#i wonder if the artist took it down to make some changes...? either way that's the credit hfdsjkf | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dreamwritesimagines · 2 years ago

Text

Garden of Secrets [29] - Hemlock

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: Every artist has a different idea of inspiration.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, angst.

Word Count: 3400

Series Masterlist

Well, this had to be the infamous heartbreak all those artists and writers never shut up about.

And as far as you could tell, you hated it.

It was as if sadness had taken all the energy out of your body for the last couple of days. You hadn’t really seen Benedict since that fight at the breakfast, he had spent all his time either outside or in his studio and you had spent your time in your room or the library, mostly sulking.

“My lady?”

You opened your eyes and sat up in the bed as your maid walked inside. It was afternoon, you had taken your breakfast in your room and had curled up on the bed again with a book in your hand that you had no idea what was about.

“Yeah?” you croaked out and Paula offered you an apologetic smile before showing you the envelope she was holding, making your heart drop to your stomach.

“Who’s that from?” you asked, your voice shaky with fear and she checked the name.

“Lady Margery Sutton?”

The relief that filled your system was so sudden that it made your head spin before it was quickly replaced by confusion.

“For me?”

“Yes ma’am.”

You held out your hand so that she could give you the envelope, and you opened it to scan the lines.

“A dinner party tonight?” you muttered, trying to remember whether you had ever given a promise like that but you couldn’t quite figure it out. You frowned slightly and lowered the invitation, then looked up at her.

“Is Benedict home?”

“Yes ma’am, at his studio.”

You nibbled on your lip and thought for a moment, then pushed yourself off the bed and grabbed your dressing gown. You put it on and threw your shoulders back, then left your room to make your way down the hallway. Your heartbeat was so fast that you had to take a deep breath and scold yourself in your head before you reached the open door of his studio. For a second, you just let yourself take in his handsome form while he worked on the canvas, your heart clenching in your chest and you swallowed thickly, then knocked on the doorframe before you could change your mind.

His head whirled around immediately and a painful light flashed in his blue gaze as soon as his eyes fell on you, but it lasted less than a second before he pulled himself together.

“Yes?”

You blinked a couple of times and forced yourself to snap out of it, then held up the invitation in your hand.

“I didn’t mean to disturb,” you said drily. “But Margery sent a letter about a dinner party tonight and apparently we’re attending?”

He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a breath, running a hand over his face.

“I told her we would, before…” he trailed off and you raised your brows.

Oh.

The night of the party.

“Right,” you said. “Okay.”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“It’d be rude,” you replied with a shrug of your shoulders. “It’s alright. At 8 she says?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

A silence fell upon the room and you licked your lips, then took a deep breath.

“Then should we—”

“We don’t really need to talk to each other,” he said calmly and your head shot up, that bitter taste appearing in your throat again before you nodded your head.

“Sure,” you said, your tone completely stoic. “Agreed. I was just going to ask whether we should still act all…you know. When we’re with other people.”

“Lovesick?” he suggested and you shrugged your shoulders again.

“Whatever it is.”

He scoffed a stiff chuckle.

“I don’t think it’s worth the effort at this point,” he said. “I mean I don’t really care what anyone else thinks, and I already know how you feel, so…The rest doesn’t matter anyway.”

You could feel the burning at the back of your eyes before you blinked fast a couple of times to stop the tears before they could reach your eyes.

“Uh huh,” you ended up saying, folding the paper just so that you could do something with your hands. “Yeah.”

“Did you want to?”

“No,” you said almost too fast. “No, it’s a relief to hear that we won’t do that anymore actually.”

A bitter smile curled his lips.

“I’m sure it is,” he rasped out and you cleared your throat, biting at your tongue to focus on anything other than that pang in your chest.

“Great,” you managed to say. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Alright,” he said, his gaze still on you. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” you muttered more to yourself before you turned around and walked away, your eyes still burning. You entered your room, scrunching up the invitation in your hand and Paula turned to you.

“Shall I pick a dress for tonight then?”

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, then smiled at her.

“That sounds good,” you rasped out. “Thank you.”

The carriage ride to Lady Margery’s house was very quiet, but tense. Unlike the other times, this silence between you and Benedict didn’t possess any kind of peace, it just made you feel like you were about to walk on the edge of a sword throughout the night.

When you and Benedict walked in, most of the other guests were already there in the drawing room and Margery quickly made her way to you as soon as she saw you.

“Oh welcome!” she said, kissing you on the cheek before turning to smile at Benedict. “You’ve made it! Hello Benedict.”

“Hello Margery,” Benedict said, making you pull your brows together at the lack of honorifics but Margery didn’t seem to mind it at all, on the contrary it made her smile widen, making your heart skip a beat.

“We were just about to go to the dining room, almost everyone is here except Henry and Gordon,” she said. “But Lucy says they will probably be late. Anyway, Y/N you should’ve been at the party, you missed so much!”

You raised your brows and nodded.

“So I’ve heard,” you said. “Perhaps the next time.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” she said airily and turned to Benedict. “And how about you, Mr. Bridgerton? It took me a day to sober up for good, I’m guessing it took you a bit longer than that?”

Dear God, you couldn’t do this, not tonight.

You turned your head and thankfully caught the sight of Felix, so you cleared your throat.

“Excuse me,” you muttered and walked away from them to Felix who gave you a bright smile.

“Y/N!” he said. “It’s been a while.”

“Mm hm, you have been quite busy with my brother-in-law,” you joked half-heartedly and he looked down with a smile, then raised his glances.

“He’s amazing.”

“You only think that because you have never seen him hungry, I suppose,” you deadpanned, taking a look at the other couple in the drawing room and Felix glanced at you, then cleared his throat.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Is everything alright?”

“What?” you asked, turning to him. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Nothing, it’s just—you’re glaring at people again.”

“I always glare at people, it’s a part of my charm.”

“Not lately—” he started but was cut off when you heard Lucy’s voice.

“Did you two have a fight?”

You looked over your shoulder, then turned to see her better. “Hello to you too, and what?”

“You and Benedict?”

“…What makes you say that?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat and she shrugged.

“You’re not near each other for once?”

“We don’t have to be in each other’s orbit all the time,” you said and Lucy and Felix exchanged glances.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Is this why you weren’t at the party?”

“Lucy…”

“What?” she asked, feigning innocence. “I’m curious by nature, you know that.”

“Everyone?” Margery called out. “Time for dinner, please follow me to the dining room.”

You, Felix and Lucy followed the only other couple to the dining room and when you entered the dining room to take your seat, Benedict pulled your chair for you. You offered him a small smile, then took your seat and he sat down next to you while the others took their seats.

As the footmen began to serve the soup, one of the guests –you recognized him as one of Benedict’s friends, Lord Thomas Bousfield– turned to Lucy.

“So when exactly can we expect the next party?”

“When I sober up for good,” Lucy replied with a laugh and Margery tilted her head.

“I know how you feel,” she said. “I might throw the next party Lord Bousfield, but only if you promise you will be a part of the art room.”

Oh, she could remember the honorifics just fine when it was other people then.

Lord Bousfield held up his hands. “No promises.”

“Oh come on!”

“You have your promising artist there,” Lord Bousfield motioned at Benedict. “Tell him instead of me.”

“I will make him, no worries,” Lucy said. “Or I’ll ask Henry to.”

“There is no need to make him, his inspiration sits right beside him,” Felix said and you and Benedict exchanged glances but before either of you could say anything, Henry entered the dining room.

“Our biggest apologies!” he said and went to kiss Margery’s hand as another man entered the room after him.

Ah, this had to be the infamous Lord Gordon Easton, Benedict’s hero in art.

He was older than Henry, judging by the grays in his hair and neatly trimmed beard, and handsome by anyone’s standards. He had an air of calm charisma that seemed to surround him and even you could tell he was aware of it, which made you think it probably came from the endless admiration of everyone around him.

An artist indeed.

His eyes fell on you and he raised his brows as if he was quite impressed, then he smiled at Benedict and made his way to Margery to kiss her hand as well.

“My lady,” he greeted her and Margery narrowed her eyes playfully.

“At last the guests of honor are here,” she said and motioned between them. “Which one of you should I blame then?”

“Me,” Henry said as he took his seat beside Lucy. “As much as I hate to admit, it was on me this time.”

“At least you’re honest,” Margery said with a chuckle and Lord Easton sat down as well.

“What did we miss?”

“Inspiration,” Lucy said and Henry grinned.

“Oh that’s impossible to miss, it’s everywhere.”

“Is it though?”

“It’s a cruel mistress,” Lord Easton said, “A fickle one too.”

“Hear hear,” the lady sitting beside Thomas said and he chuckled.

“As if inspiration is ever cruel to you Jane.”

“It has its moments,” she said with a smile while you sipped your drink. “And Felix?”

“I have no issues with inspiration, it’s my canvas that is cruel to me.”

“You will get there,” Lucy assured him. “It just takes time.”

“And patience,” Henry added. “Which is something you must learn, Felix.”

“I’m trying.”

“How about you Ben?” Lord Easton asked, “What does our promising young artist think?”

Benedict snapped out of his thoughts and cleared his throat.

“About what?” he asked and Margery let out a laugh.

“Are you alright Benedict?”

“Sure,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “Zoned out for a moment. What are we talking about?”

“How hard it can be to capture the inspiration,” Henry said. “Do you think the same?”

Benedict shrugged his shoulders.

“Sort of,” he said. “I mean it is rather difficult to get inspiration when my life is perfect, so I just create issues for myself and make huge life decisions just to capture it, nothing more.”

You raised your brows, an irritated chuckle spilling from your lips as you dragged your tongue over your teeth, swirling the wine in your glass.

“Y/N disagrees,” Margery teased and you shook your head.

“Not at all,” you said before turning to see Benedict better. “A rather interesting idea, how did you come up with it?”

“I’ve had a good teacher,” Benedict stated, his blue gaze locking in yours and you could swear you could hear the crackles of lightning between you, tension almost palpable.

“Sounds like a brutally honest one,” you pointed out and Benedict tilted his head.

“Brutal yes, but honest?” he asked. “Debatable.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t think honesty is up for debate, you are either honest or not.”

“Is everything alright between you two?” Henry asked while Lucy shook her head, and both you and Benedict turned to him.

“Sure.”

“Of course,” you said at the same time and you sipped your drink, ignoring the curiosity etched in Lord Easton’s face.

“Well then,” Margery raised her glass slightly. “To inspiration. May it be gentle with all the artists but especially the ones at this table.”

After the dinner, you excused yourself to get some fresh air in the garden while Margery took everyone else to the art gallery at the first floor so that they could see the newest paintings she purchased from all over the world. The cool air on your face did nothing to soothe the slight headache making its way to your temples and you sat down in the gazebo, then leaned your head back, stealing a look at the flowers around you.

Of course Margery’s garden looked perfect.

Of course.

You heaved a sigh and leaned your head back, the moonlight falling on you. You fixed your gaze on the starry sky before you followed the familiar shape with your eyes, a scoff escaping from your lips.

Andromeda.

The footsteps coming closer made you turn your gaze back to the garden and you raised your brows as you saw the figure.

“Lord Easton.”

He offered you a small smile and bowed his head.

“Mrs. Bridgerton,” he greeted you back. “Benedict’s infamous beauty.”

You arched a brow.

“I’m not anyone’s anything,” you corrected him and he nodded.

“My apologies,” he said. “May I join you, Mrs. Bridgerton?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

“It’s not every day I’m in the presence of a muse.”

“You’re still not.”

“Oh I disagree,” he said. “I’ve met many people who want to be artists and I’ve also met many people who they saw as their muse, but you two? A promising artist with actual talent and a muse with intriguing beauty? That’s rarer than you’d think. Once in a blue moon, as one would say.”

If it were anyone else you would have thought he was just throwing you compliments, but somehow you knew he was not. Perhaps because of his matter-of-fact tone, perhaps because you knew he was widely successful and famous therefore he had no need for compliments to gain someone’s interest, but you just knew he was not interested in you in a traditional manner, in an affair or not.

There was intrigue in his eyes rather than desire.

He took out a cigarette to light it, and offered one to you but you shook your head.

“No thank you.”

“Of course,” he said and huffed out the smoke. “So how did he break your heart?”

Your head snapped up and you blinked a couple of times. “Pardon?”

“One cannot be an artist without observation as their second nature,” he said. “And observation is a part of inspiration as many artists throughout the history agree. So? How did he break your heart?”

Your jaw clenched, yet you kept your gaze on him in complete silence.

“I would ask how you broke his heart,” he said. “But I don’t think I will get an answer to that question.”

“And you think you will get an answer to the other one?” you asked back and he chuckled.

“Perhaps,” he said. “So how did he?”

You watched him in silence for a couple of seconds, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Lord Easton—”

“Gordon, please,” he told you, waving a hand in the air and you clicked your tongue.

“I’m not planning on getting that familiar with you,” you pointed out. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No?”

“Not at all.”

“No heartbreak?”

“Impossible,” you stated. “I don’t have a heart.”

“Ah,” he said, then nodded. “I see.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” you said and he took a drag of his cigarette.

“Call it experience.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a hedonist?” you asked. “I remember Margery saying something along those lines.”

“I am,�� he said. “But I’ve had my fair share of wounds of heart.”

You let out a small laugh. “Is that not an occupational hazard in your line of work?”

An amused smile curled his lips and he nodded.

“It is,” he said. “As it happens, it’s also an occupational hazard in Benedict’s line of work.”

That was enough to make any trace of a smile disappear from your face and you crossed your arms.

“Sounds like you should be talking to Benedict, not me,” you said. “You’re both artists after all.”

He paused for a moment.

“You know he will be a big name in the art world right?”

You nodded your head. “I’m heartless, not blind.”

He snorted a laugh. “I doubt you’re heartless, Mrs. Bridgerton.”

“Why?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Because there’s a fire behind your eyes,” he said. “That you share with him. That one doesn’t come alive unless your heart is involved. Trust me, it takes a special kind of pain to lure it out.”

“And the cure?”

“The poison is the antidote.”

“Love?” you spat. “I’d rather not take the antidote then.”

He heaved a sigh.

“Judging by what I’ve seen just now at dinner?” he said. “I’d say it’s already in your system.”

You licked your lips, then shook your head.

“Nah,” you said. “It’s a trick.”

“Love?”

“Yeah, it’s yet another luxury only artists can afford to dwell on,” you pointed out. “Nothing more. It’s not my—it’s not my issue.”

“No?”

You shrugged your shoulders, your throat getting tighter.

“I never asked Benedict to love me,” you said as if daring him to disagree and he raised his brows.

“I see,” he said. “Did he ask you to love him then?”

You pulled back, swallowing thickly and he offered you a small smile, then stubbed his cigarette.

“Let me give you a secret, Mrs. Bridgerton,” he said. “One that no one around you ever told you. You two would have led much easier lives if you married other people.”

You pulled your brows together.

“What?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Odds are, you and he would have had a normal life, a couple of kids along the way and a tolerable companionship at best with others if you hadn’t met each other. Granted something was always going to be missing, but most people learn to look the other way whenever that realization dawns on them. But… dear God, you two married each other.”

You stared at him and he shook his head slightly.

“It is understandable why you’re fighting tooth and nail,” he said. “This kind of love is something else, and of course it terrifies you. The person who holds the key to your true happiness is the same person who can give you the worst pain you could ever imagine.”

