#ink tumbler cup

[aperfecthalosblog]

Tattoo Artist black and white (glow in dark option) 20oz tumbler 30oz

This listing is for one 20oz or 30oz skinny tumbler..

Vacuum insulated tumbler with lid and straw. Drinks stay ice cold or steaming hot ALL DAY LONG. Perfect for hot coffee in the morning, cold drinks all day long, or wine at the end of the day.

These are custom made and can be custom made for you.

Add a name or saying for no extra cost

Since these are handmade the image maybe slightly different then pictured

** All tumblers should be hand washed and not placed in the dishwasher.

There is no actual glitter the image make it appear like glitter..

[sacramentohistorymuseum]

On July 20, 1969, the spacecraft Apollo 11 commanded by Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins, and Buzz Aldrin landed on the Moon. Neil Armstrong became the first person to step onto the Moon's surface almost 7 hours after the landing.

This day will forever live on in history and our print shop contains a halftone to remember that historic event. In this video, Howard letterpress printed an image from a halftone depicting a commemorative tumbler (or small cup) for the Moon landing.

This cut was likely used to advertise the cup in a newspaper or magazine 55 years ago. The halftone process is a way to have photography in printing starting in the late 1880s. This was printed with purple oil base ink using our Washington hand press. At the end of the video, Jared shows how the tumbler looks thanks to one of our viewers who gifted us several of these tumblers.

[bellagracecrafts]

Check out the new items! Thanks

[dreamgrlarchive]

A Prissy Girl’s Guide to Fall

back by popular demand, i’m here with another prissy girl guide! this post is a bit late for the fall but it’ll allow you to finish the season off in a pretty fashion, and transition to the winter smoothly. i’ll be discussing the look i’ve been adorned in as of late and my fav products i’ll be using for the spirit of fall! 💓

what’s the look this fall?

the look this season is “divalicious barbie.” voluminous hair, tapered square nails and fur details + neutral color palettes. add in a few pops of pink and some sparkly detailz and you got my look this fall. “sexy chic.” i’ve been really leaning into the vibe of a runway supermodel diva emulsion. as you may have seen, my birthday outfit drew from many inspirations, focally the early nineties alaia runway shows. just immense glamour, class and girliness with a healthy dose of sexy.

“it's officially fall bbys. uggs, tracksuits, sew ins are in”

“in are warm scents, fur, leopard prints, brown lip gloss with voluminous blowouts for the fall to enhance my diva essence!”

- @realprissygrl on twitter 🎀

first and foremost…

the weather is turning so a lot of us are catching colds. take care of your health and rest. protect your immune system and dress according to weather. i almost always get sick around late september/early october and its because of the dip my immune system takes due to the change in climate.

preparation

some of you are in school like me. one of the reasons the fall is my fav season is because it’s time to get back to the basics. you should be developing new study routines around this time or perfecting the ones you have already

new school supplies + stationery. pretty girls deserve to stay stocked up on glitter ink and fuzzy pens

start saving money for the holiday season

get a handle on your halloween look early so not to scramble when the day comes

stock up on tea, immune boosters like emergen-c and medicine

start going outside in the morning to get the vitamin D and K you may lose out on as the seasons turn

set new goals and track them in a diary or planner

try to get well rested. the change from fall to winter can cause a lot of mood and energy complications due to lack of rest

essentials

a metallic pink starbucks tumbler or stanley cup

new books to read this season

chai tea and espresso for at home lattes + a pink thermos for travel (mine is a barbie pink micro shimmer one by starbucks)

hello kitty pencil caps and planners

velcro roller kit

super cute straw toppers

juicy couture laptop case for school

dry shampoo and clean paddle brush

pink ipad for productivity

victoria’s secret anything

cute hydrophobic jackets + umbrella

cute planner, i take my corset planner everywhere

clothes and accessories

warm neutrals + pink

layers, layers, layers! i’ve been pairing fur vests/cardigans, and sheer tops

cheetah and leopard print (yes they’re different lol) i’m going for the galleria chanel look this season

preppy looks! tartan, tweed and pleats have been such an essential for me on class days

cute little purses that are only big enough for your phone, lip gloss and keys. they come rhinestoned, fur trimmed or beaded and go very well with preppy lookz

chocolate brown accessories and layers

rhinestones and pearls add the perfect diva touch to any look

hoops 4ever

diamond studs for when your hair is pulled back, the prettiest detail ever

velour tracksuits

shimmery neutral pieces

feathers and gold jewelry to achieve that regine hunter/hilary banks aesthetic

fur trims on sheer tops

fuzzy trimmed half jackets

neutral toned designer tote bags

leopard print totes

blacked out shades

berets

sheer tights including tights with patterns like lace and stripes

ted baker arycon bags. they’re affordable and super freaking cute

fuzzy knitted pieces

knee high socks

cute little pumps + kitten heels

leather booties

uggs… obviously

medium telfar in either ballerina, bubblegum or gold

rubber boots with cute details like metal buttons or fur

furry moon boots

apple watch + charm bracelet stacking

beauty

brown + pink all season. cinnamon strawberry dessert girl

tape ins + sew ins or clip ins for a budget

soft matte makeup. not too matte (winter) and not dewy (summer)

neutral eyeshadow with a pink glossy lip

voluminous side parted hair with velcro roller curls OR

pin straight silk presses with a middle part

adequate moisture in hair is imperative to ensure hairstyles last long and stay sleek. if my hair reverts too fast i know it’s because its dry

sparkly hair clips

deep pink, mauve and berry blushes

lip balms like tree hut, summers friday and patrick ta

high ponies and half up half down stylez

long curly lashes. my favs are by kiss and lilly lashes or sold on amazon in the pink packaging

invest in a metal roller brush (ulta has super cute pink ones omg) OR a round brush blow dryer to add body to hair

makeup by pat mcgrath and patrick ta for sparkly lookz

beauty blender cleanser is my fav for cleaning my brushes

lip glosses + lipstick in nude pink, nude, deep brown, and baby pink

tapered square french tipz and nude nails

eyeshadow palettes with blacks, reds, browns, grays, and creams. my favs rn are naughty nude and new nude by huda, glam palette by natasha denona and the master mattes by mario

claw clips have been my fav for cute updos

warm scents with notes of wood, oud, musk, cinnamon, pastry, soft florals and brown sugar

smoky eyes + smudged liner + wings

[fatesundress]

⭑ sunlight parallel pseudostars. tom riddle x reader

summary. your reunion is long overdue for the small thing it should be, sacred for the dingy place it finds you, and most consequentially, entirely on purpose.

tags. gn afab reader, part one of an inevitable part two but this one is just pining because nonny asked so nicely, yes there is fluff but it's a tom pov, so... i do what i can, post-hogwarts, mutual pining (but emphatically, arduously, overwhelmingly tom), tom and reader were hopeless fools in school who never confessed their feelings for each other, legilimency/occlumency training as flirting, reader definitely filter searches the slow burn tag, self-cockblocking, i can't tell if this is ooc even by my own delusional standards, hopeful 'ending' as an apology for my last tom fic, please accept this humble offering

note. finished my first request!! who knew i could do it! i apologize first and foremost for my inactivity and i want to say WOAHHH thank you so much for 400! i'm hoping to make up for my absence by turning this into either a two-parter or a longer mini-series. i did actually forcibly refrain from ending this in smut because i want to try my hand at a slightly slower-burn since my usual preference is like... at least 100k words of longing stares before they even hold hands. i'm trying my best.

word count. 4.9k

There’s something, at least, in the far table at the right side of the bar, that makes the process a tad less dull. It’s somehow quieter here than his flat over Knockturn, sparse with a few old wizards with beards caught in the froth of their cups, Tom’s bend of the pub warm from the fire, crackling with kindling and the scratch of his quill, drizzled in moonlight tealish enough to remind him of the Slytherin common room when little else does nowadays. Something — yes. A tolerable reprieve. The sort of monotony he likes.

As opposed to Caractacus Burke’s constant, doltish solicitations; Tom ponders when the day will come that the man strikes a deal so dumb it lights the tip of someone’s wand green and kills him. It doesn’t drive Tom to any immense grief to consider. On particularly tedious days, he staves off boredom by imagining doing it himself.

But this reprieve can only serve him so well. Tom doesn’t drink — certainly not the dreck they serve here, though he doubts even the finest of wines could tempt him to obfuscate his better senses — doesn’t dance, doesn’t take anyone home even on the rare occasion there’s someone in this pub of bearable taste (except the one time, and that was more a case study than a surrender to gratification). Essentially, he sits at his table and steals the heat and the barkeeps are wise enough to let him.

He’s mused over the exact verbiage of this tome for days. Alchemical equations are the one thing that still occasionally stump him, and Tom is eager to rectify that.

He puts quill to parchment. It bleeds when he comes up short of words. He holds infinitesimally tighter, and the ink spreads like tendrils imagined in the dark; the sort of amorphous shapes that appear on the ceiling when all the lights have gone out. He stares. He lets the shapes form, but finds nothing informative in them, and so sets his quill down and watches leaves fall from the chestnut tree splitting open the sidewalk outside.

Cold air wafts in when the door groans open. There’s the click of dress shoes and a murmur at the bar, followed by a tumbler shaking and a glass being poured.

“Oh, no — er — that one always sits alone,” he hears the barkeep say to the dress shoes.

Tom refrains from turning his head.

 “Doesn’t like to be bothered,” he adds, dress shoes skidded to a halt.

A pause. A sense of eyes on him Tom elects to ignore.

“I know.”

There’s a smile in that voice. He remembers it. The teeth of it, the lips, the tongue that sometimes darts between them.

It must be very late.

He’ll look up and realise there are things other than wine that can addle a person. Too many books, not enough books, not enough sleep, a day gone by without a single spell cast, an itch for control, wanting and not having, and,

you, after all this time.

The lattermost two have for a long time been the same.

Your hair is different than it was before, your figure presented in the rarity of your own clothes when he’s so accustomed to your school robes, but it would be rather bizarre if you ever wore those again. You’re too modern for muggle and magical alike — trousers and a formal shirt, hair somewhere between kempt and wind-blown, the aforementioned nice shoes Scourgified to a squeaky black as you come closer. (You’re coming closer. What a revelation.) A drink floats beside you, your fingers undulating softly to maintain the charm.

“You,” he says, like he doesn’t remember.

You grin. “Me. Sharp as ever, Tom. You look it too.”

The nebulous shape of acumen returns to him and it’s disarming enough to be disarmed — on principle it should not be occurring — but you also should not be here.

He stands. You present your hand as if practised for the proper convention of having it taken, October-cold gloves soft when his lips press to one and he wonders if the skin beneath is softer, or if callouses mar the mounts of your palm. He lingers as the thought does. (What are you up to now? Are you tried by new labours like he is; your knuckles hard from the work? Would they feel voltaic to touch as they once did?)

“Sit, please.” 

Increments of re-introduction tie him to the tangible instead of unfurling from the knots of why you’re here or how you’re here, which cannot possibly be tethered to reality because for all the hours he’s been with you, none in the last three years have happened awake.

There are the dark shapes on his ceiling again. The scraps won’t last. He’ll need to know the details. 

You’ll want to tell.

You take a seat in the chair he pushes out for you, glass sinking onto the table where the condensation immediately shades a ring into the wood. “This wasn’t where I’d expected to find you, you know.”

“No?” Tom asks, returning to his seat, “I wasn’t expecting you to find me anywhere, so the surprise is mutual.”

“I’d have written to warn you, but it was easier to find the places you frequent than the one you live in — wouldn’t know how to get my owl to you directly, you know — and I’m sure that’s not an accident.”

“I feel strangely as though I’m being accused of something.”

“Mm. Your guilty conscience.”

He smiles reflexively. Old habits. “I’m sure.”

You smile too, at least. “You know, when we left school, I gave it — what — two years before you were the youngest Minister of Magic in British history?”

“Then I’ve disappointed you.”

“No, I think I knew you well enough once to know even now that the fact that you aren’t only means you have something better in mind. I’ll have to trust your judgement, because I can’t imagine what that could possibly be.” You take a sip of your drink, twirling your straw as you do. “Come to think of it, though, brooding over a book in an establishment you patronise enough to have all the workers trained to leave you alone despite not even knowing your name is… very Tom.” 

“That one appears to have done a poor job,” he says with a glance at the barkeep. “You’re over here disrupting me. I think I’ll rescind my tip.”

“Still funny, too.”

“Still indecorous.”

“Still saying things like indecorous. You’d better tip, Riddle.”

“Be good company and I might.”

“Oh, I see. I need to prove that I’m a worthy disruption.”

“I was reading a very good book.”

The book was rubbish. His moleskin has roughly four lines of notes jotted on its open page, which he closes promptly, and hopes it doesn’t seem done with too much gravity. Your eyes like to wander, he recalls. Your hands, absentmindedly, too.

Torturous creature you are.

