#hand-painted mural on canvas

[alittleveggies]

Los Angeles Traditional Dining Room

Enclosed dining room - huge traditional dark wood floor enclosed dining room idea with multicolored walls and no fireplace

[bobnichollsart]

My 25 years of palaeoart chronology...

In 2000 I received my first big commission. Manchester Museum paid me to create two large murals, 21 illustrations, and some themed 3D exhibits.

Here are the two murals, painted by hand on canvas, and in the foreground are some of the themed exhibits, which surrounded a Lepidodendron fossil and some marine reptiles.

[creepswrites]

Hi! Hope ur requests are open, if not feel free to ignore.

either way, hope this finds you well. Could i request Sinclair brothers hc (separately) with an S/O whose touch-starved and wants their attention often?

Tyy <3

if the sinclair brothers have no fans it is because i am dead..... i missed writing them so so much, i hope you like this! :D

SINCLAIR BROTHERS w/ GN S/O WHO IS TOUCH STARVED

BO SINCLAIR

He thinks you're just needy at first, spending so much time with him, hanging off his every word...

It does WONDERS for his ego

So when you start dating, he enjoys the neediness all the more now that it's all HIS

Initially, he finds it a little annoying because he enjoys having his personal space

But you grow on him - he invites you to the auto shop more often and lets you pick the music, he'll hold your waist when talking to town visitors, and he makes a point of holding your hand more often when out walking

He tries to teach you about cars too so you can help out around the shop but you're too busy just flourishing in his attention

(Its okay, he'll teach you some other time)

He likes kissing your cheek or the back of your hand like some Casanova, like a husband from one of those old black and white tv shows where the husband leaves for work

When Bo comes home, you'll cuddle on the couch and watch movies - he doesn't care if his brothers see

Read em and weep, Vince, he's got the most gorgeous person as his significant other!

VINCENT SINCLAIR

At first, he's so shy he doesn't want to come near you

Being touched is not a familiar feeling for him, especially since he finds you so, so pretty

When the two of you start dating (no one was more surprised than Vincent) you double down on wanting to spend time with him and just touch him

Be slow with him, start with brushing fingers and holding hands and build up to more - he'll be so receptive to that

Once he's used to being touched, he can't get enough of it from you

He's not too big on kissing since the mask makes it a bit tricky but the times you do really kiss are always the softest, most gentle things

Vince loves when you offer to braid his hair or show interest in his work, especially if you want to help him make the wax figures

He prefers to stay in his workshop so you're not really seen with him around the visitors - not unless they're on his worktable - but he'll always hold your hand under the table at family dinners

Slow dancing becomes a habit for you two. He'll play soft classical music from his stereo and the two of you will dance together during downtime between visitors

If you want, he'll paint on your back. You can lay on the bed and let him paint murals on you, take photos with a polaroid camera for you to see... You're the most beautiful canvas he's ever had

LESTER SINCLAIR

Lester's just surprised you want to touch him

After all, he smells like roadkill half the time and he doesn't exactly consider himself easy on the eyes

So when you want to be around him so much, accompany him on the road, he's shocked

When you ask him out, he becomes a little more confident in himself

He holds hands with you across the center console and slides his hand in your back pocket when he talks with visitors

Lester is sweet though and is also very touch starved, so you two have that in common

The good thing about having a flexible work schedule means you two can spend quite a lot of time together

You two go walking Jonesy together and just talk about your days together, brushing fingers and shoulders like you're both still blushy schoolkids with crushes

He loves to brush the back of your hand with his thumb, your fingers interlocked, and he thinks about marrying you right then and there

[courfee]

» I love you. That's all.

– Art Heist, Baby! @otrtbs

paintings I referenced here:

Gustav Klimt, Death and Life, 1908-1915 – Regulus' shirt has the same pattern as Death's cloak, James' shirt is patterned like the background of 'Life'

It was life and death, and death was there, on the left side of the canvas, waiting eagerly to pluck any one person from the conglomeration of life and claim them as its own. – chapter 28

Mark Rothko, Untitled (Seagram Murals), 1958 – Regulus bleeding out into the background

And he remembers looking out at the thick red blood on the marble floors and nonsensically, being reminded yet again, of Rothko. – chapter 34

Ivan Konstantinovich Aivazovsky, Gathering Storm, 1899 – Regulus' socks have this pattern

'Hang painting here?' – chapter 37

and here some little details and an alternative bloody version :) look at that snake ring being handed over <33

[thecapricunt1616]

Sampaguita (c.b. one-shot)

𝓑𝓵𝓾𝓻𝓫 (𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓑𝓣𝓒): It was your final Gala of the year, the 60th Art and Design Juried Student Exhibition. This is what you’d been working towards all year. Your Professor had assured you that you were one of the most promising Expressionist Mural painters he’d taught in quite a long time. He was quite certain you’d be commissioned, as many high paying clientele were coming to view the art that would be on display.  You stepped back, observing the large canvas mural you’d painted, resting your hand on your hips and sighing softly. 3 months of work, all leading up to this moment. There were many things you thought you would change about the work, but nothing to your eye that you painted would ever be perfect, there would always be something you wish you would have made better or omitted completely. You nervously twirled your gold and mother-of-pearl bangle over your wrist as you continued to look over it, deciding to step outside for some fresh air. You walked down the back hall, your heels clicking on the tile floor as you did so. You heard the back door close and a loud boisterous laugh “Dude dude and she was all ‘No you’re totally right man’ and that’s when-” the loud man comes around the corner holding a big box full of napkins and smacked right into you, sending you flying back on your butt and you let out a big ‘oof’ as you land.

♡ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨: The Sampaguita flower is considered the flower of love in many South Asian countries, Indonesia and the Philippines. It is used in wedding and religious ceremonies to symbolize love, devotion, purity and divine hope. ♡ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You & Carmy meet at your biggest gala of the year, smut ensues! ♡ 𝐖/𝐂: 10.0k+ ♡ 𝐀/𝐍:Hello all! Welcome back to another installment of "Capri can't write something short to save her life!" I've been working on this literally all week as I wanted it to be the most thoughtful and good I could come up with, as it's requested by my lovely wonderful Wormy @carmybrainworms - welcome home my little worm, me and the fellow bearblr baddies have missed you terribly! I hope you enjoy this welcome home present! ♡ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐓𝐂: Not terribly edited (we die like men), Swearing, Smoking, Smut, Spanking, kinda dom? carmy, i think thats it! (R is 22, short, with long hair & glasses also is v petite bc it's DC to wormy but you can imagine yourself ofc :D)

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ �� 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡

It was your final Gala of the year, the 60th Art and Design Juried Student Exhibition. This is what you’d been working towards all year. Your Professor had assured you that you were one of the most promising Expressionist Mural painters he’d taught in quite a long time. He was quite certain you’d be commissioned, as many high paying clientele were coming to view the art that would be on display. 

You stepped back, observing the large canvas mural you’d painted, resting your hand on your hips and sighing softly. 3 months of work, all leading up to this moment. There were many things you thought you would change about the work, but nothing to your eye that you painted would ever be perfect, there would always be something you wish you would have made better or omitted completely. You nervously twirled your gold and mother-of-pearl bangle over your wrist as you continued to look over it, deciding to step outside for some fresh air.

You walked down the back hall, your heels clicking on the tile floor as you did so. You heard the back door close and a loud boisterous laugh “Dude dude and she was all ‘No you’re totally right man’ and that’s when-” the loud man comes around the corner holding a big box full of napkins and smacked right into you, sending you flying back on your butt and you let out a big ‘oof’ as you land.

“FUCK bro you didn’t say corner! You ok sweetheart?” a taller, leaner man with a brunette buzzcut and striking blue eyes offers you a large warm hand to help you up. “This is why Carmy is so fuckin’ uptight about this shit man! Can’t have you in the kitchen, imagine she was holding a hot pan or some shit!” he scolded the other man as you took it and he hoisted you up easily.

“M’sorry about that sweetheart, you alright?” He patted your shoulder in a friendly way. “Fuckin’ apologize!” he slaps the mans shoulder that knocked you over 

“Sorry! I’m sorry. You’re pretty, like an angel. I’m Neil” he stuck out his hand and you giggle a little bit at his forwardness. You introduced yourself as well and the other man hums

“Cool name- Sorry about this one he’s a big clutz- I’m Richie” he bent down with Neil and began picking up the napkins, and you bent down to help them as well. 

“No worries at all- sorry about that it’s my bad I wasn’t really paying attention. Sorry- are you here for the dining hall? It’s in another building I can take you there if you want” you place the last stack of napkins down in the box

“No, we're helping Bear with the catering stuff you should come!” Neil said enthusiastically to which Richie chuckled a bit. 

“It’s only for the students at the Gala and the faculty bud. You goin’t’that?” he asked you and you smile and nod.

“Totally! I uh- I actually have a piece in the show. I was actually just going to get some air- Nice meeting you guys!” you scoot past and pushed the back door open , being greeted with the scent of American Spirits.  You rolled your eyes a bit to yourself, realizing that you wouldn’t be alone, and look over to see a impossibly handsome curly blonde smoking a cigarette. 

“Sorry I- I didn’t realize someone was out here” you twirl your bangle over your wrist again, a nervous habit you’d picked up opposed to picking at your hands. 

“No worries- I’ll be out of your way soon just had to grab a smoke I know I’ll be busy the rest of the night somethin’s bound to go wrong at one of these catering things” he chuckled to himself a bit and shook his head. 

“Oh- are you Bear?” you smile a bit, recalling what the tattooed goofball that knocked you over had said. He looked at you a bit surprised, eyebrows scrunching a bit as his eyes racked over your face and frame trying to recall if you’d met before

“Sorry do I- have we met?” he took another drag, the smoke blowing out of his nose subtly as he exhaled.

God he’s hot while he smokes.

“No! I’d have remembered such a handsome face, I think I met your other coworkers in the hallway, uhh - Richie and Neil? Funny tattooed guy? Kinda knocked me on my ass but it’s cool not the first time it’s happened i’m a clutz” you said and his cheeks go pink at the compliment, chuckling.

“Jesus- Yeah he’s a fuckin idiot, m’sorry is y’r….ass ok?” he asked and you stared at eachother for a moment before bursting into giggles. 

“You wanna check?” you teased turning around and he laughed 

“I’m just making myself sound like a creep, uhhh- shit. Sorry you can probably tell that I don’t get out much- I’ll um..I’ll let you be, nice meeting you-”

“My friends call me bunny! You don’t have to go- I was actually gonna ask to bum a cigarette off you cause I’m realizing that I forgot my vape inside in my bag..” you said and he looked at you, brows raising and he chuckled a bit. 

“You use one of those damn things? These dont taste like candy er’ whatever if that’s what you want” he teased as he fished the cigarette carton out of his pocket once again and flicked it open. You rolled your eyes amusedly taking one out of the carton and putting it between your lips “I like a cigarette once in a while. You can vape inside if you’re sneaky enough most places” you mumble through the cigarette, causing him to huff a laugh as he lights it for you. 

“Isn’t that defeating the whole purpose, because you’re only supposed to use it like a cigarette?” he asked, watching as you took a long drag and did a french inhale, causing his brows to knit “And how fuckin old are you?” he muttered as he watched you pull the cigarette from your lips and hold it delicately between your fingers. 

“Old enough, I think you meant to ask where I learned this and the answer is my evil ex-boyfriend but he did teach me a cool party trick at least” you mused, causing him to chuckle again.

“Funny little thing you are huh” he mused, causing a light blush to stain your cheeks and a smile curls on your lips

“Hey I didn’t dog you for your height that’s fucked up man” you teased and he chuckled

“You aren’t from here” he said, more as a statement than anything. You look up, squinting at him

“It’s not that obvious” you retort

“Trannnsplant” he teased, making you giggle and hit his shoulder playfully

“Is this how you flirt with all the girls you meet?” you shot back, making his cheeks go that cute shade of pink again.

“Who said I was flirting?” he asked and the door got pushed open, a young pretty girl with dark braids sighing in relief. 

“There you are- Carmy! Get in here! Fak dropped an entire pan of garlic knots so I have to run back to the restaurant, which means that you have to set up the risotto and the shells and the-” 

“Got it- Chef” he stomps out his second cigarette. “It’s nice meeting you, Bunny” he said and grabs the door from the young woman. “Thanks for the cigarette, Carmy” you said, now knowing his real name other than the funny nickname his employees gave him. He looks back, flashing you a small smirk before letting the door shut behind him.

You found yourself smiling like a goof and thinking about that damned chef the entire time you finished the cigarette that he’d given you. It wasn’t often that a man who piqued your interest came about. That just being because your experiences with men up until this point hasn’t been the best, but no matter how many times you just kept going back to the same ones, so it excited you to try something new- different. 

That was if he was feeling the same way. When you got through with your cigarette you stomped out the butt with the end of your black pointy stiletto. You pulled the door open and heard the soft chatter of guests and the sort as well as the smell of some delicious food. You first made your way into the back room, washing your hands at the students sink to rid your hands of the smell of cigarettes and walking over to your locker to spray on some body spray before putting on some lip gloss to replenish what got lost on your cigarette. 

You heard the door to the art room open and a deep sigh, before the sound of running water. You carefully shut your locker and walk out to the main area again to see the same curly head, bent over the sink splashing his face with water. “So…do you like Carmy, or Bear- or did I totally rat them out by telling you that they called you Bear” you said, coming over and taking a few paper-towels out of the dispenser and offering them to him.

“Bear is a uh…” he wiped his face of the excess water, flicking it into the basen of the sink before turning off the water and looking over “Thanks- It’s a family name” he cleared his throat and wiped the paper towels over his face, slicking his curls back with a wet hand. 

“Oh- uh how’d you get that name?” you ask and he smiled a bit, crumpling up the paper towels in his large, tattooed hand

“How’d you get the name Bunny?” He shrugged a bit 

Your cheeks flush a bit and you look at your feet, shuffling them a bit, realizing even though he wasn’t as tall as the other guy you’d met with similar blue eyes earlier - even in your heels he still towered over you. “I’m jumpy when I get nervous” you said a bit shyly. 