You tried to ignore how badly your eyes were burning.

“And that’s what all artists crave?” you asked. “I thought it was supposed to be soft and pleasant.”

He shot you a knowing smile.

“Show me one artist who claimed love is soft and pleasant.”

You frowned at him in silence, trying to wrap your head around what he said.

“You still think the storm and the shelter are separate things here,” he said and stood up. “They’re not. Benedict knows it, and that’s why it will be much easier for him than it will be for you.”

You blinked back the tears as he bowed his head slightly.

“Good luck, Mrs. Bridgerton,” he said. “Muse or not, I’d say you’re going to need it.”

With that, he walked away from you, leaving you there alone. You clenched your teeth and blinked back the tears, then let out a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” you muttered. “I’m going to need it for sure.”

Chapter 30

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regency fic

817 notes · View notes

ladykailitha · 8 months ago

Text

Sweet Home Indiana Part 6

@anne-bennett-cosplayer I hope this is enough time to recover from that last line. It's technically been 3 business days.

That last line was mean, and I'm sorry. So for being so mean, here's Claudia Henderson with some very tough love for Eddie.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

****

Eddie had done some serious groveling that night. He didn’t know how he could make up for all the hell he’d put Steve through. How does one even begin to make up for a decade worth of shitty behavior?

Especially since it was clear that the one thing that would make it all worth it was if Eddie came back to Steve and he couldn’t do that. Not to Chrissy. Not when she needed him the most.

He did the only thing he could think of and talk to the people who still cared about Steve. He started with Claudia Henderson. Even though she wasn’t Steve’s birth mother, she was more his mom then that shrew ever was.

She gathered him into a hug when he showed up on her doorstep.

“I was wondering when your shadow would darken my doorway,” Claudia said, as she lead the way to the kitchen.

Eddie winced at the harsh words even if they gently given. He looked around the small house, Dustin’s mark stamped on every corner even though he had moved out long ago. But more surprisingly was Steve’s touch had found its way into the decor. And not just his photos on the wall either.

It was in the Pacers blanket on the loveseat, the baseball bat by the front door, the bright yellow pillows on the sofa. Steve was loved here and god did that make Eddie’s heart ache.

He sat down at his usual spot at the counter and watched as she bustled around the kitchen getting him cookies and glass of milk.

“Why are you even here, Eddie?” she asked in that tough but loving way she always had. “You broke his heart and then threw it away.”

Eddie took bite of the cookie to give him time to formulate an answer. “Because I know I fucked up, okay? But the only way I can see to fix it is to come back to him and I can’t do that. I can’t tell you why, just know she’s in trouble and this is the only option we have.”

Claudia let out a long sigh and leaned on the counter. “You always did know the right things to say.”

“Not when it comes to him,” he scoffed, staring down at his milk like it would give him the answers. “I keep making it worse.”

She hummed her agreement. “That’s certainly true. But I think that was more about you trying to protect your heart from getting hurt, only you ended up hurting his instead.”

Eddie just dunked his cookie without comment, because he knew she was right. It was never about Steve. It was about all the people who hated him, who strung him along until they had their fun, about his mom dying and his dad leaving, about the band deciding they just didn’t want to do it anymore.

He loved being a tattoo artist, but that wasn’t the dream.

“What would you do or tell Dusty if it was him you’d come to see after a decade apart?” Claudia asked, looking up at him.

Eddie sat back in the stool and sighed. “How much I missed him and then I would try to spend as much time with him as possible.”

“There you have it,” she said. She straightened up and knocked on the counter twice. “The bakery is closed Fridays and the carnival is in town. Why don’t you take him and get to know who he is now, all right?”

He rubbed his face and sighed again. “Yeah, if he’ll even go with me. He probably already has a hot date lined up, though.”

Claudia shook her head. “At least not that he’s told me, anyway. In fact he was lamenting that he was thinking about not going because Robin had a date, but he didn’t and he didn’t want to third wheel it.”

That was so like Steve. Instead of finding someone to go with him, like a friend or something, he would just not go. Tell them to have fun without him.

“I guess the worse that could happen is have him curse me out and hang up,” Eddie said with wry smile. “And considering I’ve already had the pleasure once, a second time isn’t going to change much.”

She lifted her chin. “Well go on, then. If you think he’s going to cuss you out, call him. I want to see this.”

Eddie stuck his tongue out at her like a petulant child. But did as he was told.

“Hey, Eds,” Steve greeted, picking up the phone almost immediately.

His heart stuttered in his chest at the old nickname. “Hey, Stevie. I hear the carnival was in town this week and wanted to see if you want to go.”

“With you? Or with a group or whatever?” Steve asked, his voice pitching a little higher than normal.

“Just me,” Eddie confirmed. “When would be good for you?” He looked up at Claudia who had the smuggest grin on her face. He stuck his tongue out at her again.

“Oh, I–um...” he stammered. “Well, I was thinking of opening the shop on Friday even though I don’t usually because I was closed on Sunday.”

Eddie winced. He had a pretty good idea why Steve’s shop was closed on Sunday. Steve had called to bitch him out on Saturday evening when the special courier delivered the annulment papers. Something the law firm had paid for so they wouldn’t lose their best legal assistant.

“But sure, I could use a proper day off for a change,” Steve was saying when Eddie’s brain finally came back on. “How about two o’clock?”

“That’d be great,” he said a small, fond smile on his face. “I can’t wait. I haven’t been to a proper carnival in years.”

“Perks of living in a small town, I guess,” Steve replied.

Eddie started playing with his hair. “One of the few. Can’t say I’m a fan of the homophobia.”

Steve laughed, bright and sweet. “Yeah, okay. You got me there. Look I’ve got to go, Robin’s giving me the stink eye and I really should get back to work.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “I talk to you later.” He hung up and refused to look Claudia in the eye. He knew what he was going to see anyway. Her arms crossed over her chest and a triumphant smile on her face.

“I don’t believe I heard any cursing on that call,” she said dryly. He looked up at her and he as right about everything about how she was looking at him, only with the addition of a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah well,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes. “He always was a stubborn bastard and having to prove me wrong.”

Claudia’s face crumpled a bit. Because yes, Eddie had done a lot of harm to their relationship, Steve wasn’t exactly blameless in the whole ordeal. Because Max’s situation aside, Eddie was right that ‘the kids’ had families and parents of their own. That they had people who would look out for them. And if Steve hadn’t stepped up in Max’s case, she sure as hell would have. The awkwardness between Max and Dustin be damned.

If Steve had loved Eddie as much as he claimed, he wouldn’t have tried to force the metalhead to chose between his friends and his husband.

“He is that,” she admitted gently. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you two. You were always a better person when you were together, than when you were apart. And yes, he’s struggled a lot since you left, but looking at you now, I can see that the years haven’t been kind to you either.”

Eddie huffed. “That’s what Uncle Wayne said. That I lost my sparkle or whatever.”

Claudia came around the corner and wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back tight.

“Your uncle is right, sweetie,” she murmured into his hair. “We only want you to be happy and it doesn’t feel like you are. You say you’re getting married, but where’s the bounce in your step and the smile that won’t stop? Like when you and Steve had come back from a week vacation married if only in the state of Massachusetts.”

He let out a shuddering breath and then another. Soon he was just sobbing. Crying like he couldn’t stop.

Eddie had never wanted to hurt Steve and he was sure Steve felt the same about him.

She soothed him with whispered assurances and stroking his hair. Soon enough he had slowed to a hiccuping sniffle and Claudia stepped back so she could look him in the eyes.

“I have a pretty good idea what’s really going on,” she said firmly. “And you’re being really sweet, but before you do something you regret, spend time in town. Take a look at the things that have changed and all the ones that haven’t. Then decide if it’s still the right thing to do.”

He gulped. He had no doubt that she had figured it out. She was Claudia Fucking Henderson, of course she did.

“You won’t tell anyone,” Eddie asked, tears threatening to spill again, “will you?”

She shook her head. “No, your secret is safe with me. I won’t make things harder on you then they need to be.”

She hugged him again and Eddie felt like he was home for the first time in over five years.

****

“Just where are you taking me, old man?” Eddie teased. He had met his uncle for lunch after being emotionally rung out at the Henderson place.

“You need a pick me up,” Wayne said, “and I need my afternoon brownie. Come along.”

Eddie came to an abrupt stop. “Um...I’ll wait out here, then.”

Wayne looked up at the shop’s sign and then back at him. “Look, son, you’re going to have to face him eventually. Especially with you going to carnival together and all.”

Eddie dug his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and followed Wayne dutifully into the bakery.

“Hey Mr. Munson!” Steve greeted cheerfully. “You here for your usual?”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me ‘Wayne’?” he asked with a chuckle, walking up the to counter.

Steve blushed and hung his head. “I guess I’m just old fashioned.” He cleared his throat and straightened up. “So what can I get you and your shadow today?”

Wayne reared his head back and then looked over his shoulder to see Eddie hanging back, but sticking as close to him as possible.

“That’ll be two monsters, one of your apple fritters, and a half dozen of your snickerdoodles,” he said shaking his head. Then he turned to Eddie. “And what do you want?”

Eddie’s eyes nearly burst out of his head. Steve and Wayne laughed.

“I suppose I should have said ‘what else do you want?’” Wayne clarified.

Eddie blushed and peered around Wayne’s shoulder to look into the case. “A peanut butter madness, please.”

Steve’s face lit up with delight. “These are the ones Jeff’s mom was slandering with having them stale. They are so much better warm out of the oven. In fact, here!” He grabbed it out of the case and wandered to the back.

He came out a few moments later. Eddie nearly melted from the tantalizing scent of warm brownie filled the air.

“What did you do?” Eddie cried as he reached out with grabby hands.

Steve handed it to him. “Careful, it’s hot. I microwaved it for thirty seconds. Should be perfect now.”

Eddie cautious bite and moaned as soon as the peanut butter hit his mouth. He savored every bit of that first bite. “Fuck, Stevie. These should be a sin.”

Steve smiled and then got to work on the rest of Wayne’s order as Eddie devoured every inch of that brownie.

“How long are you in town for, Eds?” he asked as he handed over the boxes to Wayne.

Eddie grabbed a paper napkin from the dispenser by the register and wiped off his hands and mouth of the gooey remains.

“I’ve got to back by Monday,” he said, a tad mournfully. He never thought he’d miss this place after spending so long running from it. The town. Not the bakery. Though he had spent a lot of his time running from its owner, too.

Steve’s own smile faltered a bit too. “Not even a whole week, huh? I guess there really is no rest for the wicked.”

They chatted for a bit before more customers came in and Steve had to get back to work. Eddie and Wayne walked out of the shop laden with goodies. Steve had divided them up for Eddie and Wayne separately. Wayne handed Eddie his box.

“Now was that so terrible?” he asked with big grin.

“No.”

Because it really wasn’t. In fact it was kinda nice just chatting with Steve.

Leaving was looking more and more bleak with each passing moment.

****

Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Tag List:

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @ravenfrog @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi

3- @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @vecnuthy @irregular-child

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95

7- @blackpanzy @amazing-spiderkeys @oldpinghai @raisedbylibrarians @kultiras

8- @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steddie-as-they-go @captain--low @micheledawn1975 @thespaceantwhowrites

9- @mac-attack19 @blondie1006

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rom com au

122 notes · View notes

leebuckets · 3 days ago

Text

I finally took the time to try and come up with a design for my Spamton, it will probably change again, but for now, I love it. All sources and what the final result looks like will be listed at the end, as well as what inspired me

The map out (I used the base given but I'm glad it doesn't look like their spammy, wouldn't wanna copy a design!):

I had so much fun doing this, I worked on this for about.... 3ish hours, using sources and trying to throw them into my style. If you like my design, PLEASE check out the much more talented artists 🧡

The first artist is @colliholly on X and Tumblr

You helped me so so much! The fact that you drew and wrote what you meant is just awesome. I used the base you provided (I hope that's not a big deal, I could not draw his [4.99] body haha) it was a BIG help! I see your Spamton art everywhere and there's a reason why 🧡!

The second is @unikhroma on Tumblr!

This guide inspired me so much, I kinda forgot his jaw just... Detaches, and I want to eventually replicate it in the future, if you can tell I tried to make the bottom of his jaw look unconnected. This small little detail helped me understand this man's GARGANTUAN maw so thank you!

The third artist of the night is _•bluetea•_ on insta!

The soft warm pallet, his round facial features, and his kinda similar facial features being turned into a statement with his hands and eyebrows is just...WOW! They may be one of my top #10 favorite Spamton artists! They helped me with my Spamtons grey hairs and some of his color pallet.

Fourth is @bug-molars on Tumblr!

He looks so silly and radiant, you can't really see but I'm gonna make his head float like they did, drawing his neck would be a NIGHTMARE, so thank you for the idea. Again, warm soft pallet! He looks fluffy, snazzy, and middle aged! So like, 10/10 💯💯!!

Fifth! @zarla-s on Tumblr

I love your Spamton comic, if you're seeing this uhhh, I love his silly grey hair and his goofy ass pants!!! The hand wounds reminded me of Gasters hands and being crucified, so I was going wild and rolling with it, thank you for that realization and drawing a based ass comic. Go read it by the way, all y'all, it's based!!!

As for the last one

I can't find the artist, I thought this was really cute but considering how it has that little sticker outline I think this may be pirated art that's lost somewhere, if you find the og artist lemme know! They drew him super cute, I didn't end up using anything with it but I thought it was cute none the less.

OKAY, finally, time to see my spammy, hope the lead up wasn't super exciting and then it was a let down:

However, I think he's cute and hot haha, I love this IDIOT, and I appreciate every artist that let me get here. Got some silly head canons for y'all too!

1# Spamton's loose hair was a glitch that just kinda stayed... it's in his data model now so it'll be there for the foreseeable future

2# When spamton fell in acid and started going crazy he turned to religious means to cope, one day he got drunk as shit and uhh... Tried to get a group of people to crucify him in an alley way... So that's where the holes came from

3# There is not a single stain on this mother fuckers pants, you wonder how, especially since he sleeps in a garbage can, and honestly, idk how either.

4# like 2 feet tall. He is short as hell. I mean small small. Like it's actually concerning.

21 notes · View notes

lemoncrushh · 10 months ago

Text

Tattooed Heart - Part V

SUMMARY: You are a cocktail waitress at a swanky lounge. Harry comes in one night, and you instantly dislike him. But another encounter eventually changes your opinion.

PAIRING: Waitress Y/N x Artist/Tattoo Artist Harry

TROPES: Enemies to Lovers

MUST BE 18+ TO READ

WORD COUNT: 5k+

STORY PAGE

Unlocking the door, you treaded lightly across the living room to the kitchen, knowing Shae was either still sleeping or getting ready for work. While you definitely wouldn’t consider it the walk of shame - you had nothing to be ashamed of - you knew the inevitable conversation with your roommate was fast approaching, and you weren’t looking forward to it.

Opening the cabinet quietly, you pulled out the coffee canister and prepared the pot, hoping to at least perk your friend’s mood. When you heard her door open, you braced yourself for a scowl or evil eye, but instead, she padded down the hall to the bathroom, not even looking in your direction. With a sigh, you poured yourself a cup of coffee and sat at the counter, inhaling the aroma as your mind began to wander.