“I missed you,” you say, like you’ve never had the good sense of holding your tongue, or armouring your heart, or not feeding an animal without first seeing the size of its teeth. 

You are so withholding with your work, and so generous with yourself. He wishes you wouldn’t offer him so much. He’s never had the kindness not to take everything you let him.

“You missed me,” he prompts, already asking for more. 

“I missed disrupting you. No one else lets me — or calls me indecorous, and still lets me.”

“You were quite studious, in case you’ve forgotten. More literate than disruptive.”

You raise a brow. “My, I’ve never had a man call me literate before, and I’ve been courted plenty. I’m swooning.”

(Note: you’ve been courted plenty?)

“Inventive, then? Erudite?”

“Do go on.”

“I shouldn’t. I believe you were describing the manner in which you missed me.”

“It was just the one, unfortunately.”

“Why did you find me?”

This generates pause, at least, and that intrigues him.

Addendum: “Why now?”

“I was around,” you decide on, “and I haven’t been in a long time.”

You wanted to continue your studies after Hogwarts. He thinks he remembers that conversation; academics were the topic of most of your discussions, after all. Anything deeper was incidental, crumbs scraped off a plate at the end of a meal.

“Where did you go?”

You drink again. “Portugal, after school. But that was — it’s a bit of a story. I ended up at an academy in Iceland doing a few very boring, ultimately useless courses on spell creation and wandlore. Will you be horrible if I tell you I’m here because I left in the middle of term? Because then I didn’t tell you.”

“I suppose I knew you well enough once to know even now you wouldn’t have left unless you had something better in mind.”

You beam at him, and he acknowledges briefly that it feels like a reward the same way solving a problem does.

“I found you —” (You are far too generous; the question was already answered and here you are offering more) — “because I considered everyone I wanted to see again and you were the first person I thought of. I don’t like to deny myself the little things.”

“No,” he says, “you don’t.”

Rain trickles down the window, and the cool dark of autumn obscures half of your face. He wishes it didn’t, and that’s bizarre.

“I’ll be doing a course in Occlumency in Norway in the new year.”

Oh?

“I know you were always quite good at Legilimency, so don’t start,” you add hastily.

He itches not to smile. It is truth and not arrogance to say that quite good is an understatement.

“I didn’t know you had an interest.”

You scoff. “Please, everyone has an interest. It’s just hopeless for most of us, and painful to be hopeful to learn something so hopeless.”

“Well-put. A terrible ego punch for you, I’m sure.”

“It was. Until I tried Occlumency and realised I’m quite good at that, and then the wound closed a bit.”

“Glad to hear it. You’re honing the skill?”

“Slowly but surely.”

“And — you’re here seeking a teacher?”

“Oh, stop. I told you why I’m here. But if you’re — oh!” You frown suddenly. “Didn’t you say that you were going to apply for DADA after graduation?”

Ah, that. “Denied, unfortunately.”

“Seriously? On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that I’m too young.”

That and the matter of Albus Dumbledore and the air that is ceaselessly wasted on his breath.

“Oh, please; half the staff are over eighty, I imagine it might be nice to have a professor who doesn’t forget to grade their assignments every other week. You were Head Boy! That’s completely mad.”

“You’ll have to write an owl.”

“I could.” And you sigh, and stir your half-empty drink of what must be less than ten percent alcohol and ninety percent spice and apple. “Would you… would you mind, though? If your schedule isn’t terribly busy?”

“Teaching you?”

“Helping me with something I’m already good at,” you correct, “as an excuse for me not to go back to a very frilly muggle hotel by myself after coming all this way to find you.”

He echoes the part of that sentence that matters least — your invitation is all that counts, but he has no wish to make that obvious when you’ve always done this, always tugged on a string you seem unaware even exists. “Frilly muggle hotel?”

“What? I used to go to them when I was on holiday. Didn’t I tell you that?”

No. He would have clung onto it if you had. He didn’t even know you had the money for things like that after two wars, but then maybe that was something new. How would you have attained it while in school, though? An untimely familial demise? A wealthy suitor? You wore no ring. You came back to him.

Illegible signs for him to attempt to read.

“Well?” you ask, pulling two sickles from your pocket and leaving them on the table.

His answer is yes, naturally. 

It’s absurd you even feel the need to ask; your reunion is long overdue for the small thing it should be, because of the small thing you were, sacred for the dingy place it finds you, and most consequentially, entirely on purpose. You didn’t stumble upon each other in the aisles of a shop after years gone by, pressured into empty conversation for the courtesy of it. You missed him, so you found him — and Tom thinks he’s been missed before, in some vague sense by some people blurred long ago by unimportance, but — found? He reconciles not finding you himself by assuring he will make something of this.

“For a worthy distraction,” he says, putting down two sickles to match.

You grin, and he takes your arm again as you thank the barkeep and depart into the slow drizzle of the street.

You tell him of Ponte de Lima and the rootless craters of Myvatn, of old cathedral spires and covens masked as monasteries. You detail the scenery like you detailed your essays in school, and it makes the ennui of London marginally better — that you are walking it with him, talking about beautiful things, in a night dark enough he might not notice the usual absence of them here.

And then, as you step onto busier streets, you say you missed this too, and he is jealous beyond sense of the architectural blemish of Piccadilly Circus.

He glances away from you and the invisible path to your hotel for the first time since issuing Wizarding London for Muggle.

It’s a crowded tableau. The post-war square is spangled with flashbulb advertisements and buskers and skinny double buses orbiting Eros atop his fountain. People skip from hotel bars and teahouses in trench coats and long skirts. Someone outside the Trocadero looks dressed for burlesque. Storefront letters hiccup light through power abscesses and imminent bursts, and the lights… The lights herald cigarettes and chewing gum and Coca Cola and performances at the theatres on Coventry Street. 

You light up with them, sunlight parallel pseudostars. Tom feels half-blinded. He isn’t sure by which.

“You missed London?” he asks. It’s hard to hide in his tone how much he cannot imagine a reason why. All of the things you described in your travels sound better than this.

“I missed home.”

He possesses only a theoretical understanding of what that must feel like. The word itself is a thing long gone. There was Hogwarts, but it was never his.

“Well — I miss this,” you amend, “which I never remembered being like this, and maybe it wasn’t. All I saw in anything growing up was shelter. I’d look at buildings and imagine which ones could survive bombs, and which ones would shatter under gunfire. Since coming back, I’ve liked seeing it a different way. The lights, the people — The Criterion; they’ve a section called the Witches Cauldron, which is very risqué. You would hate it.”

His mouth twitches at the corners. “Risqué?"

“Mhm. Women with skirts over the thighs, men with skirts over the thighs, music with questionable lyrics, and really, borderline indecent comedy. But I think that's the heart of muggle theatre — the good kind, anyway."

“So I was right in calling you indecorous.”

“Hardly. I’m an observer.”

“Upstanding, then.”

You tug playfully at his sleeve. “Saintly.”

“You might revisit those churches in Portugal.”

“And you might learn to let something go. We’re here.”

He looks up at the little dais of steps before the big arch of your hotel door, stones cracked here and there, cigarette stubs smushed at his feet, and back at you, an inviting smile on your face.

“Come on.” You take his arm again and guide him in.

The lobby is all dark wood carved like lace. Fretwork in the moulding, fretwork at the counters, fretwork in the thick columns bolstering the mezzanine; and there, tables with seats turned to face the sound of music, the dulcet flicker of candlelight over plates of food that smell sweet for the hour. As you lead him up the stairs, he gives you a look that warns this was not what he was promised, but you shush him and he abides.

You are lucky for his intrigue. You are lucky for the dullness of his teeth at the maw of his hunger. He doesn’t pretend to understand — he thinks he likes not understanding.

The music gets louder. He can see the entire mezzanine from the top of the stairs; a woman is singing, a man is playing saxophone, the tables are set for dessert, and the plates are almost all licked clean.

You’re watching with the flicker of candles caught in your eyes now, grip imperceptibly tighter on his arm as you lean in to whisper. “There’s something new every night. Yesterday there was the most beautiful pianist. And they served this lemon pudding  — tonight I think it’s… torte? It’s chocolate, at least. It smells amazing.”

“Did you want to stay?”

He did not. It was a courtesy question.

“Just for a song?” you ask, rather more sheepish than suits you.

Just for a song, then.

You press against his shoulder. You’re warm, despite the cold walk.

“Do you ever practise on them?" he asks.

“Legilimency?” You shake your head. “I usually refrain from digging into the thoughts of innocent muggles.”

He raises a brow. “And the bad muggles?"

“I should like to do worse to the bad muggles."

He smiles. You smile too, though you resist it for a moment. “You're as wretched as you were in school."

“Wretched, was I? And what would I have found, if I'd sought out your thoughts back then?"

You laugh, face canted toward the performance. “Thoughts of Os on every O.W.L, what Slughorn meant by a semi-formal dress code, how to get into the kitchens at night..." You turn to him again. “And you? Do I dare ask what I would have found in yours?"

“Hm. Secrets.”

“Damn you.”

The saxophone swells before the last note fizzles out, the contralto timbre of the woman’s voice washed out by a small round of applause. You clap with the other guests, glance over at Tom, frown, take his hands and force them together. He doesn’t resist, but he certainly doesn’t aid the motion. His hands are instead idly patted together, palms hitting the sleeves of his coat and making for a very poor ovation. 

You give up without much effort, fingers looping beneath one of his cuffs to lead him back to the staircase. 

“Wretched,” you repeat.

You search your coat pocket for your key as you walk up the stairs, remarking the artwork on the walls and evidence of a drunk muggle man who spilled champagne on his way to bed last night — you tell him to watch his step, and he averts the side of the stairs where dark spots pepper the carpet. The place is fine elsewise. You mentioned the risqué of The Criterion and he can see notes of it here, in the late night music and the drinking and a few ogling men among the guests, but it’s nicer on the inside than he’d assumed by the exterior, and you can certainly handle yourself amongst debauchees without wands.

Tom stops when you do. Your room is the furthest at the end of the third floor corridor.

“Welcome,” you say, as the key clicks and the door swings open.

A frilly muggle hotel indeed. You flick a switch and the chandelier ignites, dim but extravagant. You go to light a few additional candles at the dresser and windowsill, clipping floral drapes aside as you do. The bed, a queen, matches the fabric of the drapes, with a thick lace skirt and golden brass rails. There’s a small table and two chairs, plush with cushions that loop through the spine and knot like hair ribbons. You tuck your wand away after the room has been brightened and fix him with a look that says, I told you.

“It’s clean,” is all the opinion he offers.

“Hard to make a mess in two days.”

A rather uncharacteristic thought crosses him. He can imagine ways which would not be so difficult.

“Of course.”

“Did you want anything? I could call for room service. Wine? Chocolate torte?”

“I’m more curious to observe your Occlumency firsthand.”

“Right. I’ve been depriving you.” You sit on the edge of the bed and slip off your coat. “I meant what I said, though; I’m good at it.”

“A battle of wills, then.” And he pulls a chair from the little table by the window, sitting it across from you.

You make a face. “This is why I studied with you and never challenged you to anything.”

“Perhaps you should have.”

“Perhaps… I might have saved myself from the predicament I’m in now.”

“You brought me here.”

“I did.”

“You enjoy the predicament,” he guesses.

You smile. “I do.”

He leans in with his arms at the wooden rests of his chair, fixed on the space between your eyes and then the apples of your cheeks, looking for new scars or freckles or stray eyelashes to cast wishes on. Mostly he wonders what’s underneath. That you have presented him the opportunity, even to wonder, feels almost like a wish granted. And Tom is not the sort of man to make them.

But here you are, and the room is quiet, and your gloves sound soft rolling off your fingers, and he should take a chance on one now. He should be greedy. He should want for more.

“Shall I count to three?”

He does. He does want more.

“Whenever you’re ready,” you say, and he can see you steel yourself before his soft surge into your mind.

Your resistance is like a cliffside. His effort is a wave, lapping at the rocks, seeking erosion. It’ll come. It never hasn’t.

You stay there in the cracks between the rocks, not pushing against him as much as shielding yourself from him. He leans an inch further from his chair and inclines his head. Your mouth falls open, breath caught on the sharp edge of his next intrusion. He eases forward but you only hold stronger. An impasse is reached — immovable object and unstoppable force.

Tom’s mouth curves at the corners, patient, persistent and proud. The chase is half of it. Your capability is the other.

“How did you discover your gift?" he asks.

“Don't distract me," you answer, and the softness tells him it’s an exertion for you to speak through this.

Tom nods, though distraction suddenly seems a tempting venture. If he pushes otherwise it will be painful.

For a while he just searches — between the old moss atop the cliff, the space where water strikes and memories propagate in verdant clusters, little runnels in the stone to keep little thoughts. He can see the outlines of those moments you’d described to him on your walk, but nothing deeper, nothing untouched. The abacus on either side of a Portuguese church but no hint of the nave or the apse. The flat horizon of Myvatn lake but none of the pseudocraters.

