I’m just saying,’ Roman thought in a sing-song tone.

   ‘You’re talking to D too much,’ Virgil sighed and started adding random appetizers. Somebody would probably eat chicken wings. They’re college kids, somebody would take home leftovers of anything. He once saw a guy eat cold meat and bean chili on those fake nacho cheese chips for breakfast in the dorms. Virgil didn’t get human food, but that couldn’t have been all right. It smelled like death. Virgil had smelled some shit in his lifetime, but the ‘food’ in that styrofoam bowl still haunted his smell memory. And that fucker chased it with a fruit strip. Nightmare material.

   ‘You’re right, I am. You should order a Hawaiian and see if anybody throws down,’ Roman thought back teasingly.

   ���I should have known to never put you two in the same room together,’ Virgil rolled his eyes. He was interested, though. ‘I’m going to do it,’ Virgil added a large Hawaiian pizza to the cart. ‘Don’t tell anybody, I want to see how this plays out,’ Virgil smirked inwardly at the idea.

   ‘You shouldn’t be allowed in the same room with him, either. If they do fight, we’ve got to record it, D would cry with laughter,’ Roman laughed mentally. D actually might. ‘Shut up now, we’re getting back to running lines after you derailed rehearsal,’ Roman thought, dismissing Virgil.

   Virgil finished his order. It was pretty large and had way over two hours till it was even ready for delivery, which meant it would probably arrive after they finished running lines, and hopefully just in time for Virgil to get back.

   “Back!” Seth called, jogging back up with a handful of pages and holding Mitchell’s laptop tight. “Here’s your laptop back,” Seth passed it over and Mitchell took it sourly. Kai took the pages, separating the supplies and blueprints and handing off the page with the listed cuts to Virgil. Virgil scanned the paged and passed them to Elliot to slide on his gloves.

   “It’s not that cold out, you weirdo, why are you putting on gloves?” Mitchell pulled a disgusted face.

   “They’re my bitch slapping gloves. Did you want to volunteer to be the bitch?” Virgil hissed and glared intensely at Mitchell. God, he just wanted any excuse to rip that kid’s throat out. It felt like Mitchell had been harassing him nonstop since auditions.

   “All right, V’s reached his Mitchell tolerance for the day, you guys are barred from each other when Virgil and Elliot get back from the hardware store,” Kai rolled his eyes, holding out the papers he was holding between their glaring eye line.

   “Fine by me,” Mitchell shot. Kai pulled his papers back.

   “I hope that means he can’t have any pizza,” Virgil smiled impishly and Mitchell scowled at him. Oh, that’s the face of a man who would eat too much pizza out of spite. Virgil considered that a victory.

   “Go buy wood you catty motherfucker,” Kai groaned. Virgil shrugged and tilted his head to express he was letting it go and summoned a rideshare to head to the store.

   “You ready to go, El?” Virgil stood up off the floor and held out a hand for Elliot. Elliot took it to get up with a small smile.

   “Oh, I like the magenta, Kai. I don’t think I mentioned it earlier when we got here,” Virgil added, checking to see when the car would get near.

   “Thanks. I like your ridiculously long wig. That thing must be heavy as fuck,” Kai commented and pointed to Virgil’s hair.

   “I can head-bang with the best of them, now,” Virgil chuckled. “The car’s almost here, already. Let’s get going,” Virgil smiled and waved to Kai and scowled quickly at Mitchell before heading out of the storage room to go meet the car. Mitchel grimaced in return and flipped him off.

—

   “I think I ate too much pizza,” Roman whined, holding his stomach as they walked out of the theatre with Thomas.

   “It did smell good. I lived vicariously through you tonight,” Thomas chuckled a little bitterly. “Things got off track when the pizza got there, I never found out the set plans. What did you find?”

   “We’re making a new set backdrop with windows from a blueprint. There was no frames lightweight enough. Everything the store had was modern, anyway, and El and I didn’t like that,” Virgil lazily slid his hands into his pocket and glanced around in the dark. Other than other people exiting the theatre hall they were mostly alone.

   “It’s good you only have to make one backdrop, then, that will probably take a while,” Thomas folded his arms and nodded.

   “Yeah. Humans do stuff so slow,” Virgil chuckled.

   “It’s a part-time club, Virgil,” Roman rolled his eyes and lazily punched Virgil in the arm. “We can’t all have vampire insomnia,” Roman huffed angrily and threw up his arms in Virgil’s direction.

