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barbies1shots · 2 months ago

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𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 WEEK2: REINER BRUAN !<3

kinks! HEATS/CARSEX - A/B/O AU !

its so late into the night that only those with poor sleep schedules and those with early starts into their morning would be up. but he just had poor little you practically bouncing on his dick. Reiner Braun is a truck driver, someone who drives large shipments of cargo all over the country. highway to highway, large pay to large pay, cute girls pressed into his thighs at each stop.

it gets tiring, of course, driving state to state, but what makes it better than a pretty little passenger princess? someone who is down to ride all the time, someone who wants you all the time? someone who couldn't even fathom a thought other than to be smothered with his scent?

Reiner couldnt even think properly as he drove. his nose twitching with each and every little sound that escaped your plump lips. his mind practically dizzy with each breath as he took in your intoxicating scent. the scent of your heat, it was that time of the year again. when omega's yearn for their mate and only their mate. he wanted to pull over right now yet he couldnt so he made you wait. he had no obligations so you took the initiative to stretch and prep yourself so all he had to do was slid right in.

your sick, wet, sounds made his mouth water. your whines made his hands sweat with slight nervousness as he turned into a rest spot and turned off the semi-truck.

"Please, Reiner, please please, I need you!"

he clumbered into the cabin, his shoulders knocking things over while he leaned over the part where you laid, a whole other compartment. the compartment is just a thick mattress coupled with plenty of blankets, plushes, and pillows. your whining caught his attention again once your hands raised to pull him down, your head tucked into his neck. he comforted you with a coo and your frantic actions by sliding a rough hand down your bare back, drawing shudders and shivers from you. his fingers probbed at your cunt, quickly burying them inside you. you whined into his neck, begging him to hurry and fill you yet he just hushed you, telling you to be quiet and let him take control.

his fingers began their work, sliding so deep, curling them straight into your g-spot before bringing them out... just to hear the squelch before doing it all again.

dragging his fingers out before pressing so deep, deeper than your fingers could ever reach. playing with your g-spot just had you crying into his neck. circling his fingers around your little nub had a drawn out whine escaping your lips. heats made omegas so submissive and compliant, so sensitive and whiny that just within a few strokes of his thick fingers had you gushing around him.

he sucked his teeth in a small form of apperiation before he set a smack into your slobbering cunt. the action bringing a squeal from you. you looked confused before he set a series of little slaps and rubs along your slit, bringing you closer and closer to yet another high.

when he was done, your thighs trembled with little overstimulation and he undid his jeans before sliding them down and under a heavy pair of jewels. he tapped his tip on your cunt, getting little jumps from you and impaitent whines. you were laying on your side and he raised one thigh to rest on his shoulders while your other thigh was trapped between his legs.

he was so well endowed that he was almost scary, his head so blunt with an addicting dark red color and a musky scent just had your head spinning and going dumb. he tapped your clit again before he began to push his hips in. his tip getting caught on your hole, exciting squeaks from your lips before he successfully breached your hole.

"Lets see how well you take me..."

he drawled as he slid home. going slow, because if he went fast youd go dumb too quick. your hands scrambled for purchase, grabbing onto anything to stable yourself. your hands found his button up shirt, tugging and pulling on it as you choked on your breath. you swore it felt like he touched your throat with each little rut to gives you.

he continued, your eyes rolling back before his tip pressed into your gummy cervix is where you cried out, your hands now pushing him away because it hurt too good.

Reiner sighed because it was like this each and every time you fucked. he entered you, you freaked out and wanted to get away and he dragged your back, pinned you down and fucked you to tears.

now, he smacked your hands away before pinning both wrists above your head and entered the rest of the way with a low grunt. his own eyes rolling back. a squeak got his attention and he looked down at your fucked out expression. your eyes dazed in a simple headspace while your lips opened and drool pooled out. a moment or two passed before you were up and begging him to fuck you with vigar. he tugged on your wagging tail, pulling a sensitive sob from your bitten lips, and with an amused huff he pulled on it again.

his mean hips coming back before he rutted them back into you. your whimpers and cries practically falling on deaf ears as he chased his own release. it took so long, his stamina so high that you came just 2 more times before he spilled his load into you.

breeding you and riding out your climax with a grind of his hips. he groaned as you clenched around him, he threw back his head and dragged your hips toward him so you guys stayed connected and he sat back on his haunches. your thighs shaking on either side of him.

a moment of rest passes before he reeled his hips back again and fucked his cum back into you. your back arched with a wail from the overstimulating sensations. he fucked you so good and so hard, by the next round you couldnt speak. too warm and fuzzy with the aftershocks of the pleasure. just too dumb.

@aizawasbarb

#reiner x reader #reiner smut #aot reiner #reiner braun smut #reiner braun #reiner #reiner x reader smut #aot reiner x reader #aot x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan smut #attack on titan x black reader #reiner braun x black reader #reiner braun x black reader smut #reiner x black reader #reiner x black reader smut #aot x black reader

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justmediocrewriting · 10 months ago

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“White Lace,” {v.s}

Summary: it’s laundry day on the Merry, and ever the gentleman, Sanji offered to take Nami’s place when the navigator explained that she was too exhausted to attend to the chore. Sanji expected to simply find a sore back and pruny fingers by doing so, but instead he found much more…

Or: Sanji finds a pair of your white lace underwear, and you catch him in the middle of washing them, resulting in some tension and embarrassment between the both of you.

Genre: spice (no smut, but dirty thoughts and suggestive themes)

Pairing: Sanji x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Requested: ❌

Warnings: I kinda feel this could fall under voyeurism to an extent, because Sanji does find a pair of your panties and kind of like plays with them, so maybe it does? Idk. Some rather not-so-innocent thoughts from Sanji, sexualization, very slight virginity kink if you squint really hard, panty sniffing, panty licking, sexual tension(ish?), female pronouns and parts mentioned

A/n: so I’ve got roughly 10+ things in my drafts right now but this literally WOULD NOT LEAVE ME ALONE, so I knew I had to write it. I hope you hoes enjoy ❤️ might do a part 2 idkkkk. 18+ under the cut, ye have been warned.

{=================================}

Sanji found comfort in routine. For some, a humdrum life would become quickly boring, but for Sanji repetition was key to his sanity. It was the main reason that Sanji was so fluidly quick in creating a new routine from the first day he’d agreed to set sail with Luffy — that and that it had helped cure the insistent anxiety of being at sea again after so many years of remaining stationary.

Sanji greatly disliked breaking routine unless the situation absolutely called for it; a battle, for example, or in this morning’s case, a beautiful woman asking him for help.

Sanji enjoyed routine, but he enjoyed satisfying women a lot more.

So when Nami had entered the galley, hair mussed and eyes hazy and unfocused with a small basket of laundry perched delicately on her hip, Sanji was quick to abandon the first step of his daily routine (taking inventory of the galley stock) and pluck the basket from her arm.

Nami sighed gratefully and her shoulders slumped with relief.

“Thanks, Sanji.” Nami muttered, voice heavy with exhaustion, and Sanji felt his heart lurch with sympathy. It wasn’t as though he was a stranger to fatigue.

“I spent most of the night drawing the charts to the next few islands. I guess I got so wrapped up in it I just hadn’t noticed how much time had passed.”

Sanji nodded along to her explanation as he gently set the basket of clothes atop the island counter, and in the process he inadvertently let his eyes skim across the articles within. Colors popped against one another, like a cluttered rainbow of pinks, blues, whites, reds, and teals — from what Sanji could see they were mostly shirts.

“Laundry day, aye?” Sanji asked conversationally, tearing his eyes from the basket to smile at Nami. She groaned and brought a hand up to massage the back of her neck as she nodded.

“Yeah. There’s a few of my shirts in there, but it’s mostly (Y/N)’s clothes. She washed mine last week, so I agreed to wash hers this week.”

Sanji frowned and appraised the tired woman before him; it pained him to see a woman like Nami having to work so hard. He’d always felt that life at sea, what with so much to maintain, was far too harsh for a lady — ladies were meant to be spoiled and taken care of, at least in Sanji’s eyes. Nami had chosen a life at sea, and Sanji knew that with this decision she’d long accepted the responsibilities of such, and he had no doubt that Nami could handle it, but if Sanji could do something to help relieve her of some of the work he would.

“I can take care of it for you, if you want.” Sanji said, and Nami’s eyes snapped open. She looked equal parts relieved and panicked by his offer, and she hesitated for a moment before shaking her head.

“No, Sanji, I couldn’t ask that of you. You’ve already got enough on your plate.” Nami murmured, and then, as if it were an afterthought, she added, “we all do.”

Sanji rolled his shoulders in dismissal of her worry. “You’re not asking, love. I’m offering. And I’m not too terribly busy; it’s still early, so I’ll have plenty of time to prep breakfast before Luffy wakes up.”

Nami bit her lip, and she looked minutely closer to accepting the offer, but there was still a hardened hesitation in her eyes. Sanji smiled ever gently at her.

“It’s alright, Nami. Why not go back to your quarters and rest for a bit? I’ll take care of this.”

Finally, Nami sighed and relented to acceptance. With a small but grateful nod, she gave Sanji a tired smile before turning on her heel to exit the galley; before she did so, she placed a manicured hand against the door frame and sent him one last glance.

“Really, Sanji, thank you. Once you’re done washing them you don’t have to worry about hanging them to dry; just come get me and I’ll do that.” And with that Nami breezed from the galley, and Sanji gave a small chuckle at her attempt to take some of the load off of him. Even if it was Nami’s turn to do the laundry as was her responsibility, Sanji wouldn’t allow her to set them to dry — he’d do that himself, as well; and he even set it in his mind that he’d fold them as well.

It wasn’t until Sanji pulled out the first shirt that he began to feel as though he shouldn’t have offered his help; because the fabric in his hand was familiar, and it dawned on him that the majority of the clothes in the basket were yours. It was a detail that Sanji had skimmed by when Nami was explaining the situation, and now the reality of it was hitting him like a ton of bricks.

Sanji’s skin prickled as if he were committing the most atrocious sin, and he had to take a deep breath to calm himself. The shirt in his hand was one of your favorites; you’d worn it a lot, and just looking at the rumpled article supplied Sanji with various memories of you donning it. It looked rather pleasant on you, especially when the hem of it rose slightly to reveal the smallest sliver of skin when you moved in just the right way, and Sanji had to quickly place it back in the basket and take a deep inhale to staunch the blood flowing towards his groin.

Sanji’s attraction to you was something that he vaguely felt might be out of hand; he was a lover of women, yes, but never had he experienced a pull as strong as the one he had towards you. Maybe it was the way innocence practically poured from your aura, or the way your cheeks brightened with any pet name or compliment he offered you, as if such attention was a completely new experience for you — whatever it was, it was highly alluring to Sanji, and he found himself wanting more and more of it – of you – every day.

Sanji flared his nostrils a few more times, every breath deep and steadying, repeatedly telling himself that he wasn’t doing anything wrong and his intentions were of the best, and to get a fucking grip, Sanji. Just wash the clothes and be normal!

As he relocated the basket next to the sink and pulled out a pale yellow shirt Sanji deliberately tried to focus his thoughts on anything other than the fact that he was touching your clothes, that you’d worn them and they’d clung to your skin and more than likely smelled of you, of that wonderful floral perfume that was subtle but nearly overpowering in close proximity — that thought alone had Sanji itching to bring the fabric to his nose and inhale, and he had to quickly turn the faucet on and shove the article beneath the stream of water to avoid doing so.

Piece by piece, mechanically and as empty headed as possible, Sanji soaked and washed the clothes under the stream of water, wringing each article out generously to avoid the chance of mildew. By the time he was half way through the basket, Sanji felt confident that he could get through the process without too much trouble (or too many inappropriate thoughts or southward flowing blood); but that was quickly wiped from his psyche when he mindlessly groped within the basket and laid touch to something soft and small and lacy.

Upon pulling it out to examine it, Sanji was hit with a flush of arousal so strong that it nearly knocked him off his feet; gripped within his fingers, soft and lacy and so, so delicate looking, was a pair of white, sheer panties. Sanji’s entire being short circuited, train of thought screeching to a halt and brain being instead assaulted by a myriad of images — of those sheer white panties clinging to your hips, cupping the swell of your ass in such a tantalizing way, hem resting against your tummy and rising in time with your labored breaths as Sanji picked you apart molecule by molecule —

“Stop,” Sanji hissed to himself, cursing his traitorous dick when it hardened to half mast in his dress pants, twitching in approval with each new image and thought that flashed into his hind brain. Sanji knew he should look away, knew he could stop these reactions if he just put the panties away, abandoned the task and fetched Nami instead to finish it — and though Sanji swore to himself that he wouldn’t do that due to his pride as a gentleman, the deepest part of him knew that he wasn’t going to do it because he was curious, and he was enjoying this, as much as that fact ashamed him.

Panties were one of the most, if not the most, intimate articles of clothing a woman could wear; they covered the sweetest fruit, kept it protected and out of sight, and they constantly shifted and hugged that sensitive pearl beneath. They were precious, and the fact that they belonged to you made them even more so.