And still the walls stand, and the wave trickles through the runnels only to feed the moss.

You’re good. He wants to break you. He wants to be gentle. He wants to know if there is a way to do both.

Yes, he thinks there is.

Tom inches his chair closer. There’s perhaps an arm's length between your knees and his, and your expression flickers as you glance at the way it shrinks. A forearm, now. A ruler. Nothing at all, if you look long enough, think about how easy it would be for the space to vanish altogether. And he is thinking about it.

Your eyes dart back to his and he glides through the first crevice of your confusion he can find. A second’s glimpse is all he gets — words on an image of the skin unclad at his wrists, like words on the storefronts of Piccadilly Circus, they spell his name. There’s the cadence of a question. He resists the urge to sink back in his seat in honest pride; that the first thought he’s carved out of you is of his hands and sudden curiosity.

Perfectly innocuous, he rolls his sleeves to his elbows. There’s a quick twitch at your mouth.

“Do you know,” he says, searching again, “there’s something in particular I want to find.”

You indulge him carefully. You must anticipate a trick. “What’s that?”

“The moment you first missed me.”

It is a hard thing to be reminded of a moment and not draw it immediately to the surface. He can see on your face that you have to push the misbehaved thing down with force. But that’s only evidence that it exists, that it’s true, and he must see it like it’s his own. 

Is your missing him not his, in some way? Is his missing you not yours?

“I wonder if you missed me over quill and parchment,” he says, “in old libraries, at a café in Paris… Did you remember me by certain colours? By times of day? Or was it —”

There.

It’s the Athenaeum of Madrid, under the ceiling of the assembly hall. You’re craning your neck to admire the art, and you’re thinking how much he would have liked a place like that.

And then he’s back in the frilly hotel, and your face is in something like a gasp. You’ve swallowed it down, batted him away, but he can see it even from the outside; the curiosity is still there despite. The question unposed but sitting neatly on your tongue ready to be asked.

Tom smiles. “I didn’t know you went to Spain.”

“Well, I thought I might leave something for you to learn instead of be told.”

“Ah, so you let me in?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Will you?”

You glance involuntarily at the gap between you. Has it shrunk again? He can note the details of the face he’s missed without trying.

“Will you let me in?” he murmurs.

“I don’t think they teach this method of distraction at school,” you say softly, and now the words have been put in the air.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He shifts his chair ever closer. His eyes go to your lips. And he does mean to look away but your mouth quirks the slightest degree upward and he stays there a moment because he was expecting something else.

“Didn’t I tell you I’ve been courted before?”

“Plenty,” he recounts.

You lean in. Your knees brush his. You incline your head so your eyes find the path of his, the smile on your face finally full. It’s an error of time that he doesn’t expect it because it must not be an error on his part. “Then you should know to make a greater effort.”

You hold a hand to his cheek, watching the motion as your warm fingers trail from jaw to white collar. And then you pull back; a breeze in the place you sat when you get up. 

“That’s enough for today, don’t you think?”

He recovers quickly, but there’s a lingering heat at his jaw and a curiosity he was faulted to have planted himself — he’s suffering the barest satiation for the million more questions he has. But you missed him, and you invited him here, and you wanted to see him in your mind, so he must wonder if you meant to plant some curiosity too.

“And tomorrow?” he finally asks.

There’s rummaging in one of the cupboards, the twist of cap from its tube, and the quick rush of the faucet before your face peers out from the bathroom’s thick archway, still with that smile.

You flick the light on and brush your teeth like he isn’t there. For whatever reason it’s the most disarming thing you may have ever done, and it reminds him that he had considered you torturous like it was something incidental, which means he’d begun the night with only one equation still able to stump him, and ended it with two.

He could sooner solve alchemy (the entire subject) than this.

“I’ll be out,” you say when you’re done, “but you’re welcome to join me.”

“And what might I be joining you in?”

“Tourism.”

“Tourism?” He inches out of his chair, rolling his sleeves back down.

You lean against the bathroom archway and the candlelight makes a sculpture of you. Your silhouette is a blaze tenderly burning the dark.

“It only feels right after years of doing it in other places, don’t you think? Every street I discover something I didn’t notice before.”

Tom looks at the toothbrush fitted in your hand like an unlit cigarette and imagines putting it back like he’d stomp one out, kissing you and tasting apple and cinnamon and mint stuck on the corner of your pretty mouth.

“Well? Is it below you?”

“Yes. What time?”

“Eleven,” you say, and your breath hitches beautifully at your bare collar when he glides into the archway beside you. “Is that all right?”

He brushes the dab of toothpaste away from your lip. “It’s perfect.” 

Your eyes flit down his face, and now it’s him smiling.

He places a kiss on the back of your hand, looking up at you through dark lashes and a smirk as he mutters your name, a soft remembrance, a rekindled wanting. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Tom.”

The noise outside his flat that night is trivial. He has not for a long time sat awake at night watching the sky instead of the shapes on his ceiling. He has not for a long time thought of you with the tranquil knowledge that he will see you again.

[xxinkys-ocsxx]

First post on Tumbler! ^^

Hiya! I'm Inky! This is my introduction post, and at the time of posting, this is my first post on tumblr! but definitely not my first time on tumbler lol (I have a alt acc on my laptop)

(just a random reminder that this blog will include oc x cannon, if you don't like that stuff please be respectful ignore my blog and proshipers, ped0s, homophobes, racist, zoophiles etc, dni with me or my blog.)

I'm probably going to be posting art and POSSIBLY writing some oc x cannon/x reader fics on here because yass👏👏Anyway here's just a summary of me but as one of my ocs profiles loll

Name: Inky

Nickname: Inks

Gender: Cis female

pronouns:she/her

Species: Little sona gal

Nationality: England☕

Fandoms I'm in:

A:

Arcane

Animal crossing

B:

Bluey!

BEASTARS

Beetlejuice

Bendy and the ink machine

Black butler

C:

Circus of wishes

Cuphead

casino cups

Charlie the union

Chicken nugget

D:

Demon slayer

Deadpoll

Dark deception

Dhmis

E:

ENA

epithet erased

EYES ARG

F:

Fanf

Ferngully

Far fetched

F.r.i.e.n.d.s

G:

Glitter force

Garten of ban ban

Generation loss

GURBY

Guardians of the Galaxy

Gacha

Gravity falls

H:

Hazbin hotel

Helluva boss

Heart of Titans

Heathers

Hamilton

Heart stopper

Hotel transylvania

Harry Potter

Hilda

I:

Indgo park

J:- none yet-

K:

Komi can't communicate

L:

Lackadaisy

Lamas in hats

Little nightmares

Little misfortune

M:

Murder drones

Metal family

Mean girls

My little powny

My friendly neighbourhood

Mario

Monkey wrench

N:- none yet-

O:

One piece

Obay me!

P:

popee the performer

Perfect husbands

Poppy playtime

Portals

Purcy Jackson

Q: - none yet-

R:

Royal high

Ramshackle

rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles

Rise of the guardians

S:

SpyXfamily

Spooky month

Sam and max

Sad ghost club

Skylanders

T:

The amazing digital circus

Tokyo ghoul

Toilet bound Haiko-kun

U: - none yet-

V:

Vampire series

Villainous

W:

Welcome home

Who framed Roger rabbit?

Wimpy witch

X: - none yet-

Y: - none yet-

Z:

Zipped up

There are probably SOOOO meny more I just can't think of rn :/

But yeah! That's me! Expect to see lots of art, mostly oc x cannon

I'm excited to start posting, until then bye!!

[laurelled-by-lavender]

grey

pairing: yamaguchi tadashi x fem!reader content warnings: PINING!! so so much pining, childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst, insecure reader, reader has hair (colour, texture, etc is not mentioned) word count: approx. 10k author's note: reader likes girls too, but no labels are applied/specified

you know that you’re supposed to be studying. of course, you know. but how can anyone possibly expect you to do so, when he looks like that. so incredibly pretty, while doing something as simple as sitting and breathing. but there’s that familiar light coming through the large library windows. that golden glow which rests on his face, illuminating his skin. he looks like an angel. you could spend hours like this, admiring him. his every freckle, line, curve and dimple. every twitch of his lips and eyebrows. every flutter of his eyelashes. simply ethereal. 

you watch the way he chews at his pencil, though, not wanting to feel like a creep, staring at him much longer, you resort to the things splayed about on your table. your school books are littered everywhere, each of them opened to a different page, lines upon lines of bright pinks and yellows and blues highlighting the ink which rests on the pages. sitting not too far from said books, are the matching plastic tumbler cups he got you (pls i didnt know that thats what they were called until just now, i had to look it up) each with your respective favourite drinks. 

tadashi knows you left in a hurry to meet him today. now, he never mentions it or anything, but he knows you have a tendency to be late for things. he also knows how you love to have something to nibble on or to drink when studying. so, he prepares your favourite, just how you like it, right before he leaves, so that when he meets with you, you’ll be thanking him with that beautiful smile he loves to see. it makes him feel all giddy and warm inside, knowing that he’s the one to make you happy like that. he wants to continue to make you happy, for as long as he can.

though, he’ll never tell you that.

he lifts his gaze to look at you. you look so damn adorable, he thinks. you’re  wearing an over-sized pastel yellow sweater, with sleeves so long they go past your hands, along with a pair of mom jean shorts, cuffed at each thigh. you donned a pair of white shoes. well, maybe not so white anymore. the pair were quite old and have morphed into a colour of something along the lines of cream. he eyes the flowers on them, remembering the day you had both spent painting the little daisies all over them when you said you wanted to do something different. you couldn’t bother doing anything special with your hair, and you had skipped the makeup entirely, you were only studying after all. despite the little effort you put into your appearance today, he still thinks you look stunning.

he watches you reach over and grab your cup, sipping through the straw slowly, eyes still trailing on your notes. he can’t help but watch as your lips place themselves around the straw. he also can’t help the way he wishes he could kiss them. he watches you for a couple more seconds, but snaps himself out of it, wanting to be respectful of your friendship while he knows..

you like someone else.

after about half an hour, you let out a small, but exaggerated half-whine half-groan. 

“i hate this” you say with a small pout. “it’s so boring, and my brain’s no longer allowing information inside of it. ‘m done.” you push your chair back and slump your upper body over the table, arms stretched out over your papers and onto his side of the surface. he sees your face duck down in between your arms, then hears a slight thud, indicating that your forehead had hit the table lightly, as an attempt to tell him that you were over it, and there was no way he could possibly get you to do anymore work today.

with a smile and a tilt of his head, he raises himself up off his chair, walks around the table, and stands behind you. he pushes your chair back into it’s proper place, forcing you to sit upright. the last thing you expected him to do was lean down right next to your ear, and whisper,

“do you need help, yn?”

you swear your heart felt as though it had entered an olympic hurdles competition, ‘cause that bitch was running a mile a minute and jumping all around, somewhere deep in your chest. 

“uh, uhm- no?” you uttered out.

“is that so?” he replied. “cuz your notes are looking real blank if you ask me.”

you were quick to retaliate, pushing aside your love-struck thoughts and shooting back with,

“well, it’s a damn good thing i never asked you, isn’t it?” you turn your face slightly to your left, your faces now so close, you’d be kissing him if you moved so much as an inch. you sucked in a small gasp. you couldn’t help it. he was so close to you, you could smell his intoxicating cologne wafting through the air. it made your eyelids flutter to a close. you took in a slow breath. as you inhaled, he flooded your senses. his smell, his breath, his heartbeat. it felt as though you could feel it all. thrumming, coursing through your every nerve.

 it reminds you of that time. that one time, long, long ago when you gave a piece of yourself to him when you were both only little, enraptured by the idea of having your first kiss.

he’s the one who pulls away first, again, reminding himself that this isn’t real. that he’s imagining the chemistry. the pull that’s drawing you both closer together. she likes someone else. he reminds himself, time and time again. 

someone who isn’t you. a voice calls from afar in his head.

he shakes himself, mentally, disallowing those kinds of thoughts to permeate his brain. this isn’t about him, and it’s not because he’s not good enough. 

he remembers the things he spoke about with his therapist. the self-love and validating exercises, reminding him, telling him, that he’s good enough. it’s not about him, it’s about some other person, and that’s not something he can control, and that doesn’t mean he’s any less important, or any less loved. especially by you. 

at least he knows that he’ll always hold a place in your heart. he was, after all, your very first kiss.  

his insides beam as he recalls the memory. it was clumsy. of course it was. you were only about 8 years old, as was he. you were shaking, out of excitement and nervousness. it was an elementary sort of thing. you had sort of planned it. it was kind of a mutual understanding that he’d be your first kiss, and that you would be his. he can only imagine what it would feel like now. now that he’s known you and liked you and dreamt of kissing you again for so damn long. 

and yet, you liked someone else.