Harry had been so sweet that morning, pouting slightly when you’d told him you had to get home and get ready for work. With heavy eyelids, he’d kissed you softly, offering to make you breakfast.

“You’ve cooked for me plenty,” you’d declined with a smile. “Besides, I should probably explain everything to Shae like I’d promised before my shift starts.”

When he’d driven you home, he’d pulled you into a deep kiss, causing your head to spin and your insides to melt. Then he’d wished you a pleasant day with a smile, promising to call later.

“Hey,” you heard before you saw her.

Clearing your throat and blinking your eyes, you sat up and acknowledged your roommate. “Good morning.”

Shae remained with her back to you as she grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured herself a cup of coffee. Sipping your own, you wondered if she was giving you the cold shoulder, until she finally sighed and muttered, “How was your date?”

“Wonderful…actually,” you said, hoping she’d turn to face you.

“Really? Well…I guess I kinda figured that since you stayed out all night. Did you just get home?”

“Yeah,” you swallowed.

Finally turning around, Shae looked at you with wide eyes.

“He must be amazing. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to, Shae. And I should have. It’s just…well honestly, I wasn’t sure if he was for real at first. Even after he apologized, I couldn’t bring myself to accept it right away.”

“Wait…back up,” your roommate held up her hand. Then taking the stool next to yours, she continued. “Start at the beginning. Like, right after you ran into him at the coffee shop.”

“Well, like I told you, he helped me get the job. He vouched for me, told my boss I was the best waitress he’d ever had.”

“Right. And I told you you should have kissed him,” Shae smirked. “But you thought he had some kind of motive. Or was just feeling guilty.”

“Yeah, I was kind of right about that last part,” you said, taking a sip of coffee.

“So, what? He kept apologizing or something? Came in and stalked you?”

“No. He’s actually a regular at the cafe. Everyone else who works there knows him. He comes in to work on his tablet or laptop. He’s an artist. He doesn’t just do tattoos.”

Shae’s mouth dropped open as she stared at you.

“He stays to himself mostly,” you continued, “but I quickly realized he’s a nice guy. So I went to his shop to talk to him and…he asked me out.”

“Oh my God.”

“I didn’t tell you that night of our first date because…well, like I said…I wasn’t sure yet. But we had a nice meal and a long discussion. Turns out he was telling the truth. He was really drunk that night and he feels really bad about the way he treated me.”

When you took another drink from your mug, Shae continued to glare at you, an invisible question mark above her head. “And?”

“And what?”

“That’s it? No more details? You’re leaving it there?”

With a chuckle, you ran your fingers through your hair. “There’s not much more to tell except…he’s a fantastic man.”

“Obviously. That’s why you got home at seven in the morning.”

“Shae!” you laughed harder.

“How many times have you been out with him?”

“Yesterday was our second date.”

“Wow,” Shae sighed. “That was a long second date.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you grinned.

“Seriously? You’re not even gonna throw me a bone? I’ve been your roommate for three years!”

“I will tell you one thing,” you offered.

“What?”

“He’s designed a tattoo. For me.”

“Get out! When are you getting it done?”

Looking down at your cup, you traced the rim with your fingertip. “I don’t know. He wanted to do it last night, but I told him we could save it for another time. I’m just not sure how I feel about it yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just…very personal. It feels…extremely intimate.”

Shae snorted, making you glare at her. “You did have sex with him, right?”

“I don’t mean that,” you shook your head. “It’s much more intimate than sex.”

“Oh.”

You weren’t certain if your roommate understood what you meant, but you didn’t expect her to. Rising from your stools, you gave each other hugs. You apologized again for not informing her of Harry sooner, and she wished you the best with him.

“I’m happy it all worked out,” she declared. “Especially glad he’s not a jerk. Because he’s really attractive. But I was willing to hate him for you.”

“I know,” you nodded, remembering your conversation with Harry the day before. “And I love you for that.”

“Can I get a cappuccino with light foam and a blueberry scone?”

You rang up the customer with a smile, only to take another’s order right afterwards. Taking a deep breath, you exhaled slowly. The cafe was extra busy, especially for a Wednesday. Luckily, you only had twenty minutes left before your break. You felt Jill and Melaina busying themselves behind you, trying to get the drink orders out as fast as they could. When the last man in line placed his order, you quickly grabbed a rag and wiped down the counter. You’d just stuffed it away when the door opened again.

“Good afternoon,” you announced before the woman had even approached you. “What can I get y-”

Stopping your sentence before the last word, you suddenly recognized the familiar face. And blonde hair.

“Oh, hello. It’s you,” she said, almost in a snarl.

“Yes?” you questioned, your brow raised.

Scanning the seating area, Nicolette spoke again without looking at you. “I was hoping I might find Harry here. I understand he frequents this cafe.”

“He’s not here,” you remarked flatly. ‘Frequents this cafe’? Was she trying to sound posh? She wasn’t even British.

“Oh, pity.” Yep, she definitely was. You rolled your eyes before she turned back to face you. “I’ve rung and texted him several times, but he hasn’t replied. If you speak to him, will you let him know Nicolette is looking for him?”

“What for?” you asked, shocking even yourself at your boldness.

Nicolette frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”

“Okay then. No.”

“Pardon me?” the blonde looked taken aback.

“I will not tell him. He doesn’t need to have any more contact with you. Your transaction is through.”

“My transaction?” Nicolette repeated, her face contorting into something that resembled a confused rat.

“You’re not a nice person, and you use people. You used Harry to get what you wanted, and now it’s over.”

The blonde chuckled slowly, then threw her head back and began to cackle. This time she resembled Cruella DeVille. “Oh, sweetie. You’ve got it all backwards. Harry Styles used me. Now, I would watch yourself if I were you.”

Plucking a mint from the bowl on the counter, Nicolette strutted off, the door swinging closed behind her as she walked out into the sunshine.

“Who the hell was that?” gasped Jill whom you’d forgotten stood behind you. You were grateful to see that Melaina was wiping down tables. She may have not heard or seen the interaction.

“Harry’s ex,” you muttered.

“Holy crap. How do you know that? You’ve seen her?”

You cringed, suddenly realizing you may have to reveal your secret to Jill. “Um, there’s pictures of her with him on his website.”

“But you told her she’s not a nice person. You must have met her before.”

With a sigh, you decided to come clean. “I saw her yesterday. At the art gallery.”

“The art gallery?” Jill’s eyes widened. “Did you go to see Harry’s art?”

Biting your lip, you nodded. “With Harry.”

“Oh my God!” Jill covered her mouth with her hand, then whispered, “Are you dating him?”

“Yeah. But please, let’s keep it between us for now.”

“Why? Everyone here loves him! They’d be happy for you. I’m happy for you!”

“I appreciate that,” you grinned. “It’s just…it’s still new, you know?”

“Oh! Say no more. I totally get it. But I’m so happy for you!”

You chuckled as Jill put her hands on her hips. “Huh, I wonder why I’ve never seen her. She’s never come in here before.”

“I wonder why she was looking for Harry,” you added. “Maybe something to do with his art.”

“What was that she said to you at the end? Just before she left?”

“Oh, um…I don’t know.”

“Something about watching yourself? What did she mean by that?”

You simply shrugged as Melaina returned to the counter and the door opened once more. “Beats me.”

Harry called you that evening after he got home from work. You chatted lightly for a bit about Shae and both of your jobs until you decided to tell him about your little encounter with his ex-whatever-she-was.

“She came to the cafe just to find me?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah. How did she know you hang out there?”

“Ugh,” Harry groaned with a pause. “I may have mentioned it.”

“Oh.”

“In fact, I think I asked her to join me for coffee once, but she brushed me off. Said she had other plans.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, babe. She shouldn’t have done that.”

You sighed. “Well, it’s a public place. And I don’t think she knew I worked there. Did she?”

“I don’t see how. But she was deliberately rude to you, and I don’t like that. You didn’t deserve it.”

“I’ve had to deal with ruder people,” you joked.

“Y/N…”

“Harry…” you mimicked his tone.

“You’re gonna keep taking the piss, aren’t you?” he chuckled.

“Only because I know the real you now.”

“Do you?”

“Um…I…hope I do,” you said.

“Hmm, I reckon you’re one of very few who does.”

“I’m glad,” you grinned, your cheeks warm. “What about Nicolette?”

“What about her?”

“Did she ever see the real you?”

“Not even close. I mean…she knew me on a surface level. She knew I created art. She thought I had talent…or so she claimed. But she didn’t know me any deeper than that.”

“Did she know you like to cook?” you asked.

“I doubt it," Harry snorted. "She lives on cocktails and nicotine. Not exactly the domestic type."

“So it was pretty much just a physical relationship.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. Although you knew the answer, your mouth betrayed you with your brain’s curiosity.

“Um…we don’t have to talk about that.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just…she said something to me that kind of rubbed me wrong.”

“What was that?”

“She said you used her, not the other way around. And that I should watch myself. What did she mean?”

You heard Harry hiss in a breath. “I dunno.”

“Was she implying you’ll use me too?”

“Maybe. Because she’s a bit delusional.”

“I see.”

“Babe…you don’t believe that, do you? Tell me you don’t.”

“I don’t. At least…I hope not. But, you know…we don’t know each other that well yet.”

Harry chuckled, “You just said you knew the real me.”

“I know, but…it’s only been a few days.”

“Honey…” Harry paused as you heard his breaths through the phone. “What do I have to do to convince you?”

“Convince me of what?”

“That I’m not the creep you first met. I’m not a bastard who gets people fired. I’m not an arrogant asshole, and I don’t use women.”

Biting your lip, you fingered the hem on your t-shirt. “That’s not entirely true, is it?”

“What?”

“Well…you said yourself - Nicolette was a rich girl. And you thought she could help you meet people.”

Harry sighed, sounding defeated. “That’s true. And I told you I wasn't proud of it.”

“So you admit you used her.”

“Yeah. But not in the way you think.”

“There’s more than one way?” you laughed nervously.

“It was…kind of mutual, if you will,” replied Harry.

“Okay.”

“There were no feelings involved. I…she wasn’t looking for a relationship. She made it pretty obvious from the beginning. And I was okay with that because…I was too focused on my art to give her more. And she was far too busy to hardly remember I existed.”

“That doesn’t sound fun at all,” you commented.

“It wasn’t,” Harry confirmed. “Her father knew Sherod who owns the art gallery. She helped set me up with an exhibit. We - dated, if you could call it that - for a little over three months. But we barely spent any time together unless it had to do with business. I hardly knew her.”

“And she hardly knew you,” you added.

“Yeah, exactly.”

Exhaling through your nose, you laid back on your pillow. “Thank you for telling me that, Harry.”

“You’re welcome, love. Does it make you feel better?”

“A little. Not that I felt bad or anything. I was just curious.”

“But it did bother you, right? What she said?”

“Yeah.”

“Baby…you do know I’m not using you, right?”

“Well, yeah,” you snickered, “I’m not rich.”

“Y/N!”

You giggled harder. “I’m playing with you, Harry!”

“I swear to God, if you didn’t have such a cute laugh, I’d-” Harry’s words stopped.

“You’d what?”

You heard Harry hum softly, and you could tell he was smiling through the phone. “This is what I mean,” he said genuinely. “Nicolette and I…we didn’t have this. She’s…a different kind of girl. She’s not…”

“Giggly?” you asked.

“She’s not you.”

You felt your heart flip in your chest at his admission. Though your room was dark, you might as well have been walking on sunshine. Your insides danced and glowed while you tried hard to bring together a string of words and form a sentence. Fortunately, Harry continued his thoughts instead.

“I don’t care that it’s only been a few days, a couple of dates. I’m already having way more fun with you than I ever had with her. And I know it’s not fair to compare, and I’m stupid to even try. I just want you to know…that’s how I feel.”

“Wow,” you breathed. “Harry, I…don’t even know what to say.”

“It’s alright. I’ve said enough. Now we can drop the subject before I scare you away.”

You smiled as you silently wished he was with you in person so you could kiss his soft lips.

“Can I ask one more question?”

“Okay.”

“Did you call her back?”

“Nicolette? No…I’m not interested in anything she has to say.”

“Oh.”

“Can we change the subject now, baby?”

“Of course,” you beamed before asking him about the tattoos he’d done that evening, and what art he was currently working on, all while trying to keep your feelings in check every time he gave you a term of endearment.

Harry came to the cafe Friday morning. In fact, he was already there when you’d arrived for the mid-morning shift, Stan and Carol having opened. You smiled when you walked in from the rear entrance, tying your apron, his back to you as he sat in his regular spot.

“Good morning,” you greeted softly as you walked past his table.

He lifted his head from his iPad, giving you a sleepy, lop-sided grin before mouthing, “Morning, sweetheart.”

Your insides melted as usual while you made your way to the front counter. As you greeted Stan and his wife, you stole another glance at the only occupied table. Though you knew it was ludicrous to even consider, you missed him. It was only Tuesday that you’d had that most pleasant day with him, and you’d chatted for over two hours on the phone Wednesday night. But Thursday hadn’t proven to be much of a Harry day. With the exception of a short text during your lunch break when he’d said he would be busy most of the day, and a quick goodnight text before bed, you hadn’t even spoken. You longed to hear his voice, like a lover thousands of miles away from her beloved. You’d shaken the notion the night before after you’d laid in bed staring at the ceiling for an hour after that quick text. You knew he was busy, most likely with his art. And you didn’t feel like it was your place to inquire about it. It was one day for crying out loud.

“Get a hold of yourself, Y/N!” you’d groaned, turning out the lamp and pulling the covers up to your chin.

Still, to see him sat at his usual, familiar table was a huge relief. And the fact he’d called you sweetheart was just icing on the cake.

A few customers trickled in during the first thirty minutes of your shift, and by the next hour, the cafe was nearly full. You were only able to stop by Harry’s table a couple of times, mostly to ask if he wanted a refill and to wipe down nearby tables. Each time, he seemed to be deep into his work. You caught a glimpse or two here and there, but you didn’t want to disturb him. Finally at eleven, Jill came in for her shift and Stan and Carol left soon after.

“How’s everything going with Handsome?” Jill asked as you prepared a latte.

“Fine,” you grinned.

“He seems extra focused today.”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I don’t wanna bother him.”

Just then, as if he knew you were talking about him, Harry lifted his head and peered over at you. His smile grew across his face as he sat back and stretched. You couldn’t help but smile back. And when he motioned for you to come his way, your breath caught in your throat.

“Sorry, love, I wasn’t trying to ignore you,” he said when you reached his table.

“I know. You looked very busy and deep in thought,” you nodded.

“It’s only ‘cause I was trying to finish up a few things.”

“Okay,” you shrugged.

Harry surprised you by reaching out his hand to your waist and pulling you closer.

“I wasn’t trying to ignore you yesterday either. I had a lot of business to tend to. But I thought about you.” His other hand slid around the other side of your waist as his eyes gazed up at you.

“You don’t have to reassure me, Harry,” you partially lied.

“No? Hmm, thought maybe you missed me. ‘Cause I missed you.”

A nervous laughter left your chest and you shook your head. “God, you’re good.”

“Yeah? Good at what?”

“At…making me feel…things.”

“Hmm,” Harry lifted his brows. “What kind of things?”

The door opened then, and a couple of people walked in. Seeing that Jill already had a customer, you figured you should help.

