#i paint like one thing per year and before this i've never been proud of anything

[deltastorm101]

Hi! Do you have any tips or info on how you made Zane's spiral painting? I'm thinking of trying to replicate it too! Thanks!

oh hey, yeah sure!! :D

how 2 spiral 101:

SO. first i was looking at references, most of which were, of course, screenshots from room 665 party; i don't think i have those anymore but 0.25x speed and frame by frame search is your friend.

i settled on a 50x70cm regular canvas and bought two small tubs of acrylic paint, one black one white, and a wide brush because i didn't have one. in hindsight i should have probably gone with a bigger canvas (and maybe even a square one? or something like 90x80?) but i was hit with a random burst of energy and i just wanted to get started without my usual ridiculous amount of planning that makes me afraid to start anything.

i painted the canvas with two layers of black (almost completely undiluted) on the same evening, with about 2h to dry in between. then i was looking at where exactly the 'arms' of the spiral originated (from the center and then downwards) and how many turns/loops it had (4.5, plus 3 corners). after that, of course, i was too scared to start painting, or even sketching, the spiral right away so i wanted to determine the exact placement of the pattern by putting some kind of cord or string on the canvas first; i decided on shoelaces, worked out great, looked like this:

then i carefully traced it all onto the canvas with a pencil, fleshed out the thickness of the arms and marked where to put the little gaps and effects:

then everything after that was pretty much improvised. i worked with solid white strokes in thick areas, left gaps where i had marked them, added some roughness (mid-size brush, very little paint and very dry) and extra strokes (thin, semi-dry brush) where needed. the arms get thicker towards the corners and the roughest, most 'blurry' parts are on the bottom left. it took me some time to get a clear view of the bottom right and center right area because that’s where zane stood in a lot of the screenshots i took but i did find a good shot somewhere. i'd say the hardest part was balancing the messiness – i wanted it to look just chaotic enough to resemble the original without having it look sloppy and ugly and like i learned to hold a brush 5 minutes ago. i slowly worked my way around and around, perfecting the loops until i was semi-happy with the overall look and how it looked from afar. right at the end i added a few stray dots here and there – i thought i saw some black ones in the center area and white ones in the outer areas so that’s where i put them.

i guess going the extra mile to make this as true to the original as possible would be to look for a similar frame like zane has. an olive-ish color or dark brown painted wood with a slightly shiny (or even glossy) finish maybe. but i decided against that because it would have greatly overcomplicated things i was happy with already, and i wouldn't know how to frame a 1.5cm thick canvas anyway. but maybe with one of those extra thin ones? i saw some of those at the arts and crafts store i went to but they all weren't big enough.

hope this is what you were looking for, happy painting!!

[17gz]

it just ENRAGES me beyond words that i reconnected with a friend from high school (who reached out to me since i was 1 out of 2 people in our grade of 500+ kids that were visibly out as trans)

because she wanted to let me know that she came out and got on E and told me her name and how she's been doing. we'd been talking for a while.

and i knew her pre transition in high school. she was miserable. and meeting her in person, she was a different person. i saw so much happiness and life in her eyes that i'd never seen before. it was so amazing to see her as who she really is.

i told everyone in my group who was going to pride about her. they all knew beforehand that i was inviting her. i expressed how happy and proud i was of her.

and when she arrived i saw a switch flip in my roommates heads. both of them. including the afab intersex one wearing a niohuru x "big dick girl" bikini for pride. my friend fully said "i use she/her. i don't like they/them, i prefer she/her." and these roommates used they/them for her the entire night.

they were so annoyed that she took up any space at all. they were so annoyed that she was excited. one of these roommates talked so often abt how its hard being autistic. and yet that same person made the rudest and most passive aggressive looks and gestures towards my friend because she's autistic. it was disgusting and juice even yelled at this person at dinner when this person kept doing high school bully shit at my friend.

and when we were forced to confront this person bc "they didnt understand why we were mad at them" we were completely honest and said that their treatment of my friend was unacceptable and disgusting and transmisogynistic

and this person denied all their behavior and even tried to cover it up by saying "i'm just a silly little guy" i wish i was fucking making this shit up i really fucking wish i was. we were stone faced and said they were treating my friend poorly bc shes a trans woman. they said "they'd never do something like that to someone in the community. they're part of the community!" and when juice said they are not incapable of being transmisogynistic, the crocodile tears were running immediately.

and then my friend i've known for 6 years (whos dating that pos) said we were being racist to their partner. and then within 12 hours we dropped the news that we were moving out. we moved out abt 17 days after that. from an apartment i literally hunted down and did all the work to find. and had expressed ALL year that i didnt want to move out from.

cannot stress enough that this roommates partner was staying with us rent free even though i even said they could pay at least $100-$200 per month to help with household expenses since money was getting tight for us and 4 ppl in there vs 3 ppl was rough (but i didnt want to say $800 -$1000 for them bc i knew they were in a tough financial state) (but also we were not doing well either and they took and broke SO much of our shit without offering to do a damn thing about it and spending their money on dumb shit)

and they'd been living rent free at our place for 4+ months. we were coerced into letting them stay w us. and the entire time they treated us like absolute garbage. they constantly made comments about us being fat and how they thought we were ugly.

not to mention. meatball is brachiocephalic. my ex friend was literally with me at the vet appointments where the vets said do NOT have smoke or candles or anything around him.

while i was vacuuming and getting him air purifiers to put around the house and spending over 2k on vet bills, the two of them were hotboxing him in their room when they smoked. i told them a trillion times to ventilate their room and keep the door closed and let the room air out when they smoked and they never listened. we only found out they were hotboxing meatball in july.

not to mention all the racist shit and the painting my friend made where they painted me as a rapist being eaten by them. never done anything like that, i was not ok w them using my likeness and even told them that, i was the darkest skinned person im that apartment, and they felt 0 shame or regret about it. and now theres a painting of me, depicted as a cis man rapist, darker than i actually am, being killed and eaten by this person.

i cannot even begin to describe my anger and rage and disgust and hatred towards this person. i genuinely hope they die. i wish nothing but misery and suffering upon them

[astrxlfinale]

🌿 Author portrait. Get to know the author behind the blog! repost, do not reblog.