“Shit- well I’ll try t’not let Richie around you, he’s a fuckin…bull in a china shop” he said, causing you to giggle a bit and look back up at him with a small smile. 

“So… your turn, Mister Bear” you said and he huffed a laugh, shaking his head as his cheeks got pinker at your silly comment

“Berzatto is my last name, so growin’ up me and my siblings we’d call ourselves the bears it’s…stupid, bit it stuck w’me” He said, rubbing the vein on the side of his neck and you couldn’t help but notice the sheer size of them in that moment and think about the comparison of them to your neck.

“It’s cute…so what’re you doing back here, you thinkin’ of enrolling?” you joked and he chuckled a bit.

“Big groups of people aren’t uh…really my thing I just needed a sec to y’know” he leaned on the counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest, causing his biceps to become more prominent. You nodded, resting your hip on the same countertop, playing around with your bangle bracelet.

“I get that…mine either- well it depends on my mood I guess, did you make that food? It smells really good” you said as you stare at his lips, finally finding a way to tear your eyes back to his, nibbling the inside of your lip and worrying that you were rambling. 

“I did! I did..uh me and my Sous, Sydney, Cola braised short-rib and risotto - the Cola is coke, but we can’t say that Sugar says for like legal reasons or whatever.” he said and you found yourself smiling, this guy also seems to come from a circle of nicknames.

“Sugar?” you asked and giggle a bit “Is sheee…really nice?” you asked and he chuckled again

“She uh- in a way- yeah, she is but uh. It’s a whole story” he said and brushed his hair back again. 

“Well- have you eaten?” you asked and he raised his brows, thinking for a second

“I did uh- family meal earlier, why?” he asked and you blushed a bit, shrugging with a sheepish smile 

“Y’wanna show me to the food then? Sorry it sounded really good when you said it…never had risotto before” you looked up at him and he smiled

“Course- Of course, yeah, S’not out yet, but I can sneak you a plate, come w’me” he tossed the crumpled paper towel into the garbage and you followed him as he walks you down the long corridor into a room that was long forgotten by you as the culinary arts room, since barely any people you knew took the class it flew right over your head.

It was bustling, multiple people in chefs coats running around and the same girl you saw earlier with the braids now tied back into a neat ponytail with a pretty silk scarf adorned with black and white polkadots tied around her head. “Alright were gonna be moving in 10 people I want the sweet tea out of the chiller and into the buckets tina how many minutes left on the garlic knots?” she called loudly over the clanging of the pots and pans.

A woman not much taller then you goes over to the industrial oven and checks the time, “4 minutes chef!” she called out.

“Alright so those come out I want them plated right away and for you to be brushing the garlic herb butter.” the girl with the braids called out to which the shorter woman called out another ‘Yes Chef’ 

“Wow- all professional and shit huh?” You nudge him playfully earning a chuckle from him

“Yo cousin- these fuckin forks have spots - wait-” the same Richie you’d met earlier, calls loudly over all the noise and stops when he meets your eyes.

“Hey again! I’ll stay out of your way this time, scouts honor” you joke and lean against the wall near the door to keep out of everyone's way. 

“Hey how about - actually, I’ll make you a plate with a little-a everything for you, and take it back to the uh- the room that we were in” he rested his hand on your shoulder and it nearly made you flush the way that his hand nearly swallowed it whole.

“Yeah- Uh..ok, thanks” you said, suddenly feeling intoxicated with the natural dominance he held without even seeming to realize he did so. You nodded, heading out and heels clicking quickly as you made your way down the hallway back towards the art room.

It wasn’t very long until Carmy was coming back to the art room, carrying not 1 but 2 plates of steaming food and balancing 2 cups as well on a small tray he’d likely found in the culinary arts room. “Alright- as promised- a little bit of everything for you here,” he set the plate in front of you “We got the short ribs, risotto, garlic knots, also got a little ceasar salad for you and then some sweet tea- School said no liquor it feels like a crime to not have wine with short rib but y’know rules and shit” he said, pointing to each as he explained and you once again found yourself staring at his lips and mouth watering at the way his chain dangled as he rested his hand on the table and pointed to each dish and you found yourself envisioning sucking on it.

“Yeah..” you said, looking back down at your plate and grabbing the fork he’d given you. “It smells…really good” you said, trying to clear your head of all the messy, dirty thoughts that were running through it. “Thought you said that you weren’t hungry?” you mused as you stuck your fork in some ribs before grabbing some risotto and trying it, moaning at the heavenly taste and closing your eyes as you chew.

“Holy shit you should go on fuckin masterchef er somethin’ this is fiiiire” you said with a little giggle. He chuckled a bit, chewing one of the garlic knots he’d brought for himself, that adorable pink flushing his cheeks again, this time flushing all the way to his chest. 

“Thanks I uh…I try” he said, continuing to look at his plate “Like your um…your shoes- they’re cool. They comfortable?” he asked, finally looking up at you again. You weren’t sure if he really liked them, or if he was just bad at taking compliments. Either way, it was sweet of him to mention especially for you since they were your favorite pair. 

“Why thank you very much, guys usually don’t notice stuff like that” you held your foot out, admiring your cute pointy toed shoes. 

“They uh- they remind me of Morticia Adams, No offense” he chuckled a bit and you gasp in delight.

“That is exactly the look I was going for! Thank you so much, that is a huge compliment to me actually!” you happily sipped on your iced tea, humming when you realized he had put lemon in it. “This tea is tea” you joke and he snorts a chuckle, Rolling his eyes amusedly.

“Yes- the tea is tea” he said as if it was obvious, you nod and point with your fork to the risotto

“This risotto shit? Also tea” you said and had another bite, earning an adorable confused look from him. 

“Theres- theres no tea in that where are you getting tea? What kind of tea?” he questioned, grabbing his own fork and trying a bite of the small helping of risotto he’d put on his own plate. You laughed, covering your mouth with your manicured hand and he chuckled “What! What why you laughin’ at me? There’s no tea in this!” he said again and lightly poked your arm. 

You shook your head, catching your breath from your giggle fit “Gosh how old are you - you aren’t on the internet at all?” you questioned, not able to stop yourself from eating more of the risotto and short rib he put on your plate, the stuff was proving to be addicting. 

“One place I am not is on the internet it fuckin…stresses me out I’m old school I text call , email even if youre wanting to go back even further, I guess my siblings were older then me by a bit so…never really learned how to use it. Is that some kind of slang like chill? I remembered learning that one a few years ago” he said, finishing off his plate that he’d brought and downing his cup of iced tea in nearly one go. You chuckled to yourself a bit.

“Such a guy” you teased, taking a bite of the salad he’d put on the side for you and humming in satisfaction at the way you could tell the dressing was made and not from a bottle. 

“What’s that supposta mean?! I’m fuckin thirsty kitchens hot as fuck” he chuckled, resting with his legs stretched out and his arms resting behind his head, again causing his large biceps to become even more prominent. 

God did this guy know what a slut he was?

“So why does everyone else have to wear the silly little coats but you don’t- you top dog or something?” you joked and finished off your food, grabbing his empty plate as well and throwing them away for you both.

“They aren’t silly, they’re professional, there - paint princess and I guess you could call me top dog er’ whatever. Syd’s technically my partner but I don’t put too much weight on er’” he said as you cursed yourself, dropping one of the paper plates and bending over to pick it up.

He didn’t miss the way the skirt of your little black dress rode up just enough for the ends of your lacy panties to peak out as you grabbed it off of the floor and chuck it in the garbage, standing up and feeling yourself flushed as you realized and you pull your dress back down, smoothing it before turning around to see him staring with his plump bottom lip between his teeth.

Oh.

“Cute panties, right?” you teased, figuring if he had the balls to stare he didn’t mind you pointing it out. 

“W-what? Huh?” he asked, pale cheeks turning red as tomatoes and flushing all the way down his neck. “What- like- like”

“The navy blue lace- did you not see enough to judge? Wanna see more?” you sauntered up to him, thumbing his St. Anthony chain & wrapping your finger around and tugging lightly. His breath gets caught in his throat and he looks up at you, blue eyes wide and cheeks on fire.

“Are you always this forward?” he asked, his voice lower and huskier, almost a whisper. 

You smirked friskily, leaning in and tucking back his curly hair whispering in the shell of his ear “Why, d’you like it?” you said, hand splaying out over his chest and rubbing over it gently, feeling his racing heart. 

“Drives me kinda fuckin’ crazy, if’m’honest” he pulls you to sit in his lap and you squeak in surprise, giggling a bit and wrapping your arms around the back of his neck for balance.

“Yeah? M’pretty sure it would drive your girlfriend crazy too t’see me in your lap like this” you leaned forward, brushing his hair from his eyes and he looks up at you with a small smirk.

“Do I look that much of a prick that I’d pull some chick in my lap if m’seein someone?” he gently adjusted your necklace, the soft brush of his fingers nearly giving you shivers.

“I guess I’ve just had bad experiences with pretty tattooed men…” you spoke quietly since your faces had been getting closer and closer now ever since he’d pulled you into his lap.

“Oh so I’m pretty now, mm?” he asked as you gently twirl his curls around your manicured fingers.

“I think you’ve been pretty since the day you were born but that’s just a guess” you said and gently traced your thumb over his bottom lip and dragging it down gently. While doing so, he gently took your thumb into his mouth, dragging his tongue around it sensually before beginning to suck on it. Your jaw falls slack at the action, breathing becoming heavier and a wave of warmth crashing over your core. “Do you want to see my studio?” you asked boldly and he smirks a bit, pulling off your thumb with a pop and looking up at you with those lust blown blue eyes.

“Lead the way Bunny” he said, causing you to giggle and stand up, taking him by the hand. You carefully look outside the door just to be sure that there was no prying eyes in the hallway before quickly taking his hand and leading him to the back stairwell. As a fourth year art student who had been brought in to help teach students that were your Freshman as well as grade their work- you were given access to the senior studios, and you were in one so often it had basically been claimed as yours by this point, meaning you could trust that you two wouldn’t be bothered. 

That was one of the nicest things about being a favorite of your professor, being able to work alone and without being pestered.

You’d realized both of you had been skirting around the age question. It didn’t bother you much, you’d been with older men before - and you were 22 after all, so it wasn’t like you couldn’t make your own decisions on who you slept with.

You swayed your hips a little bit extra on the way up the stairs, knowing that he was not so secretly looking at the globes of your ass being accentuated by the thin fabric of your black sundress. By the time you’d gotten to the top, and dug around in your purse to find the keys to your studio in your tote bag, Carmy was quietly and awkwardly adjusting his erection in his jeans as you fiddled with the keys due to your nails, pushing open the door and flicking open the light.

The smell of paint overcomes you, and he mutters a soft “Woah” as he looks over your various half finished and some abandoned works leaning against the wall and hung up some places, various canvases everywhere. “So you really uh…do the thing huh” he nervously rubbed over his hands as he looked over the walls. You shut the door behind you, clicking the lock just for extra security before following to where he was standing in the middle of the room. 

“I do- do you wanna try?” you asked, planting a gentle, open mouth kiss on that pretty vein on his neck, smirking at the way you heard his breath get caught in his throat when you do so. You brought your hand back up, gently rubbing over his chest and finding his chain again, playing with it. 

“I um- uh- my forte is more with pencils or- um” he stuttered as you continued, beginning to feel hot and his erection pressing more and more at the confines of its cloth prison. 

“What if…we do it together- You’ll be my muse for my final project of the year” you gently trail your hand under his shirt, feeling the toned ridges of his abs under your nimble fingers. Your smile curls up more, feeling his stomach tighten and goosebumps appearing on his flesh as you do so. 

“Uhhh- you’re um, you’re like fuckin 21 right- jesus christ” he shudders as you pop open the button of his jeans and tease down his happy trail with your jeans, tugging the hem of his boxers open with your nail and he grabs your wrist, his entire hand easily wrapping around your wrist as he pulls it back “M’not about t’fuck a kid. How fuckin’ old are you, Bunny” 

You rolled your eyes “I’m 22! Such a gentleman though- that’s okay, right?” you look up at him and he breathes what looked to be a sigh of relief and lets your wrist go. 

“Ok- sorry i’d feel like a total fuckin perv if you were younger then that- still kinda fuckin young” he chuckled a bit and stroked your hair back “I’m uh…I’m 29, is that ok with you?” he asked to which you nod enthusiastically 

“Totally cool- can we keep going now or any other burning questions, chef?” you mused and leaned in, kissing below his ear and gently nipping at the lobe. He finally gives in and squeezes your ass, spanking you lightly.

“You have a fuckin’ mouth on you, bet it getcha in trouble alot mm?” he teased with a grin as you nip at his neck “and no marks, I’ll never hear the end of it if Richie sees that I hooked up with someone here an’e’ll probably infer that it was a student since I’ve never shown any interest in dudes and uhh…all y’teachers down there are men” he tilted your face up with a firm hand. “Y’gonna let me kiss you now?” he asked in that soft low way he took on downstairs and it nearly made you melt where you were standing. 

“Please- please do” you breathe, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips met yours. It felt like an explosion of butterflies in your lower belly, feeling a pulsing begin in your panties that was red hot with want. You brought your right hand back down to his boxers, rubbing your nails playfully over the hem of them and teasingly snapping it to his skin while your left hand worked at the small knots through his sandy blonde curls. He hummed gently into your mouth when you tugged at his roots, tugging your dress over your ass so he could get a better grip on it. He teasingly tugged your panties up over your cheeks, thumbing the inside of the lace and snapping it back against the skin,

Pulling away a bit, he mutters “they are cute, by the way” he said before continuing to kiss you. He swiped his tongue over your bottom lip and you opened up immediately for him, humming when you tasted the sweet and bitter mix of iced tea and american spirits on your tongue. 