“I have to get back to work, Harry,” you commented, grabbing his wrists and pulling them from your hips.

“Alright,” he smirked. “I have to go anyway. Can I see you tonight?”

“Don’t you have to work?”

“Kyle’s closing tonight. I get off at nine.”

“Oh! Okay, yeah.”

“Good,” Harry grinned, rising from his chair and slipping his backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll call you later, babe.”

Then with no hesitation at all, he cupped your chin with one hand and planted a big, wet kiss on your lips. For what was probably just two seconds in reality, you stood frozen in your spot as though time was fastforwarding around you, your eyes wide, your mouth open as Harry murmured a goodbye and left the cafe.

Your phone buzzed that evening while you were in the middle of a writing session. You hadn’t written anything in what seemed like forever. But somehow, you were suddenly inspired. And you figured the caller had a lot to do with it.

“Hey!” you answered with a smile in your voice.

“Hi, beautiful. I have a request.”

“Oh?”

“So…there’s been a change of plans for tonight.”

“Oh,” you frowned, disappointment apparent in your tone.

“How do you feel about a cocktail party?” asked Harry.

“I…what…where?”

Harry chuckled. “It’s at the gallery. It’s kind of last minute, I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to put together something for a potential buyer. That’s part of what I was working on yesterday. I was hoping to set something up for next week, but turns out the client’s only in town this weekend. And I have to work late tomorrow night.”

“Oh. Well, that’s exciting! I’ve never been to one of these types of things though. You sure you want me there?”

“You’re the only person I want there, love. Well, besides the client, of course.”

“Then I’d love to come.”

“Great! I’m gonna try to leave a bit early, so can you be ready at nine o’clock?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you so much, baby. I’ll see you then.”

“Are you nervous?” you asked when Harry parked the car.

“Why, do I look nervous?” he turned his head to look at you. His eyes were wild and he continued to drum his hands against the steering wheel.

“A little,” you smirked. Then you reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “It’s okay if you are though. I totally understand.”

Harry’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath before he squeezed your hand. “I guess I am. I just…want this to go well.”

“It will. I believe.”

Harry’s eyes twinkled in the dim light from the dashboard. “Thanks, babe. You look absolutely gorgeous tonight, by the way. Did I tell you?”

“You may have mentioned it,” you beamed. You’d been so relieved to find the little black dress in the back of your closet from two years ago. And even more relieved that it still fit. But that relief didn’t compare to the look on Harry’s face when you’d opened the door. His obvious heart-eyes matched yours as you took in his sexy black suit and open shirt.

“Are you ready to go in?” you asked him.

“Yeah,” he exhaled again, opening the car door.

Stepping into the gallery, you were surprised to see a small marquee with Harry's name on it. To the right stood the woman you recognized from the reception desk. She greeted you both with a smile, letting you know Sherod was already waiting inside.

"Harry! There you are!" announced the gallery owner when you rounded the corner. "And you dear, you look smashing!" Sherod held out his hand to you and gave you a chaste kiss on the cheek."

"Thank you," you blushed.

You noticed a handful of people gathered around Harry's art as a waiter walked up with a tray of wine, offering you a glass.

"He's not here yet, I take it," remarked Harry.

"Not yet. He's on his way."

You watched as Harry and Sherod made small talk with the other guests, Harry introducing you to them which made you feel nice. Each time someone would give him a compliment, you felt his hand press against your lower back as though you were his rock steadying him.

You were both on your second glasses of wine when the so-called potential client arrived. He wasn't what you were expecting - although you weren't sure what that was. Donovan McNulty wore a navy blue suit with a red shirt and tie. He was probably an inch or two shorter than Harry with bleached blonde hair and an Irish accent. He had a pleasant smile that seemed to be permanent on his face. You liked him right away.

You listened as he expressed his interest in Harry's art. While he liked all of his work, he was particularly fond of one piece, the one that you had secretly declared your personal favorite.

"It's the perfect piece for my office, directly behind my desk," remarked Donovan as he held his hands up like a frame.

You beamed at Harry, trying to hide your glee from the client.

"I think that would be a smart choice," you heard a female voice say behind you.

Twirling around, you were met with the one face you hoped you'd never have to see again.

"Harry, so sorry I'm late," Nicolette said with her pointed face as she placed her hand on his bicep before addressing the buyer, extending her other hand. "Good evening. Nicolette Waters."

"Donovan McNulty, love! How d'you do?"

You stood glaring at the interaction before turning to Harry. "What is she doing here?" you seethed.

"I dunno. I told her it wasn't a good idea."

"You told her? You said you hadn't talked to her."

"I know, babe, I'm sorry. But she got a hold of me yesterday. She kinda helped me set this up. I asked her not to come, though."

Unable to form any more words, you stared at him, a lump in your throat. You could feel the tears threatening to form in your eyes and you blinked rapidly.

"Excuse me…" you cried before escaping the area, hastily searching for the ladies room.

Moments later as you sat in the stall, wiping your tears, you heard a wrap on the door.

"Y/N. Baby, please come out. I'm sorry. I should have told you." While his voice was low and calm, his words were anxious. "I'll explain everything when we leave. I just need you to come out now, okay? Please?"

You realized then that you weren't exactly sure what you were upset about. Was it that Harry hadn't told you about Nicolette? Or simply that she'd shown up? Either way, you knew that this night wasn't about you. It was about Harry. And his art. This was his night, his chance. And you didn't want to ruin it.

Sniffling, you rose from the toilet and flushed it. "I'll be right there, Harry," you called. After washing your hands, you were surprised to find him still standing on the other side of the door. His expression was a combination of concern and indignation, his jaw set.

"I'm so sorry," he said again. "I honestly didn't think-"

"It's fine, Harry," you held up your hand. "Like you said, you can tell me later. Let's go talk to Mr. McNulty."

"You sure you're okay?"

You nodded, giving him a tight smile. He hesitantly took your hand and you followed him back to the party. Nicolette was still giving Donovan an earful, or perhaps it was the other way around. You stood back, releasing Harry's fingers from your own, gesturing for him to take the lead. You watched with pride as he interjected the conversation, re-earning the client's attention. Before long, the two seemed like old mates, Harry making Donovan laugh and vice versa.

"He's so very talented," one of the other women said to you a few minutes later when you decided to wander around the gallery.

"Yes," you nodded. "He is."

"I heard he does custom tattoos as well. Is that true?"

Turning to face the woman, you noticed she had a sleeve of ink on her left arm. Grinning, you nodded again. "Fine Line Ink is his shop. He owns it."

"Oh, I'll have to check it out! Not that I need any more tattoos," she chuckled.

"I'm about to get my first," you commented quickly. You weren't sure why you said it. But you realized then that it was the truth.

"Oh, really? I figured being his girlfriend, you'd already have loads."

Color rose to your cheeks. "We just started dating."

The woman's eyes widened as she leaned closer and touched your arm. "You must be very special to him, then!"

After your little chat with the friendly woman, you were eyeing that tranquil painting that you and Harry admired when you felt a hand slip around your waist.

"I sold it," he whispered in your ear.

You grinned. "I knew you would."

"You ready to go?"

You shifted to face him. "Already? That's it?"

"Yep. Sherod takes care of the rest."

"And Nicolette?"

"She left. Few moments ago."

"Okay."

Harry led you outside to his car, opening the passenger door for you. Neither of you said anything else until you were stopped at a red light.

"Please forgive me, love. I know I should have told you."

"Yeah, you should have. Especially after telling me you had no interest in talking to her."

"I didn't. But she found me yesterday. There at the gallery, actually. She told me about McNulty. He was very interested in my art. I couldn't let a potential sale slip away. You get that, right?"

"I do," you nodded. "And I'm sorry I ran off. It was selfish of me. I was just upset she was there and…I guess I was jealous."

"Nothing to be jealous over, Y/N. It was strictly business. I told her I didn't think it was a good idea for her to come, even though she acted like she was entitled to be there since she'd gotten me the lead."

"I guess I can understand that," you said.

"She shouldn't have though. She only did it out of spite. And I'm sorry I hurt you in the process. I shouldn't have kept it from you. I just hoped she wouldn't show. I was stupid to think she wouldn't."

Lifting your hand to his shoulder, you slid it down his arm. "You’re forgiven."

Harry was quiet again until he was almost at his flat. Clearing his throat he looked at you.

"Again, I shouldn't have assumed. Am I driving to my place…or yours?"

You considered his question for a moment. While you still felt a sourness in the pit of your stomach, you knew you weren’t angry with him. It was his special night, and he’d earned that sale. As a smile slowly grew on your lips, you threaded your fingers through his.

"I guess that depends on how you want to celebrate."

One more part left which will be reposted tomorrow. Thank you for all the likes and reblogs! I wish I hadn't deleted this in the first place, but hopefully it's gotten some new readers. :)

#harry styles #harry fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry one shot #harry blurb #harry styles x reader #harry x reader #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles fanfic #harry fanfiction #harry fanfic #tattoo artist!harry

113 notes · View notes

greenerteacups · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! I am an ardent fan of your writing, and I hope to be as sorted and planned as you some day in my own writing journey.

My question is: you have a keen eye when it comes to planning character personality, dynamics, and such. I've also been wading through your ask replies, and your insights into how you write people and how you make them play off of each other is so wonderful to read. If it's not too personal a q, how did you learn how to write like this? Did you go to school for writing, does it come from years of observing people, do you have reading list recs for "how to write real people and real interactions"?

Thanks! This is a really flattering question. I'll try to answer it honestly, because I wish someone had been brutally honest about this with me when I was a young writer.

I didn't go to school for writing. I started doing it when I was about nine years old. It sucked very badly. I kept writing throughout high school, and it still mostly sucked, but some of it was occasionally interesting. ("Interesting" here does not mean "good," by the way.) I took a break in college, and then came back. I've been writing ever since. Sometimes, I feel good about it. A lot of the time, I don't!

I hate giving this advice, because I remember how it feels to get it, and it's the most uninspiring, boring-ass, dog shit advice you can get, but it's also the only advice that is 100% unequivocally true: you have to write, and specifically, you have to write things that suck.

I do not mean that you should make things that suck on purpose. I mean that you have to sit down and try your absolute hardest to make something good. You have to put in the hours, the elbow grease, the blood, sweat, and tears, and then you have to read it over and accept that it just totally sucks. There is no way around this, and you should be wary of people who tell you there is. There is no trick, no rule, no book you can buy or article you can read, that will make your writing not suck. The best someone else can do is tell you what good writing looks like, and chances are, you knew that anyway — after all, you love to read. You wouldn't be trying to do this if you didn't. And anyone who says they can teach you to write so good it doesn't suck at first is either lying to you, or they have forgotten how they learned to write in the first place.

So the trick is to sit there in the miserable doldrums of Suck, write a ton, and learn to like it. Because this is the phase of your path as an artist when you find what it is you love about writing, and it cannot be the chance to make "good writing." This will be the thing that bears you through and compels you to keep going when your writing is shit, i.e., the very thing that makes you a writer in the first place. So find that, and you've got a good start.

Some people know this, but assume that perseverance as a writer is about trying to get to the point where you don't suck anymore. This is not true, and it is an actively dangerous lie to tell young writers. You are not aiming to feel like your writing doesn't suck. You are aiming to write. You are aiming to have written. Everything else is dust and rust. And of course, you'll find things you like about your pieces, you'll find things you're proud of, you'll learn to love the things you've made. But that little itch of self-criticism, in the back of your brain — the one that cringes when you read a clunky line, or thinks of a better character beat right after it's far too late to change — that's never going away. That's the Writer part of you. Read Kafka, read Dickens, read Tolstoy, you will find diary entries where they lament how absolutely fucking atrocious their writing was, and how angry they are that they can't do better. A good writer hates their sentences because they can always imagine better ones. And the ability to imagine a better sentence is what's going to make you pick up the pen again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Which is what I mean, and probably what all those other annoying, preachy advice-givers mean, when we say: a good writer is just someone who writes every day. It's that easy, and that hard.

#by the way a lot of this draws on ideas inspired by 'letters to a young poet' by rainer maria rilke if you're interested #that's a formative text for me as an artist #it won't teach you how to write but it will teach you how to think perhaps #and once you know how to think. well. life is just pretty good #and i can't say the writing gets easier but when life is pretty good i find myself enjoying it a lot more #this word vomit was prompted by the question 'how do you write real people and real interactions'#because that's like — i'm not trying to be pedantic but—#that's kind of just 'how do you write literature'?#because that's all literature is. what are human beings? how do you write a person? how do they interact with each other?#like shoutout to the void if you know for sure how to write real interactions then please for the love of god tell the rest of us #because i think most of all authors in history have just been giving it our best stab #'this is how the world looks for me. is it how the world looks for you?'#so my advice on that score is: try to see how the world looks for you #and then try to share it with me #don't worry about whether it looks the same for me. it won't

73 notes · View notes

icegirl2772 · 2 months ago

Text

It's a Wonderful Life - Big Time Secret Santa 2024

I got done with my Secret Santa gift ahead of time and got a bit eager to post. My Secret Santa was... @partiallypearl! Surprise, mate! I hope you enjoy this and it's everything you wanted it to be!

I also cross-posted this to A03. :)

ENJOY!

Lucy had never been the type to really buy into the Christmas festivities. Of course, she still celebrated Christmas with her family. They exchanged gifts. They shared a meal. They decorated. But that was the extent of their Christmas celebration. She was never the type to try those festive drinks from the coffee shop, suck on candy canes, or wear anything Christmas themed.

It wouldn’t be fair to say that Christmas felt like an obligation to Lucy. A societal expectation to uphold. But it was certainly not something her family had approached with excitement before.

It was something she upheld when she moved to Los Angeles to pursue her rockstar dreams. After all, she had an image to uphold.

But all of that changed when she met Big Time Rush and started dating Kendall.

Granted, it took some years for her romantic relationship with Kendall to get off the ground. There was a little something called his previous girlfriend returning from New Zealand unexpectedly and Kendall deciding to see if they could pick up where they left off. Which, of course, ended up not happening. They certainly tried, but it made them confront problems in their relationship they could no longer ignore.

And even then, Kendall didn’t immediately start pursuing Lucy. He took the time to mourn his relationship with Jo – his first serious Californian romance – and Lucy wasn’t exactly looking for a relationship at that point anyway. The couple took the time to rebuild their friendship first. It was only in their early twenties that the friendship evolved into a romantic relationship.

And this time, there was nothing stopping Kendall from asking her out. No unfortunate interruptions. No cheating ex-boyfriends who ended up walking away with a shiner when he tried to pursue the wrong girl (Lucy had to admit she was impressed by the punch James landed on him when he saw Kaelyn cornered like that). No ex-girlfriends suddenly returning. Nothing.

It felt like everything was finally in place. Right time. Right place. Right… everything.

Something that Kendall never did was try to change Lucy. He didn’t make her like what he did. He never told her to tone down her edgy rockstar image. But even with that, Lucy felt safe enough to let her guard down. Something that was a remnant of that cheating ex-boyfriend who had walked away from the Palm Woods with a broken heart and a nasty shiner. She wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable. She wasn’t afraid to reconnect with the parts of herself she had kept locked away for so long.

Lucy was already softening away. They all were as they moved away from their angsty or chaotic teenage years. She still wrote rock songs that dominated the charts, but she also expanded into other genres. Both with her solo work and her work with other artists (she even wrote some songs for everyone’s solo albums).