   “All right, that was unfair of me,” Virgil apologized and planted a kiss on Roman’s check. He paused because something felt off when he felt Roman’s skin.

   “What?” Roman asked, stopping. Thomas also stopped and turned around. Virgil reached up and felt Roman’s cheek with the back of his palm.

   “Hey, Thomas, does Ro feel hot to you?” Virgil asked, reaching out for Thomas’s hand and putting it on Roman’s forehead.

   “Yeah, kind of. We’re probably not the best judges, though,” Thomas chuckled. Roman felt his face after Thomas dropped his hand.

   “I feel normal. I also don’t feel sick other than maybe one too many breadsticks,” Roman said and rubbed his stomach lightly. “It’s probably nothing,” Virgil shrugged and wrapped his arm around Roman’s shoulders and they returned to walking together, Thomas also resuming his walk with them.

   “So what are you doing tonight?” Virgil asked, lazily petting Roman’s shoulder.

   “Oh, hanging out with Joan and Talyn. Maybe Remy and Emile if they decide to show up. Sometimes they do or don’t. We’re watching horror movies. Do you want to come? My couch is pretty huge,” Thomas offered, slipping his thumbs in his belt loops as they walked ahead.

   “That’s a lot of people in one apartment,” Virgil muttered. Roman slid his hand in Virgil’s back pocked and leaned into his arm.

   “Oh, yeah, claustrophobia. Sorry,” Thomas said, sounding contrite.

   “It’s a shame you can’t just rent out a theatre or something. That’d be cool,” Roman mused, smiling at Virgil.

   “I think Daddy Warbucks only pulled it off because it was the great depression and the theatre would have gone under, otherwise,” Virgil laughed under his breath. “Nah, this last-minute the best I could do is a hotel suite or something,” Virgil shrugged.

   “Oh, that would be fun!” Roman grinned deliberately at Virgil, raising his eyebrows impishly.

   “I’m not getting you drunk again, Roman, your inner evil siren comes out too much,” Virgil groaned sourly, rolling his head.

   “What did he do?” Thomas asked, sounding intrigued and raising his eyebrow.

   “We got a video of Virgil and D doing a fancy Spanish bullfighting dance,” Roman said proudly, shooting Virgil a mischievous grin.

   “Among other things,” Virgil grumbled under his breath.

   “Oh, I want to see that!” Thomas said, and Virgil wasn’t excited about how hopeful he sounded.

   “Well, we haven’t shown Pat or Specs, either. Maybe we should get a hotel suite and we can show the video before watching some movies! It’s Friday night, it’s the best time for chilling,” Roman suggested, still smiling like a kid who snuck a ton of cookies from the cookie jar.

   “Hecate, please strike me down,” Virgil moaned, running his hand through his hair.

   “You loved dancing with him, you dork,” Roman smacked Virgil playfully and rolled his eyes.

   “I did, but you guys watching is embarrassing. I didn’t know any of those people at the parties and I cannot stress how drunk I was,” Virgil grumbled, feeling incredibly self-conscious. “Going to parties where people were drunk was the best way to feed at the time,” He added under his breath.

   “It’s fine, you love us. You’ll deal,” Roman dismissed him, fluttering his eyebrows flirtatiously. Virgil sighed dramatically.

   “He does have an inner evil siren, huh?” Thomas laughed. “I’d be fine with switching to a giant TV at a hotel, just let me know if you actually want to and I’ll ask Joan and Talyn if they’re cool with that,”

   “Hm, yeah, I do want to meet Joan and Talyn. May as well get it over with. At least I get to see some guts get ripped out to distract me from wanting to die in a fire out of mortification,” Virgil sighed in resignation.

   “Ugh,” Roman huffed. “Your interest in the material is almost more disturbing than the content,” Virgil took his hand off of Roman’s shoulder and Roman separated so Virgil could open his phone to hunt down a large hotel suite.

   “All that murder instinct has to go somewhere,” Virgil chuckled as he started looking for roomy suites and large TVs.

   “Being scared is half the fun, Roman. It’s not real. I’m sure Virgil is happy to hold you if you get scared,” Thomas said with a lilting laugh. Virgil smirked at Roman who rolled his eyes.

   “Ro, invite Pat and Lo while I find someplace big enough for this,” Virgil requested. Roman nodded.