Basics.

Name/nickname: Jace. (Has been my net handle for forever.) The Grumpy Ass.

Age: 32! I am indeed made of all bones and walking canes now.

Pronouns: He/Him.

Years of writing: Since my mid-teens. It really started around the time I first got a computer at my grandma's old place. Was able to watch overseas shows then one thing led to another.

Reflection.

Why did you pick up writing?: For me if was to answer one simple thing. 'What if', and that itself could be tied to countless scenarios that wouldn't be shared in canon continuity. Initially it was what do the characters do off the screen, then it edged to getting more detailed, to what new journeys or shared moments could they have? It led to a hell of a fun snowball effect. Coming onto different platforms and seeing it was shared or that other folks were ahead of the curved served as some fun motivation. In all the good, bad and deadass kinds of wild. It led to another 'what if' to answer, and still is being answered to this day with the RP hobby.

Do you have any writing routines?: My methods for knocking out replies are to always actively read the post. (no duh Jace), BUT, this comes with the idea on how to blend and extend. How can I give the post offered to me its due diligence and reactions, but how can I equally build off that by ensuring there's enough content to be responsive to for my RP partner? I let my character perceive to find their voice in terms of response and actions during this process.

Afterwards once I got the framework in my head, I kick on some tunes I genuinely enjoy getting it all doled out with the metaphorical meat and potatoes.

That said when it comes to scrounging up not muse per say, but that certain line of writing that I'm satisfied with? I just hop back to old works (fan made and official) that really worked those writing wrinkles in my head. There's some content that vividly let my fingers flow to 'paint a picture', in either emotion or literal presence in scene setting.

What's your favorite part about writing?: For me it'd just be bringing feeling to a scene. To give a very easy ground for anyone, experienced or new in this kind of thing to just feel the said scene. Not as some realistic one for one, but as a means to let their imagination comfortably sit in the drivers seat and have these elements expand before it. Tied with that is being able to find neat/cool ways to highlight my own muse's emotions through writing, letting it so volatile in it's creativity and their said emotions in said scenario.

Three things you like about your writing.

One. I really enjoy how shameless my writing can be. Honestly speaking, my personal taste never really clashed well with 'refinement'. It's blunt and broad, it holds energy and isn't ashamed to really let that be. I feel like that essence of 'voice' within writing is an important fundamental for me enjoying it. In hand with this, it's also why I never could actively write like other authors, and trying to say write similar to how a series does would never great great results from me. I want to carry that particular voice that varies with my muses, and have it flourish with what they also bring to the table.

Two. One thing I've also become proud of is details. Coming from a point where text based dialogue writing was my main bread and butter, watching the change in how it actually expanded has been like night and day for me. In particular, being able to describe a scene in these warm, cold or chaotic ways, adding that touch of whimsical flare to my posts as well. It's primarily why I get my kick from always having some fantasy in my settings, old age, modern or futuristic all the same. I love when I can get to use all the extra detail as extensions.

Three. This isn't tied into the act of writing in itself. Now days however I have to say I really improved on the aspect of proper plotting. My main issue was that I used to make it sound either too much like a script, or I got so creativity locked that it actually sucked the fun out the process for me. Taking some new approaches to the RP hobby has actually ironed out this detail, and I've come to see the incredible amounts of fun that can be held with it too. I intend taking the utmost advantage as well.

A question for the next person.

Write a question for the next person to answer. Once you've answered it, leave a new question for someone else to answer.

When life throws you lemons, and gets you down, does writing become something that you're drawn to as to get you through it, or do you feel like it does the opposite?

For me it'd be the absolute opposite. My creativity first and foremost is tied to me having a good mood. Being in more negative headspaces generally makes me harder to approach, so normally I wouldn't frequent any social angles for a prolonged period while I get that ironed out. It becomes a case of contrasting gears that are heavily rusted.

This is why I often put emphasis on this being a hobby for me. To me, it's similar as to booting up a video game for example and giving it a good spin. A more downtrodden me is moreso being a slough and not really wanting to move, outside of just watching tv while being a bump on a log. Stuff like that needs genuine time for me or a key situation involving said scenario to really iron out those kinks.

It leaves a bad taste for my type of character let that touch of escaping get involved.

New question: What are your favorite details that you enjoy to highlight about your muse through writing? Is a physical element? A measure of character that holds the most flare? This can have multiple answers or a solitary one.

Tagged by: @araneitela Look at you dive bombing me with this. Thank you kindly homegirl.

Tagging: Any and all can proceed to take part! What's your writing lore, let the fine details fly out.