he’s accepted long ago, that he may never have that happily ever after that he’s longed for. the kind that he decided he wanted, with you, when you first watched ‘princess and the frog’ together as kids in your fluffy pillow fort. he remembers the way your wide eyes sparkled during the end scene, where tiana and naveen dance on the balcony in the twilight, the gleam of the moon reflecting off the water down below. he decided then and there, that he wanted that with you. 

only you. 

tadashi’s accepted long ago that he may never have that happily ever after that he’s dreamed of since he was a child.

at least, not with you.

you lay in bed that night, wide awake, thoughts racing. you wanted him to want you. you wanted him to want you back, so bad. it was laughable, really, how you felt like a 12 year old running around, hiding your silly little crush from your friends. 

you weren’t oblivious. at least, you weren’t that oblivious. you know better than to assume that what went down in the library was a normal friendship occurrence.

he pulled away first, you remind yourself.

you try not to fixate on that, hoping that if you don’t, you’ll forget it, and it’ll be as though he did actually like you. like his breath so close to your ear was intentionally done to make you fall. to pull you closer. as if every moment after it was real. for all you know, you had imagined the whole damn thing. 

your heart squeezed in your chest. is it always going to be this way? you had no idea whether or not he felt anything for you. or if he was attracted to anyone romantically at all. he seemed to avoid those kinds of questions. 

what you did know, though, was that he acted differently around you than he did other girls. it’s hard to pinpoint, but it’s there. maybe it’s his demeanor. maybe it’s the way he laughs. he always did seem to laugh harder when other girls were around. they would come around and tell jokes that you can only wish you had come up with so that you could have been the one to make him laugh like that. you instead of them. you dreaded the way they touched his arm afterwards, they way they would smile at him, chin tilted down, but eyes gazing up, into his, twinkling with something more. hoping for something more.

it made you sick to your stomach.

if anything, you couldn’t blame them. he was always so nice. so kind, and pretty and smart. you couldn’t rule out his physique either, or his style. he had this way about him, that made all the girls, even the guys (and literally everyone else) fall to their knees. he unknowingly demanded attention, attracting everything and everyone to him, even the light which illuminates the very room in which he resides. 

in many ways you wished that you were the only one to notice how bright he shone. how magnificent he was. 

how selfish of you.

but, another part of you remembers how he was treated as a child, and you’re happy that people are noticing him and loving him like he deserves. you could only wish that they had seen it before he had hit puberty and grew ten times taller and ten times hotter. you weren’t blind to the fact that the girls who used to make fun of him back when you were young are now the ones flocking to him, hoping to be the one to make a smile form on his beautiful lips.

weeks and months flew by, as did courses and end of year exams, and soon enough, it was summer. you always enjoyed the summer, because that’s when you spent most of your time with tadashi. your difference in academic programs didn’t affect you two now that you’ve plenty of time off to do whatever you wanted. amusement parks, shopping sprees, beach trips and sleepovers were only a few of the things you’d collectively planned to do these upcoming months.

you’d never admit it out loud, but you were glad that you were less likely to see people that you knew. 

during these humid and hot months, he always spends his time with you. day and night. it reassured you, that in these times, it was just you and him. you cherished it, knowing that the minute summer is done, the possibility of tadashi falling for someone is much more likely. you prepare yourself for it, mentally, though when the day does come, you’re not entirely sure you could bear it.

long ago, have you given up on any silly dreams where you’d be the one to end up with yams. 

you saw, time and time again, what kinds of girls he became enraptured by when they went to cling to his arm. girls who you believed were prettier than you. girls with perfect skin and hair and bodies which you thought were a thousand times more desirable than yours. still, you’d be glad to have him by your side. after all, he is your closest friend. 

things hadn’t really changed. your dynamic stayed the same. as flawless and as smooth as ever. snarky, teasing comments and effortless conversations and exchanges. 

you dreaded the day he would find someone who could do it better than you.

either way, you could enjoy the now. 

you were both at yamaguchi’s house, chilling in his backyard. you loved his house. it was familiar and comforting, and you adored every single aspect of it. it smelled like him, and the house was decorated with hanging plants and warm wooden tones. you basically grew up here with him. it was your second home. 

you were always welcome here. tadashi’s parents always loved you, and treated you like one of their own. they showered you with love and lots and lots of food whenever you came over. always asking for you to stay for dinner and then overnight. they insisted on your company. in truth, you knew that tadashi’s parents wanted you to end up together. of course you did. hell, your parents did too. neither of them ever really tried to hide it. 

your families were close. in fact, your parents were like best friends with each other, and it was all because of you two, way back when, during your elementary school years. 

as the story goes, one of your parents would come over to tadashi’s to come pick you up from your after school play-date, and then they would end up spending 2 hours talking and talking to yamaguchi’s parents, forgetting about you two entirely as you laughed and danced and played in the basement. over the years, your families kind of joined together. they enjoyed each other's company, and only found greater pleasure when they realized how well you two got along (and how adorable you were together) as we know now, they became best friends, which in turn only allowed your friendship with tadashi to grow even stronger. they made no secret of their hopes of you two becoming a pair. always hinting and nudging. purposefully having you two sit next to each other at the dinner table when you stayed to have supper with them, always insisting you share a room on vacations when your families took trips together, and you parents always speaking of how you’d never find a connection like you have with him, with anyone else. 

well, at least they got one part right. 

if there was one thing you knew, it was that you’ll never be able to have this with anyone else. you don’t think anyone could live up to him. 

you were sat on a cushioned hammock chair, legs crossed, reading a book. yamaguchi wasn’t very far from you, lying on the ground by the pool, stomach down, on a striped blue and green towel. his long legs pass the towel, and lay against the hot concrete deck. he’s resting his chin on his arms as they’re crossed, and he looks up at you, (at least, he tries to) squinting as the bright sun obstructs his vision slightly. he can make out your figure and position and can decipher in two seconds that you’re reading. he knows you love that chair. it’s your favourite spot to read. over the years, he’s observed you. he’s observed you enough to know your favourite reading positions and favourite spots, and that comfy hammock provided you the utmost comfort. he prides himself of that chair, knowing how happy it makes you. 

(it’s like a subtle flex for himself LMFAO.. like every time he sees you on it he’s like, yea that’s right, that chair’s in MY backyard, no one else’s. yn’s butt enjoys THIS spot the best, n it’s all cuz o’ me!)

“whatcha readin’?” he asks in a sing-song sort of voice

“a book.” you say flatly, not wanting to lose your place.

“what’s the title of the book?” he continues,

...

no reply.

“what kind of book is it?” 

more silence. you wait for another question, but it doesn’t come. after a few short seconds, just when you think he’s done inquiring...

“is it smut?”

at this you break out laughing, “’dashi, please ’m just tryna read! leave me alone!” you try to sound annoyed, but you can’t hide the smile as you speak, or the giggle after every other word.

he smiles at the reaction he got from you. 

using his hands to push himself up off the ground, he moves from his spot. he notes the way you eyed his back and arm muscles as he got up, but thinks nothing of it. he then wipes his hands on his shorts and takes a couple steps towards you. 

you pretend as though you don’t see him, as if you’re still reading your book. in reality, you’re just worried that he caught you blatantly staring.

he stands in front of you for a good 10 seconds. you finally look up at him, though, only to complain that he’s blocking then sun, when he snatches the book from your hands, turns and walks off quickly, reading out-loud from the pages you had open. you immediately remove yourself from your comfy chair and chase him as he speed-walks around the pool. he finally relents after 2 whole minutes, and he’s finally about to give you back the book... but instead, he simply holds it in front of you and pulls it back every time you try to reach for it. 

he had his fun like this for a while. 

suddenly, in the midst of his teasing, he notices something. he notices the colourful tabs which stick out slightly from the ends of the pages. blue, pink, yellow, green... a devilish smirk appears on his face as he turns to face you. you both stop in your tracks.

“what are the red tabs for?” he asks slyly.

your face feels hot and your stomach tightens. how did he know?! at a loss for words and, for once, a comeback, you decided to resume your chase at full force, grabbing the closest thing you can find to hit him with as you went. 

you settled on an orange pool noodle. 

this will do, you thought as you snatched it from it’s upright position against the pool fence.

-

from the kitchen window, his mother watches you chase her son with a smile on her face and a glass of iced tea. you two could not be more adorable. she thinks...

or oblivious.

after weeks and weeks of hot, humid weather, it seemed as though mother nature had had enough. 

the clouds had become her eyes, as she loomed and watched over your town. she cried and she cried, allowing rainwater to fall. it filled ponds and lakes, and turned streets into rivers.

simply put, it was pouring.

you stood at the window, watching as the harsh drops of rain hit the puddles out on the street, forming tiny waves that drifted away and faded until another took it’s place. the grey gloom from the weather outside felt like it was infiltrating your home, passing through the windows, reaching in. into your living room and into your chest, clutching your heart. you don’t know why it made you feel this way, but you didn’t like it. 

you shut the curtains in a swift motion, leaving the room significantly darker than it was a couple seconds ago, as most of the lights had been turned off. you turned to face tadashi, who was sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor, playing solitaire. you didn’t have the heart to tell him he was playing it wrong. 

“too gloomy for you?” he asked without looking away from the playing cards.

you hummed in response and sat on the couch across from him, watching him play for a while. 

“wanna watch something?” you ask.

“what d’you feel like watching?” he questioned back, already knowing what to suggest to make you happy.

“i dunno, something comforting, maybe nostalgic, to take away from the gloomy weather?” you respond.

“how about fantastic mr. fox?” 

“that’s perfect.”

while he made the peach tea, you set up the movie and the blankets. you soon found yourself cuddled up against him, warm mugs in hand as your shoulders and head bopped around slightly to the beat of the opening song.

it was a great choice. it was bright, and yellow and the exact opposite of whatever the world looked like outside right now. 

you know that he was only doing this for you. tadashi knows how much it upsets you when it rains in such a way, so he did everything he could to make you feel all right, but for him, this weather was all too pleasant.

you never understood why yamaguchi tadashi loved rainy weather. sure, he could enjoy the sun and whatnot when it was out, but there was something about it that drew him to it. whenever it rained, he always seemed the most himself. it may have been your eyes tricking you, but every time you recall watching him as it poured, you could see a faint upturn to the sides of his mouth. as though it brought him a sense of calm. you simply didn’t get it. how could something so dreary and grey and gloomy bring such comfort to a person? most of all, how could it elicit these feelings in a person who reminded you so much of the sun? he was so bright. 

when you looked at him, thought of him, never once had you ever seen rain. nor the cold or cloudy skies. you thought only of light. how could it make him so at ease? all it did for you was upset you. you hated to see the world in such a way. for, you preferred it when everything shone yellow and gold. it made you feel warm and safe.

it was funny, in a way. you two were so alike. or at least it always seemed so. maybe underneath, if you were to peel back the blankets of memories, you’d find that you’re not so similar after all. but maybe that’s a good thing,

why, haven’t you ever heard that opposites attract?

the doorbell rings and pulls him out of his thoughts. you both already know who’s at the door. you place your mug on the coffee table and make your way to the front door. you open it as if you lived there and welcome your guest in with a bright smile. he gets up shortly after you, and upon arriving at the entrance door, he sees yachi.

hitoka yachi was one of his closest friends in high school. he actually thought she was really cute when he first met her, and when you started dating someone else, he figured he might do the same to try and get over his life-long crush on you.

it didn’t work.

he found out pretty quickly that he wasn’t attracted to her romantically, and she found out just as fast that she wasn’t to him either. they agreed to be good friends, and soon enough they started confiding in one another. 

he admitted his secret longing for you to her.

she admitted that she liked girls.

yachi gives you a big hug before bringing to your attention the food and board games she brought. you thank and bring the stuff she brought to the kitchen, and in the meantime, tadashi welcomes her as well. when she sees that you’re out of earshot, she immediatley asks, 

“so? anything?”

he turns to her with a sigh and a look that basically says, what are you even expecting? of course not.

she tilts her head and sighs.

she can’t wait until one of you grows the balls to ask the other out.

you shout out from the kitchen saying you’ll prepare something to eat for all of you before joining them for the rest of the movie. hitoka sees this as a perfect opportunity to talk about it. they walk over to the couch and get comfortable, sitting cross-legged across from each other. (optimal gossip/drama sharing position, if i do say so myself)

“honey, what you are so afraid of? you’re so perfect for each other. she may never make the first move, yknow. remember how she was with terushima? she couldn’t confess to him, let alone speak to him. the only reason that ever happened was because he went for it! yn’s had too many heartbreaks over silly, stupid people who didn’t show her enough love. she’ll always be unsure and need reassurance and you’re amazing at that! unless you make it clear to her that you want her, she’ll never try. she doesn’t want to get hurt again. neither of us want that for her, and you and i both know that if she were yours, you’d never let that happen.”

“but what if i do?”

“what are you talking about?” she asks in disbelief.