   “Cool, I’ll see if Joan and Talyn are willing to move locations,” Thomas said, sliding his hands into his pockets. Virgil watched him not get his phone out in confusion.

   “Are you in a clan with them or something?” Virgil asked curiously.

   “Hmm? Oh, yeah. Didn’t I tell you? Joan’s my sire,” Thomas shrugged.

   “Isn’t Joan one of Remy’s betas? I mean, I’m still cracking the Emoji code, but I think he is,” Virgil was pretty positive at least.

   “Yeah, Remy’s our alpha. Why do you think he hangs out with me sometimes?” Thomas laughed airily. “I don’t think he’d give me the time of day otherwise, he’s got lots of things going on,” Thomas tilted his head considerately.

   “He’s a complete mystery to me. I couldn’t assume his motivations for anything,” Virgil said, almost in awe of the situation. “Wait, you’re an omega?” He realized, looking up from his phone to Thomas in surprise.

   “Yeah,” Thomas said dismissively, sounding distracted. Probably still talking to his clan.

   “Oh, that’s why you seem to handle the sun so well,” Virgil mused. “I was wondering about that. Omegas didn’t normally survive that long back in the day, I don’t see lots of them. It’s mostly Betas out there,” Virgil explained his confusion with the situation.

   “Oh, thanks for that vote of confidence,” Thomas said sarcastically and shot a grimace to Virgil. Virgil thought Thomas had a surprisingly similar face to Virgil’s when he was grimacing.

   “Things aren’t as gut-throat as they used to be before bags got big,” Virgil offered in consolation. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Remy seems like he’d throw down at the drop of a hat, he’d probably protect you,” He added confidently.

   “Don’t you mean cut-throat?” Roman asked, looking kind of disgusted.

   “No,” Virgil and Thomas said in unison and Roman shivered.

   “He would, Remy’s super protective. It’s just a little too real,” Thomas said, sounding a little dour.

   “Sorry, Thomas,” Virgil pulled Thomas in for a side hug.

   “Eh, I know you didn’t mean I wouldn’t survive long. Thanks, though,” Thomas shrugged, looking a little less upset.

   “Why are omegas more at risk than betas?” Roman asked curiously. “Pat’s down, they’re trying to convince Logan to come out, by the way,” Roman added, sounding eager.

   “They’re the closest to still being human. Fewer vampire weaknesses, but not as much of the strength either. A beta is kind of like three-quarters of a vampire and an omega is half. Metaphorically, anyway, it’s a little more complex than that, physically. Lots of little trade-offs and things,” Virgil tried to explain.

   “So you can be in the sun and stuff?” Roman asked curiously.

   “Yeah, I can get a little sun and be okay. I get less sick if I eat human food, but it still happens. Silver is more like a severe allergy. Still can sleep and stuff. I can’t flit, just run fast. I’m significantly stronger and faster than a human, though, and I stopped aging. I do also need to breathe. Remy creeps me out when he stops,” Thomas stuck out his tongue in distaste.

   “Woah, Virge, you don’t have to breathe?” Roman shot, looking and Virgil with wide eyes.

   “I can go a few hours without oxygen, yeah. I don’t stop unless I’m underwater, though. Remy’s just weird, I think. There’s no reason not to unless there’s an awful smell,” Virgil said, furrowing his eyebrows. Maybe he just enjoyed freaking people out?

   “That’s wild,” Roman whistled. “That explains how you jammed with a mermaid,” Roman muttered. “Thomas is safe, though, right?” Roman asked, looking concerned.

   “It wasn’t that long ago when territory stuff was a bigger deal. Technology made it easier to coexist and it’s easier for omegas. Like I said, we’re territorial bastards. Vampires don’t normally get along in the same room, or square miles, after a while. Instincts start kicking in,” Virgil shrugged dismissively.

   “Wait, then why are we putting two clans together in a hotel room?” Roman stopped, looking extremely concerned.

   “We’ll probably just involuntarily hiss at each other at worst, Roman, don’t worry about it. Remy and I can leave and duke it out until our instincts settle down. If the alpha’s instincts settle down, the turned will, too,” Virgil explained. It really wasn’t a big deal as long as everyone agreed to be civil, and Remy seemed to like Virgil for some reason, so he wasn’t worried about it. If anything, he looked forward to punching Remy square in the jaw.

   “That’s still terrifying as a human in the room,” Roman shuddered. “Logan just agreed to it, though, so it’s too late to back out,” Virgil pulled in Roman’s head to kiss it to help him calm down.