Sanji nearly groaned at the thought; he could so clearly see you wearing the panties, see the way they hugged against your pussy, could imagine just how drenched the center would get as he worked you into oblivion with his lips —

Sanji opened the panties and this time, a groan did slip past his lips — because right there, in the center of the bridge of the panties, right where they would cling to your pussy, the fabric was slightly darker, and Sanji’s dick jumped at the sight. The overwhelming urge to shove them against his nose and breathe in the phantom traces of your slick sent alternating waves of arousal and intense shame through Sanji, because that was dirty, these panties were dirty, they were yours and it would be such an abuse of your trust in him if he did something like that — but the longer he stared, the stronger the urge became, and soon enough arousal had completely consumed shame, and Sanji quickly brought the panties to his face, shoving his nose directly into the center and inhaling. Sanji panted heavily against the fabric as the sweet scent entered his nostrils; it was faint, as he’d assumed it would be, but it was there, and it was so much sweeter than Sanji could have ever imagined.

Sanji pressed his hips into the counter as he took in lungfuls of your scent, hissing lowly at the pressure against the straining bulge in his pants, hips moving just so to chase a semblance of friction — consumed by sudden lust and the thought of you, the scent of you, and the urge to taste where you were sweetest, Sanji laved his tongue against the dried patch of slick, moaning haughtily into the softness of your panties.

Sanji’s surroundings and reality seemed to completely melt away as he lost himself within the sensations of smelling and tasting you, something he so longed for — just as much as he longed to corrupt you, to show you all the naughty things he shouldn’t, like he longed to see you wearing these panties, so innocent and white, and see them become forever stained from actions that were too devious and sinful for such a color.

Sanji wanted to stain you — he wanted your innocent little brain to fog over with lust, to see you discombobulate on his cock as he stretched you wide, as he took you to heights you’d never been, watch those beautiful eyes of yours roll back and watch you bare that lovely neck to him, to bite and mark and cover, to claim you, inside and out.

Sanji let out a guttaral groan as his hips picked up speed; the counter was firm and hard against his cock, a far cry from the soft, wet warmth he craved to be buried inside, but it offered friction, and with how hard his cock was, that’s what he needed, even if it was a bit unpleasant.

As consumed as he was by the myriad of sensations stoking his arousal, the soft rapping of knuckles against the wooden doorframe of the galley was almost lost on him; but thankfully, his ears had picked it up, and as if they had burned him, Sanji threw the panties into the sink below him. There was a soft splat against the steel, and Sanji winced as he realized the bridge of the panties had been soaked with his saliva — thankfully, the sound was too faint to be heard from the doorway, and the relief that offered Sanji increased tenfold as he turned to look over his shoulder and caught sight of you.

Sanji’s breath caught in his throat, and nearly all traces of arousal had been chased away by deep-seated shame, and Sanji did his best to smile at you through the guilt.

“Good morning, love. Is there something you need?” Sanji forced his voice to stay calm despite the sheer panic and guilt threatening to weigh it down; Sanji’s heart was thundering within his chest, battering against his ribcage with the force of a raging bull, and he willed his erection to just go away —

But his dick was not cooperating with him, and it stayed rock hard within his pants as you smiled back shyly and began to approach him; as you turned the corner of the island counter, Sanji belatedly realized that you had a small basket tucked under your arm, with a few articles of clothing within.

“Nothing much, Sanji. Nami told me you were helping with the laundry today, and I found these in our room so I thought I’d bring them in and offer you some help—”

Sanji watched with growing dread as you paused just a couple inches from the sink, your eyes zeroing in on the panties within and widening as your mouth dropped into an ‘o’ shape (which did not help with his erection, as his mind went to very shadowy places from the sight), and your cheeks went from normal to beet red in seconds (which also didn’t help, because it was far too pretty of a color on you).

Heavy, awkward silence fell over the galley as you stared, frozen, at the sink — Sanji wanted to look away from you, knew that you were far beyond embarrassed right now and that his staring was certainly not helping, but he simply couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Arousal was still thrumming beneath his skin, and it was like seeing you in a whole new light; knowing that those sweet, innocent, pretty panties belonged to you, that you’d worn them, that they sat snugly against your pussy and became saturated in you, in your innocence, had his dick twitching and fingers itching to pull your body flush against his. He wanted to see you wearing them for him, wanted you to bend over and present to him, so that he could see the outline of your pussy, soaked and ready, through the fabric —

Sanji inhaled sharply and tore his eyes away from you, and part of him wanted to stutter out an apology, beg for your forgiveness — he was being so shameful, sexualizing you objectifying you in the way he was, craving to take away your innocence, something that was so deeply ingrained into who you were —

But the words were stuck in his throat, unable to move past the lump of sheer shame and regret, and even if they could, would Sanji really have the courage to admit what he’d done, let alone apologize for it?

He truly didn’t know if he would.

Sanji’s actions had been so unbecoming, had went against the very essence of his code — but that was just the simple fact of it; you had this effect on him, a tendency to bring out the worst in him. And if Sanji were being honest with himself, he enjoyed it. He secretly loved the fact that you could draw that dormant beast from its slumber, all without even knowing you were doing it.

“Those, um… those are…” to Sanji’s surprise, it was your voice that broke the silence, and though he knew it would only stir him up more, Sanji snapped his eyes to you. You vehemently ignored any eye contact with him, gaze still locked on the sink, and in the blink of an eye with movements that were much faster than Sanji’s fuddled mind could perceive, your hand shot out and you ripped the panties from the sink, throwing them hastily into the basket before resituating it on your hip.

“I’ll w-wash these later,” you mumbled, cheeks still flaming, and Sanji hated the way his dick twitched at the sight. It was such a show of innocent bashfulness that it made Sanji heat from the inside out. Finally, you made the briefest of eye contact with him and gave him a small nod. “Carry on.”

Then you were turning on your heel and swiftly exiting the galley, leaving Sanji alone with his own thoughts, a half empty laundry basket, and a roaring flame of shame and guilt that Sanji didn’t think could ever be doused.

#opla #opla sanji #opla sanji x reader #sanji x reader #op #one piece

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ladykailitha · 24 days ago

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The Hellfire Exotic Club Part 10

Hey guys! We're back for another adventure at the Hellfire!

We have a lot happening in this one: Wayne is all doom and gloom, Steve and Eddie make it hot, Jeff is long suffering, and a hugely jealous Eddie with Gareth to talk him down. And that guy at the end? Don't worry about him, it's only a cameo and nothing more. I promise!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

“Boy,” Wayne said solemnly, “I’m starting to think either Robin or Steve or even both are cursed.”

Chrissy called Eddie that morning to say that she had twisted her ankle and had to take the weekend off. She would be able to get back to work on Wednesday, but Saturday, Sunday, and Monday was out. Her day off was on Tuesday and she willing to come in then to make up for it, but Eddie waved her off and told her get better.

“Should I call off the Tempting of Eve dance all together?” he asked ignoring the cursed comment.

Wayne sighed. “As much as I think that boy is bad luck, calling it off wouldn’t help anyone.”

“I mean the club isn’t hard up for cash right, now,” Eddie hedged. “So the harm wouldn’t be lasting.”

Wayne just shrugged. “I’m not here to advise you, Ed. Just here to hold your hand while you make all the decisions.”

“I know, I know,” Eddie huffed, drawing his hands over his face with a groan. “I just don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off of Steve if the dance goes on tonight.”

Wayne laughed. “Son, that is rather the point of the dance is it not, having your hands all over Steve?”

“Yeah, but I had Chrissy before to reel me in.”

Breaking the dance down from three to two wasn’t that hard, not with Scott and Steve helping get the choreography down. In fact Eddie was a little pissed how well they worked together. Him and Steve, not Steve and Scott.

Scott was straight with a wife and three kids. Nothing to be jealous of there. Nope. Not at all.

Steve was graceful and smooth where Eddie rough and tumble. Their styles matched each other’s. And fuck, with the new costumes that were color change under water, from white to red?

Steve was fucking Sin, capital S and all. Not just envy but fucking all of them. Pride in his ability to dance, Lust in his ability to make you feel every move, Greed as he soaked up the attention, Sloth because of how easy it came to him, Gluttony in how made Eddie want to devour him, and Envy for anyone who watched them, wishing they were Eddie, dancing with Steve.

Then the climax of the dance hit and “Samael” died in Lucifer’s arms to become Satan. His wings torn, his costume blood red, his body pressed to Eddie’s. Their erections only mere pieces of on thin material between them.

Eddie was on fire.

And judging from the half-lidded eyes and panting breath, Steve was too.

The crowd went wild. The money showered them like rain. Steve as Satan left the stage to let Eddie continue his show. Steve quickly changed out of the wet clothes so that he could hurry back out to watch Eddie preform with his guitar. All the while his heart was racing. It had never felt like this before with Chrissy.

Eddie played his heart out, putting as much attention into his strip as possible, to block out the thoughts of Steve’s warm body pressed to his own.

When the last article of clothing dropped and Eddie hung up his guitar he was still hard a rock and horny as hell.

He got on the pole, dancing the rest of his set grinding against the cold metal.

Finally the last note fell away and he looked up at the audience. The whole room had fallen silent in the rush of the sheer eroticism that rolled of Eddie in waves. Then they were on their feet, cheering and stomping their feet in excitement.

Eddie laughed out loud, taking his bow as the backup dancers picked up the money from the stage and carried it backstage.

When they were divvying up the tips for the night it was clear that both his solo dance and his duet with Steve was a massive hit.

Steve took his earnings with a soft and maybe a little shy smile and Eddie beamed back.

“That was fun, Stevie,” Eddie said with a grin. “We’ll have to talk to Chrissy and see what she thinks about changing up the dance to where she leaves after falling and it’s just me and you finishing the dance.”

Steve blushed a dark red. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Remind me to send flowers to Chrissy’s hook up,” Eddie teased with a grin, “for leaving her boots out where Chrissy could trip on them.”

Steve burst out laughing. “Wait? Is that what happened? Oh my God, that’s fucking hilarious!”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, leaning back in his chair smugly, “I am never letting her live it down. Ever.”

“I hear that,” Steve huffed a laugh. “If Robin had done something like that the teasing would never stop.”

He hovered at the door a moment before he wished Eddie good night.

Once Steve was out of sight, Eddie buried his head in hands. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there like that before there was a knock on his door. He lifted his head.

“Hey, man,” Jeff said with a shake of his head. “I thought I told you to knock it off with that burning the candles at both ends bullshit.”

Eddie raised his head and huffed out a laugh. “The whole fucking house is on fire at this point, man.”

Jeff slipped into the room and sat down on the sofa. He patted the spot next to him and Eddie went willingly.

“If you’re talking about that dance between Lucifer and Samael,” Jeff said dryly, “I’d fucking agree with you. You two looked like you were the only two people in the world and everyone liked that.”

Eddie threw his head back. “God, I want to cross that line. And there really is no reason not to. Steve has shown time and time again he is one hundred percent a part of the club, willing to do anything for it, its crew, and its owner.”

“So what is stopping you?” Jeff asked, putting his arm on the back of the sofa and massaging the back of Eddie’s skull.

“Steve and Robin are going through some pretty heavy shit right now,” Eddie murmured, “and I don’t want to get in the middle of that. But I have no idea when it will be resolved and my own resolve is crumbling with each dance he dances.”

“Come on, put your head up here,” Jeff said softly, “and I’ll give that big head of yours a proper massage.”

Eddie dutifully put his head on Jeff’s lap, letting his best friend work out the knots in his head.

“So at least tell him how you feel,” Jeff murmured. “Tell him you’re willing to wait until the trouble blows over, but that you really like him.”

Eddie tilted his back to look him in the eye. “Nah, I think I’ll pine for the rest of my days.”

Jeff gave his hair a good tug. “I’ll give you until the end of the month to tell him or I will.”

Eddie huffed out a sigh. “Yeah, and knowing you, you’ll do it during our dance with a big fucking sign all in glitter from the back of the club.”

Jeff grinned down at his friend. “Don’t forget the two billion heart stickers.”

“Oh of course,” Eddie huffed sarcastically, “can’t forget the stickers.” He twisted his head to look at him. “Just where would you even get that many stickers?”

“My sticker dealer,” Jeff said smugly. “I have a four year old niece.”

Eddie nodded solemnly; there was no one in the world who loved stickers as much as a four year old.

“You’re with the dancers more than I am,” he said softly, “what do they think of Steve? Like honestly? I know he ruffled feathers when he first started, but it’s been awhile and just because I haven’t heard anything...”

“Doesn’t mean there’s no fire to the smoke?” Jeff asked. Eddie nodded. “A lot of them respect the hell out of him, but there are some that are jealous as hell, that he’s so fucking talented. Hell, Brian is one of them. But I think Bri’s is more that Steve can do everything he can but he’s still... well, not thin. Not exactly.”

“Should I talk to him about it?” Eddie asked. “Bri’s a good friend and I don’t want him feeling like I’ve abandoned him just because a nice piece of ass showed interest, you know?”

“Taking him out to lunch and just being his friend would be a hell of a good place to start,” Jeff agreed. “Gareth likes Steve because you like him but they aren’t friends or anything. Scott and Steve are like actual friends. I think Steve was invited to his oldest kid’s birthday party last weekend.”

Eddie chuckled. As jealous as he was of how easy they got a long, he was actually happy that Steve and Scott were friends. “Better him than me, man. I tend to weird parents out.”

“That’s because you exude heavy metal badass,” Jeff said with a grin. “Kids love that shit, but parents...” he waved his outstretched hand back and forth, “not so much.”