“what if i’m not enough for her? what if i end up hurting her because i can’t give her what she wants? i couldn’t bear it if we ruined what we have now.” it’s all for naught if she’s in love with you, anyways, he thinks.

he doesn’t add that part though.

tadashi has been... speculating. 

he knows you like someone, and due to some unfortunate experiences from the past, you tend to prefer dating people you’re already friends with. he figures that the most likely option would be yachi. it makes sense, he supposes. aside from him, you spend most of your free time with her. she’s pretty, she’s incredibly smart and funny, and you find great comfort in her. you both got along really well when he first introduced you two to each-other. in fact, he thought it was almost scary, how quickly you were able to befriend her. though, you were like that with everybody. after all, you were like that with him, too. tadashi figures that after how long you’ve known one another, if you were bound to catch feelings for him at some point, it would have happened by now. yachi still has that chance, he thinks. you’ve known her quite a while, but not long enough, perhaps, for you to eliminate her as a possibility for a romantic partner. he’s acutely aware of the way you smile at her. how you’re always cuddling when she’s over, how you absentmindedly play with the ends of her hair as you lay your head on her shoulder. it’s not too far fetched of a theory.

what a waste, he thinks. now neither of you can be happy. 

you and yachi deserve each other. maybe he deserves you too. but just because he’s deserving of something doesn’t mean he’ll get it. 

hitoka sighs, and tadashi’s pulled out of his thoughts. she grabs his face by the cheeks and places a kiss on his forehead. 

“you’re overthinking again, yams.” she whispers into his skin.

he stays quiet for a moment before responding,

“i know.”

you hear footsteps shuffle into the kitchen and turn your head to find hitoka leaning against the door frame. 

“hey babes, whatcha makin?” she asks with a grin.

“just a quick lil platter. lil bit a fruits n veggies ‘nd some of the chips ‘nd stuff you brought.”

you’re licking the juice dripping down your hand from the strawberries you’ve just cut when she states,

“you look upset.” 

there’s a pause. you turn, continuing the preparation of the food.

“it’s raining.” is all you respond. she notices the twitch in your brow. “no. no, no. there’s something else... it’s yams, isn’t it?” she retaliates. “why can’t you just ask him if he likes me? won’t that make things easier?” you whisper aggressively, wanting to let out your thoughts without letting tadashi hear you. “we’ve been over this yn. it wouldn’t be natural. if it ends up being the reason things go wrong i couldn’t live with myself. i would never want to do that to you or yamaguchi, and i don’t want to lose either of you. if something happens between you two it has to happen organically. asking through me isn’t organic.” you sigh, “i know, i know. ‘m sorry. that was very middle school of me.” she smiles gently, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. she moves to give you a hug, resting her forehead on your shoulder. she speaks softly, and it’s muffled, but you can still her her clearly enough as she says, “it’s okay, yn. i know it’s difficult but, if you think you’re up for it, just... try. okay? make a move. a small one. trust me.” a couple moments pass in silence. you take a breath before finally responding. “okay... thank you, ‘toka.”

the three of you reconvene in the living room and spend a few hours playing video games and watching movies until you’re bored out of your minds. lazing the day away was one of your favourite things to do with your best friends, especially on a day like this. after a very long while, hitoka decides that it’s time for her to leave. you give her the biggest, tightest hug and a kiss on the cheek. the action doesn’t go unnoticed by tadashi. he bids her farewell with a hug, and as he goes to pull away she whispers to him, 

“make a move, before it’s too late.”

 hitoka leaves with one final goodbye and a dramatic wave once she steps out into the wet weather. as she turns to back to head home, she wonders if tadashi will actually do what she told him to, or if you’ll both give up on something neither of you knew could even be. she hopes it’s not too late.

you’re back where you started, you on the couch, yams on the floor. the only difference now being that it’s way too late in the night. you sit in comfortable silence, the only noise being the gentle pitter patter of raindrops on the windowsill. after a couple moments, he stands to make himself comfortable near you. he lies his head on your crossed legs and gazes up at you. your fingers unconsciously make their way to his face, tracing all of his features, each delicate curve. he takes one of your hands. he plays with your fingers, traces your palm, interlocks your pinkies and rubs the inside of your wrist, as though he were trying to examine every square millimeter of your hand while never once taking his eyes off of yours. as though he were captivated, all consumed by you. 

“i love you, tadashi.”

“i love you too, yn.”

“no, my angel. i love you. i’m in love with you.” 

her frowns, before gently removing his hands from yours so that he can sit properly, face to face with you. you sit cross-legged across from each-other, just as he was with hitoka earlier that day. “what about yachi?” he asks. “what about her?” you respond. what did she have to do with this? had she already told him? “you- i mean.. don’t you like her?” you laugh at that, albeit nervously, “of course- of course i like her, she’s my best friend, dashi.”

he lets out a small sharp breath, as though he were frustrated. not at you, but more at himself for not being able to articulate and convey his thoughts properly. “no, yn, i mean... like.. love her, like her. as a partner. a girlfriend.” 

“no, my love that’s.. that’s you.” 

“me?” he repeats. you nod. 

“how could it be me?” 

“it’s always been you.”

he’s quiet for a while. he stares at you, eyebrows furrowed. you’re not exactly expecting a love confession back. you don’t even know how he feels about you beyond being his best friend. but at the same time, you didn't expect this. tadashi used to apologize a lot. he never really spoke his mind. he would bottle it up, more and more and more until he exploded. he always felt terrible afterwards. 

“no.”

in that second, you feel as though your heart stopped beating. but even then, his blatant rejection is not an explanation. he continues for you. “no. you’re not in love with me. you may think you are, but you’re not. you’ll get over it soon enough and- and.. i’ll- i don’t wanna hurt you. no.... no.” 

“dashi-” you start, but he’s interrupting you, “this can’t happen.” 

your vision is blurry, clouded by tears. lips quivering, you manage a quiet,

“why?” 

there are tears flowing down his cheeks now, too. he brings his hands up slowly, ever so gently, to cup your face. his hands are warm on your skin. he rests his forehead on yours. he breathes shakily. “i’m so sorry, angel. you’re the love of my life,” it was said softly but passionately, his voice cracking a little at the end, “but you have to go now.” you sob and shake your head. “don’t do this.” you say. he nods in protest, “i have to.” your tears fall quickly down your face. you can’t remember the last time you cried like this. you didn’t expect to lose him. not today. not like this. his palms are wet from your salty tears. “go.” he whispers you scrunch your eyes shut, praying the tears away. praying all of this away, hoping it’s just a bad dream. a nightmare, the worst, most realistic one you’ve ever had. but when you open your eyes, he’s still there. his lips are quivering, much like yours, and his cheeks are as pink and his eyes are. you hate to say that he’s still as beautiful as ever. he’s not looking at you anymore. he can’t stand to look at you, let alone in the eye. the warmth and comfort of his hands have left the sides of your face, and you feel empty. you stand slowly, making your way out of his house. the place you used to call your second home. it all comes crashing down on you, much like the rain outside. you’re colder than ever. with nothing else to lose, you walk. you walk to the only other person you can fully trust. you go to yachi’s.

you hesitate several times on your way there, but you figure if anyone knows how to help, it’s yachi. when you get to her apartment, it’s almost 1:30 in the morning. she opens the door a crack before realizing it’s you. it takes her a second more to notice the tears streaking your face and the way you sniffle before she’s ushering you inside with a hand on your back, and another in your hand. you’re slightly hunched, with your free hand over your heart.

“it hurts.” you sob.

“oh, baby. what happened?” she asks, but you she’s not expecting an answer yet. not until you’re comfortable and dry.

she brings you to her room and sits you down on her bed. she undresses you gently but quickly, and puts you in the clothes she keeps at her place for you in case you need to sleep over. they’re comfy and oversized. you feel yourself starting to warm up. all throughout, your eyes are stuck to the floor, unmoving. she then moves you under the covers and holds you close. your eyes burn from how much you’ve cried, and now that they’ve dried, they feel heavy. you fall asleep before you can even process it. 

you wake up to the smell of pancakes. you almost cry again when you remember what happened last night. your body screams at you as you get up and shuffle into the kitchen. hitoka turns from the stove when she hears your footsteps. she smiles a small smile and gives you a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “i’m making you your favourite. it looks like you need it.” you hum in response as she tells you to sit on the couch and put something on the tv. moments later, she’s placing two plates on the coffee table and taking her spot next to you. you’re filing through the shows without really paying attention to the names. you’re in a daze. hitoka’s soft voice brings you back to her. 

“do you wanna talk about it?” 

the truth is, yachi already knows everything. well, at least from tadashi’s point of view. after you fell asleep last night, yachi took it upon herself to call him. pacing back and forth in her little kitchen, she tried to calm yamaguchi’s breathing over the phone as he panics over the end of your friendship and his decision. his breaths are heavy and he hiccups every once in a while, sometimes even choking when trying to take in too much air, too fast. “shh, shhh, honey. it’s okay. go slow.” when his breathing regulates and he’s left exhaling shakily, he tells her how you confessed your feelings for him, only for him to reject all of it by pushing you away while telling you that it wouldn’t work and that he’d hurt you. when he explains to her how you tried to reason with him, she sighs, “i though we talked about this, yams. she would do anything for you. she loved you still. she tried for you even as you were actively trying to push her away.” 

“i told him that i was in love with him...” you start. 

she doesn’t respond. she waits, knowing that you’re not done. “he-,” you sigh, “he told me that... that i wasn’t truly in love with him, and that he’d hurt me.” tears flood your eyes as she hugs you closer. there’s a pause before you finish in a pained whisper. “he told me i was the love of his life.” she pulls back at that, hands on your shoulders. “he, what?” you sob with a hand over your mouth. 

tadashi didn’t tell her about this. she knew it of course, that he was in love with you. she’s known for ages. but he failed to inform her about his confession to you. finally, you both knew, and yet, things weren’t right. you should be together right now. holding each other and happy. “i’m so sorry, baby.” it’s whispered into your hair. she doesn't know what else to offer as consolation. she knows things will turn out all right, but as is known, yachi believes in the art of the organic. he'll figure it out soon enough, she decides. for now, the best she could do is comfort you. she wishes that things had gone differently. her heart breaks as you sob into her arms. 

it’s been a week. you feel a little better, but the hurt in your heart still lingers. the sting is more painful than you’d like it to be. you wish it could lessen quicker. yachi stands in front of the mirror in her bedroom, holding up different tops against her chest. 

you watch her from the bed, the netflix show playing on your laptop long forgotten as you help her make decisions for her outfit tonight. she eyes you from the mirror, “you sure you don’t wanna come?” you shake your head. “i don't know if i can handle a party right now. my poor aching heart needs a rest.” you exclaim sarcastically, resting the back of your hand against your forehead as you drop your head back, feigning distress. she chuckles before searching through her earrings to find the right pair. “maybe,” she says. “but maybe it’ll be good for you. i know you’re not one for rebounds or anything, but at the very least you can drink your sorrows away.” she finishes and turns back to you holding a different jewel against each ear, silently urging you to decide for her. “the silver ones.” you decide. she hums with a nod. you think about it. it doesn’t sound that great, but you’ve been cooped up in your room for days. maybe it’ll be nice to let loose a bit. she’s right, you think, booze might help. “okay, i’ll come.” she jumps excitedly with a clap of her hands, dragging you up and off the bed to her closet to help you pick something out for tonight.

the club is loud and cramped. hitoka holds your hand as she leads the way to the bar, seemingly knowing the layout of the place perfectly. you couldn’t blame her, you suppose. hinata throws a lot of parties. it wasn’t unlike him to rent out a place for the night. it’s not like it would be empty, either. shoyo also knows a lot of people.  when finally at the bar, you spot hinata, along with terushima and another guy you haven’t met before. shoyo greets you with a big smile and a hug. “yn! i didn’t know you were coming!” he exclaims, though it’s a little slurred. you nod at the other two, not missing the wink terushima throws at you. you and terushima didn’t necessarily end on a bad note. it’s been a long time anyways, but that was certainly unexpected of him. you can’t even remember the last time you spoke to him. yachi gets herself a drink, as well as one for you. she asks if it’s okay if she leaves you for a minute to make the tour around the club and say hi to people. after your confirmation, she leaves, though not after a final check in. yuji takes no time in swooping in after waving off his friend. “heard about your little break-up.” he says. you groan. “we weren’t even dating.” you clarify with a grumble. he hums and moves closer. “i can help.” he adds suggestively. “o- oh uhm, i don’t think-” “no, no. nothing like that,” he says. “but i’lll gladly be your drinking buddy if you’d let me? maybe even a dance partner?” you smile. you missed him. sure he was kinda sleazy, but he doesn’t mean any harm. he could be a really good friend sometimes. “thanks, yuji.” he grins toothily before jutting his chin in the direction of your cup. “bottoms up, girl.” you let out a laugh that sounds more like a scoff before downing the contents inside. 