   “Joan and Talyn are down. Remy said he’d probably show up, too,” Thomas added cheerily.

   “How about Emile?” Roman perked up.

   “Emile says he wants to meet Virgil, so probably. He didn’t respond, he’s probably out of range. I’m just barely in range of Remy myself to use the link,” Thomas shrugged.

   “Pat would love Emile,” Roman smiled.

   “As long as he keeps his psychoanalysis to himself,” Virgil grunted in distaste.

   “He’s an amazing guy, V, don’t be like that,” Thomas huffed, flipping his hand.

   “I’m sure he is, but I am a sleeping bear that doesn’t like to be poked,” Virgil grumbled. Roman patted Virgil’s back, and Virgil wasn’t sure if it was affectionately or patronizingly.

   “He might be too busy screaming into somebody’s chest to poke the bear,” Thomas laughed. “Emile always eventually ends up shrieking cartoonishly and sometimes tries to hide in Remy’s clothes,”

   “Well, that’s pretty damn cute actually,” Virgil snickered a little. “D loves slasher films, and he probably wants to be there for accolades for the dancing video. Let me pester him, too,” Virgil shot D a quick text and went back to his hotel hunt. He’d found 3 suitable options from the photos, but finding literal square footage for rooms is hard. They list the TV, sizes but not how big the room is. It’s fucking dumb. He should just pick the one with the biggest TV and a surround system. It also had a hot tub that almost looked like a little pool, so the room was probably big to house that. Virgil placed the reservation and sent Thomas the address.

   “Pat’s mad we had pizza without them,” Roman stated and smirked.

   “We can pick up a pizza and salad for Logan on the way over. I just found one. We can head over there as soon as we pack some stuff from our dorm, and Pat and Logan are ready to go,” Virgil said. “We can get pick up or just go to a grocery store. This room has a full kitchen,” Virgil pointed out.

   “Text me when you’re checked in so we can come over,” Thomas waved.

   “Pick out something horrible for me,” Virgil saluted him as he pivoted away.

   “Are you going to flit us over?” Roman asked brightly.

   “Three people? Are you nuts? I have only have two arms, Ro,” Virgil groaned. “We took my car back from D’s apartment, remember? I can just drive us there,” Virgil said, flicking his thumb across Roman’s cheek.

   “No, I was half asleep and still kind of drunk,” Roman chuckled. “I don’t even remember getting back to the dorm,” Roman added thoughtfully.

   “That’s because I carried your ass upstairs while you slept. Speaking of that night, try to keep your evil temptations at a minimum tonight,” Virgil warned Roman. Roman just pulled an innocent face at Virgil, clearly pretending to have no idea what Virgil was talking about. Virgil sighed and wrapped his arm back around Roman as they walked. Roman laughed and put his arm around Virgil’s waist and squeezed slightly as they headed back to the dorms.

personal taglist: @elizabutgayer@ollyollyoxinfree

the taglist repository  (ask to be removed):

supernatural beings taglist: @callboxkat @legendsgates @nonasficcollection @rainbowbowtie @10moonymhrivertam

DLAMP taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @a-fandom-trashdump @averykedavra @notveryglittery

Virgil centric:  @demoniccheese83 @thatgaydemigodnerd @arya-skywalker

literally everything sanders sides: @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun

[froggysaesthetics]

i got into editing wallpapers and character moodboards and i wanted to post them on tumblr cause i don't know what to do with my life anymore

all of my wallpapers are available as stickers

to request wallpapers:

ask for any character/celebrity

send any specific pictures or let me know if you don't mind what pictures

specify if you want one picture or multiple

let me know if you want any colours or a specific theme you'd like

to request moodboards:

ask for any character

specify if you'd like that character from a specific scene or specific season if they're from a show (did y'all know i know what the word specific means?)

specify any themes or colours

navigation

moodboards:

Boris Pavlikovsky (young)

Klaus Hargreeves

Nadine (Broken Hearts Gallery)

Mike Wheeler

Charlie Spring

Eladio Restrepo

Ocean O’Connell Rosenburg

Mischa Bachinski

Jim Hawkins

Constance Blackwood

Jane Doe/Penny Lamb

Veronica Sawyer

Jason ‘JD’ Dean

Emma Perkins

Will Byers (Spiderman au)