The fervent nature of your kisses had you stumbling  back, back, until the backs of your thighs were pressed to the tabletop, and he was hoisting you up by your thighs to sit down, to which you gratefully accepted. He tugged off your little black dress, pulling it over your head swiftly so he wouldn’t need to break the kiss for long. It was only moments before you felt his palms over your breasts. They were the perfect handful for him, rubbing his thumbs back and forth over your nipples causing them to perk up at the attention. 

You felt yourself gushing in your panties, unable to squeeze your thighs together to ease the pulsing ache that was starting to grow more and more. You mewled into his mouth, the panting coming out of your nose and fanning his upper lip as he nearly devoured you getting faster and more desperate as he pinched and tugged your nipple just enough to make your clit twitch. He pulled away, and you panted softly into his mouth as he asked, “I can suck on these, right?” he asked, his voice huskier and lower than before. 

“Course- please” you gently combed through his curls with your fingers as he wasted no time working his lips down your chin and jaw with hot open mouthed kisses, gently sucking and licking over all the right spots. You whine and moan as he takes your left nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly and swirling his tongue over the sensitive bud while he massages your right breast in his hand between rolling your nipple lightly in his fingers. You look down at him, jaw falling slack when you saw those icy blue eyes staring up at you, darkened and lust blown. “Jesus Carmy-” you breathed out, causing him to smirk a bit and he pulled off with a pop, licking and flicking his tongue over the now firm bud. 

“You have perfect fuckin tits” he complimented sultrily, the tips of his lips brushing your nipple lightly as he spoke, his hot breath causing that pulsing feeling in your panties to turn into a throb, and he kissed your left breast before politelly moving his attention to your neglected right one and giving it the same star treatment. You had wiggled your hips to the side of the desk, pathetically humping the corner to get any kind of relief. His eyes fluttered down to see what you were doing and he pulled away, chuckling a bit “holy shit. Y’want some help there sweetheart?” He mocked teasingly, spreading your thighs more and cupping your heat with his hand. The relief of him finally touching where you needed him most caused you to gasp lightly, pulling him into a kiss as you quickly rut your hips into his hand, groaning into his mouth as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to release. 

“Lets get these off mm?” he purrs in the shell of your ear, guiding you to lift your hips and slipping off your little blue lacy panties in one swift motion, leaving you in nothing but your stilettos. The feeling of his tattooed digit prodding at your slick entrance to gather some arousal, before swirling it around your clit. Your hips buck into his hand, feeling eager to be filled by something. 

“C-Carmy-” you breathe out, tongue darting out to wet your lips that were dry from the growing pants coming from your lips. “Need you inside” you admit, cheeks heating slightly. 

“Yeah? M’gonna need t’stretch you out Bun’” he swirled his finger back down in your wetness, prodding the first knuckle of his middle finger inside of you and watching you carefully as your head fell back in bliss at the relief it brought. A whiney moan tears from your throat as he pushed the finger inside deeper, sinking down to the second knuckle and curling it wonderfully. This action caused your hips to rut into his hand causing him to sink the rest of his finger open and the sensation was so pleasurable and intense your hand slid up your chest to massage your breast just to have something to hold. 

“More- More please” you begged, eyes opening once again to see him looking fully blissed out over you, hooded lids and parted lips, looking utterly entranced with the sight of you falling apart beneath him. 

“Sure y’can handle it? God y’fuckin tight, angel” he added another one of his thick digits and the delightful burn that came with the stretch caused the faintest of smirks to curl on your lips. Carmy in that moment felt his heart flutter, he’d never hooked up with anyone who made his heart do that before. He hadn’t even met many people who made his heart do that anyhow. He brought his lips to yours as he explored your walls with his fingers causing your brows to furrow for a moment before he pressed on a spot deep inside of you, yet to be found by any other partner. 

The feeling made your mind go blank, your head felt fuzzy and hazy around the edges and it was a white hot pleasure as he curled his fingers into the spot. In tandem, the feeling made your toes curl and back arch slightly. “Theeere it is” he muttered to himself cockily. “Y’gonna cum, Bunny? Mmm? Y’drippin’ down my hand pretty girl” he rasped in your ear, kissing the side of your head as he curled his fingers quicker, increasing his pressure and you let out sounds you had never heard yourself make before. You couldn’t find any words, you were too focused on the way your muscles were tightening and releasing, and your thighs were beginning to shake. 

It all felt too good to be nervous, but that hadn’t ever happened before. You nod fervently at his request and he rubs his palm against your clit in such a way that had him covering your mouth with his other hand and pushing you down against the desk so your screams wouldn’t be heard by the Gala-Attendees downstairs. “Tha’s it- let go baby s’ok” he purred in your ear lowly. You weren’t sure what happened or what caused it, but suddenly you felt as if you were out of your body for a moment as you heard a gushing noise.

You were snapped back into yourself though as the most intense orgasm you’d ever been privy to washed over you. You couldn’t scream, you could just squirm and shake and claw at Carmen’s buff arms as he worked you through it. “Jeeesus you fuckin soaked my hand, Bunny- hottest shit I’ve ever seen, gonna make you do it on my cock next, god- you good?” the sound of his soft yet dominant voice brought you back. You opened your eyes and looked down to see a puddle of clear water-looking liquid on the floor and looked back at Carmy, blinking a few times as you found your wits. 

He cradled your thigh under his large bicep, stroking your pussy gently as your hips lightly twitch, just looking at you and patiently waiting for your answer. “I- I did that?” you asked, a bit surprised. 

“You’ve- you never squirted like that?” he asked, and you shook your head in response. “Well let’s do it again then, mm?” he slipped his wallet out of his pocket and pulled a black foil packet out of the cash slot, that made your eyes widen as he ripped it open easily with his teeth and popped the button on his jeans. A bareskin Magnum. 

You swallowed thickly, throat suddenly feeling dry. You’d never seen a Magnum condom in real life, none of your partners had ever needed one. You’d seen them in porn, sure, but even then you found it slightly insane that there were guys who needed thicker condoms considering in health class in school they told you most people will never need specialty condoms like that. You were glad he brought his own because all you had in your bag was a regular durex, which seemed now wouldn’t ever fit. 

“Y’good?” he questioned as he tugged off his shirt in that guyish way by grabbing it by the nape of his neck and tugging it over his head, causing his gorgeous messy curls to become even more ruffled by the action. You nod again, feeling completely in a daze and there was a sharp knock at the door, and the sound of the door jiggling before your professor called your name and asked if you were in there. Your eyes widened and you held your lips up to tell Carmy to be quiet. 

“Yeah?” You called back, sitting up on your elbow to speak with him through the door.

“Are you…going to come present your mural? The donors shall be leaving soon- your work has raised the most money, the buyer wishes to meet you.” he explained and your head fell back in frustration rubbing over your face and trying to quickly come up with a lie. You didn’t want to meet anyone and talk about your art with them, especially a rich snob that likely didn’t understand anything behind it and just bought it for another one of their foyers in The Hamptons, and you also wanted to continue your time with Carmy because - the guy knew his way around a pussy and you needed to see the full of his abilities. 

“Uh- I-I’m sorry, I got….inspired. I’m working on my final project. You know how I get - Thank them for me and uh- read the description I put for it on the school site it says everything I want to!” You said quickly and he was quiet for a moment. 

“So be it….but I’d like to review what you’re working on tomorrow, please” he said and you sigh in relief.

“Thank you, Professor, You wont be disappointed” you told him and sighed softly in relief as you heard him walking away. 

“So- What are we…working on?” Carmy questioned. You got up. Going and grabbing the biggest canvas you had at the moment which perfect for your needs was one that you could comfortably lay over. Then, you grabbed a small bucket of Colombia blue paint and dump it over the canvas, lightly smearing it with your hand and tying your hair up.

“You’re gonna fuck me on this” you put your thick rimmed glasses on the desk so they wouldnt get covered in paint before carefully laying on the canvas and wiggling your ass around a bit so the lace of your panties (that would now be ruined) would add nice texture and pattern to the paint as you spread it out. He chuckled, shaking his head a bit and settling in front of you before resuming tugging his jeans off and rolling the condom on. 

“You’re quite the little character, know that?” he asked, but you didn’t really hear him as you were focused on the largest cock you’d ever seen in person staring back at you. “Yo-” he tapped your cheek gently to get your attention and you look at him

“Is that gonna fit? It just whispered in my ear and said it was gonna rip me in half- thats a third leg” you said jokingly causing him to laugh, resting his hand forward next to your waist causing his hand to become covered in paint as he lined himself up at your entrance. 

“It whispered in your ear” he snorts a laugh, his stomach swarming with butterflies. Something about this experience felt… freeing for him. He’d never met someone who made him feel so put at ease while having such a large and silly personality other then… well, other than his brother, so a lot of the feelings he was having were good but slightly overwhelming.

Both of your minds though went blank as he nudged the tip of his thick girth inside of you. Fuck you were glad that he’d stretched you out slightly with his expert fingers at first because that familiar slight burn as he split you open for him was bring tears of pleasure to the corners of your eyes. He leaned over you, caging you in with his arms as he sunk in you fully and you bit his bicep, hard to stop from screaming out. He hissed, patting your cheek lightly as he chuckles “I tap out, I tap out!” he teased “Jesus, Bun, gonna leave a bruise” he said and you blushed slightly as you pulled away, looking at the perfect divots of your teeth imprint, that he was right, would surely bruise in the shapes of your teeth. 

“Sorry…didn’t wanna scream” you said sheepishly and gently kiss over the area. 

“Y’can bite, bun’- but just a little higher up so people don’ask questions mm’?” he said gently “Can I move now?” he asked and left gentle kisses along your jaw, down your neck. When you let out a little hum he began to slowly grind with you in a way that caused the mushroom shaped tip of him to rub against that spot earlier that made you see stars. Carmen had learned years ago now, that especially with his size and shape rather then deep snapping strokes, it feels better for his partners if he does a deep grinding motion. He knew this trick worked for you as well when you began to gush and clench around him tightly, back arching and squirming below him on the canvas.

“Ho-holy fucking shit, Carm” you whine out, back arching and gasping out when you felt him rub your clit with his paint free hand, wrapping your thigh around his waist so he could hit deeper, and the new angle nearly made you squeal. 

“Oh- Fuck- Fuck Bun’ - squeezin my shit so fuckin tight, God” he nearly let out a whimper as he felt you gush around him, the creamy liquid sliding down over his balls and dripping onto the tile below. “Fuck- fuck gonna take you from behind, yea? Gonna feel so good baby” he said and before you knew what was happening you were on your stomach, breasts slipping back and forth over slick blue paint as he lined himself back up and began to thrust hard and fast from behind. Whenever he grinded up into your ass the tip of his cock gave your cervix a gentle kiss that made you see stars.

“Oh- I’m gonna cum” you whine out, paint covered hands leaving fingerprint smudges all along the canvas as he uses your hips as leverage to push and pull you back on his cock. You felt him so deep it felt as if he was in your stomach, whimpering and clenching around him in a way that made him grunt when you felt him spank your ass roughly. 

“Shiiiiit- I can fuckin feel that- gonna make you cum all over my cock babygirl- fuuuuck” he groaned, head falling back hotly as he absolutely pounded you. You were letting out sweet grunted uh’s and ah’s with each snap of his hips. Carmy spanked you again, leaving handprints of blue on your ass, before spreading your cheeks and watching the white cream sticking to his cock in strings of arousal as he continued to thrust. When you heard, and felt him release a glob of spit onto your other hole, watching mesmerized as it dripped down over your pussy, getting lost and mixing with your arousal almost immediately, that was all it took for you to reach your peak. 

Your thighs shivered, and hips bucked uncontrollably, clenching and releasing around him in a way that made his hips stutter and thrusts falter. “Christ- fuckin cumming” he warned, before burying himself to the hilt with a grunt and spilling into the condom. You laid beneath him, a panting, paint covered, sweaty mess. He caught his own breath, pulling out and gently rolling you over. 

“I think I passed out and saw god” you joked, earning a breathless chuckle from him as he tied off the condom and slipped his boxers back on, going to throw it in the trash. 

“Does this shit come off with water?” he asked you and you sat up, getting off the canvas and taking your heels off finally.

“It does…” you mutter, not expecting what was to come next. He went over to the sink in the corner of the room, setting the tap to cool water, and pumping loads of paper towels. He soaked them all, before adding soap to some and wringing them all out, before folding them up to be like little wet wipes. He came over to you, gently taking your paint covered hand with one of the soapy cloths and cleaning all of the paint from your hands before rubbing them off with the ones with just water, and repeating the process wherever there was paint. Neither of you said anything, you weren’t sure if that was just because the process was so intimate - or that you’d never had a hookup take such care of you after sex before.

“Uh- Thank you” you finally settled on, he looked up at you and smiled a bit

“F’what?” he asked, grabbing your dress for you and helping you put it on. You shrugged a bit, goosebumps covering your skin as he carefully zipped it up, his fingers soft and gentle over your skin. You felt yourself flush and look over as he tugged his jeans back on, waistband of his Calvin boxers sticking out over the waistband of them just a bit. Jesus he’s so fucking hot. 

“Being so like…nice and stuff…dunno” You took your hair back down, combing through it with your fingers. 

“I’m just doin’ what you deserve, Bunny” he said kindly as he put his shirt on.

The next day, after being sure to exchange numbers with Carmy, of course, you headed back to your studio bright and early. You unlocked the door and walked in, beginning to clean up the mess the two of you had left the night before. After a swiffer of the floors and a good wipedown of your desk, you took a proper look at the piece you two had expertly crafted together. 

Smiling at the memory, seeing fingerprints (and other prints) that only you knew what they were, grabbing more blues and some greys as well. You took your brushes, getting to work, using your brushes and hands to create a beautiful abstract mix of strokes of color. You of course got lost in the work, listening to your usual heavy rock playlist you had going when you were painting, humming to yourself a bit as the music blasts through your headphones.

Finally, you were satisfied with the way that it looked so you went over to your sink and began washing your brushes, being sure to let them dry standing so they wouldn’t ruin. You did your usual routine after, of washing up, cleaning up the studio, and leaving the canvas on your easel to dry. Finally, you dug in your jacket pocket and pull out your phone. It had been on Do Not Disturb the whole 4 hours you were working, not wanting to be bothered - and strangely see 3 texts from Carmen. You clicked them open and see

Hey - Craziest shit happened. 