So, was certainly fair to say that Kendall helped her see Christmas in a different way. One that was joyful rather than an obligation. Even the chaotic last-minute shopping on Christmas Eve was joyful because she got to do it with Kendall.

Although, she certainly made Kendall promise to do their Christmas shopping a little earlier next year.

But either way, it proved to be a successful Christmas Eve. They actually got decent presents for everyone, and took advantage of the services that wrapped your presents for you in exchange for a small donation to the charity they were supporting.

Gone were the days where everyone lived under the same roof – or at least the same building. With the boys getting older and getting serious with their respective relationships, as well as putting the band on hiatus to pursue solo opportunities (by their own choice this time rather than through Griffin’s manipulations), they all decided they needed their own spaces.

They didn’t move to Bel Air, the brief time there as teens still fresh in their memories and not one they want to revisit. But they found a street with a row of mansions that were all on the market. Thanks to the money they all had from their careers and advances from their upcoming solo careers (and some advice from Gustavo), they were able to buy them all so they could all stay together. Even if they all had their own families and careers.

It was what led to Kendall and Lucy reconnecting romantically after several years of friendship. He still remembered the knock on his door. His home was filled to the brim with moving boxes that still needed to be unpacked. He opened the door to see Lucy standing there with a potted plant. A housewarming gift, she had said. He invited her into the house, telling her to ignore the moving boxes, and that was the start of their resumed romance.

Within a couple of years, Lucy had moved in with him. Their styles – which had matured from their teenage years – blended together harmoniously in the home. Lucy’s rockstar image had softened slightly with maturity, but was still present in the home amidst Kendall’s blended identity of a hockey-playing singer (genres blending between rock and pop).

It led to the present moment. Something Lucy had never imagined herself doing. Wearing the dorky Christmas sweaters drinking hot chocolate out of a Christmas-themed mug (filled almost to the brim with marshmallows – unsurprising considering Kendall made the hot chocolate) in the decorated living room. It’s a Wonderful Life played on the massive TV screen. The Christmas lights were flashing on the Christmas tree that had been decorated to represent important milestones in their relationship.

Their first meeting in the Palm Woods. Their continuing friendship that blossomed into a romance. Individual successes in their careers. The places they visited during several concert tours. (They both agreed that Europe was their favourite.) Their interests outside of music (particularly hockey; Lucy also shared an affection for the sport).

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Lucy looked up from her present position. Resting her head on Kendall’s shoulder as he draped an arm behind her on the couch. Lucy was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t realize that Kendall had swapped out his own hot chocolate in favour of a candy cane. A red-and-white-striped peppermint-flavoured candy cane, no less, to stick with tradition.

She was barely aware of the clink on the porcelain as she adjusted her grip on the mug. The source was the engagement ring on her finger. Something that had been there since that summer, when Kendall proposed to her at home with the engagement ring hidden in a fortune cookie from their favourite Chinese restaurant. Lucy wasn’t antimarriage, but at the same time, it was never something she saw for herself until Kendall.

It symbolised a lot of things. Sitting there in her fiancé’s arms as they watched Christmas movies.

“Just… thinking how wonderful life is,” Lucy finally said with a bright smile.

Kendall shared one of his own as he leaned down to kiss Lucy. She could taste the hot chocolate and peppermint on his lips and it only served to solidify her declaration.

Once upon a time, she didn’t picture this life for herself. But now that she was living it, no other words would suffice.

It truly is a wonderful life.

#big time rush #fanfiction #kendall knight #lucy stone #kucy #btr #Big Time Secret Santa 2024 #partiallypearl #christmas one-shot #Merry Christmas #hope you enjoy this

12 notes · View notes

e-adlirez · 11 months ago

Note

The art style of Cloud Castle is absolute ass bro why are their eyes so big

Idk man it just looks.... off

I wish they brought back the og art style like Blue Scarab Hunt because that was gorgeous

Well if you’re referring to the book's artstyle as a whole, then calm down buddy the illustrations as a whole are pretty good all things considered (believe me some of the illustrations in the later books are waaaaayyyyy iffier)

But if you are referring to Danilo Barozzi’s illustrations in the book then uhhhhh… yeah I don’t blame you, I didn’t like the big anime irises either, she didn’t cook with this one,,,

The interesting thing is Barozzi also did pieces for Secret of the Snow and those looked fine (she did well enough that I have to squint to determine which ones were done by her). My guess is either she did a lot of the illustrations for the latter half of SotS and we just got used to it, or it’s because the artstyle of special editions 2 and 3 were more… experimental? Books 4 onwards developed a very specific… look for the artstyle that adhered very closely to the main book illustrations of Spanish Dance Mission onwards, thus the illustrators had to follow suit, resulting in whatever looks off to look especially off.

(Even with this set of pictures, I’m only about 70% sure these are Barozzi’s because of how alike yet different the styles are from each other in the book. The first one could be Barozzi’s, but it could also be Giuseppe Facciotto’s, since he also did illustrations for SotS and his stylization means he sometimes puts the eyes really close to each other in a way that’s weird but still makes sense somehow.) On the contrary, books 2 and 3 (and I would probably even include book 1 there) had a more experimental look to the illustrations, which seems to be based more on (and this is just a theory of mine) Giuseppe Facciotto’s iconic work for the covers of Mouseford Academy books 2-12, 14, 15 and 17 in the English books (he did waaayyy more covers for the Italian Mouseford books— he was basically the cover guy for the Mouseford books for a WHILE) as well as the books from Spanish Dance Mission to Lost Letters. If you’re wondering why those covers go as hard as they do, then now you know why.

(These aren’t all of Facciotto’s works for the covers we know in English but you can see that he popped off <3)

But yeah as you can see with special editions 2 and 3, the art direction seems to be heavily inspired by Facciotto’s artstyle.

However, when Barbara Pellizzari’s works became the aesthetic poster child of the books’ brand, that was reflected in the illustrations and how their aesthetic changed, as seen in the main books and how they look currently, special editions 4-9, and the Treasure Seekers trilogy.

This new profile thing of the girls? This was done by Pellizzari (coloring was done by Flavio Ferron), and thus it became the main reference for how the girls look in the book’s illustrations.

And it’s not just in the general direction to the artists for how to draw the Thea Sisters, but also in the direction given to the colorists. Alessandro Muscillo was the colorist for the special edition books since book 1 and the Treasure Seekers trilogy, and you can see that the direction for the style varied through books 1-3, like maybe direction was experimenting with the mood the illustrations were to convey, beginning with the cartoony and bright colors of book 1, easing into the more grounded and layered palettes of books 2 and 3

Then book 4 was when they transitioned to using digital art /j

I jest, but seriously book 4 was the debut of the coloring style we end up keeping for the rest of the special editions and for all of Treasure Seekers, which is very… bright :D

(I would show more picture examples but I manually took pictures of my physical copies for the Cloud Castle and SotS illustrations and gwuh I’m too lazy to grab my entire collection just to take pictures,,)

Bright as in like… the colors are very defined and saturated. I dunno how to describe it, but when you see it, you get what I mean. It’s very bright and pretty and colorful and it stands out. There are still variations that happen on occasion (Star Fairies in particular uses a good dose of airbrush for the lighting and shadow effects, and Crystal Fairies looks like someone had a bit of fun using sparkle brushes), but other than that, it’s very bright. I don’t hate it, but I do acknowledge that yeah, if I was introduced to the series when it had fully transitioned to the new style, I never would’ve gotten into the series in the first place, because the older books had something that didn’t make it feel specifically catered to girls. The colors were bright, but not too bright. Colorful, but unified. They weren’t that complicated, and they didn’t have to be because the colorists (plural, there were at least 3 per book once upon a time) were popping the hell off with the colors they were given. But y’know, the newer books’ consistent style did give me a good spot to practice drawing mouse furries so I’m not complaining too much about the newer style, haha.

(Tiny baby E’s (it’s literally from 2020 what’re you on about mate) her first mouse Violet drawing using Barbara Pellizzari’s artstyle in Treasure Seekers 1 as an anatomy guide!!)

With that said tho, yeah I miss the old books -m- dunno if it’d fit the aesthetic of the special editions but m a n we could’ve had it and it probably would’ve looked cool

Also the illustrations go way harder in the older books, like Prince's Emerald? I've talked about Prince's Emerald and how it goes hard before, and I still stand by it and say that it does in fact still go hard

Maybe it won't fit the uh splash of color they gave the hardcovers, but imagine they grabbed Giulia Basile's coloring work for the graphic novels and used that as sort've a basis for the coloring style of the hardcovers. Not exactly the same-- would probably still add a touch of whimsical watercolor and/or paint to the very cel-shaded style, but we could've had something pretty dope -m-

Anyway that's my ramble simultaneously defending the hardcovers' artstyle and reminiscing on what could've been haha

#geronimo stilton #thea stilton #thea sisters #questions with e #rambles #the style of the older books is gorgeous but the main thing I'm wondering is can it pull off fantastical whimsy #that's the main thing i dunno if it can do (i would love to be proven wrong tho)#the style is so grounded that i'm wondering if it can pull off what the hardcovers needed it to do #which is convey the otherworldly fantastical thrill of exploring the fantasy worlds (which uh the newer books were able to do but #my main gripe is that fantasy and reality are near indistinguishable in vibes coloring-wise #sure there are sparkles and stuff is more saturated but the girls' dorm in book 4 still has the same-ish feel of the land of clouds #i dunno what it is. the bright colors just feel mundane somehow and don't take a shift when returning to reality)#looked at my books again and i think it might be the fact that the later books have no grounding color?#compare book 3 to book 5 and you'll see it the most distinctly methinks #the newer coloring style doesn't have a color that grounds the illustrations' palettes and thus everything's always bright 100% of the time #the girls' colors are always at their most saturated #like they're always under broad daylight in terms of lighting #it's not eyebleeding or anything but they don't look affected by the lighting in the setting they're currently in #and the result is it looks.... meh?#we get so used to the bright colors that they end up looking meh somehow #i'm not an art expert by any means this is just my observations as someone with a little too much brainrot

42 notes · View notes

crsssie · 10 months ago

Text

juliet roses

word count: 3.2k

summary: it was his fault for letting you go, but your fault to leave.

You wonder how long it has been since you've met O'Connor.

The first time you meet him, you had your place of first in your department snatched from you, your name placed second after his despite the fact that he had never shown up to class and only took the exams. He's evil, you find. He was personally sent by the heavens above to steal your place as top of the art department, and it makes your blood boil. Your head hurts just thinking about him. The fangirls next to you are NOT helping his case either. Maybe you are just cursed to be annoyed by him consistently and always.

He strutted up next to you, hands in his pocket as he stares at his name, smirking down at you with a shit-eating grin.

"Oops—"

You punched him.

The principal went off on the two of you as you sat in his office, and O'Connor whistled, feet kicked up on the desk as you tuned out the rambling, looking to the window as you plan your escape. The principal really could not do much about the two best students in the department. It's not as though you're some goody two shoes and he's not some model student either. The art department should really start picking some better-behaved students.

"That's why— are you two even listening?!"

"No."

"I bet I could live if I jump out the window." O'Connor grins.

"Can I have your studio if you die?"

"I'm leaving that to Emerald."

"HE'S NOT EVEN A STUDENT—"

But that's how your day to day life with O'Connor started, and it was how it would continue without effort or change. Even when you look back on it in the future, the world was bitter and lifeless at your fingertips. He smeared colors onto your cheeks while you weren't looking, pignmented yellows staining your skin and tumeric oranges wrapped around your bicep as he throws paint at you in your shared studio, splotches of color staining every edge of the wall until the two of you are inevitably scolded by the rest of the faculty and left to create what you can. Your final project is a piece of art, and you fear that you will never find the inspiration that you once held when you were young.

There is no light in your life when you are at the end of your educational time.

You watch O'Connor paint, his fingers sliding across the canvas as he leaves the brushes, fingerprints digging into the canvas as you watch him draw his muse. White hair, purple eyes, portraits upon portraits of your shared art professor. You stay quiet, lashes fluttering as you observe O'Connor, your muse. You observe your muse, but he does not bring color into your life. You find it depressing. What world do you live in, and why must your muse not care of you the way you do of him? So, you turn around, brush sliding across the canvas as you tune out O'Connor.

Your world is colorless.

Color in your life comes quickly and simply.

It will stay that way until something changes.

You wake up one morning, pink petal in your mouth, and for that moment in time, you seem to understand.

You are the artist, but not the muse. Perhaps you will die before you ever receive your final degree. It makes you sick, and you find an idea. Perhaps you will die, but you will leave one final thing for the world. Perhaps then, you will understand why people love so fervently.

You find that pink is a fun color. Many of the other female students wear it, and when you stick your first petal onto an empty canvas, you understand why the flower has chosen to bloom in your lungs. It is a flower that means everything to certain people. You will bloom a flower so dazzling that it will have no choice but to bleed out of your lungs and onto a canvas — until you are dust and your portrait is in a gallery. Until the world crashes and burns, your painting will stand untouched. That way, perhaps some sort of a color will appear into your life.

"New materials? Where'd you find these petals from?"

You turn to face O'Connor, kicking your legs.

"This one's my trade secret." You continue painting, O'Connor stopping to stare at your painting. The man in the portrait resembles him to some degree, yet the way you paint him makes him look so foreign — almost as though he were someone unknown to you. You make him look like a man he will never see himself as. Though, as you stick one petal after the other around him, he wonders if this is what he looks like to you.

Halfway though, you push the canvas to the side, clattering as the wood crashes onto the ground and the petals stay put.

"Why are you wasting?"

"I have a better idea."

O'Connor watches as you leave the room, going back to his painting as he observes the fallen portrait of himself on the ground. He hops off his seat to adjust the painting, leaning it against the glass doors as he stares outside of them. That is perhaps some sort of Eden out there. The world is clear and beautiful, yet the two of you are stuck. He turns his head to stare at you when you return, three new buckets of paint lugged behind you as he walks over to offer help.

"Hands off. Your piece involves no glitter." You huff. O'Connor watches as you dig your fingers into the glitter, grabbing a handful as you throw it at his portrait.

You are changing. Ever so slowly, you are changing.

When you finish, you hit the canvas from the back, glitter falling to the ground as it stains your feet and dress. The ink of your side of the room becomes stained with shimmer, your paintbrush overflowing with a glisten that only the sun could rival. You paint. Even when you're coughing uncomfortably and O'Connor leaves for the night, you stay in the room, fingers forcing across the canvas as you bring O'Connor to life. If your life would depend on his actions from now on, then you would make sure that everyone would know of your demise.

You will go out stained with so much glitter that the world suffers a shortage.

O'Connor returns in the morning to you on the ground and knocked out, chest rising and falling with each breath, body surrounded by petals as he pauses to stare. A tattoo on his body glistens, and you sit up, coughing out another petal, eyes wide as O'Connor stares down at you, frozen.

"Okay, well, cat's out the bag, I've been coughing up flowers."

O'Connor smiles, lips curled upwards as he takes it out of your hand.

"Who are you in love with?"

"Bold of you to assume that I'm in love with someone." You huff. "This comes as a curse too, you know? I helped someone tattoo that once."

You do not bother looking at O'Connor, closing your eyes and knocking back out instead.