Eddie sat up. “Why do I always feel better after I’ve talked to you? Are you like a witch or some shit?”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah. I’ve got magic all right, the magic of friendship.”

Eddie smacked him and Jeff chuckled.

“Seriously though,” Jeff huffed. “You bottle up all your feelings and problems and when I finally pry them out of you, you end up feeling better for it.” He got to his feet and pulled Eddie to his. “Come on, man. Let’s get you some fresh air. This place doesn’t even have fucking windows.”

Eddie chuckled, following his friend out the door and into the cool night air.

There was one thing Eddie didn’t normally allow and that was lap dances. Particularly lap dances in a private room. One they didn’t have private rooms, most because the place wasn’t built in a way to accommodate them and two, they welcomed assault in ways Eddie wanted to avoid.

If they did want a lap dance it was men only and only the principle dancers. Backup dancers were off limits. Again, it was trouble Eddie didn’t want to go courting. Especially from what he’d seen in other strip and erotic clubs.

But the person in question was a rather a big deal and was paying a lot of money for privilege. Like proper ‘fuck you’ money. But Eddie made sure to write up a contract for the guy. That this was a one off deal; that he couldn’t buy the dancer in question, that they weren’t property; that no matter how much money the guy had Eddie could not be bought either.

The man smirked a little and wagged his eyebrows, but signed on the dotted line. “There you go. I admire your dedication to your morals, your dancers, and your business. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy coming here.”

As much as it pained him, the dancer the gentleman wanted was Steve. He put Chrissy on wandering hands patrol and went to go have a smoke. This time it was Gareth that found him.

“You know a lap dance isn’t any different than a full strip, right?” Gareth huffed. He took the cigarette from him and pulled a long drag before letting the smoke drift out of the side of his mouth. “He doesn’t care about that guy anymore than he cares about any of the regulars.”

Eddie took the cigarette back and flicked off the ash before taking another drag. He spun the butt to get the remaining ash out of it and then crushed it under his heel. “I do know that. But I also know that ‘regulars’ can turn into ‘regular creeps’ at the drop of a hat. You remember what happened to Bakir last year. Cops had to be called.”

Gareth pulled out his own cigarettes and lit another one, handing it to Eddie. “I do remember, but you got Mr. Fancy Pants to sign a fucking contract. You’ll live.”

Eddie took a short puff on the cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a huff. They passed the cigarette back and forth for awhile.

“So what’s really got you worried about this guy?” Gareth said as he finished the last of the smoke. “And don’t tell me it’s just about Steve. I can see your wheels turning.”

“That if he wanted to buy the club,” Eddie said bitterly, “I’d let him do it in a heartbeat. Just stick to shaking my ass until he drives all the good ones away and I quit too. This place is eating me alive and I’m ready to give up.”

Gareth ground the butt under his foot. “Well that’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard you say and I was there when you said you want to fuck your guitar for your Pride set. Do I have to mention how even unstrung it would mutilate your dick?”

Eddie snorted. “It would have been hot. But like only the once, which is why I agreed not to.” He leaned his head back against the brick. “It just seems like a fucking tornado of trouble just touched down and I have to sit back and watch as my livelihood goes up in smoke with it.”

“It be nice to place the blame on someone,” Gareth agreed. “Billy. Stella. Levi. Steve.” Eddie glared at him, but he forged ahead. “But life doesn’t work that way. It’s never just one person’s fault or fuck up. It’s just life, man. So get your head out of your ass and do something.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “I can do this.”

Just then Chrissy came out back to tell them that Steve was done and getting changed and the gentleman was long gone. It was just the two cleaning crews awaiting the go ahead to start.

Eddie nodded and went inside to do just that.

Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Tag List: CLOSED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @dreamercec @sadisticaltarts @too-much-tma-stuff @dolphincliffs @chameleonhair

10- @themoonagainstmers @gloomysoup @novelnovella @micheledawn1975 @garden-of-gay

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #dance club au

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aphrostiel · 6 months ago

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It's My Time

I'm back with another portrait of Jesus, one I quite liked a lot and was challenging to do, as I don't draw people from that angle.

A little of backstory for this one: you might get reminded of a photo when you look at this drawing, and that is because I was inspired by this photograph https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BMTcxMTQyMTIwNF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwNzg5NzkyOA@@.V1.jpg which was taken for Jesus Of Nazareth TV-series of 1977. I always liked this show a lot and I think that Robert Powell's portrayal was beautiful.

So for this I wanted to draw my own interpretation of Jesus doing that same pose, adding some original aspects like the stars halo, who is replacing the crown of thorns; also adding a red tunic, I love that color on him. I felt like this was during His last days on earth, the inevitable betrayal and death coming soon, so He's looking up, perhaps calling to his Father, or thinking, or anything you want it to be, that's free to interpretation. I hope you like it ♥

#jesus christ #bible #christianity #christ #jesus of nazareth #the bible #bible art #christian art

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thepaintedsable · 6 months ago

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PYRO! It’s Pyro! Yippee e!

I accidentally inverted the colors all of the insignias and gave Blue Pyro Red Pyro’s flamethrower :( My professional explanation for the second part is that Blue Pyro beat the living shit out of Red Pyro and stole their weapon, my professional explanation for the first part is I am is have are stupid.

Close-ups and special sketch page below the cut!!!

I remembered TF2 existed and this happened.

I have to mention that I have never touched this game, but I’ve been fairly aware of it for a really long time. I strayed away from it all because I was not/am not the best at multiplayer games, especially shooters (especially team shooters), and I never exactly felt like I had the skill to draw any of the characters. Plus the comic’s whole “missing the last issue” situation. I just really, really, didn’t want to be let down by investing myself in something I couldn’t be invested in. But something about “Meet the Pyro” stuck in my head like a burr to a shoe.

Rewatched Meet the Pyro more times than I should have. Looked into more animations and the fandom. Finally broke down and read the comic LMFAO. Surprisingly, I really enjoyed it! Even with the missing part, the format it’s presented in and the general wackiness was refreshing compared to what I normally read.

I still like Pyro, and when I remembered I’m better at drawing now, augh. There he go. They are all over, as they should be.

MF has a homemade flamethrower, canonically killed great value brand Smokey the Bear (on purpose), is/was the highly successful CEO of an engineering company, and is so efficient on the battlefield his teammates are horrified by him and his methods. Also there is no telling wether they even know what they are doing or where they actually are because of the pyro vision stuff. Plus the fun mystery of who they are under the mask. :) We don’t even know nothin about this guy.

Just a silly little guy. I’d like to take both the “They know nothing about what they are doing” and the “They know everything about what they are doing” and staple them to Blue and Red respectively. Which is which, though? Not important. Only need enough info to pit two bad bitches against each other, and also to consider how their teams treat them in response. They are both fucked up, but in opposite directions.

ALSO WHY DID I HAVE TO FIND OUT THIS FANDOM HAS THE CUTEST SHIP NAMES EVER ON MY OWN????? I don’t even really like ships in general, but like… Texas Toast? Speeding Bullet? Brush Fire??? Can someone please please confirm that French Toast is another one oh my god???? I don’t even care about the ships, I care about wordplay and cleverness. If you look up Texas Toast on this site it is all Engineer x Pyro and that is SO FUNNY

I can’t promise that this will be the last Pyro page. He might be the one that’ll actually stay.

#sketchbook 29 #traditional art #art #sketchbook #gouache #watercolor #mixed media #colored pencil #alcohol markers #pyro #tf2 pyro #tf2 #team fortress 2 #team fortress two #team fortress fanart #fanart

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kinardsevan · 3 months ago

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as we all know, i haven't really been doing @bucktommypositivityweek because I've been busy working on other stuff. but I still wanted to contribute, and I was feeling inspired reading people's additions for 'outsider perspective'. this was also a character study for one of my OCs.

so have this: -

colors

Wilder Gray was born to be an artist. Color was quite literally in his name. He was also gay fresh out of the womb, and god bless the fact that his parents had accepted that from day one, because otherwise he never would’ve stood a chance.

Life had been easy for him, mostly. He came from enough money that his parents sent him to semi-private school for he better part of his upbringing. When they’d discovered his ability to draw and paint towards the end of elementary school, he’d been promptly enrolled in the Los Angeles Academy of Arts and Enterprise for intermediate school. Growing up in that kind of environment had fed his need to create as well as be surrounded by other creatives. It also fostered a very accepting community where he never felt out of place or like he couldn’t be exactly who he was. By the time he was in his twenties, enrolled in UCLA, he’d had several serious relationships.

He met one Thomas Kinard at the age of twenty-five, fresh out of his graduate program with an MFA in interdisciplinary arts. Tommy was just about to turn thirty-three and had looked extremely uncomfortable in his skin as he sat down at a gay bar in WeHo. It would be weeks before Tommy would admit to him that he was freshly out of the closet, and that up until a few months before, the most he’d ever engaged with the community was through one night stands and the boy he had shared a secret relationship with during his five and a half years in the military.

To be clear, Tommy had rocked Wilder’s universe on its axis. When they first met, Wilder wanted nothing to do with a relationship with him. he knew Tommy was still figuring out his footing with his sexuality now that he was out, and as much as Wilder was willing to be a friend through that process, he didn’t want to play the part of the boyfriend who helped Tommy experiment and get educated.

Which isn’t to say it panned out the greatest for him. He watched Tommy engage in multiple relationships over the next three years, and he was jealous as fuck every single time. He hated Mike, the forty-five-year-old man that Tommy met a few weeks after Wilder had met him. That relationship lasted four months. Mike was a domineering dick who did a damn good job at pretending to be sunshine. Wilder wondered if Tommy realized he didn’t have to date twice-divorced men in order to figure out what he liked, but it also wasn’t his place to speak. At least, until he and Tommy met up on a random Tuesday, three and a half months into the relationship, and Tommy tried to lie to him about bruises on his wrists. Wilder was a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them. He’d told Tommy that night that he was capable of doing so much better, that he deserved better. When Tommy had questioned him—over half a dozen beers—Wilder had kissed him about it.

Granted, that didn’t lead anywhere, other than far enough for Tommy to be confident enough to end the relationship with Mike. They were both single for a few months after that, but whatever Tommy was waiting on, Wilder wasn’t sure. He was still firm on his position about not wanting to be the person to help Tommy gain experience.

After Mike came Leo. Leo came with a million and a half red flags. Leo came with love bombs and grand gestures, with one thing on his mind. As soon as he got Tommy into bed, he was gone. Tommy never really talked about how everything with Leo panned out, but Wilder suspected that it wouldn’t have gone much further anyway. Another night over too many beers, all Tommy would say about Leo was that he was ‘rough. Way too rough.’

Either way, he bounced back. Ezra came along only a few weeks after Leo, and Ezra was so, so sweet. And so naïve. He was younger than Wilder, and clearly still trying to figure things out about himself. However, Ezra also seemed to have stars in his eyes about how things were going to work out, while Tommy had lost most of his rosy view on his sexuality. It wasn’t to say that they didn’t have fun together. But Wilder could tell that Ezra thought Tommy would settle down with him, while Tommy just wanted to work out the kinks he’d gone through in recent months and figure himself out more.

Ezra lasted two months.

Charlie showed up in the middle of October, almost as though he’d been swept through along with the Santa Ana winds. He put a smile on Tommy’s face that Wilder was positive he’d never seen on his friend. Charlie was the boy from Iraq. He was also Tommy’s first real love. Wilder liked Charlie.

Wilder didn’t love Charlie.

It wasn’t that Charlie was a bad guy. Charlie clearly cared about Tommy a fair amount, although it was questionable whether he actually liked Tommy as much as Tommy loved him. The deeper problem was that Tommy looked at Charlie the way Ezra had looked at Tommy. Except, Charlie had done the ‘make my parents happy’ way. He had been married, was now divorced, and still half-living in the closet. Wilder had warned Tommy against doing that with him, warned him that it would only lead to him getting hurt, but Tommy swore to him that Charlie had promised. Promised one day soon they would be out together. Promised they’d get to tell people the truth. Promised the kids would know him as more than just Charlie’s army buddy.

Those promises went on for a year before Tommy smashed what was left of his rose-colored glasses. Wilder was there with the alcohol and the metaphorical stitches to piece Tommy back together.

The thing was, by that time, he’d promised himself that he and Tommy were better as friends. That they’d built something strong enough to withstand the passing glances and the hugs that lasted a minute too long, the pauses when they pullled away where he could feel Tommy’s breath on his lips and it stirred something inside him that he hadn’t felt since he was sixteen and dating Danny Coston, sneaking kisses behind the fieldhouse while they were skipping out on PE.

He’d loved Tommy too much by then. As his friend.

As more than his friend.

And then one night, over beers and a pizza, Tommy was telling him this story about a rescue that Wilder still thinks was absolutely fucking stupid, rocking a helicopter between cliffsides to rescue a group of teenagers who thought rock climbing without gear in Griffith Park sounded like a fun idea. By some miracle, everyone had been saved, Tommy hadn’t crashed the helicopter, and it had made the news. What’s more, Wilder had been the first person Tommy had wanted to tell him about his suicidal save.

Wilder had to kiss him about it, of course. That shattered whatever falsehoods Wilder was letting himself live in at that point in relation to their relationship. Tommy wasn’t experimenting anymore, and he didn’t need an education. He was out, he wasn’t interested in keeping secrets, and he wanted something real.

. . .