Wanna come by the restaurant later?

Have something to show you.

You raised your brows, slightly confused, but send something back nonetheless 

Sure? Send the address, Need to show prof. Our collab ;) 

Slipping your phone back into your pocket, you grabbed your things and headed across campus to your professors office. When you finally got there, you took your headphones off, resting them around your neck and pausing your music before knocking on the door. You waited for a come in - before entering. He greeted you by your legal name that all your teachers called you, before asking. 

“So, I’m excited to hear what you’ve come up with for your final project” he motions for you to sit, taking his reading glasses off and setting them on his desk, crossing his hands in front of him.

“Oh- Professor- I am so excited to tell you about this, so you know how all semester you’ve been wanting me to try abstract work - but I was just too nervous to let go and let my brush do the work?” you asked and he sat up, more interested now. He had been on your case about trying abstract work, but each time you tried it became another modern escapism or surrealist painting, instead of being abstract. You found it hard for yourself to just go with shape and color other then painting a feeling or an idea. He nodded, to let you know to go on.

“Well…I finally was able to do so- I have a photo for you here, I think i’m going to call it the passion of letting go” you pull the photo up on your phone and hand it over. He put his glasses back on, holding the phone back how seniors usually do and his face lights up when he gets a good glimpse of it. 

“Oh- My- yes, I love this! This is just wonderful, I can’t wait to see it in person!” he said proudly, handing your phone back. “I wanted to let you know, that your mural was an absolute hit! It was the talk of the whole gala! I do wish you were there to see just how much it touched people.

“Was it?” You said happily, the smile on your lips grew slightly. You had been extraordinarily proud of your project, so the way it was enjoyed by so many people warmed your heart. 

“Oh yes, the gentleman that bought it was quite determined to have it, he got in bidding wars with 3 other people at the gala!” He chuckled a bit. You felt your phone buzz in your pocket and slickly check it under the desk while the professor went on about how he used one of your most recent realism works to help teach the freshman students about shading as you read over the address to the restaurant that Carmy had sent.

“I really hate to cut this short Professor, but I have to get going I just came by to finish off that painting- we can catch up more next week, yeah?” You got up, grabbing your bag and he nodded. The two of you said your goodbyes and when you left and were walking towards the L platform, you couldn't help but feel a bit giddy. 

Carmy saw the space where you were most creative, your natural environment, as far as you could tell just in your short-ish interaction with him, the kitchen was that place for him. You put your headphones back on, sending a quick text to Carmy and sharing your location until the end of the day so he could expect your arrival as you blasted music into your ears to try and calm your nerves. The train over was fairly quiet, it wasn’t rushhour yet and it was a Monday afternoon, so most people were still at work or school.

As you walked towards the restaurant with your apple maps directions being your guide, you couldn’t help but feel as if you’ve seen it before. As you continue to walk, you rack your brain, until finally you remembered. On your way to your dorm in your freshman year when you had first moved here, you had went to this amazing little sandwich shop. The Beef! Yeah! That was it, your mom had been complaining she was hungry the past 2 hours so you and her stopped at the first hole in the wall spot you could get something quick and got 2 beef sandwiches that you still dream about and never had again since your school was across town and you didn’t have any friends over on this side of town, so there wasn’t really any reason to come back here.

You hoped it wouldn’t offend Carmy, but you wanted to grab a sandwich before you stopped in because you knew if he tried it he’d love it too. You quickly cancel your route and type in ‘The Beef’ and click for directions - thankfully it was the exact same time away as The Bear so you could guess that Carmy already knew about the restaurant, oh well- their sandwiches still were fire enough you’d risk offending your new chef friend to get one. 

You continued walking and saw The Bears sign in the distance, looking around trying to find The Beef, but you didn’t see it. You figured you’d just ask Carmy where it was and grab a sandwich on the way home. As you approached The Bear, though, your apple maps chimed into your headphones 

“Arrived: In 50 feet you will see The Original Beef Of Chicagoland on your right” You crinkle your brows, a bit confused and just end the route. The stupid thing only knows how to get somewhere half the time anyways. You tugged open the restaurant door, to see Richie standing at the host stand. 

“Yo! What the hell you doin’ here tinkerbell? You dyin’ f’more garlic knots?” he teased as Carmy came out of the kitchen

“Hey! C’mere got somethin’ t’show you” Carmy came over and rested his hand on your lower back, guiding you through the dining room. Your cheeks flushed as Richie looked at the two of you confused as Carmy slid his hand to your waist and asked

“Havin’ a good day?” in that low, soft way that made your stomach have wild flutters. That caused your gaze to be torn away from a very confused looking Richie, and pull it back to the Greek-God like blonde beside you and you smiled a bit, looking up at him and nodding

“It’s ok… I have something to show you too -” you told him as he stopped in front of a door labeled *AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY* and dug keys out of his chefs coat. Jesus he looked so amazing in that coat. You could imagine him throwing you up on the desk in your studio after a long shift and pounding you in it, so excited to see you he couldn’t even get it off before he-

“Close your eyes” he stood behind you, gently covering your eyes and your breath hitched at the sudden feeling of him pressed behind you, his hard muscle pressing into your back as he holds your head to his chest, hand cupped over your eyes so you wouldn’t look. The simple gesture had your core on fire. 

“Oh- Ok- Ok they’re closed” you mutter, letting him lead the way. You heard a light switch after he pushed open the door, leading you forward and stopping in the room, 

“You ready?” he whispers in your ear before giving your neck a gentle kiss that made you shiver, your breath hitched in your throat and you gently bring your hand up, tugging his hand away from your eyes and opening them. You blink a few times, getting adjusted to the light and when you noticed nearly straight away what it was you looked up at Carmy, a shocked look on your face. 

“Who did this?” you asked, head snapping back and looking at your Sampaguita Skies mural, shades of whites and yellows and blues. 

“The crazy thing is I didn’t even fuckin’ say anything. This is uh- I run the place, but my uncle owns it - f’now, i’m uh…workin’ on that, but he’s been really into art lately, got us the gig at that gala I didn’t even wanna do it in the first place but I do what he says y’know. And uhh..yeah- hes gonna be mounting it on that empty wall next to the host stand after he gets it preserved” he explained and you blushed, shaking your head in disbelief as a smile grew on your face.

“Fuckin- crazy” you said and giggled a bit, resting a hand on your hip and looking back at him. “Hey I was gonna ask you- There was this place over on this side of town- The Beef - have you been?” You asked and he chuckled amusedly, nodding as he leaned against the wall and rubbed over his chin with a smile. 

“I uh- I have why?” he questioned

“Oh! Well… they have super good sandwiches you probably know I was kinda in the mood for one - sorry I’m not a fancy person, do you know where it is I was gonna grab one on the way home” you said and he nods.

“Yeah, lemme take you” he extended his arm for you to take 

“Wh- no! No- you’re working I wouldn’t want to put you out-” you start to decline but he stops you 

“Not putin’ me out at all, c’mere, I’ll take you to get one” he said and you finally relented. He took you by the hand, closing and locking the storage room behind him and leading you back towards the kitchen and he pushed open the doors.

“Yo Ebra- 2 italian beefs please for back of house” he called and got a heard chef In response. You look at him confused

“Carmy I know you're a good chef and everything but -”

“Welcome to the beef” he said with a cocky smile. You look at him even more confused, because you had been to the beef, and it was…not this fancy place. 

“Are you that competitive? That you can't let me have some other dudes sandwich?” you said and he guided you by the hand again, this time over to what looked like a drive through window except no space for cars, it was like a walk up window you’d have seen at Jersey Beach. 

“This - this is The Beef now, The Beef was us, but we wanted to do something bigger- and the locals would have had me burning on a stake if I stopped doing sandwiches, so we operate as 2 separate businesses but in the same building” he explained. 

“Holy shit - so you’re saying I can get a free beef sandwich whenever I want cause i'm your favorite artist in chicago?” you teased and he rolled his eyes with an amused smile, taking you with him back to an office and flicked the light on 

“Anytime Bunny, anytime. You gonna show me what you said you were workin on?” He shuts the door behind him, sitting down on the big plush black leather office chair and sighing in relief. You can only imagine how long he’d been on his feet today. You came over, plopping in his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“Mmm yea- but I deserve a kiss” you pucker your lips and he laughed a bit, before leaning in and pecking your lips sweetly 

“For what? Guilting me into having someone make you a sandwich?” he teased and you shook your head, digging your phone out of your pocket

“For not climbing you like a tree the second I saw you in your sexy little Chefs coat, I behaved myself soo well out there” you unlocked it and found the picture, showing it to him and his brows raise in surprise. 

“Shit- we made that?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice, zooming in on different parts to take it all in. 

“We did” you said happily, gently running your fingers through the curls at the base of his neck.  “Can we make another one t’night?”

Tagging bestie boops: @carmenberzattosgf @gallaghersgal @mouseymilkovich @daysofyellowroses @l4long-winded

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

Damian since he was young always imagined what his father was like.

A man much like his grandfather.

Cunning but cruel.

He pictured blood stained steps leading to a golden thrown holding a man with a iron crown.

In a way he was right.

His brothers marching to the next battle prideful like Grandfather's most loyal.

Yet his hands weren't red unless it was with paint.

His murals decorate the manor he calls home. He flies at night helping, saving people.

He sits at a dinner table and is not expected keep his mouth shut, his hands can move they aren't required to remain still.

He is more free then he ever has been.

As he watches his father the great and mighty Batman leave him in the rainy street. As he beats Todd until all he can see is his blood.

He can almost see the cage that he bashes his wings against trying to escape.

It's decorated, comfortable and he knows that he will lay back down in the soft bed and he will coat his canvas with red that is one shade off from the blood of his brother.

He will go down to dinner the next night and memorize the blues, and greens that mark Todd's face.

He will sketch them later.

He will stay where he has the illusion of choice where he can feel soft fur beneath his callused hand. 

But when he looks upon his Fathers grave in five years time he can hear the shattering of metal and he can finally feel his wings spread without pain.

[ave09]

Sending in a request for you to do anything with jack because I love jack and you wanted a request please 😅

Paint

JerJordan!Jack Kelly x female!reader

Note; Keep the Jeremy requests coming guys I’m gnawing at the bars of my enclosure, I need to write for this mannn

the bristles of the broad brush cascaded across the canvas with ease, his handsome face screwed up in concentration. she always loved watching him work, whether little sketches, or big mural backdrops like this one now.

he was always so dedicated to his work.. he was truly.. wonderful. 

he’d always get so into it, so in his head, wanting it to be… well… perfect! 

so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t even hear her coming. 

the tapping on his shoulder shook him out of him, startling him, but he’d never admit that.

“aye-“ he whipped around, a tad bit defensive, but his features softened almost immediately, “oh, just you.”

“you sound disappointed.”

“pfft, me? disappointed to see yous? nah, never.” she smiled softly, standing on her tiptoes to rest her chin atop his shoulder. “looking good cowboy.” she hummed. “talking about the painting or me?”

she rolled her eyes, “obviously the painting.” he scoffed, “just a buncha trees. me personally, i think i looks better than that.”

“ya think?”

“shaddup.” he said with a laugh, turning to face her, brushing the tip of the paintbrush against her cheek, leaving an orange stain.

her jaw dropped. “jack kelly-“

“lighten up princess, adds some color to ya palate.” 

she rolled her eyes playfully, snatching it from him and proceeding to plop a glob of paint onto his nose. 

he gasped dramatically, “now princess, whatcha think you’re doin’ messin’ with an artist like that.” he murmured, his arms snaking around her waist, pulling her flush against him, gently nuzzling his nose against her, spreading the paint onto her face. 

she let out a soft chuckle, “you, jack kelly, are a menace.”

“and yous are so beautiful.” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. she hummed, kissing him back gently, paintbrush still in hand as she dragged it across his cheek.

a deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pulled away, “youse is crazy.

“mhmm, crazy for you.” she said before gripping his collar, smashing her lips against his once more.

[crappymixtape]

tangled • part two

PART I • PART III • PART IV • PART V • PART VI ❝ all you’ve known your entire life is in the inside of your tower – the brick walls covered in your murals skating around you in a semi-perfect circle, the view from the very top one that would take anyone’s breath away, but how could it be beautiful when you could never leave? that is, until an unexpected someone happens upon your hidden tower and offers you a chance to escape | (  2.7k, tangled AU • fluff, angst, strangers to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader )

I N T O T H E W I L D B L U E 🎶 strawberries for two, tinyumbrellas

I said, cowboy take me away, fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue. Set me free, oh, I pray, closer to heaven above and closer to you, closer to you.

Flynn’s head hurt, my gods it hurt, like it’d been cleaved in two and a groan rumbled in his chest, his brow furrowed tightly as he slowly opened his eyes.

The last thing he remembered was climbing up that bloody tower hoping to find respite, but instead found whoever the hell had clobbered him over the head with something awfully heavy and, well, awful.

Blinking the room into view, everything swam into focus. An odd little room full of the necessities: a stove, a wardrobe, a table and chairs, plates and cups and silverware and the like, but there were other items too. Paint and brushes and discarded canvas, a basket full of sewing things and a tiny pottery wheel with a half finished pitcher sitting atop it and…

“Is this…hair?”

Eyes growing wider by the second, Flynn saw long locks looped over the rafters above and diving down to the floor. Over the table and around an ottoman and slipping up the leg of the chair he sat in and holding him tightly, very tightly, to the hard wood at his back.

“Is this hair??” he asked again to no one until a voice sounded from the shadows just ahead of him.

“Struggling is pointless! I know why you’re here, and I’m not afraid of you.”

Flynn shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs and properly process the situation he found himself in. Held captive. In a chair. Bound to it with hair and, oh, bloody hell.

“I’m sorry–what?” he half scoffed, confusion melting into frustration.