The world will not end if you take a nap.

O'Connor takes the chance to move his own portrait, white hair purple eyes hiding a portrait of you behind it, his fingers gentle against the canvas as he paints you, life slipping through his fingers as he continues. You are his final assignment before he is allowed to finally teach. He will bring you to life, even when his tattoos glow against his back and you cough your lungs out, he will turn you into a permanent memory. Perhaps one day when he is old and wrinkly, he will remember the portrait of you, lips curled upward and pointing at the joy he got to experience as a final project.

When you stir, he moves the painting of Emerald back.

You do not need to know.

You wake up, coughing out even more petals, pink stained with glitter this time, making you do a double take. Wow.

You are literally cursed at this point.

O'Connor watches you, a patch of ink on his skin dimming as you finish coughing, blood on your lips, his head spinning.

Perhaps it is rude of him, but he can not say that he would have let any other curse you like this.

"Lotus flowers?"

You cough, fishing out another petal from your throat. "Yes? I suppose so."

He stares at you, pursing his lips.

"Can I borrow some?"

"Kill yourself." You huff, sticking the new petal to the canvas, glitter smearing.

O'Connor dips his hand into the paint, skin pink as he jumps off his seat, chasing you as you scream. You race past the windows, hopping off the second floor balcony onto the tree as passing students pause to watch. It is not new, but it is not normal either. They can only wonder what has caused O'Connor to chase you around with pink paint. The top of the class with one on equal standing.

You finally escape his clutches when you slam your dorm room closed behind you, heart racing as you sigh. Perhaps you have left a trail of glitter and pink again, perhaps you have not. Perhaps the two of you are cursed. You blink as your roommate returns, ink sleeve fresh against her skin as she blinks at you crouched in the corner of the door. The two of you don't exchange words, but you offer her your forearm instead. If you are to die then you might as well die while having fun.

"I'm surprised you're letting me do this to you." You hiss at your roommate's words, needle puncturing your skin as you wince. "What's with this change? Is it because of that god-awful cough?"

"You can say it's that." You whimper. "What are you drawing?"

"Magic circles."

"You hate me." You hiss. "What are the circles for?"

"To wash the glitter off of you. It's technically telekenesis."

You go quiet, staring at the circle that starts forming from the ash.

"Would you like one on your back?"

"What do I get out of it?" You grumble.

"Wings."

"Yo..." You mumble. "It is the weekend..."

"Stay still." She grumbles. "Do you want anything else?"

"Oh, can I get a canon to blast flowers from my lungs?"

"Not possible. Not discovered yet."

You sit in silence, arm staying still even when your roommate finishes with the ink on your skin. You stare down at the pattern, closing your eyes focusing on the tattoo as your skin burns.

"Yeah, just like that." Your roommate mumbles. "Focus on the skin."

You open your eyes once the circle starts glowing properly, and the objects in the room rattle slightly as the glitter seems to pull off of your skin.

"Hands out." Your roommate mumbles, showing you the movement as you follow.

Shimmering, the glitter forms an orb, and you have an idea.

"I could glitter bomb someone."

"That's right." Your roommate winks at you as a knock comes from the door.

"I swear if the two of you are fucking, I will kick this door down."

"Oh, William! Do you happen to know where O'Connor is?"

"I'm with him. Are the two of you having an orgy or something?"

"Yeah, her head game is strong." Your roommate calls, waving her fingers to unlock the door.

"William, duck."

You throw the glitter at O'Connor, pursing your lips in amusement when he blinks, spitting out the sparkles from his mouth as he locks eyes with you.

"You."

You throw him a peace sign, jumping out your window as you pull the glitter out with you. He chases after you, tattoos on his body glowing as you cough, flurry of petals and glitter following behind you as your roommate and William blinks at the window.

"... I honestly can not tell that they are older than we are."

"Well, perhaps only with each other can they be that casual." Your roommate shrugs. "Such a shame, though. I was going to give her wings."

The two of them watches as your magic develops to create wings out of the glitter.

"...or not."

"You've just given her a weapon that could just result in the end of the world."

The world does not end when you cough out flower petals again, sticking them to the painting as the glitter sticks it to the canvas. It is beautiful, at times. O'Connor turns to face you, canvas turned away from you as he turns you to life. Perhaps you cough up flowers because he is cruel and wishes to bind you to him, or perhaps you are coughing up flowers because he does not genuinely like you.

The world is not ending, and that much is evident when you complete your piece, staring at O'Connor and the everlasting petals that surround him on the fabric.

You celebrate the finishing of the painting by retiring early, cheeks and ears warm with giddiness as you expose your back for yoru roommate to continue drawing on.

"I'd like the upper half of your arm."

"What are you unlocking for me this time?"

"You'll see." She hums.

"Oh, right. What tattoos do O'Connor have? I was drawing them earlier, and some of them looked foreign to me."

You roommate tilts her head.

"He has tattoos?"

"Yeah! On his... back..." You trail off when you realize how weird that sounds. "And..."

"What? Are you going to tell me you've been exploring each others' bodies next?"

You gape. "NO????"

"What context are you seeing him shirtless? He's not the type to just go around parading himself shirtless, you know?"

"In our studio? He takes it off because it gets stuffy from the sun occasionally." You blink. "There's no way he's been flirting with me. I know what you're thinking."

"I don't know about that..." Your roommate mumbles, taking the needle out. "You good with an elemental one?"

"What will you let me control?"

"Air." She deadpans. "Be a menace, but don't tell O'Connor I'm granting you that ability."

"Isn't it going to drain my mana?"

"Not with a threshold like yours. I'm surprised you didn't just pick the magic department with how much affinity you have for it."

"Art is much more fun."

"Yeah, it really feeds your delusions to be able to draw the ficitonal twinks who appear in your dreams, huh?"

"MY DREAM MEN ARE NOT TWINKS."

"The love of your life who's making you cough flowers up sure is."

You wince as she speeds up with the needlework.

"You're mean."

"I love you too."

The second tattoo heals much quicker, and you manage your newfound magical ability with the help of your roommate. She holds the power to grand and negate magic through art, now that you think about it. You wonder how people are supposed to get rid of tattoos. Perhaps they just use up all of their mana without replenishing it. It's a scary thought... that you honestly do not care for. You'll die before that happens to you. At the rate that you had been coughing up flowers and glitter, you might as well be one of those little glitter trolls the students had been reading on except you'll die if you spit too much out.

You've taken care to paint over your tattoos to keep them hidden for multiple reasons, one of which is to stop O'Connor from asking you more questions. The questionable gusts of wind that nearly knock over his paint supplies is enough comedy to you in your day to day life. But it is a game of cat and mouse for the two of you. Perhaps there is no cat, and the two of you are just rats in the subway in the city. There is really no chasing or courting when O'Connor could not care less for you.

Perhaps you are stuck in this never-ending hell as a result of which.

"Now that you are finished, perhaps you could aid the student council." Emerald hums. "You signed a contract."

You wince, puffing out your cheeks with a huff as you grimace at the paperwork.

"Must I really?"

"You promised."

You go through the papers, banned from leaving the room unless it is to return to your dorm, fingers sliding through the piles as you speed up the process with Emerald. The end of the year means much to everyone, only it seems to bother you to no end that you are no longer able to see O'Connor all the time. You cough up more flowers as well, a mess of edible petals on the ground as you work. The coughing slows you down, but not a significant amount. You still finish earlier than Emerald. Perhaps your beauty has just charmed him— who are you kidding. There's no way.

The two of you sort out files, and quickly, you forget what it was like previously with O'Connor, blinking at your fingers as you complete the job for the day, Emerald granting you freedom as you skip into the halls, wind pushing you into the skies as you do tricks, head spinning gleefully with each move.

"Gotcha." O'Connor wraps his arms around your waist mid-air, earning a piercing scream from your lips as the two of you crash into the ground, only cushioned by O'Connor's magic. You blink as you process the fact that you did not just die, heart still racing in your chest as O'Connor laughs from underneath you. You can just imagine the shit-eating grin that's on his face at the moment, and it only irks you. You do not understand why he had chosen to stick to you of everyone in your graduating class.

Perhaps there is just a reason why he is the way he is, and perhaps you just aid him in bringing that out.

Perhaps it is a blessing to be someone's place of comfort, even if he does not love you back.

When the day of graduation comes, you put your piece on display next to his, both of them hidden behind a cloth, and you blink at O'Connor, lips quirked up as he stares down at you with a smile.

"I wonder what Emerald will look like."

O'Connor chuckles.

"You will see."

"I wonder if he will see."

You never quite see O'Connor's final piece.

You are called in for an early graduation instead, degree received in private as you rush off to somewhere where O'Connor can not find you.

Instead, you leave him alone, stuck to stare at the portrait of the two of you facing each other, lotus petals surrounding him, juliet roses framing your face with closed eyes, traces of glitter visible in the tattoos stained onto your skin. He will not see you again. You have left, because he had been cruel to not tell you. It had always been that way. You had always been such a free soul, he was wrong to think that you would have not jumped at the opportunity to leave a place that was causing flowers to bloom in your lungs.

He scratches the tattoo on his back with more ink, freeing you from a curse that he had decided to place on you.

It was his mistake to let you go, and your mistake to leave.

#☾.fics #reader insert #o'connor x reader #fengyan x reader #lovebrush chronicles x reader #for all time x reader #lovebrush chronicles #for all time #im writing a part 2 eventually they deserve happiness. grr

27 notes · View notes

louisisalarrie · 8 months ago

Note

Hi i wanted to ask something. So many old vet larries like Srslycris and Ssfoc left and came back and said that Harry is an awful person (fame hungry and all) and used Louis. Some of their theories do make sense because it does look like Harry used or misled Louis to have a better career. Also, in 2018 things changed so many vet larries left....I really think because they either knew something we don’t or because they also thought it was going South.....what do you think?

Hi lovely. This turned out deeper with more feelings than I thought! But im a bit cooked wearing a 1d shirt so it was bound to happen, and now here we are. Welcomeeeee to the show!

Many of the vets have left, unfortunately. There are still a solid amount of us left, but tumblr was such a different place back in the day. There’s only so much kind of… non evidence and stunts and hate you can take. This fandom is very toxic at times and we all encouraged each other to take a step back (I did too! But more because life got in the way… but also because it’s easier when you’re not being constantly fed larry content like in the 1d days) to keep our mental health solid and not subject ourselves to all the NEW hate we were/are getting.

Because, as Larries in the 1d days, we got hate from antis, and antis only. It was one fandom, split up between two sides (with the third being neutrals which there weren’t a lot of because you kinda were expected to pick a side).

After the boys started releasing solo music, we didn’t just get hate from antis. We now get hate from solo harries (which there are SO many of), solo Louies, and other solo fans who’ve been here since the 1d days who now just Stan one of the boys. So many larries turned and picked a side because it’s just… easier. Being a larrie these days is no easy thing. The hate and back and forth and lack of evidence is really difficult and well… it’s a lot easier loving the boys from afar, that’s for sure.

But it’s also because tumblr 1d stans are such a smaller community now. Whether you’re a solo, anti, or larrie, there are so much less of us. This platform has been on the down for yeaaaaars (unfortunately), and it’s not what it used to be. It’s just… different now. And Twitter has made a weird comeback but it’s very extreme solos and larries and antis. It’s not a space you can talk about your interests/theories/beliefs without one or the other finding you and just hating on you hardcore. The Tumblr larrie community is fucking wonderful, but Twitter Larries are so different and it’s all just… a different world.

Also, be mindful about our ages at the time. A lot of Larries and 1d fans were similar ages, right in that peak demographic. Around 2018, a lot of us had hit an age where we were really becoming adults and sorting out careers, moving out, having partners… not having time to focus on larry with such little evidence/content coming our way. If 1d were still together? Sure. A lot of us would’ve stayed. But I took a step back in that time too, and I get it 1000000%. Loving an artist and listening to their music, going to concerts occasionally, and buying some merch here and there, is so much easier than running a successful or even a lowkey blog on a (sadly) declining platform. Plus dealing with an influx of fans who don’t care about the lore. Or 1d. It’s just… frustrating when the new kids take their media images as gospel and don’t look into their development as artists and people from the start. No matter how you feel about 1d.

Hell, I find it frustrating. All these new solos who don’t like 1d/don’t care about ot5 make ridiculous claims and start a witch-hunt against the vets (non-larries who are just ot5s/ot4s included). The shit I’ve seen on Twitter in particular is filthy. And a lot of these fans are younger, have a different relationship with social media, and interact in an entirely different way because they haven’t experienced a proper solid fandom and what that means/meant to us (many other fandoms like supernatural, doctor who, Sherlock etc who were also massive on tumblr at the time have dealt with a difference in it too, I’ve noticed). So it’s a lack of fandom dynamic and understanding and experience too (not that this is a bad thing if you’re new to fandoms/the 1d fandom, quite the opposite, you’re always welcome here!!! but an observation of the younger kids who are solos/antis and haven’t been in a fandom before).

That’s not to say that all new fans are of a younger generation, far from it. There are a beautiful amount of larries, one direction, and solo fans who are older and have embraced the fandom life and either support larrie or stay tf out of this shit. And it’s just people leave because they simply are just… growing up. Life gets in the way. Many found it harder to be on a platform where the most influential larry blogs, who have so many receipts and thoughts and theories and stories and followers and love to give, start disappearing. It makes people lose faith.

I cannot express how deep in this fandom was during this time. How incredibly trusting and loving we were of the bigger blogs. How we looked to them as gospel. And it’s bizarre to me now having a lot of followers and getting lovely anons like yourself, because I was the one reaching out to the bigger blogs to talk to and get reassurance and to listen to, back in the day. But the larries who are still here are carrying that torch and we are the ones still fighting, with a beautiful new group of Larries with us.

And don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against the Larries who left. It’s tempting at times. It’s easier and it’s just about enjoying the boys and their music for what it is. So don’t feel disheartened. It was a bit of a chain reaction and it comes down to so many variables, but not larry being untrue. People give up. People’s lives get in the way. People remove themselves from hate. People don’t wanna deal with an influx of younger fans (not baby Larries no matter the age, im talking about antis/solos here) who don’t know their lore and come in guns a-blazing, when we’ve watched the boys and larry unfold in real time with our own eyes.

Plus, larries have always (the majority now, too) been the most supportive section of the fandom. Larries are 99% ot5s, or at least ot4s, and with one d going on their “hiatus” and no reunion in sight, it’s super disheartening. Im sure a lot of the other vets can agree with me here. It’s just… not the same as it was (pun intended), but it is what it is (double pun intended).

I think when we start getting larry content again, tumblr and Twitter are gonna go through the roof. A few of the vets who have left, who I still talk to on occasion, are still larries, but aren’t gonna involve themselves again until something larger happens. Until something brings the fire back and makes it (this sounds awful, it’s always worth it) worth fighting again.

Anyway, that’s my take. And the longer larry are forcibly closeted, and the longer 1d distance themselves from each other (which seems to be less in the past two weeks, thank fuck), we aren’t gonna see a resurgence of fans. But I think there will be a lot of big larries coming back and saying “I fucking told you so” when it happens.