The first year was amazing. Granted, WIlder never fell in love with the danger of Tommy’s job, but that was fine. He was in love with everything else about Tommy. He loved his personality, his face, his body, his hopes, his dreams, his willingness to be Wilder’s model on any occasion…he just loved Tommy.

Year two wasn’t as easy. They were settled, talking about living together but not quite pulling the trigger. Wilder’s career was doing really well. He’d taken part in four exhibitions in less than a calendar year and there was a lot of attention coming his way. There were offers coming out of Chicago and New York for residencies and some teaching opportunities.

There was a bad fire at a compound. Tommy got second-degree burns and had pretty bad smoke inhalation. Wilder hoped that after that, maybe he’d rethink his career.

Things got worse.

Still, somehow they found their way through. As they came upon their second anniversary, it felt like they were reaching the other side. There were still offers on the table for Wilder, and he had floated a few of them to Tommy. In return, Tommy had fully supported the suggestion for a three-month residency in Chicago. He would remain in L.A. during Wilder’s time away, but it was good for Wilder, and as Tommy had said to him at the time, ‘what’s good for you is good for us’.

Except, the offers didn’t stop at Chicago. He was weeks away from finishing his residency when he was offered the opportunity to take part in an exhibition in Texas. What was supposed to be a two week trip there turned into four months, and their anniversary came and went with little more than phone calls and the occasional flight out for a twenty-four or forty-eight hours together.

After Texas was Savannah, Georgia. Then Charlotte, North Carolina. Then a month-long trip to Florida with a few guest lectures at FSU. Eight months into what should’ve been the third year of their relationship, Wilder hadn’t seen Tommy more than fifteen days total. And the thing was, the love was still there.

But they weren’t in love anymore, and he knew they both felt it. Tommy loved his job just as much as Wilder loved his. Neither of them were going to give up their careers, and they weren’t going to ask the other to, either.

It ended on a facetime call, just a few weeks before their anniversary. There were tears shed, although it was more a sadness at the loss of what they’d hoped they could be than it was at the actual relationship. There were ‘I love you’s. And then there was silence.

. . .

The first time Wilder meets Evan Buckley, he’s barely been back in Los Angeles for a week. He’s set to start a residency for the summer and then take on a teaching position at UCLA in the fall. He’s supposed to be meeting some friends for dinner when the blonde man bumps into him at the bar, stammering out an apology with full hands as they turn to face each other.

Evan looks at him with a weird expression that Wilder doesn’t fully understand at the time. He dismisses the bump as equally his own fault and then turns his attention back toward the bar.

“Hi, baby. Sorry, I’m late.”

That voice feels like someone just poured a shot of Jack Tennessee Honey down Wilder’s throat. All the heat with none of the burn. As he turns back around, he spots a familiar head of brown curls just as the blonde tilts up toward him, and then Tommy is kissing the other man. Wilder inhales a sharp breath.

The thing is, it’s been more than a year. It’s been even longer since he and Tommy were something real. But something about seeing him kiss another man still stirs something in Wilder’s chest.

Still, he decides it’s not his place. Not here, and not tonight. He steps away from the bar and moves down some ten feet, around the corner of it and in between a few people.

. . .

“So were you going to call me?”

It’s been three days. WIlder is standing in the middle of an aisle at Blick, trying to decide between Golden and WIndsor Newton acrylics when he looks up. Tommy has a basket in his hand, half-full with small canvases and a fair amount of Liquitex.

“Hey, T,” he greets cordially. Tommy smiles at him and then steps forward, offering him a side hug. Wilder accepts it, tucking his chin over Tommy’s shoulder. “Good to see you.”

“I had to call your mom,” Tommy states when they part.

“I was gonna call at some point,” WIlder states a bit sheepishly.

“You always go with Windsor,” Tommy comments, as though he can hear the argument in Wilder’s head. “Forget Golden.”

Wilder chuckles. “Sure.” He’s quiet for a moment, reaches out for a tube of Windsor Newton. As he stares at the unbleached titanium shade in his hand, he contemplates. He tilts his head after a moment, glances over at Tommy. “So. The new guy.”

There’s a glint of something in Tommy’s eye that Wilder hasn’t seen in at least five years. Something he saw once, after their first drunken kiss.

“His name is Evan,” Tommy replies. He lets out a soft sgh. “He thought I was introducing you two. Had a hell of a time explaining to him that I didn’t even know you were back.”

Wilder nods. That familiar twinge of jealousy throbs in his chest, under his heart.

“You sticking around,” Tommy asks him after another minute of silence. Wilder glances back up at him.

“Got a residency downtown,” he replies. “And then UCLA in the fall. So I’ll be here, yeah.”

Tommy nods. “We should get dinner. Evan wants to meet you properly.”

“Sure,” Wilder says again. What else is he supposed to say? They’re not together anymore.

“Give me call when you’re more settled. We’ll plan something,” Tommy says with a pat to Wilder’s shoulder. He’s walking backwards then, heading back down the aisle. He shakes a finger in Wilder’s direction. “Good to see you, Wy.”

. . .

The second time Wilder meets Evan Buckley, they’re in another bar. He’s been in the studio almost exclusively for the better part of a week and had been dragged out by a friend with the promise of carbs—his fridge might’ve been mostly empty, other than juice boxes and pepperoni slices—but carbs is apparently at a bar that doubles as a pizzeria.

He’s not following them, he swears. But he’s been waiting for ten minutes on his pizza while his friend is on the phone with his girlfriend when Tommy strolls up to the bar with his boyfriend—Evan? Tommy has his arm wrapped around the younger man’s hip, head tilted in and listening as Evan prattles on with very animated expressions. Wilder isn’t even sure what he’s on about, but regardless, Tommy is nodding along, clearly invested.

When they make it up to the bar, some five feet away, Tommy’s arm wraps around Evan, boxing him in. There’s a grin on his face and Wilder notices as Evan leans back into Tommy’s body, turns his head and says something into his ear. Tommy laughs, loud enough that the tinkling sound of it carries in Wilder’s direction.

“Four for Buckley,” one of the barbacks calls out. Evan raises his hand and the man steps over with boxes of pizza. At the same time, someone from the kitchen yells out, “Veggie with mushrooms, light alfredo up.”

Tommy lifts his head at that, leans back from Evan just enough to look around the bar before his eyes eventually fall on Wilder. He smiles at him. A few seconds later, he’s up next to Evan’s ear, and then Evan glances over in Wilder’s direction. There’s a half-second pause where Evan seems to be taking him in before he smiles affiliatively at Wilder. Evan picks up the pizzas and Tommy switches the arm he has around Evan’s waist as they stride over. As they reach him, another person is settling Wilder’s pizza in front of him.

“So do you just hang out at all the best bars in LA,” Evan asks when they reach him.

“Honestly, I’m usually locked up in the studio,” Wilder replies. He glances in Tommy’s direction, but Tommy is still looking at Evan. Still that look in his eyes. Evan moves a hand from under the pizzas and extends it.

“Evan Buckley. Most people call me Buck though,” he states. Wilder extends a hand to him, shaking it.

“Wilder Gray.”

Evan nods. “I know.” There’s an expression on his face that’s caught somewhere between a multitude of emotions. A look that falls somewhere between curiosity, understanding, and skepticism. Wilder looks him over, spots the emblem on his t-shirt.

“You’re a firefighter,” he muses.

“And you’re a multidisciplinary artist,” Evan replies.

Wilder nods. It’s interesting. It’s like they’re meeting for the most cordial duel of all time, but neither of them have brought guns; just clipboards and pens.

A phone rings, and Tommy glances away from them. A moment later, he looks back up.

“Hey baby that’s Eddie and Chris wondering why we haven’t brought dinner back,” he states, giving Evan’s hip a light squeeze. Evan nods, although his gaze lingers on Wilder for a few seconds longer. He turns then, leans into Tommy. Wilder watches as whatever tension is left in Tommy’s body seeps away.

God damn. He really wanted to not be able to like Evan Buckley.

“See you around,” Evan states after a moment, glancing in Wilder’s direction again. Wilder nods at him. As Evan and Tommy walk away, Tommy’s hand still on Evan’s hip, his friend strides back across the room

“Hey, what’d I miss?”

. . .

A few weeks go by without any run-ins. Maybe it’s because Evan and Tommy find other places to hang out. Maybe it’s because Wilder basically lives in his studio (it’s definitely not that). Maybe it’s because of wildfire season (it might be that). Either way, Wilder doesn’t see much social interaction beyond his friends occasionally dropping by the studio and his parents stopping in to drag him into the sunlight. Once or twice he opens grindr, but nothing promising pans out.

It’s mid August when Wilder spots them out together again. Another bar, another set of drinks. He’s been flirting with a guy who introduced himself three minutes after Wilder walked through the door when he spots Evan on the other side of the room. He almost thinks about going over to say something, but there’s a look in his expression.

Something that looks curiously like defeat. Tommy is standing next to him—Wilder could place that mop of hair anywhere—talking into his ear much like he was that first night all those weeks back. He tries to look away enough to not make Evan look in his direction, realize he’s being stared at. But he sees the way Tommy’s talking calms Evan, the way he leans into him. The way their communication wipes out the defeat in Evan’s expression and replaces it with a small smile. And then a laugh. And then before long, Tommy has Evan half tipped on the barstool, their noses and foreheads pressed together as Evan straight-up giggles. Tommy is laughing with him, and fuck.

Wilder really wanted to not like Evan Buckley.

But Evan Buckley isn’t Mike, holding Tommy hard enough to hurt him (although the way he fists Tommy’s t-shirt before he kisses him makes a different kind of jealousy stir in Wilder, like these two probably throw each other around a bedroom with ease, and he wants to see that). Evan Buckley clearly isn’t Leo, just looking to fuck Tommy hard into a mattress and leave him behind.

Evan Buckley might be a little like Ezra, and Wilder isn’t sure how he clocks that. Except, there’s an ease about him that Ezra never had. Evan Buckley clearly wasn’t looking for an education. The love in his eyes was obvious to the entire damn bar, whether they wanted to know or not.

Evan Buckley definitely was not Charlie. He was openly making out with Tommy in public, hands all over the man’s body in a way that Wilder could tell was at least partially to tell the world ‘this is mine, and only mine’.

. . .

It’s an early morning in September when they run into each other. Wilder is definitely not prepared for an eight AM class, and he’s questioning why he agreed to take this particular one on, but there’s no option to back out now.

He stands inside the café wearily, waiting on his order, when the door chimes with ringing bells and he glances up. Evan Buckley.

The blonde is in a hoodie Wilder recognizes as Tommy’s. The Harbor Station seal is on the back of it with his last name printed across the bottom. Evan yawns as he walks up to the counter and grabs two coffees. Knowing the kind of schedules they work, it seems Evan is heading home while Wilder is just starting his day.

Except, Evan stops in his tracks when their eyes meet.

“Evan,” he comments softly, acknowledging the other man. “Or, Buck. If you prefer.”

Evan shrugs. “Evan is fine.” A pause. “Wilder. Its…convenient? To see you.”

Wilder lets out a small chuckle. He nods.

Evan walks forward a few steps, as though he’s not going to say anything further, and he makes it about a half-step past Wilder before he stops, leans back slightly, contemplating. He looks up at him.

“He still talks about you,” he states. There’s no jealousy in his tone, no anger. Almost like he’s just putting the information out into the universe. Wilder nods again. He stares at Evan for a moment and then tilts his head slightly, almost like he’s letting him in on a secret.

“And he’s in love with you.”

Evan stares at him for a moment, and Wilder isn’t sure if Evan has realized that or not. His expression doesn’t let on one way or the other.

Wilder takes a deep breath and the corner of his mouth pulls up a little into a small smirk.

“Tommy never once looked at me the way he does you,” he states. “Not even during the best of it all. And me? I couldn’t ever fully accept the job.” He pauses for a moment, contemplating whether he needs to say more. Even if he doesn’t, he continues anyway. “I found him when he needed a friend. You founded him when he needed a partner.”

A smile pulls at Evan’s face. If he has anything else to say, he doesn’t get the chance. His phone starts to buzz in the pocket of the hoodie, and he stacks the coffees together before pulling it out, answering the call, shooting only half a glance in Wilder’s direction before he speaks.

“Hi, babe. No, I already got it. I’ll be there in like five.”

. . .

It’s the first week of December. Wilder is exhausted, maybe even a little burnt out, but riding high. His residency has panned out into an exhibition, and it’s the opening night. He’s been bouncing all over the gallery, trying to greet everyone and talk to them, see what they do and don’t like about the work presented.

A hand comes down on his shoulder as he finally finds a few seconds to get a bottle of water, and he spins. Tommy.

“Hey, T,” he greets cheerfully, if not a little weary. “Thanks for coming.”

Tommy nods, and they share a quick hug.

“How’d you hear,” he asks. Tommy gestures off towards one of the walls and Wilder glances over.

“Evan saw the listing,” he states. “Told all of our friends we needed to come support. He’s really obsessed with that picture of your nephews.”

WIlder glances over at the picture. It’s a large portrait, of two children facing away from the camera. One, old enough and tall enough that he isn’t even in the image aside from his torso and legs, with his hand resting on the younger one’s head. The younger child is a toddler, leaning into his sibling’s leg with his arm wrapped around it.

“I’ve been tasked with getting your price list,” Tommy adds.

Wilder lets out a soft huff as a smile tugs across his lips.