Something shifted in the shadows and he sat back, waiting, anticipating, heart hammering in his chest until you stepped out into the sliver of sunlight falling in from the window above.

“Who are you and how did you find me?” you worked hard to keep your voice level, frying pan still held in your hands, wanting to make damn sure this man knew who he was dealing with.

But this man. Oh, this man was in trouble now.

Mouth dropped open in a little ‘o’ his brows softened and the tiniest breath pushed from his lungs. Yes, it was an absolutely impossible amount of hair, but gods. You were unlike anyone he’d ever seen. In fact looking at you felt like getting hit over the head for a third time.

The soft slope of your cupid’s bow and the way it firmed around the tiny scowl on your lips, the long sweep of your lashes across your cheeks, hell, even the way you handled that frying pan.

“Who are you and how did you find me?” you demanded again and it shook him from his stupor as he flicked on the charm. That would certainly get him out of this.

“Forgive me,” he said, head dipping in a small nod, “I know not who you are or how I came to find you, but might I just say…hi. How are you? Name’s Flynn Rider.”

Your scowl shifted, confused, then irritated. What was he doing? Maybe you hit him a little too hard. Pointing the pan back at him you took a step forward and prodded him in the chest. Unimpressed.

“Okay, Flynn Rider, if that’s even your name,” you fixed him with a look, one you hoped conveyed you weren’t going to be tolerating any bullshit. “Who else knows my location?”

A huff of protest fell from his lips, brows pinching together and exasperated as he shifted in his chair. How did that not work? That always worked, especially with the ladies. Flynn rolled his eyes and dropped the act, struggling against his restraints. “Alright, princess–”

“Rapunzel.”

“Sure, whatever, I was running through the forest and came across your tower and–” Flynn stopped. Where was the tiara? That was his ticket out here if he didn’t have that…”Oh. Oh, gods. Where’s my satchel? Where’s my satchel??”

A most pleased look came over you and you crossed your arms over your chest, swinging the pan back and forth a little too casually and dropping it to the floor with a loud CLANG! Cheeks flushed you quickly bent down to grab it and pointed it back at him.

“It’s hidden. Where you’ll never find it,” you insisted.

“What?” Flynn grumbled under his breath and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pulling a steadying breath into his lungs. Soft. Kind. Maybe you’d let him go. “Please? C’mon, princess.”

“No. I’m not telling you where it is until you tell me what you want with my hair! Cut it? Sell it? What d’you want!”

That could be the only reason he was here, for your hair. It was why you were in this tower, protected and safely tucked away from all of the ruffians who wanted to steal your hair. Your precious, magic, hair. The hair your Mother swore to never let anyone lay a finger on and made you promise to never let anyone else touch.

“Your hair? Gods, no! What’s wrong with you? The only thing I want with your hair is to get out of it. Literally.”

He didn’t want your hair? Surely that was a lie. Mother told you it was all anyone ever wanted from you. It was all they’d ever want from you and nothing else and the only person you could trust was Mother.

Right?

You narrowed your eyes at him and stepped up to him, “You’re telling the truth?”

“Yes!”

The look on his face was earnest enough and he certainly seemed desperate to get his satchel back. The one with the sparkly gold tiara in it. The one that most definitely meant he was a thief, but you needed someone to take you to see the lights and well, you didn’t have much choice. This was it. Your one chance.

“Alright, Flynn Rider. I have a deal for you,” you said, taking a step back pulling aside the long drape of fabric on the far wall to reveal a beautifully painted mural of the night sky full of brightly shining dots. “Do you know what these are?”

It was beautiful. A masterpiece. Artfully crafted and coming to life through an incredible use of color and movement and brushstrokes of–

“Of course I know what those are,” Flynn huffed, shaking the look of astonishment from his features, “Those are the lanterns they release once a year for the lost princess.”

Lost princess?

You tried to keep your expression neutral, ignoring the images the tiara had pulled forth in your mind, and straightened up tall, walking back to Flynn’s chair.

“Yes. The lost princess, everyone knows,” you didn’t, but he didn’t need to know. “You will act as my guide, take me to these lanterns and then return me home safely. Only then will you get your precious satchel back.”

Flynn tipped his head back and barked a laugh. “Sorry, princess. No can do,” he said through a few last little chuckles, “The kingdom and I are sort of…at odds with one another, so that won’t be happening.”

A flicker of anger simmered in your chest, being treated again like you didn’t know the half of it. Like you were an idiot. Like no matter what you did it was never going to be good enough.

Folding your arms over your chest you fixed him with a look, lips twisted around a frown, “Listen. Something brought you here, Flynn Rider. Call it what you will, fate, destiny, whatever you might believe in, but we are at an impasse and I think we can help each other.”

The smug look on his face melted the longer he looked at you and it shook the firm stance you’d taken. Those striking hazel eyes, the strong line of his jaw, the way his gaze held yours. You sucked in a breath, steady.

“And–and I’ve made the decision to trust you–”

“A horrible decision–”

“But trust me when I tell you this…” You leaned down to press your hands to the tops of the chair arms and tried your best at intimidation, “You can tear this tower apart, but without my help you will never find your precious satchel.”

Flynn narrowed his eyes for a beat, his breath warming over your cheek with how close you’d pushed into him and your pulse fluttered in your neck. A warning, curiosity, something a little more until he broke.

“Okay, princess–”

“Rapunzel,” you corrected. Again.

“Sure–lemme get this straight. I take you to see the lights and you give me my satchel back?”

“That’s the deal.”

He held your gaze a moment longer, waiting, anticipating you breaking under the long, drawn out silence that was stretching thinner and thinner through the air, but he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

“Gods, fine!” he cracked, chin dipping to his chest in defeat as he grumbled a string of curses under his breath. “I’ll take you to see the stupid lanterns, but if I don’t get my satchel back–”

“You will!”

“I better.”

“You will,” you said again and his features softened a touch at the earnest sound of your voice.

He guessed he trusted you too. Somehow.

I wanna walk and not run, I wanna skip and not fall, I wanna look at the horizon and not see a building standing tall.

“You comin’, princess?”

Looking down out the window to the ground made you dizzy. Made you second-guess everything. Made you scared. It was so far down. Much further than it had ever looked before, further than every other time you’d tossed your hair down to Mother.

“Of course I’m coming!” you shouted back, your frustration fizzling out with the distance to the grass below.

Swallowing down the nerves that had bumped up into your throat you tossed your hair over the hook like you always did and held tight, feet perched at the edge of the windowsill.

It’s fine. You’re fine. You can do this. You can do this.

You pulled air into your lungs, deeply, closed your eyes and pictured the way the ground would feel under you. The way you could dip your fingers in the river. The wind in your hair and the sun on your skin and when you leapt from the tower you left your stomach somewhere with your paints and pottery wheel and sewing.

A squeal pitched high in your ear and it took you a moment to realize it was coming from you and when your feet finally hit the meadow floor, the force of it tripped you forward into something solid.

“Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa–” Flynn dashed forward to meet you, catching you before you hit hard and his heart stuttered at the way you felt pressed close to him.

Clinging onto two fistfuls of leather vest and tunic like your life depended on it, you suddenly realized – you’d done it. You made it. Out of the tower, out from under Mother’s ever-watchful gaze, out into the world.

Free.

Heart hammering in your chest, you were sure it would crack your ribs as the world swam back in around you. The birds in the trees, the burble of the river, the softness of the breeze against your cheek and the warmth of Flynn’s hands wide at your waist–

“Wait–what–I’m fine, I’m fine,” you insisted pushing against him, pushing away from him, “–I’m fine.”

“Oh–o–okay. Sure, sorry,” Flynn stuttered, confused at your sudden protest to his helping you and held his hands up in defense.

Your eyes watered at the bright rays of sunlight falling on you, your arm moving to shield the view with the crook of your elbow, and when you finally acclimated a rush of colors struck you.

Brilliant, green grass beneath your feet, flowers yellow and orange and pink swaying and waving hello, slips of blue water flowing swiftly between the riverbanks and glittering in the afternoon sun. The corner of your mouth tugged up into a small smile, wiggling your toes against the cool dirt, the feel of it lifting your smile bigger and bigger until an astonished laugh fell from your lips.

“I did it…” you marveled, clasping your hands over your mouth. “I did it!” you shouted again, flinging your arms out and spinning, hair fanning out behind you in waves. Spinning and spinning and spinning.

And for the first time in a long time, Flynn felt something bloom deep in his chest. A feeling he thought wasn’t possible anymore. A feeling that split a crack in the wall he’d worked so hard to build, the one that was supposed to keep things out. Things like you. Pure, joyful, beautiful things like you.

“Alright, alright. There’s plenty of time to frolic, princess–”

“Rapunzel,” you corrected for the millionth time.

“We got a long way to go, c’mon,” Flynn waved an arm toward a small gap in the cliff, the one Mother always snuck through, and dread pooled at the pit of your stomach.

A long way to go. As in, out there. As in, away from your tower, your home, everything you owned with only a frying pan in your hand and panic pinched in your chest.

As he reached the way out, Flynn turned back to make sure you were still following, but instead saw you standing frozen just a few yards away. His brows knitted together. “You coming?”

“I’m a horrible daughter, I have to go back,” came out just above a whisper and Flynn took a few steps toward you.

“What?”

“I can’t go.”

“Sure you can, just use your feet,” Flynn teased a little, but tears were welling up against your lashes and that feeling hit him again, but he steeled against it. He didn’t owe you anything and the only thing holding him back from getting out of this place was the fact you still had his satchel – the one you promised you’d give him once he took you to the lanterns.

Your tears fell freely now and Flynn’s hand twitched at his side, wanting to sweep them softly from your cheeks, his feet betraying him and pushing him a few steps closer. He pulled in a breath, No, Rider. Not now.

“You know,” he started, tutting at you gently, “I can’t help but notice you seem a little at war with yourself here. Protective mother, roguish stranger taking you from your tower, but trust me. You’re way over thinking this. Will this disappoint your mother? Yes! Will you break her heart? Definitely.”

“What?” you gasped, break her heart??

“Yes, a horrible thing to do. Just horrible,” he tutted at you, folded his arms over his chest and let out a sigh of resignation. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m letting you out of the deal. Alright? Let’s get you home. I get my stachel back and you get to please Mother dearest.”

“Wait–no, no no,” you shook your head, “That wasn’t the deal. How do you know she’ll be disappointed??”

The words were tumbling from your mouth, stuttering and fighting against yourself as you buried your head in your hands. Quieted your mind and tried to calm down. And then it hit you.

“No! I’m seeing those lanterns!” you looked right up at Flynn and gave him the most decided look you’d ever mustered and he let out the loudest groan.

“Oh, c’mon!” flinging his hands up in defeat he gave you the most pathetic, pleading look, “What’s it gonna take to get my satchel back??”

“The lanterns, Flynn!!” you walked right up to him and poked a finger into his chest, hard.

Expression faded from his face, brows and mouth firm lines, unimpressed, stuck and all but conquered.

“I’m not doing this for you. You know that right?” he said, aiming to at least knock you down a peg, but the triumphant look you gave him was enough to tell him he had no idea what he was dealing with.

“I know. Now scoot,” you shoved at his arm, pushed him toward the hanging vines over the secret path out and he begrudgingly picked up his pace again.

“Don’t ever tell me to scoot again.”

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[eldritch-spouse]

Shags get obsessed with a girl that works at an art store where he gets his supplies. She's laid back and chit-chats with him about any projects he's working on.

[Okay but what if you had a really strange thing going on?]

You like this little freak.

Yeah, okay, that's a bit of a mean thing to say. But can you be blamed? There's no word that fits him more aptly than freak. Not even in the physical sense, there's a lot of variety in mushroom monsters, you know some of them can be tall and gangly like Shags. He's just bizarre.

The way he speaks, moves, conducts himself. You swear, not a single mannerism this monster makes feels natural or reflexive. Even the way he seems to intensely wait and make himself an obstacle until you initiate conversation with him... God, even the fucking topics of conversation, it's like he makes an effort to speak in riddles.

In this rather boring dead-end of a job, seeing this weirdo bend and squeeze through the doors like Samara about to crawl out of the TV is the highlight of your shift.

That's why he's your favorite client.

He's been standing still in the same supplies isle for too long, you already know what he wants.

" Having trouble finding something, Mr Shags? "

As if, he probably knows this store better than yourself.

In fact, he outright told you he used to be a client before you started working here.

He murmurs a response too quietly to interpret, forcing you to come closer. And, predictably, as soon as you are within grabbing distance (not hard to achieve when you're a lamppost of a monster featuring branch-like arms), a spider hand slithers onto your shoulder. It's cold, he's always a little cold.

You're urged in front of a shelf, his head looming over yours.

" Ahh, I need your honest opinion on something... If you don't mind? "

This is the paints section, a mural of hues that hurt the eyes.

" Sure. "

" What shade of orange do you think I should get? "

You love these questions. Because never once does he elaborate on what he's creating or why he wants you to choose. It's happened many times before. What size of canvas should I get? What pen should I get? What sketch books should I get?

You like the strange autonomy of getting to pick, offering him the same level of context he does to you.

Absolutely none.

" Alloy. " You point.

Shags reaches towards it with little effort, snagging several little containers with his root-like digits. The hand on your shoulders tightens.

" What a choice. Thank you very much, my dear. "

" No problem. "

It takes a bit of shifting before the hand on your skin is lifted.

You stroll back to the cash register with a small smile and occasionally observe the monster in the same way you'd study an animal at the zoo.

It's strange how little he moves sometimes. Initially, you thought it was just so he wouldn't drip ink everywhere, but it seems to be a part of him now. Blending in with all his other vaguely creepy mannerisms. Mr Shags gets all his items at a snail's torturous pace and finally, finally approaches you.

" How are the latest projects going, Mr Shags? " You start while scanning the paints first.

The shroom actually seems to frown for a second. Fingers busy on the balcony. " Not as smoothly as I wished... "

Tap tap tap.

" My latest muse and I, our chemistry, I'm afraid it has no substance. "

" Oh? " Your eyes deviate to his face for a moment.