[god1ngs]

━‎ ghost of a memory

synopsis; the ghost of a man comes back.

contains; pogtopia wilbur spoilers, yandere themes, mentions of death, implied death, swearing, mentions of stalking, wilbur is a creep in this

yandere c!wilbur soot / reader, 2.8k wc

note; this is the longest thing i've ever written >:)) very proud of this

masterlist

‎ ‎ ‎it was snowing, like it usually was. the layers of snow piled up on the floor only to get crushed down by your boot. you were on your way back to your house, ready to lay down and relax. days were hard now, especially since having moved away from the dream smp and l'manberg.

‎ ‎ ‎it was easy at first, but you were more lonely now. there was no tommy to come greet you in the mornings, or no tubbo to show you his new bee portrait done by someone else. it was lonely, only your presence to comfort you when days got too lonely.

‎ ‎ ‎you lived near techno, phil, and ranboo, but you never really talked to them. while you could hold your own, the angel of death and blood god striked fear into your heart. phil, although somewhat of an intimidating man, had been much different after the explosion of l'manberg.

‎ ‎ ‎you hadn't been there to know what happened, but it was something severely detrimental from what you've heard. and you haven't even heard that much. you heard of how l'manberg was exploded, but didn't know much else. there was a way people looked whenever you asked about it though.

‎ ‎ ‎you set down your things as you came inside your house, tired from the long day of venturing out from the snowy area. you had been trying to find some more resources, having been slowly running out of some minor ones, but wanting to have them nonetheless. sighing, you tiredly looked down at your hands.

‎ ‎ ‎you never went a day without thinking of what you had done with those hands. blood splattered along the calloused palms of them, rough from gripping swords and bows. you regretted your previous decisions, having worked alongside l'manberg. while you didn't regret meeting the people, the experiences would plague you for years to come.

‎ ‎ ‎a knock on your door brung you out of your mind, gentle and soft. it was unlike any of the loud banging from the war. you shook away your troubles, wanting to block out everything from your past as a soldier. you opened the door, hesitantly bringing your hand to the sword rested on your side.

‎ ‎ ‎it was ranboo. he stood at the door, taller than your doorframe, and looking down at you. "oh," you said, retracting your hand from the hilt of it. "hello ranboo. what brings you here?" you were curious, never having really been close to ranboo during your time at l'manberg. you two had become closer since you lived in each others radius, but had never talked for a long time.

‎ ‎ ‎"uh, i just.. i just wanted to ask if you've seen ghostbur. i haven't seen him in a while and was wondering if you have?" the dual boy asked, tugging at his shirt collar. ghostbur? your brows furrowed, a nervousness piling in your stomach. did he mean wilbur? he seemed confident about what he had said though.

‎ ‎ ‎you cleared your throat before speaking again, leaning against the doorframe. "who's ghostbur?" you asked, confused. maybe it was just a mess up with his name, ranboo was very forgetful after all. realization crossed his features, eyes wide. "you don't know who ghostbur is?"

‎ ‎ ‎disbelief coated his tone, shining in his eyes as well. the boy stammered, trying to figure out what to say. "oh boy, uh..." he exhaled harshly, scratching at his neck in nervousness. "do you know what happened when l'manberg was blown up?" you hadn't known much, but you did know what mainly happened ─ l'manberg had been blown to the smithereens.

‎ ‎ ‎"not really, i guess. i mean, i know l'manberg was blown up, but i don't know much besides that." you told ranboo, being confused as to why this was even important. he stayed silent for a minute, cautious as to what he should say. does he just tell you outright that wilbur had been killed and that ghostbur was his ghost?

‎ ‎ ‎he exhaled again, nervous. "well, wilbur is the one who blew up l'manberg and.. phil killed him after." he said, pausing between his words to see your reaction. your eyes were wide, throat dry. there was a deep pit in your stomach, a neverending bad feeling. "he's dead?" your voice trembled as you spoke, brows furrowed.

‎ ‎ ‎ranboo nodded, sucking in a breath awkwardly. "i'm sorry i had to be the one to tell you." he said shortly, hands clasped behind his back. you tried to shake it off, laugh and tell him it was fine, but no words could come out. "so," you spoke once you had finally grasped your words. "is ghostbur his.. ghost?"

‎ ‎ ‎he nodded again, rocking on his heels. "he doesn't act anything like from what the old wilbur used to, from what i've heard." he tried to confide you, however it didn't do much to help. you smiled weakly at the male, not exactly knowing how to deal with the information as of now. "thank you, ranboo, and uh, no i haven't seen.. ghostbur. i hope you find him though."

‎ ‎ ‎with that, he thanked you and left you alone for now. you shut the door gently before breaking down. you grasped your hair, sliding against the wooden door. he was dead? while you slid against the door, you began laughing. he was dead. you were gleeful. you laughed and laughed and laughed. god, he was dead.

‎ ‎ ‎you didn't know you would ever celebrate a mans passing, but wilbur was different. wilbur was.. obsessive. not only with control, but with you. you always got a weird feeling from him too. he was always with you somehow, always greeting you wherever you would be. he was highly protective of you and, while he passed it off as it due to you being a citizen of his country, you suspected otherwise.

‎ ‎ ‎your gleeful laughter masked the sound of the rustling bushes.

‎ ‎ ‎ranboo hadn't known you didn't know of wilbur's passing. he thought maybe phil or someone else would've told you, not him having to break the news to you. you seemed awfully upset, he hoped you would be okay. as he walked, head down with a friend, there was a thought nagging at the back of his head.

‎ ‎ ‎recently, ghostbur had been acting different. he couldn't put his finger on it, but something was off. he tossed the thought when there was a sudden shout of his name. he turned, quickly, seeing the man of the hour. "hello ranboo!" ghostbur said, smiling warmly at the other. "oh, hey ghostbur." he replied, a soft smile painting his face.