He wanted to hate Evan Buckley. He wanted Evan Buckley to be like Mike. Or Leo. Or Ezra. Or Charlie.

He wanted Evan Buckley to not be like him, not love and respect Tommy the way he did. But then…

Evan Buckley isn’t like Wilder. Evan Buckley supports the people his boyfriend cares about. Evan Buckley doesn’t care that Tommy is a firefighter or a pilot. Evan Buckley clearly likes art. Wilder barely knows him, and yet he already knows Evan Buckley is caring and selfless.

He takes a breath and sighs, glancing back at Tommy, watching the way he watches Evan.

“You’re gonna marry him.” It’s not a question.

Tommy shifts his gaze back to Wilder. It’s the slightest movement, entirely imperceptible to someone who wouldn’t know otherwise. The twitch of the corner of his mouth, of his eyebrow.

“Forever doesn’t seem nearly long enough,” Tommy says softly.

Wilder can only shake his head at him as he smiles at his ex-boyfriend.

“Well, when you start interviewing wedding photographers, I’d like to at least be consulted,” he states, extending a hand to Tommy. Tommy laughs at him but shakes his hand anyway.

“Sure, Wy. But you should know, Evan’s seen your paintings and he wants one commissioned.”

“I’ll take that payday,” Wilder says with a laugh. When Tommy lets go of his hand, he pats Wilder’s shoulder, and then he’s off again, heading back over to Evan and the friends they brought with them. Wilder stands in his spot a moment longer, both hands on the waterbottle he still hasn’t had a drink from. He watches as Tommy’s arm loops around Evan’s waist, and as Evan leans into him. The way Evan points at a portrait and talks to Tommy earnestly about whatever it is he sees. The way Tommy is completely enraptured by Evan’s words, nodding and smiling at him with interest.

The way Evan puts his hand on the back of Tommy’s head as he leans into him, whispers into his ear. How, when Tommy turns into him to answer, Evan looks at him like he’s the only person in the room.

The way jealousy still lives inside Wilder, but not the way it was that first night. No, this jealousy is from the way they look at each other, the way Wilder only hopes someone will hopefully look at him one day. He finally looks away when the two men kiss, cracking open his water bottle. He manages to get a sip off of it before someone else is walking up to him.

“You’re the artist, right?”

#bucktommy positivity week #bucktommy #tevan #mini #firepilot #firebeast #the picture referenced is one of mine #outsider perspective #wilder

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hollyoongs · 2 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋ 𝝡𝝪ꓴ𝖭𝗚ᒍ𝖠𝗘'𝗦 ᒍ𝝤ꓴ𝙍𝖭𝖠𝗟 (𝗇𝗼t 𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝖺𝙧𝘆!!!) || M.J.H

—0.1: dear journal, i don't like her!

ᨓ 。bnd myungjae × fem reader ꒰🍭꒱﹕teeth rooting fluff ﹕489 words

𝙨𝗂𝗇𝗼𝗽𝙨𝗂𝙨

Jungkook didn't know what to do; he tried everything to tone down his son's energetic behavior after countless teacher's notes, but when he saw how his son loved to write him appreciation letters ever since he learned how to write (and how calm he stayed for more than five minutes), the idea of a diary came to his mind. But he didn't know that his son would love that journal (his son's words) so much to even write about his first love, but also how much she hated that girl with pigtails and a beautiful smile who didn't share some of her crayons with him.

The next day, Jungkook took Jaehyun to kindergarten, being greeted by Taehyung with a smile.

“Morning, Jungkook-ah! Jaehyun, ready for another day of adventure?” Taehyung asked cheerfully as Jaehyun bounded past them, already excitedly chatting with his classmates.

Jungkook chuckled, giving his best friend a quick nod. “I’m not sure he ever stops being ready. It’s like his energy never runs out.”

As they stood watching Jaehyun make his way into the classroom, Jungkook’s thoughts wandered back to the notebook. Last night had been a surprising success; after a little convincing, Jaehyun had spent a good fifteen minutes writing and drawing in it before bed, a rare moment of calm that Jungkook savored. It felt like a small victory.

“He was really into the idea of writing in his journal,” Jungkook mentioned casually, turning to Taehyung. “It wasn’t hard to get him on board after I explained it to him.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows lifted slightly, impressed. “That’s great to hear! Sometimes all they need is a little push in the right direction. I knew Jaehyun would enjoy it—he’s got a lot of imagination to express. Just like his dad.”

Jungkook smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, but I’m hoping this helps him focus in class. I don’t want him to struggle because he can’t sit still.”

Taehyung’s smile softened. “You’re doing everything right, JK. He’s not going to be perfect every day, but with your support, he’ll figure it out. And so will you.”

The bell rang, signaling the start of the school day. Jaehyun waved at Jungkook from the classroom door, his wide grin and sparkling eyes a constant reminder of why Jungkook worked so hard every day.

“I’ll see you later, Dad!” Jaehyun called out before disappearing into the room.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Today I goed to scool and I playd with my frends but that girl with the pigtiles didn’t shar her caryons with me!! I HATE HER and her dum smily face >:( She allways gets the good colors and she never shar!! I asked for the blue one like a million times but she say NO!! I said it’s not fare!! She just looked at me and stuck her tung out. SO RUDE. Then Mr. Kim camed over and said we gotta share and he gived me the red one but I DIDN’T WANT IT. The red one is dum and ugly and it doesn't even look like fire when you drawed it. Blue dragons are way cooler, evryone knows that!!

But I drawded a dragon anyway cuz I'm a HERO and dragons are cool and now I don’t care about the blue one. Maybe I don’t hate her tho. But I still don’t like her smily face. She always smily. Even when she’s mean. I hope she shar tomorrow or I’m gonna tell Mr. Kim again. Maybe this time I’ll get TWO crayons and she gets NONE!!! Ha! That would be funy.

𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦: MASTERLIST 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 - 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵

𝘃𝗲𝙧𝘆 𝗂𝗺𝗽𝗼𝙧t𝖺𝗇t 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲 (𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵)

@onedoornet @loserlvrss @tkooooop @jvngw0nlvr @hees-love @astrae4 @fae-renjun @nicholasluvbot @txtbrainrot @kwiwin @kkumistars @lynnimini @dalliesque @cherrycolaberry @seokkiez

#𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗹𝑦𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠! ৎ ˚⋅#ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑦'𝑠 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ #onedoornet #kpop #boynextdoor x reader #boynextdoor #myung jaehyun #han dongmin #taesan #kim woonhak #kim donghyun #leehan #lee sanghyuk #park sungho #boynextdoor au #boynextdoor fanfic

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howtotwirlaknife22 · 7 months ago

Note

Hello!! I read that you're taking requests, and I would like to ask for headcanons: what would the GHOSTS boys think or how would they react to (any) user trying to put pacman ghost stickers on their belongings like guns, gear, and such?

Thank you and take as long as you want to write for this, it was a thought I had but have yet to draw or write it<33

Omg I love this idea! I also love this idea because I like to think a few of them (Keegan, Kick and Ajax specifically) were born in the 1980’s when Pac-Man first came out so they grew up with this kind of thing and would totally vibe with it.

CW: none! Fluff :)

Ghosts find Pac-Man merch on their gear:

Keegan:

So starting off, I def think this man was born in the mid to late 80’s so Pac-Man stuff would be nostalgic for him from when he was a kid.

Keegan notices one of the power pellet ghosts (dark blue ghosts) on his rifle and while he is confused at how it got there at first, he can’t help but crack a smile.

He knew it was you who stuck that on there, and he couldn’t bring himself to peel it off.

The ghost ends up staying there for about 5 months before he ended up losing his rifle in a firefight with an enemy team.

He was slightly bummed after that, he actually liked the little quirk it gave his rifle.

but once you gave him another? He couldn’t be happier about it. He made sure to take extra care of his new rifle this time.

Ajax:

I imagine him to be born in the early 80’s, so he was growing up with it once it came out.

During a ruck through a desert you had been stationed in, you, Ajax and your platoon had settled down for a quick rest.

Ajax felt a slap to the back of his helmet and turned around to see you beaming mischievously.

He raised an eyebrow and took his helmet off, turning the back of it towards him only to see the little red ghost “Blinky” on the back of his helmet.

He thought it was a cool addition to his helmet, and from that point forward he had given you the nickname “Stickers”.

He had the sticker on his helmet before he was kidnapped by the federation, and sometimes you still wonder whatever happened to it.

Kick:

This man…this man was born in the late 80’s and video games were his SHIT when he was a kid.

He notices something bright and shiny on his laptop one day and he narrows his eyes before he moves in to investigate.

The little blue ghost “Inky” was placed perfectly on the laptop’s cover.

He immediately got so excited, he finally had a good excuse to nerd out and explain how he used to play the games when he was a kid, how he played the original in arcades and eventually on his game boy.

The smile on his face when he noticed the little blue ghost was priceless, and he’d curse himself forever if something ever happened to his laptop specifically because of the sticker.

Hesh:

Hesh was born in the late 90’s, but he was still able to appreciate the old arcade games at the mall or at an old fashioned pizza joint from time to time.

He had left his gear out one day when he went to go and grab something to eat from the mess hall, only to come back to find the little orange ghost patch stuck onto his vest.

“Clyde” he mumbled happily, remembering the name of the little orange ghost. He held his vest up in front of him, grinning at it.

He knew exactly who did it, but he went to go and find you afterwards so he could ask if you had another that he could stick onto Riley’s doggie vest.

Logan:

He was born in 2001, two years after his brother, so he was also on the tail end of the hype for Nintendo games as they were starting to transition to DS territory.

(Running out of ghosts in the pac man series, saving the best for last so let’s just imagine there’s a yellow ghost for this HC).

Logan strikes me as someone who likes the color yellow (yellow by Coldplay anyone?).

He notices a little yellow ghost sticker on his tablet, and he was a little confused at first when he saw it. He knew the character looked familiar, however he still went to ask his older brother about it.

Hesh had informed him that it was a Pac-Man ghost, and had nudged him with his elbow as he gestured to you who happened to be nearby talking to another soldier.

“Guess who bestowed you with your awesome prize?” Hesh teased Logan. “Sunny.” Logan gently punched his brother’s shoulder at the name he gave him in reference to the ghost on his tablet.

Logan couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the little ghost though.

He looked on at you and cracked a small smirk. How did you know his favorite color was yellow?

Merrick:

Merrick is one of the older men on the team, I imagine him to be born around the mid to late 70’s, so he saw the craze start and end.

But he was never that into video games, so he never really got into the whole Pac-Man craze.

He noticed a little pink ghost painted onto one side of his headphones.

He was livid, not for the fact that someone had painted on his personal property, but mainly for the fact that he received the pink one.

“If you’re gonna steal my shit and paint over it, the least you could have done was given me the blue one. Not this girly one.” He grumbled to you.

“Sir, Pinky is a boy..”

Merrick gave you an intense side eye and had you on kitchen duty for a week.

Eventually, the pink ghost grew on him, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself every time he saw it.

“Y’know, you’re actually kind of cute when you’re vandalizing other people’s stuff.”

Elias Walker:

Elias is another older gentlemen on the team, so he was right up there with Merrick as far as seeing the craze start and end.

Since he was one of the OG ghosts, he gets another power pellet ghost.

He noticed a little blue ghost pin along with his other chest candy on his uniform, and he raised an eyebrow at this.

He wondered if this was one of his two sons doing, until he noticed that they both had a variation of one as well.

He ignored it for a bit until he caught Merrick complaining about his own one day.

You had been caught red handed.

However, Elias was secretly a master at Pac-Man back in his prime and couldn’t lie if he said he didn’t love the little pop culture reference.

He let it slide, and he kept the pin on a little tray in his room, feeling nostalgic of his youthful days anytime he sees it.

Bonus: Rorke

Rorke gets a Pac-Man pin, specifically for the reason that he hunts the ghosts and takes them all down.

Inbox is open, message me with any requests!

~💌

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faetima · 7 months ago

Note

Hi!! Can I please request a hanahaki fic with blade? I'm not sure if you've written for him though!

Also, please take some breaks! You've written a lot of fics lately, you might get overworked 🤍

𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫. .

. .hanahaki just had to put you through fucking hell, didn't it?

// tws ; lil bit of cursing, blood ; gn reader ; modern au, hanahaki au

a/n: OH MY GOD ANON YOURE LITERALLY THE SWEETEST ILYSM OMOGMOGO

i will be writing a part two to this.. soon enough :3

you couldn't do anything about this stupid disease anyways, so what was the point of even trying?

you heaved up clusters and clusters and clusters of ugly bright red petals, their sickly sweet scent making its way up to your nose. you felt so fucking nauseous and dizzy. the fragrant miasma of flowers overwhelmed you. you wanted to vomit or cry or die or anything but cough up these dumb stupid flowers.

the flowers flopped onto your floor--your newly polished floor-- ungracefully, covered in slick mucus and freshly coated in splatters of blood. they smeared the previously pristine tiling with blood, the iron stench of it mixing with the flowers and filling up the entire room. you just wanted the disease to kill you already. if it was going to either way, why make you suffer?

after what felt like hours and hours and hours and hours of coughing and heaving and choking, the flowers finally stopped fucking coming. you took shaky shallow breathes, trying to ground yourself.

your palms stung, and you looked down to realize you had been digging your nails into the palms of your hand almost strong enough to draw blood.

your gaze trailed up to the stupid fucking flowers.

upon closer inspection, you realized they were spider lilies. red ones.

his favorite flowers.

too bad you hated them.

his eyes were the same exact color of the flowers you had just coughed up.

blade sat two seats in front of you and one to the right, and whenever you saw him you couldn't help but wonder why you had fallen for him.

he was always so indifferent and cold. sure there might've been something warmer under his icy exterior, but you weren't the type of person to go dig through someone's cold attitude just to find out what they were actually like.

but some days you wished you knew what was under that cold front of his.

you were getting worse.

you'd barley come out of your room to stretch your legs or go to the bathroom or even eat.

the spider lilies were killing you from the inside out. of course you had to have hanahaki for someone who probably hated you, if he even knew you existed, that is.

and, on top of that, out of all flowers, the ones you coughed up had to be toxic.

if just hacking up the flowers was bad, the nausea they caused because of being toxic was worse. you couldn't even go five minutes without feeling abdominal pain and nausea.

ugh.

blade swallowed hard.

why did he feel like this? why did his heart beat so fast when this random ass person passed by?

he gritted his teeth.