" Yes... Something tells me it's time to move on. But I do want to honor our time together with one last, preserving piece. "

Tap tap tap.

" Mhm. Sounds good, I hope the next one works out. " Frankly, you're not sure what he's talking about, but you usually never are to begin with.

" Me too. " Then he smiles again, and you get the distinct feeling his stare has turned into a more scrutinizing one.

Far from the first time, it doesn't scare you like it did initially.

It's pretty funny, actually. You started out thinking this guy was some kind of loser looking to harass you, to intentionally make you uncomfortable. Nowadays he's more of an entertaining almost-friend.

Tap tap tap.

" Will that be all, Mr Shags? "

" Shags. "

He's told you to call him just by his name a couple of times. You always ignore it, but he keeps trying anyway.

There's a silent beat.

During your first years of work, the lack of action would have made you antsy enough to break the silence, which is what you know he wants you to do. But now, you have no trouble staring back placidly until he continues the conversation.

Apparently, the shroom enjoys that continuous challenge, because his grin widens slowly.

" You have a peculiar facial definition. " He eventually rasps.

A nothing statement, not quite a compliment, not quite an insult, definitely said to confuse and prompt a question. One you don't give him the satisfaction of hearing.

" Thanks. " The customer service smile has an edge of playful smarm this time.

Tap tap tap.

" ... I would enjoy sketching you sometime. Your facial expressions are intriguing. "

This is essentially his way of asking you out, you presume.

" You've drawn me before. "

He's even given you the pages, pencil depictions of you caught in a selection of moments. Mostly bored to tears and staring at the little universe between the cracks in aged walls.

Shags tuts. " It's quite different when the muse in question is part of the experience. I much prefer it that way. "

You can't help the hint of a snicker that tugs at the corners of your lips as you bag his items to hurry things along. Not that there's anyone else inside right now.

" Mm. And what if we don't have good chemistry? "

The shroom monster hands you his card, not even caring about hearing the total.

" I think we both know that wouldn't be the case. "

Tap tap tap.

It's only a few moments of intentionally creating suspense until you hand him all his new belongings and card.

" See you soon, Mr Shags. "

His grin only twitches for a delightful glimpse of a second before he carefully takes his possessions and leaves.

Playing with fire is fun.

One day, you'll get burned.

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

SET SIXTEEN - ROUND ONE - MATCH FIVE

"Saturn Devouring His Son" (c. 1819–1823 - Francisco Goya) / "Guernica" (1937 - Pablo Picasso)

SATURN DEVOURING HIS SON: There's a lot in this painting that's just OUGH. The look of desperation and sheer hunger in Saturn's face. The strength of Saturn's grip on his son. The fact that his son is a man, not a baby, which foregoes the theme of harm to the innocent often seen in remakes of this myth. The head being bitten off first, as if to perhaps save his son the fear and pain of slowly being eaten alive. In this painting, Saturn is showing a sort of primal fear and desperation that makes me feel a bit queasy. There's so much emotion here, and it's an emotion that is hard to describe. It feels like a last-ditch effort, like if he just does this one atrocity, it will be worth it. He needs it to be worth it. What if he is eating his son for nothing? What if the blood never washes off his hands, even though it is gone? (@orbleglorb)

GUERNICA: [no additional commentary] (@emilysidhe)

("Saturn Devouring His Son" is a 1819-23 mixed media mural transferred to canvas (originally painted on the wall of his dining room) by Spanish artist Francisco Goya during one of the darkest periods of his life. It measures 143.5 cm × 81.4 cm (56.5 in × 32.0 in) and is displayed at the Museo del Prado in Madrid.

"Guernica" is a 1937 oil on canvas anti-war painting by Spanish artist Pablo Picasso. It measures 349.3 cm × 776.6 cm (137.4 in × 305.5 in) and is located at the Museo Reina Sofía in Madrid.)

[bullet-prooflove]

5000 Follower Celebration: Field of Daisies - Mitch Ripley x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @spaghettificationandpretzels @mini-bee-bee @mandy426 @jareaulamontagnes

Companion piece to:

Seperation!Series:

Marley 2.0 - Mitch doesn't realise your hiding a secret from him.

Not Your Problem - Mitch feels you pulling away from him.

Pill Popping - Mitch confronts LJ about what happened in St Clair.

Not Enough - Mitch realises he won't ever be enough for you after you reveal what happened in St Clair.

Therapy Sessions - Mitch talks through his issues with his counsellor.

Hollow - Mitch returns home to an empty house.

Swings - Mitch steps up when you recieve some life changing news.

Don't Hold Back - You struggle after spending the night with Mitch.

It’s two days later that Mitch turns up on your parent’s doorstep. You answer the door half asleep because you got off shift twelve hours ago and there’s a deep set exhaustion inside of you that has nothing to do with physicality and everything to do with the mess inside your head.

“Put on some sneakers.” He says, tucking his hands into the light blue windbreaker you’re wearing. “We’re going running.”

“You gave up the right to tell me what to do when you served me with separation paperwork.” You remind him, your temple coming to rest on the door and his jaw tenses as he looks down the street for a second.

“I deserved that.” He says before he tilts his head towards you. “But I’ve been where you are right now Marley and it’s a really dark fucking place. Trust me this helps.”

He doesn’t flinch when he meets your gaze and you sigh before you retreat into the house and step into your running shoes before snatching up your jacket, headphones and phone.

“Fine but I’m listening to my Yellowstone playlist.” You tell him as you place the earbuds in your ears.

“Sure.” He says as he takes out his own matching set.

It takes the two of you a second to sync your phones to the Bluetooth before Mitch takes off, leaving you to follow his lead. It’s a new route, one you don’t recognise until you end up running along the lake with Mitch by your side. He’s slowed his step to keep pace with you, his skin is flushed from the exertion and the cold as he draws to a halt underneath the railway bridge.

“I wanted to show you this.” He says as he gestures at the graffiti art sprayed onto the wall.

It’s a Brenda Barnum piece, a mural of white daisies painted onto the concrete amidst yellow and green hues and it makes something inside of you light up the way it always does when you see something of hers.

You’d always been a weird kid, perfect on the surface but with an oddness underneath. You didn’t like the same things as other kids, you liked quirky things, vivid colours and shit that challenged your thinking. There was always a battle to conform and you had because it made life easy but you never really felt like you fit. You’d lived with that feeling for years, thinking there was something wrong with you until you saw one of Brenda Barnum’s paintings and in that moment you realised that you didn’t have to hide yourself, you could be exactly who you wanted to be.

You’d told this to Mitch when you’d taken him to an exhibition in the early stages of the relationship, you’d explained how each painting made you feel like you’d been seen, like someone had taken the thoughts out of your head and committed them to canvas.

When he’d finished renovating the house, he’d put a framed museum print of ‘Purple Firecracker’ on the wall above your bed because he knew how much you loved the piece.

“I know you feel displaced right now.” He tells you as he leans back against the concrete pillar. “That you don’t know which way is up but I thought this could be your anchor point, a reminder of who you are underneath the rest of the shit that’s going on in your head.”

Your chest grows tight as you stare at the colours, the vividness, the complexity and in that moment everything just quietens.

“Thank you.” You say finally because you’ve been on the edge ever since you got your diagnosis and this is the first time you’ve actually allowed yourself to take a breath, to step back from the abyss that threatens to swallow you up.

“I mean it.” You say as you tilt your head towards him and his cheeks start to colour. “Thank you Mitch, for bringing me here, for reminding me I’m stronger than this.”

“You’re the toughest person I know Marley.” He tells you as he pushes off the pillar. “You just needed to find yourself again.”

“Yea.” You say, your gaze straying back to the artwork in front of you. “Yea I did.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[l3xdrigo]

I had silly thoughts run into my mind, Regulus igniting Vertin's passion to do art again by showing her an abandoned wall and bringing spray paint.

Vertin is more traditionally on painting but she has known about spray paint and has been wanting to try them for a long time and Regulus gives her the opportunity to test them out.

When first picking up one of the spray cans, she's not sure what she wants to create, what type of mural or artwork. Vertin is pretty unfamiliar on how to work with such a big canvas, and with a tool she hasn't quite got the grasp of yet. Regulus comes back with a bunch of paint buckets and big and small paintbrushes "What are these for? " "To help us with the painting of course, I may not be the best at any painting stuff but this pirate is passionate in anything art based and the freedom of expression! " Regulus happily chimed.

Vertin was grateful but she's not sure what to make yet, so she asked Regulus who gave her one of the buckets of paint, puzzled, she looks at Regulus "what am I supposed to do with this? "

"Throw it of course! Throw it against the wall and watch it splatter, let it be messy, let your artwork be free. It has been awhile since you last painted yes? So why not let all your creative ideas out now? "

Vertin looks at Regulus and then to the paint bucket in her hands, the swirling color inside it, she knows what she needs to do. Taking a slight step back, she throws the paint out of the bucket towards the wall, making a huge splatter to it and some to themselves as well. Regulus let's out a cheer "There ya go! Now, Let's get painting!"

Splashes of colors added to the wall, the more added, the more Vertin felt free. The paint flowing down like raindrops, the lines of contrasting colors overlapping each other, using the spray paints to add more texture and little designs and details. It was messy yes, but it was free, Regulus smiling wildly as she continues to paint the already very colorful wall, this felt nice, it felt great. Vertin was smiling, laughing even at times where they get hit with splashes of paint, Regulus's joy has been contagious and seeing Vertin happy made Regulus even more joyful.

After finally finishing their artwork, both sat down on the ground, facing what they've created. It was a messy mural, with designs of their interest, a music disk, some doves, a golden thread, butterflies and much more. Both were covered in paint and colors, it'll take a while to get them off but that's the least of their worries for now. "I think this pirate can say that, that is one beautiful mural" "It is, thank you Regulus, for bringing me out here and doing this" "No problem, you've been cooped up in that office for days now, I think you deserved a break.. And you did tell me you liked painting so, this was the best idea I could come up with" "One of the ideas you had that didn't end in disaster *pfft*" "Oi-"

Both bickered for a bit, laughing and giggling like children. It's moments like these that make all the work and sacrifices worth it, even with the weight of responsibility of being the timekeeper, others are lending a hand to carry the weight, just like Regulus. Both sat there, as the sun sets and hope rebuilds.

(Or platonic soulmate Reguvert my beloveds<333)

Bonus:

As both sat quietly, a song from the radio that Regulus brought suddenly plays "Oh hell yeah! I love this song.. Say Vertin, do you dance? "

The timekeeper pondered for a bit and gave her an answer "I do, why? "

"Well, would you like to dance with this pirate? I think that'll be fun"Regulus stood up and stretched out her hand, Vertin, slightly surprised by the sudden request, but accepted it, taking Regulus's hand into hers.

" Though be aware that this pirate may not be the best at dancing, but will certainly try her best" It's been awhile since both had danced, and more so with someone but none of that mattered right now, they're just here to have fun. Dancing to the beat of the music, as both moved to the rhythm, a few slip up's here and there but is still going strong. Going with the flow of the music, both have actually made a good dancing pair, being able to move to the rhythm easily and adjusting their movements to near perfection. Despite not even having steps in mind, both have their own, synchronized and adapting as the music goes on. It felt like walking on air as they continued to dance, they kept this on till the music ended and both were exhausted.

"I must say, you're a great dancer Regulus"

"Thanks, you're not half bad yourself, we should do this more often" "I'll check if my schedule can free up a bit"

They realized that it was near dark soon, both headed back into the suitcase, walking and talking about their interest, plans and anything really. They've grown into each other's company, and they wouldn't have it any other way, a captain and her second best mate, a bellwether and her first follower.

[drewharrisonwriter]

Lifeline - Ch. 7: Volunteer

Pairings: Dieter Bravo x Female Reader, referred to as “Honey” 

Series Summary: After basically being dropped and rejected by every PR agency in Hollywood for being such a huge liability, Dieter Bravo must work on resetting his public image in the most unexpected ways.

Author's Notes: I have been working on this fic on and off for the past year, and this story is a little personal to me. Yes, I am trauma dumping in some scenes lol but I also want to say that there will be so many unrealistic things about Hollywood, actors, and PR/Marketing agencies here, to which I apologize.

Warnings: Angst, a little drama, lots of flashbacks. More warnings to come as the story progresses.

Read this on AO3 | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Dieter sat in his car, the engine still running as he stared at the community center across the street. He told himself he was just killing time, but deep down, he knew that wasn’t true. The last time he’d been here, it was a scheduled appearance, something Honey had set up as part of his image rehab. But today, he was here on his own, drawn back by something he couldn’t quite name. It was quieter this time, the mid-afternoon lull making the building look almost inviting.

He turned off the engine and got out, adjusting his baseball cap to shield his face even though no one here would care who he was. As he stepped inside, the familiar sounds of kids laughing and chattering hit him—a soundtrack of life that felt miles away from the empty echo of his house.

“Back for round two?” Sam, the young volunteer with colorful streaks in her hair, greeted him with a bright smile from behind the front desk. She handed him a volunteer badge without hesitation, her eyes sparkling with a mix of surprise and genuine delight. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

“Yeah, well…” Dieter shrugged, sliding the badge over his head. “Turns out I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Sam laughed, a sound that cut through the cloud of self-deprecation hanging over him. “Well, we’re glad you’re here. The kids love having you around. And hey, it beats sitting at home, right?”

Dieter nodded, grateful for her easy acceptance. “Definitely better than that.”

He made his way toward the art room, the familiar hum of activity pulling him in. Maria, the art instructor, was already busy explaining today’s project to a group of kids gathered around her. When she spotted Dieter, she gave him a knowing smile.

“Well, look who decided to join us again,” Maria said, handing him a brush without missing a beat. “Couldn’t stay away?”

Dieter chuckled, feeling strangely at ease. “Guess I missed the glitter.”

Maria laughed, shaking her head. “We’ve got plenty of that. Today’s project is murals—big, messy, and colorful. The kids are painting scenes that we’ll hang in the main hall. Feel like jumping in?”