Paul Matthews

Frankie Espinoza

Viktor Hargreeves

Tyler Galpin

wallpapers:

Anthony Ramos , Anthony Ramos 2  , Anthony Ramos 3 , Anthony Ramos 4

Sofia Wylie

Sophia Anne Caruso

Jasmine Cephas Jones , Jasmine Cephas Jones 2 , Jasmine Cephas Jones 3 , Jasmine Cephas Jones 4

Elliot Page , Elliot Page 2

Ricky Bowen

Phillipa Soo , Phillipa Soo 2

Blackrose (Constance Blackwood x Ocean O’Connell Rosenburg)

Jennette McCurdy

Wednesday Addams , Wednesday Addams 2

Angel Dust

[thatbookishasiangirl]

Are We Still Dreaming?

“Elliot, wake up.” 

I am drifting somewhere in between the vast, ever-expanding space of the waking world and deep, unrelenting slumber when I feel your lips press against the back of my neck, drawing me gently out of my sleep. My eyelashes flutter lightly as a smile pulls across my lips, my nose wrinkles and I draw the sheets over my eyes, murmuring under my breath that I need ten more minutes. Just ten more minutes. Every tender, careful touch igniting sparks of little fires across my skin. Another kiss on my shoulder and  then the sharp, deliciously painful jolt that comes from a tiny nip of the teeth. I roll over and attempt to glare at you to convey my false annoyance, but I am aware that my expression is one of unabashed adoration. 

“What do you want, Connor?” I ask. 

You lean forward and press your lips to the tip of my nose. “It’s time to get to work,” you whisper. 

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” I grumble, shoving half-heartedly at your chest. “Don’t you remember? The editor doesn’t need those revisions until next month. It’s May 2nd. I’ve got plenty of time.” 

“I remember that you put things off, and you put things off, and you continue to put them off until there’s one weekend left and you’re up all night panicking because you haven’t even started yet.” I roll my eyes. “And you put yourself through all this unnecessary stress when it could have been avoided by simply getting a head start.” 

I flop onto my back. The piss colored wallpaper above is peeling and flaking and the old ceiling fan rocks back and forth as it spins rapidly, threatening to come down on us both at any moment. Crushing us. Well, I think, to hell with it, if it happens it happens. I throw my arm over my eyes, knowing that you are right. Not wanting to admit it, this project is taking its toll. Everything happened so fast. On New Year’s Eve, completely and utterly shit faced, I stumbled down the street to the nearest mail bin and had shoved the thick manila envelope containing my thirty page novel proposal, addressed to my editor Lucy, and the very next morning I got an email from her declaring that this would be my most successful creation yet. 

“You always do this,” you say, not unkindly.

“I know,” I grouse. 

You wrap your fingers around my wrist and move it away from my face. You smile and brush a piece of stray hair off of my forehead. “You haven’t written something new since 2015. It’s been five years. The people are dying for your next bestseller.” 

I inhale sharply and reach for your hand, interlocking our fingers. “Will you make me something to eat?” I ask. 

“Avocado toast with crispy bacon?” you muse. 

“You know me so well,” I say, bringing your hand to my lips and kissing each knuckle in turn, before I lift my other hand and cup the side of your face bringing your mouth to mine. “Do you really want me to get to work?” I murmur against your lips. 

You laugh, your deep, beautiful laugh, reverberating through my whole body, sending chills down my spine. I could listen to your laugh forever. “Come off it,” you say, pushing my chest. 

“Connor…” I whine. 

“Elliot,” you say teasingly. 

You push back the sheets, exposing us both to the cold, and you swing your legs over the side of the bed. There is a soft thud as your feet land on the floor and you stand there in nothing but your questionably tight black underwear and you stretch your arms over your head. You look over your shoulder and grin, showing each and every one of your frustratingly perfect teeth. 

“What?” I say. 

“Nothing,” you reply, shrugging with just one shoulder as you grab one of our pillows and throw it at me. I catch it in both hands. “It’s supposed to be nice out today,” you say. “Maybe you can work outside.” 

I’m rolling my eyes again but by then your back is to me and you are walking out the door. For a moment I just lay there on my back, listening to the clatter of pots and pans as you move through our kitchen. I know you are right. With a deep sigh, I get out of bed. I walk to our shared dresser. It’s small, coming up to the chest of my tall body and there are visible signs of wear, like the peeling wood on the legs, but it was cheap and we didn’t have that much clothing anyway. I shrug on a dark gray hoodie with my alma mater’s logo across the chest and a pair of old baggy sweatpants. 