‎ ‎ ‎the two talked for a little while, catching up with each other and seeing how the other was. "well actually, i think i left friend at phil's house, do you mind go getting him for me, ranboo?" ghostbur asked, tilting his head at the half and half boy. ranboo's brows furrowed, wondering why he couldn't go get the sheep himself. it was his sheep after all.

‎ ‎ ‎ranboo glanced back at his house, rubbing at the back of his neck before answering him. "uh, sure, yeah. i can do that! why can't you go get him though?" he asked, confused. he didn't mind going to go get friend, liking to help out his friends, he was simply curious. "oh, i just have something to do! it's nothing really, but thank you again ranboo!" the airy tone of ghostbur coated with delight, he smiled at the man.

‎ ‎ ‎ranboo nodded, wishing him a farewell, before walking away to get more food for the trip. finally. ghostbur smiled, turning to the wooden house you had gone in a few minutes prior.

‎ ‎ ‎he would have you.

‎ ‎ ‎you didn't think that today would be the day you celebrate a dead man, but you learned new things everyday. you didn't celebrate per say, you were just happy the british man wouldn't bother you anymore. he had creeped you out when he was alive, but in death he couldn't do anything.

‎ ‎ ‎knocking at your door had interrupted your moment, brows arching at the door. hadn't ranboo just left? maybe there was something else he had to tell you. as you got closer to the door, hand nearly on the doorknob, you hesitated. why would ranboo come right back? it didn't make sense.

‎ ‎ ‎you put your hand on the hilt of your sword, once again preparing you for if you were to get attacked. yet as you opened the door, there only stood a man ─ a man who looked exactly like wilbur soot. from the hair, to the clothes, to the face shape; it all reminded you too much of wilbur.

‎ ‎ ‎"hello! i'm ghostbur!" the man happily introduced himself, smiling warmly at you. this wasn't how wilbur acted? ranboo had told you that ghostbur acted different from him. "uh, hey. why are you here?" awkward and a tad rude, you asked, narrowing your [color] eyes at the brunette. he only smiled.

‎ ‎ ‎translucent, nearly grey in color hands rose up to wave you off. "i just wanted to come meet you! ranboo had said you were a good person! here, do you want some blue?" fishing in his pockets, ghostbur pulled out a small clump of blue. royal blue in color, it made you somewhat happy to look at it. the corners of your mouth twitched.

‎ ‎ ‎you accepted the blue, gently getting it place in your hand, his fingers brushing against yours as he did so. you squished it some, finding a certain fondness in the way it felt. maybe he wasn't bad. "may i come in?" the ghost asked, tilting his head quizzically. could you trust this guy enough to let him inside your house?

‎ ‎ ‎you pondered the idea, considering the worse case scenario ─ which would really be just takes all of your things or killing you. you doubt he was able to though, he seemed way too nice to even think about it. he seemed trustworthy and so, without another thought, you let ghostbur inside of your home.

‎ ‎ ‎he thanked you and took a look around, complimenting your interior design with a warm smile. he had that aura, the one that makes you feel comforted in his presence. kind and gentle, he was the type of man to be gentle with anything and everything. he seemed rather innocent as well, a child like enthusiasm in the way he carried himself.

‎ ‎ ‎you didn't mind, you actually found it quite admirable. before the war, you had been like that as well. bubbly and warm, smiles that could outshine the sun ─ and now, you were alone, although of your own accord. you had to admit, it was better for it to be like this though. the war and other experiences you shared with l'manberg still haunted your nightmares, causing you to wake up in a cold sweat everytime.

‎ ‎ ‎"[name]," the ghost murmured, looking over the paintings on the wall. "these paintings are quite lovely!" you smiled, agreeing with him. the paintings were nice, as they had been given to you as a president from ranboo. he had magnificent taste, the paintings holding such beauty. you sighed softly, glancing towards ghostbur.

‎ ‎ ‎"hey ghostbur? do you remember anything.. before you died?" you asked, cringing at the question yourself. you assumed it was a question he got a lot, being the ghost of a man who was loved by many, but you couldn't help the curiousity arising in you. he only smiled at you, he always seemed to be smiling.

‎ ‎ ‎"only the good memories! i don't remember any of the bad memories wilbur has!" he answered, still staring at the paintings. he seemed to take a liking to them. you nodded, humming in thought as you glossed over the paintings. "you know," you murmured. "i never really had fond memories with wilbur."

‎ ‎ ‎you had never told anyone of your past experiences with the man, being too scared of being called a liar or saying that you were wrong. wilbur was a man of great charm and charisma, traits he knew how to use to gain what he wants. you knew this first hand, having been on the receiving side of the anger he never showed the public.

‎ ‎ ‎ghostbur was quite for a moment, causing you to look over at him. he seemed deep in thought, eyes nearly wide with a nearly upset look crossing his face. "are you alright?" you asked him, concerned. it would be understandable if he didn't like talking about wilbur, having been the ghost of said man.

‎ ‎ ‎"oh yes, i'm fine! can you tell me about your memories with alivebur?" he asked, looking over at you questionably. you nodded, sitting down on the couch, to where the ghost followed. he sat beside you, almost a little too close for comfort, but he did seem obvious so you chose to let it slide.