yamaguchi really wasn’t planning on coming tonight. a party is probably the last thing he needs right now. he didn’t want to face yachi, or you. you were never really a party person. he thinks to himself. hopefully, you’re not there. he gets dressed quickly and makes his way out, hoping to find a way to forget about you tonight. except, when he makes his way into the house, he spots you immediately. on the dance floor. with terushima yuji. he tries to ignore it. but you look so happy. your hips are moving, hands in the air, so carefree. you look beautiful, as always. yuji spots him. tadashi watches as he makes his way even closer to you, grabbing your waist while keeping his eyes locked on yamaguchi. he’s challenging him. he’s daring him. daring him to make a move and do something about it. he doesn’t. instead, he turns and makes his way to the bar. i need a drink, he thinks. or five.

you spend hours dancing, taking turns with yachi, shoyo, and even bokuto. bokuto was lively and incredibly funny. you dare say you enjoyed dancing with him the most. although, terushima was a close second. soon enough, yuji asks to steal you back from bokuto. he grabs your hand and brings you closer before turning you around so that your back is to his chest. he puts his hands on your hips and dances in sync with your movements. yamaguchi watches from the indoor balcony that looks down upon the dancefloor. he watches as terushima grinds his hips sensually and rakes his fingers against your sides. tadashi downs his drink, before asking the closest girl next to him to dance. 

she agrees eagerly, thrilled that the mysteriously quiet freckled guy she’d been eyeing the entire night has noticed her. it doesn’t take long for you to spot him. he’s holding a girl’s hand, leading her onto the dancefloor. 

you didn’t even know he was here. 

and now you wish you did, because she’s gorgeous. tall and fit. her platinum blonde hair shines purple from the lights above. they fit well together, you think as you admire him for the first time tonight. his hair is tied up in a half-up half down ponytail. the hairstyle exposes the hidden highlights he has done. the colour matches her hair perfectly. he has a couple loose strands, but they don’t manage to hide his piercings. he wears a black cropped graphic tee. from the waist down, he wears all black. the shirt’s length (or lack thereof) shows off the fishnets he wears underneath his baggy ripped jeans. (yk like those punk yamaguchi drawings) he looks fucking incredible. it’s quite different to what he usually wears, but maybe that’s what makes it all the more alluring. you break out of your trance when you realize that he’s still here, dancing with someone else. you couldn’t fault him. you were dancing with someone else, too.

yuji feels you freeze up against him. he leans over your shoulder to look at your face and sees the tears building up. you saw them.

suddenly very gentle, he tucks away the hair from your face before whispering in your ear, “i’ll take you somewhere else.” you nod, sparing tadashi one last look before following terushima out of the bar.  

you find yourself in the backseat of teru’s car, though, not how one may think. you sit in silence, the only sound being the occasional sniffle from you. “if you wqant.. and only if you want.. i can help you. for real this time.” you look at him, with tears in your eyes, and pretty lips. “gonna help me forget about him?” you ask, voice quivering as you struggle to hold back a new wave of tears. “i promise, my angel.” you almost flinch at the petname. it sounding so unfamiliar, so wrong, on his lips. you don’t say anything. instead, you nod, shuffling closer to him. you fist the collar of his shirt. he puts his index finger under your chin, tilting your face upwards, ever so slightly. you look so pretty, he thinks. he leans in, and your finger tighten further into the fabric of his shirt. you’re hesitating. yuji knows this, so he continues slowly. you’re barely leaning in. you can’t remember the last time you kissed someone like this. you felt so vulnerable. your lips were close now. the reality of it all hits you now. if you moved so much as a couple inches you’d be kissing him. you get deja vu. it takes you back to that time in the library. he was so so close to you. it felt so intimate, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss him. slowly and deeply all at once. he was tadashi. that’s who you wanted. not this. not terushima, nor anyone else. 

that’s when he feels it. it’s less of a push but more of a pause. it did nothing, of course. it barely did anything. in fact, it would have been imperceptible had the situation been any different. you barely even acknowledged it yourself. he pulls back and lets out a breath, looking at you with worry in his brow. yours hands unleash their grip on his shirt and flatten against his chest. you looked to him in moderate confusion. “it’s okay,” he whispers. “you don’t have to force yourself to want this.” 

you knew it yourself. you didn’t want this. you wanted tadashi. you wanted him with you, in your arms. his lips on yours, your fingers interlocked with his. his warmth, and no one else's. it’s your turn to let out a breath, though, more out of despair than anything. you rest your head on his chest, in between where your hands lay. “i’m so sorry.” gentle hands find their way to your head and back, one stroking lightly along your spine, sending shivers down your back, and the other massaging your scalp. you stay like this for a while. the two of you sit in the realization of what happened, and what could’ve happened. it’s not awkward. you lift your head and take another breath. “thank you.” it’s said with a small smile, and he can see that there’s sadness lingering behind it. 

“he has to be the biggest idiot in the universe to give up someone like you.” he says, with a palm to your cheek. you smile with a scoff, “you gave me up, too, yuji.” you quip, though it’s playful. “i did. but you and i both know that we weren’t meant to be together. nor will we ever be. you’re supposed to be with tadashi.” he reasons, with a poke to your forehead. “i know,” you whisper. “i just wish he knew it too.”

soon enough, you’re walking back into the party with yuji on your arm. hitoka spots you almost immediately, as does tadashi. yachi rushes over to you, exclaiming how worried she was when she couldn’t find you. it doesn’t take long before you’re saying your goodbyes to the boys and walking back out the door you had just entered only a couple minutes ago. yamaguchi watches you leave. he almost had half the heart to go and chase you out the door, but is reminded of the girl on his arm when she plays with the bracelet on his wrist. the one you made him. 

his mood drops significantly fast.

he rips his arm away from her, not caring about being seen as rude. he narrows his eyes at something near the bar, or rather someone, and makes his way over there.

yuji is leant over the counter with a drink in his hand. tadashi takes his spot on the right of him, back against the bar, arms crossed. “something uh, happening between you n yn?” he asks, voice devoid of geniality. terushima only grins, slinking his eyes to the door you left in, then back to him. they make direct eye contact. there’s a dry smile on yuji’s face. it’s not friendly. “yeah,” terushima responds cooly, not missing the way yamaguchi’s shoulders and arms tighten in their hold from the corner of his eye. he takes a sip of his drink. “is she not available?” yuji asks smugly, challenging him. “available?!” tadashi repeats incredulously, and maybe a little too quickly, too, because when he takes in the raised eyebrow and smirk on terushima’s face, he realizes that he’s never wanted to slap someone so badly in his life. yuji smiles as he watches the boy walk away wordlessly. 

you couldn’t sleep. the bed was warm, the room was dark, and you were tired. and yet, you couldn’t sleep. your thoughts were so loud. “you sigh so noisily.” you hear from next to you. “oh. sorry, ‘toka.” she hums. the bed shakes and you hear shuffling noises. it all stops once she’s laying on her right side, facing you. you can barely see her, but you know she’s watching you with furrowed brows. “what happened with yuji while you two were gone?” she asks. you sense the worried quiver in her voice. you’re not one to have rebounds or meaningless hook-ups. especially not with your ex. she knows that. she wouldn’t really blame you though, with all that’s happening with tadashi. but, despite rationalizing the fact that you could have very well hooked-up with terushima, a very large part of her hopes that you hadn’t. it would crush yamaguchi if he found out, regardless of his rejection of you. she knows you’d come to regret it too. 

you take a deep breath. “tadashi was there. with a girl. yuji… well… he offered to go somewhere a little quieter,,” hitoka inhales sharply at that, but doesn’t say anything. she lets you continue, giving you the benefit of the doubt. “and.. well we went to his car and.. he then offered to- uhm.. help.” there’s dread and tension in the air. anticipation. and not the good kind. there’s a pause before you continue. “we were going ot kiss. but.. i couldn’t do it.” you laugh dryly. “he noticed my apprehension before i did. it was like my body knew,” yachi lets out her breath, relieved. “it felt so wrong, to want to kiss someone that wasn’t tadashi. and i’ve only kissed him once! when we were kids!” it’s her turn to laugh now, but more out of shock and respite. “im glad. if anything, let’s just hope it makes that stupid boy realize what he’s given up.” you hum in confusion at that. “did you not see the way he was looking at you when you re-entered the bar stuck to teru’s arm?! he looked murderous. sometimes i forget that that boy can feel anger. it looks terrifying on him.”

silence falls upon the two of you. you find yourself drifting off to sleep before you hear three very loud knocks. from yachi’s apartment. the two of you sit up at the noise, hearts beating fast. you both patter to the door, not before grabbing a bat on the way to the entrance door. hitoka prepares herself before opening the door, you not too far away. she open the door a crack, the light from outside her apartment illuminating her face. you see the way the fluorescent bulbs in the hall accentuate the expressions of her face. a frown, quickly morphed to confusion, the panic melting away in an instant. 

“where is she? please. i know she’s here.” you’d recognize his voice anywhere. it follows you wherever you go, in your mind and in your dreams, every single night. you make your way to the door. hitoka automatically moves aside, and you take her place in the doorway. there’s silence as you watch each other, as though it were the very first time and the millionth all at once.

“i’ll be back in a bit.” yachi announces, before grabbing her phone and her jacket, making her way out the door. the two of you watch her leave, the quiet in between you even more deafening that before. “come in.” you say. it’s extremely quiet, but he hears it anyway. making his way inside, he diffidently takes a seat on the couch, as though it were his first time here. he’s still in the clothes he wore at the party. you close the door and go to sit near him. you’re about to say something, though you’re not even sure what. you’re extremely thankful as he cuts you off-

“why were you with him?”

“he’s my friend?” you offer confusedly.

“but he’s your ex.” he knows it’s a silly argument. the dumbest, actually. he’s best friends with yachi, and they dated back in high school, too. in all honesty, he’s just upset. mind a jumbled mess of jealousy and hurt and anger and despair. you don’t offer anything to counter that, other than a knowing tilt of your head. you both know he was just talking to talk. after all, his friendship with yachi hasn’t changed one bit. not even after their break-up. you knew just as well as he did that it was a dumb assertion.

“you left with him.” he continues. 

“and then i came back.” you counteract. 

“yes, you did,” he scoffs lightly, “with him. on his arm.”

“and what’s it to you, huh? why do you care?” you ask, frustrated.

“you know exactly why i care,” he says with a clenched jaw. “i told you we couldn’t be together, but i never denied loving you.”

you laugh bitterly, with tears building up in your eyes, “fuck, you’re making this so difficult, ‘dashi.” 

you bring your hand up to your forehead, massaging it. there’s a pause. it feels like it lasts forever. you know it’s coming.

“did you kiss him?” 

you stare directly into his eyes, gaze never once wavering, “you should know by now, that my heart belongs to no one but you-”

“but did you kiss him?!” it’s rushed and frantic. his heart feels like it’s being clenched in his chest. his ribs closing in and squeezing, leaving no room to breathe or focus. he feels lightheaded, awaiting your answer. it’s painful and agonizing, not knowing what truly happened when you were gone and hurting, possibly in the arms of another. 

“i wanted to,” you whisper. his heart stings. “i was so sick of crying over you. i wanted to forget about you. to forget that you told me that i was the love of your life, only to find you in the arms of another mere days after the fact, and i was finally given the chance to do so,” his head drops to his hands, elbows resting on his knees. his hair falls in between his fingers. he pulls, feeling the bite at every root. his heart feels like it’s being pierced with a million scorching needles. in agony. 

“... but i couldn’t.” his head shoots back up. he watches you with glassy eyes and damp cheeks. “i wanted it to be you. i couldn’t fathom being with someone that wasn’t you.” you shuffle closer to him while holding back sobs, “why couldn’t you just let me love you?” he breathes shakily, “i didn’t want to hurt you.” 

“but you did, ‘dashi. you hurt me so bad.” 

he hates hearing it. it sounds so fucking harsh, his worst fear come true. he feels like he’s gonna throw up. “i’m sorry, angel. it was dumb and so stupid and i’ll never do it again because i can’t lose you. i thought i could do it. i thought i could be without you and bear it while you forgot about me to find someone else but i can’t do it. i want to be selfish. i want to be with you.” you’re close enough to rest your forehead on his. “i couldn’t forget about you even if i tried…” he brings his hands to your cheeks. his grip soft but firm, as though you were to slip from his grasp if he wasn’t careful. as though you would break. tadashi’s not letting that happen again. 

“you’re my everything, angel.” he whispers against your lips.