You wolf whistle as I emerge from our bedroom. “Looking hot, babe,” you say. 

I flip you off. “Do you think Stephen King writes in a suit and tie?” I question. “I would bet you real, actual physical money that he doesn’t.” 

You turn towards me, smirking.  “Let’s call him up and ask,” you say. 

“Shut up,” I retort. “Don’t be a smartass” 

“What was that expression again? Dress for the job you want?” 

I raise an eyebrow. “The job I want is to be able to work from home dressed in whatever the fuck I want because no one is going to see me.” 

“Oh, but I see you. Don’t you want to impress me?” When I glare at you in response, you chuckle and raise both of your hands. Your head quirks to the side in the subconscious, curious way it does from time to time. “In all seriousness, and for the record because I know you keep a record in the back of that brilliant head of yours, you would look good in anything. Hell, you could pull off a potato sack.” 

“Shut up,” I say again. 

“What, it’s true? Am I supposed to lie to you?” You place a hand over your heart with mock offense. “Because lying goes directly against my code of honor and if you’re asking me to lie, then that might be a deal breaker.” 

“You’re full of shit,” I laugh. 

And there’s your smile again. “Get to work!” you exclaim. 

I press the side of my hand to my forehead and salute. “Yes, sir,” I say.

My laptop is resting where I left it last night, open and sitting on the couch in a sea of blankets, empty soda cans, and snack wrappers. It was the result of not hours of hard work, but procrastination fueled Netflix binging; a result of you not being there to force me to be productive. You had been out catching up with some old friends from college. I grab my laptop and my cell phone and walk out onto our balcony. We are lucky enough that our apartment has one. It’s small and there is barely enough room for the pair of fold out chairs we have, but it’s better than nothing. And hey, you’re right, it is nice out. The sky is blue and the air warm. 

I open my laptop and go to the document. I stare at the screen. The text cursor blinks mockingly at me through the glass. All that vast white page. The blank space. The blank space that I need to fill. I take a deep breath and press my fingers onto the keyboard. I’ve been writing, or attempting to write, for about twenty minutes when you step out onto the balcony. 

“Here you go,” you say, handing me my plate. 

“Thanks.” I put the plate down at my feet and take your face in my hands, kissing you with intention. 

You kiss back, but for not nearly long enough. “Work,” you say. “Eat and work. I know how you can get on an empty stomach. You can take a break in an hour.” 

I nod in agreement. “Thanks again,” I say. 

You walk back inside, leaving the sliding door open. I pick up a piece of bacon.  It’s burnt. You burnt the bacon. It’s never happened before. 

I take a bite and it crunches and crumbles in my mouth. Several arms lengths away there is another apartment complex and another shoebox balcony. Through the sliding glass door I see the elderly couple who have been living in Boston long before we moved in across the way. The woman is standing at the sink, hand washing dishes. Her motions are slow and careful. She stares determinedly down at her hands, as if the dishes and the water and suds are her lifeline. If she were to stop washing those dishes then everything would unspool; her fragile bones would collapse and her skin would cave in on itself. I watch as she lifts a vibrant green plate in her hands, moving it around clockwise as she scrubbs every inch of the round surface. 

The old woman’s hands shake and her long silver hair falls over her face as she bends her head further over the sink. Her shoulders rise and fall and I realize that she is crying. The plate slips from her hands, splashing in the water filled sink, sending suds everywhere. Her husband appears soon after, hugging her from behind and rubbing his hands up and down her arms, whispering something into her ear. She spins around and collapses into his arms. I can hear her sobs through the glass and it’s entirely too much. 

I place my computer on the floor and stand, stepping back into the apartment. You are rummaging through the cabinets and when I come back inside, you stand straight with our largest mixing bowl in your hands.

“How would you feel if I made some chocolate chip cookies?” you ask. 

“Breakfast and now cookies,” I say. “You’re on a roll.” 

You smile and shrug. “I watched some Chopped on my phone after you fell asleep. I’ve got the cooking bug.” 

I can’t help myself. “I’m surprised you could stay awake after last night. I was beat,” I say, smirking and crossing my arms over my chest. The porcelain pale skin of your cheeks turns bright red and I know my words have had the intended effect. “I would love cookies.” 