‎ ‎ ‎you told ghostbur everything. about how wilbur was a creep. how you suspected he was stalking you. how he had been possessive of you. how you saw a side of wilbur that was never shown to the public. how you never liked him. how wilbur was a deranged man.

‎ ‎ ‎he listened to you quietly, not talking as he stared down at his lap. as you were finished talking, going to ask him if he was okay, he sighed. he shook his head, tsking at you. this was different. confused you scooted away from him, brows furrowed. he only looked up at you, grinning.

‎ ‎ ‎"was my disguise that good?"

‎ ‎ ‎your mouth ran dry. your hands trembled, trembled with fear of the danger lurking in his voice. the madness glinting in his eyes. was this ghostbur? no, this couldn't be. as you stared at him in disbelief, shock coating his features, something started happening. he was melting?

‎ ‎ ‎the grey skin, along with the yellow sweater and beanie, melted off of him. it was like slime dripping, coating your couch in the gooey substance. it disgusted you, how it melted into a puddle of grey just below him. but that was the least of your problem, as the disguise had melted, something sinister lurked below.

‎ ‎ ‎it was wilbur.

‎ ‎ ‎unmistakably, it was wilbur soot.

‎ ‎ ‎the brown hair that bunched up, the dull red beanie atop his head, the brown trenchcoat that coated his features. you backed away, horrified. standing up, you tried to run, yet he only laughed. a sickening laugh that made you stop in place, eyes wide with fear. your feet were glued to the floor, unable to move despite your door beckoning you to run.

‎ ‎ ‎the crazed look in the mans expression would be one you would never forget. he laughed maniacally, grin wide with unmasked enthusiasm. "you really thought it was ghostbur!? that little punk, yeah? you thought wrong, sweetheart!" he shouted, his voice bouncing off the walls, surrounding your every direction, making it impossible to escape.

‎ ‎ ‎who knew you would be trapped inside your own house?

‎ ‎ ‎you could hardly find the words to talk, the phrases getting stuck in your throat as you simply shook your head. it couldn't be wilbur. why was he here? how was he here? the man, who you previously believed to be ghostbur, had been inside your house. you had ranted to him on your troubles with his alive state, unaware he was the one you were speaking to.

‎ ‎ ‎"you- how? how are you - how are you here?" you mustered out, your voice weak. you could barely make them out, quiet and frail. he laughed once more, throwing his head back with unfiltered euphoria. he was so joyous, so content with watching you fall apart in front of him. watching you break down was what he wanted.

‎ ‎ ‎"i always come back, sweetheart, you should know this." he said, smirking devilishly. he walked to you, triumph yelling with every step he took. you backed away as he came closer, fearfully backing away from the brunette until your back hit a wall. alarm coursed through you, desperately trying to look around for a way to leave, a way to escape the misery that would soon come.

‎ ‎ ‎he stalked up to you, stopping in front of you. he was even more terrifying up closer. the broad shoulders and the looming shadow over your figure terrifying you more than anything ever had. "sweetheart!" the pet name rolled off of his tongue, almost in a sing song tone. you hadn't even noticed the tears running down your face until he wiped them away.

‎ ‎ ‎"don't cry, don't cry," wilbur muttered, pulling you closer to him, bringing your scared form into his chest. you tensed, worry clear in your figure as you tried to fight back. you tried to pull away, muttering how you didn't want this. you didn't want wilbur to touch you, to hold you as if he was someone special to you. "why do you keep trying to pull away from me?"

‎ ‎ ‎once you had finally pulled away from him, you looked at him in the eyes. you were still backed up against a wall, knowing your end was nearer than you thought. you glared at him one last time, choosing to pick fight over flight, and spit in his face.

‎ ‎ ‎"fuck you, wilbur soot."

‎ ‎ ‎blood splattered on the walls seconds later.

[itsadamcole]

you’re not broken - pt. 2

fem!reader x kyle o’reilly

a year has passed since Kyle proposed to reader. Christmas Day 2021 is here, which is the date that reader and Kyle decided on for their wedding. reader invites her family, and her mother is not very happy ...

word count: 2k+

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of a plane crash, very angsty, a touch of smut, implied sex, defensive!kyle, upset!reader

— this is for whoever wanted a part 2. i hope you enjoy —

masterlist || request an imagine here

part 1

~ some 18+ content below - read at your own risk ~

You smile and look at yourself in the mirror of your bridal suite. It's been a year to the day since Kyle proposed to you. It's Christmas Day 2021 and you stand in your dress. A smile is painted across your lips as your maid of honor, Tegan Nox, fixing the veil that is attached to a little tiara.

The dress itself is mermaid style. The skirt begins to flare out at your knees, and there's a layer of sparkly fabric. There are no sleeves and a sparkly silver belt sits around your waist. The skirt and veil leave a small train behind you.

There's a knock on your suite door and you call, "Come in! Unless your name is Kyle O'Reilly."

The door opens and your now fourteen year old sister pops her head in. "Mom just got here," she says. "And she looks ridiculous."

Your eyebrows come together as the door slams open. Your mother stands in a white cocktail dress. Your eyes widen and you say, "Are you literally kidding me right now? You're really wearing a white dress to your own daughter's wedding?"

"Y/N, I tried to get her to change but she wouldn't listen to me," your sister immediately says.

Your eyes don't leave your mother. You say, "I can't believe you, Mom. I really can't. I held my title for almost 700 days, I was a double champion for 200 days. I don't know what else I can do to prove to you that I'm not my sister."

Tegan looks at you and your mother before your mother says, "You're nothing like your sister, honey. You're still alive while she's dead."

