Taking the opportunity to tell you that you're my absolute favorite artist and I hope you're aware of how much this fandom treasures you<3
i will literally start crying right now
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hi there!! i have a dear friend who said you quote "wrote the 30k Buddie fic that made me watch the show" so i owe you a huge thank you tbh 😂 BUT since i couldn't nudge them about this without them getting all blushy and shy, i'm asking for them - is there any chance you're participating in fandom trumps hate this year? they'd love to get a piece from you ♥
This is honestly so very sweet??? Oh my gosh.
And I'm not... I don't 100% know what it is, and I don't do a lot of event things.
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Vergil finds a new hobby
Hobbies were a luxury, an indulgence Vergil could scarcely afford throughout his stormy existence. He was accustomed to a life of constant movement and perpetual fight for survival, each step a calculation to outmanoeuvre the demons relentlessly pursuing him. Now, however, his circumstances had drastically changed and he had to figure out how to stop and truly live. It was a strange concept, but with his brother's office as a place of sanctuary he could always return to and an abundance of free time to spare, he had to embrace just living.
Not quite sure what to make of it, he fell back on his old habit of reading. Yet, according to the members of Devil May Cry, his ‘obsession’ with books hardly qualified as a hobby; more seen as a chore or a sinister ploy to seek out power. Though some tried to encourage him to explore new hobbies, their suggestions often fell flat and failed to pique his interest.
Of all people, it was Nico who managed to recommend a compelling diversion—a DVD of a vintage painting show titled 'The Joy of Painting'. Its familiar appearance drew him in, like staring at nostalgic pieces of a bygone era he could scarcely recall from a lifetime ago. She told him to give it a shot since ‘it was all the rage back in its hay day for a reason’. Glimpsing through fragments of the show, it appeared to be a worthy time investment where his attention to detail would surely pay off.
On a day when Dante was out terrorising some unfortunate ice cream parlour for its special deal on strawberry sundaes, Vergil seized the opportunity to relax uninterrupted. After setting up the canvas and the paints, he followed Nico's instructions to play the show on the DVD player—apparently a technological upgrade to the VHS players he vaguely remembers. It felt somewhat humiliating to follow instructions that seemed to be written for a child to comprehend:
press the tiny button next to the rectangle;
place the circular thing inside the pocket that slides out;
wait till the devices figures out its head from its ass;
on the remote, use the buttons with triangles pointing up and down to select an episode on screen;
oh yeah, that sideways triangle in the middle there is the select button;
It wasn't far off from describing an infant's toy where different shapes are passed through their respective holes. ‘That's right, the square goes into the square shaped hole. Yeah! You got it!’
Perhaps, there was still hope for him as he successfully followed the instructional cookie trail, simple enough for a four-year-old to navigate, and managed to play the show on the old TV. Settling comfortably in his seat, he paid close attention to the screen. The hosts' serene attitude and passion was contagious, and the painting process itself proved to be rather soothing. Although Vergil wasn't exactly a skilled artisan, the show catered well to artists of all levels. It was something he could improve upon and, as odd as it was, he now had all the time to spare for it.
“I'm gonna wash the brush and we’ll just blend that out. As you know, we wash our brushes with odourless paint thinner and we have a lot of fun.” The host dipped the brush into a bucket on the side. “Just shake off the excess,” he lightly shook the brush, following up with a practised motion of rhythmically smacking it against the leg of the easel stand. Almost chuckling, the host said one of his signature phrases, “And beat the devil out of it.”
Vergil looked down at his brush... menacingly.
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Omfg the french left union won first place (not absolute majority but still) and the fasc*sts got 3rd even tho they were 1rst on the 1rst round omfg I'm not gonna die actually??? Like the attacks on minorities and stuff probably won't stop yet but they're not taking the government omfg my dad was so mad lmao
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Carrie’s eighteenth birthday swiftly arrived, and proved to be quite the poignant celebration. Especially for her parents, who could’ve sworn that it had only been yesterday when she’d been born.
She’d grown into such a beautiful, smart young lady, that they were sure she’d make a fine match for any young man in town. They’d hoped that she might’ve gotten over whatever problem she had with Clyde Grantham and reconsidered his offer to court her, but she made it very clear that she wasn’t interested in him – nor was she interested in getting married, at least not any time soon.
Instead, she went right on ahead and took her teaching exams, and was quickly able to get her teaching certificate. She then was able to secure a job at the Henford schoolhouse, which meant that for now, she would continue to remain at the farm. Which of course, meant continuing to listen to her parents’ nagging her to not wait too long to settle down.
Far as that was concerned, Carrie tried not to let it bother her too much. She cherished the moments she’d steal with Genie, but there was always an underlying fear that it would all have to come an end someday. That their families would eventually succeeding in forcing them to find husbands and get married, and that they would never get to be together ever again.
The thought haunted Carrie, thus making her determined to ensure that that would never come to pass. There had to be a solution, something that would guarantee she and Genie would get to be together forever, she just didn't know what it was yet.
Until she did figure it out, she was determined to savor as many moments as she possibly could with her beloved, terrified that each one might be the last.
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iced bun
“Happy Mother’s Day, Leorio.”
There’s silence on the other end for a second, just buzzing, before a loud yell.
“WHAT?! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN?!”
Killua holds back a giggle, and he can hear Leorio grumbling and mumbling on the other side.
Killua sniffs, putting on his best wobbly voice.
“W-What? Nanika and Alluka d-did it for me…”
“Fine. Thanks, kid. Now stop messing with me and get some rest! Doctor's Orders!”
Killua’s eyes water and he looks at Gon, wailing.
“G-Gon… L-Leorio… actually cares about m-me…”
Leorio can hear his blubbering through the phone, and he isn’t sure if Killua is still trolling him or is serious.
“O-Of course, I do!”
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