“Yeah,” Dieter said, looking around at the kids already deep in their work. “Sounds good.”

Dieter settled in at a table with a few kids who were busy painting what looked like a wild, chaotic sunset. The youngest, a girl no older than six, was splattering paint with unrestrained joy, her tiny hands covered in bright red and orange streaks.

“You know, when you do that,” Dieter said, leaning over and pointing at her brush, “it’s called the Jackson Pollock technique. He was this artist who used to just throw paint at a canvas and see what happened.”

The girl looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Is that okay? To just throw it?”

“Absolutely,” Dieter nodded. “It’s called ‘action painting.’ There’s no wrong way to do art. It’s about how it makes you feel.”

She beamed at him, flicking more paint across her canvas with newfound confidence. Dieter laughed, feeling a lightness he hadn’t in a long time.

As he continued to paint, Dieter found himself explaining bits and pieces of art history in a way the kids could grasp. He pointed out how to make colors blend softly together, sharing dumbed-down versions of famous artists’ techniques that he’d picked up over the years. He helped one boy, who was struggling to make the sun look realistic, by showing him how to use a sponge to create soft, fading edges.

“This is called blending,” Dieter explained, guiding the boy’s hand. “See how it makes the colors look like they’re melting into each other? It’s kind of like magic.”

The boy looked up at him, eyes bright. “Cool! You’re like an art wizard or something.”

Dieter laughed, the boy’s innocent enthusiasm infectious. “Yeah, something like that.”

Ethan, the freckle-faced kid who had called him out as “that guy from the movies” the last time, sidled up next to Dieter. He held a brush in one hand, eyeing Dieter with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

“You’re back,” Ethan said, stating it like a fact rather than a question.

“Guess I am,” Dieter replied, smirking. “Didn’t think you’d care.”

Ethan shrugged, dipping his brush into a jar of blue paint. “It’s just… I thought you were, like, famous. Don’t you have better things to do?”

Dieter paused, considering the boy’s question. “Honestly? Not really. I like it here. It’s different. You guys don’t care about who I am or what I’ve done, and that feels… kinda nice.”

Ethan glanced at him, then nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. We’re just painting. Nobody here cares about all that stuff.”

“Exactly,” Dieter agreed, feeling a warmth spread in his chest. “So, what are you working on?”

Ethan held up his canvas, showing off a messy but earnest attempt at a landscape. “I’m trying to paint a beach, but it’s not coming out right.”

Dieter studied the painting, then picked up a brush. “You ever heard of Monet? He used to paint outside, trying to capture light in different ways. It didn’t have to look perfect—it just had to feel like the place. See how the light hits the water here? Try adding some lighter blues and yellows to give it that shimmer.”

Ethan nodded, following Dieter’s advice with focused determination. As the boy worked, Dieter found himself slipping into a rhythm, his own brush moving across his canvas without much thought. The act of creating, the feel of paint under his fingers—it was like slipping into a familiar old coat. But today, surrounded by these kids, it felt even better. Almost… happy.

“You’re really good at this,” Ethan said after a while, watching Dieter paint. “Like, really good.”

Dieter smiled, genuinely touched by the kid’s sincerity. “Thanks, buddy. I’ve been doing it a long time.”

“Did you ever want to be an artist instead of an actor?” Ethan asked, his voice innocent and curious.

Dieter hesitated, his brush hovering over the canvas. “Yeah. Once upon a time. I just… I dunno. Life kind of went a different way.”

Ethan shrugged, as if that made perfect sense. “You could still be both.”

Dieter chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, you might be right.”

As the hours slipped by, Dieter helped the kids finish their murals, showing them how to add finishing touches and clean up their brushes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this light, this connected. He wasn’t just Dieter Bravo, the troubled actor. He was a guy sharing his love for art with kids who didn’t see him as a failure, but as someone who could teach them something cool.

As the class wound down, Maria approached him again, her expression warm. “You’ve got a real way with them, you know? They love having you here.”

Dieter rubbed the back of his neck, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, well… I like it too. Makes me feel… useful, I guess.”

Maria nodded, her gaze soft. “We could always use more hands. If you want to make this a regular thing, the door’s always open.”

Dieter glanced around the room, taking in the kids’ excited faces as they admired their finished work. For a moment, he let himself imagine it—coming back week after week, being part of something that felt real and untainted by all the noise of his other life.

“Yeah,” Dieter said finally, his voice quiet. “I’ll think about it.”

As he stepped outside, Dieter found himself lingering by his car, not quite ready to leave. He watched as parents arrived to pick up their kids, the joyful reunions filled with laughter and hugs. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing, something he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge in years. Watching these families, Dieter found himself yearning for something he’d always been too afraid to admit he wanted—a family of his own. Kids to share his love of art with, to teach about blending colors and painting the world as they saw it.

He let his mind drift, imagining a simpler life. He saw himself finger-painting with a toddler, their hands covered in bright splashes of color, laughter echoing through a sunlit room. He pictured little feet running across hardwood floors, paint-splattered smocks, and the soft, sweet chaos of family life. He imagined a wife—someone to share quiet evenings and messy mornings with, someone to laugh with when the kids got more paint on themselves than the canvas.

And no matter how hard he tried, no matter who he had been with all these years, it was still Honey’s face that he saw. Still the only person he’d seriously considered that life with. Honey, with her warm smile and the way she’d always believed in him, even when he couldn’t believe in himself. The vision hit him so deeply, it almost knocked the breath out of him.

Dieter shook his head, trying to clear the daydream. But the ache lingered, a deep, relentless pull that left him feeling hollow. He wanted that life—he wanted it with her, and he’d never been able to replace that image, no matter how many parties, flings, or late-night mistakes he’d made.

The familiar urge to drown his feelings in booze and drugs started to claw at him. The thought of numbing this pain, even just for a little while, felt so tempting. But as he glanced back at the community center, at the kids streaming out, waving their painted hands in the air, something inside him shifted. He didn’t want to run away, not this time.

Instead of driving to the nearest liquor store, Dieter decided he’d head home and do some art. Maybe he’d paint the mural he saw in his mind—the one with bright splashes of color, little hands, and warm smiles. For once, he wouldn’t try to escape the image of Honey and the life he’d almost had. He’d paint it, live in it for just a while longer, and let it be enough.

Dieter climbed into his car, feeling a strange mix of sadness and resolve. Today had been a small step, but it was something. And maybe that was enough to keep going. For now, he’d let his art be his escape, and maybe one day, it would lead him somewhere that felt like home.

Dieter stared at the half-finished painting in his living room, brush in hand, lost in the muddled colors that had started to take the shape of his earlier daydream. The quiet of his home felt stifling, the only sound the soft scrape of his brush against the canvas. He couldn’t get the image out of his head—tiny hands covered in paint, a warm laugh echoing in a sunlit room. The longing hit him like a sucker punch.

As he painted, his phone buzzed on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a text from Honey. He blinked, wiping his hands on a rag before picking it up.

Honey: Hey, are you doing okay?

Dieter stared at the message, feeling his chest tighten. It wasn’t a question she’d asked casually; he could sense the weight behind it, the quiet concern she was trying to mask. He hesitated, thumb hovering over the keyboard before he finally replied.

Dieter: Been better. You free to talk?

Almost immediately, his phone rang. Dieter glanced at the screen, seeing Honey’s name and photo—the same one from years ago, back when things were simpler. He answered, bringing the phone to his ear.

“Honey,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was no hiding the exhaustion.

“Hey,” Honey replied, her tone soft and slightly hesitant. “I just… I don’t know. I had this feeling. Mitch told me you’ve been laying low, and I wanted to check in.”

Dieter let out a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, laying low. That’s one way to put it.”

“How are you really?” Honey asked, her voice gentle but firm, cutting through the usual bullshit.

Dieter sighed, staring at his painting, the colors blending into something both beautiful and painful. “I went back to the community center today. Not because I had to—just… I don’t know. It felt good to be there. Felt like I was actually doing something worthwhile for once.”

Honey paused, absorbing his words. “You went on your own? Outside of our usual PR stuff?”

Dieter nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah. No cameras, no Mitch, no nothing. Just me and the kids.”

“That’s great, Dieter,” Honey said, sounding genuinely pleased but with a hint of professional detachment, at least she tried to make it sound that way. “I’m proud of you. I really am. This kind of genuine engagement is exactly what people need to see from you. It shows a side that’s not just a headline.”

“Yeah, well, don’t start throwing a parade just yet,” Dieter muttered, his tone half-joking but tinged with sincerity. “It’s weird, you know? Being around those kids. They don’t care who I am or what I’ve done. They just… they just want to paint.”

Honey’s silence on the other end was loaded, as if she was trying to find the right words. “I get it. Sometimes it’s the simple stuff that hits the hardest.”

Dieter nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “I keep thinking about what it’d be like, you know? Having that... a family. I watched those kids today, and I just… I don’t know. It felt good. And then I started thinking about—” He cut himself off, his throat tightening, he cleared it. “Never mind.”

“No, go on,” Honey urged gently, her voice laced with that familiar warmth. “You can tell me.”

Dieter swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “I started thinking about what it’d be like to have my own kids. Like, actually teaching them how to paint, showing them all the art stuff that I love. I know it’s stupid, but… I’ve never really let myself think about it in a very long time.”

“It’s not stupid,” Honey said, her voice softer now, almost wistful. “I think it’s really sweet, actually. I always thought you’d make a great dad.”

Dieter chuckled, but it was tinged with sadness. “Yeah, well, you’re probably the only one who thinks that.”

Honey’s silence spoke volumes, and when she finally responded, her tone coming off as a bit nostalgic, almost dreamy in a way. “You remember that time we were in that art supply store, and you spent like half an hour teaching that kid how to mix colors?”

Dieter laughed, the memory coming back vividly. “Yeah. His mom thought I worked there.”

“You were so patient with him,” Honey continued, her voice distant but fond. “It was the first time I really saw that side of you—the part that just lights up when you’re teaching someone about art.”

Dieter let the silence hang between them for a moment, absorbing her words. “I don’t feel that way about a lot of things anymore. But being with those kids today… I don’t know, it felt real.”

Honey’s breath hitched, the sound almost imperceptible. “I’m glad you went back. I think it’s good for you, PR stuff or not.”

“Yeah,” Dieter said, staring at his unfinished painting, the colors blurring together in his vision. “It’s just… it’s hard, you know? Thinking about what I could’ve had. I mean, I wanted that life with… I wanted it once. I thought about it a lot, actually.”

Honey’s end went quiet, the only sound the faint rustling of papers as she shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t think you did, Dieter...”

There was a pause, heavy with everything unsaid between them. Dieter took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his confession sink in. “Do you ever… I mean, do you ever think about what might’ve happened if we’d tried harder? Stayed together?”

Honey hesitated, her voice thick with emotion when she finally spoke. “I do. All the time. I think about what might’ve been different, what we could’ve had… but we can’t live in the past.”

Dieter rubbed his temples, frustration bubbling up inside him. “I know that, Honey. But sometimes it feels like the past is all I’ve got left. I’m trying—I’m really trying to be better, to get my shit together, but I don’t know how to stop feeling like I missed my chance.”

“You haven’t missed it,” Honey said firmly. “You’re still here, Dieter… you still have a lot of things going for you, especially what you did today… And that’s more than a lot of people can say.”

Dieter let out a breath, feeling a small, stubborn flicker of hope ignite in his chest. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, neither of them rushing to end the call. It felt like old times, like the nights they’d stayed up talking about their dreams and fears, wrapped up in each other’s arms. It was bittersweet, knowing that those days were gone, but tonight, just hearing her voice was enough. It felt the same way but not quite… but it was enough. 

“Hey,” Dieter said, breaking the quiet. “Would you… I don’t know. Would you wanna meet up? We could grab coffee or go for a walk. No pressure. I just... I miss talking to you in person.”

Honey was quiet for a moment, contemplating his question, then sighed softly. “Yeah, okay. I think I’d like that.”

Dieter’s heart lifted, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “How about tomorrow? We could meet at that little park near the community center. It’s quiet, no one will bother us.”

“Tomorrow sounds good,” Honey agreed, her voice softening. “See you then, Dieter.”

“See you, Honey.”

Dieter hung up, staring at the phone in his hand. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had something to look forward to.

–

The next day, Dieter arrived at the park early, his nerves buzzing with anticipation. He hadn’t seen Honey outside of their work meetings and PR crises in what felt like forever, and the idea of just being around her, with no agenda, filled him with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

He spotted her from a distance, dressed in a simple, casual outfit—jeans, a light sweater, and her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. She looked effortlessly beautiful, and for a moment, Dieter was struck by how much he’d missed seeing her like this, outside the polished veneer of her professional life.

“Hey,” Honey greeted as she approached, her smile warm but tinged with uncertainty. “Been a while since we’ve done this.”

Dieter smiled, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Yeah. Too long.”

They started walking, keeping an easy pace along the park’s winding path. The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled light on the ground as they made their way past a small pond where ducks floated lazily.

“So,” Honey said, breaking the silence. “How’s the painting coming along? You mentioned you were working on something last night.”

Dieter let out a soft laugh. “It’s… it’s a mess, honestly. But it feels good. I’ve been trying to paint this thing I saw in my head yesterday at the community center. Kids, bright colors, just… happiness. It’s not coming out quite right, but I’m getting there.”

“I’d love to see it sometime,” Honey said, her voice sincere. “I mean, if you’d be okay with that.”

“Yeah,” Dieter nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I’d like that. You were always my favorite critic.”

Honey chuckled, nudging him playfully with her shoulder. “I was always fair.”

They continued walking, their conversation shifting effortlessly between lighthearted banter and deeper reflections. Dieter found himself telling Honey about the kids at the center, how teaching them made him feel more alive than he had in years.

“They don’t judge, you know?” Dieter said, his voice tinged with wonder. “They just see a guy who likes to paint. It’s like... I get to be the best version of myself with them.”