Anyway, to actually answer your question because sometimes im just really good at going on long tangents, is that im not 100% sure on the theories you are referring to (I had taken a step back at the time) and would be interested to see, but Harry’s solo career and image can definitely make it look like he used Louis. But we know he’s not that kind of person. His managers are godawful and will do anything it takes to get their cash, and that encourages the idea that he’s baiting (whether it be queer or larrie) fans and dropped louis when he went solo and got bigger. Solo louies HATE Harry so much, and solo harries HATE louies so much, and it’s just… yeah. I have no reason to believe Harry did anything out of line of his own choice, and had been groomed and manipulated by those awful gross dudes, into doing what’s “best for his career” which is unfortunately, squashing 1d.

While I still can’t tell you what I do, I can tell you that Harry’s team are very fucking smart. As awful as they are, as much as they pull out every evil trick in the book, they are excellent at publicity and his managers fight for his worth and get him the best deals possible, and have built his image so differently to what we have known him as. He’s always been incredibly marketable, and they’ve taken that on and exploited it exponentially and made a pretty penny. He’s not a bad guy, he didn’t use Louis, and shit just looks very different to what it did back in the day.

Thanks for reading if you got this far through my ramble! Hahaha

#anon #answered #louisisalarrie chats

9 notes · View notes

willow-o-wisph · 1 year ago

Text

Movie Posters and Book covers reimagined as FNAF [concept not art]

Warnings: discussion of disturbing imagery, gore, and horror.

None of these ideas are based off the plot of the story and more of the way the poster looked. Just wished to say that before someone told me why poster idea was wrong because of said story plot.

[Feel free to use these ideas but I ask to be tagged if the idea is used so that I can see it. I like looking at cool artwork.]

This poster but redraw it as Michael Afton from FNAF during his Ennard era. Change out the stuff with wires, blood, and some of the remaining internal organs. Blood dripping down his now purple eyes. Clawing at his decomposing face with some of the skin peeling off as he does. It would be a wonderful horror image.

FNAF 4 Crying Child. Here's my idea. CC kneeling in front of a television playing the Freadbear and Friends cartoon, but have the image be staticed over a bit. Fretboard plushie being on it's back as well in the same position as the poster. But to add onto the image have the nightmare be standing slightly seen in the dark background behind the TV in the same standing order as presented on the TV with the nightmare Fred bear even further behind them with the menacing teeth covered in blood be the most prominent part. The wording on the poster even fits the idea. Have the Poltergeist be turned into Nightmares or something similar.

Pizza-plex horror poster. I have two ideas that can be mixed and matched around. This isn't as concrete of an idea but spinning of multiple concepts.

1. Have the hand holding the bag be Vanny's and the head in the bag be Vanessa's to symbolize the way that Vanny has taken over Vanessa.

2. Have the hand stay as Vanny but have Gregory's head be in the bag. Showing the worst case scenario that could have happened.

3. Have it be the mimics hand [real or digital] holding Cassie's head in the bag either bare or with the discarded Vanny mask.

But whatever is choosen the bag is changed to a fazbear gift bag, a simple 80s inspired logo, nothing too busy. To add to the horror you could add blood coming from the hole in the bag or from the head in the bag. Either way it's an interesting concept

William Afton as the man with the bloody knife and the five figures as the five missing children. Make the background the pizzeria and while a simple change over it would be really cool to see where an artist might take it.

Another FNAF 4 poster idea. This one being from outside the Afton house and the spirits over the top being the nightmares. There's enough faces for it to include a lot more faces. Keep the bedroom window but have the light come from a side view child holding up a flashlight or something similar.

Another Michael idea. The G in the poster kinda looks like a stylized scooper doesn't it. Keep the clock and blood dripping down it the same, put Michael in his matentence worker uniform and it would make a cool poster. The clock face could even be turned into Baby's face to symbolize where her face appears as a clock face during the game.

Honestly Just an excuse to draw Bonnie's spirit Jeremy shredding on Bonnie's guitar. Nothing too deep about this one, just a really cool image I wanted everyone to think about.

Ennard in the sewer. Ennard right after it left Michael's body. The blood still on the sidewalk and some loose wires that didn't make it. Turn the paper boat into Ennard's party hat. Have glowing eyes be seen in the darkness and dried bloody hand like metal be clamping onto the grate.

Tales from the Pizzaplex with Tiger rock holding the book. Simple one but one I thought would be fun to show for the book fans.

William holding up a knife to one of his victims. I was thinking Charlie or Cassidy. Have there be some speckles of blood if you believe the missing Children's incident took place over the course of an extended period of time or have it be covered in the blood of the recently killed other children if you believe the killing happen over a very short time span.

[I might make more parts with more of my ideas later.]

15 notes · View notes

omegaremix · 6 months ago

Text

Omega Radio’s 50 Years Of Hip-Hop. When the ‘Brentwood Era’ started, I had the dial on WBLS, one of New York City’s hip-hop / rap stations. It not only signified the first-ever genre I’d pay close attention to, but also signified the beginning of personal cassette dubbing.

For a few years, I’d record as much as possible off to the right of the dial, then later on Hot 97 and Kiss FM. I’d capture Kid Capri, Kool DJ Red Alert, Funkmaster Flex, and Ed Lover, Dr. Dre, and T-Money of Yo! MTV Raps. Running concurrently was In Living Color, a rap-centric die-laughing comedy show that introduced us to the Wayans Brothers, Homey The Clown, Fire Marshall Bill, The Homeboy Shopping Network, and more. My formative years listening to hip-hop / rap lasted as long from middle school to graduating senior year. There’s no shortage of mostly positive memories in Brentwood, in thanks to all of my cassette dubs from that era.

I returned to hip-hop / rap when I discovered WUSB a few years later and stumbled upon one of their shows, Ghetto Radio, who showed me a more underground side of things. Street FM, Eminent Audio, and The Basement practically changed my life because they introduced me to sampling culture, forever opening up a new world in getting to know more about myself. As soon as I became a Stony Brook student, I inquired about joining the station. Now, I became a dee-jay and gave back to our listeners the same way WUSB gave to me. It wasn’t until my second run at the station (Winter 2013) when I started Omega Radio and took my show more seriously.

For 11 years, we’ve taken every chance we get to play hip-hop / rap. Our shows started when we did a five-hour bonus broadcast to usher in a new year: classic Seventies’ vinyl classics on New Year’s Eve, then three hours of the rough stuff on New Year’s. Since then, we paid it forward by delivering all-time legends (The Notorious B.I.G., 2Pac), more golden-era cuts (EPMD, A Tribe Called Quest, Monie Love), the Eighties (Kool Moe D, MC Shan, Eric B & Rakim, classic old-school moments (Whodini, Sugar Hill Records, Afrika Bambaata), and even white-label underground releases (Lo-Down Click, Erule, Brother Arthur). Let’s not forget the ladies of the game, either (Queen Latifah, Monie Love, MC Lyte, and Yo-Yo to name a few).

Later on, we introduced deluxe editions of our shows consisting of golden-era legends still doing their thing (KRS-One, Onyx, Dres of Black Sheep), backpack artists (Jedi Mind Tricks, R.A. The Rugged Man, the Griselda camp), beat tapes (Fuzzoscope, All These Fingers), and newer artists (clipping., Danny Brown, Obnox, Dabrye). We also made some legend specific tributes for Public Enemy, N.W.A. (edited for FCC quality-control), and The Wu-Tang Clan, which happened to be Omega’s most popular show to date. As long as it isn’t Kanye West or TekashiSixNine, we’re good.

The good news? There’s no sign of up stopping. We’ll continuously re-visit our golden-era finds until they’re depleted, and may even consider re-introducing our white-label bonus shows. And we’ll still play our new, current, and relevant hip-hop, rap, and backpacker finds on our deluxe shows.

Found below is each and every hip-hop / rap broadcast Omega WUSB has broadcast up until this point. We urge you to check them all out. Want to re-visit an era with the most creative freedom? Any artists you missed out on? Trying to find a one-hit wonder you want to make a legend out of? No worries. We have you covered.

Here’s to fifty more years of hip-hop - and you can all thank DJ Kool Herc for that.

December 31, 2012-January 1, 2013; #5. (Double bonus.)

February 25, 2013; #10.

June 30, 2014; #55.

July 19, 2014-July 20, 2014; #56.

August 17, 2014; #59.

November 22, 2014; #68.

July 13, 2015; #87.

August 24, 2015; #91.

June 27, 2016; #114.

August 15, 2016; #120.

February 11, 2017; #132.

July 29, 2017; #142. (Partial.)

July 28, 2018; #168.

September 3, 2018; #173.

October 15, 2018; #177.

December 10, 2018; #183. (Wu-Tang Clan.)

May 4, 2019; #194.

June 29, 2019; #199.

July 20, 2019; #201. (Public Enemy.)

August 19, 2019; #205. (N.W.A.)

August 24, 2019; #206. (Partial.)

March 16, 2020; #223.

August 3, 2020; #236.

August 15, 2020; #237.

October 26, 2020; #245.

January 30, 2021; #254.

April 21, 2021; #260.

May 19, 2021; #264.

June 16, 2021; #268.

July 3, 2021; #271. (Double deluxe.)

August 11, 2021; #278. (Hip-Hop’s 48th.)

January 3, 2022; #294.

January 12, 2022; #295.

April 25, 2022; #305.

May 21, 2022; #307.

June 20, 2022; #312.

August 22, 2022; #325. (Delayed.)

August 27, 2022; #326.

October 24, 2022; #333.

(Originally published on August 11, 2023.)

#omega #music #mixtapes #playlists #hip-hop #rap #golden era #backpack #gangsta #damn #the fuck

4 notes · View notes

nebulous-frog · 2 years ago

Text

hoping for more (Ch1/10)

Relationships: Jon/Martin/Tim, QPR Tim/Sasha

Summary: Tim wishes Jon and Martin would warm up to each other- the archives can’t handle much more of this awkward, tense energy. When Martin starts living at the archives, things begin to change. Tim sees an opportunity to ease the tension, get Martin and Jon more in sync, tease his friends goodnaturedly, and fall in love. Wait, fall in love?? Oh, dear. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He’s sure he’ll be happy so long as they’re happy… (and they’re sure he’s a crucial piece of that arrangement)

AN: This is for the @bunnies-in-the-archives event! This fic got... much longer than I'd expected, lol, so I've broken it up into chapters that I'll be posting soon (aiming for one every few days, depending on my work schedule! They're ready to go, it just takes a bit of coordination to get them out lol).

My wonderful artist is @yakov-ukha, who made some fantastic art that I could stare at all day! Massive thank-you to you <3

Link to AO3 Fics Masterlist ART

Martin took a deep breath at the base of the steps of the Institute. The last few days had been rough, but it was Friday. He’d keep his head down, do his work, and have a nice self care weekend to forget all about it. He just had to make it through the day.

As he opened the door, he heard a voice call his name.

“Martin! Wait up!” Tim came bounding up the steps, a tray of to-go mugs precariously tipping in one hand and a paper bag clutched in the other.

“Morning, Tim,” Martin replied as he held the door. He mustered up a smile, pretending he wasn’t as tired as he felt.

“Thanks, wasn’t sure what my plan was here,” Tim joked, gesturing with his full hands at the door and crossing the threshold.

Martin nodded and followed Tim inside. “Of course. What’s all that for?”

“Just some morning goodies for the crew. I’ve got some muffins in the bag for everyone, plus everyone’s drink orders. Things have felt a bit… tense this week, wanted to end it on a high note. There may or may not be an extra treat for my favorite former library assistant.” Tim grinned and bumped Martin’s arm with his elbow.

Martin laughed, blushing. “Oh, that’s nice of you. It’s definitely been a bit of a tough week, it’ll be nice to have a good start today.”

“Sure thing, man, you deserve it,” Tim said with a wink.

The muffins weren’t just for the group morale, Martin knew. They weren’t even just a pick-me-up for him, specifically. He noticed the way Jon’s eyebrows raised in surprise and interest for a moment before dropping back into his affected scowl- his clear attempt at seeming more in control and boss-like- and he noticed how Jon’s posture and steps weren’t as severe as usual. It sucked that his boss needed treats in a bid to boost his mood so he wouldn’t be so mean, but Martin couldn’t argue with the results. For the first time all week, he made it through the whole morning and most of the afternoon without any conflict with Jon, either in the bullpen or in Jon’s office.

Unfortunately, he didn’t quite make it to the end of the day. About an hour before they would all clock out, Jon’s door opened suddenly.

“Martin,” Jon barked. He was glaring down at a file Martin was fairly certain he had delivered to his desk earlier that afternoon. “I need to speak with you immediately.” He turned around and disappeared from the doorway.

Martin felt Sasha and Tim’s worried glances as he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment to brace himself before walking across the room to face whatever he’d apparently done wrong this time.

Out in the bullpen, Tim pulled out a sticky note and quickly folded it into a little origami heart. He drew a duck wearing a top hat, hoping the randomness would surprise a smile out of Martin whenever this impromptu meeting ended, and he rested it on Martin’s keyboard. Sasha nodded at him approvingly, and they both turned back to their work to wait.

A few minutes later, Tim looked up when he heard Jon’s door shut. Martin was walking out, face bright red, looking utterly exhausted.

“Hey, Martin. You okay?” Tim asked cautiously.

Martin startled, seemingly lost in his head. He looked up and briefly met Tim’s eye before looking anywhere else. “I- Yes, I’m fine. It’s just- it’s fine. Just didn’t include my citations properly again. I’ll just… I’ll be in the break room for a minute.” He nodded to himself, then walked to his desk to pick up his mug on the way out the door.

Sasha caught Tim’s eye and gestured with her head towards Martin’s retreating figure. Tim sighed and stood to follow.

A promotion to a job like this definitely was stressful, Tim told himself. Of course Jon’s been acting differently. Gertrude left the archives surely worse than she found them, to a degree where even a conservative estimate would suggest it would take decades to undo her mess. Jon didn’t have archival experience or a degree in it, and Elias was always pushing for more. It made total sense that Jon’s stress was such that he’d turned into a bit of a dick.

It just hurt that Jon hadn’t seemed to have noticed.

When he entered the break room, Martin was shuffling some boxes of tea around in the cabinet and the electric kettle was already heating.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Tim asked, standing in the doorframe.

Martin sighed, shoulders slumping, arm still outstretched in the tea cabinet. “I- I don’t know what to say.” He settled on some chamomile and pulled it out with two mugs.

Tim knew chamomile wasn’t Martin’s first choice, knew that he only picked it because Tim liked it. He wished Martin would make whatever would actually soothe himself, but he didn’t say anything; Martin was the sort of person who relaxed most when his care instincts could be used on someone else.

“That’s understandable.” Tim took the milk from the fridge and passed it over, then leaned back against the counter.

“I’m just- I don’t know what to do anymore? I don’t- I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong, it seems like there’s always something new.”

Tim nodded sympathetically. “If it helps, I don’t think it’s anything to do with you, really.”

Martin scoffed. “What do you mean? He only ever chews me out, I know you and Sasha have noticed. Definitely feels like it’s me.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Tim reassured quickly. “He’s absolutely the harshest with you in totally unjustifiable ways. I just meant that while you’re the target, it’s not necessarily personal.”

Martin shot him a look that clearly conveyed every ounce of skepticism he contained.