"kafka," he grumbled, barley glancing in her direction.

kafka glanced up from her book, setting it down elegantly and tucking a strand of mauve hair behind her ear, adjusting the tinted glasses sitting atop her head in the process.

"yes, bladie?" she grinned a little, and blade could only groan in irritation.

"who's that?" he muttered, gesturing towards the person he had been thinking about earlier.

"why?" kafka mused. "you've never been interested in learning others' names before now. what's changed?"

"nothing," he muttered gruffly, crossing his arms across his chest. his ears felt hot and his heart was beating faster and he was getting butterflies and he didn't know why.

kafka grinned, eyes glinting with amusement.

"ooh, i think someone has a crush."

"no."

"okay, let's go talk to them then bladie."

"no!"

"why not? is it cause you like them?"

"..fine. let's go talk to them."

your head fell forward a little. another sleepless night of coughing up flowers didn't bring you any good.

suddenly, your eyes snapped open.

was that.. blade? walking towards you? with kafka?

no, it probably wasn't. you were probably just sleep deprived and hallucinating or something.

but then you smelt the strong and unmistakable scent of anise, too real to be your imagination.

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mostmagical · 7 months ago

Text

Pairing: Stranger/Stranger (Adrinette, but they don't know that) Words: 4k Summary:

“Can I kiss you?” It's costume theme night at the local bar, and Marinette finds herself a bit entranced by a pretty stranger wearing cat ears. She thought she would be content just watching, until Alya suggests she asks for just a little bit more.

Marinette chewed on the edge of her fingernail, trying not to be too obvious as she peered across the bar at the stranger on the corner.

They had met on the dance floor not too long ago, and she had been having trouble looking away ever since. He was attractive, despite the obnoxious cat-eared beanie tight over his blond hair, drawing her towards him in a way she really hadn’t felt in, well, ever. At least, not towards someone she barely knew. Not since the breakup.

The liquid in his delicate cocktail glass was dyed pinker by the spotlight he stood under, so she couldn’t tell if he was actually drinking anything as passion fruit-flavored as the color, or if it was just straight liquor. Her breath caught as he removed his hand from the water-beaded surface, lifting it to adjust the thick-rimmed specs he wore and reminding her of the sparkling green eyes she’d spied earlier.

Blond hair. Green eyes.

She wondered if it was some cosmic joke that this always happened to her.

Even the cat ears were suspect, but she was trying her best not to acknowledge that.

A hand landed on her arm, and she jumped before realizing it was Alya returning from the bathroom.

“Still staring?” Alya asked. She had forgone her eye glasses that night for the sake of ‘accuracy,’ providing Marinette a clear view of the humor glittering through her friend’s hazel eyes.

Marinette sputtered, readjusting the skewed heart-shaped sunglasses over the bridge of her nose. “Wh– What? Staring? Staring at who– I mean— Staring at what? Because obviously I’m not staring and even if I was I wouldn’t be staring at anyone, certainly not anyone handsome and charming and—”

Alya interrupted Marinette’s spiral with a laugh. “Right, right, right.” She shook her head, the red curls bouncing across her bare shoulders. “You weren’t staring at the guy you danced with earlier, and you haven’t been nervous and jittery ever since. I imagined all of it.”

“Yes.” Marinette nodded sagely. “Thank you, exactly. It was all in your head.”

Alya simply hummed, turning to get the bartender’s attention and ordering the two of them another round. With her friend distracted, Marinette couldn’t help but let her eyes wander again. The stranger was now scrolling through his phone. Oh no. Was he calling a taxi? Checking train schedules? Was he leaving?

Pain blossomed over her thumb and the taste of metal hit her tongue as she bit down just a bit too hard.

“Marinette!” Alya hissed, pulling Marinette’s hand away from her mouth and quickly wrapping it in a cocktail napkin. “What are you doing to yourself? Do you want to get kicked out?”

She was sober enough to feel the embarrassed flush cover her cheeks. “Sorry.”

Alya’s barely concealed eye roll was colored with humor. “You should just go over and talk to him.”

Marinette blinked owlishly. “And say what?”

“Ask him for a kiss.”

“What?!” She knew her shriek was loud enough to disturb the patrons on either side of them at the bar, but all she could hear over the pounding of the bass was the blood roaring in her ears. “Why would I do that?”

Alya just laughed. “Look at you” —she waved a hand at Marinette’s napkin wrapped finger— “biting through your nails because you can’t stop thinking about how hot you are for him.”

“I– I–” Marinette faltered, her mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton the more she tried to move it. “I am not.” At Alya’s raised eyebrows, she tried and failed to come up with another reason why not. “I– You know I’m not like that!”

“Normally, yeah,” Alya replied, shrugging, “but there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun, just this once.”

Marinette swallowed.

“And have you ever been so attracted to a stranger in your life?” Alya continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this wound up. Not since Adrien, or Luka, or– actually–” She stuck a finger in the air as if the thought had just struck her from above. “No, not Luka; it’s more like with Chat N–”

“Stop stop stop!” Marinette cut her friend off, throwing a hand over her mouth to stop up the words.

Alya licked her palm in objection.

“Ew! Hey!”

“You are so silly, M,” Alya laughed as Marinette pulled her hand away and dramatically wiped it on her shirt. “It’s not weird to have a crush on a superhero.”

Marinette chewed her lip, traces of the watermelon drink she’d had hours ago still tasting in the corner of her mouth. “You know it was more than that.”

A hand patted her shoulder. “Of course I do, but the point still stands.” Alya grinned, as sly as her own superhero persona would imply. “You deserve one night to not care. Treat yourself. You need to cut loose after, well, you know.”

Marinette couldn’t deny that since she had presented it, Alya’s idea was sounding more and more appealing. Though maybe that was the vodka talking. Or the desperation.

“He sure seems like your type after all,” Alya pressed, squinting her eyes as she studied him. “Tall, pretty, charming... blond.”

“Green eyes, too,” Marinette added, despite herself.

“What?” Alya laughed. She reached out a hand, flicking the frame of Marinette’s sunglasses playfully. “You could tell through these bright pink abominations?”

Her face warmed in embarrassment. “I may have, sorta, practiced discerning colors on my posters of Adrien with them before,” she admitted. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “His eyes look the same.”

Alya laughed again, full and delighted. “Marinette! Oh, there’s no one like you,” she said, grinning. “Now you really have to do it. I’m convinced it’s fate.”

It did feel almost divine.

Alya squinted once more, and Marinette wished her friend had listened to her when she told her to wear her glasses anyway. “He even kinda looks like—” She cut herself off with a hum, shaking her head. “You deserve to get out there again anyway. It’s been ages and I kinda think you need a rebound.”

Marinette wasn’t sure if she fully agreed with that statement, but she wasn’t exactly in the mood to broach the subject and down the mood.

“What if he laughs in my face?” she asked instead, sticking her lip out in a pout. It was meant to look cute, so maybe Alya wouldn’t push so much, but the fear was very much real. Sure, she and the stranger had had an amazing conversation, and their chemistry had been more intoxicating than her drink, but he was still that— a stranger. There was no telling what might happen if she walked up to him and asked for something so daring as a kiss.

“Marinette, look at me,” Alya said, placing both hands on either of Marinette’s shoulders. “You are hot. You are cool. And he is totally into you.”

Was there any explanation for the way her heart leapt straight out of her chest?

“Into me?” Marinette repeated. “What makes you say that? Are you sure?”

Alya smirked dangerously. “Well, don’t look now, but I may have caught him taking a few glances over here while your back was turned,” she explained.

Marinette, of course, looked. Her head turned at just the precise moment to catch his gaze in her own, and sure enough, the stranger’s jaw momentarily dropped upon making eye contact. He recovered quickly with a sweet smile, raising his glass in a cheers motion from across the bar.

Alya sighed, shaking her head. “Well, at least there’s another sign for you,” she said, amused. Grabbing Marinette’s shoulders again, Alya turned her back around to look at her face-to-face. “See? Repeat after me: I am hot.”

A bit dazed from the encounter, Marinette could do nothing else but exactly what Alya asked. “I am hot,” she repeated.

“I am cool,” Alya continued.

“I am cool.”

“He is into me.”

She choked, the last phrase a little rougher on liftoff than the others. “He is, guh– into me.”

“One more time, all together.”

Marinette closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. She regretted it, as the smell of sweat and hops stung her nose. But the intake of air managed to ground her, all the same.

“I am hot. I am cool,” she chanted. “He is into me.”

“Yes!” Alya cheered. “Good job!”

The mantra was like a magic spell. Marinette opened her eyes, suddenly energized. Her stomach pitched a little, but it was full with excitement.

“Two cognacs,” the bartender announced, jolting Marinette from her reverie.

“Merci!” Alya picked up a glass, pressing it into Marinette’s hands with cool insistence. “Drink this, and then get over there!”

Marinette obliged, downing the drink in two big swigs. The alcohol no longer burned the back of her throat, settling in her stomach with a pleasant warmness. She replaced the glass on the bar with a firm clink, then sucked in another deep breath, wiping her upper lip with the back of her hand.

“Okay,” she said under her breath, hyping herself up. “Okay!”

“Go!” Alya gave her one more push, spinning Marinette around and pressing the heel of her hands into her shoulder blades. “Your prince charming awaits,” she sang.

Marinette stumbled forward, unsteady from Alya’s shove, but she quickly regained her bearings. Her blood pumped faster in her veins as she approached the other end of the bar. She swore she could feel every fingertip throbbing with her own pulse as she got closer.

Just a little kiss.

Plenty of people did that.

(Although, it wasn’t something she had ever considered doing herself.)

It wasn’t... weird to ask.

And like Alya had said, he was into her. The stranger probably felt the exact same magnetism she had. He would want to kiss her.

Right?

Steeling her nerves, she stood behind him, watching him swirl the liquid around in his glass. His head tilted towards where Alya stood by her lonesome on the other side of the bar, and Marinette’s heart skipped a beat in her chest as she wondered if he might be looking for her.

She smoothed down the synthetic purple wig as best she could, and adjusted the collar of her leather jacket. She almost wished she could dart off to the bathroom for a final appearance check, but she knew she would lose all her built-up confidence if she did. With butterflies brushing the insides of her tummy, she reached out a hand, tapping him twice on the shoulder.

The stranger turned, and she thought she might let herself believe his face really brightened when he saw her.

Nervously, she waved. “Hi.”

“Hey, Clara,” he said in a soft voice, somehow still audible over the loudspeakers. His smile was sweet and reserved. Her throat tightened up. “I was hoping you’d want to talk again.”

Marinette felt like the breath was stolen right out of her lungs. “You– You did?”

A hand reached behind the back of his neck in what must have been a nervous tick— yet another similarity to more than one of the loves of her life, oddly enough. “Yeah, I mean—” Was that a hint of red on his cheeks, or were her glasses fogging up again? “You– Uh, I loved dancing with you.”

The smile pinched her cheeks. “I loved dancing with you, too,” she said. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Wait a second,” Marinette said, her mind finally catching up to the last 60 seconds. “You called me Clara. I didn’t—?”

His mouth twitched into a grin. “Your outfit,” he pointed out. “Inspired by Clara Nightingale, right? From the ‘Heartbreak Disco Baby’ video?”

“You recognize it?”

The stranger’s face seemed to light up, even in the darkness of the bar. “Of course!” Marinette watched agape as his eyes scanned up and down her body, dare she say, appreciatively. “I’ve only watched that video about a million times and this is a perfect recreation.”

Pride swelled in her chest at the praise. “Thank you,” she replied. “I do take my costuming very seriously. My best friend even dressed to look like Sonia Auclair from that video.” She gave her loose hair a flip over her shoulder as she took the moment to seize up his outfit as well. “And you are—”

“Dressed at the very last minute,” he supplied bashfully. “I wasn’t exactly planning to come out, but luckily I had this beanie.”

“It suits you.”

His smile seemed genuine at her compliment. “You really think so?” he laughed, playing with the edge of the material. “Thanks.”

He was adorable. She bit her lip against the rising heat on her face.

“Heartbreak Disco Baby,” he repeated thoughtfully. “That doesn’t mean you’re a little heartbroken, are you?”

Adorable and considerate.

Now or never, she thought.

“Can I kiss you?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, her chest seized up. She said that. Oh god. She really said that.