Honey nodded, watching him intently. “You deserve to feel that way, Dieter. And I’m glad you’re finding it, even if it’s in a place you didn’t expect.”

Dieter stopped, turning to face her fully. “You always saw that in me. Even when I couldn’t.”

Honey looked at him, her expression softening. “Give people a chance, Dieter. They’ll see you, too… Not the actor, not the scandals. Just you.”

Dieter’s chest tightened, the truth of her words hitting him hard. He’d spent so much time running from himself, but with Honey, he always felt seen in a way that was both terrifying and comforting.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said last night,” Dieter admitted, his voice low. “About how we can’t live in the past. But sometimes, it’s the only place I feel safe.”

Honey reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm. “You don’t have to stay there, though. You can look back, but you also have to keep moving forward. And you’re doing that, even if it’s through little things.” 

Dieter swallowed, his throat tight. “I want to be better, Honey. Not just for me, but… I don’t know. I keep thinking about this life I want, and I don’t want to mess it up before I even get close.”

Honey’s eyes softened, filled with a mix of hope and something else Dieter couldn’t quite place. “You’re not going to mess it up. You’ve already taken the hardest step—deciding you want something more.”

They stood there, the moment stretching between them, filled with all the things they couldn’t quite say. Dieter felt an overwhelming urge to close the distance, to hold her the way he used to, but he held back, afraid of pushing too far, too fast.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Dieter said finally, his voice tinged with gratitude. “I know it’s not easy… being around me.”

Honey smiled, shaking her head. “It’s not easy staying away, either. And… I’ll see you at our next PR event, okay? We still have a lot to sort out there, and the world is still watching.”

Dieter nodded, appreciating her ability to bring him back down to earth without breaking the connection they’d just shared. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Promise.”

As they walked back to their cars, Dieter hesitated, then reached out, his fingers brushing hers lightly. Honey glanced at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears, and squeezed his hand gently before letting go.

“See you soon?” Dieter asked, his voice hopeful.

“Yeah,” Honey said, her smile soft and real. “See you soon.”

Dieter watched her drive away, feeling a strange mix of sadness and hope. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel completely lost. He had no idea what the future held, but with Honey back in his life, even in this small way, it felt like he was finally on the right path.

As he got into his car, Dieter glanced at the community center down the street, a small smile tugging at his lips. He’d be back. He’d keep painting, keep showing up, and maybe, just maybe, he’d figure out how to piece his life together again—one brushstroke at a time.

Tagging: @mysterious-moonstruck-musings for this update ^_^ if you want to be tagged for the next one, just drop a comment ^_^

[thinkingimages]

Luc Tuymans | Isabel, Diorama, Scramble, Twenty Seventeen, 2017

"Isabel, Diorama, Scramble, Twenty Seventeen" by Luc Tuymans, 2017 Signed Etching. Paper size is 31.75 x 25.75 inches, with an image size of 9.25 x 7.75 inches. The Etching is from an edition size of 20 and is not framed. The condition was rated A: Mint. Additional details: Hand signed and numbered out of 20 by Tuymans. Printed on Hahnemühle Bright White 300 gsm paper. Comes in a blue linen folder. The four colour etchings Isabel, Diorama, Scramble, and Twenty Seventeen are based on iPhone photographs that Tuymans took while painting. They reveal an early, unfinished stage, which immediately evaporates during the creative process. The paint strokes that Tuymans places in the margin of the painting and the edges of the canvas are also incorporated in the etched image. The ephemeral plays a crucial role in the artist’s work: these colour etchings belong to the same category as his tempera murals which no longer exist. At the same time, they offer a special insight into Tuymans’ working process. The crumpled piece of paper in Scramble – still pale in the etching – becomes a monumental, colourful ball in the painting, which contrasts sharply with the dark background. The canary in Isabel will eventually become bright yellow, a surprising colour in Tuymans’ work.

[starliights-shining]

Hello!

Can I request TFP Soundwave, Shockwave, and Dreadwing with a gn human reader who likes to draw and paint on the walls, but the cons always tell them not to and often put them in a "time out" when they don't listen, but the human doesn't care and continues to do it?

Thank you!

Yes you can! I Always forget to go to the bottom on my ask box and do these request, so if you requested something late march and haven't seen it, I just forget to look and do these ones. I'm not neglecting you, I swear. I hope this is what you were looking for. Enjoy :)

Pairings: TFP! Soundwave x Reader, Shockwave x Reader, Dreadwing x Reader

Warnings: None,

Shockwave 

Shockwave I feel like doesn’t really care about you drawing, just you drawing on the walls outside of his lab. He tries to keep you and your drawings in his lab, but you’ve drawn all over the walls. So you go out, draw on other walls. Which means time out, he had his own little corner for you, colorless, a chair that faces that blank corner. He makes sure you don’t draw on that corner, EVER. 

Shockwave kept an optic on you, but would often forget about the activities you do. Drawing, it's what keeps you calm and makes life enjoyable. So when he was off in his lab building god knows what, you took your drawing box and went to find a new canvas. The Nemesis needed color, and you were going to supply that color, especially since the only colors that existed were from Knockout and like one more. The swooshing sound of the door opening filled your ears as you left. You little metal box, clinking in your hands as you walked the large cold halls. You made it to what you assumed was the main control room hall, the emptiest spot on the entire ship, and was always closest to Megatron, but you simply do not care. You made a little spot and got to drawing, this time you’d make a mural, something nice and friendly for other cons to see and think happy thoughts to. You had gotten half way, when you heard the loud footsteps of someone. Your head turning and your eyes landing on Shockwave. His singler Red optic seemed to glow differently this time.

“These illogical actions cannot go without punishment.” 

He said as his large servos went to pick up your utensil, and scooped you up in one go. Before you knew it you were back in his lab, facing that same blank corner, he stood to your left, a digit pointing at the ground. He didn’t say anything, but you knew it was time out. You let out a sigh and then slumped in your chair. He went back to work. 

It had been about 5 minutes, you were bored, staring at the blank gray slate wall. You stuck your hand in your coat pocket and felt a cylinder stick. You pulled it out to see it was a paint marker in yellow. A wicked smile makes it home on your face and you turn to look at Shockwave over your shoulder. His back towards you as you uncapped the marker and started drawing. 

You had the entire corner with yellow flowers and butterflies and a few other things. You were starting on a new flower when a dark gray servo grabbed your wrist. You dropped the marker, your eyes trailing up his arm and to his optic. Even though you were in time out, and he had supposedly taken the markers from you, you still managed to give him the vibes of not caring. He released your wrist, and walked away, he figured no matter how much time out he gives you. He cannot stop you, it’s better you draw in here then out where other Cons could get you.

 

Soundwave

Soundwave, I feel like he cares a little too much about what other Cons will do to you, if they catch you drawing, so he tries to keep you in rooms where he is. I also think he doesn’t care about putting you in time out, his version is just sticking you in a room where you can just draw and be safe. I also think if it comes down to it, he’ll let you draw on him as well, if it keeps you outta trouble and away from other Cons. 

When you disappeared Soundwave looked everywhere, you weren’t found in your normal spots, and he tried to follow the scattered drawings you made, but it ended up leading him nowhere. It wasn’t until he got a com from Starscream to meet him in the control room. 

There you were, trying your best to get out of the grip Starscream had on your arm, your little cloth bag of your markers dropped on the ground next to you. Your free hand was pulling at the metal servo, and a pained look on your face. 

“Your pet has a habit of getting out. You should keep a better optic on them if you want to keep them alive.” 

Starscream pulled you closer to him, holding your arm up above your head. Your eyes traveled to Soundwave, who was now standing next to you and the con, a servo on Starscream's arm that held onto you. The cons stared at each other, before Starscream let out a nervous laugh and let go. 

“Just keep your pet controlled.” 

He walked away, you both watched before you looked up at Soundwave. His visor was blank as he looked down at you, you could hear a small whirring noise and a smiley face appeared on his visor. You smiled back, you knew he’d put you in time out for the trouble you’ve caused today, but it didn’t matter. As long as he was the one to retrieve you, you didn’t care. You bent down to pick up your bag and when you straightened back up, Soundwave had a servo on your upper back, while his other directed you out. You followed, letting him usher you in the direction of the comms room. He opened the door and walked to the little makeshift room he kept for you, the same servo positions to usher you into the room. He was showing you time out, you walked in and watched him close the door. You sat down, not wanting to draw, you didn’t feel in trouble, more like just locked in your room for back talk, just there was no back talk. You wanted to take the initiative, and actually be in time out, and you did, arms crossed as you stared at the wall in front of you. This only lasted for like 2 minutes, before you picked up your paint makers and went back to it. 

It was the sound of the door opening that broke you from you drawing trance. You head whipping to it, Soundwave stood in the doorway, a servo up as he waved at you, causing you to laugh. He stepped away, showing you that you were no longer stuck in time out and allowed to move around. You smiled, and continued drawing the pretty purple smiley faces on every flower. 

Dreadwing

Dreadwing feels like the type to not like your drawings. His version of time out is making you wash it off the walls, and you hate it. Arms crossed as he put you in front of your art with a bucket and a sponge, an evil looking digit pointing at the wall. He thinks the drawing is cute, but he will not have you disobeying his order and rules. No drawing means No drawing, no exceptions. 

You were left for 30 minutes, it took you 5 to find your hidden markers and find a spot to start. The pretty mural was of him, a nice flower field, a few bees and you were there too. Since he was always busy these were the closest things you would get to actually going outside with him. So when he rounded the corner and saw you drawing on it, you froze, saying ‘If I don't move he can’t see me’ unfortunately, it didn’t work. 

“(Y/N), what did I tell you about drawing on the walls?” 

His tone was cold, dead almost, normally he tried to put something in it so it didn’t scare you but this time there was nothing. You sighed, capping the marker and starting to pout. Plan B was in motion, pout and look cute, he can’t say no if you look cute right? He did, a servo out in demand of your markers, and you listened, handing him the box he had hidden twenty times now. 

“Come on.” 

You got up from your spot and followed him, you knew where he was going, time out, a corner in his quarters. When you arrived you walked straight past him and to the chair. That same pout on your face and your arms crossed. He didn’t say anything, just left. When he returned he had called your name, in his servo was the bucket. You left out a loud huff, following him to the mural where he told you the same thing he did last time. 

“Clean,”

He stood next to you, in watch, just to make sure you did what you needed too. You started with the bottom. The green grass washes away with every left to right motion you made. You were cursing yourself mentally for always drawing, you could just like not, but why would you. This ship was borning the same gray color with that ugly gray color, and the occasional purple, you made it known to Dreadwing it did not mix, but he didn’t care. Your thoughts were cut short by the sound of another Con. 

“Good, keep your pet working. Maybe this way it’ll be useful. Those awful drawings shouldn’t be staying” 

The snarky comment came from Starscream, who walked past the two of you. You looked up at Dreadwing, he didn’t say anything, his optics just following the Con as he walked out of view. You picked back up the sponge again, getting ready to continue washing away your art. 

“I regret to inform him that you will not be washing this off. Come on, we can leave this one here.” 

You smiled, his hatred for Starscream seemed to save your beautiful mural. Maybe you should draw in spots Starscream will walk by more often. 

[queenaeducan]

Codex: Stronger Where it Breaks

Pairing: Non-binary!Lavellan x Solas Characters: Solas (Fen'Harel), Non-binary/Non-Inquisitor Lavellan Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard Rating: G Warnings: Mental Health Discussion Other Tags: DA4 Spoilers, Post-Veilguard, Fake Codex Entries Read here on AO3.

An unsigned note found within a well-tended corner of the Fade, written in an experienced hand, yet one that bears the trappings of a self-taught writer. The handwriting changes subtly with each line, as though the writer had to return to the project over a long period.

Ian has suggested that I take some time to reflect upon more than my regrets, and record what I cherish.

I will not argue— even should I have wished to, I would find myself at a disadvantage. He has always been more stubborn than he cares to admit, and the years have made him moreso. Instead, I will mind his wisdom, as time has taught me that it often outpaces my own.

Putting paint to canvas and notes to a tune; reminding myself that creation is always within my grasp.

The next line is obscured by a sharp scratch, though its impression has not been struck out entirely.

The look upon [illegible]’s face when [illegible] Elgar’nan rhymes with [illegible].

It has proven difficult, although perhaps not more than anticipated. Regret is a disease, as contagious as the blight we seek to soothe. Even that which I cherished is riddled with its infection, and I do not know if a day will come where I do not see its spectre over me. Ian is more encouraging. It is a beginning, he says. He reminded me of when we first met, when I recounted passing moments witnessed in the lives of strangers as though I were reciting a great, heroic tale. Remember them when I reflect upon my own life, and begin with small steps.

He likened it to a muscle in a newly healed leg: atrophied and at times stumbling in its step, but in need of exercise.

How like him it is to speak of this in surgeon’s terms.

May you learn— an old curse, a cruel curse. Yet there is an older saying, a prayer, or perhaps in this godless age I ought to call it a hope: may I learn. Not every lesson is easily imparted, but I do not begrudge them as I did.

Labouring over a puzzle for the better part of an afternoon. Satisfaction at its completion.

There is gold in the sky. A passing sheaf, but not lessened for its finiteness.

My favourite tune. He knows it by heart, now.

The words stop abruptly, the following pages contain sketches for what appear to be murals, drawn in the style of ancient Elvhenan. While the words before were hesitant, the pictures flow with a more certain hand, the words before lending conviction.

One bears the figure of an elf holding a paintbrush kneeling before a mostly empty page; the tilt of their head is reverent, as if in awe at the limitless potential before them. Another, a beating heart behind a thin body made up of roots. The next is a complex looking puzzle turned between a pair of hands.

The final page is a picture of a Dalish elf with thin, leafless branches, broken at the brow by a sun-shaped scar. Behind him, there are scenes of grief and loss— flaming swords bearing down upon a Circle; a woman with a tree-shaped crown; an Archdemon upon a black tower; a broken arrow— but the figure in the foreground eclipses them all, a neverending future blooms in the palms of his hands.

A final line follows:

Being here, with him by my side.