“and you’re mine.”

thunder strikes outside as the sound of raindrops begin to patter against the windowsill, just like that day. the day that almost broke the two of you, never to be the same again. 

he kisses you sweetly, a small smile on his lips.

maybe it’s because it was an excuse to care for you and be close to you. maybe it’s because he genuinely did find comfort in the rain. or maybe it brought back memories of the good ol’ days. 

or maybe, it’s a reminder of what he has. what he can lose. what he almost did lose. and how fucking lucky he is to have you. his tiana. his evangeline. 

he watches you from the living room entrance. his head it tipped back a little, a closed-lip grin on his face as the back of his head rests against the doorframe. you’re sitting on the couch, cuddled up in a blanket as you watch your favourite movie. the one you watched together as kids. princess and the frog. 

he pushes himself off the doorframe and makes his way to you, handing you a mug of your favourite herbal tea. you look up at him with a grateful beam, and he can only duck down to place a loving kiss against your forehead. 

yamaguchi takes his place on the couch next to you to watch the rest of the movie, but he doesn’t watch the movie. he just can’t take his eyes off of you. 

you get prettier everyday, he thinks, as you mouth the words of the movie, knowing it all by heart. 

he sighs contentedly. 

tadashi smiles as he realizes he finally has the happily ever after he’s dreamed of since he was a child. the one he knew he wanted when he first watched the ending scene of princess and the frog, where tiana and naveen dance on the balcony in the moonlight. 

he has his happily ever after. 

and he has it with you. 

only you.

[ainkmessinacup]

hi, now it's cups ink's turn :D, hey cups ink tries to pet bendy glass how would he react to you petting him?

i really love your art man you should win an oscar for best tumbler of the year uwu ❤❤

(ask by @universoocultal) ink cup actually pets bendy glass a lot dfskfkds

[whitherwanderer]

steadfast

Drabble from the Shitty Roadtrip, a "modern" Sif & Dug AU. Written in 2019, posted in 2023 with the encouragement of some friends.

This one in particular was inspired by the 99% Invisible podcast's ep. 130, "Holdout", and the story of Edith Macefield.

—

When the bulldozers came in autumn, she was still sitting in her plastic lawn chair the way she had every morning for years. Sometime between fifteen-past-ten to around eleven. Right in front of the garage with the same crystal tumbler in her hand, and an oil-colored cat at her feet. The same lazy, reclined pose with one leg crossed over the other, the same bounce in her foot, the same faded hair, like the color of old paper.

And for the next few months, she lived there every day as if the chain link fence that bordered the property, lined with wooden boards hand-painted “NO SOLICITING”, and “SCREW OFF”, somehow kept her from seeing the other houses in the neighborhood as they were demolished around her, one by one.

First it was letters during the winter prior. Everyone in the subdivision got one in their mailbox: Generic language written for some general audience, printed on respectable bleach-white stationary with some faceless executive’s signature at the bottom in the same ink as the notification itself, as if the name was just a badge flashed at them to make them feel small compared to the white collar jackass, kicking his feet up in penthouse office of a development company in Denver. She’d seen plenty of real badges, she’d scoff. She wasn’t afraid of a name.

She’d drop the letter in her garbage bin and mutter something about wanting to see the man himself before she’d give him the time of day.

Just a couple months later, all the neighbors were putting out all their things on the driveway that they weren’t keeping, taking advantage of the warming weather. All the outdated clothes and knicknacks that wouldn’t look good in their nice, simple new duplexes across town. She’d make fun of them in smalltalk, but she liked to hear about the pretty brown brick and the wide windows over the covered doorways with a bit of a glimmer in her eyes, then turn around and buy a cup of lemonade from the young kids on the block on her way back to her house at the end of the road with the oil slick cat at her heels.

Everyone would check up on her right up until they left, and she would tell them the same thing every time they asked why she was staying. After all, the development company was making such a generous offer on their properties, as well giving them a great deal on their duplexes across town. Every time, she’d shake her head like they were the idiots and change the topic. They’d play along.

One by one, houses were left as they were. No new residents. Just boards and little fliers with local administration codes and impressively bland lawyerspeak. Empty little boxes of siding and beams, of drywall, glass, and memory. All left behind until the lady in the house at the end of the road was the only one left during the hottest days of the year before school started back up. There’d be no busses to come down the road this fall.

More letters filled the crooked, dented aluminum mailbox, and even though they were addressed to her by name this time, there’s no doubt about where they’d ended up. There were some rumors that the visiting land development suits were chased off her porch with a wooden bat. No one can say if it’s true or not, but no one could deny it: it sounded like just the thing she’d do. The offers were kept open for her property, regardless.

So when the bulldozers came with they yellowing leaves, she sat on the cracked concrete driveway with her glass, and every day there was one less house to stare at. The crews became familiar with her, even going so far as to wave at her when she came out to sit in her chair. She’d let them use the tree in her yard to eat lunch under since all the others had been cut down, and the oil-colored cat would come out to take stock of the strangers with his crooked tail high in the air. They learned from his collar that his name was Texas and they’d watch for him to come limping up to slither against their dusty boots when they stopped every day around noon.

The oil slick cat would have to stay inside as the big concrete structures started to go up, dwarfing the little house at the end of the road, though the lady would laugh that she isn’t terribly disappointed about the sharp decline in the number of dead rodents she’d find the garage.

To most it would seem a sad thing. To be cornered in by the ever-changing world, behind the rusting chain-link fence and the original wood siding, slowly decaying with time. Everyone who’d ask her would get a shrug and she’d look out the window at the concrete shell of the office building going up just outside her kitchen window, and the empty, treeless lots that used to be her neighbors. 

Few would think anything was wrong. After all, she didn’t seem to mind the noise and the crews, constantly banging and buzzing and yelling just outside, and they’d grown used to each other as she went about her business every day, rummaging through old boxes in the garage and singing soulful old tunes with her bedroom window open.

Some time during the next spring, it would be noon before they’d mutter that the lady hadn’t been out to her chair yet, and Texas hadn’t run out to remind them it was time to take a load off with his gimpy gait and crooked tail. They’d knock on the door and find her haggard but welcoming, explaining that Texas had a rough night and she didn’t sleep much, but he’s off to find her the biggest damn mouse they’d ever see. One of the younger guys would go to the store to bring her a bouquet of roses, and with a sad smile, she’d push it back into his hands, saying how much she hated roses and that they’d be better off for his girl.

They ate lunch in her house instead, and traded stories while she played Elvis and Johnny Cash on her guitar, and drank whiskey from her crystal tumbler. The way she’d tell it. she used to be a singer— traveling all over the country, carrying nothing but a backpack and the guitar, with a man whose longest relationship was with a shitty old station wagon after he’d spent his life as a covert government agent all over the world. They’d laugh and tell her that sounded like it was stolen from the movies, but they’d never dismiss her entirely.

The retail spaces with their second and third floor offices were finished that summer, which meant across the street, the new condos were going up. The crews would come knocking on her door every day to make sure she’d be there for lunch and tease her about the state of the yard, the unkempt shrubs creeping up to the windows, and the dandelions in the grass.

“For wishin’,” she’d joke, and then she’d ask them if they could figure out what was wrong with her TV set, or her bathtub, and they’d take turns, knowing her little projects would always keep them an extra half an hour or so before they got back on site. The superintendent wasn’t too upset as long as everything was on schedule.

She’d call them by name and ask them how their kids were, if their wife got the job, if their brother had proposed yet, and tease them about the noise that they blasted from their open truck windows. They couldn’t help noticing that she’d guess the artist right. Most of the time. They’d give her rides to the store and back, and tease her back about her bad taste in liquor. She’d just grin and say she liked the cheaper stuff, that it reminded her of her days spent on the road, trying to make it big. They’d ask her if she ever did, and she’d just shrug and tune to a less-popular local station, saying she’d made it on the radio once, and they still play her Elvis cover sometimes.

She was a constant. A fixture upon the street where little houses had turned to big industry, and an ugly reminder that no matter how many boutiques moved in, no matter how many law firms parked their expensive cars just outside, and no matter how many crews paved over the old street— that the cracks would still appear in the same places, the lawns would still end up full of dandelions, and the little lady that lived in the disheveled house at the end of the road would still be there. A reminder of a street’s humbler life.

The condo building’s lobby floor is set to be tiled the morning the crews arrived to the sight of blue and red lights outside the little house at the end of the road, glaring in the early light, and though they can’t ask the EMTs before the ambulance leaves, they talk about sending her flowers. Not roses, of course.

Before they can do much more than talk about it towards the end of their shift, a shitty station wagon would pull squeal to a stop on the streetside, and the crews would know the homely old wood paneling and the mustard yellow color from stories told over the rim of a whiskey tumbler. Out of the driver’s side, a young man would emerge and later say he knew the storyteller well, whose car let him live in the city, where he left work when he got the call.

The little old house at the end of the road was his.

Later that month, an estate sale let any passersby rummage the old boxes. The old guitar was sold to a bright-eyed girl who used to live across the street, bought with her ten-dollar allowance. One of the crewman discovered arrowheads in another box, and shells and bottle glass with painter’s tape, labeled with beaches from Santa Monica to Cape Cod. A highway shield from Alabama, stolen right off the pole. A small pistol case. A cassette collection. A beat up notebook scrawled with poetry and lyrics from familiar songs. License plates. Tools. Jumper cables. Roadmaps and pamphlets and atlases.

And somewhere in the garage, a local station played an Elvis cover by a woman with a honeyed voice and an old guitar.

[cricutnewmachinesetup]

How to Use Cricut Mug Press for Tumblers: Full Tutorial

Now, sublimating thin glass has become easier with a Cricut Mug Press. You can also learn how to use Cricut Mug Press for tumblers. In the beginning, I didn’t even know how to use my Mug Press machine to create a tumbler, so I thought about giving it a try. My attempt was really successful the first time. During this process, I learned effective methods that I will share in this blog.

I understand that it might be intimidating for many crafters, so I found an effective solution that works for all types of thin tumblers. In this tutorial, I made a 20-ounce tumbler using my Cricut Mug Press. Besides these, I will also tell you how to set up this machine. After that, we will learn the step-by-step instructions for making custom tumblers.

So, read the blog till the end and follow each and every instruction to avoid any common mistakes. Visit this blog to learn more!

How to Setup Cricut Mug Press on Your Device?

You can’t learn how to use Cricut Mug Press for tumblers until you set up your Mug Press. So, let’s start setting it up first. Here are the steps to set up a Mug Press:

First of all, you have to go to the browser and search for Cricut Design Space on your computer.

After that, install the Cricut app and launch it.

After launching, you need to create your Cricut ID if you haven’t created it yet.

On the next screen, you will see the Welcome to Cricut Setup page.

Next, you will need to select the Heat Press and then Cricut Mug Press.

Now, follow the screen prompts to connect your Mug Press, confirm the firmware, and complete the activation process.

Supplies Required for Cricut Tumblers

You will need the following items to make tumblers on Mug Press:

Artesprix Protective Paper

Heat Resistant Mat

Cricut Mug Press

Sublimation printer

Sublimation ink

Heat resistant gloves

Sublimation paper

Infusible Ink

Lint Roller

PYD Life Inserts

Heat Resistant Tape

Tape dispenser

Despite this, you will also need sublimation blanks, as I am using 20 oz skinny tumblers. Now we have gathered the supplies, let’s learn how to use Cricut Mug Press for tumblers. All the easy instructions will make it easier for beginners to sublimate their tumbler hassle-free.

How to Make Tumblers With Cricut Mug Press?

Here, I am going to teach you to make a tumbler with Cricut. Fortunately, my first try went really well without any mistakes. So, let’s see how you can sublimate the tumbler.

Since we are using skinny tumblers, it might not fit well inside the Mug Press. Hence, we need to use PYD life inserts for heat conductive inserts.

It comes in various sizes that are suitable for different blanks. So, the purpose of using these PYD Life inserts is that they can expand the size you press to fit in the Mug Press. Before placing the blanks inside the mug, make sure there are no plastic pieces or straws inside the tumbles, as they can melt. Also, clean the tumbler using the lint roller to remove the dirt and debris.

Besides, I use the protective paper on the outside to protect my heat press. You can also use the tape to secure the paper into its place.

Finally, the tumbler is ready to be pressed in the Mug Press. Now, you need to wrap these inserts around the tumblers, as shown in the picture below.

Tumblers are usually long in shape, so you need to flip it upside down and repeat the same process twice.

Here’s the final result! That’s all in this tutorial. Now, you might have understood how to use Cricut Mug Press for tumblers to make your own tumblers.

FAQs

Question 1: Can you use Cricut Mug Press for any mug?

Answer: Cricut Mug Press can sublimate only those mugs that are labeled as sublimation compatible. They are actually compatible with infusible ink. However, if you are using non-Cricut mugs blank, then I can’t say about the results. Hence, you should always use poly-coated, sublimation-coated products that are suitable for your requirements.

Question 2: Can I use a Cricut Mug Press for my glass cups?

Answer: Yes, you can use frosted glass cups or mugs. In other words, you will need a glass sublimation blank that can easily transfer your design onto it. A normal glass may break while pressing it into the Mug Press. So, make sure you are using the right glass mug, such as a frosted glass cup.

Question 3: How long does it take to sublimate a tumbler in Cricut Mug Press?

Answer: The duration for sublimating the tumbler is about 4 minutes. To sublimate it, however, you will need to wrap butcher paper all around the tumbler and then use tape to secure it. After that, you can put your tumbler into the Mug Press and let it transfer your cut vinyl design to the tumbler.