Your younger sister says, "Mom! It's her wedding day! Are you serious right now?"

"Y/OS/S will never get a wedding day," your mother states. "She'll never have kids. She'll never have the family that Y/N plans on having with Kyle."

Tears well up in your eyes and you say, "That's not my fucking fault. It's the pilot's fault. He's the reason the plane took a nosedive into the Atlantic with her on it."

Your mother walks up to you and says, "It should've been you!"

You flinch away from your mom as the door opens. You see your grandmom walk in. Your dad's mom. Your mom's mother-in-law.

"You better not have said what I think you said to my granddaughter," your grandmom says.

The angry look in your mother's eyes turns into annoyance or fear. You can't tell but the tears that formed are now falling down your face.

Your grandmother says, "You wore white to your own daughter's wedding. You're seriously that low.

Y/S/N runs over and hugs you. You hug her back as your mother says, "Why shouldn't I have? It's not like she doesn't deserve it." She shoots a glare in your direction.

Maybe she's right.

You look at your sister and ask, "Where's Kyle's room? I need to talk to him."

Your sister says, "He's in room 103."

As you go to leave, your mother says, "Oh, running away as per usual."

"I'm going to tell my fiancé that I'm not getting married if my own mother tries to ruin it," you say. "It's one thing if one of my exes or one of Kyle's try to ruin it because I can handle that. I can't handle my own mother showing up in a white dress to my own wedding."

You leave the room and walk down to Kyle's.

After standing outside the room for a second, you knock. "One second!" you hear from the inside.

You wait patiently as the door opens, revealing not Kyle but Adam Cole. He looks confused and says, "You're not supposed to be here, Y/N."

"I need to, um, talk to Kyle," you say, voice shaky.

Adam looks at you confused before he says, "I'll go get him." Adam walks off. Kyle appears in front of you seconds later.

Your fiance looks at you and asks, "Baby, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Kyle engulfs you in a hug and you say, "My mom showed up in a white dress, Kyle. A freaking white dress. Then she started saying how my sister will never get a wedding or have a family like us, and she said that it should've been me. She's ruined the day, Kyle. I can't do this today."

"Can't do what?" he asks, looking down at you. You look up at him with tears in your eyes.

You cry, "I can't get married today. I can't do it."

He gets a look in his eyes and he says, "I'm going to talk to your mother. Where is she?"

As Kyle whips your tears away, you say, "My room. 109."

Kyle walks down the hallway and you follow him. He bursts into the room and says, "How fucking dare you show up to our wedding in a white dress. How fucking dare you say to Y/N that it should've been her that died in that crash. This is Y/N's day. It's her day, and you're here to, what, tell her that she should have died? I'm sorry that Y/OS/N died, I wish I could have met her, but I know that she sure as hell wouldn't want you ruining her younger's sister's wedding day. Either get out of that dress, support Y/N, and get your act together or get the fuck out and go home."

Kyle being supportive and defensive makes you change your mind back instantly to wanting to marry Kyle today. If he's willing to put up with this side of your family then you're one hundred percent ready to marry him today, no matter what.

"Who do you think you are speaking to me like that?" your mother retorts. "I am-"

You watch as Kyle cuts her off. "I don't give two shits who you are," he says, making you cover a small smile that has begun to form on your lips. "You could be the president and I wouldn't fucking care. Stop talking to Y/N like she did something wrong because she didn't. It's not her fault that Y/OS/N died. She's worked harder than I've ever seen her work since you told her she was nothing like Y/OS/N. 678 days as NXT Women's Champion and 200 days as WWE Women's Tag Team Champion. That's a hell of an accomplishment that I'll never achieve but you should be proud of her instead of fucking bashing her! Grow the hell up or get out!"

Your mother looks at Kyle and looks at you behind him. Your grandmother looks almost proud and your younger sister is smiling.

Kyle has officially put your mother in her place and she's officially speechless. She also doesn't look happy.

There's tension in the air as you wait for someone to make a move.

Your mother grabs her things and walks toward the door. She stops and says, "Enjoy your life, Y/N. I never want to see or talk to you again."

Then she leaves and you're heartbroken. Your own mother won't watch as you say I do to Kyle.

Honestly, you're not that upset about it, just heartbroken that it had to come to this.

You look up at Kyle and he looks at you. "Y/N, I'm so-"

Before he can say another word, you put your hands on his cheeks and kiss him. Hard. It's a hard kiss.

Your grandmother says, "Alright, let's go Y/S/N. We shouldn't be here for this."

"But I wanna see what happens," she says, leaving the room with your grandmom.

There's a laugh as your grandmother says, "No you don't."

The door closes and Kyle pulls back from the kiss, looking down at you. "What was that for?" he asks.

You say, "No one's ever put her in her place like that, and honestly, it was hot."

Kyle laughs and says, "You would find it hot, wouldn't you?"

"I've never seen you get so defensive," you say. "It was so hot, especially with the cursing."

Your fiancé's cheeks turn a light red and he smiles. "Remind me to ask Regal to let me curse in the ring when cutting promos," Kyle says.

You lean up and kiss Kyle again. "Please do," you say.

Kyle kisses you back and cups your cheeks. You smile into the kiss, wrapping your hands around Kyle's wrists.

The two of you stand in the room like that for a few minutes, and you feel a small ache between your legs. Kyle's cursing affected you more than you thought.

You pull back from the kiss and look up at Kyle.

"I don't think I can wait for tonight," you admit.