The stranger’s face blazed a delightful shade of red, and Marinette wondered if they would match or clash were someone to compare the two of them. “Sorry,” he coughed. “I think I might have misheard you?”

She could run away. Back out right now, and save herself the mortification. Unfortunately, a flash of movement on the other side of the bar caught her attention, and she was met by Alya fluttering her fingers across the way. Marinette forced down a swallow.

“I asked to kiss you,” she repeated clearly.

When he only continued to stare at her, face crimson and eyes wide, Marinette slipped dangerously close to panic mode.

“Forget it!” she practically screeched. “You don’t have to do that—” She cut herself off with an awkward laugh. “I just— whew! Is it hot in here? I just— My friend over there told me I need to cut loose, and she told me to just go for it because I, well, I mean you’re very pretty— and we had chemistry…? Oh god, I said that— I mean, no, I stand by that, we do—” She covered her mouth, eyes wide in horror over her spew. “I swear I haven’t had that much to drink,” she admitted, rubbing her temples. “Sorry, I’ll go.”

“Okay.”

Marinette froze, slowly drawing her gaze away from the floor and back to the stranger’s face. “What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck again, the redness of his face having faded to a lovely pink that blended with the colored shades of her glasses. “Okay,” he said again. “I’ll kiss you.”

“You- You– uh. . .” Words didn’t seem to want to come to her rescue.

Luckily, the stranger did. He eased off away from the bar, facing her fully as he took her limp hand in his. With a gentle tug, he guided her to step closer towards him. “Is this okay?” he asked, his warm tone sending her heart fluttering.

She nodded almost too vigorously before she finally managed to rouse her tongue. “Yes, yes, it’s okay.”

This close, she could smell his cologne, a cluster of warm linens and nutmeg that sent a pang of recognition down her spine. His chest was firm and radiated a comfortable warmth that Marinette felt she could fold into. She followed his eyes as they dropped down to her mouth and back up again. Goosebumps raised over her skin as his hand glided up her arm, his face an image of patience. Until it changed to panic.

“Wait, oh no,” he gasped. “You’re not–”

“What?” She tilted her head in confusion, not really sure where this reaction had come from.

His mouth was a worried line. “Have you been drinking?” he asked. “Because I’m sober, and I don’t want to be taking advantage of you–”

Marinette cut him off with a snort. “I promise you, I am completely of sound mind, when I do this.”

Riding the sudden wave of confidence, Marinette mirrored his earlier movements, allowing her hand to trail up his arm and over his neck, warm skin beneath her fingertips. As she gently cupped his cheek with her palm, she pressed up on her tiptoes, rocking forward to sear her lips to his.

His breath fanned her mouth as he gasped into it, truthfully without a hint of the taste of alcohol, and his lips were pleasantly warm and plush against hers. She found herself quickly sinking into it, especially as a hand landed on her lower back and held her steady. Her other hand dove into the hair at the back of his neck, teasing the soft strands in rhythm with the glide of their kiss.

It was more than sparks and explosions and fire— all things she never expected she would feel while kissing a complete stranger.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something achingly familiar— comfortable, her mind supplied— about the pressure of his mouth on hers, and the little hums she could feel vibrating over her skin. Despite herself, she cracked open her eyes and studied his face as he continued to kiss her.

Green eyes. Blond hair. Cat ears, puns, those lips. Her heart almost seemed to stop as she realized she knew exactly why the sensation was so familiar. She had felt this kiss before. It could only be Chat Noir, she realized, warmth flowing between her shoulder blades.

She pulled away, just a centimeter to breathe between them. “Mon Chaton?”

He blinked open dazed eyes, blinking at her as if waking up from a dream. “Chaton?” he repeated. His eyes widened. “My Lady?” His voice was breathier than she was used to hearing it, and it sent a thrill up her spine.

“It’s you.” She almost wanted to laugh. “No wonder we fit so well together.”

It only took a few seconds for her partner to recover from his dreamlike state. He grinned his cat-like grin. “We’ve always been the purrfect team, after all.”

“Oh my god,” Marinette groaned, pressing her lips to his once more to shut him up. However, his mouth remained shockingly slack against hers. She pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

Seemingly dumbfounded, he replied, “You kissed me again.”

Oh god. Oh, god. He didn’t want to kiss her now that he knew. She was such an idiot.

“I’m so sorry.” Hastily, she tried to push away from his chest, only for him to grab her wrists and prevent her escape.

“Wait, no. I just–” His mouth worked wordlessly, endless green eyes searching her own. “Are you sure you want to be kissing me? What about—”

“Adrikins!”

Marinette froze in place, the familiar voice sending a chill up her spine— one that was cold and bruising, rather than warm and thrilling tingles that her partner had sent up and down her back all night.

Her hands went limp, still caught in Chat Noir’s hold, as the spray-tanned arms of Chloé Bourgeois wound around his neck.

Chloé, dressed in a flowing gown that did not at all match the whimsical costumes in the bar, immediately launched into complaints, current company left unnoticed, or rather ignored. “Thank god, I finally found you,” she cooed. “I can’t believe you left me there with that cousin of yours and Tsurugi. Ugh.”

A pained expression flashed Marinette’s way before her partner turned his head to meet Chloé’s powder blue eyes. “You had Zoé, too, didn’t you?” he asked her.

“Ugh, you know I would rather it be just us two.”

Marinette was rooted to the spot. It felt as though her brain was misfiring in about a billion directions. And yet, somehow all those directions ended at the exact same destination: the stranger before her.

A stranger, she was realizing, that was not so strange after all.

In fact, this was probably a person she knew better than she ever thought she had.

Because if she added everything she knew up, carried the two, and multiplied by three, well...

It seemed like Chat Noir was Adrien Agreste and the two (three...?) loves of her life were actually just one.

Nervous green eyes peeked at Marinette, as if to check that she was still there. The redirection of his— Adrien’s, oh god— attention finally drew Chloé’s eyes east, and if Marinette thought she could make it out of this easily, she was quickly corrected when an appalled groan filled the air.

“Dupain-Cheng?” Chloé stuck her nose up in the air, somehow glaring at Marinette through only the corner of her eye. “What are you doing with her? I thought you two broke up.”

“It’s complicated,” Marinette said, at the same time Adrien burst out “Marinette?”

She took one look at his face before immediately casting her eyes away again, an angry red blush overtaking her cheeks.

What the hell what the hell what the hell.

She found herself almost wishing for an akuma alert to save her. Except, no. No, she didn’t, she realized, because she would still have the same man right there with her.

“Marinette?” Adrien repeated again, voice sounding almost far away, even in a room where her ears were already blocked from the loud music.

Shyly, she met his pleading eyes, pushing her sunglasses back up and onto the top of her head. His jaw all but dropped open as he watched her, recognition flitting through his eyes.

They were quite the pair, weren’t they? Marinette could have laughed. A pair of glasses and neither realized that they were talking to their own ex. And the fact that she had recognized Chat Noir’s kiss, but not Adrien’s... No. Nope. Not going to unpack that.

Chloé glanced between them, a look between disgusted and bored plastered across her face. “What’s with that reaction?” she asked. “Listen, if you’re getting back with this weirdo, I–”

“Chloé!”

Marinette had no idea where Alya had appeared from, but she had never been so happy to see her best friend throw an arm over the other girl’s shoulder. Chloé physically recoiled under Alya’s touch, attempting to lean away, but to no avail.

“Césaire,” she grunted.

Alya grinned, unbothered by the less-than-enthusiastic response. “Oh my god, it really is you! I could barely tell; forgot my glasses, silly me. How’ve you been?” she asked. “I want to hear all about the new campaign.” Over her shoulder, she threw Marinette a wink.

The realization that Alya was providing her a way out burst across Marinette’s skin. In a flash, she had wrapped her hand around Adrien’s wrist, bodily dragging him through the crowd and away from their classmates. He came along willingly, only slowing down to dodge around drunk patrons that stepped between them.

Eventually they found themselves comfortably alone in a quiet hallway leading to the bathrooms. The hallway was much brighter than the main floor, illuminating all of Adrien’s features in a way that she couldn’t believe she had missed before. Marinette looked up at him in question, squeezing his wrist tight between her fingers. “When did you get back?” she asked, too desperate for the answer to pretend like she wasn’t.

He looked worried. “Just tonight. I– I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me.”

“Of course I did,” she murmured. She realized she had said it too quietly to be heard over the speakers when Adrien kept going.

“Everyone was asking questions.” He pressed a hand against his forehead, twisting her heart with it. “And just talking so much about my dad and England and... I don’t know. I– I had to get out.”

Her breath caught. She began running her hand up and down his arm to try and soothe him, saying, “I know, kitty, I know.”

“Zoé mentioned you and that’s when I realized I had to make a break for it.” He ducked his head shyly. “I should have figured I’d run right towards you.”

Marinette huffed out a laugh, her earlier conversation with Alya about fate and divinity seeming oh so relevant now. She let her hands rest on both his cheeks. “Yeah, seems like we’ll always be in each other’s orbit, doesn’t it?” she asked. “I just can’t seem to ever let you go.”

His eyes went shiny, and she wondered if he was about to cry. “Do you really mean that?” he asked, covering her hands with his own.

Her shoulders dropped with the tension she had been carrying. “Of course I do,” she replied, running her thumbs over the dark circles beneath his eyes. “I’m sorry about that night. I just didn’t want you to leave and I didn’t know how to say it.”

“I didn’t want to leave either,” he said with a watery smile. “Are you disappointed you didn’t get to kiss a stranger?”

She used her thumb to brush one errant tear away from his eye. “Considering I’d rather be kissing you, anyway?” she teased. “No, I’m not disappointed at all.”

His mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Not even about...?” He glanced back and forth down the hallway, as if checking for any listeners, only to look back at her with just an eyebrow waggle to voice his concerns.

Marinette giggled again. “Come here, kitty.” With a gentle tug, she guided his face down to hers, kissing him all over again.

If you enjoyed, consider dropping a kudos or comment on Ao3! <3

#INEVITABILITY #ml fic #ml fanfic #adrinette #ladynoir #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #love square #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #adrienette #my writing #i almost tagged this demisexual marinette because i feel like it's implied but it's not stated.....#IDK IDK IDK…#my marinette always is though 😳

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theboxfort · 1 year ago

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List of details I've noticed in TPOT 1

Because I miss Pie, Liy, and Stapy. Gonna start AFTER the Cake at Stake

A lot of the focus will be put on Death PACT Again because. That's my favorite team.

Also ran out of space, so all the Exitor stuff after the credits is in the reblog!

Details in the elevator scene (seen above):

The most obvious one is where Two opens the door and it hits Puffball's face

Pie gets pushed into the elevator by the crowd (she's just sitting there)

Alternatively, she might actually be sliding backwards by herself instead of being pushed by the crowd

Coiny is most likely the first object to get into the elevator, as seen here

Fanny started out quite far away from the elevator but then scampered into the elevator. Also her legs barely moved

Pen was just out of the shot and had to haul ass into the elevator

Lightning waited for everyone (aside from Two) to get into the elevator before getting in there himself

Alternatively, an observation by @sweeswawswussy on twitter (a REALLY good one)!

lightning kinda look like hes contemplating to either float down the building with black hole or getting into the lift the face he made when he looks at black hole tho hhh looks like he felt sorry for him

BH didn't get in, because he didn't want to accidentally suck anyone up (which will 100% happen in such a small space), so he went down on his own

The rest of these are set AFTER the team picking scene (under the cut, because it's LONG)

When Two announced the challenge, everyone's standing in teams :]

The painting in the lobby, next to the elevator

During the elevator gets stuck scene with Just Not, while everybody reacted to the alarm, Pillow didn't. When the elevator falls, she's the only one smiling

Remote added a face to her drawing after she finished explaining <:]

PIE HOPPED DOWN FROM THE STAIRS LOOK AT HER GOOOOOOOOOOOO

Are You Okay's scene, yeah, let's go

This is shown in order! TB does not scream at all. GB seems excited at first, but after she got flung back, she's now. Not screaming in excitement. Eraser has the classic BFDI mouth in the first two flings.

COMPUTER ENHANCE THE PILE

80% sure that this is Cloudy's pile, I think that's a painting/drawing of Cloudy? The shape seems to fit him. There's also Balloony and Woody in the background, and maaaaybe Roboty to the bottom right, I'm not too sure.

BACK TO DEATH PACT!!!

In this scene, Fanny's the only member who doesn't seem to be tired! She's not panting, she's up straight (can't really tell if she's sitting or standing), and she's >:C

Remote gets recharged later, that's why she's also up in the second pic

When Just Not made it to the top, Book has the scrunkly old BFDI arm asset (the arm that's waving)

FANNY, SHE'S SMILING EHEHEHEHEH IT'S NOT A DETAIL, I JUST LIKE HER!!! Also Pie opens up her eyes :]

Sorry for the Death PACT Again stuff, I really like them. Here's a shot of them getting thrown by Remote

Remote grabs Trees and tells him to get Black Hole

TINY DEATH PACTERS...

Okay, so I counted all the hits Two got in this scene, and here's a list of what happened:

2 punches from Snowball

1 kick from Eggy

Another smack (1) from Snowball

1 jump/stomp from Marker

2 face slams from Robot Flower

1 slam from Bell

2 zaps from Lightning

1 BODY SLAM from Basketball

1 tray slap from Pillow

1 vomit to the face from Rocky (with Tree holding him)

1 jump kick from Foldy

1 knee strike from Basketball (GO BASKETBALL GO)

At least 10 stomps from Grassy (since we don't know if he kept stomping after the cut)

So in total, Two received 25 hits from these guys. The team that did the most damage is...