Final Words

In this blog, I explained how to use Cricut Mug Press for tumblers with an easy example. In size, tumblers vary, hence you need to sublimate them accordingly. For skinny tumblers, you can use the insert sheets to adjust the thickness so that your Mug Press can transfer the design. Despite these, you will need to set up your Mug Press by downloading the Design Space. Also, there are many supplies required to do this project. Ensure you have essential items with you.

Read more: cricut.com/setup mac

install cricut design space app

Cricut Design Space

Source: how to use Cricut mug press for tumblers

[mhw-3bomber]

The Ultimate Guide to Sublimation Sippy Cups: Build Your Brand with Besin Tumblers

Introduction:

Welcome to our blog, where we will explore the world of sublimation sippy cups and how they can help you build your brand. As a premium water tumbler supplier and manufacturer, Besin aims to empower creatives and entrepreneurs by providing high-quality sublimation blank and engraved tumblers. With our promise that Besin tumblers are made to last, let's dive into the world of sublimation sippy cup blanks, lids, and their numerous benefits.

Paragraph 1:

Sublimation sippy cup blanks are the perfect canvas for personalization. Made from high-quality materials, such as stainless steel, these cups provide a durable and long-lasting product for your branding needs. Whether you're looking to create a customized cup for your little one or create promotional items for your business, sublimation sippy cup blanks offer endless possibilities.

Paragraph 2:

At Besin, we offer a wide range of sublimation sippy cup blanks to suit various preferences and requirements. Our blank stainless steel sippy cups are especially popular among entrepreneurs looking to extend their brand identity. The smooth surface of these cups allows vibrant and detailed designs to be sublimated, giving your brand a professional and eye-catching look.

Paragraph 3:

To ensure a complete package, Besin also provides sublimation sippy cup lids. These lids are designed to fit securely onto the cups, preventing spills and leaks, making them ideal for children. Our sublimation sippy cup lids are made from BPA-free materials, ensuring the safety of your little ones and peace of mind for parents.

Paragraph 4:

With Besin sublimation sippy cup blanks and lids, you have the freedom to unleash your creativity. You can personalize these cups with logos, names, photos, or any design of your choice. Whether you're creating a custom gift or promotional merchandise, sublimation sippy cups are a great way to represent your brand or express your creativity.

Paragraph 5:

Sublimation sippy cups are also an excellent option for those looking to start a small business or expand their existing one. Personalized drinkware has become increasingly popular, and by offering sublimation sippy cups, you can tap into this growing market. Besin sublimation blank sippy cups allow you to create unique and custom products that will set your business apart from the competition.

Paragraph 6:

One of the advantages of sublimation is its durability. Unlike other methods of customization, sublimation causes the ink to become a part of the material, resulting in a long-lasting and scratch-resistant design. This means that the designs on your sublimation sippy cups will stay vibrant and intact even after multiple uses and washes.

Paragraph 7:

Besin understands the importance of quality and durability. We ensure that our sublimation sippy cup blanks are built to withstand everyday use and rigorous handling. Our commitment to providing exceptional products translates into long-lasting brand exposure for your business or cherished memories for your loved ones.

Paragraph 8:

In addition to sublimation sippy cup blanks, Besin also offers engraved tumblers. This provides an alternative customization method for those looking for a more subtle and sophisticated design. Engraved tumblers create a timeless and elegant look, perfect for corporate gifts or special occasions.

Conclusion:

Sublimation sippy cups are a versatile and powerful tool when it comes to building your brand or creating personalized gifts. With Besin's range of sublimation blank sippy cups, lids, and engraved tumblers, you have endless possibilities to express your creativity and leave a lasting impression. Let Besin be your trusted partner in helping you build a brand that stands out. Choose Besin for quality, durability, and exceptional customer service. Start creating your unique sublimation sippy cups today!

[gobesin]

Unlocking Your Creativity: The Magic of Sublimation Tumblers

In a world that thrives on personalization and unique expressions, sublimation has become a household name for those seeking to make their mark. For individuals and businesses alike, the canvas for creativity extends far beyond the conventional. In this blog post, we'll delve into the enchanting world of sublimation tumblers, exploring their versatility and the countless ways you can personalize and beautify these popular tumbler cups.

The Allure of Sublimation Tumblers

Sublimation tumblers are more than just your average beverage container; they're a blank canvas for your imagination. These versatile vessels have taken the art of personalization to new heights. The process involves transferring high-quality, vibrant images onto the surface of the tumbler, creating a unique, lasting impression.

The Beauty of Personalization

At the heart of sublimation lies the power of personalization. Whether you're celebrating a special occasion or showcasing your brand, the ability to make your tumbler uniquely yours is a game-changer. Sublimation provides an avenue for creativity and self-expression that knows no bounds.

Sublimation Tumbler Versatility

Sublimation tumblers come in various shapes, sizes, and materials, catering to a broad range of preferences. From stainless steel to ceramic, and from single-wall to double-wall insulation, there's a tumbler cup for every occasion. The key is choosing the right tumbler for your purpose and knowing how to make it uniquely yours.

The All-Season Companion

A sublimation tumbler isn't just for sipping your favorite beverages. It's an all-season companion. From hot coffees to ice-cold lemonades, your tumbler cup is built to maintain the temperature of your drink, ensuring it stays just the way you like it. Plus, the durable construction ensures that your sublimated design remains as vibrant as the day it was created.

Unleashing Your Creative Vision

Sublimation tumblers are more than just a practical choice; they're a medium for showcasing your unique style. From family photos to company logos, there are endless possibilities for personalization. Whether you're an aspiring artist or a business owner, you can make your mark on the world with a beautifully designed tumbler.

The Art of Personal Branding

For businesses, sublimation tumblers are more than just drinkware. They're an opportunity to leave a lasting impression on your customers. Create branded tumbler cups featuring your company's logo, slogan, or a memorable message. These customized items serve as effective marketing tools, ensuring your brand stays top-of-mind.

Quality Matters

When it comes to personalization, quality is paramount. The longevity of your sublimated designs and the overall satisfaction of your customers depend on the quality of your chosen sublimation tumbler. Seek reputable suppliers who offer high-quality products, ensuring that your creations endure the test of time.

The Sublimation Process

While personalizing tumbler cups might seem like a complex task, the sublimation process is more accessible than it appears. Here's a simplified breakdown of the steps:

Step 1: Choose Your Design

Select a design or image that speaks to you. Ensure it's of high resolution and the right size for your tumbler.

Step 2: Print Your Design

Print your chosen design using sublimation ink on sublimation paper. This step is crucial to achieving a high-quality sublimation result.

Step 3: Wrap and Secure

Wrap the sublimation paper tightly around your tumbler cup, making sure there are no air gaps. Use high-temperature tape to secure the paper in place.

Step 4: Apply Heat

Using a heat press, apply high heat and pressure to the tumbler. The sublimation ink on the paper transforms into gas, fusing with the tumbler's surface, and creating a permanent, vibrant image.

Step 5: Cool and Enjoy

Allow the tumbler to cool down naturally, and your personalized masterpiece is ready for use.

Conclusion: A World of Possibilities

Sublimation tumblers have opened a world of possibilities for personalization and branding. They are a practical yet artistic medium for showcasing your creativity and making a lasting impression. Whether you're an individual celebrating a special moment or a business seeking to leave a mark, a sublimated tumbler is a canvas waiting to be brought to life. Unlock your creativity and embrace the magic of sublimation today.

[idealcardsg]

Comparison of Convection Bottles and Cups for Sublimation Use

Do you want to advertise yourself or your company in a fun and creative way? There has been a rise in the popularity of drinkware that can be personalized, with convection bottles and cups at the forefront of this trend. Which one, though, should you choose? Learn all about sublimation tumblers, including which ones are best and how to choose one, in this in-depth guide. Okay, so let's begin!

How does sublimation work?

In the printing process known as sublimation, patterns are transferred from one substrate (such as fabric or plastic) to another. Sublimation is a printing process that employs heat to transform ink into a gas so that it can be absorbed by the material, as opposed to more conventional printing methods that leave the ink on the surface.

The end product is a superior print that will not crack or peel. This makes sublimation a great option for creating durable designs on drinkware such as personalized tumblers.

First, you'll need to print your artwork onto transfer paper using sublimation inks to produce a sublimated design. The design can then be transferred from the paper to the item of your choice using a heat press.

Sublimation's ability to produce high-quality results on a wide variety of substrates is arguably its greatest strength. Sublimation tumblers are a versatile option for anyone wishing to customised bottles for their business or as gifts for friends and family.

Tumblers for Sublimation: Several Varieties

Sublimation tumblers are available in a broad variety of sizes and forms, giving you plenty of room to express your individuality. Bottles and mugs that use convection heating are extremely popular.

The double-wall vacuum insulation of most convection bottles makes it possible to store liquids at their ideal temperatures for an extended period of time. They are convenient for transport because of their screw-on lid and flip-top closing. Sublimation printing works great on the smooth surface of convection bottles.

Sublimation cups, on the other hand, are typically constructed of ceramic and are available in a wide range of sizes (including 11 oz., 15 oz., and even larger). Their smoothness makes them ideal for use with sublimation printing.

Other common tumblers include wine glasses, champagne flutes, and shot glasses, however, these are more general-purpose vessels. Tumblers come in a wide variety of forms and styles to meet various requirements.

Think about the recipient and their intended use when deciding on a personalized tumbler style. Convection bottles, thanks to their sturdy build and convenient mobility, are a great option for crafting custom presents for travelers and outdoor lovers.

In conclusion, sublimation tumblers are available in a variety of forms, each optimized for a specific use. When you know what choices are available, you can pick the one that fits you best.

Sublimation Tumbler Benefits and Drawbacks

More and more individuals are looking for unique and customized drinkware, and sublimation tumblers are becoming a popular option. There are benefits and drawbacks to employing these tumblers.

Sublimation tumblers are great because they can preserve high-quality images without deterioration or peeling over time. The procedure enables the printing of vivid colors and elaborate designs on the surface of the tumbler, making each one truly one-of-a-kind.

Sublimated photos also have the added virtue of lasting for a long time. In contrast to traditional printing methods, where the image is applied on the surface of the tumbler, this method embeds the picture within the coating, making it resistant to scratches.

One disadvantage of sublimation tumblers compared to more conventional screen printing is a smaller palette of available colors. This can make it hard to manufacture exact copies of particular designs or logos.

Furthermore, as the ink bonds with the substrate differently in sublimation than in screen printing, some may perceive the results to be less vivid.

Each person has their own reasons for deciding whether or not to use a sublimation tumbler. Although they have many positive qualities, such as endurance and durability, they also have few aesthetic flexibility possibilities.

Getting the Most Out of Your Sublimation Tumbler

There are a few important elements to think about while selecting the best sublimation tumbler for your needs. The first step in making any kind of beverage container is deciding whether to make a bottle or a custom tumbler cup.

Next, give some thought to the form and proportions of the final result. Tumblers can range from tall and thin to short and bulky. Consider how this may change your plans.

The choice of material is also crucial; for example, do you prefer plastic or stainless steel? In terms of print quality and longevity, each offers advantages and disadvantages.

Double-wall insulation, leak-proof caps, and carabiner clips for convenient transport should also be considered.

Make sure you can afford it. Tumbler prices vary widely based on the manufacturer and the specific model. Find one that is reasonably priced without compromising on features or build quality.

By keeping these things in mind, you'll be able to choose a sublimation tumbler that's perfect for you and lets you create stunning one-of-a-kind creations!

Conclusion

To sum up, the durability, adaptability, and personalization options of sublimation tumblers have contributed to their meteoric rise in popularity. When deciding between a convection bottle and a cup, it's best to think about your own requirements and preferences. Keep in mind that the quality of the tumbler itself will be the deciding factor in how well your custom design turns out.

If you're looking to make your designs stand out from the crowd, knowing the benefits and drawbacks of various sublimation tumblers will help you make an educated decision. High-quality bottles and tumblers are becoming increasingly popular as personalized containers, so keeping up with the times requires utilizing only the best.

The possibilities are endless when using sublimation tumblers, so go ahead and unleash your imagination.

[ralphnuara]

I tried a deep inky black slip on this tumbler as the backdrop for my polychrome finger daubs #yunomi #mug #cup #cuppa #daubs #ink #slipware #indented #ergonomic #tumbler #highball #sippycup #eggcream #ipa #contemporaryclay #contemporaryceramics #contemporarycraft #etsypottery #instapottery #pottersofinstagram #clay #ceramic #porcelaneousstoneware #cone6oxidation #minneapolis #minnesota #kickwheel (at A-Mill Artist Lofts) https://www.instagram.com/p/CM7t-rJD4h0/?igshid=jh61b73a5qm0

[theglamrus1]

I think it’s waaay past time for Tumblr to see my Tumblers...and other Bling Thingz! Don’t blink...pretty thingz are coming!

[bellagracecrafts]

Alcohol ink Tumbler