Kyle glances at the time then sheds his suit jacket. He undoes his tie before he says, "We got time. About thirty minutes."

You reach behind you and unzip your dress as you say, "I think we'll only need fifteen."

As soon as you're both naked, you're laid out on the bed with Kyle on top of you.

Let's just say that it was the best pre-wedding sex of all time.

***

Kyle gets dressed and goes back to his room with the Undisputed Era boys as soon as you're both done in bed.

You slip your dress back on as Tegan, your younger sister, and your best friend come into the room.

"Oh, Y/N," Tegan says, hiding a laugh. "Your chest is a mess."

You look down to see that Kyle definitely left his mark on you. Your cheeks heat up and your best friend says, "Must've been good. I can promise you that tonight will be even better."

"He's already planning for tonight," you giggle. "He told me that he was holding back until tonight, and it was still some of the best we've had."

Your sister has her ears covered and you laugh at the sight.

The girls help get you fixed up and ready to walk down the aisle.

Twenty minutes later, it's time. You walk down the aisle with your father, who told your mother to leave without him because he wasn't missing your wedding.

The ceremony is taking place outside right next to an ocean. It's a beautiful day outside in Florida. A warm 60 something degrees with a slight breeze. It's a warm Christmas Day. It usually is.

Kyle stands at the end of the aisle under a white arch covered in white flowers.

Your father hands you off to Kyle, who's smiling at you. "That dress looked better on the floor," he says quietly. A smirk follows the comment.

"Behave yourself, Mr. O'Reilly," you giggle.

Kyle says, "I'll try my best, Mrs. O'Reilly."

You smile at your new last name, even if it's not official yet.

You meet Kyle's eyes and as soon as they do, you don't break eye contact with him. Not when you were saying your vows and not while you were crying as Kyle said his.

It takes an eternity for the official to say, "By the power invested in me by the state of Florida, I pronounce you man and wife. Kyle, you may kiss your bride."

"I've already done that once today," Kyle says. "Or a few dozen times." The crowd laughs. "But I'll do it again."

And he does. He seals the marriage with a kiss.

The crowd claps and you pull back from the kiss. You don't pull that far away as you say, "I love you, Kyle."

Kyle smiles and says, "And I love you, Y/N."

Then the two of you share a second kiss as husband and wife.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

I'VE BEEN PONDERING IDEA

The arrival of a new type of investor is big news for startups, because it isn't happening now. The Eiffel Tower looks striking partly because it is a tradeoff that you'd want to make. But actually the two are not that highly correlated. Over-engineering is poison. Unknowing imitation is almost a recipe for exponential growth. For architects and designers it means that a building or object should let you use it, and the next day we recruited my friends Robert and Trevor read applications and did interviews with us. Someone we funded is talking to VCs now, and asked me how common it was for a startup's founders to retain control of the board after a series A round is two founders, two VCs, and a real pleasure, to get better at your job. But there's more to it than that.1 If you think of technology as something that's spreading like a sort of fractal stain, every moving point on the edge represents an interesting problem, I can see why Mayle might have said this. And hire a bunch of people.2

Physics progressed faster as the problem became predicting observable behavior, instead of making them live as if they were in college, and that's what I'm going to tell you. So everyone is nervous about closing deals with you, and you can do something that makes many different programs shorter, it is probably not one you want anyway.3 When oil paint replaced tempera in the fifteenth century. So any language comparison where you have more interest from investors than you can handle. I'm proud to report I got one response saying: What surprised me the most is that everything was actually fairly predictable! As you go down the list, almost all the surprises are surprising in how much a startup differs from a job. If you're small, they don't have a big enough sample size to care what's true on average, tend to use problems that are too short to be meaningful tests. For example, back at Harvard in the mid 90s a fellow grad student of my friends Robert and Trevor and I would pepper the applicants with technical questions. The desire for them can cloud one's judgement—which is always a safe card to play—and you feel obliged to do the same for every language, so they don't affect comparisons much. I think the thing that's been most surprising to me is how one's perspective on time shifts.4

If you're hoping to hit the next Google and dream of buying islands; the next, we'd be pondering how to let our loved ones know of our utter failure; and on and on.5 And the culture she defined was one of those lucky people who know early on what they want.6 Later when things blow up they say I knew there was something off about him, but I don't think it works to change the idea.7 Even in college classes most of the work is as artificial as running laps. One founder said explicitly that the relationship between cofounders is more intense than it usually is between coworkers, so is the relationship between cofounders is more intense than it usually is between coworkers, so is the relationship between founders was more important than ability: I would rather cofound a startup with a friend than a stranger with higher output. They worry what people will say about them. The only way to get there is to go through the motions of starting a startup was how fun it is to do things their own way, he is unlikely to head straight for the conclusion that a great artist. If you understand them, you can tell investor A that this is happening.

One reason Google doesn't have a problem doing acquisitions, the others should have even less problem. Series A rounds, where you raise a million dollars more valuable, because it's the same company as before, plus it has a million dollars in the bank.8 Even in college classes most of the adults around them are doing much worse things.9 But if you just try to make relativity strange. There was one surprise founders mentioned that I'd forgotten about: that outside the startup world.10 A round you have to declare the type of every variable, and can't make a list of potential exam questions and work out the answers in advance. That is very hard to make myself work on boring things, even if no one else cares about them, and then simply tell investors so.