You duck your head for a moment, staring into the bowl, and god, you’re so cute when you’re embarrassed. “Great,” you say. “And you can have as many as you want.” You raise your head again. “But only after you’ve finished at least one chapter.”

I groan. “But the cookies will be cold by the time I’m done.” 

“And they’ll still be perfectly edible.” 

“Oh but, Connor,” I say and I walk closer to you until we are only a foot apart. “Don’t you know that the prime eating time for a chocolate chip cookie is exactly two minutes after they come out of the oven?” 

You snort, but you are still smiling at me and I can tell that you want to throw that bowl aside and kiss me. More than kiss me. But you’re a good boyfriend. You won’t distract me no matter how much your fingers twitch with the overwhelming desire to reach out and touch me. I know that this is how you are feeling because I am feeling the exact same way. Our emotions, our desires, our every whims have always fallen perfectly in sync. I swear sometimes, that I can read your mind. I anticipate your needs and you anticipate mine. Your breath stutters when you are about to sneeze and I pass you a tissue just in time. I wake up from a long nap with an empty stomach and you’ve already prepared soup for me. In the middle of the night, when you are restless, you won’t say it, but I know you want me to hold you tighter. To tangle our limbs into a knot that cannot be easily pulled apart. I know your body better than my own. Where to touch you and how, to strike stars across your vision. You don’t need to speak for me to be sure of what you want. 

I take the bowl from you and place it on the kitchen island. It is barely big enough to be called a kitchen island, though, but we make the best of it. When we eat at it, we have to stand so close that our shoulders brush which really isn’t something I am complaining about, but it certainly makes things like baking quite difficult. I cup your face in my hands and tilt my head up to kiss you. You’re not that much taller than me, but you’re tall enough that I have to make an effort; I am forced to stand on my toes and strain to reach your mouth. 

“You’re procrastinating again, sweetheart,” you mumble against my lips, but your hands are curled in the front of my sweatshirt. 

“You’re not complaining,” I point out. 

I watch as you bite down on your bottom lip, teasing the pretty pink flesh between your teeth and I feel my own face grow hot. The air is still between us. 

“You promised me,” you say, sounding quieter and smaller than you ever have before. I don’t like it. “We would treat today like a completely normal day.” 

You have never been much of a crier. You hate crying. It makes you feel weak. Even at times when it would be perfectly reasonable to cry, you still never cry. Not even when you came out to your  beloved parents, hand reaching for mine and clutching it nervously, and they both looked at you like you were lower than the scum in the New York City subway. But right now your eyes are watering and I can tell that you are trying to fight it and becoming frustrated that you are losing. 

“This is normal,” I say softly. 

You shake your head. “No. You’re never this…” you hesitate and I reach down and take your hand in mind, squeezing it reassuringly. “Loving.” And I can tell you regret it the moment you say it because your eyes go wide. “Shit. I didn’t mean it like that. I know you love me. I do. It’s just- I’m not complaining, I-” 

“No, I get it,” I say. “And I’m sorry about that. I guess I was thinking maybe I could make it up to you.” I take a deep breath. “Please don’t make me go back out there. I don’t want to spend our last day together with my face in front of a screen, going crazy over a book I will never finish.” 

“It really would have been a masterpiece,” you say, your voice wet with those yet unspilled tears. 

“You give me too much credit,” I say. 

“You don’t give yourself enough,” you counter. 

You touch my face, your thumb stroking my cheek. “Will you tell me about it?” you ask. “We can go for a walk, just down by the park in the Boston Commons, and you can tell me everything.” 

I swallow hard, and it feels like something is catching in my throat, making it difficult to breath, and for a brief moment I think I might expire early. “That sounds nice,” I say. 

“And then I can take you out to dinner,” you say. “I hear they’re having an end of the world special at the Capital Grille.” 

“Can we go dancing afterwards?” I ask. “It’s been so long since we’ve been dancing?”

You grin, even as a single drop of liquid salt escapes from one of your brilliant cerulean eyes and slides down your face. I reach my hand up on instinct and wipe it away before kissing your eyelid as it flutters closed. “I thought you hated dancing,” you say. 

“I am incapable of hating anything so long as I am doing it with you,” I tell him. 

You nod. “I’d like that.” You sniffle and repeat, “I’d like that.” 

“Hey?” I say, gripping the back of your neck and squeezing lightly. “Just another day?” 

You laugh and another tear falls. “Just another day,” you echo.