The Strongest Team on Earth with 20 hits! 10 from Grassy (the MVP), 3 from Snowball, 2 from Robot Flower, 2 from Basketball, 1 from Bell, 1 from Eggy, and 1 from Foldy!

A tangent here, from this screenshot, we can see that there's 6 floors in the hotel! Each floor is color coded too, red = lobby, orange = 2nd floor, yellow = 3rd floor, green = 4th floor, teal/cyan/blue = 5th floor, and the roof. Is a roof.

Fun fact, Basketball's lab from TPOT 2 is on the 4th floor!

Exitor stuff in the reblogs!!

#osc #battle for dream island #bfdi #bfb #tpot #long post #pink posts #part 2 done and it's in the reblogs hi hi and good night

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ninja-knox-ur-sox-off · 10 months ago

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Wobbly Hearts AU

Summary: Kai doesn’t like soulmates. He doesn’t want them and he certainly doesn’t need them. High school is hard enough without all the extra stress of soulmarks and finding your soulmates. He decided at a young age he didn’t have time for soulmates and he plans to stick to that decision. Unfortunately, as always, the universe seems to take a lot of joy in messing with him. or Kai struggles with reading and it’s everybody’s problem.

Hi there! Yes it's the very fic I've been yelling about in vague posts and tags the last 6+ months! It's been so long since I've posted anything to ao3 I've forgotten how it works but I'm doing my best! This fic is an AU set in an alternate universe of the LEGO Ninjago Movie (2017) combined with a lot of the characterization and aspects from the original LEGO Ninjago show. It's over 100k so buckle up and prepare for some shenanigans!

the first chapter is UP

sample under cut

Kai got his first soulmarks when he tried to eat a marker.

Tiny, with fumbling fingers, freckles and barely two years old he didn’t remember that day in the slightest. But his parents told the story to him and Nya all the time when they were little.

It was the little red marker they said that he went for. His mom didn’t notice until he’d pried off the cap and stuck it into his mouth after several unsuccessful attempts that ended in red marker all over his face. She’d gotten it out of his mouth before he could really try to eat it like he’d been meaning to. He'd started crying at the abruptness of his marker being taken away, but those tears dried up fairly quickly after his mom scooped him up.

His mom laughed that maybe his soulmates wanted him to feel less alone because a blue marker appeared not long after they started to wash off the red.

His first soulmark.

Kai grew up with their scribbled colorful lines on his skin. At first it was the hazardous meaningless lines of a toddler and then, as time progressed, they became more purposeful doodles. They were just another part of life he didn’t fully understand but accepted as fact because his parents simply smiled and spoke over his head of soulmates. He didn’t think he really grasped much of the concept of exactly what a soulmate was until he turned five.

They were someone (or several someones) that could be his favorite person (or people) in the whole wide world if he let them. After Nya was born he argued she was his soulmate because she was his most favorite person in the whole wide world. His dad said it was a different kind of favorite. But Nya was family and that was just as important.

It wasn’t until he was seven and struggling to learn the alphabet that he realized there was more than one soulmate out there for him.

Words started appearing as they learned how to write, the letters slanted and wobbly and hazardous. He watched their writing change and improve and watched them start to talk to each other. There were two of them. Two soulmates all for him. They talked in the simple words that they could manage. One excitedly scribbled I <3 U when they learned how. Kai had to ask his mom what the lines meant and she explained it with a patient smile. It means I love you.

He was ten and still just drawing doodles while his soulmates spoke of their favorite cartoons and what they had eaten that day. Letters seemed to float around his head and laugh at him as he tried to read what they were saying, frustrated tears biting his eyes and blurring the letters. Seeing him struggle, his mom would let him sit on her lap and read him the words out loud while he rested his head on her shoulder.

Pens and markers felt awkward in his hands. The little doodles he managed never looked as good as the doodles one of his soulmates was always making. Their doodles were of cool stuff, like ninja and dragons and mechs. The doodles were so cool and Kai doodled little hearts and flames around them as best he could to show how much he liked them. But half the time he couldn’t tell the hearts from the fire and explosions, everything so wobbly and awful. He tried to write his name once and it was almost worse than the hearts.

Keep Reading

#knox rambles #KNOX WRITES (me)#LEGO Ninjago Wobbly Hearts AU #Ninjago #Lego Ninjago Movie (2017)#Lego Ninjago #WELL THIS IS EXCITING I'M #HGKL;SFJSDFSADF #HERE WE GO #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA BUCKLE UP #won't be privating this work for a while so read away my good sirs #also i have like a discord set up for this if enough people are vibin with it i'll toss an invite link #]

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sparkanonymous · 23 days ago

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Let's get one thing out of the way; I messed up.

If you want to go more in-depth, read this post. If you don't want to, here's the jist of the situation: For the last year - I think - I have been coloring Raj's skin tone lighter. This is completely and utterly my fault.

I'm not going to make any excuses, in fear that it will give others an excuse for their own deplorable actions. Though I don't see myself as a racist person, this is still an example of colorism, and I can't stand by it.

Total Drama is something I hold dear in my heart, and Raj is one of my favorite characters in the entire series. The fact I did him this dirty makes me never want to draw him again.

I'm so sorry. All I can do is apologize, and that's definitely not good enough. I will do better in the future. I don't want anything like this to happen again, and I won't let it happen again.

There is nothing I can say that'll fix this situation. I have disappointed myself and hurt an entire community of people. I hope I can eventually make up for my mistakes, but I know that isn't possible in a short amount of time.

I don't expect this to be taken lightly; it shouldn't be. If this is the last I see of some of you, I hope you take care.

The rest of this post directly responds to parts of thesicklycowboy's post.

○■○■○

For this portion, I have also edited Raj's hair to be the correct color. (I didn't know where else to put this part, sorry.)

I won't be responding to everything, as I do think the post was well-spoken and something that certainly needs to be said, just parts that I felt I should respond to.

Blue is for them, and red is for me.

"So when you were addressing this and saying "it's color theory" excuse why did you not show your earlier pieces of Raj as well? The ones with far darker hair and deeper skin tones? You only referenced all the ones after after the lightening had begun."

As mentioned before, I don't know when the lightening began. The pieces I grabbed for comparisons were the ones that I could actively get the flats for. A lot of my previous pieces have been deleted from my iPad after being moved to my laptop for storage reasons. While you can tell that Raj is darker in my oldest TDI posts, I wouldn't have been able to color grab the original skin color to compare it to the others, which is why I added ones that I could find the flats of directly off of my page. I do wish I had gotten the flats for the oldest ones, but I can't really do anything about that now.

"The beginning of your ask responses is blatantly false and you contradict yourself at the end? So why keep that whole schpiel at all?"

Here is the part that they are referring to: "I didn't? I think he just looks lighter because of the filters I used on top of it."

I left this in for transparency because I genuinely thought that that was actually the case. But it wasn't. This is why I added, "Looking into the color issue..." I wanted to double check the claim because it very well could have been an issue. And it was.

... "And not yet another piece that is still super light."

Okay. I think I might know what the problem is here in particular. I add texture overlays (the layers with the filter of 'Sl' - Soft Light) to give my pieces... y'know, texture. The layer color I use is usually an off-white. I do this in all of my pieces because I thought it might help with keeping my work safe from AI, and because I like the paper-like look that it gives my art. I didn't put it over the entire piece because the background already has a ton of texture.

The one above is at 50%, and the one below it is at 30% for both Raj and Bowie.

Here is the same piece with the texture overlays turned off:

(Left is w/o the overlays, Right is w/ the overlays)

I don't want this argument to seem like I'm lessening my actions. This is the only thing that I think I have the right to stand up for. Texture is something I most likely won't take out of my work, though I may replace the texture overlays with something that is more full proof against AI, like those AI-disturbance layers that Ibis Paint has.

None of my actions were excusable, but I felt this needed to be explained.

Other than that, though, I don't know what else I could possibly do to fix the piece, considering I have fixed Raj's skin tone in this piece.

○■○■○

The rest of the post is not something I feel the need to respond directly to. I do think you should go and read the original post criticizing me and decide what you want to do in this matter.

This was not a "silly mistake." What I have done is genuinely messed up. I'm not going to run from this situation and say that I was ever justified in my actions. Because I never was.

I can only hope to be given the chance to amend this situation with future works, whenever that might be. I will most likely not continue to talk about this unless asked to. Idk what else I could possibly say that wouldn't make this situation worse. I am the guilty party, and the only thing I can do is learn from this and do better in the future, which I will.

Again, I am so sorry. I have fucked up, and I am prepared to take the consquences of my actions.

#total drama #total drama reboot #rajbow #tdi raj #td raj #spark arts #spark speaks

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demonicnarwhale · 2 months ago

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So for my first project in my Proprint class, we had to make 5 separate prints (draw or photograph something then print it on a 17x22 paper, same thing as last semester) so here's my stuff!!! Oh! And the prompt was basically anything but monochromatic or black and white, but we can either use one or two colors

They're all based on my Small Town AU because I thought it'd help get my ideas for this AU thingy situated a bit, and cuz it's fun

The first one to start us all off is Doc Scratch! The one and only, the catalyst (if you will) of this small town turning to shit. It's basically him bringing a sort of day of reckoning thing going on. But not like reckoning in the idea that they're getting judged by god or whatever. In this case, Scratch himself just plays around in this universe (this is the "bad" ending). Basically, the townsfolk begin to turn and hurt each other (reasoning will be explained in the 2nd project tehee and the wording here is like this just so I don't spoil too much) (also the top is just the different edits I came across and thought looked pretty)

Motifs / Symbolisms:

- The time on the clock reads 3:19. So specifically Genesis 3:19 is pretty much just when Adam and Eve are cast out of the Garden of Eden. The idea here is that Scratch will turn this thriving and self sufficient, almost found-family-like town into a big ol' graveyard. That paradise they all have come to enjoy and build a community together? Buh-bye!!! Cast out! Into the miseries!!!

- The picture of the oil painting is of The Agnew Clinic 1889 painted by Thomas Eakins. The painting was commissioned in honor of David Hayes Agnew, a pretty well known and respected surgeon of his time, a leader in a way. And I just felt like Scratch would have some of these "lesser" known art pieces of important figures of the past around his house. (Die would approve of this painting I believe)

- The apples are purposefully way too round, almost Christmas tree ornament looking. It's to allude to this feeling or idea of something being too perfect, but very off putting. Basically Doc Scratch himself. He's a man that's a part of the town but also not there. He's a total enigma for everyone and most people will chose to just accept that and just be cordial with him, that placid and simple smile just has something deeper going on teehee

- The card he holds is a nod to tarot ones (obvious I know but I ain't no tarot or star signs believer so I had to search up which card would make sense here). So seven of swords just means betrayal so haha on the nose

- There was gonna be a violin added but I just wanted to get this drawing done so I said "screw that". The reason why I was gonna go with the violin is cuz that idea of "haha Scratch is another name for the devil" and I remembered a song The Devil Went Down to Georgia which I fuckin dig. Also the idea of the devil having a violin playing contest with a kid is so fucking funny cuz he got his ass kicked. (oh yeah and just the idea of the devil being associated with the violin)

So yeah! I just had a lot of fun just coming up with this drawing and doing a little breaking the frame/boarder with the small apple branches reaching into the top box.

What can I say? I love marine associated themes so of course I gotta draw Trace and Fin. Oh and the sketches (or draft) I did just made me feel so proud and happy. Cuz even though it's a bunch of mumbo jumbo, it all just managed to flow out really well with this one. It's a shame that the digitalized final piece isn't as impressive to me as my sketches. The two compasses are also pointed at 3:00 and 5:00 cuz, ya know. That's their numbers. The fish from bottom to top are sockeye salmon, moray eel, tunas, and I didn't look at one fish for the ref with the top one but let's go with red snapper.

i sadly had to rush this one as it was getting close to critique day (aka the 26th) and some of my other classmates needed to print too so I didn't want to get in their way and such later on. (originally we had to make 5 prints but he saw not a lot of people would be able to so he cut it down to just 3. And so I already had 3 prints done so why not just let everyone else who really needed to print, print)

So this print was going to have PM, AR, and WV doing their own things (as seen in the first draft) but I changed things up so it'd be simpler and allow me to work on the last 2 prints. But hey! At least WV's there!! And then I was messing with shadows and the last one just looked really funny. OH! Oh and the 2422 was when PM made her appearance in the webcomics (at least, that's what I think or recall) and since that's her plane, it was a little nod. And this is her logo thing (still being worked on but you get the gist of it)

I do however feel hella bummed that I wasn't able to keep the mechanic tidbits (for AR) in this drawing since I hate drawing cars, the tools I tried drawing didn't fit the look of the finalized drawing. I'm sorry AR </3. Oh and I completely forgot about WV's lil torn up red flag, but it wouldn't really match i feel anyways in the end results. WV being a farmer, PM a mail woman hence the stamps, and AR being a (car) mechanic!!!

Ok so that's all for now, I'll upload the 4th and 5th print and photos of them all printed in another post since this is fuckin lengthy

PT2 HERE

#my art #eels art for college #the felt #the exiles #intermission small town #Doc Scratch #Trace #Fin #WV

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