Tim’s lips quirked in a small smile. “I know, I know. Jon just knew me and Sasha back in research, we have history. Jon and I have been friends a long time, and he knows Sasha would eviscerate him if he was this nitpicky with her. He hasn’t given you a chance and he hasn’t given you the benefit of the doubt, so he’s decided you’re an easy target for his stress. That’s not excusing it, not by any means- he needs to get it together and do better- I only mean that it’s really not you. It’s him.”

The kettle clicked off and Martin began pouring the tea in silence for a moment. He sighed again.

“Yeah. Has he always been like this?”

Tim shrugged. “Sort of? Not this intense, but he’s not the most aware and he didn’t particularly handle his stress well in research, either. But he’s gotten more uptight and less personable. He used to laugh at my jokes and make his own jokes. He’d get this little grin whenever he’d manage to make someone laugh, it was always…” Tim sighed and shook his head, clearing it of the memories of that cute smile and the adorable snort noise Jon would make if he was surprised enough with a joke. Jon’s cute idiosyncrasies were not the point. “I think the stress of this job has really affected him.”

Martin hummed and blew on his tea before taking a sip. “That makes sense. I wish I’d gotten to know him before now. Maybe this would’ve been easier.”

“Maybe, yeah. I’m going to try to get him to get away more, at least get him to do something outside of work every once in a while. Maybe that’ll help him relax a bit? I miss my friend, and I’m tired of watching you walk out of his office all sad. It’s not fair of him to be like this.”

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose. Just… don’t tell him we talked about this, yeah?”

Tim shot Martin a horrified look. “Of course not! What happens in the break room stays in the break room. I’ve got your back. Besides, getting him to chill out wouldn’t just hopefully help you, it could also make the whole work culture better, make my job easier to do, and maybe even get my friend back, at least a bit. Trust me, I’ve been thinking about this a lot now, and especially after this week. Something has to change.”

A small smile graced Martin’s lips. “Right. I’m glad it’s not just me being sensitive, that you’ve noticed it, too.”

“Definitely. And Sasha has, too. We much prefer it when you’ve got that smile brightening the room,” Tim said with a wink.

Martin snorted and rolled his eyes. “Okay, that’s enough of that, then. I’m getting back to work.”

As they left the break room together, Tim graciously did not mention Martin’s blush.

#tma #jmart #bunnies in the archives

7 notes · View notes

omegaplus · 1 year ago

Text

# 4,459

Omega Radio's 50 Years Of Hip-Hop. When the 'Brentwood Era' started, I had the dial on WBLS, one of New York City's hip-hop / rap stations. It not only signified the first-ever genre I'd pay close attention to, but also signified the beginning of personal cassette dubbing.

For a few years, I'd record as much as possible off to the right of the dial, then later on Hot 97 and Kiss FM. I'd capture Kid Capri, Kool DJ Red Alert, Funkmaster Flex, and Ed Lover, Dr. Dre, and T-Money of Yo! MTV Raps. Running concurrently was In Living Color, a rap-centric die-laughing comedy show that introduced us to the Wayans Brothers, Homey The Clown, Fire Marshall Bill, The Homeboy Shopping Network, and more. My formative years listening to hip-hop / rap lasted as long from middle school to graduating senior year. There's no shortage of mostly positive memories in Brentwood, in thanks to all of my cassette dubs from that era.

I returned to hip-hop / rap when I discovered WUSB a few years later and stumbled upon one of their shows, Ghetto Radio, who showed me a more underground side of things. Street FM, Eminent Audio, and The Basement practically changed my life because they introduced me to sampling culture, forever opening up a new world in getting to know more about myself. As soon as I became a Stony Brook student, I inquired about joining the station. Now, I became a dee-jay and gave back to our listeners the same way WUSB gave to me. It wasn't until my second run at the station (Winter 2013) when I started Omega Radio and took my show more seriously.

For 11 years, we've taken every chance we get to play hip-hop / rap. Our shows started when we did a five-hour bonus broadcast to usher in a new year: classic Seventies' vinyl classics on New Year’s Eve, then three hours of the rough stuff on New Year’s. Since then, we paid it forward by delivering all-time legends (The Notorious B.I.G., 2Pac), more golden-era cuts (EPMD, A Tribe Called Quest, Monie Love), the Eighties (Kool Moe D, MC Shan, Eric B & Rakim, classic old-school moments (Whodini, Sugar Hill Records, Afrika Bambaata), and even white-label underground releases (Lo-Down Click, Erule, Brother Arthur). Let's not forget the ladies of the game, either (Queen Latifah, Monie Love, MC Lyte, and Yo-Yo to name a few).

The good news? There’s no sign of up stopping. We'll continuously re-visit our golden-era finds until they’re depleted, and may even consider re-introducing our white-label bonus shows. And we’ll still play our new, current, and relevant hip-hop, rap, and backpacker finds on our deluxe shows.

Here's to fifty more years of hip-hop - and you can all thank DJ Kool Herc for that.

December 31, 2012-January 1, 2013; #5. (Double bonus.)

February 25, 2013; #10.

June 30, 2014; #55.

July 19, 2014-July 20, 2014; #56.

August 17, 2014; #59.

November 22, 2014; #68.

July 13, 2015; #87.

August 24, 2015; #91.

June 27, 2016; #114.

August 15, 2016; #120.

February 11, 2017; #132.

July 29, 2017; #142. (Partial.)

July 28, 2018; #168.

September 3, 2018; #173.

October 15, 2018; #177.

December 10, 2018; #183. (Wu-Tang Clan)

May 4, 2019; #194.

June 29, 2019; #199.

July 20, 2019; #201. (Public Enemy)

August 19, 2019; #205. (N.W.A.)

August 24, 2019; #206. (Partial.)

March 16, 2020; #223.

August 3, 2020; #236.

August 15, 2020; #237.

October 26, 2020; #245.

January 30, 2021; #254.

April 21, 2021; #260.

May 19, 2021; #264.

June 16, 2021; #268.

July 3, 2021; #271. (Double deluxe.)

August 11, 2021; #278. (Hip-Hop’s 48th)

January 3, 2022; #294.

January 12, 2022; #295.

April 25, 2022; #305.

May 21, 2022; #307.

June 20, 2022; #312.

August 22, 2022; #325. (Delayed.)

August 27, 2022; #326.

October 24, 2022; #333.

#omega #music #mixtapes #reviews #playlists #hip-hop #rap #backpack #personal #Long Island #damn #wow #whoa #hell yeah

2 notes · View notes

hearsayhorizons · 2 months ago

Text

Memory Bank

Spoilers for An Enchantment of Ravens Margaret Rogerson and probably Lord of the Fading Lands by CL Wilson, depending on what you call a spoiler.

Tl;dr: (also length warning!)

The idea of sidestepping age gaps via... I dunno, magical lobotomies, may not 100% make everyone comfortable. But for the moment it works for me, with the added bonus of dealing with time abysses and meaning literally anything could be an armed memory bomb.

Is there a stepping stone path that has been artfully tied into someone’s memories ascending from grief to new appreciation for life? If new construction means a place needs to get torn down, are there calls sent out offering people with good memories to come sew them into the area so people can see how it was before? ARE there artists who seek out wonderful experiences and then sell them?

Are we looking at Augmented Reality and vid stuff from a magic perspective? Maybe. Is there way too much here? Definitely. Will it all hit the reader at once or, maybe, at all? Hell no!

I’ve been reading a lot of fantasy romance novels lately, mostly because Reddit recommendations throw worlds that sound super neat in my direction. But then the worldbuilding or plot doesn’t go far enough, or the relationships are inherently problematic in a way some people probably find appealing, but I don’t (current gripe: thousand year age gaps, fated mates). Most of those suggestions have fae, although some have dragons or other species inherently more powerful and “wonderful” than humanity. “in this essay I will...”

Fae have always been an interest for me. The actual mythologies, as well as what people do with their fantasy takes: their relationships to mortals, to each other—are they elemental forces given faces by contact with humanity, or an elder race fading as younger energies take precedence and the magic fades away, or actually aliens?

My brain wants to organize fae into three categories, and I’m not sure they can all live in the same plot: elemental versus physical, seasonal courts, and manner of existing.

Elemental fae are those who correspond to winds and heat and life energy. They may connect with flowers or work with frost on window panes, but they would still exist and thrive without those physical trimmings. Physical fae like dryads and brownies and fairy god parents tie themselves to trees or households or people. They are more powerful in the physical sphere than elemental fae, but it does give them... weaknesses. Typically, the greater the power, the more irrevocable the bond: more than one villain has a reluctant FGP behind them, while brownies can pick up sticks and find a new house if their customary cream is expired.

Seasonal courts are very popular ways to sort fae. That ties into the elemental nature noted previously, but I’m intrigued on how some fiction has all four courts and some only have the two extremes of Summer and Winter. What if, in the past, there were only two seasons, only two courts, and it took a lot of death of lesser fae and people who were not able to live in those extremes for them to acknowledge the need and place and rightness of Spring and Autumn? This could be a recent change as far as the fae go—or maybe it’s just about to happen. Maybe some ascended human plays Persephone as the land either bakes or freezes

Have the original courts selected candidates for the role of Autumn and perhaps other contenders for the role of Spring, and the “”love triangles”” are just seeing who wants to see who spending eternity alongside them? Is the trick, the ending... Spring and Autumn actually must be shared crowns with a king and queen or two queens etc otherwise, they fall into human or abhuman extremes? The rigid fae would not be able to do that willingly; it would not occur to them to have shared crowns, as the original courts don’t.

That dipped into a bit of plot building, but it does bring me to my last metric for fae: existence. Are they: timeless, elemental beings who do not age at all and may or may not be killable and may or may not be able to pass on the helm; physical fae who age and can die, but “respawn” via taking over a nearby animal or object of their type when they die (I was VERY influenced as a kid by the stark picture of the Cat Lord staring out at me from a D&D monster manual...); or fae that live and breed and die like mortals?

If there are such fae in that last category, they may be considered “lesser spirits” AND there may be no distinction between “fae” and mortals. Humans are lesser spirits and are—according to the fae—subject to the same laws that govern all people... and given all the respect the People give to very smart dogs. Not ALL fae would regard humanity in that light, especially those who know the secret to the “high fae” and their natures and problems.

See, powerful and knowledgeable beings are intriguing. But a warrior with two hundred years under his belt in love with a seventeen year old, or a warrior over a THOUSAND years old in love with someone in her twenties is... suffocating, to me. There’s six years between me and my spouse and still sometimes I see the edges where they had experiences I didn’t. By the time I was the age to go out on the town with folks... I had someone safer and more comfortable to come home to, so I did that. I’m a homebody anyway so it might not have changed much, but it does come up when we discuss shows or music—what we enjoyed, what wasn’t in the right age bracket.

Sometimes people have like... an odometer reset regarding ages, I think. Other than just “it’s fiction, let me enjoy my unicorn fantasy.” Someone who is 1500 years old, who has been away from the world, sure he’s powerful but he’s driven to his knees by the thought of hurting her—that’s fine. Things are SO different that they both have to find new ground and understanding, right? I guess. There are opportunities for the younger of the pair to restore wonder and hope in the other, which is nice.

The idea of true immortality and how humans and their memories would work with that—sure, fae operate differently because they’re not human, but what if they were? What if, instead of the one SPECIAL (or few...) human woman being reborn with awesome power in some giant cauldron, what if that was the standard MO? If high fae (that is, a placeholder for “humanoid”) MUST come from human stock... What if they can’t cope with their memories as time passes?

Alistair Reynolds’ sci fi work is HUGE for me in terms of imagery and ideas, even if the “... okay, and then where does it go?” can get a bit much. In House of Suns’ incredibly far future, human subspecies have their own individual ways of dealing with memory overload. The shardlings (clones of one person) have regular conclaves where they “spin” their memories off so that they can be reviewed by the others in their house and, more importantly, be stored. There is another subspecies that deals with the demands of time by constantly growing, so there is more room to store more everything—to such an extreme that a main character having a conversation has to enter SUSPENDED ANIMATION between exchanges because it takes so long for other person to respond.

In an Enchantment of Ravens, there is a well whose waters will turn a mortal fae. They pretty quickly lose their... spark, I guess. Human willpower and ingenuity and Craft cannot live in a fae body. The high king of the fae demands that any human who falls in love with a fae (probably because of that Craft...) must drink the water and join the fae world. From what I remember, there’s no reason given for this, it’s his decree and sets a terrible pain on love: if you bond over your gift (or in general) you must then forsake that light to keep your love, which will probably then be very very shallow. Rule of drama, basically.

I’m seeing a river whose banks gleam with precious gems. Mortals or lesser spirits who bathe in its waters emerge as high fae able to feel and bond with the elemental and physical matter of the world as their inclinations and those of the world permit. But the cost is some memories, preserved on the banks as those gems—and another layer of the price is the inherent knowledge of how to offload memories at your own convenience.

How good it is, to set aside the awkward how-was-I-supposed-to-know of childhood. How tempting to turn bad dates, food poisoning, long days at work, parents’ divorces and drunken husbands into rubies and sapphires and pearls. How beautiful they become at a distance divorced from yourself—touch them, and feel it again. But not for long.

Or you bind your memories to places. When they tear your old high school down, maybe the nostalgia and homesickness for the past is too great, so you stand where it used to be and sew your memories to that grass. It won’t bother you unless you come back to this place—but since you don’t remember it now, why would you do that?

The ability to do more magic is a consequence of stripping off the memories, not a price. As you hollow yourself out because it’s easier, or because you just can’t keep the days straight, the anima of light or earth feels so good in those gaps. Or maybe you stop to clean a house for a struggling single father, and then that’s your household; you don’t remember your old one anyway. Or you hear a child crying, and the bond lets you soothe them, dress them, help them make a good match, and you’re a fairy god parent before you realize you have any power at all.

When you remove who you were, you open the possibilities for who you could be; the magic of the land mindlessly knows that.

So Titania heads the Summer court as a timeless elemental filled with power and a few core memories, while Oberon shelters most—but not all—of the physical fae in Winter; he is also an elemental, but he has shed fewer memories and has a soft spot for a warm seat before the fire and ice skating on the lake.

They both acknowledge—mostly at Oberon’s insistence—that their elements are too harsh. Lesser spirits have been spawning, living, and dying short lives for too long. They must make room in the pantheon. They each have one or more candidates who are either humans or high fae whose age doesn’t matter (theoretically) because they’ve been stripped mentally bare to make room for the seasons. I don’t think either reigning ruler would forcibly almost-drown their near candidates in this river Lethe to get them into the running, but an underling might. If one of these high fae candidates is super old and has better command of his or her magic—that’s news to them, and genuinely doesn’t matter unless they have a Chekov’s gun sewn into the lining of their coat—an enemy's weakness, or a big working they removed from their mind because it is a BIG working and they almost died last time.

The idea of sidestepping age gaps via... I dunno, magical lobotomies, may not 100% make everyone comfortable. But for the moment it works for me, with the added bonus of literally anything could be an armed memory bomb. Is there a stepping stone path that has been artfully tied into someone’s memories ascending from grief to new appreciation for life? Are there artists who seek out wonderful experiences and then sell them?

Are we looking at Augmented Reality and vid stuff from a magic perspective? Maybe. Is there way too much here? Definitely. Will it all hit the reader at once or, maybe, at all? Hell no!

#worldbuilding wednesday #worldbuilding #hearsay horizons #fantasy #fae #long post

1 note · View note