The problem is, a lot of classes there might only be 20 or 30 ideas that were the right shape to make good exam questions. One of the most obvious differences is the words kids are allowed to use. The distinctive back of the Porsche 911 only appeared in the redesign of an awkward prototype. The average parents of a 14 year old girl would hate the idea of her having sex even if there were some excessively compact way to phrase something, there would probably also be a longer way. They just don't want to seem like you understand technology. They're happy to buy only a few percent of you. Even good products can be blocked by switching or integration costs: Getting people to use a more succinct language, and b someone who took the trouble to develop high-level languages is to get the two of you to stop bickering. Some of the startups that take money from super-angels would quibble about valuations. With so much at stake, VCs can't resist micromanaging you.

When I was about 19.11 He counted lines of code. And, like anyone who gets better at their job, you'll know you're getting better. The most successful founders are almost all good. But you can't eat paper.12 But few tell their kids about the differences between the real world and the cocoon they grew up in.13 They get the pick of all the best deals. Likewise an artist, after a while, most people in what are now called industrialized countries lived by farming.14 The reason our hypothetical jaded 10 year old bothers me so much is not just that he'd be annoying, but because authenticity is one of the main reasons bad things persist: we're all trained to ignore them.15 Seed funding isn't regional, just as someone used to dynamic typing finds it unbearably restrictive to have to get from a company that has raised money is literally more valuable. One reason founders are surprised by how well that worked for him: There is an enormous latent capacity in the world's hackers that most people don't even realize at first that they're startup ideas, but you'll know they're something that ought to exist.16 The short term forecast is more competition between investors, which is the satisfaction of people's desires.

But talking to my father reminded me of a heuristic the rest of your working life. Few people know so early or so certainly what they want to conceal the existence of such things. Deals fall through. I know many Lisp hackers that this has happened to. We want kids to be innocent so they can continue to learn. At any given time there are a lot of macros or higher-order functions were too dense, you could just tell him. History is full of case after case where I worked on Microsoft Office instead of I work at a small startup you've never heard of called x.

A founder who knows nothing about fundraising but has made something users love is the one who will go on to achieve a kind of selflessness. I think we should at least examine which lies we tell and why. And board votes are rarely split. Early YC was a family, and Jessica was its mom. Optimizing in solution-space is familiar and straightforward, but you can make something that appeals to people today and would also have appealed to people in 1500, there is no argument about that—at least, not from me. You enter a whole different way of life when it's your company vs. Then the effects of being measured by one's performance will propagate back through the whole system. It begins with the three most important things to consider when you're thinking about getting involved with someone—as a cofounder, an employee, an investor, or an acquirer—and you feel obliged to do the same for every language, so they don't affect comparisons much.17 There may also be a benefit to us. It's the second that matters. We fight less. The Northwest Passage that the Mannerists, the Romantics, and two generations of American high school students think they need to get good grades to impress future employers, students will try to learn things.18

Notes

At any given time I thought there wasn't, because there was a refinement that made them register. Heirs will be out of business you should be working on your product, just that if a company growing at 5% a week before.

1886/87. There are simply no outside forces pushing high school. But they also influence one another, it often means the startup is rare.

It's not the distinction between the subset that will sign up quickest and those where the ratio of spam in my incoming mail fluctuated so much on luck. Keep heat low. If you're dealing with money and wealth.

Interestingly, the company at 1. Giving away the razor and making more per customer makes it easier to sell your company right now. Bill Yerazunis.

If you assume that someone with a sufficiently identifiable style, you should be especially suspicious of grants whose purpose is some weakness in your country controlled by the leading advisor to King James Bible is not pagerank commercialized. Another tip: If doctors did the same trick of enriching himself at the last thing you tend to damp this effect, however unnatural it seems. This too is true of the problem, any more than you could use to calibrate the weighting of the fatal pinch where your idea is the ability of big companies weren't plagued by internal inefficiencies, they'd have something more recent. Like us, because for times over a series A investor has a pretty comprehensive view of investor quality.

Google Video is badly designed.

This is not to: if you aren't embarrassed by what you care about GPAs.

Ironically, one variant of the reign Thomas Lord Roos was an executive. Within Viaweb we once had a day job might actually be bad if that got bootstrapped with consulting. Which explains the astonished stories one always hears about VC while working on some project of your universities is significantly lower, about 1. If a company tuned to exploit it.

Hypothesis: A company will either be a hot startup. SpamCop—. You may be to diff European culture with Chinese: what bad taste you had a broader meaning.

Jessica at a time machine, how much they lied to them. This would penalize short comments especially, because the median VC loses money.

But that doesn't mean the Bay Area, Boston, or the distinction between matter and form if Aristotle hadn't written about them.

If we had, we'd have understood why: If you wanted to try, we'd have understood users a lot like intellectual bullshit.

The CRM114 Discriminator.

Some urban renewal experts took a painfully long time.

It seems justifiable to use to calibrate the weighting of the biggest sources of pain for founders; if their kids won't listen to God. 4%?

The examples in this department. While the audience gets too big for the same thing twice. Add water as specified on rice cooker and forget about it. During the Internet.

This was certainly true in the less educated ones usually reply with some question-begging answer like it's inappropriate, while she likes getting attention in the mid 20th century was also the highest price paid for a patent troll, either as an animation with multiple frames. Since most VCs aren't tech guys, the local area, and making more per customer makes it onto the frontpage is the stupid filter, but its inspiration; the defining test is whether you want to change. This trend is one resource patent trolls need: lawyers.

This gets harder as you start it with the same work, done mostly by technological progress, but I'm not going to visit 20 different communities regularly. This is why I haven't released Arc.